“Um, one sec, my friend is having a baby right now—listen, Ed, that was Erszébet’s idea, and besides, the one who eventually took that guy home was Lukas, if I remember correctly. Also, I have a big piece of furniture—okay, fuck it, SOME BIG, JUICY COCK—right in front of me and I have to finish this, okay? So, you can do that—whatever you’re going to do—and I finish blowing this delicious Swedish dick, yes? I’ll call you later!”
“But—“
But the line’s already beeping, and Eduard can just stand there, desolated, and wait for the ever-ticking clock to mark twelve.
And it does.
In the meantime, Eduard has cried, changed his clothes, squeaked, changed them again and cleaned the entire house.
Then he realized that it’s actually a rather stupid idea to have it all perfectly clean before the ‘maid’ came, as then they would have nothing to roleplay about, and artificially untidied a few things. Then he noticed that he really couldn’t live with those things out of place, so he corrected them again, instead disarranging other things. Then he repeated the same thing as before, because OCD is serious business.
He’s at this—battling to leave a magazine open and not in a complete parallel symmetry to the corner of the table it’s on—when the door rigs.
Fortunately, he trips over the table, scattering all of its contents—and the ones of the bookshelf next to it—all over his living room.
Well, that’s settled, then. There will at least be enough disorder to create a convincing fantasy.
If Eduard can live with this.
His fingers are itching to tidy up, actually.
Yet, feeling immensely proud of himself for not picking up all the books as he makes his way towards the door, he opens it, letting the stranger in.
The first thing he thinks is “Oh fuck, it is an SM maid. Or an SS maid”.
The guy has very, very light hair, white actually, with skin almost as pale, and if Ed has learned anything from the Matrix movie (or Harry Potter) it is that guys with too light hair are evil. He wears a long, black coat that conceals him entirely—the one you either wear in the goth-scene, or to invade Poland. And the worst are his eyes, blood red and clearly out of a vampire movie or something.
Then he notices those are not kinkily evil red contact lenses but actually real, underpigmented eyes, and feels like a dick because albinism is a form of disability. Oh god, did he just hire a disabled person to fuck him?! If he believed in any sort of higher power, he’d be sure They’d be sending him straight to hell.
He stares for a solid minute, until the guy lifts a white eyebrow, looking rather amused, and introduces himself. “Hi! I am the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, from Beilschmidt and Brother!” he looks around, as if making sure no one’s listening, and leans down to mutter, with the most confident of grins, “No matter what my brother tells you, I am the ‘Beilschmidt’, and not just the ‘Brother’”.
Eduard manages to choke out a “H-hi” as he beckons him inside. The man, though, never once stops talking.
“Dude, that name on your bell, is that yours? Are you seriously called von Bock? Because that’s awesome. I don’t know if you know but it totally means ‘male goat’ in German. And it sounds like a nobility title. So you’re like, uh… what’s your name?”
Gründlich, Sauber, Günstig I [2/3]
“But—“
But the line’s already beeping, and Eduard can just stand there, desolated, and wait for the ever-ticking clock to mark twelve.
And it does.
In the meantime, Eduard has cried, changed his clothes, squeaked, changed them again and cleaned the entire house.
Then he realized that it’s actually a rather stupid idea to have it all perfectly clean before the ‘maid’ came, as then they would have nothing to roleplay about, and artificially untidied a few things. Then he noticed that he really couldn’t live with those things out of place, so he corrected them again, instead disarranging other things. Then he repeated the same thing as before, because OCD is serious business.
He’s at this—battling to leave a magazine open and not in a complete parallel symmetry to the corner of the table it’s on—when the door rigs.
Fortunately, he trips over the table, scattering all of its contents—and the ones of the bookshelf next to it—all over his living room.
Well, that’s settled, then. There will at least be enough disorder to create a convincing fantasy.
If Eduard can live with this.
His fingers are itching to tidy up, actually.
Yet, feeling immensely proud of himself for not picking up all the books as he makes his way towards the door, he opens it, letting the stranger in.
The first thing he thinks is “Oh fuck, it is an SM maid. Or an SS maid”.
The guy has very, very light hair, white actually, with skin almost as pale, and if Ed has learned anything from the Matrix movie (or Harry Potter) it is that guys with too light hair are evil. He wears a long, black coat that conceals him entirely—the one you either wear in the goth-scene, or to invade Poland. And the worst are his eyes, blood red and clearly out of a vampire movie or something.
Then he notices those are not kinkily evil red contact lenses but actually real, underpigmented eyes, and feels like a dick because albinism is a form of disability. Oh god, did he just hire a disabled person to fuck him?! If he believed in any sort of higher power, he’d be sure They’d be sending him straight to hell.
He stares for a solid minute, until the guy lifts a white eyebrow, looking rather amused, and introduces himself. “Hi! I am the awesome Gilbert Beilschmidt, from Beilschmidt and Brother!” he looks around, as if making sure no one’s listening, and leans down to mutter, with the most confident of grins, “No matter what my brother tells you, I am the ‘Beilschmidt’, and not just the ‘Brother’”.
Eduard manages to choke out a “H-hi” as he beckons him inside. The man, though, never once stops talking.
“Dude, that name on your bell, is that yours? Are you seriously called von Bock? Because that’s awesome. I don’t know if you know but it totally means ‘male goat’ in German. And it sounds like a nobility title. So you’re like, uh… what’s your name?”