Hello Internet! Here we are for another Monday Spark. How about something to cure your case of the Mondays and put a little perk in your step. You know what I mean. *hint* For today’s offering, I went sans prompt and decided to wing a little something in a day in the life of our favorite dorks Taylor and Corentin of Fairy Tales of the Open Road. What happens when Ringo and Honeysuckle leave on a couple’s retreat and leave the boys to fend for themselves?
And all that it implies.
A Fairy Tales of the Open Road Short
by Lex Chase
It started when Corentin wanted Pop-Tarts.
No. Hold it. It started when Ringo and Honeysuckle left for a couple’s retreat. The moment the door clicked shut, Taylor gave Corentin that look and clothes hit the floor.
Corentin naturally wanted a break for the Saints game. Taylor obliged as they sat naked on the couch and their hair in disarray. Corentin had his reasons, and Taylor wasn’t going to point out his shortcomings. One was despite being a magical being, he was no spring chicken. Also he and football was his thing, Taylor tried to get him interested in theater, but there was no denying Corentin’s deer in the headlights expression during Les Mis.
Taylor refused to let him live it down the time he caught Corentin singing “I Dreamed a Dream” in the shower.
Corentin yawned, and slumped into the couch, spreading his legs to scratch his inner thigh. “Standing in for the Saints is Miss Marple’s School of the Blind,” he sighed, lamenting abysmal score.
Taylor leaned into him and nipped at his ear lobe. “Wanna know what’s not boring?” he whispered as he crawled into Corentin’s lap.
They kissed, and another hour later, they had shattered the lamp and smashed the coffee table.
Taylor lay under Corentin among the debris, and the sweat evaporating from their skin. He laughed breathlessly under Corentin’s weight, and Corentin chuckled in response.
“We can fix it, right?” Taylor asked.
“All it needs is a little duct tape,” Corentin said.
Taylor scowled. “Honeysuckle will yell at us.”
“We’re adults. Honeysuckle is not our mother.”
“Which would make this hella awkward.”
Corentin furrowed his brow. “Your mother.”
Taylor shrugged. “Whatever works.”
“Anyway. We’ll just go buy another one.”
“They’ll know,” Taylor said with a frown.
“We’re adults,” Corentin repeated. “I need you to be an adult with me because we’re naked and have been enjoying each other all day and I don’t want to feel gross.”
Taylor arched a brow. “That’s awkward.”
“Whatever. We’ll just say you decided to redecorate because you saw Nate Berkus spruce up a living room on Rachel Ray.”
“Wait.” Taylor said.
“Wait what?” Corentin asked.
“You know who Nate Berkus is?” Taylor grinned.
Corentin looked like he swallowed a toad. “No. Just. The TV was on.”
“You lie like hooker on lunch hour,” Taylor said and swatted his shoulder.
“It is lunch time, isn’t it?” Corentin asked.
“I’m not hungry at the moment,” Taylor said.
They kissed, and another two hours went by. They lay back against the stairs, heaving for breath, and Taylor shivered from dehydration.
“Okay,” he said. “Now we really need to think about dinner before a porn production company shows up.”
Corentin considered the KY bottle and shook it. “We are getting a bit low.”
“We’ll just make a Wal-Mart run,” Taylor said as he shakily navigated through the broken picture frames, upturned vases, and cracked doorframe. They had been at it long enough Taylor reconsidered Corentin’s stamina, and he wondered how he was still able to walk a reasonably straight line. Or walk at all.
“But that would require pants,” Corentin said as he popped his back. “You made a no pants rule this weekend.”
Taylor snorted. “If you want this—” he gestured to himself. “—We are going to Wal-Mart.”
Corentin followed him to the kitchen and Taylor riffled through the cabinets, then surveyed the freezer.
“We have ground turkey,” Taylor said, holding up the frozen package. “Not really feeling it.”
“And you can’t cook anyway,” Corentin said and then pressed his lips together.
Taylor knew he realized his mistake the moment it left his mouth. “Oh and you’re an amazing cook too,” he growled. “You burn water!”
Corentin waved his hands. “Not the point. I can cook Pop-Tarts.”
“Pop-Tarts,” Taylor said, disbelieving. “For dinner.”
“Why not?” he said and held up the bottle of KY. “It’s quick and we got just enough before we really have to go to Wal-Mart.”
“Such a romantic,” Taylor purred and slipped the Pop-Tarts into the toaster.
They kissed again.
Thirty minutes later, Taylor finally noticed the kitchen was on fire. Smoke poured through the house in thick black puffs. The fire alarm blared in an ear-piercing shrill as they screamed commands at each other that neither heard.
Corentin snatched the burning toaster in a kitchen towel and rushed outside. Taylor hurried behind him, and dashed for the garden hose. The kitchen towel smoked, and flames sparked at the edges. The faucet refused to turn, and Taylor scratched his knuckles against the shrubbery as it finally cranked on. Corentin threw down the toaster and the burning towel, and it bounced into a pile of dry brush.
Taylor screeched as the pine needles and fallen leaves erupted in a great orange fireball. Corentin snatched the hose from him, and aimed it toward the flames.
The water came out in a trickle.
“There’s a kink in the hose!” Corentin bellowed, both of them deaf from the shrieking fire alarm. “There’s a kink in the hose!”
Taylor nodded, reading his lips, and then scrambled to the faucet. He fumbled blindly through the bushes, feeling along the plastic tubing. Thorns and twigs scratched against his fingers and face.
“Got it!” Taylor screamed and yanked the hose free.
Corentin braced himself and doused the fire. They stood quietly, panting for breath, and shivering in the cold night.
Taylor leaned into Corentin, and he slipped a hand around Taylor’s nude waist.
“Okay…,” Corentin said. “So. No Pop-Tarts for dinner. Wanna go to Wal-Mart still?”
Instead of being pissed, Taylor shrugged. “I suppose.”
Corentin kissed the top of his head, and then made a face as he spit a twig. He turned back toward the house and sighed in defeat. “Time for pan—” he gasped when he lost his footing and crashed into the mud, yanking Taylor on top of him.
Taylor gasped with a hard slam of body to body and Corentin jerked in shock.
“You okay?” Taylor squealed as Corentin groaned.
“Your knee…,” he whined like a child. “Fuck your knees are bony.”
Taylor blinked widely. “I kicked you in the—”
“Yeah,” Corentin squeaked.
Laughing to keep from crying, Taylor helped Corentin into the house. The moment they crossed the threshold, the destruction of their No-Pants Weekend lay before them like a natural disaster blockbuster.
Hungry, sore, and too shell-shocked to kiss, they found pants.
Fifteen minutes later, they stood at the McDonald’s counter, bleary-eyed, filthy, and both of them in clothes dug up from the bottom of the hamper.
“And a twenty piece nuggets,” Corentin croaked.
Taylor swatted him in the arm. “And a McFlurry.”
Corentin scowled. “And a McFlurry.”
Taylor swatted him again. “Oreo.”
“Oreo,” Corentin told the bewildered cashier.
“Will that… be all?” the poor girl asked.
Corentin reached for his wallet. He blinked, patting all of his pockets.
“What?” Taylor asked, patting his as well. He was wearing a pair of Corentin’s pants after all.
They both gaped at each other.
Taylor realized the damming truth. “You forgot your wallet.”
“Shit.” Corentin scowled.
“No Wal-Mart then.”
Copyright © 2015 Lex Chase. All rights reserved.