#davefarts

Since we departed later than expected, and most people were already enjoying their vacation elsewhere, the airport was quite empty. Of course, we weren’t alone, but sometimes we felt like characters in one of those 28-things-later movies. 

The good news is that in the terminal, near our gate, there were plenty of free seats, so we quickly took advantage of them. We put on our earphones, trying to listen to a podcast or some shit like that. However, after just 15 minutes, Dave gave me a gentle nudge to get my attention... as well as to wake me from the nap that was about to claim me.

“I think I’m starving.” he whispered, as he eyed a burger joint not far from us.

I’ve always liked how airports have no rules when it comes to, well, time. It was almost 4:00 AM and yet we could still have a cheeseburger if we wanted to. Well, not me in this case. Don’t get me wrong I love cheeseburgers at any time as much as the next person, but we had a relatively long flight ahead of us, so I’d rather get something to eat (which we paid for by the way) on the plane itself later. Plus, I’m not even hungry.

Without saying much, we simply stood up, put our earphones back in our big backpacks, and walked towards Dave’s coveted food. 

We’re not new at eating like pigs in the middle of the night, and Dave’s stomach is remarkably reliable. We sat one some tall stools in front of the counter (it was more of a take-away place) and waited for the guy on the other side to take our orders (well, Dave’s order).

“Fuck I’m sweating.” Dave said, as he checked the burgers on the menu.

“I know right. This airport is a sauna.”

“Which is why I’m asking for an ice-cold coke as well.”

I’ll never be able to drink and eat like this at 4:00 AM, not before a flight at least.

“Are you sure this isn’t stress eating?” I asked, aware of how annoying I may sound sometimes.

Dave just gave me an indeed annoyed look in response. It wasn’t a proper answer, but I took that as “Yes”, even if he probably meant the opposite.

The guy working at the burger joint finished cleaning some glasses then turned to my friend, as if he already knew he was the one actually craving food.

“Hi, good morning, evening, night? I’ll take the Lassen Steak, with your Shasta sauce, thanks.” Dave quickly ordered, handing the menu to the waiter.

The guy wrote a note on his smartphone, rolled his eyes, and then with a boring tone said something he probably said many many times before, without even looking at us.

“I must warn you Sir, both the sauce and the burger you chose are named after Cascade volcanoes, which is a naming convention we use for our spiciest food. If you have a flight to take we highly-“

The guy stopped monologuing, noticing Dave’s own bored expression. 

“Whatever. Thanks for choosing us. Enjoy an eruption of flavor etc...”

A rather awkward silence followed.

“I’ll… I’ll just have some water, thanks.” I whispered, fearing the man working surrounded by people on vacation.

—

“This is probably my lack of sleep and poor taste.” Dave said, as he took another big bite of his dinner/breakfast. “But dude this is the best burger I ever had.”

“Truly an eruption of flavor,” I said, sarcastically.

The guy on the other side of the counter immediately blew into a small, noisy party horn, with the most bored and disillusioned expression I had ever seen, then spoke in his monotone voice.

“They pay us more if we do this crap whenever a customer mentions our payoff.”

“Really?” I asked, incredulous.

A moment of silence, a silence broken by a simple, “No.” He then disappeared in the kitchen.

I leaned towards Dave. “I think we’re the only ones who can see him.” I whispered.

“See who?” Dave asked, playing along… hopefully.

—

Finally, after a… I assume delicious meal and some more time spent sleeping to podcasts, the time came to board the plane. Despite being sleep-deprived zombies, we managed to not forget anything back in the terminal, and sat comfortably next to each other near the front of the plane, as planned (with Dave sitting by the window).

“So if we crash-land we’re the first to notice.” I darkly joked, just to mess with Dave.

As I put the backpacks under our seats, I gave a quick look around, noticing that just like the airport, the plane itself was basically almost empty. Man, we truly are late to the vacation party everyone went to, uh?

What I also noticed however is that, unlike the airport, the plane’s AC was working a bit too well: it was freezing, so much so that I quickly took a jacket out of my backpack and put it on, before the plane started moving.

I turned my attention to Dave: him being relatively nervous was oddly cute… and amusing.

“Relax, it’s gonna be fine.” I said.

“It’s not that.” he bluntly answered.

I noticed he was sweating, despite being like the North Pole in here. Before I could ask anything, the plane started moving fast, really fast, and finally we took off, leaving our responsibilities behind… for a couple of days at least.

—

Around 20 minutes in, the flight was going smoothly. I had a book to read, the plane was silent (both people-wise and engineering-wise), way more relaxing than I expected. Maybe we should depart later than everyone every year from now on. I turned to Dave, who was weirdly silent and completely still in his seat.

I noticed he was still sweating. I genuinely worried for a moment. Was he sick?

“Dude… you ok?” I asked.

“No.” Dave muttered, his eyes glued on the bathroom door not far from us.

I connected the dots rather quickly.

“Looks like Mount St. Helens is erupting in there.” I joked, poking at Dave’s belly with my finger.

“First of all, it was a wordplay on Lassen Peak. And the sauce was named after Mount Shasta, the second highest peak in the Cascades.” he said, jokingly looking offended by my lack of knowledge of US geography and geology. “You ignorant swine.” 

“That’s why the ghost said it was an eruption of flavor, silly me!” I remarked, sarcastically.

“But yeah, that burger is doing numbers in my stomach.” he admitted.

“And the temperature difference between in here and the airport certainly doesn’t help.” I added.

Dave remained silence for a couple of seconds, then looked at me.

“Thanks, I didn’t even think about that. Now I got one more thing to be nervous about.”

I found that incredibly amusing. I know, I’m a bad friend, and I know how bad this stuff can be… but it’s nothing that a bathroom break couldn’t fix.

“This is the captain speaking. We inform you that the restrooms are currently out of service. We apologize for the inconvenience. We wish you a pleasant flight.” 

“Uh… what a on oddly comedic timing.” I commented.

To add salt to the wound, the plane shook a bit (nothing to be worried about), which only made Dave’s situation worse.

“I’ll be 100% honest, because I wanna help, I swear I’m not finding this funny at all.” I lied, about the ‘not finding it funny’ I mean. “Are you going to shit yourself?”

“No bro.” Dave said. “Never.” he kept going. “I can hold it, but I’ll probably need to channel all this energy… in another way.” 

Despite suffering, Dave managed to smirk and wink at me, and given what was going on, I instantly realized what he meant. The fact that he’s so chill about it even right now is, well, endearing, but holy shit, we’re flying, please refrain yourself from hot-boxing a fuckin’ plane.

“Not that you mind, right?” he then asked, winking again, which at this point I assumed he was mostly his eye twitching because of the pain.

“Bro please… just resist a bit more.”

“Oh, what happened? Is Tim getting nervous?” he mocked me.

“We’re on a plane. Think of the passengers.” 

“We’re literally alone here.” Dave observed.

“No we’re not.”

I turned around, looking at the back to the plane.

“Carl is there. Hi Carl!” I waved at him.

“Hi stranger. I can’t wait to see my wife!” Carl shouted from the back of the plane, many rows behind us.

“See?” I turned back to Dave. “Carl is nice. He wants to see his wife.”

“Just admit it.” Dave said, the smirk back on his face. “You can’t wait to hear what they sound like.”

Dave teases me often, but this was a new low… or high, given we’re also flying, even for… whatever’s going on between us since he found out about my fart kink. All I know is that all this teasing made me rock hard, my cargo shorts barely containing the tent I pitched between my legs.

“Just do it.” I simply muttered.

Not because I was that thirsty, believe me, but because my bro, my gassy bro, already made up his mind. Either he turned whatever he had going on in his stomach into gas, or he’d shit himself. I don’t know how he could even trust his farts in his situation. Then again, I know what he’s capable of: his farts are loud, long, proud, but he’s also very good at controlling them, even their pitch. A musician of some sort, with a very peculiar instrument.

Dave’s temporary smug aura wore off quickly. He massaged his belly, who indeed looked a bit bloated, then my seat began to shake, and not because of some turbulence… not one coming from outside the plane at least.

I instinctively stared at my friend’s crotch area, the black shorts hugging it all nicely, barely containing the silent earthquake my friend was producing. I could barely hear the fart being ripped: as I said, Dave was good at controlling them, and he chose to “dilute” the rip to make it longer, but also way less loud. It made a continuous muffled, rumbling sound, one that only I could hear, being so close to the source. I then turned to my friend’s sweaty face: the smug smirk he had moments before disappeared in favor of a very focused facial expression, his eyes closed, carefully planning every single push. You know it’s bad when even Dave is afraid of his own farts.

Then, the smell hit me. My friend wasn’t shitting himself, but given the stench, he may very well be. Possibly the most rancid, disgusting and nauseating stench that my nostrils ever smelt. Dave’s farts are usually smelly of course, but their bark is usually stronger than their bite, which I like given how much I enjoy their loudness. This time, they skewed in the opposite direction, completely: if this was ripped directly into my face, I would have told my friend to stop and let me go; even considering my gross kink, this would have been too much for me to endure.

Dave’s attitude, however, always guarantee a standing ovation from my dick, and his smugness from before did the trick. Not that I wasn’t enjoying the fart, mind you… but I was happy that I wasn’t his seat, to say the least.

I was grateful that the plane was mostly empty, because that would have made things worse for everyone. Still, I heard the very few people sitting around us, a few rows back, muttering something, making comments about a “something smelling weird”.

My friend’s AOE was inescapable.

I wasn’t even keeping track of how long this fart was, but I could tell you it’s been like 2 minutes, and the muffled noise it made basically became part of the ambience at this point. 

Dave finally let out a sigh of relief, and carefully adjusted his position, which made some more of the stench trapped under his ass reach my nose. I then looked at him, and he indeed had the face of someone who was feeling better. He gently patted his belly, then turned to me, laughing a bit, trying to keep it quiet.

“Maybe that’s too much even for you.” he said. It’s like he could read my mind.

“And yet, I am the only one in the world brave enough to sit by your side.”

Dave chuckled. “That’s the spirit.” he massaged his belly a bit more. “Hope you’re ready for your next quest, hero.”

This time, Dave leaned a bit, towards the window, so that his shorts-clad ass was just a bit pointed in my direction. He smiled at me, the teasing bastard, and carefully let another blast out. This time started a bit louder than expected, which made him laugh, and quickly corrected the sound and the pitch, once again going for a long and rumbly approach.

And rumbly it was, other than bubbly… dangerously bubbly I might say.

My gassy bro noticed my concern, muttered “Don’t worry, I’m a pro.” and kept pushing the gas out. I don’t know what was going on in his stomach, but fart fetish or not that seemed like an useful trick. Turning your stomach-ache into gas instead of a shitty mess? Is it possible to learn this power?

I got harder, the view of Dave’s shorts-clad ass and his smirking face (with the fart going on as a bgm) was a always sight to behold for my own kinky ass, dammit. If he keeps going like this, I’m the one who’s gonna need a bathroom, you know why.

But I could still tell that my friend was in pain: I could see how focused he truly was, how drops of sweat slowly ran down his forehead. He was acting smug because that’s how he is, but it was also his way to cope with the pain, and teasing me about my kink always amused him, so in a way I was being helpful.

This fart was essentially a long series of muffled, rumbly, wet-ish toots, each renewing the putrid stench that made my nostrils burn. I was enjoying the view, until a flight attendant passed by our seats, walking towards the back of the plane.

Dave abrubtly stopped farting until she was far enough to resume his eruption, and we could tell that the woman walked faster to outrun the invisible AOE of stench my friend was constantly releasing.

“If you keep going, they’re gonna call for an emergency landing.” I half-joked. 

Dave laughed. “Anywhere with a restroom is fine for me.”

The final stretch of this second long series of farts was a longer, slightly louder wet toot, which got even Dave startled. He sat back normally, trapping the remaining stench under his ass, and he looked relieved when he realized that no, that risky toot at the end didn’t bring any… extra stuff.

I tried to focus myself on doing something else, but with the turbulence going on next to me, it’s gonna be impossible.

POV: Dave

Fuck, I thought I almost lost the battle with that last toot.

Alright, as gross and disgusting it is, I gotta give it to Tim: he’s enduring those like a pro. He could simply change seat but I know he doesn’t want to leave me alone when suffering like this. Yes, he’s kinky, but he also genuinely cares about me, this stuttering idiot. There’s only one person who can sit next to me right now, and I’m glad it was you, you kinky bastard.

I do this thing that when I’m nervous I can barely hide it, so whenever I can I try to act smug, but I know Tim can read me like an open book. It’s dawn, I can see from outside the window how high we are… a cruel reminder of how much I hate flying. I’m not scared but… come on. Fuck, it’s like someone just punched me in my stomach, that fuckin’ burger: my seat is going full Pompeii under my erupting ass.

I need to fart again, dammit. I can tell this one is gonna be the riskiest one yet. This is my hole’s event horizon: I have to be incredibly careful when pushing this one out, or else I’m gonna, literally, shit myself. But if I don’t do it, my stomach is gonna blow for how bloated I feel. I took a deep breath, then I coughed: this place smells terrible. Sorry, not sorry.

Oh fuck what was that, why did the airplane shake again. Tim didn’t even notice, the flight attendants didn’t care, come on Dave stop acting like this, it’s the fumes in your stomach reaching up to your brain, clouding your judgement.

Alright, here goes nothing; if I shit myself, tell Dana I love her, and tell my friends they’re weirdos. I closed my eyes, I leaned again just a bit to ease the fart (and hopefully only the fart) out. Tim, I apologize if I’m gonna shit on our backpacks, but this is a risk any man should be willing to take at one point in their lives. At one point, we should all trust our farts, even in our darkest moment.

Damn that spicy sauce is burning my asshole, the fart is just too strong I can’t handle it… and it’s louder than I expected. The airplane shook just as I started farting and that’s it, I almost lost it, I could tell I was unwillingly growing a tail, but luckily I clenched by cheeks (and teeth) just in time to avoid any unfortunate accident. 

"I have had it with these motherfucking farts on this motherfucking plane!" I muttered, both me and Tim laughing at me quoting an excellent movie.

I’m in so much pain, I don’t know for how long I could literally trick my body into shitting air instead of the actual thing. And it’s freezing in here, which is only making things worse. If I survive this, I shall write a memoir about it, my greatest achievement: not shitting myself at 30.000ft.

Oh dammit it got loud again, and even my own stench is distracting me for focusing on what’s important: deflating myself with style. So I turned to my kinky friend, trying to act cool and smug, and winked at him. He reacted by giving me the middle finger, which made me laugh, almost making me lose control again.

Whatever I do, this is a battle I can’t stop being focused on, so I closed my eyes again, picturing our sunny destination, and let the fart rumble freely, not too loud, not too silent, just the right amount. My anus was burning however, that fuckin’ spicy sauce, what did I do this to myself. It was a good sauce, I just had bad timing.

But yeah it was very good I should buy some once we land.

Another sudden loud toot: thank goodness the plane is mostly empty, or I’m sure they’d ask me to politely open the window next to me -death seems much better than enduring this stench, and I could tell it was bad, not just because I couldn’t stand it, but even Tim was nauseated by it (and I knew he wasn’t faking it).

“Tim…” I muttered. “Tell Dana I love her.” I jokingly said, as I bravely gave one last push, ending this risky rip with a short, loud toot. 

I opened my eyes, and luckily Tim was the only one staring at me, his facial expression being a mixture of awkwardness, amusement and, well, the face we men make when we’re horny. 

I sat back normally, and patted my friend’s shoulder.

“I think we'll survive this, bro.”

POV: Tim

That last fart, I could tell, was dangerous. Dave trusting his farts in his darkest moment was incredibly heroic.

“I’m fighting the urge to tell you ‘I told you so’” I said. I must love being annoying.

He just looked back at me, with a smirk. “And I’m fighting the urge to pull your head between my legs and let you enjoy the show front row.” he then leaned closer, and whispered. “Which, by the way, the only reason I’m not doing it is because we’re in public.” 

Fucking. Teasing. Bastard. My reaction was pre-cum coming out of the tip of my dick almost instantly: I’m the one who almost made a mess this time.

“This is the captain speaking. The restrooms are now back in service. We invite you to use them, especially considering that we have received complaints about strange odors. We wish you a pleasant flight.”

“I can’t see my wife smelling like shit!” Carl shouted from the back of the plane, a few other passengers nodding. 

We did our best to not laugh like idiots at that.

“I guess that’s my stop babe.” Dave said, him looking the most relieved I’ve ever seen.

Dave stood up and, on his way to the restroom, squeezed past me without paying any attention to my presence, through the narrow space between my legs and the seat in front.

He stopped right in front of me, his butt perfectly aligned to my head.

I know where this is going.

He gave a quick look around, making sure he could do one last thing before finally ending this once and for all. 

He quickly leaned his shorts-clad ass back and brushed it all over my face. It was wet, but just for the sweat thank goodness, but not any less smelly. Now that was a risky move to do in public.

Dave then walked towards the restroom, but before going in, he turned around, smiled at me and gave me the middle finger. He mouthed “We did it.”, triumphantly, before finally going into the coveted bathroom, possibly destroying it with whatever his stomach couldn’t hold anymore.

I ignored the stench still coming from Dave’s empty seat, put on some earphones, and managed to listen to some music. The airplane shook a bit again, and I’m sure this time it was caused by my friend winning the final battle in the bathroom.

Ted and I are not exactly close friends, but we get along just fine. When he found out I was coming here, he surprisingly texted me to offer me a guided tour, which I gladly accepted. This also apparently was some kind of “official” task, as he just handed me the keys to my apartment in the campus.

We got another cup of coffee, for me this time (I paid), and he started showing me around. I tried to listen, though the taste of the coffee was… distracting.

“Westfork may just be a study center nowdays, but as you can see it still has that college soul going.” he commented, looking at some guys jogging. “That building right there, the one with the white dome, is the President’s office basically. The library is right next to it.”

“I assume the library is where you guys also keep your archives?”

“Yeah -well, it’s actually in the building literally behind it, we can’t see it from here though.”

Ted kept describing the place, explaining some bits of history as well, which I found interesting, but I’m biased because of my degree. I truly enjoyed the place so far, both in aesthetics and whatnot.

I then heard a noise coming from behind, the sound of tiny wheels to be more precise, which I recognized to be a group of people skateboarding in our direction. I noticed Ted rolling his eyes in annoyance.

“Here comes the bullies.” 

“Here comes the what-now?” I asked.

Indeed, two guys on their skateboards rode past us, one of them casually (and jokingly, I assumed) slapping Ted’s back, clearly to annoy him. As they rode away, they gave one last amused look to my guide, before disappearing behind a brick building.

“…Bullies?” I asked, rather sarcastically.

Ted's acted calm and in oddly overly-refined manners until this moment, when I could see him not just annoyed, but almost disgusted by those guys’ presence.

“That’s the soul I was talking about.” he explained. “The rotten, immature soul of the worst college you can think of.”

I was quite surprised by his reaction. “They were just goofing around.” I tried to calm him down, without success.

“Those are Brad’s goons. They don’t look the part, yet they too work here for some reason.” he said. “They’re basically the bullies around here, immature hogs acting like a toxic fraternity, tarnishing the already tarnished name of Westfork.”

This was turning into a petty monologue pretty fast for my taste.

I know him, I know no one’s tarnishing anything.

“Always bullying hard-workers like us while they fuck around on their stupid skateboards.” 

I decided to step in. “I see.” I said. “Any other 90s stereotype I should be concerned about?”

“They’re also homophobes.”

Ok, ouch. “Well that’s the first actually bad thing about them, if it’s true.”

“Just stay away from them. They’re like a disease.”

Ted seemed pretty sure about them; I could tell there was something else going on, but I didn’t want to get my ass involved into some Westie drama before even starting to work. Sure, some comments he made sounded very superficial (skateboarders = bad bullies? in 2025? really?), but I doubt he’d call anyone a homophobe if he wasn’t sure about it -that’s a pretty bad thing to say about anyone. 

I didn’t 100% believe everything he said, but I was gonna keep my guard up just in case.

My angry guide and I kept chatting while walking apparently aimlessly, as he was still riled up about those… “bullies”, and even implied that he and his ex girlfriend broke up because of them, though the timing seems far-fetched. Anyway, we ended the tour about 30 minutes later, stopping in front of a big brick building with many windows, clearly a residential one that once hosted students attending the courses here.

“That’s my stop. Sorry, it’s been a long day for me.”

“It’s fine. I’m staying across the street, right?” I said, pointing at what was basically this building’s twin, on the other side of a small square.

“Yep. If you need anything… good luck.”

I let Ted go get some rest while I walked towards the other building. It wasn’t late, but I wasn’t planning on doing anything tonight, plus I was tired for the trip: top priority is unpack some stuff and throw them into place. There’s this history paper I’ve been reading, focusing on the language of architecture in Middle Age Europe (creatively titled “Architecture and Power”), which is porn to my brain. Can’t find any info on the guy who wrote it -some dude called “L. Evans”. I just have a printed copy -hope it didn’t get too wrinkled in my roll- FUCK.

I think I skipped a few metaphorical frames of animation for how fast I turned around and started running. Neither me or Ted noticed that I left my roller back at the bench by the Cafe. I’m the King of idiots, they’re gonna write dozens of papers about Jeff Park, the fooliest among the fools.

I rushed back as fast as I could, but it was too late: my apparently really captivating suitcase was gone. Luckily I have my wallet, ID and the apartment’s keys in my pockets, but I can’t start my job by showing up with the same clothes every day (not because of some innate fashion sense -which I have, thanks for asking, I’m talking about basic hygiene). While I stood there like the idiot I am trying to come up with a solution, I heard some people acknowledging my presence.

“Is that our guy?” someone said.

I turned to the Cafe, noticing three guys -two of them being the skateboarders from before- having either coffee or beer sitting outside, their ‘boards parked by their stools under their feet, one displaying a simple drawing of a lightning. 

It’s those… “bullies”. What I also noticed, however, was my rolling bag. Before I could say anything, one of them stood up and walked towards me, with my suitcase in tow.

“Hey is this yours?” the man said, handing me the long handle of the suitcase, as he scratched the small black stud on his left ear.

“Yes… thanks.”

“No problem.” the man simply said, before turning around and walking back to the Cafe. “Yep, that was our guy.” he then said to his friends.

I was going to step closer, maybe pay a round of drinks to thank them, then I heard something that made me remember why Ted said what he said.

“Yeah he looked pretty nervous. They usually do that ya know.”

“They?” I mouthed, in silence. 

I’m out of here. 

I didn’t even know that being nervous was a gay stereotype. Everyone’s nervous, in this economy! Thanks for keeping my suitcase safe, but no, I’m not getting dragged into this. And for a moment I even thought that the guy who handed me the suitcase was cute; I gotta stop being so basic.

“Slow down with the beer dude, have mercy for our noses.” one of them said, laughing.

I pretended I didn’t hear that.

— — — 

Despite my sudden amnesia, I managed to properly unpack my stuff. The dorm-room felt quite nostalgic, though to be fair most rooms here at Westie were recently renovated into small apartments. Nothing huge, but it didn’t cost much, and so far I do like it here, so I got nothing to complain about.

I collapsed on my bed, staring at the so far empty walls, and wondered how I struggled so much with college… only to end up in another college… sort of; by now you know Westfork is not a University per se, but still, Ted wasn’t lying: the vibes are still there, the soul he mentioned still lives on, for better or for worse. 

Oh well.

I reached for the L. Evans paper, re-reading some parts I highlighted the other day, a paragraph introducing the concept of the lasting presence of buildings, looming like silent watchers of the History unfolding before them. 

“Yeah… I wonder how much sex those walls witnessed.” I thought, looking around me.

— — — 

WEDNESDAY

The best thing about this job, skipping the parts you’d find boring at least, is that my morning commute is just a couple of minutes of walking through a beautiful campus. I woke up well-rested, had a relaxing shower, grabbed a small backpack, then went to the Cafe from yesterday to grab a cup of -you guessed it- coffee before heading to the library and its archive. I managed to exchange a few messages with some friends in the process, who for some reason always assume that I got myself into some kind of trouble (…I refused to tell them about the suitcase), which they find hilarious of course.

I also got an e-mail from Westie’s President, welcoming me aboard officially, hoping I enjoy my stay and implying that I should get the job done properly. He didn’t get to the “unless you want to get fired” part, but that was heavily implied anyway.

I left the Cafe… then came back a few seconds later because I obviously forgot my backpack by the counter, then went to my actual workplace, where Ted was waiting for me. It took me a couple of minutes to find him, because he was at the Archives already, in a building behind the library. It’s fine, I’m not even late for once, and Ted seemed almost grateful to see me.

Straight to the point, he guided me through the surprisingly bleak archives, the scaffoldings full of dusty, old, uncatalogued documents, books and manuscripts, some looking very old; it was like Christmas to me, and I honestly couldn’t wait to get started.

“It’s pretty straightforward to be honest.” Ted admitted. “You can start from there, the stuff filed under the letter A, obviously.”

I obeyed, even though Ted wasn’t my boss or anything.

“Remember the archival standards-“

“Yes, no worries, this is like Heaven to me.” I reassured him, perhaps sounding more cocky than I wanted to.

