「☣」 Conner rolls his eyes at the orgy comment and just shakes his head as he lets Bart continue talking, liking it a lot better when he’s all pressed up against the wall with those deer in the headlights eyes. Conner knows he’s got the power between them and he is absolutely more than happy to use it if he has to. It’s amazing what parts of the body that people can live without. It’s not even the thought of killing the boy before me — he doesn’t want to — but just the thought of what he could do made his mouth nearly start to salivate. He pulled back slowly as there were hands on his chest, pushing, shoving him away so gently.
“Actually, yes, I am Chop Shop.” he responded as he pulled the stupid orange off of the blade, bringing it up to his mouth to lightly suckle against the break and let the sweet citrus juice slide down his throat, refreshing him from the short while of not having anything to drink on hand. He should set up a little fridge down here some time. He added that to his mental checklist.
”It’s not like you’re the “dicky ex” and it’s nothing against you,” he said as he took the orange from his mouth, swiping his tongue up over his lips to catch any juice he missed with his mouth. “I’m not going to risk getting caught.” He said, taking the knife to cut open the orange swiftly, tossing half of it to Bart. He still couldn’t believe that Bart carried around a bunch of oranges all the time.
”If you don’t get in my way I can let you stay down here and I’ll take you home when I’ve cleaned up, but don’t get too touchy with my stuff. You know I don’t like people touching my stuff.” He said as he put a slice of orange into his mouth, taking his knife back over to the set and started to really clean them and sterilize them in a bath before he started to clean up the mess that he’d made, still eating the orange.
He was quiet for a while, throwing the peel into the trash by the desk, draining the blood out of the body’s veins although he didn’t get all of it sadly because of the fact that he’d ripped the poor guy’s heart out and it’d gone all over. He looked over his shoulder at Bart, blood staining the front of his shirt and all up his arms. A bit was even smudged over his cheek from scratching it.
“I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t make any sex jokes about the work in the basement.” This basement had only known death and blood and sex was an awkward topic for Conner since he hadn’t partaken in any of it since he’d left to go off and become whatever it was that he’d become. He then turned back to what he was doing and quietly worked on cleanup for a while before he washed off his hands and face, stripping his shirt off so he could put on a clean one. He was just as if not more muscular than how he’d been as a teenager, the muscle rippling with each movement under his skin that was adorned with a few faint white lines from fights and accidents down here in this very room.
Bart’s not too sure how to respond to the confession. It’s kind of like Bart walking into a hospital and proclaiming just what and who he’s stuck his dingly dang in—-okay, okay, so maybe not exactly like it, but that’s how he feels about it. Maybe like loudly proclaiming to the other person in the elevator that you farted. Yeah, that sounds better. The stripper wants to make an off-handed comment about Conner’s parents not being proud—but that’s seriously low, and he can’t bring himself to say it.
”You chose an interesting profession, big guy,” He finally manages, and debates pulling another orange from his bag. He carries maybe three on hand with him after meeting Conner again. Honestly, Bart’s been eating more and more oranges because of this stupid running gag.
”I disagree, it was most definitely against me,” And the stripper eyed the knife like it was a personal offense. Bart watches him, watches Conner play with the stupid orange. “Ugh—-” And he’s about to say something really smart, but there’s an orange half thrown his way. Bart catches it out of instinct, looks at it like it’s the strangest thing he ever saw, then stares at Conner while he moved about.
”Oh goodie, I get to skip home with you.” Which, he really shouldn’t be so happy about, but he kind of is. He wanted to walk home with Conner since day two, talk to him more about what’s been going on and tell him about classes, “Dreams do come true.”
He’s quiet for a while; lets the whole situation sink into his mind. The stripper watches the taller man clean off his stuff. His best friend, his ex-boyfriend, someone he knew since they were small—-a murderer and the resident town gossip. Everyone and their mother excitedly chattered about Chop Shop and all the shit he’s done. But, Conner. His first boyfriend? The guy who he shared the most embarrassing first kiss experience ever—-
”You were okay with me touching your stuff,” He taunts lightly after a while. Bart smiled despite himself, smiled at the bartender like they were noticing each other in the lobby of a hotel or something—-like in a movie. “You’re a mess.”
