Chapter Text
For Charlie Kelly, all things seem like a good idea at the time, because life is too short and too fucking confusing to worry about the whys and the wherefores. Act first, think later. Regret later. Or perhaps...
Frank had flung himself through the door of Paddy’s earlier that day with his usual grace – that of a man smeared in bacon grease being pursued by a pack of starving wolves – and slammed a substantial bag of white pills onto the bar, murmuring something about unloading the goods ASA-fucking-P. Nothing out of the ordinary.
“What we got here, Frank? Is that ecstasy?” says Dennis, tearing himself away from his hand mirror for a closer look at the baggie of Rolex logo-engraved pills.
“Sure is,” Frank grunts. “I went clubbing with Pondy last night. He brought party favours. Had these little beauties jammed tight up his ass, but the guy doesn’t eat enough fibre, you know? Took us ’til four in the morning to get him to evacuate.” At this revelation, Dennis drops the bag in disgust. Frank smirks and begins to divvy the contents into separate piles. “By which time the club was closed,” he continues. “So I’m hawkin’ ’em.”
“Ah, man,” says Mac, as the rest of the Gang gather around to join the conversation. “I took some of this shit with Carmen a couple years ago; we danced around her apartment for two hours and then engaged in some of the best sex I’ve ever had.”
“Oh yeah,” Frank replies. “You bang a broad on this, your junk feels like a million bucks. If you can keep it up that is. That’s how you separate the men from the boys, fuckos. I sampled the stock about an hour ago; I got a boner right now.”
“A good, old-fashioned drug-peddling scheme, huh?” Dennis interjects, tactfully ignoring Frank’s erectile status and clapping his hands together with malevolent glee. “I’m game for that. So, let’s talk tactics. Strategies. I think Mac should take a trip to the Rainbow and cover the gay angle, obviously-”
“Why ‘obviously’?!”
“-and you two,” Dennis waves his hand dismissively, “can go fuck things up however you usually do.”
The bar swells with shouts and insults and outlandish accusations – and anyone who happened to wander into Paddy’s at this hour would either be mortified or completely nonplussed by the routine display of childish bickering.
“And where does that leave you?” Frank asks, cutting through the din.
Dennis’ lips curl upwards into a disconcerting smirk – he looks eerily like the Grinch contemplating a room full of stolen Christmas toys – and snatches his share of the goods from the bar. “Oh, don’t you worry about me, Frank. I’ve got a line on the most solid market imaginable: impressionable college freshmen. I’ll see you dipshits later.”
They all head their separate ways, one after another, until Dee and Charlie are left with a pile of E and two half-finished beers between them.
“God, can you believe Dennis? ‘Fuck things up’ – we’re gonna show him, Charlie. We’re gonna push this shit real good and then shove his smug face in it.”
Charlie can hear the scowl without even looking at her – partly because Dee is always scowling about one thing or another, and partly because her voice has risen an octave and taken on the petulant squawk of a seagull choking on a piece of garbage.
Or at least that’s what the guys would say. Stupid bird, they’d laugh – and Charlie would too, because honestly that shit’s funny as hell. But while he might have pissed himself a time or two laughing over it, he never really got why it bothered Dee so much – or rather, he never gave it more than a fleeting thought before something invariably more interesting diverted his attention. The fact that it makes her mad is enough.
“Charlie, are you even listening to me?”
“Yeah, absolutely... No, not a bit.”
Dee makes a frustrated sound – like a constipated steer crossed with a bear – but quickly moves on. “I said, maybe we oughta try this shit before we get out there. Get familiar with our product, you know?”
Charlie nods in agreement – it’s good, solid logic – and pops one of the pills into his mouth, crunching it between his teeth as Dee’s face scrunches in disgust. Not minty at all like he imagined it would be. “Huh,” he shrugs. “Not bad, I guess.”
“Not bad? Charlie, that shit tastes like fucking earwax! You don’t chew ecstasy.” She tosses back a tablet and slams the rest of her beer. “You swallow it. Like a pill.”
