Product Placement

Chapter 34 - Fruity


There was an increasingly long list of foods Butch wasn't allowed to eat. It wasn't for health reasons. In fact, he probably should be eating all the items on the list if it was for that purpose. He was far too skinny for his own good, and rarely ate unless he was forced to sit down and do so. Instead he seemed content with cigarettes, and stowing away his lunch money for said cigarettes. Not exactly the healthiest of options ('a vicious cycle', Hustler had said), but Butch always countered he wasn't alone in doing so, and didn't really give a shit either way, stop asking. This list was for an entirely different reason.

Perhaps it should have been more accurately named: Foods Butch Wasn't Allowed to Eat in Public in the Presence of Hustler.

Presently, (and unsurprisingly) it included a myriad of foods that would and could easily been misrepresented as… other things. For example, hot dogs, bananas, pretzel rods and popsicles. It wasn't as if Butch meant for it to be an erotic display- he just enjoyed his food. It wasn't his fault he ate slowly and that is looked so much like… well, Hustler just made sure Butch was kept away from those in public.

It also included most fruits. It wasn't that many fruits were phallic shaped aside from the occasional banana and maybe a strawberry. It was because fruits were juicy. And juicy things dripped. And when things dripped Butch didn't have enough sense to ask for a napkin. He'd just lick it right off of his hands with that tongue of his. This grouping also included anything sticky or anything that left behind some sort of residue, like extra cheesy chips or caramel corn.

Foods covered in other foods were also a big no-no. Butch had an unsettlingly hardwired habit of sucking off the covering substance before even attempting to get to the food that was covered. Francis learned this the hard way, watching helplessly while a fudge-covered apple was mercilessly stripped of its fudge coating by a voracious, talented pink tongue.

Sometimes Butch could get away with some foods as long as Hustler's back was turned or he wasn't paying too much attention. Butch often got away with crunching on extra cheesy chips or pretzel rods or the occasional grape. Conversely, Hustler would add temporary items onto the list when he was attentively staring at Butch while he ate. For example, offering a thrown-together dinner of spaghetti and meatballs one night at his house resulted in an impromptu show involving some slightly-too watery, dripping sauce, which Butch promptly licked off of everything, and made the hustler whine something terrible.

For a long while, Hustler made sure Butch was coincidentally away from all possible suggestive foods while out among the public. Then he made the mistake of telling Butch there was a list in the first place. He hadn't meant to. It kind of flew out of his mouth before he could stop it. They had been sitting in the cafeteria, out of the way of most of their classmates and Butch had been talking about something or another. Before he knew what was happening, the storyteller was getting up, interrupting their mild conversation with something about getting a hotdog.

Hustler had kicked his leg out and hooked it under the other's knee, forcing Butch to topple back into his seat.

"You can't eat those." He said suddenly.
"What? Why the hell not? Dirt-water dogs are my favorite lunch!" Butch whined, kicking him in the shin under the table and calling him an asshole under his breath, "Thought you'd be thrilled I'm actually eating. What's your problem?"
"You can eat them. And I am glad you are eating. But I'd prefer it if you skipped this time around."
"The hell, Francis? First you're up my ass about not eating, and now you're telling me to stop. Are you trying to give me issues?"
"I hardly need to try to accomplish that."

Butch had begun to eye him carefully, scrutinizing his uncomfortable stance and leaning forward. Francis leaned back, sitting straighter, trying not to tense. Like some sort of dog (even though Butch claimed to hate them), he could sense fear and discomfort and lies. The hustler admired that about him despite his penchant for ignoring his own compulsive lying problem. He also hated it when it was turned on him. Francis frowned at Butch, forming a quick excuse to escape this situation he was unable to use, for Butch spoke first.

"I demand you tell me why. The real reason."
"It's not important."
"It's because it looks like a dick, doesn't it?" Butch hissed quietly, blandly, already shaking his head.
"You horny bastard." Butch had muttered, staring at him, suspicions confirmed "Anything else?"

Against his better judgment, Francis had started to list off the foods that would be more than likely to make him launch over the table and thoroughly molest him for. He was counting on his fingers, though the number was far, far more than ten. Butch stopped him at seventeen with the shocked look on his face switching rapidly into confusion.

"Cherries?" He asked, "What the hell is so bad about cherries?"
"Have you ever watched yourself eat a cherry?" HK asked, pausing his countdown.
"Well… no."
"Then you won't understand."
"Seriously though – what about cherries gets to you?" Butch asked, his eyes sparkling dangerously. Hustler was already regretting this decision.
"It's not important."
"Is it the juice? Do I chew it differently? Is it that stem thing?" Butch grinned "I bet it's the stem thing."
"J-Just don't do it."

He was about to go back to counting when he caught sight of Butch's eerie shark smile. He shivered internally; the storyteller had been watching him too often- he knew that grin was some mutilated, horrific version of his salesman smile. That glint in his eye couldn't be good.

