Oct 27, 2013
It shouldn't be a challenge to date a guy that doesn't hit me or hate me or use me as a rebound. So what am I doing wrong?
seen from Mexico
seen from Malaysia
seen from Kuwait
seen from Yemen
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Denmark
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Bulgaria
seen from Mexico
seen from United States
seen from Yemen
seen from Germany
seen from United States
It shouldn't be a challenge to date a guy that doesn't hit me or hate me or use me as a rebound. So what am I doing wrong?
I see the look on your face when you read my poems
And I know you think I wrote them for him.
The biggest fight I've ever been in with my boyfriend was him calling James Potter a dick and my subsequent arguing against that.
That's healthy.
OOC: Ian Drabble
Contrary to popular belief, the club did close. Only between the hours of 3am and 10am on weekdays, but there it was, standing empty and quiet. Most of the time, it wasn't Ian's favourite time. Sometimes one set of his parents would stay overnight, cleaning and doing things that Ian sucked at paying attention to. There were beds other than his own downstairs, but he was pretty sure they never actually used them. He was fairly certain he'd acquired his lack of a need for sleep from his parents. This wasn't one of the nights his parents stayed, and he wasn't really minding. It was entirely too much work to gather his books and the dogs and load them in his car just to go home and sleep for a few hours. Especially when he wasn't even sure he WOULD sleep. He'd let them lock up the club, meandering his way back downstairs and locking that door, too. Honestly, he probably didn't need to, but he always felt unsafe when it wasn't. The dogs didn't move from their positions on the floor, and he rolled his eyes. Setting the radio to play in his room, he tossed himself onto his bed and stretched out, throwing his arms wide and letting his body relax. It hadn't been a particularly stressful week, his classes just starting and not quite gearing up to their full potential just yet, he'd had a few performances, once of which Ridge had apparently watched... He nearly cringed at the thought before remembering the completely cool way that Ridge had handled it. Without ignoring the fact that Ian was in drag, he'd still managed to show his utter lack of caring that his friend was wearing a dress. And really, that was just awesome in Ian's book. Which sort of brought him to the fact that he'd somehow found himself sleeping on Ridge's couch, something he didn't tend to make a habit of doing with his friends. And literally sleeping on it, no less. The fact that Ridge had been sweet, caring without coming out in the middle of the night seeking something physical from Ian cemented every opinion he had about the boy. But tonight Ian was going to make himself STOP thinking about the other boy so much. It was one of the few nights he got to himself, and he fully intended to indulge in whatever manner a teenage boy should. Which did not include perving out over his very straight friend who just happened to be ridiculously attractive, amazing, AND had asked him on a not date. Nope, he was definitely not going to be thinking about that. His body had other ideas, as he was already half hard. But he pushed that realization away as he slowly tugged off his shirt and flung it across the room into the laundry hamper. It'd somehow become a habit to sleep naked, the basement room always too warm, and it was easier to snuggle up under his blankets and decide which part of his body should be out from under the covers rather than fighting with pajama pants tangling around his legs. Which, speaking of, he shimmied out of those as well, wiggling his hips as he inched them down, sending them in the same direction as his shirt. Usually reduced to the quickest of stolen moments with himself, he fully intended to take advantage of the fact that he was alone, skimming his fingertips over his chest, rubbing gently across his nipples, shivering at the contact. It was something he hadn't discovered until after Charles, that he was so sensitive. It was something he still wanted to try with someone else, though everyone he knew saw him as a novelty, or sexless because they didn't know to class him. It was frustrating, because he was blatantly male, despite his love for Charlotte. He pushed those thoughts away for something more painless. Someone nameless and faceless, strong broad hands sliding across his hips, rubbing over his thighs, spreading him open. Whimpering softly, he'd let the hands do whatever they wanted, go wherever they wanted. He wanted it, his cock twitching and throbbing. But they'd keep teasing, keeping pushing, keep running fingertips along his groin, dragging across his balls without stopping. Ian's hips rolled up of their own