Tracing back to a document’s origin or author is like a murder mystery: you have evidence to arrange, logical steps to follow, deduction, and suspects. However, sadly, you don’t always get to the smoking gun, but you do get closer than anyone else… which is why this paper by L. Evans is lowkey driving me crazy. It was written like… last year, yet I can’t find any info on the author. The Internet has failed me! I’d love to read more of his stuff, if he has written any to begin with. I don’t even know if he’s still alive! Does he even exist? Maybe that’s not his real name?

Nice, it’s my first day and I’m already getting distracted by my train of thoughts, still most of these documents look well-preserved and most importantly clearly signed and with a clear date: good for all of us and for the importance of long-term preservation, bad for the me who was looking for a challenge.

A few hours went by, me and Ted occasionally exchanging opinions or documents based on what we were looking for. I like being social, as my karaoke skills imply, but I do like the atmosphere of an old, dark, dusty archive with no sunlight. And Ted is like… really boring, a perfect teammate for me then, in this context.

More hours flew by, it was late afternoon already; I even forgot to do a lunch break. Not a fan of me forgetting things so much lately, but it’s on me, I was just really into those old files this time. I’m far from being a workaholic, but I do enjoy this stuff.

“Weird.” I said, arranging a couple of old books on the well-lit desk in front of me. “They’re in perfect state, they’ve been catalogued already apparently, but you’re missing one.” I checked the side of the books. “The third one.”

“Well, that’s our job, isn’t it?” Ted replied, not really listening to what I was trying to say.

“Yes, but Westie does own it, it’s been digitized, it’s listed on your website, even.” sometimes work is as simple as that.

“Oh yeah, now I get it.” Ted admitted. “Beyond the Horizon: A Captain's Memoirs, vol. III. I know where it is.”

Ted seemed hesitant, and also annoyed.

“It’s not urgent or anything, but we can simply place this series in the library if we have them all…” this is more of my perfectionist side taking the wheel. The ship’s wheel.

“I think either Brad Larrying or Tyler Landoon have it, those jerks.”

“Let me guess, they’re the super scary skateboarders from yesterday, right?” I said, with a hint of sarcasm. Just a hint, really.

“Hey, I told you. They’re not worthy of this institution, so you getting the book back from them is basically your duty.”

I rolled my eyes behind his back. I reached for one of the tomes and put it in my backpack.

“And they’re also homophob-“

I cut him off, maybe raising my voice a bit too much at first. “I… I’m going to decide if that’s true, with all due respect.”

Ted scoffed at me. “Why would I make it up?”

“I’m… I’m not saying you made it up, I’m just doing my job, not jumping to conclusions.” even though they did make a weird comment yesterday, after handing me the suitcase.

“Whatever.” he simply said. “It’s past 6:00 PM, they’re probably hanging out at their Frat House not far from here, by the Old Birch.”

“Frat House? Really?”

“I mean it does feel like one you know…” he said, concerned.

“I kind of hope it does now.” I said, amused instead.

The outside greeted me with beautiful warm autumnal colors again, like the evening before. The Sun was still setting, and people leaving work walked around the campus as if it was a lively city. But my work wasn’t done yet, I’m gonna Indiana Jones this shit if I have to.

Once I got familiar with Westfork’s layout I realized that the campus wasn’t nearly as big -or fancy- as it looked -don’t get me wrong, it’s a small town basically, but everything is conveniently close. And that includes the so-called “Frat House” mentioned by Ted, a small red brick building with a… quirky (and rather cheap-looking if you ask me) neoclassical façade, the pediment displaying a big “Ω” in the middle. Yep, once again, the soul’s still there. Unlike the Old Birch, which is only a stump (by the looks of it, it probably got cut down mere days before I got this job -and judging by the damaged roof of the Frat House, I can probably see why).

I walked through the short front-yard and knocked on the red door in front of me, before noticing the door-bell at least. I could hear some muffled rock music coming from the inside (Whispering Ostriches, I kind of like that band), followed by some voices, probably people complaining about someone showing up at their doorstep on a Wednesday evening.

I don’t blame them.

Maybe Ted’s stereotyping wasn’t so off after all, as the person who opened the door was your textbook jock-looking pri- I mean person. Tall, big, fit… kind of intimidating?

Before I could say anything, the guy smiled and went “You’re the rolling bag-guy!”.

I was famous!

“You remembering me tells me that Westfork must be very boring.”

He laughed and let me in. “That’s what all workplaces are.”

“I’m looking for either Brad Larrying or Tyler Landoon.” straight to the point, more or less.

“Nice to meet you -I’m Brad.” he promptly said.

I followed him into a charming, wood-paneled living room, lots of books, maps and documents scattered around (with a couple of skateboards thrown into the mix). On a table there was also a scale model of an historical US building -it looked like the Old State House in Boston. Westfork’s historical soul was mostly intact here, if you don’t count the empty chips bag.

“And that goblin there is Tyler.” he said, pointing at a guy chilling on an armchair, his face partially hidden under a black hoodie, too focused on reading something on his laptop to notice a guest, yet I could tell he’s the same guy who handed me the suitcase yesterday, in front of the Cafe.

I heard another voice coming from another room, followed by some noises, as if they were setting something up.

“Brad.” another guy showed up. “The game starts in 20 minutes. Did you check the subscription?”

“And that’s Mark.” Brad commented, visibly annoyed -clearly this wasn’t the first time Mark asked this.

Mark quickly nodded at me, acknowledging my existence, before disappearing in the other room again to, I assume, mess with the TV in anticipation of the game. Funny because there was another TV in this room, but I assume it was mostly used for gaming or other stuff.

“If this is a bad time I can-“

“It’s fine.” Brad cut me off. “Whenever the Lobsters play, Mark goes DEFCON 1. YOU’RE GONNA LOSE ANYWAY.” 

“Fuck you and your Wasps!” a muffled response from the other room. “What’s wrong with this TV?!”

Brad pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, sort of embarrassed by the situation. “Hard to believe everyone in here is a published historian, huh?”

Honestly, that was hilarious. This is the right mix of “academic environment” and “chill” for me, maybe with a bit less screaming at the TV (but that happens to me when gaming, so I get it).

“Do… do you mind if I help?” I dared to ask, hearing more angry comments. “From what I… barely heard I had a similar problem with my TV last week.” 

“Of course. Thanks.” Brad said, eagerly pushing me in the lion’s den. “Be my guest.”

Mark was almost punching the TV, something we’ve all did but rarely works, come on. I simply tapped on his shoulder and silently asked him for the remote.

“I got the same model. They’re like the printers of TVs: they stop working whenever you actually need them.”

I messed with the settings a bit, doing things in a precise order, then turned it OFF and ON again. Now it works, for some magical reason.

“Who are you again?” Mark asked, after taking a good look at the crisp, perfect image on the screen.

“I’m Jeff, I’m the new archivist. I got he-“

“Stop talking, you’ll tell us everything about you tomorrow night. Beer’s on us.” he said, with a firm handshake.

“Gladly.” I simply said. “I mean I didn’t do mu-“.

“If you don’t wanna come, don’t. If you want, there’s only one Cafe in this husk of a University, so you’ll know where to find us.”

Ted’s words echoed in my head as these guys kept being just casually… nice. 

Again, not jumping to conclusions.

I thanked Mark for the invitation and walked back to the main living room, but I slowed down once I heard a rather animated conversation between Brad and Tyler.

“The President won’t kick you out, Tyler. You’re the most valid asset in our team.”

“Read the e-mail. If it happens again, I’m out. I fucked up too many times.”

“You had a couple of beers…”

“I was drunk, passed out, and he was the one who found me — right in the middle of the night, in the middle of the campus, during one of his late-night jogging sessions.”

“…no one got hurt?”

“He literally tripped over me!”

I decided to step in, hopefully not making things too awkward or embarrassing, pretending I didn’t hear a thing.

“The TV is fixed.”

“Awesome dude.” Brad said. 

“Who’s the IT guy?” Tyler said, before correcting himself (and rushing to change the subject). “Oh right, you’re the rolling bag-guy!”

“My reputation precedes me I see.”

Tyler was too focused on reading that e-mail to notice me earlier, and given what I’ve heard, I don’t blame him. Hope things get better for him.

“Look, Brad.” I said. “Seriously, I can come back anoth-“

“No no, sorry about Mark. What do you need?” he asked.

“Alright… I’ve been told you guys have the third volum-“

“Beyond the Horizon: A Captain's Memoirs.” Tyler cut me off. “It’s somewhere in my room, follow me.”

“I thought you’d returned it.” Brad commented.

“I was going to.” Tyler replied, almost clenching his teeth. “Then… something happened.” clearly he didn’t want to address the jogging accident in front of me, understandably.

Brad mockingly clapped his hands once, as if he was so done with his friend and co-worker’s shenanigans. Tyler shook his head, then resumed talking.

“Let’s just be quick.” he jokingly smiled. “You know they can get all… you know.” he then did some weird panicked gestures or something that looked like that.

“They?” I asked, my tone getting a bit more defensive. The two guys noticed my tonal shift, but still looked pretty relaxed. “What do you mean with they, exactly?”

A few seconds of awkward -for me- silence, then all three of them said “Westie archivists.” at the same time, even Mark from the other room.

“Of course.” I said, realizing I’m an idiot.

“I smell Ted.” Brad said, the other two echoing his words.

They didn’t look angry or offended, just amused. I have the feeling this is not the first time this happens, in a way or another.

“Jeff, right?” Brad spoke first. “Ted’s not a bad person, but he’s a bit of a… you know… sort of a classist, I might say?” he indeed said, Tyler nodding.

I’d lie if I say that Ted didn’t sometimes act… “weird”, to put it charitably, but that’s why I don’t consider him a close friend. I’m glad he’s been my guide here, but he’s not exactly my cup of tea.  

“You don’t get to nod.” Brad turned to Tyler, trying not to laugh. “He does have a valid reason to dislike you.”

“Is it because of my long, flowing golden locks?” he said, pulling his hood back, revealing a shaved head with very short dark hair.

“No that’s becau-“ Brad turned to me. “It’s nothing. They have a history. Tyler messed up, but yeah Ted was a bit too spiteful.”

“If we were like half of the bad things he says about us we’d be in jail.” Tyler said. “And also if we were homophobes we’d have to kick this hot beefcake out.” Tyler patted his bigger friend’s back, who was very annoyed by him talking too much.

“I’m bi.” Brad simply said, after taking a deep breath.

“And the B stands for BOOOORING!” Tyler kept making fun of him.

That jab clearly had nothing to do with Brad’s sexuality, but rather him being the most serious one of the trio so far. Those guys are not homophobes in the slightest -they actually seem all super chill with each other, and with me.

As Tyler maturely kept making fun of his friend for being, ironically enough, the so-called “straight man”, Brad just looked at me with a tired expression, reading me like an open book, fully knowing that I’m gay, hoping to find some support.

“Do you have any straight friends?” he asked, sarcastically.

“Can’t live with them, can’t live without them.” I simply replied, amused by this whole situation. 

— — —

Tyler’s bedroom was upstairs, a modest room, and a messy one nonetheless. Not judging, plus I’m a mess myself. Like the living room, there were documents, books and papers scattered around the floor, and another -smaller- scale model on a desk, this time of the Independence Hall from Philadelphia. I turned to the owner of all that, Tyler, this tall guy, shaved head, wearing a black hoodie, shabby grey sweatpants, and a pair of… random pink flip-flops. 

Yeah, those guys are cool, I don’t care.

I put my backpack on a surprisingly empty chair so I could take the book out and show it to him, even though he already knew what we were looking for.

“Like I told Brad, if you have to watch the game, I can come back tomorrow.” I insisted, rummaging through my backpack.

“It’s fine, we got a couple of minutes.” Tyler stated, as he started looking. “Though a couple of seconds will do.”

I didn’t even have the time to take the book out that he already handed me the third volume. That was fast.

“Thanks.” I said, reaching for the tome, letting my backpack fall on the floor in the process, because that’s what I do apparently.

The moment it touched the floor, the backpack belched out the book I wanted to show him, a couple of snacks, an empty water bottle, an old keychain, the country of Germany, and the L. Evans paper I’m re-reading.

“Sorry. Let me grab all of this real quick.” I said, as Tyler crouched to help.

“Architecture and Power.” he reached for the paper first, intrigued. “Hope it’s a good read.” he snorted, as he handed it to me.

“It’s a really interesting take on Middle Age Europe. Very creative, very informative, a bit verbose at times, and uses ‘literally’ a bit too much.” I explained, half serious.

“I literally told the editor but he didn’t care.” Tyler stated.

“Yeah.” it took me a few seconds to fully realize what he said. “What the fuck.” I turned to him as if I saw a ghost. “Are you L. Evans?”

“Nope. I’m Tyler Landoon Evans.” he said, spelling his full name loud and clear. “For SOME reason they thought my name was Landon and… well, you know the rest… or rather, you don’t. I’m basically a ghost.”

“This can’t be real.” I said. “Who’d make such a stupid mistake?”

“It just happens. That’s fine. I like living in the shadows.” he chuckled. 

“No no, you don’t understand. This is my job.” I insisted. “This is what I do. I can fix this.”

“It’s okay dude. You don’t wanna get involved into this.” 

I’m totally going to get involved into this. 

I said I was gonna Indiana Jones this shit, that’s what I’m still planning to do.

“Well, either way… big fan of your work.” 

“Thanks man.” he then gave a quick look to my black and yellow backpack. “Big fan of your Wasp bag there.”

“Don’t tell Mark.” I quickly replied.

Brad stepped into the room to tell us that the game was starting and even went as far as inviting me to stay, if I wanted to watch the first half of the game, but I had to be somewhere else.

“Say ‘hi’ to Ted for us.” Brad joked, walking me to the door.

“I’ll make sure he gets the message.”

This is why I don’t jump to conclusions.

I left the place with a heavier backpack and more info that I could ever imagine. I met the elusive author out of nowhere, in the last place a Ted would have told me to look. 

So far so good, but damn, Westfork is… weird, yet I wanna help. Just today I met people who were mislabeled: fixing Tyler’s paper will be a piece of cake.

— — —

THURSDAY

The moment I woke up I was greeted with good news: my flight for the weekend (Saturday afternoon) was cancelled. I got mad at first, because money… but it’s ok, there was no rush to fill my wardrobe here, I got enough clothes and underwear to survive a full month, as long as the washing machine keeps working and Summer doesn’t decide to come back for revenge without warning.

Just like the day before, I had my morning routine, and even managed to exercise a bit, then went to the Archives after a quick cup of coffee, Ted waiting for me outside, his big round glasses looking like two headlights.

“I see you survived the encounter.” he said, as he walked me inside. “Do they eat raw meat? Did the concept of fire reach them? Should we be the ones teaching them?”

“Calm down, Prometheus.” I replied. “They’re fine.”

“Fine?” he seemed genuinely incredulous. “They’re hogs, Jeff.”

“Okay, you can turn your 90s stereotype goggles OFF for a second. And those are pretty big goggles. I said they’re fine.”

“Did you get the book?” he bluntly asked.

“It’s in my backpack.”

“Good. I’m sure you’ll do a great job without my supervision.”

I didn’t like his tone. “First of all, you’re not my supervisor.” he narrowed his eyes, annoyed. “Second, you’re leaving?”

We reached our workstation, the dark, dusty room full of wonders to discover and cry over when we can’t find any cross-reference.

“This archive is not really my department, so to speak. I mostly work really close to the higher-ups you know. I was tasked to literally guide you.”

“Thanks for being my guiding moonlight.” I said, half-serious.

“Not to brag, but the President really appreciates my work. Sometimes I even get to review graduates’ papers and…”

Oh come on, this can’t be going where I think it’s going. Ignoring my “jumping to conclusions” rule for a moment, I reached for Tyler’s paper in my backpack and almost shoved it in Ted’s face.

“Do you recognize this, by any chance?”

Ted remained silent.

That was a rhetorical question.

“Answer me.”

“No.”

“That was a weirdly high-pitched response from you.”

“I don’t know who this L. Evans is.”

“I never told you the author’s name.”

Ted scoffed in frustration, as I pointed one of the lights to his face. Sorry Indy, looks like I’m going full Colombo for this stupid ass case instead. 

“You know, until this morning I thought that an editor getting an author’s name wrong was a silly mistake… except that you guys don’t make mistakes like this. In fact, you correct mistakes like this… which means that you… did this on purpose.”

“This is literally insane.” Ted commented, adding more smoke to the already smoking gun.

“Pettiness aside, this could get you fired, man.” 

“No one cares about this paper, why would anyone. It’s a piece of trash, I could write this blindfolded.” 

Looks like I’m not getting any actual work done for a couple of more minutes.

“Why do you hate this guy so much?”

“Why do you care so much?” Ted replied, a smirk appearing on his face. “Got a little crush on Tyler, perhaps?”

I took a deep breath, ignoring the obvious taunt, then handed a copy of the paper to him, making sure to shove it on his chest as hard as I could without starting an actual fight.

“Fix this.”

“♫ He’s never gonna love you. ♫” he mocked me.

“I’m just doing my job. Fix this. Talk to the higher-ups or whatever you do, and give Tyler the credit he deserves.”

Ted’s eyes behind his big round glasses inspected the paper, without really reading it. In fact, he almost seemed disgusted he was even holding it.

“What’s in there for me?” he then asked.

“I won’t tell anyone that you’re a petty jerk.”

“Not helping.” Ted insisted.

“I won’t tell anyone that you’re a classist petty jerk, is that better?”

He slammed the paper on the desk, visibly offended by that last statement. “I’m not any -ist you stupid know-it-all. I studied hard and I’m working hard, and you can’t blame me for disliking someone who GPT-ed his way up here.”

Clearly this was escalating into an actual, animated, verbal fight, but to be honest I did want to hear Ted’s side of the story… blind accusations aside.

“Do you have any proof that those guys GPT-ed their way up to the top?”

“No.” he admitted. “But I do have proof that Tyler flirted with my girlfriend last year.”

This seems like a big accusation, and it would be, but there’s a small detail that Ted is omitting, and if his “attack pattern” is always the same, I simply need one question to get to the truth.

“Ted, did this happen before or after you two broke up?”

Lucky for me, Ted is a bad liar, so he remained silent.

“I can’t believe it. You were doing this again. You were gaslighting me, you prick!”

“I dislike those guys, OK?! I didn’t know it was illegal!”

“No one said you have to like them. Feel free to burn with hatred for the rest of your life.” I was tired of this conversation. I reached for the paper on the desk and handed them to him again. “I just want us to do our fucking job without being petty bastards, is that clear?”

Ted took a deep breath and regained his composure. “Fine, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.” I simply said.

“But you take the credit. I don’t want that hog to get any close to me.”

“OK… fine?”

“Literally fine. See you tomorrow night then, if you’re still up for it.” he put Tyler’s paper under his coat and buttoned it up. “Have a good day.”

“You too. And yeah, see you tomorrow.” I said, finally getting to work for real.

And just like that, I was alone at last in that dusty old place, surrounded by more nameless History waiting to be recognized.

— — —

Sunlight again, the thing I pretend to hate to act dark and mysterious. I worked a bit more than I had to, as I got lost reading an old legal document.

Another day went by, another autumnal evening greeting me as I stepped out of the Archives. I’d like to go to my apartment to rest a bit, maybe get rid of this dusty checkered shirt, but yesterday Mark invited me for a beer. Since I’m passing by anyway, I’ll check if the so-called “bullies” are at the Cafe already.

As I got there, I looked for them from a distance, only to get ambushed from behind before I could even recognize the sound of their skateboards -Mark’s and Tyler’s at least; Brad was right behind them, walking. He’s the biggest of the three, didn’t even need to run to keep the pace.

They greeted me as if I was an old friend and then walked together towards the Cafe, sitting on some stools by a sunset-lit table outside. 

“I had to convince them of course.” Mark said, jokingly, talking about me joining them for a beer.

“Yeah, because we hate gay people apparently.” Brad added.

“No worries, you’ll learn to hate me for who I am, not because of my sexuality.” I played along.

We ordered a round of beers and, as promised, Mark paid for them -but I decided I was gonna pay the second round, no matter what. Those are very easygoing dudes; they actually remind me of my buds back home.

We started chatting about our backgrounds and how we got into this study center, discovering surprisingly common experiences in our stories, such as having been behind schedule.

“We’ve been here since last year. This place is more in shambles than it looks, but it pays the bills.” Brad explained.

“Well the Archives are holding up, I can tell you that.” I said. “They’re a bit dusty and dark, but hey, it’s the Archives. I’d be disappointed if they didn’t seem haunted.”

“Only thing missing in this husk of a campus is a poison swamp.” Tyler joked.

“We’re historical geographers by the way. Tyler’s a specialised architectural historian instead.” Brad said.

“I could tell, I’ve read his paper.”

“Yeah he’s actually one of the 4 people who did.” Tyler joked. “Including us of course.”

“You’re way too hard on yourself.” Brad stated. “You got skills, man.” 

“Pull my finger and I’ll show you how skilled I am.” he kept joking.

That earned some immature laughs from us.

I do wonder if Ted is actually gonna fix it…

“Once again…” Brad turned to me. “I can assure you we’re all published historians here.” 

Tyler pinched the small black stud glinted on his left ear -something that I’ve just noticed he does often apparently- and just stared funny at Brad in response to his sarcastic remark.

“Just Wasps acting like the smartasses they think they are.” Mark commented.

“Still mad about yesterday I see.” I observed.

“Don’t you dare.” he pointed at me. “Beers are on me as promised, but I know you’re one of… them.” he said, giving Tyler and Brad a disappointed glare. “That’s the only reason a gay man would every buy an ugly-ass backpack like that.” he added, referring to my Wasp-branded bag.

I laughed… it is kind of ugly. “Hey, we won fair and square.” I replied, knowing very well how annoying that will sound to certain supporters.

“Ohhh he’s going there.” Tyler whispered, taking a sip of his beer, noticing Mark playing along, but becoming visibly annoyed, not by me, but rather by the Lobsters getting their ass kicked the day before.

I didn’t want to get too bold so soon though.

As the evening slowly turned into a night, we ordered a second round of beers and kept chatting about our jobs and backgrounds. While Brad is very sporty (he truly is a jock), he’s as of now almost completely focusing on his academic life. Mark and Tyler are kinda the same when it comes to research, but also occasionally still compete in skate contests.

“I’m the best one.” Mark bragged.

“I can totally kick your ass.” Tyler said.

“Oh you got the best tricks, huh?” 

“Sigh Pull my finger and I’ll show you my best trick.” Tyler said, repeating that same silly joke from before with a concerning amount of self-awareness.

“Slow down, Thunder Tyler, we have guests.” Brad said.

“Well you gotta show us some tricks then.” I commented. “With the skateboard I mean.” I quickly added.

“Are you sure?” Tyler asked. “Because… I feel a big one coming…” he pulled a face, pretending to push one out, bending sideways on his stool, before his friends stopped him.

More immature laughs. “You’re desecrating this great institution.” Brad cried.

And here I feared that I was getting too bold.

More beers arrived, in the meantime.

“I just realized…” I said, as I took a sip. “Is it just me… or does this beer suck?”

They laughed, as if they were waiting for me to finally notice it.

“Westfork is in shambles my dude.” Mark said. 

“This place’s unofficial motto is basically Count Your Blessings.” Tyler remarked.

“Yeah that’s why we’re gonna fly South for the weekend.” Brad said.

I got curious. “Huh, where are you three going?”

“Oh no, better dead than having those idiots at my place.” Mark said, referring to his two friends and co-workers here at the table.

“We’re going home for the weekend.” Brad clarified. “Tyler’s staying because he’s got a date, for reasons no one can fathom.”

“Westfork sucks ass but you can still find someone throwing a decent party on Fridays.” he explained.

As he said that, his phone on the table notified a couple of messages.

“Let me guess, Grace? The archeologist?” Mark asked.

Tyler simply snapped his fingers and nodded in response, eyes glued on his phone.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Brad said, with a defeated tone.

A couple of more hours and beers went by, and I ended up paying -gladly- all the rounds except the first one, much to those “bullies”’ dismay, who swore they’ll never make me pay for anything else for the next month -should we keep hanging out.

We parted ways, not before them telling me to say ‘Hi’ to Ted on their behalf. 1:00 AM, I forgot it was still Thursday, I gotta work tomorrow morning. I rushed back, well, home, exhausted, slipped into something more comfortable, before finally collapsing on my bed.

A party, huh? 

I guess the soul is still going strong then.

— — — 

FRIDAY

I was alone in the Archive today, closely inspecting some mislabelled books from the 1800s. It’s like the guy who worked here before me didn’t even try. It’s English, goddammit!

The otherwise silent (and peaceful) day was interrupted by my phone getting a couple of messages from Ted, reminding me that we have to attend to an aperitif tonight, at the Conference Hall. I don’t mind this kind of formal events from time to time, and even though I sort of had a fight with Ted… he can be… decent I guess… sometimes… rarely? I don’t know, I’ll figure it out.

As I wrote a few texts back, with my other hand I tried to reach for another book without looking… only to have it handed to me.

The scream I let out was remarkably high-pitched, not proud of it, and my racing heart almost got stuck into my own throat. It took me a few blurry seconds to recognize the tall silhouette of the man visiting my dark lair.

“Whoa. Whoa!” Tyler laughed, understandably amused by my reaction, stretching his arms forward. “Are you ok?”

I stared at him, his face half-hidden in the shadows, while I patted my own chest as if I wanted to make sure my heart was still there.

“No.” an answer that promptly made him laugh more.