“Who swallows pills?”
“Everybody, Charlie! Everybody swallows pills-”
“Yeah, but you gotta taste it for it to work. Otherwise it’s just gonna be in your stomach until you poop it out and it don’t do nothing. That’s just common sense.”
Dee sighs. “Goddammit, Charlie, I don’t have time to explain medicine to you. We need a game plan, okay? We’re not gonna let Dennis dismiss us like a couple of fuckups anymore.”
“Okay, okay.” He drums his fingers on the bar and waits. “You got anything?”
“No. You?”
He thinks – really thinks, instead of just spacing out pondering cats, or the Waitress’ hair, or what the Waitress might look like with cat ears – and leaps from the barstool.
“I’ve got it,” he shouts, raising a finger with all the airs of a scientist who’s just stumbled across the solution to a particularly taxing problem. “Let’s go into the back office, huff a little glue and come up with an idea.”
“How is that going to help, Charlie?” Dee says, the timbre of her voice edging dangerously close to seagull territory once more.
“Glue helps me think.”
Never one to say no to a proposal that involves getting intoxicated to the nth degree, Dee simply shrugs her shoulders. “Fine.”
****
“You know,” Charlie begins, “I don’t think this is working. Is it working, Dee? I don’t feel any different. Do you feel different? What time is it? It’s kinda hot in here. Is it hot in here? Wouldn’t it be nice if we could show the Gang – we could show them all, Dee. How about we show them – fuck, I’d really like to show them – that we are not to be fucked with, Dee. Dee, are you listening to me? Dee? Sweet Dee? Dee!”
Dee is deeply engrossed in her finest inflatable-tube-man dance, her arms flailing wildly within the confines of the tiny office. Charlie doesn’t even remember putting any music on in the first place. Is this Steve Winwood? Is this Dennis’ music? It’s great, whatever it is. Dee is pretty.
“Dee!”
“Yeah, Charlie. I’m listening,” Dee replies, her shoulders shimmying to the beat, her eyes closed and a dreamy smile plastered upon her face. “You know what, though? I’m thinking. I say we fuck those guys. Not fuck them, fuck them; that would be gross – Dennis is my brother, and Frank is, well, he’s somebody’s dad, anyway, I say we do a little something for us, for once. What do you say, Charlie? What do you want to do?”
Charlie suppresses a giggle and grins.
****
Charlie doesn’t remember ever having that much fun in the sewer before. Even the time he and Frank discovered what could only be described as a rampant cat orgy can’t measure up to the sheer delight of running around down there with Dee. She looks good covered in shit and piss and whatever-the-fuck else. Probably bum spooge. Definitely bum spooge. It’s not that he was aiming to look at her, because it’s Dee and that shit’s like looking at your sister… who you happened to bang once. But her long, naked, gangly frame is actually pretty nice. Slender. Surprisingly un-birdlike. But he won’t tell her any of this. Why ruin a good thing?
And it was good. Really fucking good. Most people don’t appreciate the freedom the sewer offers, but he has to hand it to Dee – she really threw herself into it. Maybe it was the glue. What was that other thing they took tonight? Anyway, they really oughta huff together more often. Charlie kept expecting her to balk when those syringes floated past or when that ungodly mammoth-sized turd grazed her leg, but instead she laughed it off with all the calm of a zen master and kept chattering about “her turn”.
She may have mentioned what she wanted to do, but Charlie honestly can’t recall anything more than that gleam in her eye when she said it. And really she can’t expect him to listen to her all the time, because who can even do that? Listening is hard. And the sewer is too distracting to pay attention to every little thing that comes out of a person’s mouth. Frank knows this – he just knows like, everything. And Dee, well, Dee talks so damn much. Sometimes it’s easier to just pretend.
Even more refreshing than the wall of sewer water, though, is Dee’s shower. For starters, the water is actually warm, and Dee’s shampoo smells amazing. Probably tastes amazing too, he thinks, as he uncaps the bottle and takes a swig. It’s pretty good, but not at all like coconut.
