Pancakes, a Demon, and You

I can’t really explain. Blame it on a silly Twitter exchange that got out of hand. And keep your eyes peeled for the awesome @EvaPhoenix to post her half of our impromptu prompt-duel. (Edit: Here it is!)

She gave me two guys, a flat tire, pancakes, and [redacted for fun]. The min/max was 500/1500, and this is (according to OpenOffice) exactly 1500 words. Because I’m good. Yeah.

Warning for foul and suggestive language.

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“On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair…”

The car came to rest on the shoulder. Anton shut the car off and the Eagles fell silent. Lammie clutched Anton’s arm.

“Ooh, a flat! Won’t you be my hero and go fix that?”

“You know if you weren’t cute I’d kill you for the gay act, right?” Anton asked.

“And if I weren’t straight you’d bang me till my balls fell off,” Lammie answered, straightening and letting go. “Yes, darling, you’ve mentioned. Pop the trunk.”

“Not in this car.” Anton handed over the keys. “Be careful. The trunk’s dangerous.”

“I’m not planning on sleeping in it. Unless you join me, big boy.”

Anton got out, walked around to the front passenger side tire. At least the full moon meant he didn’t have to kill the battery leaving the lights on.

“It’s flat all right,” Lammie called. “Tell me you–holy hell!”

“Sorry. I toss stuff in there to deal with later,” Anton said. “Find the lugwrench first.”

“Lugwrench. Right. Lugwrench, jack, Amelia Earhart, spare tire–hey! Mr. Donovan’s garden gnome!”

Anton checked his cell phone and growled at “No Service.” Also at “12:13 a.m.” He looked up at the sign proclaiming US 491, formerly US Route 666. Damn. Portents everywhere and Lammie in squeal mode. He sighed and searched out a foot-sized rock with his boot, nudged it towards the car before he picked it up. A scorpion sting would just add to the joy, wouldn’t it? Anton chocked the good tires while Lammie narrated his search.

“…pillowcase holding God knows what ’cause I’m not looking, unopened mail, shopping bags with tags-still-on sex toys–”

“Not!”

“Let me have my false sense of security, will you? Don’t want to think about used sex toys.”

“I don’t keep sex toys in my trunk. Ew.”

“Whatever you say, darling. Six blankets and counting. And–ah ha! Lugwrench!”

“Finally,” Anton muttered, going to fetch.

“Hey, I’m not the one keeping his hope chest in the trunk,” Lammie said. “Seriously, is that a cock-ring?”

“No, it’s a rubber band. Ow. Don’t straight boys know anything about dicks?” Anton walked back to the tire.

“I know mine wants a kiss,” Lammie said. “Blow me.”

“Hell no,” Anton grunted as he jerked at the first lugnut. “I know where that thing has been.” Damned nut screwed tight as a homophobe’s ass…

“You talking smack about my girlfriend, fag?”

“You’re lucky I’m homo, or I’d have banged her like the rest of the team.”

“Sigh. My taste is indeed questionable. It’s because I’m in denial. My forbidden love for my boyhood friend–”

“Find the jack, Lammie.”

“I’m looking. Pining over you distracts me from–hey!”

“What?” The first lugnut gave. Anton stepped on one side of the four-arm for the next.

“Pancakes!”

Aw hell.

“I made you pancakes and you put them in your trunk?”

“I was saving them. Then I forgot them.” Anton spun the wrench, then screwed the nut the rest of the way off and put it in the hubcap. He set the wrench on the next and stepped, spun.

“Saving them my ass!” Lammie yelped. “You were starving! You wanted pancakes. I cooked for you! I never cook for anyone!”

“And that’s why you’re a lousy cook!” Anton shot back. How badly could Lammie react when he had a lugwrench in his hands?

“I’m a lousy–are you kidding me? You can tell me you’re gay, tell me my girlfriend slept with the whole varsity basketball team, but you can’t tell me my food sucks?” Lammie laughed. “Anton, you asshole–you’re sweet!”

“I’m…what?” Four lugnuts.

“You’re sweet! Ha! I’m telling Coach!”

“Lammie, you know that place they will never find the body? We’re there. Find the damned jack!”

“Ooh, I love it when you’re masterful. Also, found it.” Lammie brought the jack in both hands like the precious gift it was. The sooner Anton could get away from Lammie and into a nice hot shower… “There is a spare, right? I’m not searching in vain? And what’s the answer to the riddle the troll asked me?”

“There is a spare,” Anton put the last lugnut in the hubcap and straightened, “the secret password is Skittles, and the witch will be satisfied with three drops of blood from your left pinky.”