“Well Jeff, if you die in front of me right now, I’ll make sure to get you the best flowers.” he stated. “What the fuck did you do, man?” he then asked, visibly excited, happy even.

I guess Ted kept the promise.

“It’s nothing, really. I just talked with-“ but he cut me off.

“I already got like a dozen of emails of people praising my paper. Dude… this is awesome.”

“Ted did most of the work. You should thank him.” I explained.

He snorted. “Pfft, he’d rather drink bleach than talk to me… so I guess you’re getting a double-sized thank you.”

Well, Ted did say that he didn’t want to take any credit, so I’m not gonna insist, and by doing this I’m keeping my promise instead.

“I… I literally don’t know what to say, really.” Tyler sounded extremely grateful, but also a bit confused, considering that we basically just met.

“Let’s just say… you owe me a beer, and we’re even.” 

“Not Westie’s disgusting piss-beer that’s for sure.” he replied. 

He stared at his phone, pinching the black stud on his left ear, as he -I assume- read another e-mail regarding his paper -I could tell he was smiling despite being so dark. 

“Why did you help me…?” he asked, eyes still on the phone.

“Oh… you know, just because.” I simply said.

“Pfft. Weirdo.” he replied. I deserved that.

My heart was still racing fast… but not because I got startled, not anymore. 

“I… I gotta get back to work.” I then stated. “And you’re not allowed to be here.” trying to sound as polite as possible.

“Oh yeah of course.” Tyler said. “I know you archivists get all… ya know.” he then proceeded to do an impression of my manly scream.

“It’s like looking into a much taller mirror.” I replied, unimpressed.

“Thanks again, Jeff. I’ll see you around.” he said, as he disappeared into the darkness of the Archive -the sound of a door opening confirming that he managed to find the exit.

Well, that’s one case closed I guess.

Back to work, back to cursing my predecessor.

— — — 

“I’m surprised he came to say thanks.”

Unsurprisingly, Ted wasn’t exactly cheering at the idea of having helped Tyler, but he was taking it much better than I expected. At least he wasn’t monologuing about him and his friends being hogs or bullies this time.

“He was happy, if that makes you feel better. Which it won’t, which in turn amuses me.”

He rolled his eyes, unamused.

The aperitif went well, I got to meet some of the so-called higher ups, and some of them seemed already quite happy with how I’m handling things at the Archive -but nothing screams “promotion” yet, it’s been barely 3 days, after all. 

Ass-kissing aside, the night was going well, with the event ending at around 1:00 AM, which was honestly good for my social batteries.

Ted and I were taking a walk around campus, just randomly chatting about work and the people we met tonight -and the disgusting wine they served us (when it comes to beverage in Westfork, this seems to be the norm). It was very cold and dark tonight, the lamps in this part of the campus not working properly, but we could tell we were close to our residential buildings -which are in front of each other. 

“Well, Ted. It sure was nice hanging out with you as if you were a human being for once.” I joked.

“Don’t get too used to it.” he replied.

I was gonna make fun of him a bit more, but we both tripped over something.

While Ted grumbled around, slowly getting back up, I quickly extracted my phone and turned the flashlight ON, so I could properly see what (…or who) made us fall.

“I guess the party went well.” I commented, Tyler’s shaved head reflecting back much of the light coming out of my phone’s flashlight. 

I stood up, staring down at him; he was only wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, snoring loudly, occasionally mumbling something. Yeah, he’s totally drunk, full hangover.

Good thing we weren’t jogging.

“Heh!” Ted said, gleefully enjoying Tyler being wasted. “Now this makes me feel better.”

“Come on.” I stated. “Give me a hand. We can’t leave him here.”

“Yes we can.”

“No we can’t.” I snapped back, getting riled up, as I tried to haul him up by myself, rather unsuccessfully.

Reluctantly, but still showing some surprising glimpses of humanity, Ted gave me a hand.

“Just to be clear: I’m only doing this because I find Tyler being a waste of oxygen rather amusing.” he said.

“How generous.” I replied. “Where do we park him?”

“Well, the city dump is not far from Westfork.”

“Ted.”

Tyler was by now sleeping while standing, muttering something intelligible from time to time, if not communicating with a mix of sounds and belches, the idea of collaborating completely out of what-was-left of his mind. 

We slowly made it to the front door of Ted’s building, an impressive feat considering we were basically dragging a human-sized heavy sack of potatoes.

“Can’t we just call his hog-friends?”

“They’re out for the weekend.” I explained, breathing heavily. “Let him crash at your place for tonight.”

“Absolutely not.” Ted yelled, letting Tyler drop on the floor -the sudden weight almost making me fall with him.

I ignored the loud thud he made, completely unfazed, as he heavily face-planted the floor, focusing on Ted instead.

“We’re literally in front of your house.” I whispered in frustration -I didn’t want to draw attention to us.

“First you want me to like him… then you want me to help him… and now you want me to sleep with him?!” he hissed.

“Of course, Ted. Make sure to send me pictures once you’re done, hashtag #aftersex, ok?” I said, then slapped his chest. “Stop acting like a bitch and help me drag him inside! My ass is freezing!”

“Oh I’ll drag him alright, but not into my house.”

Ted displayed an impressive amount of strength as he hauled Tyler up on his own (before letting me help), powered by the sheer force of anger and spite alone.

Very slowly, we took the longer route, as we had to reach the other residential building across the small square, where my apartment was instead.

“This guy’s your problem, not mine.” he muttered, as we got to the front door.

“Yes yes, thanks Ted. I’ll send you some flowers.” I hastily said, reaching for the keys in my pocket, Tyler’s weight getting worse somehow.

Once we got inside, we managed to climb a couple of flight of stairs, almost doing an impression of Sisyphus, before finally getting to my apartment on the 2nd floor. Westfork being mostly empty was a blessing, since we were just the three of us messing around in the middle of the night -which, considering the situation, is a great thing. Basically, no witnesses.

We dropped Tyler rather unceremoniously on a small couch near the entrance, in what was essentially my living room with a small kitchen area in a corner. Ted called it a day.

“Well, I got my hands dirty enough for tonight.”

He was remarkably annoying… but in the end he did help me all the way up here. “Sure, thanks.”

“Normally I’d say no problem, but I hate this guy, so fuck you.”

I just casually patted his shoulder in response. “Whatever you say man.”

“See you tomorrow.” Ted said, adjusting his glasses, before walking out of my apartment, closing the door behind him.

And there I was, alone, staring down at this messy, snoring guy who barely fits into this small couch, his legs hanging off the edge. I wondered whether I should wake him up to explain what the fuck was going on… but I was exhausted, so I too called it a day.

“Whatever.” I scoffed, and went to my bedroom.

— — — 

SATURDAY

My alarm-clock did its job a bit too well by waking me up… after a couple of snoozes, at around 9:00 AM. I can handle beer, but there was something in that wine last night that made me dizzy quite fast, though those hours of sleep made me anew, and the light stomach-ache I feel could very well be related to the fact that I’m starving -Aperitif are terrible if you want to have a proper dinner.

Still lying in bed, wearing only a white t-shirt and a pair of shorts, I silenced my phone to check some messages and e-mail, though I don’t have to work neither today nor tomorrow. I was supposed to be at home for the weekend, but seeing what’s Westfork is up to on my first weekend kinda made me curious. Whether it was parties or some cultural conventions, I was up to it. Or you know, even just resting seems fine, considering I’m a lazy ass.

I kept lying in bed, relaxing while listening to the muffled chill lo-fi music coming from the living roo- why is there music coming from the living room?

It then hit me like a train: I have a guest. 

I wish I could blame the wine for me not remembering this, but you know I just woke up, please understand.

Tyler probably made himself at home, as I heard some noises of him probably messing around the kitchen, and indeed a faint smell of fried eggs reached my nostrils. Is he cooking breakfast? 

I got up, held my head in its place, then went to the other room. As I opened my bedroom’s door, the music got louder and I indeed saw Tyler cooking, the pleasant smell greeting me first. Kind of like me, my temporary roommate was only wearing a blue t-shirt and a pair of shorts, which I then realized those were a pair of boxer briefs sporting a peculiar star-themed pattern: his grey sweater and blue jeans were dumped on the couch he slept on.

“Morning.” Tyler turned to me, hands still focusing on the meal.

“Morning.” I mumbled, as my brain took his time to properly boot up.

“Hope you don’t mind the music. I used your laptop by the way, checked for some e-mails.” he casually said, pointing at small table in the middle of the room, where my laptop was.

I rushed to it, since me forgetting things is the norm lately, making sure I didn’t leave any… weird tab open in the last few days, but luckily there was nothing. Besides this, I didn’t mind at all, and the playlist he chose was, well, chill.

“It’s fine.” I finally said, sounding a bit more… alive.

As my brain finally booted up completely, I sat by the table, pushing my laptop aside.

“Are you actually cooking breakfast?” I asked, as if I’ve been blind the whole time.

“Oh yeah. Least I can do, Jeff.” Tyler simply answered.

The guy seemed much more lively and upbeat than I expected. 

“How are you… you know… doing things?” I asked, in the most confusing way possible. Luckily, he got the point.

“My head and stomach are a mess, thanks for asking.” he laughed. “But I got some more feedbacks for my paper, I don’t have time to suffer.”

He put two plates on the table, each containing a… very well-made croque-monsieur. He sat on the other side of the table and started by cutting it in half, letting the scorching inside get some air.

“I mean I kind of suffered -not telling from which end- in your bathroom like 1 hour ago. I’d stay away if I was you.” he joked. 

“Exactly what I wanted to hear while eating breakfast, thanks.” I played along.

We took a couple of bites of our food, enjoying the meal.

“I was a mess, wasn’t I?” Tyler asked, with a smile that was a mix of embarrassment and pride.

“I’ve seen worse.” I said. “Ted and I were walk-“

“Ted?” Tyler replied.

“Yeah, he’s petty but he’s not a villain.” 

“I did hear that you were the one insisting though.” Tyler said.

“It’s fine, don’t mention it.” I brushed it off.

“You heard me and Brad talking about the jogging accident, didn’t you?”

I did, but I wasn’t eavesdropping.

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t.” I tried, very clumsily, to act smooth. Tyler chuckled and shook his head in response.

“Well, either way, thank you.” he let me have this one. 

“This thing’s delicious by the way.” I said, my mouth stuffed.

Tyler laughed. “Can you tell that to Mark and Brad, please?” 

“I’d rather not get involved.”

“Too late bro, you dragged me to your place while I was wasted, you’re in the team now.” he said. “Also, I owe you a big one.” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

“No.” Tyler, suddenly turning somewhat a bit more serious. “You’ve known me for like 2 days and you helped me so much. I gotta do something in return.”

“Believe me, it’s fine. Plus, this breakfast is enough already.” I legit was really enjoying it.

“Are you really sure there’s nothing I could do for you?” Tyler insisted.

“Look.” I said. “Normally, I’d put here sexual joke, but I don’t wanna get too bold with someone I just met.” I joked.

“So, no sex? Bummer.” he played along. “Which is basically what happened with Grace last night by the way.”

I admit my gossip-loving ass was dying to know what happened exactly, yet I didn’t want to be, you know, nosy. 

“It’s none of my business.” I’m such a fake bitch.

Tyler instead kept talking about the night before, much to my pleasure. Apparently, they were in the middle of a conversation (which he misinterpreted as reciprocal flirting), then she just casually introduced his boyfriend to him.

“Ouch.” I very deeply commented.

“Nah… it’s all my fault.” he admitted. “I totally misinterpreted how she acted around me. Turns out she’s just a really social person.” he took another bite of his breakfast. “She’s cool. She’s smart. We had fun. She didn’t stop being an interesting person because of this.”

“She’s an Archeologist if I recall correctly.” 

“Yeah, pretty cool stuff.”

“I guess she’d like you more if you were a fossil.” I suggested.

Tyler chuckled. “I’m no fossil, but I’m certainly History to her. I guess I’m more of your type instead.” 

How did I not blush to that remains a mystery to this day.

I didn’t want to ask for more details, so naturally I bluntly asked if this was the reason he got drunk, because I’m a clown. Tyler didn’t seem to mind and smiled politely. 

“Nah, I got wasted because I’m an idiot, that’s it.” 

“I’ve been an idiot multiple times myself, so no worries about it.”

“You basically saved me.” he said, then laughed. “I will find a way to return the favour. Trust me.” it almost sounded like a fun challenge to him.

I smiled and nodded at him. Seriously, I didn’t want anything in return, not because I have to act like some kind of Saint or anything -I’m sure lots of people would have done the same, I’m not special.

My temporary roommate finished his meal and stood up. “Coffee?” he asked.

I was in the mood for a coffee, but I didn’t even take a shower yet. Tyler sort of read my mind.

“And yes, I know I seriously need a shower, that’s why I’m leaving you alone after that.”

I just looked at him, this tall, slim guy acting like he made a blood oath to please my needs.

“A coffee’s fine. Let me put some actual clothes on.” I said.

“Same. I need to take a quick piss first, if you excuse me.” he replied, cautiously walking towards the bathroom, as if he was expecting my actual permission, which wasn’t needed of course. 

On his way he also took his clothes off the couch.

In the meantime I went back into my bedroom to prepare myself -didn’t take long. As I stepped back into the living-room/kitchen, Tyler was still in the bathroom, door closed, but I could hear him, well, taking a piss (those thin doors aren’t exactly noise-canceling…). I silently waited, lo-fi chill music still softly playing, while I mindlessly browsed the web on my laptop. Then, among the various noises a man can make while using a restroom, I heard it loud and clear, despite being supposedly muffled: it was unmistakably a long, rumbly, deep-sounding fart, so loud, so distinctive, that it almost sounded like a fake stock sound you’d hear in comedies, its power easily surpassing the music playing from the laptop in front of me. I couldn’t ignore it, even if I wanted to -Tyler wasn’t kidding when he implied that he almost destroyed the place. 

I tried to focus back on my inbox but the fart just wouldn’t stop, it was hard to not listen to. How long has it been? 15 seconds? 20 seconds? Why am I like this? But finally, after reaching a high note, it just stopped. Kinks aside, I almost bursted into laughter: that was insanely good.

A few moments later Tyler showed up in the living room, just casually glancing at me as to say that he was ready to leave whenever, as he pinched his left ear, where the small black stud is. Was he aware that I heard all of that? Or am I thinking too hard about this because I have this weird-ass kink? Let’s face it: it’s definitely the latter, so I just ignored it as much as he did. 

— — — 

Outside, Tyler and I were greeted by a pleasing, cold-ish breeze. We decided to have a coffee at the one and only Cafe this place has to offer (you love hating it!). I was surprised by how much more lively Westie was this morning: despite many people leaving for the weekend, it seemed much more crowded than the other days. We kept walking, Tyler occasionally greeting some acquaintances, and also kept chatting about what we do.

“Yeah that’s how it is for me.” the so-called “bully” explained. “The more I learn about the Past, the more I realize how trivial some of the shit you see today is.”

“We never truly changed.”

“Yes and no. We’re the same, we also got better, yet some things are never going away, don’t they? I mean, fucked up things aside, it’s all so tirin- hey dude!” Tyler casually bump-fisted a guy passing by, then resumed talking. “I hate sounding preachy, I myself hate people when they’re preachy, but come on, it’s 2025.”

Basically, Tyler seemed like a very open-minded guy who just doesn’t care.

“Take kinks, for example.” he suddenly said. I got startled for a millisecond. “They’re super weird, but that’s part of the fun. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The question kind of caught me off guard. “Sure. To each their own I guess.” 

“Exactly. There are tons of kinky historical figures. Even Napoleon could get kinky, so why should you care.”

I know this is actually about History, but those things seemed a bit too… specific. I know I’m not the main character of the Universe, and I’m sure I’m reading too much into it, but still…

We finally reached the Cafe, not as crowded despite the rest of Westie having lots of people strolling around -further proof that his place probably served piss- and sat on a couple of stools outside. After we ordered some coffee, Tyler pulled out a tobacco pouch and put it on the table.

“I like elbows for example ahah.” he confessed, while rolling himself a cigarette. “It’s super weird, not obsessed or anything, but you’d agree it’s not something you’d normally look for in a woman.” he admitted.

“Who am I to judge?” I stated. No, seriously.

Tyler cackled at my response. “Elbow kink, not exactly the topic you’d expect a published historian to talk about, huh?”

“It’s fine, just don’t make fun of my scrawny elbows.” I joked.

“No worries, you’re not my type.” he finished rolling and casually handed me the cigarette.

“Thanks.” I said, gladly accepting the offer. “How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I'm just trying to return the favor in small doses. Throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks.” he explained. “Good thing you accepted it -that means I don’t have to unleash any crazy backup plan for now.”

“It’s fine Tyler.” I said, not addressing him mentioning a ‘backup plan’ at all. “I’m happy I could help, plus it was basically my job.”

“Oh so you always drag people around at night?”

“Only if Ted hates them.” I joked.

“Good luck dragging 8 billions of people around then.”

Two cup of coffees were placed in front of us -by the smell, I could tell it was going to be the worst one I had in years… but the company made it worth it. A fair trade I guess. Tyler seemed to think the same, about the beverage at least, judging by his facial expression after he took a scorching sip.

“I can’t believe my body ran on this shit last year -but that paper wouldn’t have written itself.” 

“Sacrificing your stomach for the greater good. I’m sure it was worth it.”

He took a quick puff of his cigarette before speaking, and smiled at me. “Oh, it is now.”

“Are you planning to write anything else?” I was curious about this: I genuinely really liked his paper and take on the subject he chose.

“Probably. I’d like to delve deeper into Spain’s architecture over the centuries. It’s a fascinating mix of styles. It gets weird. I like weird.” 

“Well, I’m hyped.” I said. “I’ll talk with Ted -might as well start warning him now.”

Tyler chuckled in response. “I already owe you enough.” 

“You don’t owe me anything.”

We eventually had to finish our disgusting coffee, so we got done with it in one big sip, right after taking one last puff of my cigarette.

“Well, that sucked.” I heard Tyler commenting, before he could even realize that I went inside to pay.

When I got back to the table, he almost looked mad. “Are you doing this on purpose? Do you enjoy making me mad?” he asked, sarcastically. 

“It’s just coffee.” I simply said.

“By the way.” he said, changing the subject, as we walked away from the Cafe. “I got nothing to do today. Feel free to crash by the Old Birch later. I got beers -and not Westie’s piss-flavoured ones.”

“Sure, why not.” I accepted the invite. “If that’s okay of course.”

“No, I invited you because I expected you to refuse, obviously.” he amicably patted my shoulder then went on his way. “See you later, Jeff.”

I stood there for a couple of seconds, my eyes following him as he walked away, until he disappeared behind a building. Ted only said this to make fun of me, but he wasn’t wrong: I’m totally crushing on this guy, for fuck’s sake. He’s as cultured as he’s attractive, a deadly mix. But he’s straight, so I’m gonna respect the obvious boundaries while enjoying a good beer with him later.

I went back home, to my new home, and finally took a long overdue shower, and then spent the morning reading and resting like the sloth I aspire to be. So far so good I’d say, if I had to rate this first weekend at West-

I can’t stop thinking about Tyler, dammit.

Despite my best efforts at staring at the very interesting empty ceiling above me, my mind kept being elsewhere.

How hypocrite of me, to make fun of Ted’s 90s goggles, only to fall for the most basic tropes in the book: a tall, snarky, good-hearted, open-minded, bad boy-looking cultured man? Wow, my tastes are so out of this world. 

He’s straight, I keep repeating over and over in my mind; not because I need to stop myself from doing anything weird or stupid, but just a reminder for my heart to not get disappointed by something I already know. 

The guy’s cool, no doubts about it, and so are his “bully” friends. And he’s also the author of this paper you really like. No need to overthink: let’s hang out, you don’t have to prove anything.

It’s not like you never had a boyfriend anyway, you know how to handle those feelings. There’s nothing wrong about having feelings anyway, so you better put some clothes on, go to the Old Birch, and have a beer with your newest pal.

Stop being weird.

But he likes weird!

Just stop being stupid then. 

Feelings are good, feelings make us human.

Hang out, have fun.

OK, but…

What if he finds out? He won’t.

What if he suspects it? Why would he?

I just know I left a tab open the other night on my laptop, curse me for forgetting things so easily lately. Of course he found about my kink.

No he didn’t. Yes he did.

He was just being nice to the weirdo who brought him somewhere safe while he was drunk. He probably doesn’t even want me by the Old Birch, once again he was just being nice.

Or maybe he is nice because you’ve been nice to him? People seem to get along when they’re nice to each other, what a concept.

Alright, enough overthinking for today.

I’m greatly making this far more complicated than it is.

Let’s have a beer.

— — —

I got to Old Birch (or what’s left of the stump, at least) around 6:30 PM, a fairly decent time. But first I stopped at a bar just outside Westfork to grab a few bottles of beer (didn’t take long, and anything beats the piss they serve in here). Tyler invited me with the promise of a few beers, so the least I can do is bring some myself.

Meanwhile, a cool autumn breeze picked up. I spotted dark clouds on the horizon  let’s hope the weather doesn’t get worse. Either way, beers in hand, I walk up to the Frat House door and knock. Same as last time, I hear muffled rock music, low volume, but still audible from outside: Screaming Eagles, I know this band. Nice one, Tyler, good taste!

And Tyler himself didn’t take long to open up, greeting me quickly with a nod and silently waving me in, like I was an old friend he’d known forever.

“Make yourself at home” he said as I followed him into the living room, the same one where I’d first met Brad and Mark.

He seemed distant, if not cold, but then I noticed he had earbuds in -maybe listening to a podcast or a phone call. He motioned toward the couch, the part not buried under papers and chip bags at least, and I sat down. I pulled the beers out of my infamous, Wasp-themed backpack and set them on a low table in front of me. Beyond it, on the floor, sat a big TV with an old PlayStation 4 running (the console’s main menu on the screen). If he wants to play some Trekken, I’m ready to kick his ass.

“Hey.”

Tyler appeared in front of me, pulling out his earbuds and tossing them onto the couch. He absentmindedly moved some papers aside and sat down too, on the other end—not right next to me. He was wearing a dark blue sweater and jeans. No shoes, just some goofy socks with stars on them. He’s into star patterns I guess.

“You brought beer?!” he said, noticing after a few seconds. “Man, you’re just trying to bury me in debts with you!” he joked.

“Well, you got me: I’m the etiquette loan shark,” I joked.

I opened two bottles of stout (luckily I carry a little ring that doubles as a bottle opener) and of course handed him one. Tyler seemed to particularly enjoy the flavor I’d picked.

“Fan of stouts?”

“I prefer blonde light ones, but on the weekends I’m kind of a rascal.”

Against all odds, Tyler chuckled at my cheap humor, while absentmindedly moving his earbuds from the couch to the table.

“What were you listening to?” I asked, while the Screaming Eagles kept playing softly in the background.

“A podcast on architecture, obviously. Looking for ideas for my next paper.”

“No Spain?”

“Sì Spain, the podcast is in Spanish.”

I smiled at the twist. “You speak Spanish?”

“Unfortunately less than I’d like. But I can tell you, without a doubt, that contrafuerte is buttress.”

It was my turn to chuckle at something stupid. 

“Ah yes, buttress, the most important term in the history of architecture.”

“I’m more of a boobtress guy.” Tyler casually commented, as he took a sip of beer. “But butts are fine too.” 

“Already past your elbow phase?”

Tyler laughed at my daring joke. “Dude, kinkshaming, really? From you? Of all people?” 

“That was a fair question.” I kept going.

“I’d rather answer questions about my next paper.” he said.

That was actually very interesting: mere days ago I had no idea of wrote that paper, and now I could ask for spoilers to the author himself.

“Well, in that case, are you gonna focus on Spain as a whole or just, for example, Andalusia?”

The so-called “bully” took another sip of his beer, eyes glued on me, smirking and studying me as if I was a flying buttress.

“I don’t wanna bore you with the details.”

“No!” I stated. “Please, bore me to death! Make me regret I came here!”

He laughed, but immediately kept his promise, diving straight into highly detailed discussions on the currents that influenced Iberian architecture, moving on to an analysis of the huge amount of ornamentation that defines churrigueresque buildings.

At first, as usual, I thought he was just being polite, but it didn’t take long to realize he genuinely loved talking about this stuff and was very proud of his studies. I haven’t known him long, yet I noticed his recurring gesture of scratching the small black stud on his left ear, a tic that, being a mess myself, I almost started finding endearing. Still, I didn’t indulge in interpretations -did he do it when was he nervous? happy? bored? or maybe the piercing simply itched, it happens.

Tyler overall gave me the impression of being one of those people who might seem a bit cold at first but, once they open up, they’re hard to close. And, I want to be clear, it’s a trait I really appreciate, as much as I appreciate his open mind, his chill vibes, and, of course, how cultured he is.

We continued sipping beer, commenting (sometimes jokingly) particularly divisive architectural styles, and we both agreed that yes, the neoclassical façade of the Frat House was nothing special.

“I thought we’d bond over, like, Screaming Eagles, not… spires!” Tyler remarked, noting that the Eagles playlist was still going.

I took another sip of beer, savoring the strong flavor. “No worries, once I kick your ass in Trekken, you’ll hate me like Ted hoped.”

“Dude, you’re challenging me to Trekken… seriously?”

Tyler didn’t need to be told twice, and, I swear, almost like a Jedi summoning a lightsaber, a gamepad appeared in his hand.

