Chapter Text
Track 8
I'm Tired Of Backstabbin'-Ass Snakes With Friendly Grins1
“Don’t call it a comeback, I been here for years,”2 muttered Marshall. The beginning verse of the greatest hip hop song ever, full of brash confidence he really could use tonight. His nerves fluttered in his stomach. “I’m rocking my peers, putting suckers in fear. Making the tears rain down like a monsoon. Listen to the bass go boom!” And on the last word, he pushed the bell-button. Inside the house chimed the hollow metallic ring of the doorbell, not quite the bombastic explosion the song called for. But pushing the bell on this house spelled doom enough. As if bitten, he pulled his hand back quickly. “Over the competition, I’m towering. Wrecking shop when I drop these lyrics that’ll make you call the cops. Don’t you dare stare, you better move. Don’t ever compare me to the rest that’ll all get sliced and diced …” His head bopped to the beat in his memory.
Cold and wet wind blew through his clothes, his body shuddered all over. A warning. One step back and the perch stopped protecting him from the rain, but he’d be free of the trap he was running into head first. Instinct yearned for the warm inside of the house, any house really and the few illuminated windows spoke of cozy homeyness. The house was neither too big nor too small, neither too old nor too new, neither too trimmed nor too cluttered. It was the kind of house Marshall had dreamed of living in whenever his mother told him they’d move once again, or a new boyfriend of hers entered the family picture. Instead, their actual house was a crooked mess of moldy floorboards, chipped paint and rusty pipes. Marshall shook his head, focus was imminently important. As the howling wind kept warning him, the invitation inside this house must be a trap. Why else would Kim allow him to step inside?
As she opened the door, the gray cat smiled at him graciously. “I’m so glad you could make it,” and her voice was soft and sweet. Her tall body wrapped in silky pajama shorts and a fitting top, the colors lavender purple and silver gray. Tonight she was a grand jewel, and she softly brushed his arm to invite him in.
Instantly, he felt supremely inadequate in these loose fitting jeans and the tight white t-shirt he had drawn graffiti on. One for their rap group Soul Intent, bubbly and colorful letters across his chest. A cozy outfit for a cozy evening, or so he had believed. He opened his mouth to reciprocate the greeting but couldn’t think of anything clever to say. Awkwardly, he waved instead and stepped in on his tiptoes. Definitely, she was flirting with him. The gesture, the smile, the soft giggling — he had seen that from her before. At The Shelter, when he was on stage presenting as the boy he had been born as, she was always there to cheer him on, to flirt with him, to compliment his raps even though she clearly didn’t know much about hip hop. So he had pegged her as superficial, perhaps unfairly. Not only was she flirting with him as Slim Shady, but also when he was trying to be the little bunny girl he felt as.
Which first he noticed this week between classes:
Alone he stood at his locker, once more lamenting internally the lack of female friends in his life. Next to him, a girl should lean against the lockers and ramble about the cute boys from history class, the only interesting thing about that waste of time. But no. A whole school full of children of all ages, sizes and colors, and yet he couldn’t make a single female friend. Pathetic. He thought of himself many things, ignorable wasn’t generally on the list. And yet, he might as well be invisible where his female classmates were concerned. They were difficult to engage in conversation, not helped by him forgetting their names and mixing up their faces whenever he tried. Except for Kim. But her attention was a double-edged sword.
Then, as fate would have it, she and her friends sauntered by. Immediately, her presence dominated the hallway as if she were the only person worth knowing. Marshall’s eyes drawn to her, the glow of danger around her was quite magnetic. The tan swirls of her fur pattern gave her an ethereal aura, accentuated by the crop tops she loved to wear. Her heavy bosom stood out amongst her friends, a stark and appealing contrast to her slim figure and sharp face.
Marshall bit his lower lip hard and tasted his own blood. With utmost exertion, he drew his gaze away from her and back to his locker. The books for his next class wouldn’t pick themselves out, would they. Which class did he have next, anyway? Oh well, and he closed his locker. Kim. Out of nowhere, there she stood next to him leaning against the lockers like he dreamed a girl would do.
