"Yeah, definitely," you reply, the sudden pang of hunger reminding you of your mortal condition. And shitty train food. Always with the overpriced, shitty train food. You hop off your bed and decide to change into something more casual. You unbutton your shirt, revealing your twig-like body. You’ve long gotten past the part of shame around Logan. As you pull on a t-shirt emblazoned with a band logo, ‘Ptera,’ written in glossy sans-serif. They were pretty underground. Actually, they were a one-man act, you. You had dropped a couple disks off at a couple recording labels in the city. Hope turned to despair and then into apathy pretty quickly.
Logan plops onto his bed rather unceremoniously and bounces a couple times as he waits for you. You perk your ears when you hear something rattle with each bounce.
"What’s up, B?" Logan asks, the wolverine tilting his head. You finish pulling on your shirt before your reply, taking your time to get your thin wings into their holes.
"There’s something on your bed," you reply. You don’t really think too much about it, but Logan begins to move his bed back and forth, a soft rattling ringing through the room. Logan huffs as he pulls his mattress away from the headboard. The ball of fat and fury climbs atop his bed and peers down into the crack between the mattress and headboard he had made.
"Huff," the wolverine grunts as he reaches his short, fat arm down into the dark abyss underneath his bed. "There’s something down there. Those fuckin’ faggots probably left some of their roids here or some shit. Hnng... Fuck... There, got it." The portly mustelid sits up triumphantly, holding a bottle of pills in his hand.
"What is that?" you ask. You sit beside your chubby buddy on his bed.
"No fuckin’ clue, B," Logan snorts. He turns the bottle over and the only label is ‘Merry Christmas.’ "The fuck is this shit?" he grunts as he begins to pry it open. A couple of innocuous looking pills spill into his open paw. "Shit, B. These must be roo-boy’s roid stash."
"Don’t touch it, Logan," you warn. "That’s not yours."
"Whatever happened to finders keepers, losers weepers?" he snaps back, waving the bottle in front of your leaf-like nose. He tilts back his head and pops a pill into his mouth.
"Fuck, Logan, spit that out! You don’t even know what that’ll do to you," you blurt.
"Ha, whatever, if it didn’t kill roo-boy or stag-fag, then why worry-" Logan stops in the middle of his sentence an hunches over.
"Logan, fuck man, I TOLD YOU!" you screech.
"Oh man, arrrgh!" Logan huffs lowly. His eyes begin to droop and a blush creeps along his cheeks. "Fuck…"
"Shit, I’m dialling 911-"
"Nah, man," Logan grunts, his short, stubby hand reaching out towards you. He grips your wrist and squeezes, putting more force into it than you’re used to. "I’m okay... Hooo..." He exhales lowly and begins flexing his arms. "Aw man, I can feel it burning through my system." He squints his eyes and his lips curl into an ‘O.’
You sniff the air and smell the undeniable stench of sex in the air. You look down to see a dark spot growing in Logan’s khakis. The little wolverine humps the air and bites his lower lip as he unloads into his underwear.
"Ho... huff huff," the short, little guy snarls. "Shit, that was intense." He balls his arm into a flex. "Damn, I thought it’d make me bigger."
“Thought you said size didn’t matter?” you quip. “Besides, Logan, I’d be more concerned about that stain in your pants.”
"Fuck off, B," he snaps. He looks at the pills again and sighs, "Guess it’s just some sort of super-viagra or some shit."
"Y-yeah," you cough, "You better take a shower, Logan, gods you stink up the place after you... well, you know." Rather than blush, Logan puffs up his chest and grabs his towel triumphantly.
"Heh, well I am called a skunkbear," he cackles. He rolls the towel into a whip and cracks it at you, a crass grin on his muzzle. He walks out and you groan as you reach for a can of spray. You were lucky Logan was as unpopular with the ladies, at least you think he went for the ladies, else your room would be unbearable for your big nose.
You pull on your coat and make your way out into the shared area of the suite. You see Corey lying down on the couch, his muscled gut pushing his girlfriend lying on top of him up and down with each powerful breath he took. Rob was sitting at the kitchen table, engrossed in his handheld system. You chuckle a little to yourself. Everyone in your little group of fiends was a geek; Corey loved video games, Emma was a total sci-fi and fantasy geek, Logan was your typical, angry comic nerd, you were the underground music guy and Rob. Well, Rob looked like the kind of guy that gave you wedgies in high school, but deep down, the cougar was a pussy cat. You hear a delighted squeal coming from Rob’s handheld, no doubt the buff cat engrossed in one of his Japanese visual novels. Of your troupe of geeks, Rob was the resident weaboo. ‘Otaku’ he would’ve corrected you if you were talking out loud.