Our cultured discussion on Iberian architecture was followed by a fast, intense, and competitive fighting game session. I don’t brag about many things, and I’m not a pro-gamer by any means, but when it comes to Trekken, I’m the master. Back in college it was my comfort food basically, a great way to vent after a long day of studying (and my roommate still hates me for how much I wiped the floor with his in-game body). 

That said, I have to admit, Tyler gave me a run for my money: sometimes I kicked his ass, other times he kicked mine, and we both seemed to enjoy having found a worthy opponent.

Final round of the tiebreaker, we open another beer, tension at its peak, while outside starts to rain (those clouds from before weren’t kidding). A kick, a punch, an easy block, I do my best, but the skater next to me has tricks I hadn’t expected. 

I’d love to say that I let him win, but no, he won, fair and square, with a combo I never learned to block even back in prime days.

“Wooooo.” Tyler jumped up, cheering -I’d never seen him that energized. 

“Fuck!” I simply remarked.

Brad’s words came to mind: this is a place of published historians, and yet we’re very maturely insulting each other over what is essentially a toy (worth every second).

He theatrically brought a hand near his ear (not to scratch it this time), as if eavesdropping on something; just a way to call me out on what I said moments before about me owning him.

“What was that, Jeff? I thought you were a pro…?” he said, standing near the TV. “And yet… I can’t hear anything now. Nothing. What happened? Too much archive dust on your tongue?”

Credits where its due. He was good, I accept my defeat, but not without a touch of my usual pettiness on my part. I stood up, rolling up my shirt sleeves.

“Alright, alright, I’ll let you admire my elbows, as promised.”

Tyler smirked and silently accepted my tease this time, no response. 

Did I go too far? Did I hit too close to home? It wasn’t obviously my intention to embarrass him over something like this… I’m no pot and he’s no kettle.

He just stared at me for a few seconds, his tall figure easily towering over me. 

“Are you familiar with glass architecture?” he casually asked, but I could tell there was a catch in that question.

“I don’t think I am…” I admitted.

Tyler stepped back to the couch and sat in his spot like before, reaching for the beer on the small table. After he took a sip, he resumed talking. I sat down again as well.

“Well you should be.” he stated. “Since you seem to live in a glass house.”

I pretended to have no idea where he was heading with this.

Maybe my overthinking side was onto something after all…

“And yet here you are, throwing stones as if your walls are made of concrete.”

The beer stopped having any taste, ‘cause my mouth got dried up. Needless to say, Tyler’s words made me very nervous. With the exception of like-minded people, no one knows about my kink, no one in my friend circle does. They all know I’m gay and I’m happy to share funny or weird stories about my experiences, and they’re all more than willing to listen, but this kink, like many other kinks… it’s just weird, gross, maybe hilarious to some people, but still something very personal.

The fact that a guy I just met was obviously teasing me about it was messing with my guts: I wanted to leave… and yet… Tyler didn’t look mad or weirded out, for now at least.

“What did you see on my laptop this morning…?” I sighed, no need to pretend I don’t know what he’s talking about.

The skater laughed a bit. “I only saw a few frames but I believe it was a this big, tall stud destroying someone’s face with his farts in some kind of office.”

Yep, that’s the one. What’s funny is that I didn’t even cum to that fart video that night (another classic porn did the trick): I simply forgot I had that other video paused in another tab.

I never trained for this kind of scenario: a friend (at least, I assume I can call him a ‘friend’) just found out about my fart fetish, and he seems oddly chill about it. My heart was racing fast, I was terrified, but I didn’t feel in danger or anything like that. I turned red however, ‘cause the embarrassment was off the charts -something that Tyler noticed.

“Hey, you can relax.” he said. “I basically told you I don’t give a shit this morning, right before coffee.”

“So you were talking about me when you said something about Napoleon’s being kinky.”

“Sort of. I wasn’t playing the part, I truly believe everything I said, so you can stop holding your breathe and relax.”

“And yet I feel like you want me to leave.” I had to make sure.

“Trust me: if I wanted you to leave, you’d have known.”

A few moments of silence followed, only broken by Screaming Eagles, well, screaming something about perseverance and determination… I don’t know this is one of their newer songs, which I’m not a big fan of to be honest.

We kept drinking a bit more, the silence leaving me alone with my thoughts: there has to be something fishy going on here. Tyler seems cool but I can’t expect a straight guy, or any guy I just met to be honest, to be just so casually chill about this.

“Look man…” I said. “I don’t want any trouble.”

Tyler looked a me, amused and puzzled. “What’s that supposed to me-“

I cut him off. “I can let you into the Archives, if there’s something you need for your paper. Just, please, don’t tell anyone…”

He laughed, mockingly. “What… what’s going on here… you think I’m blackmailing you?” he stood up, looking confused by what I just said. “Do you think I am some kind of creep?”

“What?! No!” I immediately responded, noticing his tone getting more serious. He almost sounded offended, even. “It’s just that… come on Tyler. No one’s that open minded.”

He took a sip of his beer, staring down at me. “So you think I’m like the King of open minded people simply because I didn’t kick you out of the house? Is the bar that low?”

The so-called “bully” seemed more puzzled than anything else.

“I do think it’s really gross and weird, if that makes you feel better, ok?” he said, but didn’t sound mean spirited. “But hey, I like weird, weird is fun, maybe not my kind of fun all the times… but what do I know, I’m just the elbow guy.” he joked.

I didn’t want my overthinking side to take the wheel, but I couldn’t stop being mildly suspicious. What if Ted… wasn’t right but… was onto something at least? No, this can’t be, Tyler has no reason to keep me guessing, he seems very direct when it comes to this stuff; then again I just met him basically, so perhaps he’s actually very different. Dammit, my head is exploding, I didn’t know I’d find myself in a situation like this… in Westfork of all places.

“So… that’s it? You just don’t care?” I simply asked.

“Are you disappointed that I don’t?” he laughed. “Come on Jeff, it’s 2025, open your mind.”

Something in me sparked a chain reaction that made me actually angry. I couldn’t help but thinking this guy was toying with me. 

“And you-“ I stood up and stepped in front of him, with the intention of speaking face-to-face (literally). That was the intention at least. “-are a bit taller than I remember.”

Tyler was unfazed. I sat back down, no need to get aggressive. I didn’t drink much, but being nervous didn’t help to focus. The so-called bully was just smiling at me being awkward I guess, and sat on the couch again, this time a bit closer to me.

“Maybe another losing session in Trekken will clear your mind.” he teased. 

I took a deep breath. Ironically enough, I was the only one in that room not accepting the situation, so I stopped overthinking things and just accepted that Tyler was just teasing me like any friend would do, no ulterior motives.

“I don’t know. I’m kind of mad at you.” I joked. “And I’m gonna channel that into my gaming skills.”

We resumed playing. Admittedly, this time it was a bit more awkward for me, I was distracted, but I was still holding my ground nicely, winning even easily sometimes. We kept chatting about our studies while throwing kicks and punches, or commenting at some obviously illegal move that the other pulled off.

“By the way…” Tyler said. “Told ya I’d find a way to return the favor…”

I was too focused on the screen and Jin getting his ass kicked to properly realize what he meant by that. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lean slightly forward, without stopping the game. At first I assumed he was simply doing that to focus more efficiently on the match, but the couch shaking told a different story.

Tyler was farting.

He was, without a doubt, ripping a big one. 

At first I didn’t even hear it, due to the Eagles and the game especially being louder. However, the sound coming out of his ass soon took the stage over, despite being muffled.

The fart was long, meat-y, manly, rumbling nicely on the couch through his loose sagging denim. Needless to say, that totally distracted me from the game, and Tyler, while still roaring from his ass, took that to his advantage to deal the final, winning blow. As the match ended, so did his farts: he then turned to me, with a mischievous smile, knowing very well what just happened.

How long did that last? I believe around 13 seconds, an impressive feat. My pants efficiently hid my boner, but it wasn’t just the fart that made me hard: it was the the whole package. I loved Tyler’s chill, cocky, yet friendly attitude. He was pushing all the right buttons without even trying: I already found him attractive for many reasons, but this was basically the icing on the cake.

It’s not like I find any fart in any situation to be hot: yes I have a fart kink but it’s not always “active”, so to speak.

I couldn’t believe what just happened, to put it simply. 

Not even in my wildest, gross fantasies I could imagine this happening.

“What the fuck.” I muttered.

Too much noise going on in my brain, this was the only sentence I managed to produce in the span of around 30 seconds of awkward silence. Once again, Tyler was unfazed, he truly didn’t seem to care.

“You have weird ways of returning a favor.” I observed. 

“Says the fart fetishist.” he remarked. Once again, he didn’t see mean-spirited as he may sound.

“Touchè…” 

We put our gamepads on the small table and opened two more beers, silently toasting to whatever the fuck was happening in that room.

“Then again… I told you, you don’t owe me anything, let alone this.”

Tyler was unaffected by my words, just a guy chilling on the couch, his eyes glued on me as he had his beer. A few moments of silence, then it was his turn to speak.

“Why did you help me?” he bluntly asked, again.

“Which time?” I smiled.

He smiled back. “Both.”

A few hours ago I probably would’ve just said, “Because it was the right thing to do.” Kind of cliché, yeah, but as true now as it was then. Still, I can’t really pretend that’s the whole story, or that I’m some kind of Saint.

“I really liked your paper. Fixing screw-ups like the one you ran into is literally my job, and hey, it gave me a solid excuse to mess with Ted.”

The skater snorted at that last remark, his beer almost shooting out of his nose.

“The second time it was more serendipity I guess. You seem cool, you got cool ideas…” Tyler was looking at me amused, fully aware that I was still omitting some details. “And since you already know my deep, dark, gross secret anyway, I suppose that telling you that I find you attractive is the least weird thing you’re gonna hear from me.”

Yeah I don’t care anymore either. 

I don’t even feel embarrassed.

Tyler laughed. “Fuck off, man.”

“Excuse me?”

"Now I owe Mark and Brad ten bucks each!"

Okay, now I was confused.

What game are we even playing here?

"All this mess… just for a bet?" I asked, my tone turning more serious.

Tyler looked caught off guard, and for a moment he got serious too, realizing he may have made me upset.

"Oh no no, that’s just me being socially inept…” he explained, then smiled at me. "But yeah, Mark and Brad thought you might like me. I didn’t. Thanks for making me lose the bet."

I’m not a fan of messing with people’s feelings… but that wasn’t exactly what was happening here. It was clear this was more of a lighthearted bet, and the way Tyler reacted just now showed that the idea of making me unsettled made him just as uncomfortable.

"Don’t think badly of them…” he went on. "Brad and Mark are the best bros anyone could ask for. They already adore you, by the way," he added, laughing again. "If anything, blame me: first Grace, now you… I guess I’m just terrible at figuring out if someone’s into me or not!"

I stared at him for a few seconds, then I couldn’t help but laugh. This guy is weird, and I know that’s bold coming from me. And sadly, I too like weird. Of course he’ll never like me the way I like him, but to be honest, who cares? This has been such a rollercoaster for me so far, considering that he’s aware of my kink, that I almost forgot that just being, you know, friends, was even an option.

Tyler took a long sip of his beer, fully aware that he deserved to be laughed at.

“I’m glad you’re having fun.” he said, the sarcasm so sharp it could cut through the air.

“I’m sorry man. Weird is fun, you said that.” I recalled, wiping some tears off my eyes for how much that made me laugh.

“That’s bold coming from you.” he teased. Yep, that’s also what I thought.

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

He scratched his left ear one more time, then smiled. He put the beer bottle down on the table and slowly stood up.

"Well then, from one weirdo to another…”

He just stood there, his eyes narrowing a bit. He pointed up to shush me before I could say anything. And just like that, a sudden thunderous fart echoed in the room, raw and manly just like the one before, incredibly loud and powerful. And long. As the fart kept going, his comically relieved face turned into a smirk, and then stared down at me, fully aware that the whole situation was doing numbers between my legs. 

After 11 seconds, silence again (even the Screaming Eagles playlist got shush’d).

That was unironically one of the best farts I ever heard. It sounded… juicy, and given who the farter was, I’m surprised I wasn’t going crazy.

Tyler nodded at me after he was done, as if he just finished saying something very important (which was true, in a very gross way). The smell slowly reached my nose, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. 

“Still convinced you have to return the favor… like this?” I said.

“You’re absolutely right.” Tyler remarked… then stepped closer to me. “After what you did for me in the last few days, the least I could do is this.”

With a deft movement he grabbed my head and, as he turned around, he pulled it into his denim sagging ass. He lifted his left leg a bit, and another fart erupted.

What the fuck.

Of all the things I was expecting to happen in Westfork, this wasn’t even on my spare bingo card. I don’t think this would be on anyone’s bingo card, really.

How did I end up being face-farted by this man? By the author of my favorite paper? We were talking about spires and playing Trekken, and about 1 hour later I’m getting my nostrils destroyed by one of the loudest farts I ever heard -being so close to the source certainly helps.

Tyler was a skilled farter, no doubts about this, not anymore.

He just finished ripping a huge one, and mere seconds later here he is, roaring again, this time in my face, unleashing a fart that was just as powerful (if not more) as the previous one. I didn’t even oppose to him grabbing my head like that, and just enjoyed the show.

If I took this whole “returning the favor” thing as seriously as he did, then after this fart I’d be the one in debt. Beyond my wildest kinky dreams.

And.

It.

Was.

Still.

Going!

16 seconds perhaps?

And it’s not like it lost some power or anything like that: it was a continuous loud stream of gas, with Tyler stretching his left leg more and more to ease the fart out. Despite my face being glued to that ass, I managed to take a good look at the rough denim ticking my face, and the sagging black underwear which, funnily enough, displayed the same patterns of his socks. Great fashion sense!

Now the stench was up close and personal and I take back what I said before: it was raunchy. My nostrils were burning, my eyes watering again. 

The tent I pitched between my legs got even sturdier.

I totally gotta update my mental bingo cards after this.

Finally, after 21 seconds (21!), the fart stopped. 

Tyler pushed me away from his ass and, as if nothing happened, collapsed on the other side of the couch, smiling satisfied, amused by the whole situation, eyes glued on me, waiting for my reaction.

"Am I special, or is that how you welcome all archivists?"

That earned a good laugh from  him.

“Can you imagine if I said yes?” he joked.

I didn’t need to imagine anything.

Not anymore.

— — —

We briefly thought about leaving Westfork and going somewhere else for the night, but the bad weather (and a certain laziness) quickly made us change plans. The earlier rain had turned into a full-blown storm, so we opted to just chill on that couch, talking. We both had no personal plans either, so we simply decided to spend the evening together, doing nothing.

I lost count of how many beers we drank (Tyler even brought out some of his own stouts).

Regardless of any feelings on my part, there was a certain understanding between the two of us (no I’m not biased). I enjoyed Tyler’s company, but Tyler himself, despite everything, seemed to genuinely enjoy mine too, even in silence.

I took a drag from the cigarette kindly offered by the bro chilling on the other side of the couch, his legs extended toward me, letting me admire the star pattern on his socks. He was rolling a cigarette for himself, the only background noise the rain outside.

And a thunder.

“Wasn’t me this time.” Tyler promptly joked, focusing on the rolling.

I coughed some smoke out because of that.

“Thunder Tyler… a well-deserved nickname.” I commented.

That’s the name I heard Brad use the other day at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if that sparked from his farting skills, but I’m sure there’s more about it.

“Not the whole story.” Tyler chuckled, lighting the fresh-made cigarette.

I adjusted my position on the couch, so I was sitting facing him now, ready to listen to his tragic backstory.

“Some years ago me and Mark were skating in a crowded park, we were just messing around, then all of the sudden I landed a trick by slamming the board hard on the asphalt, causing a loud boom that echoed for several seconds. I didn’t even do it on purpose, don’t even know how it happened, but the nickname stuck as you can tell.”

“Fascinating.” I commented, finishing my cig.

“But yeah, those idiots quickly found other uses for it.”

A quick, loud toot took over the silence, around 3 seconds long. Tyler pulled a face as he ripped it, and the sound, while not being wet, wasn’t pretty either.

“Fuck.” he whispered.

“That sounded painful.” I said. And the smell didn’t help.

The smell of tobacco mixed with the gas lingering in the room, creating a deadly combo for my lungs.

“Westie’s shitty coffee having unpredictable effects even hours later. You’d have loved hanging out with me when I was pulling all-nighters for my paper ahah.”

He also got wasted last night, can’t ignore that either.

I took a poof of my cigarette, bewildered by how chill Tyler was being about my kink. I didn’t feel derided or anything, quite the opposite actually. Plus, he was a human fart machine, each rip being loud and proud: can’t get any better than this.

“Did you ever have any experience with your kink?” 

Tyler’s question was oddly more serious than it sounded, but I couldn’t blame him for being curious. He likes weird, and the person on his couch has a weird kink. I was more than happy to answer.

“A couple of times, yes. Last time with my ex, pretty chill guy.”

“So this is literally your first time with a straight guy.” he observed. “Scandalous.” 

I laughed. “What about your kink instead?”

“No comment.” he said, finishing his cigarette, smoke surrounding his face. 

“Hey, I answered your question!”

“No one forced you to answer.” he remarked.

“Fair point.” I admitted.

Tyler adjusted his position, pulling himself closer to me, repositioning his legs in the process. His left leg was now resting on the couch backseat, fully exposing sagging ass, the loose jeans almost looking like a wall of denim, dangerously close, and pointed towards me. Clearly he was going to fart again in a bit, and the fact that he did all of that so nonchalantly renewed my boner.

“But yeah, some girls thought it was odd, nothing to write home about.” he explained. “Your kink is much more peculiar.”

That last sentence was followed by a loud fart exploding inches from me. I got startled, even though I was expecting it. By the sound of it, I could tell this was gonna be one of the long ones. Tyler’s face was relaxed, eyes half closed, visibly pushing the gas out.

I wanted to bury my face in there as the fart erupted. I was so close to doing it, and considering that he already farted in my face anyway, he was probably expecting me to voluntarily glue my face to his ass… but I didn’t. As silly as it may sound, given the context, I didn’t want to cross any boundary… but the temptation was strong.

He’s such a hot man. Rough-looking, but extremely kind and gentle. Cultured, playful, open-minded. Hold on a second, I’m gonna put my clown make-up on for the next one: tall. As I said, the fact that he’s the fart master is a welcome addition to an already wonderful package. And do I love such addition.

This one fart lasted 12 seconds, the smell completely engulfing my side of the couch. That made me cough, which Tyler found amusing, so he didn’t move, letting the stench coming out of his ass torture me a bit more.

“I guess I should say ‘thanks’?” I asked.

“How polite.” he played along.

Another fart suddenly erupted, loud, proud, a bit more high-pitched than the previous deeper ones, and shorter, about 3 seconds.

“Unlike me.” he snorted.

I’m gonna plant my face down there, yep, I’m gonna do it. I can’t take it anymore. That ass is way too tempting. 

No, I will respect boundaries, doesn’t matter how weird it gets.

Tyler seemed to read my mind however, not that he needed to given my idiotic facial expression as I stared at his ass; I felt his left leg push me down, using his foot to keep my face close to his sagging ass.

He wasn’t kidding when he said that he was gonna return the favor in small doses, ‘cause this time the fart was not a huge thunder, but rather a series of short, loud toots. He didn’t say a word as this happened, letting his ass do the talking apparently, and how talky it was being! That sounded more like a huge, long fart with many interruptions which, considering what Tyler is capable of, was probably exactly that.

At this point the stench reminded me of Westfork’s coffee, which indeed smelt as terrible as it tasted. But the real star of the show (besides the ones on his socks and underwear) was the sound, always roaring, always thunderous, always pleasing to my ears.

Both of his feet now kept my head in its place, as I endured all the farts being fired back-to-back like a pro. My glasses dampened for how hot, both literally and figuratively, that was. Just two bros spending some quality time together, nothing to see here.

What I assumed was the final toot of that series (the 16th one if I didn’t lost count) turned out to be a more “classic” fart, long and meat-y, lasting about 9 seconds and ending the parade.

Finally, I heard Tyler laugh a bit, his feet letting my head move again, so I sat back normally, even though there was nothing normal about this… and I was loving it.

Now that I could see him properly again, not just his ass, I noticed he was rolling himself another cigarette: did he face-fart me while he was doing that? I gotta say, pretty impressive multi-tasking.

And yet… I didn’t want him to be like my fart-dispenser. Yeah, kinky fun, but the idea of him feeling forced to do something as weird as this, not a fan of.

“Alright, even though you didn’t owe me anything, let alone this.”

“You mean this?” 

Yet another quick, short toot. 

Is there something in Westfork’s water?

No, we just said it was the coffee.

Though I’m sure this guy got talent either way.

“As I was saying.” I remarked, after his ass stopped interrupting me. “I hereby declare that we’re even, ok?”

Tyler was unfazed by my words and kept working on his cigarette.

“No, we’re not even, not yet.” he said, the most serious he ever looked. “Unless you want me to stop of course.”

Please don’t let me take such decisions: I was living in a dream, a dream which I never wanted to end, but everything has to end eventually, even gross, kinky dreams.

“Don’t tease me with a good time.”

Wait, did I say the quiet part out loud? 

Judging by Tyler’s smirk, I guess so.

He put his cig on the small table and stood up, easily towering over me.

Didn’t say anything, and walked towards me.

Once again he reached for my head and gently planted it into his sagging ass, the smell from his previous rips greeting my nostrils as expected.

“Why are you doing this…” I quietly asked, expecting a different answer for some reason.

“Oh you know… just because.” he answered. “Also, I’m a bully I guess.”

I felt his buttcheeks relax and mere moments later yet another loud fart began. They were getting a bit more high-pitched, but otherwise it was still deep-sounding. If this was video, I would have said that the fart sounds were clearly fake, stock-sounding, but no, they were all real, all comically loud and chainsaw-sounding. Other than hot as fuck, of course. His firm grasp on my head made the whole thing even hotter: I’m not even that into dominant guys, but Tyler walking the thin line between being a bully and a good friend was driving me crazy, a farter that could bite as loud as he barked -this sentence was probably never meant to be said, but here we are.

The fart was still going, unsurprisingly. My nose was being forcibly rubbed between his jeans and his sagging underwear, meaning that most of the time the only thing between me and this man’s anus was a thin layer of starry cloth.

As he did before, he lifted his left leg up to ease the fart out, a simple movement that almost dampened the tent between my legs.

If like 3 days ago you told me that not only I was gonna find out who the author of my favorite paper was, but that this same guy was gonna also face-fart me, I would have wondered what kind of mushrooms were you on ‘cause you were not making any sense and also how do you know my secret fart kink, you weirdo? And now here I am, my face planted into this guy’s ass as he’s masterfully ripping a fart so loud, and so long, I’m surprised I didn’t go deaf yet.

Or cum on the spot.

Not only the farts were huge, but they were frequent.

Brad and Mark were probably used to him by far, and ironically enough it was me, the actual fart fetishist, that was beginning to struggle to keep up with this guy’s talent. 

Where did he even store all this gas?

15 seconds, just a random fart from Tyler Landoon Evans, move along everyone.

And all of this because I, fundamentally speaking, did my job as an Archivist. 

Can I ask my boss to get paid like this? With Tyler making sure I get paid?

Am I getting too thirsty?

No words from Tyler, as he kept my head planted into his ass even after the fart was over. At this point anything could happen in my book, so I just enjoyed the moment, didn’t ask any question, nor started to overthink everything.

I felt his asscheeks relax again, and another fart erupted.

Or rather, a new series of farts, a bit more deep sounding unlike the ones before. Another casual fart parade, as if it was perfectly normal to fart like this.

And in someone’s face.

Loud, 2-4 seconds toots, all ripped back-to-back.

And yet the idea that this was once again a huge, long fart disguised as a series of rips didn’t leave my mind.

Tyler pushed me deeper into his ass with each fart ripped.

I wondered if he was ever going to run out of gas at that point.

I’ve never seen anyone IRL blasting farts like this.

My glasses almost got crushed by his powerful ass, as my nose inched even deeper between his sagging cheeks, the scent of the farts now mixed not only with smoke, but with the musky, sweaty interior of his ass.

We smoked, and yet I was high on farts.

I lost count of how many times he was farting this time.

We’re way past 10, that’s for sure, and I forgot what clean air feels and tastes like. Didn’t miss it.

Oh, there it is again, the parade-closing longer fart.

I could tell those were getting harder to rip, and yet Tyler was pushing them out… just for me? Weirdo.

What a peculiar way to express gratitude.

In a twisted way, farts have been once again a great ice-breaker, regardless of any kink. I admit I was nervous before coming here, because of my attraction to Tyler… but as soon as he started farting I was like OK, we’re both weirdos I guess.

Couldn’t be happier.

The fart stopped after 17 seconds, followed by Tyler’s sigh of relief.

He pushed me away from his ass, put his hands in his pockets and turned around to stare down at his smelly victim. As soon as his eyes met my startled expression, he laughed.

“Are we even now?” I asked, one more time.

He smirked. “We’ll see in a bit. I’m brewing a big one.”

“A big one?” I asked. “Sure, because those were so sma-.”

“You have no idea what I’m capable of.” he cut me off, whispering.

The stench lingered all around me. Well, us.

But I was so used to it I didn’t mind anymore, kink or not.