Kim smiled, malevolently, dazzlingly. With a cheeky tilt of her head she said, “You know, if a boy stared at me like that, I’d probably report him for harassment.”
She fucking knew! “God, I-I’m such a … I’m so sorry!” stuttered Marshall, too surprised and shocked to see her this close. Too close. He could smell the sweet scent of roses and lavender on her, typical for a girl. A cute scent, giving her a soft, feminine touch her strong personality clashed with just a little.
A slight smile on her lips. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Confused, Marshall blinked. Those words he had said to boys before, a not so subtle hint . Why the fuck would she say that to him? Had he mistakenly put his boy clothes on this morning? As he looked down on himself, he saw the cute flowery dress he liked. Phew! Were his boy instincts waking up around her?
“School’s not the right place to talk, you know,” she continued, dropped her voice lower as if she was revealing a secret. “The girls are sleeping over this weekend. You should come, too.”
Fuck yeah! The ultimate sign of girl friendship bestowed on him, a sleepover. He couldn’t believe his luck! Perhaps a little teasing and insulting was part of the initiation to join a girl’s friendship? In movies, they were often mean to each other even when best friends. Definitely how boys made friends, teasing and harassing forever. Did this mean, he passed the test? “Your friends are bitches,” he muttered more confidently. Evidently, girls just said that to each other.
Softly, Kim chuckled and leaned forward. Too goddamn close! “I know, but I still love them. They’re harmless.” A charming smile, white fangs gleamed from her tastefully painted lips. “I promise, I protect you.” Words less said and more whispered into his sensitive ears. Her nose brushed against his ear’s fluffy pinna.
His body trembled. A spark of heat prickled in the pit of his stomach he knew too well. She could tear him apart limb from limb, and she would sink her teeth into his fragile body as she threatened before. Make him into minced meat if he so much as blinked at her wrongly. As new as the image of Kim’s fierce stare freezing his enemies was, suddenly he wanted it. He didn’t know what enemies he had, but she could protect him from them all.
Did she know? She must. Why else would she so blatantly flirt with him? Impossible that she crushed on him twice. Coincidences like this didn’t happen, Marshall really wasn’t that lovable. Or was she done chasing failed rappers? Perhaps she had discovered to be a lesbian? What a cruel turn of fate!
Inside the house, Kim led him into the living room. “Come, sit.” Instead of the many-armed ceiling light, a floor lamp in one corner of the room gave a warm, dim glow. Reminiscent of candlelight, rather romantic. The couch dominated the space, stuffed full of decorative pillows of various sizes and colors, and Kim’s friends sat here already. Suspicious giggling. Everyone dressed in cute pastel pajamas and their silky smooth robes rustled when they all turned their heads after him. One of them patted the middle of the L-shaped furniture, inviting him into the proverbial lion’s mouth. The snake was much more dangerous. Heavily he swallowed, he shouldn’t have come.
Singling herself out, Kim sat on a very comfortable looking armchair. Undisputed, she was the leader of the group. He hadn’t noticed any alpha smell on her, wouldn’t surprise him, though. She was quite a force.
“I want to marry the dude who invented White Claw,” one of them laughed. Conis, the blonde girl with skin so white bleached paper looked dirty next to her. Eyes so blue they might as well be clear. Two braided pigtails that seemed to laugh with her, an extension of her lively albeit coy demeanor. Her presence didn’t feel predatory, her nose pointy like a fox’s snout. “I mean, he’s got to be a billionaire, right?”
Was that a good reason to marry? He hadn’t thought through the details yet. Of course, he’d get married one day and start a family, probably not in that order. He was a bunny and an omega, too easy to just get knocked up by some trick or one-night stand, and then he’d be lucky if he found half an asshole who took pity on him. As long as the guy had a decent dick, Marshall could live with it. He’d have DeShaun, best friends for life.