"Aw man, did you smell Logan?" Rob grunts, not looking up from his schoolgirl-date-simulator. It wasn’t much of a secret how much Logan stank after he came.
"Yeah," you groan, sitting down on the loveseat opposite to the couch. "Logan, uh... I was taking a long time to get dressed and he got bored."
"Hah, man, to think your friendship has progressed to the point where you don’t give a fuck if your friend is there when you beat off. That’s a relationship goal," Corey chuckles.
"Don’t get any bright ideas," Emma warns, her bright, blue scales shimmering as she adjusts on top of Corey’s thick frame.
"Yeah, Corey," Rob snarls, still too busy to look up.
Just then, the door to your suite opens and Logan’s half-naked body strolls in. You’re actually relieved a little to see him the same old chubby, shortstack of ire as he’s always been. He sees you staring at him and a smirk grows on his face.
"Yeah, like what you see, faggot?" he snickers. He unfolds his towel, revealing his short, little, kosherly-snipped wiener, swinging his hips back and forth shamelessly.
"Ugh, put that away, Logan!" you yelp, turning away. You can hear him sniggering all the way back to your shared room. “Sometimes I can’t stand that guy.”
"Yeah well, that’s why we love him," Corey chuckles. He lifts Emma up easily, his musclebound cervine body rippling as he sits up and places his girlfriend down beside him. There’s a light buzzing in the air. "Mmph, one sec I’m getting a call."
"Hey. Andy, what’s up? You left something in Logan’s room? What a bottle of pills. Bro, chill. If we find it, I’ll call you back," Corey grunts into his phone. He turns to you and asks, "Hey, B, you or Logan see a bottle of pills or something in your room?"
You were about to say something, but Logan bursts out of your room. "What’s this about my room?" Logan blurts loudly.
"Did you see anything, like a bottle of pills in your room? You know that roo that was staying over? He says he may have left it here by accident. It’s supposed to be his post-workout routine, guy flipped out after it wasn’t in his gym bag."
"Nah, man," Logan replies brusquely. You can feel a squeak die in your throat. What the actual fuck, Logan? Why would he lie like that? You stare at him and he gives you an aloof look. He’s daring you to speak up, knowing that you won’t. You always folded to Logan, the guy always calling your bluff. Needless to say he was an excellent poker player.
"You guys ready?" Rob asks, folding his gaming device closed.
"Hell yeah," is the group’s unanimous consensus.
**
Tom’s Diner isn’t exactly the greatest of places. It’s definitely not the one sung about in Susanne Vega’s classic song. No, Tom’s was a joint hit up by drunk frat boys looking for some tail with a pretty girl. Located just around the corner on the not-so-nice end of the urban campus, the place was ‘cozy’ place to meet up with friends. Corey and Emma were the cute, young couple sitting at your table. Logan was the prevent making rude comments at the waitress, Rob looked bored while he played his game, and you were to quiet one.
The food was greasy, delicious, but artery-clogging. You had the shepherd’s pie, rehydrated potato mash over questionably-sourced ground beef and it hit the spot. The others enjoyed their equally mediocre food and none of you ever left the place unsatisfied. Corey would point out a couple girls, trying to egg Rob to ask one of them out, to which the cougar would just shrug his shoulders and continue to try to court electronic versions of females.
You’re barely able to take a step as you nurse your food-baby in your stomach. Lazing around on the couch and watching a marathon of movies sounded like an excellent idea. However, as your group walks back to Pennington Hall, Logan starts to discreetly walk away from you guys.
"Logan, what are you doing?" Emma asks, the first person to notice Logan’s odd behaviour.
"Oh uh, was just gonna hit up the gym, you know," he says, starting to do some stretches out in the open. You cringe a bit as he does so.
"Aw what, we were going to watch the Godfather, you love that movie," Corey bleats lowly.
"Yeah, well, New Year’s Resolution and all that," Logan waves dismissively.
"You don’t even have the proper clothing on-"
"Corey, seriously," Emma scolds, "You’ve been trying to get Logan into the gym for over a year, and now he’s going on his own volition. You should be supportive of him!"
"Yeah, Corey," Logan sneers sweetly.
"Hmmph, whatever."
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