Bart held his hands up, one clutching his mostly eaten orange and stuck his tongue out, “Who? Me? For making one little orgy comment? Oh why, that doesn’t sound like me at all.” And he bats his eyelashes and plays innocent for a moment. Conner turns back around. Doing whatever serial killers do after they’re done serial killing. And it was fine and dandy. Bart was making small talk with Dead Guy #1 and asking him how the whether was in Hell when Conner pulled off his shirt—
"Ooohhh that’s not fair!" He protested, "You can’t tell me not to make jokes then strip in front of me. I call foul." It’s almost painful how Bart can’t help but notice the differences. Conner’s taller and bigger and packing more muscles than before. "Now’s an appropriate time, if any, to wolf whistle!"
「☣」 Conner’s about three seconds away from turning the knife on Bart and threatening him, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything for a long, long time while he’s slowly cleaning off his blade and hands before he slid the gloved off, going over to soak them in some kind of concoction of his own creation. It gets the blood off without hurting the leather. Then, and only then does he look at Bart, azure blue eyes looking the now stripper former lover up and down for a long moment.
“Because I needed it to open. I didn’t think you would be staying behind. I don’t think it’s really such a great idea to peak in on what other’s might have going on. I could have been coming down here to do something other than what you just saw.” He said as he started to clean up his other tools, pulling the draining tubes out of the man so he could sterilize them with hospital type procedures.
“You really shouldn’t get so curious, Bart.” He added after a moment, looking over the blade in his hand almost lovingly before allowing his eyes to flicker back over to the dancer. “If you do, you know the tune to that one tv show? ‘Two can keep a secret if one of them is dead?’” He asked before twirling the knife around in his fingers for a moment. He moved swiftly, approaching Bart in three quick steps before he had him up against the wall, the blade pressed against his throat light enough not to harm him as he glared down at him.
Bart had grown up a lot since they were teenagers. He had to give him that, at least.
“Tell me, have you heard of the name Chop Shop before?” He asked, letting the knife flicker in the light slowly as he looked at the shorter male, their faces merely inches apart as he talked in hushed tones, as if the freshly deceased body before them was still able to hear what he was saying. This was a big secret and if Bart didn’t comply with what he wanted him to, he would most definitely not be afraid to slip that blade right across the skin that he’d once loved to kiss.
“I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t mention anything of this to anyone else. No one. Just between me and you, because I have a medical knowledge on just how the human body works and trust me, I could keep you barely alive for weeks if anything was so much as to get passed around town.” He said, tone low and dangerous. He didn’t need a Scooby Doo investigation upon his hands. He’d been doing this for long enough to know the ropes of this town and how their police force worked. He wasn’t going to give up what he was doing now, especially not because someone from his younger life walked right back into his current one.
He searched those pretty golden eyes harshly, not like how he had before when it was a tentative and shy first love, but like a cold tundra was baring down into the warmth of the sun, daring it to melt it’s frosted heart.
“This isn’t like the movies and this isn’t where we become partners in crime, so don’t get any funny ideas.” He worked alone and solo work was absolutely the best. Although even so, since Bart knew and if he threatened to tell on Conner, he might make some kind of deal with him and tell him he could watch as long as he didn’t fuck anything that the bar tender did up.
Silence always bothered Bart. Conner, big and intimidating and holding knives and tubes, being quiet was a bad thing. Walking into a murder was a bad thing. We’re gonna go with tonight being kind of a bad thing.