accord, pushing into nothing. He didn't want this disembodied touch, desperate for someone to hold him close, to touch him. Someone he trusted. Someone like Ridge. He shivered almost violently at that thought, remembering how Ridge had all but flung himself at the other boy in a hug. How he touched without minding that Ian was gay. The other boy could probably pick him up and carry him without breaking a sweat, and Ian whined softly. He thought of Ridge's arms wrapped around him, holding him tight against the other boy's body as he mouthed along his neck. His hand finally found his hardness, leaking and pulsing and he was already arching into his own hand, heels digging into the bed as he bit his lip. He wouldn't let himself think of Ridge's hand in his place, he wouldn't let himself go that far, yet. Especially not when he had a friend date with the other boy extremely soon. He did let himself think of what it'd feel like to be pressed against Ridge's bare chest, to nuzzle up to his skin, breathe him in. What it'd feel like to have his hands rubbing gently over his back, his sides, his hips. He was stroking himself desperately over the thought, the phantom feeling, the fantasy of being so close to someone who genuinely cared. He wondered if Ridge would drop tiny kisses to his hair, over his jaw, if he'd pull Ian closer while he shuddered, ask him to come for him. And he did, gasping loudly and tensing hard as he spilled over his hand. He let himself come down slowly, let the warmth remain as he panted to catch his breath, groaning as he realized he had to get up to wash up. Well... He mentally patted his back at his impulse control. At least he wouldn't be thinking of Ridge's hand on his cock while they hung out. He laughed softly, letting his head thump to his pillow.
OOC: Ian/Charles Drabble
OOC: May be triggery for dubcon. It's really not graphic/terrible, though.
The clock on the fireplace mantle flashed from 3:59 to 4:00, the digital numbers disappearing for a split second before reappearing and making Ian physically cringe. He cleared his throat softly, glancing quickly around the apartment to make sure everything was in order. For a second, he completely forgot about the upbeat club music filtering through the entire living room, but he crossed quickly to turn it off and remove the CD. Dinner was nearly ready, and he knew that Charles would walk in the door right around 4:10. He was cutting it close. But he'd gotten used to the routine over the past couple months, and he had steaming plates of food on the table by the time the other boy walked in. Older, more muscled than Ian, and dressed relatively nicely for an office job, he walked in, dropped his bag on the floor and sat at the table without a word to the other boy. That was alright, though. Ian knew the other boy was tired, having worked all day, and he sometimes just... forgot to say hi. Ian joined him at the table, careful not to jostle anything, and ate a little from his own plate. He'd studied all night and most of the day, falling asleep at the table before he realized he couldn't quite sleep yet. His stomach was churning with nerves over his upcoming exams, but he knew Charles would just tell him to man up if he mentioned it. And he had something more important to ask the other boy, and he knew he had to catch him the right mood to ask it. He analyzed him from under his lashes, trying to decide if he should risk it or not. "How was your day?" Ian asked brightly, cheerfully despite the fact that he was beginning to feel heavy and tired. Likely, his happy tone of voice would irritated Charles. But he tended to get more irritated when Ian was subdued. Oh well, all couples had to pick their battles, right? Charles hummed in reply, letting his fork drop to his plate and dusting off his hands to reach into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes, rolling one across the table to Ian, who smiled gratefully at him, reaching for his own lighter. "Fine. Fired the bitch who was always coming in wasted." He replied easily, leaning back in his chair and looking at Ian over the table. Ian resisted squirming, unsure exactly what that look meant. Whether it meant he was about to be berated for something, or if Charles was just looking. "Well, that's good!" Ian leaned across the table to flick a bit of ash into the tray, giving Charles a smile, "Hey, Charles? I had a question..." Ian started carefully, keeping his tone neutral. Sometimes, if Charles knew he wanted it too badly, he'd say no just to show Ian that he had the power. Charles raised an eyebrow slowly, expectantly, and Ian felt his stomach drop. Immediately regretting opening his mouth, he could see this wasn't likely to go well. But he could take it back now, and he knew that taking the consequences would be better than trying to get out of them, "Well! Uhm, Papa T had