And Into the Fire
Muss didn’t have to drink much to get drunk. Helm had to watch him to make sure he got drunk enough to be easy but not drunk enough to throw up on him. He watched his friend get rapidly drunker and felt stirrings of resentment that Muss depended on him so much.
By the time they turned to face each other on Helm’s bed, the fat kilmi swayed with drunkenness even though he was only sitting. His ears hung at asymmetrical angles and he had a pathetic attempt at a seductive smile on his face. He leaned on the bed and tried to pose, then fell down onto it with a quiet grunt and a soft plomp.
That’s drunk enough, decided Helm, brought an enthusiastic smile to his own face in time for Muss to see as he sat up again, and pulled the two-layered shirt off his companion that he’d bought for him a few weeks previous.
Muss giggled and put his arms up so that Helm could pull off the over-worn clothes. He dropped them and set to work on Muss’ trouser fastenings while deciding whether he would buy Muss more clothes or just tell him to buy them himself. He surely had the ability to raise money and buy some – didn’t those desert tribes trade in the cities once in a while? Muss’ tribespeople could surely give money to their son if he said he needed it.
He could, Helm decided and pushed at the rolling fat of his chubby companion’s belly to check his state of arousal. He decided he’d lean on Muss to go and buy more new clothes the following morning, after they’d…
Helm sat up, annoyed. Why had he not thought of this before?
“Come on Helm!” said the prone kilmi. Then, when Helm did and said nothing, Muss sat up and looked at him. He was trembling with apparent excitement and wide-eyed. For a drunken adolescent. Then his features fell with dread. “Is something wrong?”
Helm felt angry at this undignified oaf for whom he’d bought new clothes and then tolerated for weeks while he tottered around clumsily after him like a retarded maui. He’d shown Muss how great shopping for clothes could be. Surely he’d been inspired enough to contact his tribe and get funds for more? He hadn’t bought anything and that convinced Helm he was parasitising off him. Lazy and too stupid for his own good.
And he’d lured Helm into bed for sex, which Muss had made no effort to disguise wanting.
He decided on the spot that Muss wasn’t going to get any sex. Not this night, and not until he’d showed willingness and bought his own clothes.
“Put your clothes back on,” Helm muttered, and stood up and walked away. He listened to the rustle of Muss obediently pulling his clothes on.
“W-what’s wrong?” he asked again, his voice still breathy with arousal.
It was too obvious; Helm felt sure that Muss had said that only to control him. He knew perfectly well what was wrong. Helm said nothing. He wasn’t going to be controlled!
The rustling stopped and there was a silence. “Do you… Do you want me to go?” Muss’ voice trembled now, more with fear than with sexuality.
Helm said nothing. He didn’t move. He didn’t believe for a second that Muss was really that weak, that vulnerable. Nobody was – it was an act! He knew that Muss, the controlling little parasite, knew what to do to repair their friendship. And Helm knew how to make his displeasure known. The fat kilmi always hated it when he gave him the silent treatment.
“I-I-I’ll… go,” Muss mumbled, staggered to the door and opened it with difficulty.
Which left Helm alone by himself.
Helm didn’t like being left alone like that. Muss didn’t have the power to make him have to be by himself! He went down to the communal space to sniff out a party.
He found one.
If there was one thing Moo knew he couldn’t do in this situation it was find Tanna for support. He didn’t know what to think about that, so ultimately he didn’t, and instead tensed against the tidal wave of emotions that washed over him, pulled off his clothes (this time with no good feelings, just shame and dejectedness) and crawled under his bedsheets to try and sleep.
What had happened? It had all been going so well. Hadn’t Sar’ Helm wanted him? Wasn’t he attractive?
He was unfinished and in some discomfort. He relaxed his penis so that it came outside of his body and absently stroked it.
He knew I was chubby, so it couldn’t have been that. I thought he didn’t mind about that. Or am I too ugly with my clothes off? Was there something about my body he didn’t expect?
Do I smell bad?
The shock hit him so badly he lost his stroke, and felt his shoulders slump despite his prone position. Was that it? How bad was it?
Should he check with Sar’ Helm?
No, he thought with a slight lessening of his stomach-clenching dread. I’ll ask my sister. She won’t ridicule me and I’ll lose less face with Helm.
After all, he didn’t have to tell her anything about why he thought he smelled.