”If you were having a giant orgy in here, then I’d be surprised,” He’s not too sure what about the situation is causing his mouth to work overdrive, or for an attitude to slip out. Maybe it’s Conner—seeing his old boyfriend do that (oh man, and he looked and it’s gross but—-; the air smells like hot pennies in the Texas sun) and having him snap and talk like a bad ass, crazy villain—-or maybe it’s his nerves. Maybe he’s scared because as many fights as Bart’s had to watch, he didn’t think that anyone dying would actually happen. It’s a startling change;
Maybe terrifying—Maybe enthralling.
”Maybe—” And he chokes on whatever stupid thing he was going to say because Conner’s across the room in record time and there’s something against his throat (he’s got three guesses as to what and he’s pretty sure it’s not an orange). Bart flattens himself against the wall, raises himself up on his toes and lifts his chin. He sucks in a breath, holding it in until he couldn’t hold it anymore. His gold eyes are bright and wide, and meet the harsh gaze almost challengingly.
Correction, it’s a little over two inches. Conner’s so tall.
When he leans down to whisper harshly, Bart can’t tell how tall he is anymore and he can smell the long day on him. It’s strange, the mix of copper and alcohol and sweat. It’s kind of weird of fitting it is.
”Are you gonna tell me you’re Chop Shop, hot stuff?” He murmurs back, voice low accompanied by a lilt, a voice he reserves for customers. Even as he says it, Bart can believe it. Not a lot of murders can reside in the same city and literally get away with murder. Hopefully the police would at least notice impostors—though the police force isn’t too bright.
”Rude,” He replies, “I thought you were supposed to be nice to the good exes. I mean, if you sliced up a dicky ex, then I’d be more understanding. Are you trying to tell me I’ve been a dicky ex to you? I shared oranges with you—-” Bart just wants the knife off his neck. He’s not expecting Conner’s leer, not expecting the fierce gaze and Bart blinks, slowly, and lowers his eyes for a moment before returning the gaze again.
”Who’m I gonna tell?” He moves slowly as he speaks, hands meeting the strong chest in front of him, fingers working and kneading skin. Bart’s pushing Conner away, lightly, carefully, slowly, speaking softly as he does. “I found my best friend again and I’m gonna put him in jail? How neighborly would that be, huh?
”I resent that. I’m full of funny ideas. Here, just watch,” And, out of his bag comes an orange—which he promptly sticks on the knife.
「☣」 When Conner left his band life behind, when he’d left everything he’d known behind to actually go to college, he’d never expected to see anyone ever again. Especially Bart. They’d broken up, Conner had changed. He wasn’t a drummer anymore, he didn’t dress that way, he got a clean haircut and got rid of the piercings that he’d gotten. He was a different person than he had been when he was eighteen even if that was three years ago.
He was a clean cut looking young man who just so happened to own and run a small club on the outskirts of a small town that was often visited by vacationers. He took pride in his little club and the dancers that worked there, even. They were what made this place what it was, although there was one dancer in specific he may be a lot more proud of than the others. Someone he’s known for most of his life, someone he thought that he had left behind in his teenage years.
Bart Allen. His ex and renewed friend.
When Bart had shown up for his interviews a while ago Conner had nearly had a heart attack, but he’d let him in. Bart was good at what he did, and he was a good kid, so it didn’t really matter to him either way. It just meant that he had to be extra careful because Bart knew how to read him if he really wanted to. And he was. He was really really careful with what he did after hours down in the basement, and it was all working out.
Except for one night. It was a Friday night so there had been a big number of people in the club, so no one really noticed when one — a drunken bastard who’d decided to get himself into trouble — was escorted out the “back way” by Conner who’d left his post at the bar. The man had been drugged and tied away for later, and no one even knew. That was his favorite part of doing what Chop Shop was meant to do.
He was seeing all of his workers out for the night, congratulating them with what they’d done and making small talk until he was sure that they’d all gone. He always stayed late, called it clean up. Something he liked doing alone. Ten minutes after two am, he made his way to the back stage, only the stage lights on in the dim club, taking out his keys so he could open up the basement door. He always kept it locked.
