DISCLAIMER: I am marvel. you all owe me money.
SUMMARY: two other friends talk. fervently. I'm dumb. but I have a good time.
NOTES: of all the sequel requests, I pay attention to this one. go figure. it's a followup to "Crush". thank you to everyone who fed me on the last one, and thank you, always, to Poi.
DATE: December, 1999.
Crush II:
Warren's Ass
"Remy?"
"Oui, Jean?"
"You kind of . . zoned out there for a moment."
"Sorry. Happens sometimes. I *am* in front of a mirror, aft'all."
"Good point. So, um . . "
"Where did Warren go?"
"Warren?"
"Yeah, Warren. He was here a minute ago."
"Warren who?"
"What?"
"Um . . Warren who? The name sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it . . describe him to me."
"Jean, what y'talkin' about? Is sometin' wrong?"
"No, I'm just . . I . . Just do it."
"Do what?"
"Describe him to me. Warren. Whoever that is. I want to hear you describe him. So I can place the name."
"Um, Jean, chere . . maybe we should go see Hank . . You remember Hank, right?"
"Yes, I remember Hank. Look, just-- this is a special training thing. So just do it. Sit down. There, good. Now, here I am-- I don't know this Warren fellow, you have to describe him to me so I can tell you if I've seen him. So tell me about him."
"Alright. He's a blue man wit' wings."
"Is he a . . handsome blue man with wings?"
"You've seen more'n one blue man wit' wings around?"
"Yes, I have. There are lots of blue men with wings around here. This is . . Sedona. So you're going to have to be specific. Tell me everything."
"He's . . a blue man wit' wings, and . . eh . . "
"What does his hair look like?"
"Blond."
"'Blond'? That's it? Come on, Remy, you're French; you can be more descriptive than that."
"Eh . . il est blond."
"Remy . . "
"What? He's blond."
"Remy . . we're not talking about shoesize or wheatbran here. We're talking about hair. Rooted deep in the head, in the innermost mind, spreading out in a fiery mane, framing the face, whipping in the wind . . so sacred that without it Samson fell from grace! You can't describe it in one word! Hair! Hair!! Warren's hair!! Help me out, Remy!"
"Hair!! Warren's hair . . is, um . . spun gold! Whipping and weeping from de air around him in bright torrents of sunlight! De angel's halo! It, um . . "
"Shines!"
"Oui, it shines!! It shines as it spills aroun' his shoulders . . "
"'Shoulders'?"
"Broad shoulders! Formidable shoulders! Invincible shoulders!"
"Yes! And his ass!!"
"Quoi?"
"I mean . . his eyes. What about his eyes?"
"His eyes! Dey are . . dey are delicate pools of . . dey . . Jean, I don' know what color his eyes are."
"Oh. They're blue."
"Blue! Like de deepest ocean or de brightest sky!! Sweepin' over de world from above, de eyes of divinity-- perfect and indifferent, gentle and vehement!"
"Exactly!"
"And de mouth of a fallen saint, so prepared for wisdom but cursed wit' a sensuality it can' escape! Soft lips stretched tragically over a hot cavern of need!"
"Oh, yeah . . "
"And his ass!!"
"Yes!!"
"De second skin of his uniform glides tightly against de press of his firm ass, juttin' from de smooth lines of his body like a petulant child stickin' his tongue out!"
"Yes yes YES!!"
"Every part of him begs for worship, for a willing sacrifice on an altar of satin, and frantic friction! For a pliant body to bend in submission to his holy demands, in deference to his divine, moist needs!! He is an angel!! He is Adonis!! Warren is . . ! Warren is--!"
"In the kitchen."
" . . What?"
"In the kitchen. When he left, he said he was going to the kitchen. I bet you could still find him there."
"But I . . I t'ought you said he was in Sedona . . "
"Nope. He's in the kitchen."
". . . "
"Well, aren't you going to go find him?"
"I . . don' really t'ink I should stand up right now."
"Oh, but that's perfect, Remy. You should definitely go just the way you are."
" . . . "
"Remy? Are you going?"
"Oh, right. Sorry, Jean, zoned out again. Mirror, an' all."
"Right. So go, already. 'Divine, moist needs'."
"Oh, oui . . "
"My thoughts exactly."
a hot cavern of need