We had an undeclared staring contest in silence, complete silence, as the storm (the one outside I mean) stopped throwing a tantrum and gave room to what looked like a calm, cold night.

“Lay down.” he then commanded. “One final trick.”

He was being assertive, though it was clearly part of the “show”.

So I obeyed -or rather, played along.

The idea of him sitting full-weight on my face (which I assume is what he was planning to do) made my boner twitch dangerously: I was gonna explode.

And apparently, so was Tyler, in a different way.

I removed my glasses, putting them somewhere safer, and laid down on my back, a cue for him to step closer and just straight-up sit on my face, the view of his sagging jeans and underwear preceding complete darkness. Tyler was tall, quite slim, but still quite heavy. My face was being crushed under that smelly, warm ass, and now that I was one with his anus I almost feared for what was coming next.

“Thanks for everything, Jeff. I’m gonna miss you.” he laughed.

Yeah, this was going to be hard to endure.

And indeed it was already: the fart started loud and proud, nothing new so far (but not any less hot), but it immediately felt raunchier than the previous ones, if not a bit wet. My whole face, and probably the entire couch, was vibrating due to the sheer power of that incredible display of flatulence. Tyler adjusted his position as he farted, as if I was part of the cushion, the pitch changing accordingly as well.

My cock was reaching the event horizon: I couldn’t resist anymore.

I was gonna cum on the spot if I wasn’t careful, but feeling the fart-quake all over my body didn’t help.

10 seconds, the fart gave no signs of easing out. Instead, it got even louder and raunchier. What’s up with Tyler’s stomach. What’s going on in his guts. This is not just coffee, this is a man with incredible skills. And like coffee it smelt by the way, rancid, rotten coffee. For a moment I feared that… extra stuff was coming out but nope, just a raunchy anus doing its job perfectly, only pure, putrid gas.

Surprisingly enough, after around 8 more seconds, the sound got deeper and even more vibrating. I heard Tyler grunting, though it was hard to hear anything over that blast destroying my nostrils. The thunderstorm didn’t stop: it just moved into my new bro’s ass to assert dominance.

I laid down there, getting a face-full.

I once again wondered how I even got there. 

How it was possible to fart like this.

How it was possible to be this chill and open-minded.

There was no way he did it “just because”.

And yet here I am, enjoying the most incredible fart session I ever experienced.

With a chill, no-strings-attached, straight man, of all things.

But most importantly, with a friend.

A friend who was going to murder me with his farts, but still a friend sure.

Though after 30 seconds of uninterrupted gas one has to wonder if the farter was indeed trying to kill me.

I felt dizzy, and not just for the gallons of beer we chugged.

The gas was inebriating, it made me high almost.

I closed my eyes and let Tyler “return the favor” as long as he wished.

He didn’t have to do it, but I’m glad he did.

I almost passed out, totally losing the grasp of how long this fart was lasting. 50 seconds? 60 seconds? This is my life now, bury me under this ass, it’s not like I’m going anywhere soon. My eardrums were being tested just as hard as my eyes and my nostrils, my poor, defenceless, burning nostrils.

Tyler moved a bit more, this time leaning forward, and the fart got even stronger with what was probably its last, roaring gasp. And after reaching 70 seconds in total, it stopped, silence again, a silence broken by Tyler snickering like a jerk.

The skater stood up and moved on the other side of the couch, finally letting me breathe in some fresh air… well, fresh air compared to that. The entire room smelt like smoke and ass anyway, but trust me it was an improvement.

I too sat back normally, and just looked at him, I didn’t even need to ask the question.

“Yeah, now we’re even I guess.” he simply said, scratching his left ear. “Even though, let’s face it, it will never be enough.”

“Dude.” I said. “I just did my job.” 

“Whether you like it or not, I’ll always owe you one.”

“My pleasure.” poor choice of words, given my boner, but you get what I meant.

And luckily, so did Tyler.

“Okay, I hope you don’t mind but I gotta open the windows now.”

Can’t blame him. Even I was gasping to get some fresh air. 

I can’t even imagine how it must feel for him: the living room was gas chamber.

“Oh not at all!” I replied. “I was gonna do the same believe me.”

Some actual, real, fresh, cold air got inside, and I remembered what autumn felt like. The calm after the storm.

“Pizza?” Tyler casually asked, as he opened another window.

I was so focused into not letting my cock blow up that I completely forgot that, as human beings, we’re supposed to eat something for dinner. Totally lost the track of time.

“How could you possibly want to eat after all of this? Also, your stomach is a mess!”

“I’m hungry.” he shrugged.

“Ok.” that was enough for me. Plus, I’d never say ‘no’ to pizza.

“Deal. There’s a place just outside Westie that makes very good pizza. Let’s go.”

I can’t leave the Old Birch like this. I’m rock hard and smell, well, like shit. You don’t get to smell nice after you got showered in farts by a talented man like him.

“There’s something I have to deal with first.”

Tyler smirked, knowingly. “Down on the right.”

I didn’t even say thanks and sprinted towards the bathroom.

He was totally aware of what I was gonna do, other than washing my face and drown in deodorant of course.

Truth to be told… I didn’t care.

He sure doesn’t, why should I?

The bathroom was surprisingly clean, considering how messy the rest of the house was, but I didn’t have time to properly admire the colorful tiles. I locked the door behind me, as I heard the muffled Screaming Eagles start singing again, and did what was long overdue.

I sat on the toilet, pulled my hard cock out… and I didn’t even need to touch it. It just exploded, believe me. It was like I was pissing cum. My eyes rolled back for the enjoyment. I felt dirty, I felt kinky. I felt good. That was an orgasm, a silent one fortunately, but holy shit, I couldn’t take it anymore I swear. 

That guy in the living room listening to the Eagles while waiting for me is the whole package; a fantastic, cultured stud that could bully me with his farts forever.

But no, that wasn’t going to happen.

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how nice he is, how kinky or weird things get: Tyler is not into me like that.

No need to overthink any of this.

The boundaries are there, and I’m gonna respect them.

A friend, however? Be my guest!

Kink or not, I’m glad I met him.

Well, them.

I splashed my face with water, the cold helping a lot to clear my head and make sense of what had just happened. I stared myself into the mirror, the image a bit blurry ‘cause I left my glasses into the other room, yet everything was clear, everything was good.

— — —

Didn’t take us long to reach Westfork gates. 

It was around 10:00 PM, the post-storm humidity was cool and pleasant, and the clouds had cleared, leaving patches of starry sky. On the short walk on the wet, sometimes flooded streets, Tyler told me about the time Mark got his foot stuck in a manhole, ‘cause it felt relevant.

I spotted the pizzeria sign just across the street (good, that means I hadn’t forgotten my glasses at the Old Birch!), right across from one of the main entrances to our study center, perfectly visible from inside the campus.

“You weren’t kidding. It’s really close.”

“Yeah, the locals figured out Westies’s got awful products, so they all set up shop nearby.”

Flawless business logic.

“Pizza’s on me, by the way,” I said, picking up the pace.

Tyler smirked. “Trying to get me in your debt again?”

I turned towards him, walking backwards.

“And I haven’t even told you yet: Monday at lunch break I’ll be waiting for you at the Archives.” I added. “All the sources you need, right at your fingertips.”

I don’t know why I was doing this.

Maybe, unconsciously, I was matching Tyler’s whole “returning the favor” thing to the hot good time I had today. Or it was my turn to return the favor.

Or maybe -it can many things at once admittedly- this was just what a friend would do, right?

Tyler smiled at me, appreciating the gesture.

“Alright, Jeff. I’ll let you help, no strings attached.” He gave me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “But this pizza’s on me.”

He sped up too, passing me with ease.

Okay, now it had turned into a race… a very mature race.

I swear we’re all published historians here!

Not bad for my first few days on the job, huh.

And I’ll admit it, if Ted hadn’t helped me haul this huge weirdo into my apartment last night, none of this would’ve happened.

Who’d have thought… I actually owe him one!

The never-ending circle of debts keeps going!

And yeah, I guess Ted was right about at least one thing: maybe it’s a stereotype, maybe it’s not, but despite not being a proper University anymore, the college soul of this place was still alive and kicking, from the picturesque charm of its Georgian-styled brick buildings and libraries… to the immature, sometimes gross shit guys can do each other.

Welcome to Westfork, I guess.

Shit, I forgot my backpack.

The End

Todd had been here since this morning, and he was already making himself at home. He went to the kitchen to grab two beers while I closed the increasingly dodgy door.

"Thanks.” I told him, as soon as he handed me my nectar.

We silently toasted to the worst tour in history.

“Come on, say it: Limdale fucking sucks.”

"Well, I'm from Landale, so thinking that is part of my hardware.” he explained, taking a sip of his beer. "Our towns have been rivals since forever."

"I like how your look reflects what you're saying…” I observed, with a smirk.

Todd was indeed dressed in a vaguely geeky chic aesthetic, looking a bit like a professor. He’s a developer and, like me, enjoys video-editing, but if he'd introduced himself as a relatively young (he’s about my age, around 30) teacher from Harvard, Yale, or whatever Westfork thinks it is nowdays, I would have believed him.

"Anyway..." he said, as we sat down on the sofa. "It's early. It's not even 7:30 PM. So you still have time to fix this disaster.” he joked.

Luckily, I'd already planned something.

"Well, you said you appreciate Italian cuisine, so Capelli's should be right up your alley."

He laughed. "Oh wow Tim, how romantic! Do you also want to share a plate of spaghetti while two stereotypes play us a song?"

"Exactly. Beat that, Landale!" I proclaimed, taking a long gulp of beer.

It wasn't going badly, actually.

Todd might have the "neat-freak" look, so to speak, but he's chill like us.

"I made a reservation for 9:00 PM.” I explained.

"Hmm... good to know…” Todd said, thinking. "We also have time for a shower then.”

He looked at me, with a smirk.

It took me a few seconds, then we lunged at each other, unbuttoning each other's clothes, knocking cushions off the couch, and almost crushing my glasses in the process. 

"Are you sure no one's home?" Todd gasped, as I bit his ear.

“My roommate’s busy somewhere.”

No idea what he’s doing.

Probably some super boring work stuff.

———

POV: Dave

BBBBRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPP

BRRRPPPPP

BRRRP

PPRP

“Yeah, all yours, bitch.” I said.

I can’t believe there’s a script for this stuff.

I can’t believe I’m saying such stuff out loud without laughing.

“Oh wait… fifth time the charm!” I said, as I ripped another loud fart on Tom’s face.

Tom, the heroic so-called “bottom” of those videos, even though I’m pretty sure he could split me in half if he wanted to (which reminds me, I gotta ask him for some gym-related advice).

I easily ripped yet another fart while my mind was elsewhere, my dark blue sweatpants sucking at being a filter, so Tom, crushed between my ass and the couch, was sniffing Hell down there.

The set built inside the enormous warehouse was always more or less the same: a small living room, a couch (which we were on), some bookshelves and a fake window. 

No fourth wall, literally.

Initially, I was a little nervous about having, well, an audience, but as I quickly realized, no one gives a damn of who you are here, in the best possible way.

“Cut!” Greg yelled.

He's a friend of mine, I know, I respect him, believe me, I love him, but the fact that he wants to become the Hitchcock of kinky porn for some reason will never stop making me question my life choices.

He gave me a nod, inviting me to follow him.

I got up, patting Tom’s chest as I walked way.

“Good job, bro.” I said. He gave me a thumbs up as a response.

We went to his office, also in the warehouse, behind the crew (still focused on the set and what had been filmed so far). Greg immediately sat down behind his desk to check some messages on his computer -I remained standing.

"What's up?" I asked.

"I just wanted to tell you that you're doing great and you're one of my best friends.” he said, almost like a robot, and with the fakest smile I had ever seen.

Okay, something's off. 

Greg is a robot, fine, but one who knows how to simulate human emotions at least.

“What did you do…?” I said, my patience being tested.

Greg adjusted his glasses and sighed, knowing very well he fucked up.

"Remember when you said you couldn't stay for more than two hours today?"

"Yes, Greg. I think I said that 119 minutes ago." I hate it when he changes plans at the last second.

"Well... we need you to film The Long One today…”

There's no helping it, he's a mess.

"What the hell, Greg. I got plans with Dana tonight! Can I really go pick her up smelling like shit?!”

“Shit?” Greg asked, puzzled, if not annoyed even. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s Saturday. We do scat on Thursda- wait, Scaturdays… I’m a genius.”

Why is he like this. And no, I don’t do scat by the way. That’s Liam’s job.  The less I know, the better.

Not interested.

“You’re lucky I can’t go home because Tim is busy with his b-“ I started to stutter like a mess, turning the letter “b” into a long vowel somehow. “-beautiful girlfriend.” Nice save. Well done, me.

Greg was surprised, as if I told him I could fly. “Tim’s dating? A girl? A person? An actual human being?”

“Says the robot.” I scoffed. “Let’s focus back on your idiotic schedule.”

"Dave…” said Greg. "You know I'm an honest man with no scruples."

"I don't think that's how it wor-“

"So I'm willing to give you a 1% extra, if you stay.”

I just looked at him, letting the silence speak for itself, amused by his terrible negotiating skills.

"Have a good weekend, Greg.” I said, and I turned around, heading towards the door.

"What the hell, Dave! Just because I messed up the schedule... again."

I turned back to him, with a smirk. I didn’t speak, I let my other end do the talk this time. He asked for a long one, after all.

Yep, one of my massive farts, loud and proud. I had to stretch my left leg a bit to ease it out.

“Oh I see, very mature, Dave!” Greg said, yet I could barely hear him over the sound my blast.

"I can't hear you…” I mouthed, pointing to my ear, as I kept ripping that long fart.

He just stared at me, annoyed by my talent -but that’s why he wants me on the team in the first place. The smell finally hit him, I could tell ‘cause he started coughing. And the fart was still going strong.

“Okay, fine!” he yelled, just as my 14 seconds long rip ended with a loud final toot.

I walked back towards his desk, still with the most annoying smirk you can imagine.

“I’ll pay you double, if you stay.” 

“Love doing business with you, bro.” I said, as we shook hands.

While he opened a small window by his desk in a desperate attempt to overcome my manly scent (it wasn't very helpful, since the window still faced the inside of the warehouse anyway).

"So... how’s gonna work?”

While waiting for the answer, I grabbed my own phone to text Dana, telling her I'd be late (she knows I'm helping Greg with something but not, well, this). My girlfriend, awesome as always, replied with a funny sticker and said she'd immediately think of a Plan B, maybe having dinner later than usual if necessary.

"I asked one of your... colleagues..."

"...colleagues?"

Greg turned his computer screen around, showing me a group chat with other "colleagues." I even recognized Liam’s name. The group was called The League of Masters and I’m pretty sure it has nothin to do with D&D. I cringed pretty hard, once again re-evaluating my life choices... but I was also slightly offended that I wasn’t part of whatever that was, which triggered a whole other internal monologue.

I didn't have time to grill him on why he felt the need to ask for second opinions, as if I were the carrier of some unknown disease, that he started to explain himself.

“Apparently the experts here say that actually brewing The Long One requires some serious skills. Some of them watched your clips and they’re not sure you may be ready for it.”

I was just standing there, arms crossed, unimpressed, as I got kinky porn actors going "skill issue" on me, doubting of one of the very few talents I could honestly brag about. My weird-o-meter was also off-the-chart, though I admit the call may be coming from inside the house.

“No that I care… but I’m pretty that if this was a competition, I’d win by W.O.” I stated.

“Getting cocky about farting, of all things?”

“Getting co- you’re the one paying me to shit myself.”

“I told you that’s Liam’s job!”

“Yeah. On Thursdays, got it. The point is… I can’t believe I’m saying this… I’m the best farter.”

We stared at each other in silence, aware of how weird the conversation was, and this comes from a straight guy who farts on his roommate because he has a fart fetish.

“Just… just go nuts I guess…” Greg said, adjusting his glasses, seemingly exhausted. "I already told I'd pay you anyway. I gotta settle for you for now."

Settle? If Tim was here… and if his kink wasn’t a secret of course, he’d tell Greg to ditch those so-called “experts”, and he’d definitely confirm that when it comes to long ones, I’m the only master this warehouse needs.

What’s that? Ah yes, that’s the sound of my inner voice telling me to strongly reconsider my life choices.

———

POV: Tim

Outside, a crisp, autumn evening was brewing. Or at least, that's what the notification I glimpsed on my phone said, before ending up under the sheets of my bed with Todd, where the cold doesn't exist. We left our clothes scattered on the stairs, around the house, arriving naked in my room.

Todd was surprisingly fit, despite his slender appearance. The hair on our chests rubbed together like flint stones, while our mouths wouldn't detach from each other.

“Do you think they have lasagna there?” Todd gasped, just as my hand touched his cock.

“Really? That’s all you can think of right now?” I stared at him, and he smiled back. “Me too. I love lasagna.”

Is this the infamous #foodporn social media managers always talk about?

“No.” Todd whispered, as I started rubbing him.

“Oh ok, sorry.” I said, stopping immediately.

“No no… I mean…” he tried to say, then explained himself by reaching for my cock. “I never got to… you know… return the favor.”

He started rubbing, slow at first, then faster. “D-don’t m-mention it.” I said, like an idiot.

“Not bad, Limdale…” he said, with a smirk, as he kept massaging my dick. “Let me take a closer look.”

And a closer look he took: he pulled himself down, deeper under the sheets, and I felt a warm sensation down below. A pleasing, warm sens- oh fuck he’s using his tongue. Fuck. He’s twisting it, I don’t know how it’s possible, but yeah, he’s doing it, and he’s also using teeth.

FFFFFUCK.

I clenched my own teeth in response: Todd bites. Not as hard as you may think, but I felt that.

I reached for his head, holding it down there, not that I needed to.

Fuck… bite harder.

Choke on it if ya want to.

The things he’s doing to my dick… holy shit… is this how they return a favor in Landale?!

———

POV: Dave

I stepped into the set, Tom was lying on the usual couch, casually scrolling through some stuff on his phone. I kind of walked over him as I sat on the couch’s backrest, my legs and butt already casting a shadow on his face. He didn’t mind, he didn’t care, and kept his eyes glued on the phone. He’s used to my ass roaring all over him even more than Tim is, weirdly enough, but not as weird as me accepting to showoff my skills like this.

Greg instead sat among his small crew on his cute director chair, because the only thing bigger than my farts here is his ego as a wannabe-movie director. I respect his dream, believe me.

“Alright Dave, ready when you are.” he said, gesturing the cameraman. “Start rolling. This is gonna be a long one, hopefully.”

I could sense everyone rolling their eyes at that.

Yeah, he’s talking about The Long One. Given the context, this is exactly what you expect: he wants a video where the farter (well, me) rips a humongously long fart… yes, it’s that simple. The man doubted my skills, least I could do is prove how wrong he was.

After all, and Tim knows more than any other, I’m basically the King of Farts.

I know, bragging about this is super silly, but you know me, you know what I’m capable of, I gave Greg a nice reminder in his office mere minutes ago, and that was a natural one.

But for this one, I guess I gotta go full berserk mode, so to speak.

I gently lowered my ass on Tom’s face until I felt the tip of his nose brushing against my dark blue sweatpants, then I sat on him full-weight. I then leaned a bit on the side, so I could let my ass breathe some air in.

Yeah, you read that right, though that shouldn’t be a surprise anymore: I can fart on command, and I’m really good at it.

So I started sucking (just as foretold by an ex-girlfriend of mine from years ago when she dumped me while telling me that I suck), the weird sounds echoing in the otherwise silent warehouse, and already sounding like farts being played in reverse, because technically that’s exactly what they are. I don’t think they smell, nor I’m interested to find out, but I assume they don’t, since the air is getting in, you know.

As I focused on being disgusting, I almost forgot I was actually sitting directly on Tom’s face, not the couch itself. I swear that’s because I suck at multitasking, not because I think low of my partner. 

I leaned more as more air got in: whatever I was brewing, it was going a big long one, that’s for sure. As big as it was long, obviously.

My natural farts are loud and long, but when you throw my special ability into the mix, yeah this crown belongs to my head bro.

Yes, I’m bragging about this, I don’t care anymore. I’m getting paid to fart on Tom’s face: we’re way past being weird.

And to be honest, considering that I’m the one blasting my gay best friend’s face on weekly basis, who am I to judge (not that I was planning to)?

One final suck-in and my ass was armed and ready to shoot.

I let Tom’s face enjoy some moments of silence, moments of calm before the storm, before the thunderous blast that I was going to unleash directly on his nose.

“Get ready for this.” I mouthed, looking down at him, though I could barely see him considering that he was under me.

I didn’t have to push hard, because the beast could barely be contained anyway.

The fart was loud, bassy and powerful, so the usual Dave-flavoured rip you all know very well.

But as much as I liked the idea of showing off such raw power, even I knew I had to pace myself, so I wouldn't blow it all at once. Don’t you dare getting me wrong: I adjusted the flow, not the sheer loudness of it; they wanted a show, so I’m giving them one, as gross as that sounds.

Tom was taking it like a champ, like the professional he is, but I could tell he was going to struggle soon as my blast already reached 30 seconds and it showed no signs of stopping.

Well, I’m the one ripping it, I’m the one pushing it out, and yeah this ain’t gonna stop until I say so.

I leaned a bit more, stretching my leg up, easing the fart out, but not too much, ‘cause I want this to last, I want this to leave a mark on Tom’s face… not that kind of mark; I’m a pro, no extra stuff is coming out, that’s Liam’s job… on Thursdays.

There he is, I felt Tom’s face twitching and moving. Whether it was the smell or my ass-gas directly into his eyes I don’t know. What I do know is that we’re 60 seconds in and I’m not even halfway done ahah.

There are weirder kinks yes, and I got my own, but this one… I don’t get the appeal. I get that it can be hilarious, but hot? I’ll never get used to this, but since I’m so good at it why waste it. I’m aware that thinking this probably makes me weirder than Tim getting a boner for my farts, but I don’t care anymore, I never did as you could tell. And my ass doesn’t care either, as I let it roar on Tom’s head as if he wasn’t there.

I lost track of time, but I’m pretty sure around 2 minute passed. I’m not going for the World Record, but I am going to teach Greg to never doubt of my skills again: not when gaming, not when playing basketball, and I guess not when it comes to being the fart master.

I’m chill, but yeah I can get very competitive on some very mundane stuff, even when it comes to shit like this.

I’m sorry Tom is getting the short-end of the stick however: kink or not, my fart going for so long must be too much even for him at this point, the bassy force of the blast making his entire face shake.

Pacing myself wasn’t always easy however, so at times it felt like a working out session: I was sweating.

My sweatpants were also very thin so I’m sure the stench and the sweat were getting unbearable for my "victim" as well, though I gotta say that farts on command usually don’t smell as bad as natural ones, or so I’ve been told. I don’t know man, it’s still air coming out of someone’s ass, so I’m sure it’s not pleasant.

Speaking of which, Tom coughed a couple of times, so I decided to be a good sport.

I leaned more, enough to let my partner’s nose get some actual fresh air… but I didn’t stop farting, mind you. Actually, leaning so much made me lose control of the gas being blown out for a moment, so the fart got even louder as I moved. That made me chuckle like an idiot: I don’t know how people manage to keep a straight face all the time while doing this. I do find it gross too, but once again I’m not judging and I don’t care.

Now the fart was actually starting to lose power, getting less loud every second, and I had to push harder to keep it going. I was satisfied, personally. I’m pretty sure the whole thing lasted around 5 minutes, probably one of the longest farts I ever ripped. 

I let my ass crush Tom’s face one final time for a few seconds, pressing my asscheeks against his nose, leaving that "mark" I mentioned earlier, a mix of sweat and gas, then I got up, setting my partner free from the clutches of my unbeatable (and unbearable) talent.

“Cut!” Greg yelled.

I looked at him, sporting my annoying smirk. He replied by giving me the finger, but I could tell he was happy with the result. 

I was exhausted, panting, and covered in sweat: if someone walked in and we told him we filmed porn, by looking at the state I was he’d assume we meant classic sex, instead of this whole kinky thing.

“I gotta say…” Greg said, walking up to me. “That was indeed a long one.” he admitted.

I patted his shoulder, almost saying that Tim would agree (I’m good at keeping secrets, believe me!).

Send that to your group chat, Greg.

———

POV: Tim

I buttoned up my shirt while descending the stairs, hoping to find my shoes near the sofa where Todd and I started to... "lose pieces." We were super late because of our... well there's no nice way to say this: because of our mad, steaming sex sessions.

I swear we achieved infinite stamina today.

We took a long shower together, which resulted in one final session obviously, and I had to postpone the reservation to 10:00 PM. Fortunately, it's one of the very few restaurants that stays open late, so there were no problems.

Todd joined me at the entrance, ready and dressed in that geeky chic style that's driving me crazy today (get a grip, Tim, infinite stamina doesn't exist!).

"Well, it's exactly 9:00 PM, so technically we're on time!” Todd joked.

"Or even early, by now…” I replied. "Well, shall we take a walk then? Limdale gets a lot better at night -on the account that you can't see it when it’s dark.”

My date didn't have time to pile on our town being shit, when the front door burst open, even though it was theoretically locked (I told you it's dodgy!).

It was Dave, gym bag slung over his shoulder, white t-shirt and dark blue sweatpants.

"Good evening, lovebirds.” the idiot said, with a mocking smile.

Unfortunately, Todd's presence prevents me from strangling my roommate.