a girl drop out for tomorrow night's lineup, and wanted to know if maybe I could perform?" He finished, staying upbeat. He hadn't told his parents why he'd quit drag, and they hadn't stopped trying to get him to perform. He was certain that Mystique had caught his pained expression every time he watched her perform, but he'd brushed off all her attempts to talk. "No." Charles replied, butting out his cigarette in the tray as he stood to take his plate to the kitchen sink, dropping it in with a clatter, "This was better last time you made it." He tossed out on his way to the living room. Ian sighed softly. He'd made it exactly the same way as he had last time. And he knew he should try to get home soon. He was still a minor, and even Charles knew it was only because of his parent's leniency that he was even allowed to spend nights at a time at Charles' apartment. They'd only met the other boy a few times, and he'd been a perfect gentlemen, throwing out pet names and gentle touches, holding Ian close to his side. Ian loved the moments when Charles was like that. But the moment they were alone, his mood swings flashed. Making his way to the living room, Ian stood in the door way, "Are you... Sure I couldn't just this once?" He nearly pleaded. Charles stood and started toward him, rolling his eyes when Ian just barely flinched. "I said no. Stop being a bitch." He murmured in reply, his eyes raking over Ian's form. Ian had enough time to wonder what had drawn him to this cruel boy in the first place. Maybe it was the attention he'd shown him initially, the phone calls and texts, the way he'd made Ian feel important, told him he'd protect him from the boys who'd hurt him before. But now there was nobody to protect him from his savior. Ian gave the proper responses, soft gasps and whines as Charles' hands wandered over his chest, tugging his shirt off, "Charles... I have to go home, I don't really want..." He started hopelessly. "Shut up." He did, letting Charles shove him towards the bedroom. He went willingly. The times he'd tried to resist... They'd ended badly, usually with Ian limping for days, bruised and broken and hiding in his room as he healed. Charles went into the bathroom to clean up, and Ian felt sudden relief, painful in its intensity, as he grabbed for the lube in the bedside table. Sometimes Charles got hasty, and Ian tried to take it as a compliment. But if he could prepare himself a little more thoroughly beforehand, he was glad for the chance. He tugged his own pants off quickly, lubing his fingers liberally and reaching behind himself to shove two in deep. He did this enough at home to know that he COULD make it feel good, but he didn't have the time now, unsure when Charles would be heading back. He was three fingers deep in his own ass when Charles walked out naked. "Look at you, you little slut, couldn't even wait for me, you want it so bad." Charles grinned his approval, already hard as he crawled on the bed and Ian flipped onto his hands and knees and braced himself not to whine in discomfort as Charles pushed in. The other boy didn't like looking in his eyes. It was probably better that way. When they'd first started dating, Ian had loved everything that came before the sex. The handjobs and blowjobs and hours spent on fingering. It was nice, and Ian could excuse that Charles didn't enjoy cuddling. He'd let the other boy take his virginity, and he regretted every time after that, burning and sore and stretched too quickly. But he knew what Charles wanted to hear, and he was good at faking it, hoping he sounded authentic and not a cheap mockery of the porn he indulged in sometimes. When he was alone, he fantasized of strong arms holding him close as he was fucked slowly, or a tongue pressing him open while fingers stroked over his thighs. It was a sharp contrast to the brutal fucking he was receiving, the bed rattling with Charles' thrusts. Charles came with a groan, and Ian held back his sigh of relief as the other boy climbed off the bed and made his way back to the bathroom. He didn't bother to see if Ian had came. He hadn't, but he was good with that. He quickly grabbed for his pants and shirt, dressing before Charles came back out, and knocking gently on the door, "I've gotta head home before Madre blows up my phone! I'll be back tomorrow!" His only answer was a grunt as he made a break for the door. It hadn't been so bad, he'd gotten off lightly, not pissing Charles off enough to hit him, and he'd been able to prepare himself well enough beforehand. He knew his dad had picked him up some candy from the store, and he'd studied enough that he was fairly confident for his exams. All in all, it hadn't been a bad day, he thought to himself as he whistled a soft tune on his walk home.
Fireworks For Two
OOC: Written quick, and too lazy to proofread. I'll do it tomorrooooow.
