another tyoma!

A pitiful display of his incompetence now laid bare within the mirror’s reflection. A brown-coloured oil spill that has overtaken what should be the pitch black roots of his. Subtle glimpses of who he once was threatened to break through the visage he had built up, the image of the raven-haired killer would be sullied by the actions that his hands have yet to conjure up. He wouldn't be able to miss the glare in his eyes, piercing the glass and back into his own cold gaze. It was unflattering in every sense and Jeff couldn't handle anymore of this farce. It was a mistake in the making every few months that he has to correct, mend the spillage by plugging his hair follicles up with chemicals from a foreign metal can.

Good thing that black overpowers everything.

The dye burned at his scalp even from a simple stroke and for a split second, he questioned the legitimacy of the hair dye he had haphazardly stolen on his way back from a kill - but there wasn't a single bone in his body that particularly cared for the logistics so it was swept away as fast as it came. If it does the job, then fine. If it doesn't - well, Jeff just has to find another that does, whether he likes it or not. Because there hasn't been a single day that has passed since this stain has made itself loud enough to stare holes into. It haunted his reflections in the littlest of things, even the broken clock that sits at the dining table caught the dastardly sight that Jeff loathed so much.

But no one knew of this inner turmoil of his. Because every time he gazed upon images of himself, he was unnaturally quiet and his eyes never lingered more than necessary. No one could tell that for every reflective surface he encountered, it felt like those shards of glass had slit open a part of his skin. A much more painful endeavor than the actual action itself. To be remembered the way you never intended to - Jeff couldn't have that, not for himself and certainly not anyone else. That's why he's been cooped up within his end of the house, only bothering to peek out of his room when his needs absolutely calls for it.

Now, he's found himself here. Gripping the bathroom sink and waiting for the burn to settle.

“What are you doing?”

A noise faintly leapt from his throat as he frantically searched the mirror for who the intruder could be. You could call him slow at times because how could he mistook that voice for anyone else but that person? They're the only one residing within this dilapidated house but he supposed that anyone can just waltz in if they think it's unoccupied. Still -.. The mirror couldn't tell much. The poltergeist’ apparition was faint when he saw it, just like the other times that Jeff had carefully watched every reflective surface for the man. An almost envious plight for Jeff, to have light capture you in a way that nearly mimics a vampire’s known trait.

Nearly. Because he paid close attention, the blonde strands never leave him and so does the green. Everything's there - just.. In vague shapes.

“Dyeing my hair.” A frank reply. Usually, he would’ve withdrawn from answering all together had the mud stain on his hair was still in full display. But it's already painted over, all that's left is a simple wash and he’ll be the same ol’ killer that Ben knew.

“.. Why?” That wasn't exactly the question he wanted to ask but asking ‘why are you here?’ feels.. Disingenuous. Like he's expecting something from the code.

“Ah.” Simple. Like he understood far beyond the three letter sentence Jeff had given him. “Well, black does suit you.” Jeff turned his head to face Ben as if he needed to grasp the sentence a second time before truly getting it.

“I'm a brunette.” As soon as he admitted that, a sense of shame washed over him, like he's spilling secrets that no one should've known. But his face remained stoic, eyes dragging over Ben’s expression to fully capture how that revelation made him feel. Then, the shorter man’s lips curved into a small smile. The heat pulsed harder for him, like he's getting burned at the stake for such a simple mistake. Now dread's overtaking his stomach.

“I know.”

It shouldn't come as a surprise to Jeff - it really shouldn't. Ben is.. A computer, or a code, or something.. He just knows that Ben is some type of abstraction that his puny little brain cannot comprehend. A man leagues smarter than a highschool dropout like him. But to be seen right through, it's the worst punishment you could hammer down on someone like Jeff, especially since it took such a toll on him to even mutter that confession in the first place.

The burn prickled his skin, a foreshadowing to an upcoming headache.

“I noticed it when you had your hood up around the house. I didn't really mean to look - I didn't. I saw it when you picked up the papers the other day.”

Right, his dumbass just had to drop his journal right on the ground, causing the papers to clatter everywhere when Ben was hovering around him. Jeff vaguely remembered it, the both of them were close in proximity and he couldn't remember why. The only thing that stood out to him was being all-too concerned about Ben seeing the contents of his quiet indulgences than if his hood was properly covering his hair. Everything here points back to him and his incompetence.

Jeff nearly sighed.

“Fuck. Well - cat's out the bags or.. Whatever.” He couldn't handle the man’s expression anymore and has opted that the sink’s drain is a much better sight to focus on. Rust and dried blood coats the metal and the sight only soured his mood further, throat croaking out something distressing. Like a faint whine of an animal that has given up on fighting. Before Ben could say anything, Jeff filled the silence once more,

“Ben, how do you do it? I mean, you're not really Link. I don't fucking know how you look like before you got out of Majora but that body - it's certainly not yours, isn't it? Not something you'd want to look like.” Before he even knew it, Ben had taken up the space beside him. His reflection is now clearer in the mirror yet it still struggles to capture all the necessary details. Jeff decided that the terribly drawn image was more bearable to see than the guy himself.