"You must be Dave, from the wedding! Tim won’t shut up about you.” Todd began. "Are you Tim's b-"

"I'm straight.” Dave said, smiling. "Not his boyfriend, he's all yours."

On second thought, can someone strangle me instead?

"I was gonna say 'best friend’…” Todd laughed. "And no worries, I can totally tell you're not gay. ahah."

"...what's that supposed to mean?" Dave asked, puzzled.

Todd took a good look at him, with a smirk, focusing on his somewhat lackluster gym-attire. "You can't be gay... not dressed like that."

Uh, dissing, I'll enjoy this.

"Excuse me?"

"You look like a default skin!" Todd insisted.

"Oh Yeah?" my bro snapped back. "Says… twink Dr. Who. I didn’t know the G in Gay stood for Gallifrey!”

There was a moment of silence, until Dave broke it, smiling.

"Anyway, yeah, I'm Dave, from the wedding. Nice to meet you.” he said, shaking Todd's hand, who meanwhile let out a laugh.

"He's right, I totally look like Dr. Who." he admitted, amused.

"That's fine for me, as long as you look like Tennant.” I said, stroking his chest.

"Well, you two have fun regenerating each other. I'm going to take a quick shower. Dana and I have a reservation at Capelli's for 10:00 PM.".

"Capelli's, really?" I said. "Us too."

"Please don't tell me it's gonna be a double date…” Todd promptly said, then immediately turned to Dave. "No offense, man. You and Dana look super cool!"

I noticed Dave's eyes light up, as if he'd found a precious treasure.

"None taken. I too hate double dates!"

"It's the last thing I'd wanna do after a long day of work!” Todd explained.

"I was just gonna say that!" Dave commented.

"Well I guess it is gonna be a disaster after all!" I told my date. "But come on a double date can't be that bad."

They both groaned, bored and annoyed by my stance on this subject apparently.

“Don’t look too excited about it.” I remarked, sarcastically.

I refused to spend one more second letting those two make fun of me, so I pulled my date outside; and so Todd and I set off toward the restaurant, on foot (it wasn't far).

"I figured it was better to break the ice right away with your roommate." he explained.

"You did great.” I told him. "And don't worry: Dave is a huge marshmallow. He likes you already."

We laughed like idiots about the whole thing.

"I do hate double dates, though…” Todd admitted.

"Dave does too. And so do I…” I confessed. "But it's the only way we can get our lasagna tonight."

Todd looked at me, dead serious.

"Alright, your proposal is acceptable.” he stated. “I guess I owe you a favor.” 

As he said that, I felt a slight ache between my legs. I already know you repay favors in Landale, Todd.

In retrospect, I should at least turn around when I hear someone coming inside, just to be sure it’s Dave and not someone more welcome here like a murderer bent on revenge sneaking up on me from behind.

Jokes aside, I was too focused on solving some work-related issues to even make fun of my bro -something he noticed, because he’s usually the one starting the back-and-forth once he steps inside.

I did notice however him sitting on the other side of the couch, wearing his usual casual attire -a dark brown hoodie, a black t-shirt, a pair of loose dark blue jeans, and sneakers. He took a sip of his beer, rested his denim legs on the small table in front of the couch, took his phone out and scrolled through some stuff.

We remained like this for about 15 minutes, doing our own shit.

This is what true friendship looks like by the way: you can be in the same room, or even on the same couch together, and just passively enjoying each other company without saying a wor-

“So this is what our marriage has become... two people who let silence speak for them.”

There he is, (not) hilarious as usual.

“Well... you're the one who doesn't look at me with the same eyes anymore.” I played along.

Because we’re both very adult, mature men.

Dave closed his eyes, gasping. “So… you noticed.”

“I did… but I don’t blame you…" acting and working, I'm such a multitasker. "Things changed since… the storm…” I said, eyes glued on my screen, but not letting my job get in the way of me committing to this very important role.

“No, Tim…” Dave muttered, getting carried by the story he was making up in his head. “The only storm destroying us… destroying you...” he stretched his right arm towards me, and pointed at my chest. “Is in here.”

He took a deep a breath and closed his eyes, letting that last line sink in.

“And also here by the way.” he then said, in his normal tone, his hand now pointing at his stomach.

I kind of knew this was gonna happen. I always appreciate Dave being chill, open-minded... and gassy, but I had an e-mail to write.

“Of course.” I simply said.

“Please…” Dave’s tone reverted back to… whatever melodramatic tone he was using. “Let’s fix this…” he once again stretched his right arm toward me, with the index finger tickling my face, but he wasn’t pointing at anything this time. “Pull my finger.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his delivery of the silliest sentence known to man. Eyes still focused on my laptop, I gently pushed my friend’s arm away from my personal space.

“Maybe later bro.”

Dave chuckled at my response. “Really?” he asked. “That’s new.”

“Indeed.” I replied. “So yeah, just do your thing.” I then said.

I was expecting the couch to shake under the power of Dave’s ass, a muffled loud rip, one of my bro’s usual incredible displays of flatulence, you all know the drill by now.

And yet… after a few seconds, nothing happened.

I swear it’s not my kink talking: living with Dave, regardless of your fetishes or sexuality, means that you gotta get used to share the apartment with an incredibly skilled and proud farter. 

So the fact that we wasn’t farting was actually surprisingly suspicious (…yep, that’s a sentence).

I turned to him, but he was back to his mindless scrolling.

“Now that’s new.” I stated, amused.

A faint smirk appeared on Dave’s face, as my idiot bro knew exactly what I meant. 

He remained silent, however.

I shook my head and focused back on my stupid-ass formal e-mail, trying to conjure a series of fancy, well-written words that not-so-subtly meant “Go fuck yourself.”

In the meantime my roommate, still silent, got up and went into his room, I assumed for a bathroom break or to simply slip into something more comfortable.

I kept staring at my screen, until the inspiration came at long last, and I started typing. The e-mail was short and straight to the point, very formal, but very no-bullshit as well. I hate fighting at work, but sometimes you gotta raise your voice, metaphorically in this case.

I sent the insults in disguise and after I was sure they were delivered, I closed the laptop and almost threw it on the table. I sighed in relief, and enjoyed the moment of peace.

After a couple of minutes, Dave came back on the couch, now wearing a grey t-shirt and a pair of blue sweatpants. He sat once again on his side, then laid down, resting part of his legs and feet on my knees as if I was part of the couch.

Tall people having no respect of personal space as usual, duh.

A few minutes of silence, then my friend turned to me, noticing I wasn’t working anymore, hating the concept of me relaxing. He sat back up, his legs still on my knees, and stretched his right toward me again.

“You can pull my finger now...” he said, with a smirk.

I laughed. With friends like these…

I was gonna pull it, my boner already giving signs of life at the thought of, well, doing something this stupidly hot with Dave.

But then… I decided to be petty for no reason.

“Nah, I don’t think I will.” I simply said, resting my arms on the back of my head. “Keep your secrets.”

My friend laughed, amused. “Yeah sure.” he remarked, sarcastically. “Come on, pull my finger.”

“I said no.”

At this point Dave was starting take my rejection as a challenge, which is exactly what I was expecting.

“Are you sure you don’t want to?” he insisted. “Come on, it’s right here!”

He poked my entire face with his index finger, but I kept my word, and blatantly ignored it.

“Pass.” I said, with a smirk. I’m the one who smirks now.

Dave laughed, finding amusement in this weird, gross game we were playing; and when it comes to games, he can get quite competitive, so while I was expecting this first reaction, I should have also anticipated that he really wanted to “win”… whatever we were doing here.

“Well, if you’re not interested, then it’s absolutely fine if I do this.”

I braced for the fart... but no, once again that was a fake-out.

He instead wrapped his long legs around my body and dragged me down, not without using his arms as well. I found myself lying down, with my face between his legs, my nose inches away from his sweatpants-clad ass. A familiar sight for now, considering how Dave makes sure I pass a lot of time just facing his ass in different positions as he face-farts me.

Speaking of which, now it would be a good time to fart, considering I’m in front of his anus. But again, I got ready for nothing, just silence. And I don’t mean “silent but deadly”, I mean silence. A silence broken by the videos Dave was just casually scrolling through his phone, as he kept my head in front of his ass, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

I’m probably the last person who should say this… but it was getting awkward, so I tried to move. Or rather, dared to. The moment Dave felt I was trying to get away, he held me in my place with the strong grip of his legs. I sighed, annoyed, which my bro laughed at.

One more time, my friend stretched his arm toward me.

“Pull my finger, bro.” he simply said.

“Nope.” I promptly replied.

My bro nodded and adjusted his position a bit. He spread his legs a bit more, my face getting even closer to his ass, my nose being tickled by the surface of his sweatpants.

Believe it or not, spending so much time near Dave’s ass while he wasn’t farting was… weirder than our actual fart sessions. Still, that was an incredible way to spend my evening: yeah, I did the usual stuff ya know... I worked, I wrote an e-email, I relaxed, I got my head planted into my straight friend’s ass, same old, same old.

I then finally heard some noises coming out my friend’s ass. Or rather, from inside.

Indeed, obviously, he had to fart, or else he wouldn’t have asked me to pull his finger multiple times. The noises I heard tell me that he was brewing a big natural one, one of his usual rips. 

And yet, that relative silence was just as thrilling and arousing as an actual fart. The calm before the storm, the anticipation, the fact that I know very well what Dave is capable of and yet he just keeps teasing me.

The fact that Dave was also just… well… ignoring me, minding his own business, somehow made my boner even harder. And yet, I had to “win” this, I wasn’t gonna let him have it.

When he asked me once again to pull his finger, I didn’t even answer.

“You’re missing out.” he said, moving his ass even closer. “I’m brewing a huge one bro.” he whispered.

The teasing bastard reached for my head with one of his hands, and finished making it one with his sweatpants-clad ass. He laughed a bit as he did that.

“Just pull it man...” he then said, going for a flirty tone, as my head got also dangerously close to his crotch. “The finger I mean.” he then corrected himself, trying to not to laugh again.

For a moment I thought I finally got used to my bro being so chill (and hot) about my fart kink, but once again I flew too close to the Sun, with all the blood in my body flowing towards the tent I pitched. What’s funny… is that he wasn’t even farting yet.

And he wasn’t going to, until I pulled his finger.

I felt that damn finger poking me again. 

Nope, not gonna happen.

I couldn’t properly see it, because my eyes were too busy being buried into my friend’s ass.

My bro was amused by all of this, I’m sure. And other than being terribly aroused... I too was… but damn if I was sweating now. This was getting hard on all levels.

Dave let my head go, so I adjusted my position a bit accordingly, but he just wouldn’t properly let me go. He kept watching silly videos on his phone, as time passed. How long has he been keeping me like this? 10 minutes?

Felt like ages.

“Ready to pull my finger?” he insisted, out of the blue.

“Pull it yourself.” I dared to reply.

“I may very well do it…” he threatened me… with a good time admittedly.

Alright, since this wasn’t going to end soon because we’re both stupidly competitive about everything, I tried to make myself a bit more comfortable, using Dave’s ass as sort of a pillow even. It’s not like he cared I lied down there, under his legs and in front of his ass, anyway.

I almost wished someone would take a photo of us in that moment: we probably look ridiculous.

There is no heterosexual explanation for this, someone might say when looking at the photo. Well, indeed there isn’t… or more like, 50% of what’s depicted in this photo is clearly not heterosexual.

At this point, perhaps because of my face and hair, Dave’s ass was getting sweaty just like me, which made the place smell… not very pleasantly. My friend wasn’t a dirty person by any means, but no ass smells good when it gets sweaty, and no soap can fix that.

Dave’s ass was powerful even when it was silent: almost 20 minutes and no fart was ripped in my face. And yet, I was struggling. Ironically enough, I was used to my bro farting in my face, but not to him… not farting in my face.

I can’t say I was enjoying it like an actual fart session; the views however, always spot on. Dave is a tall, relatively fit man, so spending time near his ass, regardless of any kink, is pretty much time well-spent for someone like me. And the fact that he’s my bro and he’s just… letting me do it, I don’t know, I’m a mess at this point.

“I can do this all night by the way.” Dave casually stated.

“Nice. Goodnight then.” I replied.

“Alright…” he muttered.

My friend moved, lifting himself just a bit. With a quick, deft leap, he lied down on me, my head now being crushed under the full weight of his ass. I couldn’t see anything now, only feel the warmth of Dave’s ass and body all over me.

Before, he treated me like I was part of the couch. Now, I am the couch.

And yet I didn’t move nor protest. I wasn’t gonna pull that finger.

I’m a man of integrity, and I’m not gonna surrender to my bro’s petty machinations. Two can play this game, yes, but I'm the one who's gonna win it.

So I just lied down there, under the weight of my friend’s entire body… and actually relaxed, enjoying the thought of his ass crushing me. The faint scent of sweat got worse however, and I swear even a fart would make the place smell better than this.

I held still, breathing normally as much as my friend’s weight allowed me to. I couldn’t see anything, my glasses dampening and almost breaking under that ass. It was all pitch black and sweaty.

But I didn’t care. I simply closed my eyes and waited, as my friend firmly kept my head under his threatening, but still silent butt, save for some occasional noises, a sign the the fart he was brewing was getting even stronger.

At this point more than 30 minutes passed. Quality time in my book, to be honest.

Every few minutes my bro would occasionally lift his ass just a bit to let me see the finger I needed to pull, the key to my freedom, but I always refused, so back in the dark ass-jail I go.

I’m not gonna break. Something that even my gassy friend had to realize, much to his disappointment. 

“Fine.” Dave muttered. “I’ll let you have this one...” he admitted defeat.

I laughed -which, from his point of view, it probably looked like either his ass or the couch itself laughed.

My friend let me go for real, spreading his legs wide, resuming the position we had before he decided to crush me (or try to). I did the same, resting my head in front of his ass, ‘cause I knew he was gonna pull me in front of that again anyway.

But no, he has to have the satisfaction to do bullying himself, so he once again reached for my head and properly planted it into his sweaty ass.

“I’m gonna pull it myself, you bastard.” he said.

Judging by the fact that he talked like he was chewing on something, and the fact that his other hand was holding my head still into his ass, I understood that he was pulling his index finger by biting it.

Finally, I felt Dave’s ass muscle move in a more familiar way. Now I truly had to brace for impact.

And the impact turned out to be… just a small, half-a-second long toot.

What.

A truly awkward silence followed, a silence broken by us laughing like idiots.

“Now that’s new.” I said again, my voice partially muffled as my mouth was planted into my bro’s ass.

“No Tim... it's the storm..." he said, again in that melodramatic one.

I totally fell for the fake-out, like an idiot, as if Dave wasn’t the King of Farts. A storm indeed swept my face away, a fart so loud and airy that anyone hearing it would think it’s a fake stock sound. My head was shaking, and so was the couch, my friend’s hand still keeping me where I deserve to stay.

Where winners deserve to stay… in this particular case at least.

The fart’s smelly air flew nicely through Dave’s sweatpants, completely destroying my nostrils in the process. I could even taste it in some ways. I don’t know if this was one of my bro’s strongest farts, but it definitely was… one the most anticipated.

Damn if it kept me waiting!

Yeah… Dave still won in the end, technically, because he made me wish for it, crave for it. I admit I did wonder the whole time how big the fart was gonna be, the way he teased its size…

But at the same time, I didn’t break, nor pulled that damn finger.

The huge rip stopped as abruptly as it started, after about 18 seconds of thunderous chaos. Three ridiculously loud 3-seconds toots ended the gassy parade, my face getting startled each time (with my boner twitching and dampening more and more) as if it was my first time hearing anyone fart.

Finally, Dave let my sweaty head go, letting me sit back properly.

“Hey... I told ya there was a storm destroying you.” he joked, teasing me with his damn smirk.

It surely was a thunderous storm, but our marriage is stronger than any gust of wind, no matter how smelly it gets.

“Babe, how was I supposed to know that people make hot sauce with… fruit?”

“It’s literally the only thing you’re intolerant to.”

I wouldn’t even call it intolerance. Dave’s stomach just… processes everything in its own way, even food that should knock him down.

“Your friend here…” Dana said, turning to me. “He can’t digest hibiscus.” She turned back towards Dave, half serious, half playful. “Which, by the way, is a flower, not a fruit.”

Dave kept his eyes glued to the buffet and took a sip of wine. “Alright, relax. I’ll be careful.”

He was lying, obviously. Never stand between Dave and his sugar.

“Okay, I’m stepping away for a sec. Emma’s waving at me and I accidentally made eye contact… damn it. Don’t wait for me.”

Dana stood up quickly, careful not to trip on her own dress, and darted off toward her frenemy. Dave slid into her empty chair next to me.

“I’m going now...” he whispered. “We’re in a shark tank. One second of distraction and that buffet will be torn apart without mercy.”

“Your strategy is flawless,” I said, sipping my drink. “Keep me posted from the front line. You’ll find me on the terrace.”

“What?” Dave blinked, oddly offended. “My brother-in-arms is abandoning me like this?”

“I’ve got… stuff to do.” I explained, nodding towards one of the guys from our table, who was also getting up and heading to the terrace.

“Ohhhh… I see.” Dave grinned. “Leaving your bro hanging like that. For just a bit of cock. Fine. I’ll remember this.”

“You’re such an idiot…” I teased, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

I walked away from the table, leaving my bro to contemplate the dessert, as I nodded to Todd, the guy I was referring to, the guy I’m gonna make out with on the terrace. Todd is nice, he’s into video-editing and cocks.

We have so much in common!

—

POV: Dave

Screw this human swarm of locusts. I always end up empty-handed at weddings, but this time I’ll make the first move. I planted myself right in front of the buffet while the waiter was still setting down the last cupcakes, glazed with a luscious magenta cream (they’re gonna be mine).

Am I overdoing this? Am I being immature?

I’d like to see you in my place, a man repeatedly robbed of sugar’s simple joy because he makes the mistake of trusting in the crowd’s so-called manners. Of course they’ll leave me something, sure, absolute fucking bullshit, that’s what they’ll leave me, not even the crumbs.

I gave Dana a little nod from across the room, still tangled up with Emma. Dana worries about me, but she’d be the first one here, right next to me, hoarding desserts if she could. I’m the man on the front line, the scout, the manly man who will have his delicious, well-earned pink cupcake.

—

POV: Tim

The terrace was big and overlooked the garden surrounding the villa. We truly were in the middle of nowhere.

“So… they’re setting up the buffet huh.” I said, trying to have a casual conversation.

“Yeah, I heard they have some delicious cupcakes. I’m friend with the chef -I think they used some kind of fruit to give it a particular exotic taste.”  Todd explained.

“As long as it’s not flowers.”

We didn’t even admire the beautiful sunset and the rural landscape because our tongues reached for each other as if they were magnets. We made sure to sort of hide behind a bush, near a small staircase leading to the garden properly, far from prying eyes. I honestly don’t care anymore about my closet, but I don’t know about Todd, so we silently decided to hide just to be sure -to be honest, we would have done the same even if we were straight, because things are getting… kind of intense ya know.

“What’s your codec of choice?” he panted.

“MPEG.” I replied, as I felt his hand reaching for my crotch.

“MPEG me…” he moaned, as I did the same to him.

We both almost laughed at that, but kept going regardless, ignoring the cold autumnal breeze because things were heating up and fast. I massaged Todd’s crotch as we kissed and made out like no one was watching (and hopefully that was the case). We were massaging each other, and I felt Todd’s pitching a tent in the palm of my hand. I didn’t care and went for it, he moaned again, as I strangled the cock hidden under his tux pants. He bit my neck and I returned the favor to his ear, which apparently did the trick.

I felt my hand getting warmer fast, and I noticed Todd slowing down, breathing heavily and deeply. 

“Sorry.” he whispered, smiling.

“Don’t even say that.” I reassured him.

He clearly wanted to stop, so I just leaned against the railing, smiling like an idiot. Thank goodness I wasn’t wearing glasses (contact lenses this time), I’m sure I would have lost them.

“I need to change. Believe it or not I got a backup tux.” he explained.

“You never know, you know.” I said, with a smirk.

“I’ll be in my room.” he smiled and handed me a small piece of napkin with a number written on it. “I’ll be back soon, but maybe, after this is over… feel free to join me. I gotta… return the favor.” he said, gently patting my crotch.

“Don’t mention it.” I said. He laughed.

This guy must really be into me because I’m terrible at this.

I watched him as he went back into the hall, walking faster and faster so he wouldn’t have to stop for anyone. Todd is cool. He seems to have some social anxieties just like me. Another win for awkward people like us I guess!

I enjoyed the breeze a bit more, before I decided to go back inside. It was getting dark, the fancy villa’s big windows being the main source of light while small lanterns lit up in the garden. I adjusted my tie and hair (the latter unsuccessfully) but as I got closer to the door, I saw a tall man running outside and towards me, his red tie almost glowing in the dark.

“What did you do?” I said, scolding him.

“Tim shut up for a sec.” Dave replied. “Let’s just have a quick, calm walk.”

I wasn’t impressed. “What did you do?” I insisted.

Dave put a hand on my shoulder and we hurried down into the garden -empty, quiet, and far from the buzz of the villa. I’m no detective, but I was pretty sure Dave didn’t have the same intentions as Todd.

“Those damn cupcakes,” he muttered. “The waiter said they were fruit-flavored, but nope, judging by my stomach, it was hibiscus! And trust me, bro, I know my stomach.”

“Why does everyone keep confusing that flower with a fruit…” I mused, remembering how Todd had done the same thing earlier.

“I DON’T KNOW, MAN!” Dave burst out, then doubled over in pain. “Let’s walk. I need to… work this off. And you know what that means.”

Unfortunately, I do. And I was terrified of what Dave might unleash.

—————

After walking for a couple of minutes, Dave wanted to seat on a stone bench, because he needed to a few moments to focus -that’s what he said at least. I sat next to him, noticing how he was sweating. He was indeed feeling like shit, not so different from what happened on the plane some weeks ago.

“I didn’t drag you out here because of your kink by the way.”

What. Where did that come from? 

“I just needed my brother-in-arms.” he then said.

I was almost startled. I mean, ok, I know we have this weird thing going on between us, but Dave always goes the extra mile to assure me that he doesn’t see me any differently, even considering my gross kink.

“So this is not one of your kinky games then.” I bluntly remarked.

“My kinky games?” he replied. “You’re the one craving my farts!” he laughed.

I felt attacked, even though I had no reason. “I never craved your farts.” 

Are we seriously having a conversation about this? Are those real sentences?

“Then why did you tell me about your kink?” 

“I never told you, you found out. You did… you know… the rest!”

Dave was visibly trying to endure the pain, and this funny back-and-forth was also a way to distract himself from his stomach getting messy.

“Come on… admit it.” he said, in a weirdly flirty tone. “We had to share a room for a few weeks back in college. Don’t tell me you didn’t crave a piece of your friend Dave back then.”

The fact that he was so chill about all of this will never stop being incredible to me. Least I can do is playing along. Don’t get me wrong, I was super embarrassed by where this conversation was heading all of the sudden.

And my Todd-related boner wasn’t helping, because now my cock was confused. It’s like it was saying “What am I even hard for now?!”

“Come on… admit it.” he said, playfully leaning towards me. “Admit you love this.”

Oh, that’s the real reason he was leaning.

The sound was loud and proud, echoing all over the empty garden. The fart was gigantic, surprisingly dry despite my friend’s stomach fighting those damn flowers, flowers that ironically produced the stinkiest rip I’ve ever heard Dave rip (despite being outside, the breeze made some of that gas reach my nostrils, and it smelled horribly). The stone bench shook for how powerful and vibrating that was.

It lasted around 8 seconds.

This is not like the plane: up there, Dave had to hold back the loudness of his farts because of social norms. Here, it’s just him and me, and he can make his ass speak as loud as he wishes -and his ass does love to scream. On the plane, he was fighting demons. In this garden, he can shamelessly unleash them.

After he was done, he simply stared at me with his usual smirk, amused by my never-ending awkwardness.

“Yes, Dave. I’ve always liked you.” I admitted. 

Or rather, confessed. 

Because I wasn’t talking about his farts.

Luckily, my bro didn’t seem to notice my choice of words, and simply laughed at my kinky ass.

He wrapped his arm around me, acting all wise and proud (of himself).

“I can’t blame you. I’m the whole package.” he said, ripping a short, quick blast.

“So this is one of your kinky games…” I remarked.

Dave laughed. “No bro, I just don’t want Dana to see me shitting myself.”

“Ah so you’re just hiding.”

“Pretty much.” he replied. “And no, for the last time, this is not one of my kinky games. I don’t even know what you mean by this!”

He then leaped over me and sat on my lap, full weight, almost crushing my legs.

“Unless you want it to be…” he said, again in that fake flirty tone.

He closed his eyes, and proceeded to rip an enormous fart on my lap, making my hard crotch shake. The fart was this time a bit more wet, but no… extra stuff was coming out. It was disgusting, it was loud, it was incredible. The warm gas probably stained my tux pants forever, but it was nothing compared to what my friend’s pants had to endure. The contrast between his formal, elegant attire and the rude manliness of his farts was admittedly driving me crazy, with Dave just casually being the teasing bastard that he is.

After 12 seconds, the fart was over; my bro wiggled his ass a bit, making sure my clothes were soaking in his gas, then sat back next to me. Now I wish I had a backup tux.