“White Claw’s the taste of our generation,” the black girl said sagely. Her name was Raki and her hair was immaculate as always. Various reds and violets adorned her hair and her pajamas, a decorative pattern of feathers. She was of fine feminine beauty, the kind he would never be able to emulate but you had to be raised in. Softly, she blew the fake, fruity smoke of her vape into the air.
Marshall weighed his head lightly, he was a man of beer and vodka. Well, not actually, but they did the trick. Once he had a nice buzz going, the bitter taste of beer faded from his tongue. Vodka was easily mixed into just about anything, perfect for a strained wallet. His mother was into wine, so he would drink that often as well — too sweet for his liking. Though, most likely not his fault as his mother only bought wines in carton packaging. Good wine must be spectacular if all those snooty rich guys were to be believed.
“That really says it all, doesn’t it?” huffed Kim, puffing out a smoke herself. Easily she caught Marshall’s attention again, impossible to take his eyes off her. Would she marry for love? Or would she marry for ambition? He couldn’t fathom her to be happy as a housewife, taking care of the kids and the kitchen. She must want more from her life, certainly.
“What do you mean?” asked Conis. Her voice soft and high, like a breeze rustling through a fern grove. Her lips pursed in a cute pout, surely attractive to most boys. She made it easy to feel masculine and strong next to her.
A nonchalant gesture, Kim took a whiff of her vape. “We drink booze that doesn’t taste like booze, we smoke without inhaling any smoke.” Pointedly, she looked each of them in the eyes. Her gray stare powerful, stormy, like she could blow him off his feet. “Don’t you guys ever worry that everything about us is, like, totally fake?” What a smart observation!
His mother said, smart girls should be pitied. That she’d have a better life, if she’d been less smart. If she’d been happy as a housewife only, and could keep a so-so husband and a couple children happy. If worrying about what to cook for dinner was the height of her worries, that would’ve been a good life. Marshall didn’t consider his mother to be particularly smart, nor professionally ambitious. She rarely held a job longer than a month.
“Like your nose?” Nola grinned, her snake fangs visible. The bright blue of her hair made him think of a venomous snake, perhaps the reason she felt brave enough to insult Kim of all people, in her own house even. Marshall could never.
Instinctively, he shuddered. “No, that makes sense,” he came to her defense, “I know what you mean.” If he faked it long enough, he had to make it eventually. That he sat here and partook in a girl’s sleep-over had seemed impossible just three months ago. And he hadn’t even changed anything about his body yet, only his clothes. Once he’d been cut open and sewed back together, he’d be a real girl. But until then …
“See? You’re the only one here who isn’t fake,” Kim’s words almost made him laugh out loud, but he bit his lips instead. “You say what you want even if people make fun of you for it. And you don’t, like, conform to the superficial standards everybody else does. Like, shaving your pits, or brushing your hair.”
The girls laughed.
Marshall lowered his gaze, his toes hid away in their shoes: black with blue flowers on them. In his raps he could say the craziest shit, could say what he meant easily, could vent all his anger and frustrations and if he needed to insult someone, he made it count. Outside of music? He was a fucking coward. He was so afraid to be exposed, he always second-guessed himself. Even at the date with Denaun he had been too nervous to enjoy, or to make any moves at the boy. Too desperate to be seen as a real girl, who don’t do those moves in the first place. And Nicolas? He could barely talk to the dog boy. Perhaps he, too, thought Marshall was ugly as fuck?
“No, I mean it in a nice way,” Kim assured quickly, gifting Marshall a surprisingly soft smile. She was way cuter than he’d thought initially, “You’re more confident than any of us.”
Marshall huffed indignant, if she knew what a mess he was. The English language didn’t have enough words to describe it, but when he had a microphone in his hands and spit his rhymes, it didn’t matter anymore. I may sound possessed, but you know I’m blessed with the will to make sense of all this mess. I’m the power of the sun that shines in the sky, and I’m the only MC that’ll never die.3 That’s how he got here in the first place, writing verses about how he hated to live in his mom’s house, and how he was tired of not sucking dick every second of the day, and how he didn’t always feel like a boy. Obviously, most of this had never been performed anywhere, but DeShaun still knew, he always did. The one person who always encouraged him.
