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The story of a lonesome ol'Jerome

HTTR vs Who Dey

*Gwyn’s POV*

I trotted over to the console and entered the code: 11271942, Jimi Hendrix’s birthday, apparently. The code to set it was, conversely, the day the guitar god had died. Because only Jimi could set you free, said Dr. Gray, when he had explained it to me, looking solemn. I had just nodded and wrote the numbers down. When I had worked here before vet school, I could have sworn John Lennon had set me free. I figured Dr. Gray changed the code every few years. Not a bad idea.

The irritating beeping sound stopped, and I shuffled a confused-looking Andy in from the doorway, locking it behind him. “Uh, what the fuck?”

“Fuck if I know. But if the alarm was on, Dr. Gray must not be here.” Then it hit me: I had been so fucking worried about how things were going to go between Andy and Dr. Gray, especially as it was the middle of the night, that I had left Sherpa and his things in the car! I started chuckling.

“Oh, dude, fuck! I was, like, concentrating so hard on trying to keep you from freaking out, that I totally left my little man in the car!” I started laughing harder, and then Andy started chortling softly with me too.

“So why is Dr. Gray's car here?” Andy hugged me, and I took a second to just hold him. Fuck if I knew why his car was here… I wrapped my arms snugly around Andy's back and buried my face against his neck. Everything was happening really quickly, and it was really surreal and strange. I knew things were about to get a lot weirder.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Andy’s horrible Jesus neck tattoo, the one with the war bonnet that I had seen in pictures so many times. I was not in the mood to debate cultural appropriation, especially given my secret, shameful football fandom. I scowled. Curse my upbringing!

“HelloooOoo? Earth to Gwyn!” Andy joggled me a little, smiling, but then his smile faded a bit. “Hey, you ok?” Fuck! Why was I so transparent? Best to get it out.

I put my hands on his chest and looked Andy squarely in the eye. “Andy, I like the Bengals, and they are my favorite AFC team. But…”

Andy’s nose wrinkled a little. “Uhr…?”

“I grew up watching the Redskins.” Andy made a face like someone had just both vomited and had diarrhea next to him in a small elevator, but he was trying to be polite.

Andy patted my side and let out a theatrical sigh. “You couldn’t have gone for the Cowboys or something a little more reasonable?”

The fact that Andy was grinning and just messing with me was completely lost on me, as my temper shot through the roof. You just don’t joke about the Cowboys with a Redskins fan. You just don’t.

I pulled out of Andy’s arms and started yelling, “What the fuck!?! The fucking Cowboys! The motherfucking Cowboys! The only Cowboy I could stand was Emmitt Smith!” I turned, unlocked the door to the clinic, and went storming out, unleashing an oral blitzkrieg as I went.

“Who? I was just joking, I’m sorry-“ Andy trailed after me, but I continued ranting. By the time he caught up to me I had made it to Plug.

“… and fuck Jimmy Johnson anyway!” I turned and gestured dramatically at Andy. “You’re too young, you wouldn’t remember! Joe Gibbs was like a god! And Art Monk and Darrel Green were the shit, Andy, the shit!” I stopped raving long enough to get Sherpa, in his carrier, from Plug’s back seat. I turned and saw Andy standing there, trying not to laugh.

“Dammit Biersack, you wipe that smile off your face! You want to remind me how many Superbowls the Bengals have won?” Andy’s eyebrows shot skywards and he crossed his arms over his chest, planting himself, in his pointy boots, directly in my way. I may have hit a nerve. Oops. He pointed at Sherpa’s carrier.

“Put the ferret down, Doc.” He tapped his foot impatiently, irritated, when I didn’t do it right away.

“Why? He’s my ferret!” At that point I was just being childish and argumentative. But Andy had joked about the Cowboys being superior to the Redskins! Sacrilege! Blasphemy- and not the sweet kind!

“Because you’ve got some serious sand in your vag-jay-jay and I’m afraid you’re going to drop him when you come at me to nail me in the junk!” Andy looked irritated, but my heart suddenly went all melty. I set Sherpa’s carrier gently down.

“You- you were really concerned for my little man, when you actually thought I was about to punch you in the balls?” Andy looked confused at my sudden change in mood. He was a total dork for thinking I was ever going to smash him in the nuts, but I couldn’t believe he had put Sherpa’s welfare before that of his crown jewels!

“Uh, well, of course, he’s just a little weasel. I didn’t want him to get hurt if he fell, or to escape and get lost. I know you’re mad at me, but I want to make sure he’s ok.” Andy started to tentatively smile when I draped my arms around his neck and grinned happily up at him. It was still dark out, and in the stark lighting, backlit by the clinic, it looked a bit like he had an aura.