The smell emanating from my lap and pants was terrible: Dave basically poisoned my clothes. The idiot laughed at me basically smelling like one of his farts forever… well, for a couple of minutes at least. That fart was malicious I swear.

“Fuck, I hope Todd won’t notice the smell.” I joked, comically trying to dust the smell off of me.

“Todd? Who’s Todd?” Dave asked, puzzled.

“The guy from our table?” I explained.

“Ah yes. He seems cool.” he took a couple of more seconds to connect the dots. “Holy shit. Did you guys…”

“Kind of.” I simply said. “We’re planning the rest for later I guess.”

“Awesome bro.” he said, patting my shoulder. “Is he also into…”

“Not that I know of.” I cut him off. “Doesn’t matter.”

We remained there, sitting on that bench, in silence. A few seconds passed, the only sound being the breeze brushing the leaves around us, until a different kind of breeze broke the silence. A thunderstorm, to be more precise. A quick, 5 seconds thunderstorm, followed by my friend sighing in relief.

“That one hurt a bit.” he commented.

“As long as you don’t shit yourself…” I observed.

“You know I’m a pro.” 

Another moment of silence, this time interrupted my friend speaking from his mouth like a normal person.

“When you said that you always liked me… that wasn’t about your fetish, wasn’t it?”

My heart stopped for a moment, even though I had nothing to be afraid of.

Still, I know it’s bad when I wish he’d simply make fun of my kink.

I turned to him and, as usual, he was just nice and calm, genuinely curious about my awkward self. I decided to level with him, one more time.

“It comes and goes.” I admitted. “You won’t get another word out of me.”

He laughed. For a moment, he seemed the awkward one.

“You have such a horrible taste in men, bro.” he joked. “But maybe that Todd guy can fix that.”

“How romantic of you.” I dryly said. 

“Very. I even brought you flowers.” a loud blast shook the bench, a quick 4 seconds tip. “Technically.”

“You’re such an idiot I swear.” 

“Told ya I’m the whole package.” he elbowed me. “I’m flattered that you’re crushing on me.”

“I’m not crushing on you.” I quickly remarked.

“Of course you’re not.” he said, getting up, gently massaging his stomach.

I got up too, and we started walking again, this time towards the villa. This doesn’t mean that Dave was done, and as a quick reminder he ripped a series of short loud toots in sync with each step he made. A nice series of 6-7 farts, back-to-back, each sounding a bit more dangerously wet than the last.

“And here I thought you were feeling better.”

“I am.” my bro said. “Just tying up some loose ends.”

And one of those loose end was a long, loud, high-pitched fart. Dave had to stop again to properly rip this one, his eyes narrowing, focus on the fart as if he was defusing a bomb. It wasn’t wet, but trusting a fart when your stomach hurts is a gamble, and a fart master like my bro certainly knew that.

The blast was long and proud, the pitch going up and down repeatedly in the span of a couple of seconds -as funny as it was hot for me. It got noticeably deeper towards the end, which made my bro confident enough to properly push it out, ending it with a bang. 

“You would have loved this one.” he casually said, walking past me.

I got red instantly, and resumed walking.  I did love that, even if it wasn’t on my face. My boner, now less confused, totally agreed.

As we got back on the terrace, Dana greeted us. 

“I’ve been looking for you for like 30 minutes! These human locusts have devoured everything!”

“I’m fine, honestly…” Dave said, trying to sound casual.

But yeah… Dana could read him like an open book.

“You ate the hibiscus cupcakes.” she said, firmly.

Dave didn’t even try to lie his way out.

“Babe, who the hell puts a damn flower in a damn cupcake? It’s a flower! How do you even…”

“You’re such an idiot…” Dana said, giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “Come on, maybe there’s still something edible left. I even saw some strawberries, Tim.”

“Thanks, Dana. As much as I love strawberries though… I need to do something.”

“Ohhhh…” she said “Keep us posted. We’ll se you late-“ the sight of Emma stealing the last slice of apple pie got her attention, cutting her off. “Oh no she won’t.” 

Dana sprinted inside, leaving me and Dave on the terrace.

“Say ‘hi’ to Todd for me.” he joked. “Are you sure he won’t get jealous because of me though?”

“Very funny.” I said, as I reached for the napkin Todd gave me earlier.

“Hey, show a little gratitude… I got you riled up.” Dave said, patting my hard boner.

I can’t believe he just did that.  Why is he like this. Sometimes he’s way too chill.

“That’s disgust- that’s… fuck off!” I stuttered, sprinting inside, as he laughed at my awkwardness.

Fuck him and his kinky games. Those fucking games I hate to love.

Luckily enough, it wasn't the console. Well, still an expensive appliance, but we always split the costs for this kind of stuff, so it wasn’t a big deal per se. Dave still went to the store on the off chance it was still open, but given it's around 9:00 PM, he was running on pure hopes and dreams.

In the meantime, I was busy trying to reanimate the artificial corpse: I got the thing open and I could immediately smell burning. I did try to mess a bit with it (I’m no expert but I do know what I’m doing most of the times in those cases), going as far as replacing the broken parts with some spare parts I had in a box in my wardrobe -you know the one, we all have it and no, we will never throw it away, those cables and parts could be useful one day!

This wasn’t the day however, but it was more of Zeus’ fault than anything (one day, I swear!), so I gave up and found comfort in another -and this time working- appliance in the kitchen, the cold one we use to store our goods, and I pulled a beer out of it -then I heard Dave coming home, so I pulled another one. 

That’s me being a good roommate.

“Think fast.” I casually said, tossing the can to him. 

He nodded and we both walked back into the living room, standing right behind the couch, looking at the tech-themed gory scene that was our TV.

“I did what I could, but I couldn’t save it.”

Dave sighed. “Time of death?”

“Probably the night you got drunk on Margaritas and almost puked on Dana. The storm hit-”

“I wasn’t drunk, Dana was.” he clarified. “I was playing along.”

He totally was drunk by the way.

“Please, keep your kinky roleplays out of my life.” I joked, very hypocritically. 

We swung ourselves over the sofa backrest and sat, staring at nothing but tech rubbles.

“I assume the store was closed.” I said.

“Sort of. They slammed the shutter down when they saw me, basically.”

“Told ya that hoodie is terrible.” I commented, his answer being a pillow being thrown at me without even looking, which I dodged perfectly.

Dave was in fact wearing an old shabby dark green hoodie and a casual pair of dark blue loose jeans. I did not think he looked bad by any means (and who am I to judge anyway), I simply occasionally make fun of that old hoodie -he bought that back in College if I recall correctly.

We took a sip of beer and then did what our generation does best: some good old doom-scrolling on our phones. After a couple of minutes of relative silence, I heard some familiar sounds (no, not those sounds).

“I know, I miss them too.” I said, faking a sad tone.

The sounds I recognised were from the videogame he was playing (and me too, on a different savefile), a long JRPG-inspired challenging adventure with tough bosses and memorable characters.

“I will never forget them.” he played along. “Oh come on really?” he then groaned, his phone dying in his hands.

This time, however, it wasn’t a permanent death, just a roommate who forgot to buy a new charger that, you know, actually properly charge things.

“Here… you can have mine.” I said, handing my phone to him.

“Really…?” Dave said, knowing very well I was joking.

“No.”

More minutes of silence passed, Dave simply sitting there sort of alone with his thoughts. He took his sneakers off and rested his long legs on the small table by the couch, scanning the room around us as if he was looking for anything remotely entertaining to do.

Since I’m a kinky idiot, I obviously noticed his loose jeans sagging a bit as he was chilling next to me, on the other side of the couch, the denim of his trousers loosely, but nicely, hugging his very talkative ass.

I love my bro, you all know this, I don't wanna be superficial, but I’m gay-savvy enough to admit that, regardless of any fetish involved, Dave is… quite attractive. You probably wouldn’t consider him the hottest man in the world, but he’s noticeably good-looking, even when chilling so casually on a couch -but I get I may be biased.

He is my friend after all, we always make fun each other’s looks and whatnot, but I’m not embarrassed to admit that he’s attractive, guy-next-door attractive.

Also he’s tall, which I really like, since I’m a basic bitch.

Why am I reminding you this… I don’t know. You probably think I may be crushing on him… I mean, given that I have a fart fetish and how much time I spend with my face literally planted into Dave’s farting ass, it’s easy to assume to yeah, kinky Tim has a crush on his straight gassy bro…

Well, I invoke my right to remain silent.

“Wanna play a game?” Dave suddenly asked.

“What game?”

“It’s not complicated, even you can play it!” 

I stared at him, narrowing my eyes. “Where’s the catch?”

Dave laughed. “Why are you always so suspicious?”

Because I have all the reasons to be, when your best bro is a playful bastard.

But I’m a clown.

“Alright, I’ll bite.” I put my phone and the beer on the small table in front of me and turned my attention to the obvious trap Dave was setting up. “How does it work? What are the rules?”

My bro smiled, putting his own beer on the table. “It’s nothing, just say a number between… mhhh… 5 and 15, yeah that works.”

I took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of my nose, adjusting my glasses. “This… this is about farts, isn’t it?” I bluntly asked.

My roommate laughed at my wild suspicions of him. “What?!”

“What indeed.”

“Tim you’re a such kinky idiot.” he chuckled. “Just say a number from 5 to 15.”

“Nope.”

“Say it.”

“Not gonna say it.”

“Say it!”

I gave him a scolding look. “…are you that bored?”

“Say it…” he insisted.

I sighed and put my glasses next to the phone and the beer on the table, because I just know that my face is gonna get pulled into a certain roaring ass very soon, so better safe than sorry (broken glasses? that’s an expense I can’t split).

“Alright…” I said, Dave smirking at me in anticipation. “Any number?”

“Any number between 5 and 15…” he explained, after thinking about it for a second, totally making sure he was brewing a big one.

I swear it’s not me, it’s him being a teasing asshole.

“Is it one of those games where I have to guess the number you’re thinking right now?” I asked.

“No…” he groaned, impatiently. “Just give me a number within the range.”

“Mmmh… does it have to be a prime number?” I asked, purposely being the most annoying being on Earth.

“Look man, if you don’t wanna play…” 

“Alright, I said I’ll bite…” 

I pretended to think about it for a bit, as if I was trying to understand the mischievous machinations of this weird game.

Dave does often prank us with by playing those playful mind tricks on us, and obviously it’s never about farts, so there’s the remote possibility (and hope) that this has nothing to do with him being a teasing gassy asshole... the best teasing gassy asshole one could ask for don’t get me wrong, but still…

“What about… 6?”

“Okay…” he said, while adjusting his position a bit. “Less than I expected…”

Of course it was about farts.

He sat normally on the couch, leaning a bit, as he clearly was pushing one out. 

He closed his eyes and pointed upwards, as if he was telling me to wait and listen.

The vibrations of that first, loud toot shook the entire couch, the sound partially muffled by the cushion. It was loud and meat-y, but relatively short for Dave’s high standards, merely 1-2 seconds. A standard loud fart, still very Dave-sounding and powerful. 

A fart that, after less than 2 seconds of silence, was followed by another one, just as powerful. 

Then another one.

A trifecta? 

Nope. 

It appears there’s a fourth one. 

A fifth one, even? This was the loudest one so far.

And finally, after a bit more of anticipation, highlighted by Dave’s iconic smirk appearing on his face, a sixth one, a bit longer than the previous ones, clocking at around, fittingly, 6 seconds.

The smell was there, but still bearable, each fart having released a plume of invisible gas creeping towards my face.

As usual, after Dave reminded me of his ass-skills, I just remained there in silence like an idiot, genuinely admiring my gassy friend’s mastery, while also trying to tame my dick waking up, as each blast made it twitch like a muscle under pressure (which, given my bro’s talent, was exactly what was happening).

Amused by my silent reaction, Dave laughed. “6, really?” he asked. “You know what I’m capable of, go higher!”

Despite my mind being fogged-up by his gas, I understood that he wanted me to choose another number, again in the 5-15 range.

As I was this time genuinely thinking hard about it, Dave got up, hands casually in his pockets, and… stood in front of me, his ass almost perfectly aligned with my head, my view now being obstructed by the back pockets on his denim ass, the small red Levi’s tag almost glowing on the dark blue background of the jeans. The pants were a bit sagging, revealing a glimpse of my friend’s oddly bright yellow underwear.

I looked up, Dave just casually staring down at me with a smirk. “Choose wisely.”

I knew I could just choose 15 and he, for some reason, would proceed to blast my face 15 times… but I’m as petty as I am kinky, and I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but focusing when your gassy bro is towering in front of you, with his ass pointing at your nostrils, is kind of difficult.

“W-what about 8?” I guess I like even numbers.

Dave could read me like an open book as always, and he knew I chose such a relatively small number just to mess with him… in this very weird thing going on between us. He laughed at my attempt to outsmart him.

“I’m gonna need some help then. Let’s make sure it’s gonna be exactly eight, shall we?”

I didn’t even have to think what we meant because I immediately felt his right arm reaching for my face, his hand firmly grabbing the back of my head and pushing it right into that denim ass, my nose landing on the warm, rough surface of the sagging denim, right below the yellow fabric of his underwear. 

Needless to say, the stench of the previous barrage of farts was still there, a faint stench of rotten eggs tickling my nostrils. Still nothing unbearable, but definitely not pleasant either.

Dave’s ass muscles relaxed, and another parade began, starting off with a loud blast that shook my entire skull. This time it was longer, lasting around 4 seconds.

A few moments of silence, followed by Dave ripping another loud toot, 2 seconds long. 

Yes, short for my bro’s double-digit standards, but trust me they were as loud as usual, if not louder, even.

Even more impressive considering that those weren’t even on command, all natural.

Not that I mind farts on command (on the contrary!), but my friend’s skills never fail to impress me.

He kept farting, like the masterful farter he is, each blast startling me as if it was my first time hearing those, while my face was still being kept in its front-row seat; and damn what a show it was!

I was dazed, so much so that I lost count, but I could tell he was done with this second series, as I heard him laugh like a jerk, as his sagging ass went silent.

The smell was getting worse, but my trained nostrils were by far used to this.

Dave stared back down at me, but didn't let me go.

“You know… I’m not entirely sure those were eight.”

I was startled, high on my friend’s gas. Didn’t even hear what he was saying.

“So let’s just settle with this.” he then stated, pushing my face further deeper into his ass.

Another fart erupted, loud and proud, definitely gonna be longer than the previous ones, a more standard “Dave rip” one might say, not that the others were bad, just deceptively shorter than usual.

Despite my face being glued to his ass, I did manage to take a good look at it. I thought about that view, and Dave’s smirk as he looked down at me. 

Sometimes I forget how fucking lucky I am, to have a friend like him.

A friend who was seriously gonna kill me with his gas if I wasn’t careful.

This time I tried to focus, and the fart indeed stopped at exactly 8 secon- oh, I get it.

After he was done, Dave let me stay there with my face fitting nicely into his sagging ass for a couple of more seconds, then pushed me back on the couch.

He turned around, towering over me, hands back in his pockets.

“Are we done? Did I win? Did you win?” I asked, dizzy, amused.

“Nah, there’s one final level.” he said.

As if I wasn’t there sitting in front of him, Dave walked on the couch, careful to not to trip over me, and sat directly on my head as if I was a stupid-looking stool. He wasn’t planning to stay there like this forever, so he wiggled around to mess with my balance, making sure his body-weight pushed me down, until I forcibly lied on the couch, with him properly sitting over my face, my head being crushed under his weight.

No need to fart again as the stench of the previous rips quickly engulfed me. It all went pitch black, but I could still feel the sagging, rough surface of his jeans and part of the much softer yellow fabric of his underwear, which was getting sweatier and wetter.

“Alright, 20 farts back-to-back… or one long 30 seconds blast from yours truly?” he asked, as if it was the most normal question in the world. The tone made me laugh, my dick getting harder.

My face was being crushed, but I still managed to talk.

“20 is enough. Make it quick.”

I heard my bro laughing at me getting desperate to get out of his gas trap, amused as usual by my reaction to his farts, and he didn’t make me wait.

Why do I even take his baits?

A new series of short, quick blasts began, this time much shorter than the others, but not any less loud, probably about 1.5 seconds each, with a less than second pause between each blast. The smell was renewed instantly, my nose brushing against my bro’s underwear as it shook under the power of that gas-shooting machine gun.

I have no idea why he does this with me, for me. And even how.

How is it possible to be this good at farting? What were the odds of me having such a cool, talented friend?

I stopped struggling to breath and simply relaxed. This was weird, this was gross... and I was loving every second of it.

I let my friend’s ass crush me, sinking more and more into the cushion, each fart burying me deeper and deeper into the couch.

Twenty farts, short loud farts, back-to-back.

This time I didn’t lose count, I wanted to make sure to properly witness my bro’s talent.

He laughed as he finished with a final, louder toot. Dave just remained there, sitting on me, as if I was part of the ouch, as to let me enjoy that… and also because he was himself getting a bit tired I’m sure.

“So… who won?” I asked.

That question made my friend laugh again. “I don’t know, you tell me after this one.”

This one?

My bro leaned on one side, clearly to ease another blast out, one leg bent up. This position made the crushing weight a bit more bearable, while also making his ass much more visible as it wasn’t overwhelmingly all over my face anymore -but it was still inches from my nose.

He again pointed upwards, shushing me, silently telling me to listen to what he had to say. To what his ass had to say.

I just finished saying how impressive my friend’s farting skills, and yet he managed to one-up even my expectations.

Another loud fart erupted from his ass, meat-y, airy, long, loud.

What the fuck did he eat? What the fuck was that beer? What the fuck was going on in his body? 

I guess one final toot is a good way to close the parad- wait, is it still going? That’s way more 7 seconds already.

I tried to move, but the moment I stopped being still, Dave’s hand arrived like a jailer and held my head where it belonged, the sounds of my friend’s chuckle being barely hearable while being so close at his roaring, thunderous ass.

16 seconds, what the fuck. How the fuck.

“Dave…” I muttered, but I’m pretty sure he couldn’t even hear me.

My dick was rock-hard, pre-cum coming out of its tip.

The power of my friend’s farts: he could make me cum without even (technically) touching me.

My nostrils this time failed to endure that stench, my eyes watered, my body admitting defeat in front of the sheer power of my roommate’s anus. The sweaty underwear didn’t help, smell-wise, and the fart and its smell were so powerful that the denim could very well not be there.

23 seconds. Where was he storing all of this gas? He wasn’t even bloated. This isn’t even on command.

And yet, at long last, 30 seconds, and the fart finally stopped, fading out quickly, after its stench engulfed the entire room. 

Oh, I get it, again. 30 seconds. In the end he still wanted to give me the full taste of what I was missing out by choosing the other option I guess.

Fuck… having a friend like Dave is truly a curse and a blessing at the same time.

My friend stood up again, just to move a bit further away and sit on the other side of the couch. I did the same on my side, sitting back up normally, quickly reaching for the pillow he threw at me earlier to hide my twitching, raging boner, even though my bro knew very well what was going on down there.

“I guess I won…?” I managed to say.

“I guess they need to update the Pantheon.” he stated instead, ignoring my question.

He stared at the broken TV in front of us and a proud, immature, playful smirk appeared again on his face.

“The God of Thunder one-upping the God of Lightning. How poetic.” he joked.

Under the pillow, my cock erupted, fully dampening my underwear and even my sweatpants.

I can’t believe it, of all things, this is the thing that broke me: Dave boasting about his skills like an idiot.

I’m done with numbers. I’m done with Greek Mythology.

...but taking Dave’s obvious baits? That I’ll never get tired of.

Dave walked past me and towards the couch, holding a sandwich, greeting me by making noises with his mouth as he took a big bite of his snack. 

“You didn’t even make me say ‘Honey, I’m home.”

I watched Dave lying down on the long couch, reaching for the laptop on the small table in front of it, as he put it on his chest, comically close to his face. Impressive how fast that sandwich got eaten up -he is a big eater after all, despite the tall, slim appearance.

“Because that’s my line.” he replied, his fingers tapping the buttons on the keyboard.

I hung my coat by the door and went into the kitchen to fetch a beer.

“I thought you called in sick.” I asked, as I opened the fridge, disappointed by the lack of alcohol.

“I did.” he said, the stern tone catching me off guard. “Such bullshit!”

He wasn’t mad at me obviously, probably some work-related issue, as it usually happens lately. 

I solved my own very important issue with the fridge instead by settling for a soda, because my body may be a temple, but most temples are old and crumbling so I’m just very committed to the role.

As I walked towards the couch, Dave (eyes glued on the screen) automatically moved his legs just a bit to make room for me. Another sign that he came back a few minutes ago was that he was still wearing, well, casual clothes, precisely a yellow hoodie and a pair of bright blue jeans (and grey socks -he left his sneakers by the door). Since I’m a kinky asshole, I did notice that he was accidentally showing off his sort-of-sagging denim ass towards me, but I easily ignored that by focusing on the soda and the TV. 

Even though he wasn’t angry at me, I didn’t want to annoy him by asking more questions about the job, especially considering the furious tapping I was hearing, so I simply, and silently, took a sip of my not-beer.

“It’s because of Fisher by the way.” Dave said, his face hidden behind the laptop.

“Again?!” I replied. “You did tell me he was making a mess like… 2 days ago.”

“And guess who’s trying to fix the mess he made at 7:30 PM.”

Another episode of my bro working overtime, ladies and gentleman.

Dave also rarely works from home, so I don’t usually get to see how he acts in those situations. The rare times it happened I noticed he switches to a serious man of few words. He still is chill and all, just rightfully focused on whatever task he’s working on.

Whatever happened made him really angry however, as I heard the keyboard almost beg for mercy under all that furious tapping. That’s Dave: when he gets really mad, he actually goes silent. One of those men, yes.

I just remained there, chilling and watching the TV, enjoying my soda, though a beer would have been better in case this wasn’t clear. Occasionally, my friend would occasionally mumble some insults towards the screen or, better yet, to this Fisher guy, a man he complained about to us in the last few days, something that he almost never does. Dave is very easy-going as you know, and very very patient (exhibit A: me), but push the right buttons and he will get mad at you.

“Sorry about all the tapping.” he suddenly said, after like 10 minutes of silence, still focused on the screen. “I can go upstairs if that’s bothering you.” 

“It’s fine bro.” I replied. “I’ve already seen this movie anyway.”

“Yeah the news are wild these days.”

I found it funny how Dave tried to hold a casual conversation despite being so clearly distracted by whatever was happening at work (I don’t blame him). And speaking of which, I certainly didn’t want to distract him myself, so I didn’t reply.

“I mean it’s not like you’re not used to me making weird noises on this couch anyway.”

There he is, the teasing bastard.

I turned to him and I could see him narrowing his eyes and raising his eyebrows, the laptop screen hiding a cheesy smirk. So focused on his job, but will always take the chance to tease and make fun of me.

Which I will always be thankful for.

“…maybe I should go upstairs.” I said, in a deadpan tone.

Without halting all the typing and his focus on the screen, Dave’s casual, immediate answer made the couch shake: a huge fart, one of his usual, Dave-certified displays of flatulence, almost stock-sounding rips. A quick 4-seconds thunder, unusually (relatively) short for my friend’s standards, but loud and proud like it’s perfectly in-brand for him. 

The blast was followed by Dave snoffing from behind the laptop, very aware that his kinky roomate both loves and hates all this teasing.

“Weren’t you going upstairs?” he asked, trying not to laugh, as if nothing happened.

I mouthed a “fuck you” which he obviously couldn’t see. I stared at his denim now instead, the sagging making the ass look even bigger and more imposing in that position and from this angle. My dirty mind liked the view and how casual the pose was, farting like I wasn’t even there. And speaking of casual, you know it, Dave is as usual ridiculously chill with my kink and I’ll never thank him enough for this whole thing going on between us.

“Here’s what I think of Fisher.”

Dave then said, before ripping another huge rip, doing the classic leg-lift move in the process. He didn’t even look at me, still hiding behind the laptop, just farting as if I wasn’t sitting dangerously close to the source, like I said. Another “short” rip, as long as the previous one, and just as loud, if not more.

My friend’s farts are usually as loud as they are long, but I was definitely enjoying this barrage of quick blasts. Then again, when it comes to Dave’s farts, the term “short” is like describing a nuclear explosion as “kind of noisy”.

Naturally, the scent of those quickies reached my nose and engulfed the entire room. My bro’s farts are always big but not as stinky as one may expect. Don’t get me wrong, your nostrils will burn, but they’re not as hard on the nose as they sound… most of the times. 

One thing that was hard, however, was my cock, unsurprisingly reacting to my friend’s talent.

“Alright, done.” Dave said, stretching his right arm to clumsily put the laptop on the small table in front of the couch. “I hope Fisher gets hit by an asteroid tonight.” 

I silently toasted to his understandable wish and took another sip of my soda. My bro was now lying on the couch, legs up, without anything hiding his smirk, the smirk that proved how him showing off his denim sagging ass in my direction was not a coincidence this time. I tried to ignore that, but it was getting very difficult, especially considering that, knowing his skills, the blasts were far from being over.

I kept myself distracted by doing literally anything else than staring, such as putting the empty soda can on the floor by the couch.

“So, you’re done working?” I managed to ask.

He cackled in response to that. 

“Sort of. Got one last job to do.” he said, a cheesy grin drawn on his face.

“What do you m- oh… of course.”