A grin, Nola played with strands of her blue hair. Her fangs gleamed in the dim light. “You think it’s ’cause you had your cherry popped?” Suggestively, she wiggled her blue eyebrows.
“Nola,” Kim admonished, voice faked softness. “We don’t talk about that.”
“Nah, it’s okay,” Marshall interjected. Always helping people to walk all over him, wasn’t he? “I don’t know,” trying to seriously answer what wasn’t a question but a jab — he knew, and yet. “I mean, sure, it helps not to have to wonder anymore. I know what it’s like, you know. I been there, done that. I don’t need to try and impress some dude that only cares about himself anyway. I just flirt because it’s fun, and if I wanna do more, why not.” Or so the theory.
“Are you into girls, too?” asked Conis, mild curiosity on her bright face.
Nola huffed amused, “Totally, a slut for the whole family, am I right.”
“You definitely eaten pussy before, haven’t you?” Raki asked to the laughter of all.
Marshall cocked his head, such a vulgar word out of her mouth seemed unnaturally mismatched. Perhaps, he should’ve experimented with girls more. He hadn’t found the idea of kissing them very exciting, and they generally didn’t have dicks to suck for him either. Quite the bummer. He had to assume, eating pussy was close to the opposite. “I just think, making out’s a lot of fun.” A shrug.
“Rosalyn,” Kim said his name in her sharp voice, and a shiver ran down his spine. “How come you haven’t put on your pajamas yet?”
Embarrassed, he blushed. “Oh, uhm …” and scratched his neck. “I don’t have anything cute,” he muttered quietly. On a normal night, he slept in boxer shorts and a loose shirt, often one he’d worn out to his job and sometimes had been jizzed on by a trick or other. A fate most of his t-shirts shared.
Kim clucked her tongue. “It’s a slumber party, you need to be wearing pajamas.” Resolutely, she stood up from her armchair, a last puff from her vape. “I’ll lend you a pair of mine.” One hand held out seductively for Marshall to follow.
His eyes stared at the offered hand. This smelled like a trap, being here was a bad decision. She had threatened him before, why should she be nice now? Even if he granted her the benefit of the doubt, that she was as much a complex person as anyone, that still wasn’t no reason. Eventually, he accepted her hand. Her elegant, fine fingers closed around his.
Gently holding hands, she dragged him through the house. Clean and mostly orderly, some kitschy decorations here and there, quite the comfortable living space. On one door hung a sign with her name on it, a violet plate of wood that made light clunking noises when she opened the door and let them step in. Her bedroom was entirely ordinary, soft light from the ceiling lamp revealed a dream of warm pastel colors. A comfy looking bed stood close by the window, the curtains closed, opposite was the closet half open, and a chest of drawers stood straight ahead that Kim walked towards. The door shut quietly behind them.
Awkwardly, Marshall tugged at the hem of his t-shirt. He felt like an intruder, that she wouldn’t have brought him here if she knew the truth. A girl’s inner sanctum wasn’t for his eyes to see, his boy stink could only tarnish it. His foot jittered, little thumping noises.
“So,” Kim said unperturbed by his unease, “These are my favorite shorties.” As she turned around, she held a silky pair of black shorts in her hand, a white stripe down one side. Understated coolness, quite fitting. Doubtful they could fit him, their bodies were shaped completely differently.
