For the rest of the day after the Courier got back, things were relatively normal. Things had gone well at the Ultra Luxe and he’d managed to uncover some kind of scandal involving the menu. In turn, Arcade tried his best to compartmentalize, and eventually willed away his erection. Because there was probably no way he could peacefully jack off now that everyone was back home, and more so knowing that Boone was lurking somewhere, knowing it was to thoughts of him.
But other than that, the routine followed as usual. Arcade was called upon if anyone needed medical attention. (Veronica had managed to get a scrape infected without noticing.) He read journals on health science that had been brought back for him. A couple hours after noon, Arcade checked out with everyone else and packed their spare crate with supplies. As per a weekly arrangement with the Followers - that he was all too happy to carry out - he brought it to Julie and chatted for a while.
It was perfectly regular. No one suspected a thing about what had transpired between Boone and he.
For the most part.
So, dinner was a bit awkward. At the request of the Courier, everyone sat down for dinner and ate together; almost a tradition by now. Raul had offered to cook tonight, and the food wasn’t half bad. It was, however, difficult to concentrate on his well-done brahmin steak. Can't place blame, when the object of your sexual fantasies is right across the table and, if it were possible, more quiet than ever, he thought sullenly. Even Cass was having trouble getting Boone to commentate, on her worst days managing to startle at least a smile or a short huff of laughter out of him.
He ate, of course, but every bite felt like lead in his stomach.
It was a test of courage to fall asleep that night. Twisting with tension and unable to completely abandon the idea of getting off, Arcade finally turned over and muffled the harsh, uneven gasping of his release into the pillow. The sheets clung to him in an unpleasant way, and it only intensified his sense of shame. His limbs burned from being held so tight for so long, and mind exhausted by everything it had been forced into dealing with today, rest found him. Arcade would find time to wash the bedclothes in the morning.
-
“You look kinda shitty.”
Eyes bleary and burning a bit behind smudged lenses, Arcade squinted accusingly. “And maybe if I was a creature of vanity, I would care enough to respond to that.” He flicked out his newspaper, a couple centuries behind in current events but no less stimulating.
In truth, his sore attitude was a product of his early waking hour. Arcade had taken it upon himself to get up before anyone else, to switch out and wash the sheets he'd ruined the night prior.
Cass shrugged, and contemplated the liquor cabinet for a full minute before snatching a mug off the kitchen shelf and pouring herself some coffee from the ancient French press.
“That’s a load if I ever heard one,” she said, and took her seat right next to him, bumping elbows amiably. “You spend an unholy amount of time in the ‘loo.”
Unable to deny that which was true but pretty good at deluding himself into imagining he could, Arcade twitched his shoulders at her back, realizing with little frustration that he’d been rereading the same article for a while now. Removing his glasses and rubbing both eyes tiredly, he asked, “What can I do for you.”
Cass smirked in triumph. “Start by explaining to me what’s going on between you and grumpy.”
Arcade appeared to find the fissure in his left lens more fascinating than usual.
“Well? He was about as living as his chair last night, and you never pick ‘n push at a good steak.”
When still he gave no indication of answering, Cass moved to stand up. “I guess I’ll just have to ask him then.“
“No! Lord, no. Just… give me a moment,” he pleaded, motioning for her to sit back down. He replaced his glasses. “This is a long story, you understand,” he began, “and private.”
She nodded and pointed to the door. He followed her to the room she’d slept in last night, and promptly unleashed his account of yesterday’s events and his own reasoning behind their tragic turn.
Re: Can't Find No Sweet Release 1b/2
For the rest of the day after the Courier got back, things were relatively normal. Things had gone well at the Ultra Luxe and he’d managed to uncover some kind of scandal involving the menu. In turn, Arcade tried his best to compartmentalize, and eventually willed away his erection. Because there was probably no way he could peacefully jack off now that everyone was back home, and more so knowing that Boone was lurking somewhere, knowing it was to thoughts of him.
But other than that, the routine followed as usual. Arcade was called upon if anyone needed medical attention. (Veronica had managed to get a scrape infected without noticing.) He read journals on health science that had been brought back for him. A couple hours after noon, Arcade checked out with everyone else and packed their spare crate with supplies. As per a weekly arrangement with the Followers - that he was all too happy to carry out - he brought it to Julie and chatted for a while.
It was perfectly regular. No one suspected a thing about what had transpired between Boone and he.
For the most part.
So, dinner was a bit awkward. At the request of the Courier, everyone sat down for dinner and ate together; almost a tradition by now. Raul had offered to cook tonight, and the food wasn’t half bad. It was, however, difficult to concentrate on his well-done brahmin steak. Can't place blame, when the object of your sexual fantasies is right across the table and, if it were possible, more quiet than ever, he thought sullenly. Even Cass was having trouble getting Boone to commentate, on her worst days managing to startle at least a smile or a short huff of laughter out of him.
He ate, of course, but every bite felt like lead in his stomach.
It was a test of courage to fall asleep that night. Twisting with tension and unable to completely abandon the idea of getting off, Arcade finally turned over and muffled the harsh, uneven gasping of his release into the pillow. The sheets clung to him in an unpleasant way, and it only intensified his sense of shame. His limbs burned from being held so tight for so long, and mind exhausted by everything it had been forced into dealing with today, rest found him. Arcade would find time to wash the bedclothes in the morning.
-
“You look kinda shitty.”
Eyes bleary and burning a bit behind smudged lenses, Arcade squinted accusingly. “And maybe if I was a creature of vanity, I would care enough to respond to that.” He flicked out his newspaper, a couple centuries behind in current events but no less stimulating.
In truth, his sore attitude was a product of his early waking hour. Arcade had taken it upon himself to get up before anyone else, to switch out and wash the sheets he'd ruined the night prior.
Cass shrugged, and contemplated the liquor cabinet for a full minute before snatching a mug off the kitchen shelf and pouring herself some coffee from the ancient French press.
“That’s a load if I ever heard one,” she said, and took her seat right next to him, bumping elbows amiably. “You spend an unholy amount of time in the ‘loo.”
Unable to deny that which was true but pretty good at deluding himself into imagining he could, Arcade twitched his shoulders at her back, realizing with little frustration that he’d been rereading the same article for a while now. Removing his glasses and rubbing both eyes tiredly, he asked, “What can I do for you.”
Cass smirked in triumph. “Start by explaining to me what’s going on between you and grumpy.”
Arcade appeared to find the fissure in his left lens more fascinating than usual.
“Well? He was about as living as his chair last night, and you never pick ‘n push at a good steak.”
When still he gave no indication of answering, Cass moved to stand up. “I guess I’ll just have to ask him then.“
“No! Lord, no. Just… give me a moment,” he pleaded, motioning for her to sit back down. He replaced his glasses. “This is a long story, you understand,” he began, “and private.”
She nodded and pointed to the door. He followed her to the room she’d slept in last night, and promptly unleashed his account of yesterday’s events and his own reasoning behind their tragic turn.
(gah formatting, gah writing on the old laptop.)