World Cup [larry stylinson a.u.]

30.0

“What you laughing at?” I give him a disgusted glare.

“Nothing,” he shrugs, “I should be offended, you know? But this is actually turning me on,” he tries to get closer to me but I walk faster.

“Sometimes your jokes are not as annoying as I make you think,” I tell him, “I even laughed at them a few times but this one is not funny at all.”

“I ain’t joking.”

“You are not a top,” I repeat, “You can’t be a top. God gave you that butt for a reason, you know?”

“I know,” he laughs, “Just so pretty boys like you can hold on to it while I thrust.”

“What the hell?”

“Sorry, it’s probably the wine, I’m usually not like this.”

“Well, I don’t like this version of you,” I turn around to walk faster.

“Why are you like running now?”

“I need to get a drink,” I answer, “Forget about the Tequila muffins! I need shots and vodka, and something even stronger.”

“Calm down,” he is walking as fast as I am because he is right next to me, “Can we talk about this?”

“I need a drink first,” I say and we stay in silence for a while. I can tell he is looking at me and, I don’t even know why, but the bitch is enjoying this whole thing a lot. “How dare you?” I stop the walk and I accusingly shake my head.

“How dare I what?” he is still smirking. I guess his face needs to get high fived right now.

“How dare you acting so bottomie all this time? You lied to me!”

“I’ve never said I was a bottom.”

“But you’ve been acting like one since we met,” I spot two Asian girls walking by us with two big glasses of caipirinha on their hands, “Hey!” I call them.

“Yeah?” one of them turns around.

“20 bugs for your drinks,” I tell her.

“Come on,” he tries to stop me.

“20 dollars,” I speak very slowly just in case their English is not good, “For your caipirinha,” I grab the money for my wallet and I give it to her.

“Make it 50,” the other girl interrupts.

“50? That’s way too much,” I frown.

“50 or nothing,” she seems determined, “Deal?”

“Whatever,” I take the extra 30 dollars and I give it to her, “I feel robbed but whatever.”

“And I feel very discriminated every time someone talks to me as if I were dumb just because I’m Asian. Every one speaks English nowadays, you dumbass,” she snaps her fingers at me and turns around to walk away.

“Gotta love a Ghetto Asian,” the tourist handles me the cup and I start drinking non stop until I empty it, “Wow! Calm down, seriously.”

“Let me, I’m depressed,” I say as I take the second cup and do the same, “Now we can talk.”

“I was thinking one of these cups would be for me but never mind,” he says, “How was I acting like a bottom? That doesn’t exist.”

“But you knew all along. I’m a top! You should have warned me from the start, now it’s too late.”

“What is it late for?”

“I like you now, asshole,” I feel how alcohol is starting to eliminate shame from my body. This is not going to end well.