Marshall chuckled, “Cute.” From his jeans pocket he pulled a pen and paper, and a borrowed phone, and threw it all on the bed. One of Denaun’s old phones, for this occasion specifically. This must be a trap, they agreed, but Marshall wanted to go anyway. Who knew why! This way, he could call for help. He couldn’t decide, if they’d been nice to him, tonight, and this was the start to a wonderful friendship … or if the other shoe was about to drop any moment. He wanted to hope, but he didn’t know how to. Instead, he slid his pants off his legs. He risked a quick check that his dick was tucked away securely and unobtrusively, and it seemed all good. Then, he took his shirt off and threw both in a little pile on the floor. Anxiously, he bit his lower lip, arms held his torso in an unsure hug and as if he could hide the lingerie he wore. A light blue bodice, accentuated by smooth lace made to look like flower petals on the cups and down the middle of his torso. He didn’t have abdominal muscles to speak of, but the lace accent made it seem like his stomach was flat and firm. He’d stolen it from a high-end store downtown, thinking he could impress DeShaun for his next rut maybe. He didn’t think this often and couldn’t help but waver as Kim looked at him, but in this lingerie Marshall found himself gorgeous.
“Wow, those are nice,” Kim’s praise was barely above a whisper.
“Thanks, I,” he swallowed hard and scratched his arm, “I wore them for you.” He was always ready to answer someone’s flirting by following through and making out with them. Not expecting to get naked for her of all people, but it served to be prepared. Now, he slid into the shorties she handed him. Even less expected to get dressed for her, but Marshall was nothing but flexible when it came to flirtations.
Kim smiled at him, appreciating the effort. She turned back to the chest of drawers and pulled a fitting top out for him. A step closer and she helped Marshall into it, holding the sleeves open for him to slid into and leaving the front open. The light blue lingerie underneath almost glowed next to the black satin. A soft kiss to Marshall’s neck, entirely unforeseen and yet greatly enjoyed. He leaned his head to the side and gave her more space, eyes half closed. A familiar warmth whirled in the soft of his stomach, a familiar feeling he never thought to associate with the touch of a girl.
Perhaps, he had never kissed the right girl before. Sweet roses and lavender filled his nose, such a peaceful scent for a cat that came off so aggressively. He had misjudged her terribly. “What …” his voice had lost all substance. Slowly he turned around to face her, to collect his courage. “What're you doin’?” He couldn’t forget her hateful words and cruel looks, insulting his drawings and his looks he worked so hard for, threatening to turn him into minced meat — an impressively frightening image. Sex could be healing, he absolutely believed, but was that what she wanted? The only answer was, that she knew. That she had figured it out. She knew he was a boy underneath, the one she’d been chasing for a while unsuccessfully, and this was a change in tactic. If she couldn’t get him as a boy, perhaps she could win him over as a girl? Not a terrible plan.
“What do you mean?” Her voice was too close and took on a smokey note, his ears twitched curiously, stimulated.
“Are you experimenting?” he asked cautiously not to accuse her of anything. Marshall wasn’t against being an experiment, that could be much fun. Perhaps, all her picking on him was an extension of how much he was on her mind? Just as much as she was on his. “Or think you might be gay?” This wasn’t his particular flavor, but he had some experience in deciphering weird feelings towards people he traditionally shouldn’t. Although, as an omega, it didn’t feel like much choice. Most girls couldn’t give him what he craved, or so he had believed. “Or are you just fucking with me?” Which seemed the most likely, honestly. This reeked like a trap, like some way of duping him into whatever this was. Yet, this felt too close and too delicate to be a prank. Her soft touches caused goosebumps on his arms.
Gently, she took his hands in hers. “I’m not fucking with you,” Kim said earnestly. Her gray cat eyes looked at him directly, honesty swirling in them. A grimaced smirk, “Not really sure about the other two.” Slowly she leaned closer and closer into his space, his nose overwhelmed by her sweet flowery scent. He hadn’t known how good this was, a wave of subtle arousal warmed his chest and face. “But does it matter?” she asked and tenderly pushed him towards the bed. Her gaze was transfixing, hypnotizing. He felt like prey under her hands, but he didn’t mind. They sat down, looking into each other’s eyes, holding each other’s hands. Then she leaned in for a kiss, lips gently pressed into each other. Soft and tender and delicate, a kind of touch Marshall rarely experienced. A kind of touch that good girls lived for. Her lips soft and light against his, and his heart beat nervously.