A faint buzzing interrupted the idle chattering of the small circle of woman standing in the center of the large basement room. Most were in some state of disarray, dresses unzipped, or panty hose with runs in the legs. Some had thrown their high heels across the room in a small pile, just relaxing as they gossiped about who they'd seen that evening, who was caught with their pants around their ankles, and who had left in less clothes than they came in in. Ian listened in lazy amusement, lounging in one of the padded vanity chairs, arms draped over the side until he heard his phone go off and made a mad grab for it. Everyone he talked to was in the room with him or upstairs, and his parents were usually too lazy to text him. That left very few people it could be, one of which he always wanted to hear from. The name on his screen caused his mouth to turn up slowly, but he bit his lip hard, trying desperately not to smile. Unfortunately, Mystique had taken that moment to look over at him, and from her wide eyes and absolutely filthy smirk, he knew exactly what she was thinking. "Ohhhhh no, momma, you shut your mouth before you open it!" He warned, waving his phone around and wagging his finger in the air, glaring the best he could while trying not to grin like a moron. He knew it was silly, to be crushing on a straight guy. But it just felt so damn nice. Safe and comfortable and warm in a way that he knew Ridge wasn't going to hurt him, not physically and he was hetero enough that Ian figured romance wasn't going to happen. Still, the other boy was attractive, exactly Ian's type, taller than him by a rather insane amount, broad, with a smile that Ian was sure should be illegal. He rolled his eyes at himself as Mystique stalked over, giving him a bright eyed look. "Whose got you smilin' wider than I've seen since I tossed that box of glitter at your head, hotstuff?" She asked, trying to peer over his shoulder at his phone. Ian huffed, snatching it away and marching across the room to plant himself against the wall. She cocked his eyebrow at him, turning back to the other ladies, "Ooooh, ladies, we're gonna get us a new pretty boy in heeeere! You shoulda seen him the other day!" And dammit, she'd guessed right that Ridge had been the one causing Ian to break into a blush over her teasing, something he NEVER did. Ian was around too many penises, too many naked people, pretty boys covered in glitter who could dance in ways that would make the average customer come in their jeans. He just didn't get flustered over nothing. And Mystique knew it, and was picking, and... Damn her. He grabbed for a heavily braided wig, chucking it at Mystique from across the room, cackling when it hit her in the back of the head. She turned around to point one perfectly manicured finger at him, "Boy, don't you think I won't turn you over my knee. In FRONT of that boy you had down here the other day!" She warned. Ian ignored her as he went back to his texting, his mouth going slack as he read through Ridge's incoming texts. And apparently he had a not date for Fourth of July. He managed to resist squealing until Ridge suggested they go alone, then he was leaping up and flying across the room to Mystique, showing her the text and watching her face light up, go a little soft before she was back, wagging her finger in his face and poking him in the nose with one nail. "Oh babyboy, if that man hurts you, you KNOW we'll be all up on his ass, right?!" She threw her arm wide to the other ladies as they chorused agreement. Ian snorted as he walked to the door, throwing some extra sway into his hips as he tossed his head over his shoulder with false bravado, "Oh ladies, you wait til you see him, you'll wanna be all up on that ass anyway." He tossed out, darting up the stairs at the chorus of agreement, snickering.