He’d then miss the way Ben’s smile would drop and how his head would tilt to the side, in deep thoughts about the questions that Jeff had presented him. Or how the man had decided to not float any further and land upon the cold white tiles to feel grounded in the environment - in whatever atmosphere Jeff had set up within this dingy bathroom. “You’re right. I didn’t look like this before and.. I don't really remember how I looked before either. Maybe it's the price for having escaped the confines of Majora.”

“So you're okay with that?” An almost instant response.

“Not necessarily. But I’m happy enough to even have options now.” Finally, Jeff turned his full attention to the man, his hands leaving the edge of the sink so he could cross them over his chest and the details of the other man sank in almost immediately. He leaned the side of his hips against the porcelain and stared at Ben for almost a full few seconds. His eyes partially fixated on the way the man’s hair fell upon his forehead, a gentle sweeping motion that barely looked out of place. Down to the way his face and body is shaped. Ben’s just two inches shorter than him.

“I guess you don't really have much to complain about.” A frank comment that somehow made Ben’s elf-like ears twitch. His stare hardened, seeking for more physical responses from Ben.

“What do you mean?” There's that subtle squint.

“Well, you don't look half-bad is what I'm saying. You're not as fucked up looking as I am either. Minus all the bleeding from the eye thing.” As he talked, he watched how Ben’s expression shifted to a gradually interested one.

“I don't think you look ‘fucked up’.”

“Not my point. My point is, you're kinda like those - those.. Those pretty boy archetypes y’know? I know Link was one of those but - pshht, come on. I think you're the better end of the deal here.”

“Uh-huh..” Sweat began to pile on the back of Jeff’s neck.

“... Why don't you think I look.. Fucked up? I’m not asking this because I'm insecure or some dumb shit like that. It's just the bare bones truth that I look y'know? Barely human-like.”

“I think calling you an eyesore would be stretching it too much. Your features are what people would call conventionally attractive. Just like me, you just happened to have a severe difference from what is.. The ‘norm’. You also take extra care of your appearance, how could I ever disparage your effort?”

There’s a heat that gently grows and emanates from the tip of his ears and Jeff is acutely aware of it. He’s trying to swat away anymore of these bubbling emotions. Pesky, annoying fucking things. It’s always like this when Ben’s around and he doesn’t understand it - or more like, he doesn’t want to understand it. Futility’s already a deep seeded concept within him and he doesn’t ever fight it when it rears its ugly head towards him. He just accepts it, accepts that they will always just be talking like this, never closing that gap, never getting close enough for them to see the inside. The sound of a gentle leak from the tap, dropping down and hitting the drain, snaps him back to reality - the reality where Ben is patiently waiting for his answer. Like always and Jeff just doesn’t understand why he even bother-

“I.. I need to rinse this out.”

Then, he walked past Ben, over to the bathtub and turned the showerhead on. His strides were big and deliberate, a purposeful pull away from the conversation they just had. It’s fine, once Ben sees that he’s uninterested, he’ll leave and do his own thing. It’s fucking alright, no need to feel so bad for the guy.

Jeff lowered his head just enough for the water to hit the top of it, washing away the excess dye and realizing - shit. That conversation was barely 20 minutes and he’s already washing it off. He might have to redo this again which is- it’s fucked, but whatever. It’s his fault anyway for getting himself into such a meaningless conversation in the first place. Like, why would Ben realistically care about how he looks? Much less care about whatever dilemma Jeff is having about it. God, he’s such an idiot.

“Then.. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” By the time Jeff even bothered to look back, Ben was already gone but that bashful feeling that enveloped his heart earlier. It lingered on and stained him forever.

Hah. What's wrong with him?

-

Jeff should’ve realized that these feelings are born from impurities. After all, he’s something that’s been dirtied long ago, a rot that festered deep and never quite recovering itself into the cleaner state it once was. Feelings that overstayed its welcome in the depths of night, resulting in him tossing and turning yet he couldn't find the slumber he so longed for. It coiled underneath his belly, a pooling arousal that begged for even an ounce of satisfaction.

He bit his bottom lips, contemplating on whether or not it was worth it to do this on an obviously old bed that squeaks with even the slightest of movement. But.. It wasn't strange for Jeff to be noisy, especially when cooped up within his own private space. Ben, of all people, should know how loud he can really be - his clumsiness and his general lack of spatial awareness were seriously evident when no one's around.

How many times has Ben asked him what he broke this time?

His hands travelled onto the waistband of his pants and boxers, fingers pausing and pressing upon it for just a second - a moment of hesitation, the shame threatening to catch up to him before he fully pulled everything off. The familiar reveal of his scar-ridden thighs would usually put him off the mood but tonight was different, his virile burned brighter than usual and he wondered if it had anything to do with the awfully intimate conversation he had with Ben earlier today.