I understood mid-sentence what he meant. The fact that he leaned towards me to reach for my head and pull it down and close to his denim ass being a big clue. I didn’t even try to resist, and I let his hand push my face in front of his butt, Dave’s legs spreading a bit more to once again make room for me -my entire head, in this case. The scent from his previous farts was strong and the ass was warm; the seams and textures of his jeans were always a pleasure to look at, the rough surface tickling the tip of my nose. 

As usual, when Dave gets gassy, my face ends up planted straight into the source of his farts, even though I didn’t ask for it. I don’t know if he did that on purpose, but I was positioned in a way that while most of my view was obscured by his overwhelming ass, I could still see part of my friend’s face, staring down at me, with a smirk. I love when it happens: experiencing one of Dave’s farts so up close and personal while still managing to see that damn smirk (or his other facial expressions) only makes the whole experience even hotter for me.

And hotter it became, not just figuratively, as Dave’s ass soon greeted with another huge blast. Was it stronger than the previous two or did my face being glued to his denim-clad anus made it feel like it was? Either way, it was huge and loud, a standard “Dave rip”, and getting those in my face is something I’ll never get used to. It definitely was longer than the previous farts, about 7 seconds, which only made the smell worse in the process. My bro wasn’t even holding my head anymore, but I didn’t want to move, nor he was surprised that I didn’t.

After he was finished he adjusted his position, so he could see my face better and make fun of me being a kinky mess as usual, while I was completely dazed by his talent.

“Remember when you apologized for the tapping?” I joked.

I made my friend laugh, which I guess is the only way I can somehow return the incredible kinky favor.

“Good times.” he joked back.

My head was still facing his ass, but admittedly it was getting awkward. Dave probably noticed that I was moving away and promptly used his left leg to trap me.

“I’m not gonna apologize for this, bro.” he said, clearly brewing another big one. “…Ready?”

And ready I was, bracing myself for the impact, but the noise I heard was not what I was expecting.

“Fuck!” I heard Dave say, reacting to that same noise.

I saw his right arm reaching for his smartphone, next to the laptop he put there moments ago.

“Fisher?! Really?!” he commented, as he saw the name of the person calling.

I remained there, now things getting awkward for real.

Again I tried to move away, and again my bro made sure I couldn’t.

“Hold on, I gotta take this one.” he said, with the silliest smirk you can imagine. “In the meantime, you can take this one instead.”

A huge rip suddenly blasted my face, just as Dave answered with a surprisingly calm and professional “Hello?”. The fart lasted like 3 seconds but it was probably the baddest one so far, in terms of sound and stench.

“Nooo Fisher, not bothering me at all.” 

I saw and heard Dave resisting the urge to tell this guy to fuck off, and he confirmed that he was lying but winking at me as he continued his ass-licking: after all, Fisher was actually one of his superiors. Not judging however, I’d do the same, and truth to be told, with my face being engulfed in Dave’s gas, you could say that I am doing the same right now, sort of.

As my friend seemed particularly into that phone call, I tried to move one more time, but Dave promptly used his left foot to step on my head and hold me there. Now my nostrils were being tortured not just by Dave’s gas, but also his smelly sock soiling my hair.

So, as long as I’m staying down there, with Dave’s foot firmly holding me still, I simply stared at that wall of denim in front of me; despite the anus being silent, the stench was still kind of unbearable. I know I just said that my bro’s rips do not stink as much as one may think, but when you fart this much and this often, of course one is gonna reach their breaking point, even a kinky guy like me.

“Mh… okay. I see. What did Johnson said?”

I laughed. Dave having this super serious work call while literally holding his farts in was actually hilarious. I managed to look at his face and he was like I wasn’t even there, a calm, assertive man just doing his job. He did look at me for a moment though, trying not to laugh, and winked at me again, fully aware of how ridiculous the whole thing was.

“Sure Fisher, by Tuesday we’ll be ready.”

As Dave said that, I noticed his facial expression changing. He was pushing one out… but since I wasn’t getting blown away, I guess he was pushing this one out in a way that he could somehow control how loud it was gonna be. After all, my bro is the fart master: he knows how to roar, but he also knows how to whisper, proving an incredible talent when it comes to literally controlling his farts’ loudness, length and pitch. 

And those weren’t even on command!

As Dave’s foot kept me in place, the fart that came out was as big as the others, but in a different way. My friend was probably worried (more amused than worried, actually) that Fisher could actually hear his infamous loud farts through the phone, which is not very professional admittedly… and for some reason he also wanted to torture me with his gas. So, the fart master decided to somehow “dilute” his fart into a sort of quieter, rumbly, bubbly long rip.

I could tell this rip was enormous, in spite of all those nerfs. It sounded like a muffled rip with many interruptions, like fire-crackers going off, without getting too loud however. Dave kept the conversation going, speaking about documents, files, coding and all that, his facial expression revealing how carefully he was pushing this one out, while still focusing on the call, without missing a beat. The whole scene was hot and amusing for both of us (well, just the second one for my bro).

This masterful rip was going to be long, even longer than Dave’s usual farts, which are already impressive. I didn’t know if I could edge any longer, as my boner twitched every time this peculiar long fart got surprisingly louder than expected.

10 seconds passed, the stench burning my nostrils and eyes, the fart still “cracking” through Dave’s warm denim and reaching my defenceless nose. I know my bro is good at this, but takes some incredible skills to control your farts like this, natural farts I mean. And such skills only made me harder.

“Yes Fisher, I ToTaLlY AgReE…” 

Dave raised his voice just a bit, anticipating his ass doing the same: a clumsy way to hide the sound of his giant fart from Fisher’s ears. As skilled as my friend is, trying to “dilute” such a huge rip this much and for this long was getting difficult even for a talented man like him. This “accident” only made him silently laugh however.

“Sure Fisher, whatever you say.”

Professionals have standards, you know the drill. And Dave being this professional from both ends was a sight to behold (and, well, sniff I guess). I forgot about my friend’s foot combing my hair and just lied there enjoying the noisy spectacle, the “fireworks” still going strong. Pre-cum erupted from my boner, I couldn’t take it anymore. This gassy bastard makes me cum without even touching me, it’s insane how hot he can get.

Worst (best?) of all, he’s completely aware of it.

After a whopping 56 seconds, the ass seemingly stopped emitting those fire-cracker noises. Despite the relative silence, my bro still made sure I didn’t move, which is something I didn’t even want to question at this point.

“Alright… no no it’s all good. See you tomorrow morning.”

A bit more paying lip service and finally… he hung up.

“Idiot.” he hissed, as he threw the phone on the small table.

I still remained there, my head under Dave’s foot and in the presence of his sagging ass, without questioning whether this was getting too weird or awkward.

“Are… are you finished?” I carefully asked.

“Yeah.” my friend said, with a smirk. 

I guess blasting me does put him in a good mood.

We’re both weird, no doubts about it.

“And that means I’m done holding back. Get ready.” he then added, threatening me with a good time.

If all of that was Dave “holding back”, then yeah, my bro’s skills are just as insane as they sound.

Without even giving me time to come up with a witty comeback, Dave finally raised his foot… only to have his hand take its place, pulling my face up and firmly planting it in his sagging denim ass. It felt warm and kind of sweaty, the jeans soaked into that stench caused by the almost 1-minute-long “fire-cracker” fart. 

How is it possible to be this gassy? A few seconds after my nose touched his ass, my friend started blasting my face again. Yet another loud fart, long and proud, probably what was left of the insane gas bubble from moments earlier, ‘cause that really sounded like his ass was tying up loose ends. As the fart kept going, Dave firmly, but gently, held my face into his ass, with the rip basically being shoved down my throat.

Finally, after 12 more seconds, this final thunder faded out, as Dave’s grip on my head loosened. My friend then (just as gently) pushed me away with his legs on my side of the couch; I was completely startled by all of that, one of the most insane fart sessions I ever had with my bro.

“Are you finished… now?” I asked again.

“ahah You’re lucky my shift is over.” he replied.

He then stood up and walked towards the kitchen, easily towering over me still sitting down on the couch. As if the gas-trail he was leaving behind wasn’t enough, he ripped another loud quickie as his ass passed near my face. I leaped back, not expecting, believe it or not, to fall for such an old trick.

“I thought you were done!”

In response, I heard my friend laugh from the kitchen. 

“Yeah, told you I’ve been working overtime lately!”

I took a deep breath, the air around me still heavily polluted by the power of my roommate’s ass, and carefully massaged the damp tent I pitched between my legs. I was gonna take care of that in the bathroom upstairs in a minute; I only wanted a bit more time to process those particularly strong rips… and if I should start paying Dave since face-farting is, apparently, his real job.

He just replied with with wink, as he took a sip of his own beer, and walked towards our couch in the so-called living room. As my eyes followed him, I only then noticed that the console was ON, and our TV was displaying a familiar “face”, so to speak. The big, stylish logo of a fighting game both me and Dave really enjoy, Nekken.

During College years and after that (like, nowdays), a concerning amount of people in our friend group, myself included obviously, would still get heated up about it, though probably not for the reason you may be thinking.

Yes, obviously some of us are more skilled than others, but the more “violent” discussions happened in regards of the game’s balancing, which was admittedly absolutely terrible, and some things were literally broken, like hitboxes not working properly, i-frames which are not supposed to exist, and unnecessarily distracting jiggle physics (no wait, that one’s a feature I believe, for some reason). I’m not the most skilled player, but I do have a decent Win/Loss ratio against most of our buds, and part of the fun with this broken mess was taking advantage of those bugs and glitches, which became an unofficial mode of its own among players. Naturally, the competitive play (online, or e-sports) was over before it could even properly start, and after 7 years (which is like forever in this context) since its last update (which only fixed the alignment of some UI buttons, as if the developers were purposely messing with us), no sequel announcement, and relative radio silence from the tricksters who made it, the game has obviously been deader than dead, save for us aficionados who would occasionally still boot it up from time to time to kick each other’s ass.

As messy as the game is, it is kind of nostalgic, though I’m pretty sure the last time we played was when we went to a dinner at Adam’s place some months ago; a small competition erupted after Dana, of all people, brought the game up, and so we, the manly men of the manly gaming community, obviously had to be ridiculous about it and turn the oddly formal evening into a jungle of beer, competitive play, and broken combos (which Dana actually enjoyed wholeheartedly by the way, and even easily managed to win a couple of matches against the host himself).

I took another sip of beer and walked towards the back of the couch, eyes on the TV, and only when I got closer I noticed that something was different. The title looked… better? Did I clean my glasses too well or something? My glance turned to Dave, then back at the TV, then back at him again: my bro couldn’t help but smirk.

“No way.” I mouthed.

I took a closer look at the title screen, and the release date written at the bottom of the screen said 2026. What the fuck is going on. Is this a joke?

“Bro.” I simply said. “Did they just shadow-drop…”

“They totally did.” Dave confirmed. “I already hate this.” he added, smiling widely.

“How did I not know this.” 

“No one did.” Dave explained. “They made an announcement this morning, uploaded the remake on the stores, and then disappeared again.” he took another sip of beer and then said the most important part. “And it’s free for whoever bought the original game.”

I was flabbergasted. “There’s no way they did this, they want us dead.” 

I scrambled to read the patch notes, though this is way more than that: this is an entirely new version of the game.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Dave promptly said, now handing me a gamepad. 

Obviously, we had many loose ends to tie up, when it came to this mess of a game.

“Still not over the backwards kick of 2021 huh?” I teased him. 

“An illegal move even for your standards” he replied, sitting down on the couch. “Even for this broken game.”

I sat on my side of the couch, putting the beer on the small table in front of him, and admired the game’s shiny new look for a few seconds.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” I said.

Dave laughed. “Winning once against me truly did wonders to your self-esteem.” 

I swear I wanted to shrug that obviously immature tease off, but I just couldn’t. 

“Excuse me?” yeah I got baited.

“It’s not like you’re big on win streaks against yours truly.” he explained, with a smirk.

“Fuck off I kicked your ass so many times you almost begged me for more.” 

“You won single rounds, not matches.” he explained. “In the end, despite your illegal moves, the honourable player still won in the end.”

Dave rage-baiting is very basic, he’s aware of it, he’s just playing, but the way he says it… goddammit it’s very easy with me, isn’t it? And that makes no sense even: he too takes advantage of the game’s broken gimmicks.

I mean don’t get me wrong, my friend is a very skilled player, probably the best in our friend group, but even Gods can bleed, he just needs to accept it.

“Fine, I’ll bite.” I stated. “Pick any character, any stage, and maybe I’ll show you mercy.”

Dave just remained silent; he adjusted his position, took his shoes off and put both his legs on the small table in front of us.

“Mercy, you say?”

A deafening fart erupted, a quick, loud, startling thunder, 4 seconds long (short for his standards), almost tearing a hole through his jeans. 🔈

The tent I immediately pitched between my legs almost pierced through my own khaki pants instead. Fuckin’ teaser… this is gonna be one of those days, isn’t it?

———

The game’s announcer, a familiar deep voice yelling stuff like “Round 1”, welcomed us back into our petty tournament.

In spite of my bro’s best efforts to… distract me, I still managed to focus on the game.

With unimpressive results, sadly.

Indeed, while I am winning single rounds, I still have to win a single match.

I’m a bit rusty and, believe it or not, the fact that the game runs more smoothly now is actually messing with my timing. Dave said the same thing and admitted he was also being thrown off by Nekken working as intended for the first time ever; unfortunately, he’s much more skilled than I am, and got used to the new rhythm of the characters and their combo much faster than me.

It was 3-0: Dave was winning with relative ease at this point. The way his fingers danced across the gamepad was like the movements of a skilled guitarist. I have to wonder if he’s enjoying humiliating me like this but, knowing him, he probably is. He baited me good, I fell for it, and I'm getting exactly what I deserve.

"You good, bro?" Dave said, knowing full well he was using his annoying tone.

For a second, I feared it was one of those one-liners that precedes... well, you know what. 

The last thing I need right now is another distraction.

I’m not going down without a fight.

I just won a round: I can take home at least one victory.

A few trips, a few dodges. Dave’s healthbar is almost empty; this might be it. Block, punch, and...

And I’m a kinky mess, because the loud blast that echoed in the room, easily surpassing the sounds of the game, effortlessly ripped by the bro sitting on the other side of the ouch, completely throw me off, putting an end to an already precarious display of skills.

Dave snorted at the fact that his distraction worked, and his “short” 6 seconds rip was followed by him finishing me off (in the game), winning another match. He then just turned to me, with a silly, annoying smile.

I took a deep breath to calm down, accidentally sniffing up the smell lingering in the room.

“All that bitching about illegal moves and then that’s the shit you pull off to win?” I said. “Very honourable.”

My bro laughed. “That’s not an in-game move, it doesn’t count.”

I adjusted my glasses, pinching my nose, trying to resist the urge to strangle my friend.

“Let’s just wrap this up. You won.” I admitted.

“Aw come on.” Dave said. “I’m seeing Dana later, I got nothing to do until then.” 

“You got your point, you won fairly… sort of.” I insisted. “I’ll go get another beer no-“

"You're such a pain in the ass!” he mocked me. "Pick up that fucking gamepad and let me dominate you a little more."

"Bro!” I said, trying not to laugh. "I admit it, you're stronger. Clearly you bested me!”

“You better start putting your head into the game, or else…”

"Or else what?" I dared to ask.

Dave took a deep breath of his own this time, and laughed a bit.

"Okay, if you... well, if we were both normal people, I’d probably just say that if you don't pick up that gamepad, I’m gonna fart in your face so hard it’s gonna melt your skin off. But since our situation is… very different..."

"Shut up.” I hissed.

“I mean, you know me, I believe much more in... positive reinforcement.” my bro did his best to not burst into laugher there. “Perhaps the only thing you need to win is just a bit of… motivation…”

“I just texted Dana ‘Sorry for your loss’, ‘cause I think I’m going to kill you, Dave.”

Obviously, Dave was just messing with me, teasing, playing around my kink, the best friend and worst bully you could ask for. Not the first time he tries to “bribe” me with his incredible farting skills… and not the last time I’m going to fall for it.

No, I can’t let him have this. 

I know that at this point he’s super chill (always has been), open-minded and… possibly morbidly amused by my gross kink, and given how good he’s at farting and how awkward I can get because of it, I can’t really blame him. Hell, I’m probably the luckiest kinky person in the world.

Still, I gotta strangle him later.

“Okay…” I scoffed. I sat back down. “I too have nothing better to do… but I’m not doing this because of… you know what.”

Dave leaned a bit, obviously to promptly fart in response to what I just said, but then stopped. “Nah… saving it for later.”

Teasing bastard.

And we’re back into the game, back at trying to kick each other’s ass. 

I was doing better, and I hate the idea of Dave thinking that I was doing so because of my kinky thirst.

Then I remembered… he just doesn’t care. He’s the one pulling this fart shit even when it’s uncalled for, so I guess I should just relax. Yes, relax and get my ass kicked again, fuck off. He won again.

“Looks like I’m a lost cause, bro.” I remarked, sarcastically, as Nekken reminded us who’s in the lead.

“Yeah I gotta say, you were much better at the buggy version of this shit.” he played along. 

“I don’t need any reinforcement, I just need to practice.” I explained.

“Nah, positive reinforcement it is…” Dave insisted, raising his right leg. “With a just a bit of FOMO thrown into it…” he said, turning to me with a smirk, and ripping a loud, meat-y rip, around 4 seconds long.

Fuck. So he’s going there.

This is what I missed out by losing.

Really? We’ve come to this.

The newest frontier of my friend’s kinky mind games just to mess with me.

My boner was greatly enjoying this though. Yeah, my boner, not me, obviously, duh.

“Let’s try again.” 

I let Dave start another match, we picked anther stage.

Impressive combos from both sides, special moves, punches, blocks, kicks, dodges.

Yet, as usual, I won a single round, but my friend still won the match overall.

I just can’t seem to be consistent, it’s like I’m losing focus, regardless of any… distraction.

Well, I lost again, time to hear what Dave’s ass has to say.

My friend however didn’t fart: he did lean again, raising his right leg, but the sounds that came out from his denim, sagging ass were different. He wasn’t farting this time, he was sucking air in. Fuck.

He just casually sat back normally again, as if he didn’t just breathe air in from his anus, and started another match. Why didn’t he fart? Why was he keeping it in?

I tried, really tried, to focus on the game, but my boner was taking the wheel. The gamepad in my hand was nothing compared to the good-old joystick between my legs.

Another match, another loss.

Yeah I was hard, hard to watch.

I could tell Dave was having fun though, and so was I don’t get me wrong, and this kinky layer of embarrassment from me was greatly amusing to him, the teasing bastard.

Here he goes again, leg raised, more air loudly going in through his sagging jeans, effortlessly, more power to the the already huge fart he was brewing. Is he going to do a suck-in every time he wins? What’s his endgame? He isn’t even addressing that he’s doing that, what the fuck is going on.

Now I was getting mad, for some reason. 

Raging boner on a raging gamer, fittingly.

And rage obviously didn’t help at all, because this was the first time I didn’t even win a single round.

Dave didn’t even remark on his easy win, save for his usual “turns to me with an annoying smirk” face. 

He did, however, suck more air in, loudly.

He’s got mad farting skills, whether it’s natural or on command, but the idea of him being able to even keep all of that in, brewing a huge one on command while kicking my ass in a fighting game… I don’t know, there’s something to it that it’s doing something to my chest. Stereotypical manliness, maybe? Or something along those lines. Either way, getting distracted was the norm now, there’s no way I could win a single match.

Two more times I lost, and two more suck-ins I heard. My bro would still occasionally make comments on the game’s new graphics, while rightfully make fun of my questionable skills at blocking, but the constant, alongside me getting crushed, was him sucking air in every time I lost.

I know I should probably shut up, I should probably just accept the fact that he’s chill. If he’s doing something this weird it’s because he just doesn’t care… but you know me, I have to be annoying. I don’t want him to think that I’m doing this on purpose you know, doing this just to hear him, well, fart.

“Dave I swear…” I stuttered. “I’m not losing on purpose.”

A big ol’ PAUSE appeared on the screen, and Dave turned to me.

He looked… a bit more serious, his eyes studying my awkwardness.

“I know you’re not.” he then said. “You just really really really suck.” he whispered.

I was… oddly relieved.

“And speaking of sucking!” Dave then yelled, now acknowledging a big loud suck-in. “Oof, that’s gonna leave a mark later.” he said, to me, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

I was sweating: the gamepad was barely slipping in my grip anymore, while Dave kept playing like his hands were one with the buttons. I'm distracted, I'm nervous... but it's just a damn game, in the end. 

Positive reinforcement or whatever the hell that was, it's all teasing; it's Dave mocking me, messing with me, for better or worse. Weird mind games my best friend loves to play just to get a laugh at my clumsiness, but enough is enough. 

It’s not that deep.

I just, simply, purely, need to focus.

Stench still lingering aside, I took a deep breath, eyes on my character, eyes on the opponent, eyes on the hitboxes that finally make sense for once. 3, 2, 1.

Round 1. Dodge, block. Tactical trip, uppercut.

I go for a combo, Dave dodges it, counters.

I take the hit, I survive.

Flying kick, another trip, final uppercut.

First victory.

Dave chuckles, calling me a "dickhead."

I appreciate the good-natured insult.

Round 2. Backjump, and then I throw a blade-hat.

Dave takes damage, but pulls off an unexpected counter to my kick, taking out a lot of my HP. I don't let myself get played, I don't push it.

Tactical retreat, I take the opportunity to let him blow off steam, to study him.

I focus on blocking, but I know I’m going to lose this one. Not a problem.

I let him win this Round.

Round 3, final round. The deciding round.

I start like before, throw my hat, predict the counter.

Trip, new combo, special move.

Dave doesn't even have time to use his own combo before I grab him, throwing him off the stage and triggering a violent, hilarious cutscene.

No backwards kicks this time, Dave.

You got served.

I won.

Finally, I won.

I took a deep breath, managed to punch Dave on the shoulder, and threw the gamepad on the small table in front of us.

“Well well well…” Dave said, still managing to sound annoying even when defeated. “First time you beat me without cheating, I’m impressed!”.

I ignored the obvious jab at my 2021 move. “First time you didn’t pull any weird-ass illegal move in a way or another.”

Dave snorted. “You might want to take that back.”

As usual, he’s the one who has to have the last word... even if the concept of a "word" is debatable here. More than anything, I'd call it a "roar”… a rear, you might say.

With a deft movement, my friend adjusted his position, leaning on his side, leg stretching up, now fully showing off his sagging jeans ass in my direction, a familiar view that could be described as some sort of “denim wall”. Behind that wall, an ass that was brewing a huge fart, result of a series of immense suck-ins prompted by me lacking gaming skills.

My bro managed to get his ass a bit closer to me and didn’t even wait for me to say anything: he simply let his ass speak as if I wasn’t even sitting there.

“Round… 1!” Dave muttered, imitating the deep voice of the game’s narrator. And a huge fart erupted out of his ass. Loud, long, juicy. 🔈

Thunderous as usual, powered by his suck-ins from before and yeah, probably his own built-in skills that we all know. As the fart kept being ripped, he stretched his leg even more to ease the blast out, a gimmick that only made the view even hotter for me. I was exhausted, but still fighting the urge to plant my face into that roaring ass.

After 14 seconds, the blast was over, but Dave didn’t change pose.

“How’s that for positive reinforcement?” he joked, we both laughed like idiots.

I almost didn’t notice his arm reaching for my head, pulling me down, closer to his denim ass, as if it was, you know, the most normal thing to do in that situation. Sure, why not: you dominated me into the game, might as well do it on this couch as well, not gonna complain.

“Round… 2!” 

I should’ve seen this coming.

The moment my nose touched the rough, smelly, warm surface of my friend’s sagging jeans, very close to the spot where a pair of red underwear were visible, my entire face was blasted my another loud fart, strong enough to make my entire face shake. 🔈

Being on-command, the stench wasn’t as terrible as you may imagine, but there’s still ass and sweat involved, so trust me it wasn’t pretty. The sound was hot, loud, chainsaw-like, and rocked my eardrums like Dave always knew how to do. Around 15 seconds, brutal and long like the previous one.

Before I could even say anything, insult him, or even just thank him like the awkward mess I am, Dave adjusted his position a bit more, this time wrapping both his legs around my head, trapping me into a denim gas chamber.

“Round… 3!”

Oh come the fuck on.

Another blast, loud, dangerously meat-y, airy. Absolutely unbearable now. 🔈

This felt more natural than on-command, probably a mix of both, if that’s even possible (and for Dave, it usually was). I could heard Dave snort a bit as he kept pushing it out, holding my head in its place, making sure none of his reinforcement got wasted. 12 seconds, 12 seconds of reinforcement down my throat basically, and he was done.

Just as his legs pulled me in, those same legs then pushed me on my side of the couch, far from his ass, but not immune to the smelly AOE of the farts I just got all over my face.

I didn’t say anything, obviously, and just let Dave laugh at me as usual. Or with me.

“Yeah you might be right…” he said, noticing the smell. “Totally counts as an illegal move.”

The teasing asshole laughed at my awkwardness, then reached for his phone and gamepad.

“Welp, I got dinner with Dana. Gonna take a shower.” he explained. “I need the bathroom… unless you need it first.” he mocked, purposely throwing his gamepad on the tent I was visibly pitching between my legs.

He snorted and left me there on the couch, alone dealing with my painful boner.

“Fuck you… illegal… move…” I muttered.