“Noes! My blood!” Lammie clutched his hands to his chest. Dropping the jack. It landed on the hubcap, launching the lugnuts into darkness.

“Cthulhu, Lolth, and Tiamat!” Lammie cursed.

“Find the spare,” Anton ordered. “And a flashlight.” He slid the jack under the car.

“I…right. On it. Sorry, Anton.”

“IHOP when we get to Shiprock. You’re buying.”

“Done,” Lammie said from the back of the car. “And–what the hell is this?”

“Unless it’s the spare, I don’t give a damn.” Anton blessed his dad’s over-powered tools and left the extended jack to brush the grass by the sign with his foot, uncovering the lugnut he’d seen land there. He stuck it in his pocket.

“Noooo,” Lammie said, “it’s a wee genie bottle like in a curio shop, with a wee little cork that’s–”

“Don’t open it!” Anton snapped, knowing he was too late. Lammie wanted answers like a cat wanted on the other side of any door.

“Oh shit,” Lammie said. Above the trunk a mist formed, glowing green. Anton ran, shoved Lammie back and faced the fog with a four-armed lugwrench but damn it was all he had!

Damn Uncle Tsosie and his “keep it secret, keep it safe” bullshit!

“Anton,” Lammie quivered, clutching the back of his friend’s shirt, “what is that?”

“Your devourer,” the cloud answered. For a moment a face coalesced, a face from a horror movie, but the wind tore at it. “Come, my servants!”

Out in the desert under the moon, dark things moved.

“Fuck me,” Lammie breathed. “Anton, I hate spiders. I really really hate spiders.”

“Get the spare!” Anton lunged for the driver’s rear wheel and stuck the lugwrench on a nut. Stomped on it, spun, while above the car the green fog laughed and from the desert hairy multi-legged things came. In the trunk Lammie squealed and slammed something. Anton stomped a tarantula as big as his boot, dear God…

“Found it!” Lammie pulled the tire from the trunk and dropped it. The tire bounced with that glorious full-of-air ring they so needed to hear. “Good!”

“Get it on the bolts!”

“Throw me a nut!”

He could be an idiot, but Lammie never choked in a big game. Anton tossed a nut to him and moved to the front as Lammie caught it and bent to the wheel.

“Ano–Aah, die, arachnid!”

Anton darted around the car, but Lammie had killed it. He shouldered Lammie aside. “Keys! Chocks! Start the car!”

Lammie darted off, but was back in seconds. “Die, bug!” he shouted, stomping a spider. “Death, eight-legged freak!” as he kicked another.

“Get in the car!” Anton ordered.

“Not without you!”

The wind gusted. The laughter above the car stuttered. Lammie gasped.

“They stopped!”

“But then they restarted!” Anton cursed as he mis-threaded a lugnut. Two down, three would be enough–

“It’s the wind!” Lammie disappeared from his side and Anton prayed his friend wasn’t doing something stupid.

“Frisbee!” Lammie yelled, and a flat round object cut through the cloud. The laugh died away, started again. “Faster, Anton!” Lammie yelled, and threw again.

“Done!” Anton yelled. Lammie slammed the trunk as Anton slid across the hood. They met inside, Lammie jamming the keys in as Anton pumped the gas. Lammie turned, Anton shifted, and they shot off the shoulder engine roaring and screams of rage fading behind them.

“Ahh!” Lammie squealed. Anton knocked the spider to the floor and Lammie stomped it.

“Holy shit,” Lammie muttered, clutching Anton’s arm and hiding his face. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit…”

“We’re all right,” Anton murmured, shifting. “We’re all right.”

“Fucking GOD, why was that in your trunk? That was a fucking demon!”

“I don’t fucking know but I’m gonna kill my uncle!”

“Tsosie? That explains it.” Lammie rubbed his face on Anton’s arm. “Holy shit,” he said again. “Holy shit. Holy–”

“Lammie, come on,” Anton said. “You just defeated a demon with month-old pancakes! You and your geekery saved us!”

“Holy shit, I did!” Lammie laughed. Anton laughed, and Lammie laughed again. The car sped down the highway at ninety and accelerating. Lammie rubbed his eyes, still clinging to Anton’s arm, and relaxed against him.

It felt good. Incredibly good. Anton told his body to forget it, and Lammie defeated his attempt by wrapping his other arm around Anton’s and curling up against him.

“Hey,” Lammie said, “truth. Would you really do me? Because I’m not actually feeling very straight right now.”

“Not funny, Lammie.”

“Not kidding. Get me to the motel and I’ll prove it.”

“A whim–”

“I’ve been flirting for months. So much for subtle.”

“That was subtle?” Anton asked, pushing the accelerator to the floor.

 

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Comments humbly appreciated! ^__^