OOC: Rather long Ian drabble
Seventh grade was about when Ian realized that the next years of his life were not going to be pretty or easy. Elementary school had been simple, had been before puberty and crushes and deciding hierarchy. He'd had no problems making friends, always bouncy and charming and willing to share everything he had, even giving away his last pieces of candy when he'd had none. Things were different here, all sports and girls and figuring out who was at the bottom of the food chain. And suddenly Ian didn't fit in so well. Ian with his feminine looks, and his clothes picked from the girl's sections. Realistically, he knew he should try to fit in, try to meld, and make himself invisible. For awhile, it worked. He toned down his wardrobe, only dressed in his pretty clothes at home. For awhile, he slid under the radar, and the kids he used to be friends with ignored him. Their cold shoulders and even colder stares hurt at the beginning, but Ian got used to it. He understood that maybe he wasn't the type of person everyone would want to be friends with. Being weird was something he'd always excelled at, despite the ladies at the clubs' assurances that he was better than most people out there. The first time he came home in tears, he'd held it in until he got off the bus, hefted his bag over his arm and walked stiffly to the porch, behind the hedges that hid the covered area from view. He waited until he heard the bus hiss and pull away before he hit his knees, touching his forehead to the warm wood and cried softly, letting his tears soak into the wood away until he was hiccuping dryly, and he brought his arm up to scrub across his face. He sighed softly, pulling the tattered handbag from his bookbag and cradling it in his arms. He'd watched Mom sit at her sewing machine, smiling indulgently at him with twinkling eyes as she following his instructions for a bit of embroidery here and a bit of stitching there. Until it was done and she was holding up the soft velvet material for his inspection, and he was petting over the tiny embroidered horses along the hem with fingers that shook slightly in excitement. She'd told him not to take it to school, told him he'd get it dirty, but he saw the sadness in her eyes when she was saying the words. He knew what she was worried about. But aside from dirty looks and sneers in the hallway, he'd never had any real trouble. It'd be okay, he really wanted to show his Science teacher. He was always amusing her with tales from home, and the times she'd spoken to his parents, she had nothing but good things to say to them. And Ian wanted to make someone smile, wanted to show them a bit of something he found beautiful. Carrying it proudly on his arm, he'd strutted into class and held it out proudly, letting his teacher grin and admire the skilled lines created by a myriad of thread. He'd carried it back out of the class, ready to stow it in his locker, but the quickest way there had been outside. His face turned to the sky, sun warming his skin, he'd missed the other boys until the were on him, yanking the handbag off his arm. He'd cried out in horror at the sound of the delicate fabric ripping, renting through the air with a noise that went straight to his gut, and he'd turned in confusion, watched them throw it to the ground and dig it into the dirt. Let them call him names, names he'd heard all his life directed at his parents. And he'd learned from them not to let it bother him, not to take it to heart, but how could he listen now when they'd destroyed something he loved. He'd simply stood, stood and took it and wondered what happened to lending Charles a pencil every day for the last three years. When Anthony had suddenly forgotten that Ian and his parents had brought food to his mother after his father's death and Ian had hugged him when he couldn't stop crying. It made sense for someone to not want to be his friend. That was alright, but when did they forget that Ian had always been theirs? Mom never found out what happened to the handbag. ---- High school was different. Everyone said it would be. That the classes would be tougher, that it'd be harder to make it on time, that missing a day meant being behind for a week. The ladies told him no matter what happened, to keep his chin up and never let anyone kick him to the dirt. He'd laughed and hugged them, and hadn't told them that he was used to it already. That he'd started leaving his phone at home after he'd "dropped" and broken two. That he used an old backpack, claiming he liked it, because the straps had "given out" on his favourite one, the one with the sparkles on the pockets. That he no longer even considered clothes that had pink or glitter or anything other than monochromatic t-shirts and jeans. Because standing out meant being noticed. It wasn't hard to assume that things couldn't get worse than they were already. He didn't take into account that high school meant sex, and dating, and weeding out anyone who was different. High school meant being cornered in back allies and beaten until he was groaning and clutching his stomach and heaving until he had nothing left. High school meant cruel reedy laughter as the boys left him to find his way home. Ian got used to it. He bruised and he worked through it, and eventually it didn't hurt so bad. He could take punches and kicks to the gut, and they left his face alone. He joined the theater department, and he talked to nobody as he painted the sets and listened to his ipod. Staying after school long enough meant he avoided the