He unlocked it, sliding his way down slowly as he pulled on a pair of black leather gloves. The man he’d taken down there was waking up and panicking, as natural behavior. “I see you’re up,” he commented with a small hum as he approached the table that was pushed up to the far wall. There was an assortment of fun little toys down there along with his precious set of knives. He walked to the radio at the end, plugging in his phone to start up his normal playlist that made all of what he was going to do so much easier. Turns out he still liked heavy metal just like he used to as a teenager.
"You’re a mess,
tangled with your confidence,
you think you haven’t sinned.”
Bart was a smart kid, really, honestly. He’s smarter than an average kid, had little trouble with most of his homework during school. It’s the whole ‘applying one’s self’ deal that he had trouble on. Also, uh, you know, caring. Caring about something that’s not fun.
Conner and him used to be a thing, used to date and do band things and even had a dumb H.E.B. job together—-but they were young, and eventually dreams and relationships end. They broke up, and what’s a bass player without other people? Bart dropped it, got serious with school and video games, and he’s busy putting himself through college. But, college takes money, and money comes from jobs—his parents still help out when they can, and as for Bart—-Well, he took a couple dance classes, found he liked it, did stupid stuff at parties, and took up being an exotic dancer. Or, if you prefer, a stripper. You can judge him all you want, but it pays awesome. Also makes college payments a lot easier.
He got really lucky with a new place opening up, and was pleasantly surprised to find Conner Kent (resident ex and newly reformed friend). Conner cleaned up, and Bart dressed down (he laughed really hard about that). It was nice to see him again, nice to surprise him with Bart’s new hobby, nice to talk to him and hear his voice and see that he’s doing good—-He was happy.
When Bart wasn’t working (or messing with his classes), he spent a lot of time trying to talk to his old friend and joke with him. The running joke dealt with oranges.
Conner, the stripper thinks, works too hard. He’s got to. Why, says the crowd? Because not once has Bart ever seen Conner leave the building. He’s never had the chance to walk him out the door (or lob an orange at him when they part ways) because the bartender always stays behind. Cleaning, he claims. And, yeah, okay, so he’s never had a reason to doubt his old friend, but curiosity got the better of him one night;
Everyone went home, the lights went off, and Bart hid in the bathrooms for what felt like forever. He was playing games on his phone; The Tower and (embarrassingly) some dating game sim (they’re addicting). Anyway, everyone left, the club closed down for the night, and he followed after Conner out a back door that led down to the basement.
So—Get this, Bart thinks and throws his arms up to the crowd, My best bud is a murderer. Ain’t it the darnest thing?
It—-Was like watching a car accident, only with a tricked out eighteen wheeler and a twist ending deserving of a horror genre book. Bart’s mind went idle as he watched everything play out from beginning to end.
He jumped when he heard Conner say his name, and belatedly realized he was hanging in the doorway to the basement (not the best hiding spot, you know). Bart felt like he got caught, rather than the other way around. Bart shifted awkwardly, then stepped through the door. He felt like a little kid again, like his mom caught him trying to bring home astray cat or something—
”You opened the door,” He answered smoothly, tried staring at Conner’s back rather than Dead Body #1 on the floor. Bart noticed he’s taller than he used to be, maybe by an inch or two—
“I always wondered what you did after hours, big guy.” The stripper surprises even himself with how nonchalant he can sound. Maybe his brain is rejecting the whole situation. “Gotta say, it looks like the exact opposite of cleaning up.”
JEALOUS MESSAGES --- boywiththes
Bart’s not surprised that that is being directed at him or anything, he’s just a little startled. He wasn’t expecting Conner to pop up—now, wait. It’s not that he doesn’t like Conner suddenly appearing or anything; Bart just gets startled.
”What’s that I hear? It’s a little early for jealousy to rear its head.”
There’s a taunt in there, coupled with a smile and a gleam in his eyes. He’s amused when Conner gets like this—amused, and flattered, and maybe a little slap happy.
”So what if I do? I’m not picky and it gets me customers. It doesn’t mean anything.”