“Hey-“ I pushed up against him a little, “-I want a kiss.” I felt his hands run down my sides as he leaned down to kiss me. Though I knew, rationally, that rubbing one’s lips and tongue against the matching body parts of another person should, at most, be only vaguely interesting, with Andy it had a tendency to cause huge rushes of adrenaline and desire. Before I lost my balance or ruined my pants, I broke aforementioned kiss, taking a second to try and remember what I was going to say.

It had been really clever, I was sure of it! Was it… football? Oh yeah! My eyes twinkled. “So, I actually don’t know a whole lot about football. I’m sure you know a lot more, Hot-shot...” I smirked at him and waited for him to take the bait, tangling a bit of his hair in one of my fingers.

“Mmmmm… S’that so?” He had been reluctant, but had caved. I nodded, my grin widening.

“I do know one little tidbit of interest, though.” Andy cocked his head a bit, curious. “The Bengals and the Redskins, up until 2012, had played eight games against one another. They were four-to-four, overall, even. On September, 2012, the final score of game 9 was 38 to 31.” I paused for dramatic effect. “Do you remember who won?”

I watched Andy looking at the pavement, trying to remember. It wasn’t very long ago. And, to be fair, if he knew anything about the Redskins at all, he would be able to guess that the Bengals had won- the Redskins had pretty much sucked for years, and RG III, well... Either way, he had a 50/50 shot.

Andy looked up, grinning like a fool. “My Bengals! We sacked the shit out of you, and you had penalties, I remember that!” I smiled.

“That’s right! So the record, for now, anyway, is five-to-four, Bengals leading Redskins. Besides, the Redskins haven’t won a Superbowl in over 20 years. And the Bengals have a significantly less offensive team name, too, being as it's not a racial slur.” I rubbed a hand along his chest. “Feel better?”

Andy grinned widely. “Yeah!” I popped up on tip-toe and pecked him on the lips.

“Good! Then make those manly arms useful and help me carry Sherpa’s stuff inside!” I turned and swatted him on the butt, expecting him to shuffle off obediently and gather the two bags from Plug. But he whipped around and grabbed me with his lanky arms, dipping me at the waist and scaring me half to death!

I clung desperately to Andy’s arms, instinctively afraid he was going to drop me for my cheekiness. He had a wicked smile, and his eyes twinkled in the meager lighting. He brought his face closer to mine, slowly, still smirking, until our noses were touching. He closed his eyes and ran the tip of his nose along mine, and the gentle sensation made the butterflies in my stomach and chest go crazy.

I sighed, and when I opened my eyes, I found Andy was watching me, still smiling. He waggled his eyebrows at me and said, “Let’s roar!” and before I could laugh, I found myself a participant in a kiss that precluded being able to recall preexisting conversation, or really anything else.

Notes

QOTD: do you watch any sports? have a favorite team or a team you keep track of?

i don't have a working tv. i kinda keep track of the skins but i find their name incredibly offensive, i also like the bengals, the 49ers. i hate the cowboys and the patriots.

but i don't really keep track of much sports at all, football is the only game i can follow for shit. gwyn's a much bigger fan than i am.

Comments

*NOTE* The author of this story no longer has access to her account due to site malfunction.
SmuttyPariah SmuttyPariah
4/15/17

Ok, cool. I don't mind plodding plots at all, but as a frustrated English teacher, I can totally understand the grammar and structure stuff.

Merelan Merelan
1/26/17

@Merelan


oh, i'm not changing it significantly in that regard. i mean more a stylistic change to make it easier to read: breaking up paragraphs, improving grammar and tense consistency, stuff like that. i've become a much better writer and i want my stuff to reflect that. if you're nervous about the changed, you can check out the newest version on my wattpad account. my user name is anathemadvm, just plain anathema was taken. i'm still likely to further revise the very beginning a little, but nothing is plot related, i like the plot as much as i ever did. i just want it to be easier to read, that's all.

anathema anathema
1/26/17

@anathema
Actually, the beginning of LoJ fits the story perfectly, IMHO. You establish Gywn as a likeable, but clearly flawed character from the door. It's much different from most other fanfic, which want to get to the Bride(s) ASAP.

Merelan Merelan
1/26/17

@Merelan


oh my goodness! i don't think even i have read it that many times, though i could be wrong! i've certainly only read it through once in one sitting! i promise that the edited version is higher quality, but i don't dare tinker with it here until i have the whole thing ready to go. right now i've edited through chapter 50, though i might need to ahve another look at the very beginning, because it's so plodding.

anathema anathema
1/26/17