boys at their prime moments. If he left as soon as school let out, they'd corner him on their way to practice. If he didn't stay late enough, they were leaving the locker room, boiling with adrenaline and frustration and ready to take it out on whoever they could. Those were the worst times. He became a master at telling the time with no clock, at being able to make it home well after his parents finished dinner. It was easy to heat his dinner and escape to his room, rubbing salve into bruises that never seemed to heal, and muffling his painful coughs into his pillow and he slowly and painstakingly wrote out his homework. If there was one thing he was determined to never let go, it was his schoolwork. He watched his parents work with the horses, and he wanted to help in a more literal sense. Veterinary Medicine had never been a decision he took lightly, and his determination to see it through never wavered. ---- Making it through Freshman year was something he wasn't sure he'd be able to do with awhile, and the summer had brought relief and dulled the memories of how horrible it had been. His parents let him perform on stage, despite it not being quiet legal, but the ladies were okay with that, and nobody ever begrudged him his tips or his spot in the lime light. Standing on the steps of the school, the memories hit him like a ton of bricks, like a punch to the gut, and he'd never been so scared. Which was ridiculous, what more could they do than what they'd already been doing. And Ian could handle it. Charlotte, please don't fail me now, babygirl. You've got to help me through this. He pleaded with himself, his hands shaking as he clutched the straps of his bag and made his way up the steps and back into the school for the first time in months. It was his fault that he let his guard down after making it through the entire day unscathed, and he practically skipped down the steps and onto the sidewalk that led to the city bus that would take him home or to the club. His house too far into the sparse country that surrounded the town for him to want to sit through the long schoolbus ride. The city bus was safer. It was his fault that he wasn't on guard when they grabbed him, and it was his fault for begging himself to think of what Charlotte would do. He could take their punches and kicks, and he never fought back, hitting the ground and covering his head and letting them do their worst. He'd never let them see him cry, and he'd never give them the satisfaction of crying out. But Charlotte... Charlotte would never let these boys beat her into submission, and Ian growled as he swung, grazing one of the boys in the face and kicked another in the balls. He had a split second to cry out in triumph before everything exploded in a sea of red and he forgot what he'd asked Charlotte in the first place. ---- Hospital lights were harsh, too bright, and searing through the comfortable darkness he'd settled into. He cringed when he realized where he was, because that meant his parents knew. That meant they'd won, and he hadn't been able to keep his secret, and he felt tears sliding down his cheeks before he was even able to open his eyes. A soft hand on his face forced his eyes open, and he squinted into the concerned, overly makeuped face of one Mystique Connolly. He reached out and clutched her hand, pleading with his eyes, "My parents..." She tutted and shook her head, her manicured nails scratching across his skin in a way that should have been uncomfortable, but was just familiar and comforting and had goosebumps raising on his arms, "Sorry, darling. They're on your emergency contacts just like me, and honestly... I wouldn't have kept it from them, baby. Not this." She murmured sadly, and it would be one of the few times that Ian would remember her voice pitching deep and sad, and entirely the man behind the makeup. He swallowed thickly, "What happened?" "I'd like to know, too!" She exclaimed in exasperation, smoothing her dress as she sat on the edge of the bed, "Some girls found you, called the police. Broken ribs, bruises they say are fresh and old, and you've had broken ribs before. You were coughing up blood, and they had to put a stint in for your kidneys. Darling, you've got a concussion and a broken nose, and you'll be in here for a few weeks. It's..." She shook her head, "They've already pulled you out of school." Ian sighed as he closed his eyes and let himself cry. They'd won. It was all his fault, and they'd won. ---- The ladies visited him in waves while he healed, waiting for the internal bleeding to slow or stop or progress until he needed surgery. It never happened, and his determination won out in the end in the form of him making a pleading call to Mystique to bring every GED prep book she could find from the local library. He wasn't giving up. He poured over the books, over material he hadn't even been in school long enough to touch on. Material he was damn sure the barbarians who beat him wouldn't even remotely understand, and he felt a sick sort of satisfaction low in his gut, under the bruises and the knots and the pain. Because they may have won at one game, but dammit if they'd be the reason he didn't pursue the things he was sure he could do with his life. The day he got out of the hospital was to be celebrate with food and dancing and drag shows at the club, and he was more than looking forward to heading to the place that'd always been his second home. He wasn't aware then just how much time he'd spend there. But he was starting his own dress collection and his room was