”I’ve got someone waaaayyyyy better then these lame-os.” He gestures with his thumb in the general direction of some people. “You two should meet. He’s pre-tty amazing. Could talk about the big guy all day.”
Okay, obviously he’s talking about Conner. And flirting. And trying to butter him up to make him feel better all at once. It’s been one of those weeks where Bart’s been on his best behavior, trying to make up for the past few weeks where he’s been continuously getting into trouble.
「☣」 Conner can’t help the feeling of possessiveness when it comes to Bart. Especially now that they’d both somehow managed to get a part time job together while they were busy working on the whole band thing. He couldn’t help it alright? Everyone and their mother who could flirted with his boyfriend when they came into the check out lines.
And he might have had a bad habit of showing up every time it happened. He didn’t know how he could get so quiet when his shift started with Bart, but it was almost like he was levitating off the ground with how quiet he was. It had to be that, because Conner was a big guy.
Although he felt himself loosening his grip on the bag handles, feeling suddenly really stupid. “Uh—No—” He said, adverting his eyes when Bart called him out on the whole jealousy thing. Honestly, he just got jealous easy, alright?
Although he let out a small breath of air for the moment as he gave the other boy an apologetic look for the moment when Bart started to talk about some “way better”. Conner wanted to smack himself for being so stupid.
”….Sorry.” He muttered a little bit as he fixed his bagging station for the moment, rubbing the back of his head as he glanced away only to look back at the other boy. “That was…Stupid for me to say.” He said, wetting his lips awkwardly.
He offered the brunette a little awkward smile in apology before he adjusted the work apron he wore for the time being while they were still on clock. He really needed to get a hold of his temper or else he was going to end up doing something that was going to end up getting himself into trouble.
Bart couldn’t help but smile at Conner. A smile that read something along the lines of “what am I gonna do with you?” He’s happy he gets another excuse to hang out with Conner—down side is he doesn’t get as many ridiculous stories to tell since, you know, both of them are there and accounted for. That’s about the only downside he can see, or at least, it was, until the drummer grumbled about the flirting. That’s a bad side, Bart realizes. It’s not Conner’s fault, it’s more so that Bart might be too friendly and get his boyfriend worked up over nothing.
”It’s okay,” He says, because it’s alright. “They told me to be nice to the customers so—I mean it’s my bad.” And he laughs, because Conner’s fidgeting and being awkward—and him being silent about anything made him want to laugh. Compare this side to when the drummer got so pissed off that he gets into fights—it was the strangest thing to see, but it was all Conner.
The bass player looked around, watching the ASM waddle around the front of the cash registers and eyed the fellow cashiers. So long as their on the floor, he figures kissing the taller boy probably isn’t the best idea. They might get in trouble, or reprimanded, or something—he figures on break maybe he can do that, but for now Bart settles for leaning over, taking one of Conner’s hands, and giving it a squeeze is a lot more appropriate.
”I’ll tone it down,” he promises, “Okay? I uh—I mean, you’re my number one, okay?”
Oh great. That’s something stupid his dad would say to his mom to be extra goofy and weird. Thanks a lot dad. Thanks. Your dumb has infected me. Bart tries to play it off, despite the fact that his ears are redder than red and he finds a new fascination in the conveire belt—was that stain always there? Must be from a milk container.
It’s only after he pushes the next customer’s junk on through and watches them leave does he backtrack, “I like you a lot, okay?” Because love can’t pass through the boy’s mouth without him becoming a lobster.
Also work’s a shitty place to admit feelings.
Never utter those words around Bart Allen
Our characters are stuck in a horror game of your choice. The only way out is to complete it. But if they fail, the game resets, and the characters forget everything that happened in the previous round. Or they remember, but are in a different game.
submitted by casuallydoesntcare
SEND “WHO ARE YOU?” AND MY MUSE WILL RE-INTRODUCE THEMSELVES TO YOUR MUSE AFTER YOURS HAS BEEN IN AN ACCIDENT AND IS SUFFERING FROM AMNESIA.