But was it even intimate? They were just talking. Normally. Like how they usually would. Jeff must be a new type of crazy to be having these thoughts right after something so mundane.

When Ben has left him to his own devices, he wonders what it would have been like if he was a little bolder. If he had been more honest with himself. If he had asked Ben to wash the dye away, have him gently handle Jeff’s hair under the running water. The blonde’s hands, Jeff had never had the gall to hold it nor does he ever had the excuse to. A poltergeist cannot retain anymore injuries in the afterlife, so he can't even use the simplest of excuses to get even a sliver of touch from his friend.

”I didn't really mean to look - I didn't.”

The sentence repeats like a broken record in his head. Ben looked at him. He observed Jeff that closely and didn't even have the urge to throw up at the sight. That's more than anyone has ever spoken of him.

“Shit..” A tiny whisper, he can't be any louder than this. His hand travelled just right on his hard-on, even just a simple graze had him twitching from his clit and he braced himself for the rest of the night. Has it really been that fucking long?

He’d like to imagine it’s smooth yet a tad calloused at the tip of the fingertips. And he'd like to imagine it touching him like this, stroking his clit with his index fingers and having it be terrifyingly slow, like he's waiting for Jeff to emit anything more than pathetic mewls.

But Jeff would already be crumbling. He knows he feels himself losing his senses as his hips grind against the fingers, a desperate rhythm rocks and he wondered if he could ever look Ben in the eyes if this silly daydream would ever come true. It would never happen. Ben would never hold him like this, would never even think to touch such a dirty place and find Jeff even the slightest bit attractive like this.

He's so pathetic.

But in his own self-pity, he feels his hole throbbed and his perception of Ben skewing into something even farther out of reach. His fingers slid down, gathering up all the slick that his cunt had produced and coating his fingers to the best of his ability. An act of mercy - something the blonde would've afforded him. If Jeff wasn't so caught up with the man’s unfounded compassion, he might've mistreated his hole like any other nights, shove it in dry and relish in the pain. He's trying his hardest to imitate the unfathomable concept that is Ben and in his delirious state of arousal, he couldn't tell if it was working or not. Just the very fact that Ben could’ve done, as far as that idea was, it had him squirming on the bed.

When he pushed in, it was immediately two digits. Something Ben wouldn't have done - or would he? Jeff wasn't sure, but he knows himself that he won't be satisfied with just one. And so it began, the trembling of his body and the way his other hand covered his mouth to mute any kind of embarrassing noises as he started to thrusts those fingers in a pace that would usually be too slow for him.

That's what he deserves though. His relationship with Ben, it's a slow and steady stream upon the surface but Jeff’s the only one that's fighting with rushing tides. The other man doesn't rush into things like he does and doesn't even seem to have even a lick of interest in Jeff that way. And fuck - that hurts. He couldn't even stand to be honest with him because that would be another thing to add to the pile of shit he's ruined. He can't afford to lose this - can't afford to lose any more than what he already had lost.

Especially not Ben.

So when he sped up his thrusts, that wasn't the blonde he's trying to imitate, it was his own malicious self. That deep-seeded guilt, it mixed in wonderfully with his lust. A poisonous concoction that had him whining into his palm and rolling the blues of his gaze up to the cracked ceiling. Of course, this wasn't something realistic. He had initially doubted the man could feel any anger as flammable as Jeff’s but Ben had told him his own fair share of misdeeds, some probably even greater than the quick death Jeff would grant his victims. That's something to go off of.

If the man had ever been angry enough at Jeff to fuck him senseless until his brains matter are sprawled out upon the bed..

Th.. Three fingers. He needs three in him now.

“Ffh.. uck.” He doesn't care to speculate the blonde’s size but if it was any bigger than this, he knows he would be buckling upon it at least a few times a week. Maybe more than a few. Every day.. Fuck - get your head straight, you dumbfuck. Can't just fuck all day and be productive like that.

Still, the thoughts and the sudden hastiness threw his head in for a loop. His imaginations ran too wild now, too out of control for the image of Ben he had conjured up in his head. He imagined the man to hold him rough enough to leave marks upon the area of his waist and his pelvic bone, he imagined for him to be helpless and strung over the bed gripping down the mattress underneath for any sort of support as he gasps for both air and the cock plunged inside him. He’d like to imagine Ben finishing inside him deep, filling him up to the brim and letting Jeff lay down upon the bed with his cum dripping out of him.

All of those things aided in reaching his climax. His body spasming for a quick few seconds, his fingers suddenly feeling much much wetter than before. He heaved into his palm, staring right up to the ceiling a half-lidded stare. What an anticlimactic ending. Jeff naturally started to regret it as soon as it's done. Peeling away his wrist from the heat between his legs and sighing loudly to himself. Reality is harsh.

A moment had barely passed and his senses had heightened to a disgusting degree. He could feel his hair sticking to his forehead, the drying slick hardening up between his fingers, the room being 50 degrees hotter than before. Fuck.

He's going to clean himself up and forget about this.

Forget anything that his mind had conjured up just a few minutes prior.