All in all, this is a life he could get used to, he supposes, as he dries himself off and wraps a towel around his waist. Warm, running water along with tasty, not-coconut shampoo, and funtimes in the sewer with Deandra Reynolds. It really doesn’t get much better than this.
Regarding his reflection in the mirror, it occurs to him that he’s not spared a single thought for the Waitress in hours. Huh.
****
Dee is nowhere to be found. Charlie checks all the best hiding spots: behind the curtains, under the sofa, the refrigerator, before opening her bedroom door to be greeted with a sight he’s entirely unprepared for.
Dee is sat upright on top of her covers, her towel-dried hair cascading over the shoulders of her fluffy, blue bathrobe, and she’s nonchalantly caressing what can only be described as a large, purple boner.
“Uh, Dee?” Charlie begins, utterly perplexed at the spectacle he’s viewing with his own two eyes. Fuck, maybe it’s that shit they took. “Since when do you have a dick?”
“It’s a strap-on, you idiot. Now, drop the towel and bend over, cocksucker.” She slides off the bed and grabs a bottle of lube from the nightstand, the big purple dick bobbing menacingly between the opening in the robe. She looks good. Great, even. Except for the cock.
Charlie takes a step backwards and raises his hands. “Whoa! Hey, whoa, when uh, when did we agree to this?”
“Goddammit, Charlie, I’ve only been talking about this all fucking night. You agreed to it in the sewer, remember?”
Charlie vaguely recalls agreeing to something, right around the time that pile of used condoms floated past – bearing an uncanny resemblance to a balloon dog. Did he agree to this?
“And I said-”
“You said ‘yes’, Charlie,” Dee snaps, and he expects her to go all shrill and incredulous, but instead she flops onto the bed, the strap-on somewhat negating the dramatic intent.
“Why?”
“Why do you agree to half the things you do, Charlie? I don’t-”
“No, I mean why is this what you wanted to do with me?”
“Because, Charlie,” Dee says with a heavy sigh, the expression on her face practically melancholic, “because I’m always getting shit on. Sure, I can fuck a guy; I can ride that sucker ’til he’s screaming my name and begging for me to hurt him just a little more. But in the end, I never truly win, Charlie. I get mine, sure – okay, sometimes I get mine by myself after he’s gone – but for once... for once I’d really just like to fuck a guy. I’d really like to fuck you, Charlie.”
Sweet Dee wants to fuck him. In the ass. Should he have seen this coming? That thing’s not gonna come, is it? Shit, why did he agree to this? The point is, he did. He watches Dee, frowning at the ceiling as she flicks her fake junk like some sad, purple-dicked hobo, and he can’t shit on her now, not after that speech. If the guys were here, sure, but the rules are different when it’s just the two of them. They have their own kind of code. And he has to admit: he really wants to make Dee happy – naked-filthy-sewer-funtimes happy. Everybody should experience that once. If that involves getting fucked in the ass – so be it.
“So, are you gonna lube that thing up, or…”
Dee sits up again, her face lighting with equal parts surprise and excitement and something else altogether, well, soft. “You’re really not gonna fight me on this? Or try and back out like you guys always fucking do whenever it’s my turn for something?”
“Dee, we agreed.” Charlie can’t help but smile at her; it feels good making her happy. He drops the towel before the moment gets too awkward, but stops just before climbing onto the bed. “But dude, the guys never find out about this.”
“Oh, abso-fucking-lutely.” She grins wickedly and uncaps the lube before he can back out; the sloppy squirt makes him wince and turn away.
He doesn’t watch her slather it up; in fact, the less he sees at this point, the better. Because if he looks at it, he’s going to worry about just how that thing’s going to fit, and he’ll never be able to get his own dick up if he thinks too hard about that. So he can’t help but flinch when her fingers plunge right between his cheeks and begin to explore the pucker of his ass.
“Whoa, fuck, Dee! What the hell are you doing back there?”