Slightly he pulled back, eyes half closed. “I haven’t actually …” No crushing pressure on his lips, no spit smearing his make-up, no panting breaths. How did soft kisses lead to anything fun?
“What?” asked Kim.
“Made out with a girl before,” his voice quivered. A want for more soft kisses prickled right under his skin.
She smiled just as awkward as he felt, “Well, that’s a problem. ’Cause I was kind of counting on you to know what to do.” A chuckle covered up her nervousness, an endearing sound he leaned towards. “You’ve gone all the way with guys, haven’t you?”
Marshall shrugged, “I don’t think what I like to do with guys is any help here.”
“Why?” she asked, but Marshall just scoffed. “It’s okay, you can tell me.” Her assurance was a sweet sound. “I promise, I won’t judge.” The only thing she had done this whole time.
“Well, I like …” How to say it out loud? He didn't mean to upset her or to trigger whatever bullying bone she had. He liked to kiss her again, to feel as much as a delicate flower as she smelled like. However that tenderness could be developed into the hot, horny thrill he was used to with guys, a puzzle for another time. If he could figure it out, perhaps he had found the way to live as the boy he’d been born as? “I like … I like it rough, a little dirty, y’know what I’m sayin’.”
She cocked her head surprised, but smiled. “That sounds hot.” Words he couldn’t believe from her mouth, her rosé lips smiled at him so lovely. Tenderly, she brushed a strand of fake blonde hair from his cheek. “Tell me more.”
“Really?” The surprise and excitement let his voice jump a couple notes higher. “Okay, well … Right, once I got with this guy,” and the borrowed phone chimed. Marshall didn’t take his eyes off Kim. “And he was tying me up, right, real tight too. I’m on my knees, hands tied behind my back and-” again the borrowed phone chimed. Her gray cat eyes had the same kind of swirls her stomach pattern had. Beautiful. “And he shoved me around some, you know, and put my face on things, like, to lick them.” Again the borrowed phone chimed. “Fucking hell,” he cursed and finally took his eyes off her. Hands fumbled for the borrowed phone, its display glowed in the dark. “I’m so sorry,” and he glanced at the flood of messages and missed calls, all from Denaun. They read: THEY’RE LIVE STREAMING THIS WHOLE THING!!! ROSALYN STOP!!! With his jaw open, he looked at her dumfounded.
Cheekily, Kim smirked back at him. Her confidence was so fucking sexy. She winked at him, indeed, this had been a fucking trap. He was so incredibly gullible! Why had he come here in the first place? And believed she wanted to make out with him? How stupid could he be! Behind her, the closet was half open and at the far back, Marshall saw something glow in the dark, the screen of a smartphone as it recorded everything.
From stunned silence to horrified hurry, half a second and his body jumped up from the bed. With trembling hands he picked up his clothes from the floor, the borrowed phone a sharp edge cutting into the burning skin of his palm. His whole body burned, in the way he hated most. If only embarrassment could kill! He’d love to yell at her and insult every single cell of her body, or punch her in the throat, kick her to the ground, or rip that smug grin off her stupidly kissable lips. Instead, his foot thumped the ground heavily, his body shivered and trembled. Energy flooded his limbs, but only for one single action: to flee. He could barely hold on to his heap of clothes, and the edges of his vision blurred rapidly.
His long legs were built for this type of situation, to run away as fast as possible. Marshall followed his bunny nature, the same that got him into trouble too much. The typical bounce in his step now helpful to push himself off the ground quickly, speeding up every move. He pulled the bedroom door open, behind stood the other three girls with their smartphones playing and giggling at the screen, laughing harder when he appeared in front of them for real. He hardly saw them through the tears threatening to spill over any second. But he heard them clearly, loudly. One hurried step, and he was past them, but their laughter was haunting.
“Wow,” he heard Kim say, “How fucking weird did that get?”