「☣」 Conner wasn’t there when it happened, but he had spent every waking moment he could in the hospital with Bart even if the boy didn’t wake up. He sometimes didn’t think he was ever going to wake up, but the steady rhythm of heart monitor proved him wrong.
He hadn’t slept and hadn’t eaten in god knows how long, but he still couldn’t just let Bart be alone. Not even for a fraction of a second because what if something happened? This had to be Conner’s fault. In some way, shape or form, it just had to be. He hadn’t even been driving the stupid car but he still couldn’t help but feel guilty. He should have never let Bart go out to that stupid party.
The moment that the bass player awoke, Conner nearly jumped onto him and hugged him, but he forced himself to stand at the edge of the bed. When he asked Bart how he was, he had gotten the question of “who are you?”
”Bart—- It’s me…Conner. Y’know, your drummer slash best friend slash boyfriend….?”
「☣」 Conner should have figured, he really should have. The doctors even had told him that there was a very high possibility that Bart wasn’t going to remember anyone or anything when he woke up, but Conner had clung onto that little hope that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t going to be true. Bart was someone that he needed at his side at all times to keep him stable and from destroying anything and everything around him.
He wanted to move his hand away from Bart’s when it was touched, but he didn’t, knowing that the boy was going to need him here even if he didn’t remember him. Conner let out a short little breath and he brought the chair he’d been sitting on closer to the bed, shaking his head a little bit. “It’s okay, Bart. The doctors said that you wouldn’t and you’d probably need to get surrounded with familiar things as soon as you’re outta here and going through therapy or something.” He said, taking his hand and lightly stroking it with the back of his thumb calmly.
When his hand was gripped tighter by Bart and the fear that was so evident on the poor bass player’s face. “They’ll be here as soon as they can. If you want me to, I’ll let you talk to them on the phone?” he asked, using his other hand to take his cellphone out of his pocket so he could pull up Bart’s mother’s number if the other wanted to talk to her.
It hurt him to see Bart like this, but he was sure that they could work together on getting Bart’s memories back. And even if they couldn’t, they could always….start over. It would take a long time, but Conner was willing to do it.
Bart wanted to apologize again. Tell Conner he’s sorry because he wants to remember, he really, really does because not being able to remember almost anything is terrifying. But, he just looks at Conner, tries to work out how to breathe again and hope that whenever the nurse makes his/her round that he can get disconnected from that dumb beeping thing. He’s happy that someone’s here, though. He’s happy he didn’t wake up alone in the middle of a white, boring room with no windows.
”Therapy?” Bart scoffed at the idea. He doubts some weirdo in a chair can fix his head any better than Bart could right now. The thumb gliding across his hand helped calm him down. Conner was his reassurance—someone’s there. And as nice as some nurses can be, he doesn’t want to sit and hold hands with a nurse. Holding hands with someone who’s supposed to be his boyfriend—-well, he figures maybe it’s normal. “I don’t want therapy. I just—I wanna go home.”
He’s uncomfortable in his bed, with a needle in his arm to hydrate him, in itchy covers, in a boring room, in a body that ached almost everywhere—Home and his parents, and Conner. That’s what he needed.
”You—have their number?” And he’s reaching for the phone with a shaky as he asks because he desperately wants to hear his mom’s voice. Bart’s afraid if he does, he might cry like a scared little kid, though. “And—And after, you’ll tell me what happened right? To me. How’d I even get here? You’re—not gonna leave or anything, right?” Bart didn’t want to be left alone in a room that’ll drive him mad without a thought in his head.
Some part of him feels selfish, and the other part’s cautious and weary. Anybody could tell him anything and he has no reference to go on. Conner’s his only source of information.
“—-Can I talk to them? My parents?” He feels pretty stupid, jumping back and forth from worrying if Conner’s going to leave and if his parents are even going to come. He’s a lot less worried about the nurse—but nurses tend to bring food and he could go for a hospital sandwich.