slowly being overtaken with wigs and makeup. But he had somewhere to be first. He had hours before he needed to be at the club, and Mystique had dropped him off at the county building downtown, cracking a book and placing one glittery nail on the page as she looked at him expectantly and he'd laughed, knowing she wasn't going to be going anywhere when he was in there, even if it took the full eight hours. He celebrated for more than just his recovery that night. Finishing with four hours to spare, he could only hope his test results came back quickly. ---- They came in the form of two fluffballs in a basket. When he walked into the house and heard soft whining, he'd walked into the living room and stared in confusion at the two dust mops in the whicker basket in the center of the floor. All four of his parents were sitting around the table on couches and chairs, and Papa T and Mom had looked like they'd been crying. "Is... What's going on?" He asked quietly, not sure what exactly he'd walked into. Papa T picked up the envelope on the table and handed it to him. He'd passed everything with beyond average marks, and he laughed breathlessly, "They didn't win." He murmured, shaking his head slowly. He didn't cry then, but curled up in bed later, he'd sobbed until he fell asleep, sobbed and laughed in relief. "Don't think we're bribing you with puppies," His mom turned to him with a soft, sad sort of smile, "But if you're going to be out and about, we thought maybe it'd be best if you had... Someone with you at all time." She explained, and he turned with a raised eyebrow toward the small, curly, entirely too fluffy animals in the basket, one black and one white, looking at him with wide, expressive eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Girlie dogs, we know. But they're brothers, and their trainer says they listen well, and they're smart. And people might be fooled by how gay they look." Papa T teased, standing and scooping a puppy under each arm, walking up to Ian, who could only drop his results and take the wiggling balls of fur. "They'll be big dogs, and maybe we should have asked you first, but we figured you wouldn't mind." He chuckled as Ian clung to the dogs with wide eyes. "Pretend they're birthday presents, and no we're not telling you to teach them to attack people. But if they can prevent what happened before, well..." Madre nodded decisively. And Ian had almost forgot that his sixteenth birthday was coming up. "They're already enrolled in classes," Dad added. Ian knew that his family was a little dysfunctional, a little weird, but in that moment, he truly pitied the boys who couldn't accept him and his family. Because if this wasn't love, he didn't know what was.
OOC: Idle Ian Drabble
It was probably a testament to his own oddness that nobody in the club gave Ian a second glance as he hauled the twin mattress in front of the stage that Mystique was performing on, through the droves of people swaying in time to the music she was singing along with, and through the VIP doors. He kicked it with one shoed foot, sending it sliding down a few steps, but not nearly quick enough for his liking. With a growl that was all Charlotte and no Ian, he threw himself at it, shrieking a bit in alarm as it flew down the steps much quicker than he'd anticipated. Pressing one manicured hand to his chest, he let out a dramatic sigh, flailing his hand at the two large poodles, one black and one white, staring at him from the floor. "Oooh no, darlings. You do NOT get to give me that look." He raised an eyebrow at them, climbing to his feet and brushing off his jeans, dressed surprisingly modest all things considered. He was just lucky that all the ladies had decided to take a smoke break at the same time, else he'd be listening to them cackling at him. "You two are just absolutely NO help at all." He huffed, grabbing onto the mattress with both hands, and looking horrified as he snagged one of his nails. The "VIP room" was essentially the club's basement, one huge open room with support pillars placed in seemingly random places. There were three walk in closets, one for storage and one that the ladies used for their clothes and wigs. The third had always been mostly empty for as long as Ian could remember. It was almost directly under the stage, and he was lucky it wasn't louder. In reality, the music from above was muffled enough that he could turn his ipod on loudly and only feel mild vibrations. It was to this room that he drug the mattress, huffing and puffing theatrically. Once inside, he kicked it flat and shoved it against one wall, hands on his hips as he looked at the room appraisingly. The mattress really only took up a small portion of the area, it was almost large enough to be a small bedroom, and he wondered idly if he could get his dad to help him drag a desk down here to do his schoolwork on. Papa T certainly wouldn't want any part of that. With a grin, he threw himself at the bed, growling playfully as the two dogs meandered in and tossed themselves down with twin groans. And really, this bed was in no way big enough for him and one dog, let along him and both of them. But he arranged himself accordingly, giving them room as he tucked his knees to his chest. It wasn't ideal, but he'd been spending so much time hiding out and studying, he figured he may as well have a comfortable place to sleep instead of trying to find a not in use ass to pillow his head on. He stretched his legs out over one of the dogs, shifting and laying his head on the other and let himself doze.