"Do my eyes deceive me?" Butch drawled, leaning forward, making the conversation private and lewd smack dab in the middle of the damned cafeteria "Or is the building stuttering - and blushing?" He snickered and arched a brow. "I think I just found my new favorite food…"
The hustler jerked and rubbed his face looking around and making sure no one was paying attention. "Butch…"
"What?" Came the innocent reply. Too innocent. He risked looking up to see a cherry dangling from Butch's fingers, wiggling in the air, plucked expertly from the next table over. Francis paled (how had he done that so fast?). "If I can't eat a hotdog, then can I partake in something more healthy? Like a cherry? A cherry like this one here?"
"Butch please!" Hustler hissed, gnawing his lip, glancing around again and dropping his voice "Do you want me to molest you in public?"
Butch only grinned, twirling the cherry between his fingers. "Oh, I don't think you will. I know you too well. You wouldn't take that risk, especially with so many people here. Of course you could drag me into the bathroom after – but you hate being late so I'm pretty much covered. Until after school that is. But it'll be fun making you wait that long."
"Don't!" Hustler hissed. How Butch could be so fucking casual abut this he had no idea, but he hated it, and wanted to punch him.
"Give me a reason."
"Anything. I'll give you anything."
"Anything? I don't think anything could quite measure up to the face you're making right now… Except maybe the one you'll make later, right before you pounce." Butch shrugged off the muted whimper that escaped the hustler, hid badly by a grimace and glare "Tell you what, you get me a snack that won't send you scurrying to the bathroom and I'll give you the cherry and let your poor libido alone."

Francis sighed, deflating. He had no idea where this terrible mean-spirited teasing streak had come from or when Butch had sprouted the balls to be so candid about something so private (something he'd been exceedingly careful about, given previous incidents), but so long as he quelled it before the fire spread he would be okay. Now all he had to so was be quick and find something mildly innocuous and look at his hands for the rest of lunch and he'd be home free. He'd exact his revenge later. Francis smiled and turned, looking around for the vending machines. The faculty must have moved them out into the hall again. He turned back and was mid-rising from his seat when, out of the blue, Butch chirped "Time's up!" and slipped the little red fruit into his waiting mouth.

Francis had to sit down. Oh, it was a million times worse now that Butch knew he was watching. Normally he would just pop it in his mouth and let the cherry stem dangle from his lips like a cigarette, which was decidedly more erotic than Francis had ever dreamed it could have been. But this time, Butch had an audience to perform for, and he caught and held the hustler's gaze in an iron grip. This time, he used his damn tongue, rolling it out to take the little red fruit into his mouth with a soft pop. He smiled around the stem, stuck out his tongue again, and slowly drew that into his mouth as well. Francis whimpered quietly, and Butch waggled his eyebrows, doing something unseen behind his lips and teeth. A moment or so later, Butch spit out the seed and then offered the tied cherry stem to Francis as a reward for not attacking him, violently or otherwise. He looked more than satisfied with himself.

Francis, on the other end, was very, very busy trying to keep from running off to the nearest exit, or preferably the nearest empty bathroom. Unbelievable. Why people saw fit to humiliate him in cafeterias Francis could never understand, but all these people around had to be blind to not be reacting. Someone had to have noticed. He attempted to glare at Butch, but the goofy smile and the knowing glint in his eye made him think twice. For all the hustler knew, he'd pinched another handful from some unsuspecting student or had a whole bag of cherries hidden nearby to use to his advantage. Therefore, he couldn't afford to be angry with the storyteller, not with so much and so many possible ways it could backfire. At least, not at the moment. So for now he gulped, forcing himself to calm down and not contemplate his rebuttal just yet.

"Tell me, how much worse is it now that I know you're watching me?" Butch purred, his chin in his hand as he leaned forward a bit. The shudder and the renewed pink in Fran's face made him snicker. "Oh, this is something I am going to have fun with."
"Where did you learn the… stem thing?" Hustler muttered, silently cursing his big mouth.
"I got bored one day. I can unwrap a Starburst without using my hands, too. Wanna see?"
"No no – I already know about that, thank you."
"Oh yeah – I remember." Butch chuckled and smiled wistfully, playing with the knotted stem in his fingers "Should seen that comin' a mile away."

Francis whimpered and half-heartedly glared at him. Butch wasn't so much walking the border of love and hate with this whole teasing thing, as he was straddling and dry humping it with all the gusto of a practiced pole dancer. He shook his head at that mental image. Butch was grinning. Thankfully, before he could show him another 'talent' or make another swell of anger that would have surely resulted in violence, the bell rang.

"Time for class." Butch quipped, getting up "Can you walk, Hustler?"
"Yes I can walk." Hustler spat.
"Aw… I didn't do as good of a job as I had hoped. Oh well. Better luck next time."

The hustler snorted and got up, closing his coat. To anyone else, was just hiding valuable merch, and anyone who questioned him would be banned, if not snarled at. Any thoughts Butch might have had otherwise he kept to himself. He did, however, smirk triumphantly and tease him about it quietly for the rest of the day, licking his lips and toying with the tied cherry stem whenever Hustler was in his line of sight.


Chapter 33 ~~~~~~~~ Back to Recess ~~~~~~~~ Chapter 35



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