“Charlie, unless you want me to literally tear your ass apart, we’ve gotta loosen you up.” She leans over him and gives his hair a playful yank. “If I were you, I’d relax and start thinking of something hot.”
Something hot. Something hot. He wishes he had a better recollection of the last time they banged, but they were both six beers deep and fuelled by the brilliance of their own def poetry. Perhaps Dee in the sewer? Disgusting and wild and high as fuck. He doesn’t speculate as to why that’s one of the first images to come to mind, or what that might mean. Probably because it just happened is all. And anyway, he thinks, as his cock begins to stiffen, it’s working just fine. Plus, all things considered, Dee’s fingers working his asshole don’t feel anywhere near as bad as he supposes they ought to. He can see why Mac is into this. Maybe-
“Oh,” he gasps, her fingers hitting something inside that takes the whole ordeal from “not so bad” to really fucking good.
Dee responds with a carefree giggle, her long fingers coaxing and caressing, and Charlie finds himself not only relaxing, but actually enjoying. When Dee leans forward to whisper in his ear: “I hope you’re fucking ready”, it’s all he can do to whine in agreement.
He can hear her adjusting position, and when the warm, slick impression of the fake dick teases his opening, he finds himself practically eager with anticipation. She eases into him slowly, and it’s a sensation unlike any he’s ever experienced before.
After an all-too-long pause, Dee begins to move, her rhythm unhurried, her hands gripping at his hips. This really shouldn’t feel so damn good, but it’s Dee, it’s Dee, and making her happy is really fucking doing it for him – as if it’s the only thing in the world that matters right now. She plays her part to perfection, her fingers gripping hard enough to bruise, a tirade of fouler-than-usual language spilling effortlessly from her mouth, and her pace increasing until every profanity-laden thrust causes Charlie to moan just that little bit louder, until-
“Fuck!”
Dee gives him a sharp smack on the ass and bucks her hips against him. “You like that, bitch?”
Fuck. He does, he really does. “Shit- Yes!”
It’s enough to really get Dee going, and she drives into him even harder, committed to fucking his ass with the same level of focus she’d given her tube-man dance earlier that evening. For his part, Charlie can do little but hang on, his own muddled obscenities adding to the increasingly lewd cacophony of moans and shouts and skin slapping against skin.
He wonders how long she’s planning to pound away, mostly because he’s aching to get himself off at this point, but he doesn’t want to disappoint by hurrying her through this. She keeps ramming that spot, though, and – fuck.
“Dee,” he groans, “Dee, I gotta-”
Fuck it. As much as she’d probably enjoy him asking for permission to touch himself, the words won’t come, and he’s so hard now it’s unbearable. He scrambles for his dick like he’s thirteen again and just discovered dirty magazines, and gets in a dozen or so messy, haphazard strokes before he’s there, Dee’s bedspread clutched in one hand as he shoots hard into his other.
“Jesus Christ, Dee.”
He’s shaky and breathing hard when Dee pulls out, unsure whether it’s the glue or the earwax pill or the fact that Sweet Dee just rode his ass until he came that’s making him feel so damn euphoric.
He stops short of wiping his sticky hand on the bed – that’s just the kind of thing that would make Dee go all scowling seagull again – and instead reaches for the discarded towel.
“I’ll get myself off,” says Dee, unfastening the dildo and setting it aside with a look of calm satisfaction. She settles onto the bed, legs apart, and Charlie can’t tell if she’s waiting for him to get the fuck out, or maybe...
“Can I watch?” Charlie asks hopefully.
“Sure.”
Charlie scrambles into a comfortable viewing position, head propped up on his elbows as Dee closes her eyes and begins to work herself. He marvels at her expression, her flushed cheeks and the way she gently bites her bottom lip as her unoccupied hand reaches inside her robe to stroke her nipple. It’s a truly magnificent sight to behold, and Charlie hopes that tomorrow, he can still remember every little detail of what has undoubtedly been one of the most remarkable nights of his life.