Work Text:
Ozzy stormed out of the precinct and slammed the door shut behind him. He was royally pissed off, and with good reason; he’d just spent the better part of an hour being yelled at by the Mayor of Frank, having the Police Chief scold him like a little kid, hearing the disapproving tuts of the Mayor’s aide (not to mention his long-time crush) Leah, and to make matters worse, he’d been demoted to a lowly patrol officer, and up in the mouth of all places!
He’d also been suspended without pay, and they hadn’t specified how long it would be until he could start working again. Mercifully, they hadn’t taken his gun or badge away, but he wasn’t allowed to wear the official FPD uniform anymore, nor respond to calls on the police radio.
He tensed his hands into fists as the acrimonious conversation echoed around in his mind: “I might as well not even be a cop at this point!”
“You should be thanking your Chief that you still have a job at all. If it was up to me, you’d be flushed out of Frank along with all the other waste.”
He shut his eyes and hung his head. What the hell was he supposed to do now that he was suspended? The Mayor was not a forgiving man; he’d probably make Ozzy wait weeks before allowing him to return to work, just out of spite.
Yes he’d acted recklessly. Yes he probably should’ve called for backup, or tried to arrest the germ on the oyster instead of pressing that button, but if he hadn’t, Frank only knows what would’ve happened if it had got into the bloodstream.
He turned his head to look up at the Chief's office window. He could see the three shadows of the Mayor, the Chief and Leah behind the blinds, and it looked as if they were laughing about something.
A sting of shame mixed with fury shot through his body. They were surely laughing about him, about how stupid and incompetent he was.
He thought about throwing himself into the stomach acid and ending it all. That’d teach them. The Chief would never recover from the guilt, Leah would sob at the funeral, screaming ‘oh, this is all my fault! If only I’d told him how I felt before it was too late!’, while the Mayor would get arrested for being such an insufferable dickhead.
Ozzy frowned and shook his head. Of course, none of that would happen. In a body with over 78 trillion cells, it’s not like anyone would actually miss a troublemaking cop who’d managed to fuck up more in his first year on the force than any other white blood cell in their entire career.
He swung his body round and traipsed through the streets for a while, dragging his feet. He wasn’t really going anywhere in particular, but he was too upset to go home, and all his regular haunts would be crawling with other immunity cells; with the speed that news travelled around that precinct, they’d have all heard about his balls-up by now.
By the time he reached the cheek, it was already night time. He shivered and began to wonder if he should turn back and go home, when all of his senses were suddenly assaulted at once as he turned a corner onto a particularly dodgy street. Before him stood a nightclub, the type of nightclub you would only ever have the misfortune to stumble across in a body like Frank’s.
The pavement surrounding the entrance was covered in a thick paste of what looked like cytoplasm mixed with beer. An acrid stench issued from inside the building, along with a cacophony of different types of music and angry voices. The paintwork was peeling off the walls to reveal stains of every type of bodily fluid you could imagine, and Ozzy could’ve sworn he saw two cells fucking in the alleyway off to the side.
It was absolutely foul; a metaphor for Ozzy’s life right now.
He raised his head to look at the name, squinting in the bright neon lights around the sign.
‘Hype-othalamus’.
He frowned as he tried to pronounce it, struggling to get his mouth around all those syllables. He shrugged and walked towards the door, quickly changing his appearance to get past the bouncers.
He wasn’t a big drinker, but hell, he felt like shit and needed to forget about everything that had happened that day.
When he stepped inside, it was even more insalubrious than outside appearances had suggested. There was not one surface that wasn’t covered in a melange of various congealed substances, the room was filled with thick, eye-stinging smoke, and the carpet made a low but definite squelch with every step he took.
Not in the mood to dance, he pushed past a group of germs and trudged over to the bar.
He threw himself onto a stool in the furthermost corner and rolled his gaze over the choice of beverages; ‘Limon-cell-o’ , ‘Whitehead Russian’, ‘Toe-quila’, ‘Stella Arteries'. He scoffed at the names. Normally he loved a good pun, but he just didn’t have it in him to laugh right now, and their failed attempts at being witty simply ended up pissing him off even more.
He scowled at the barmaid and threw a few bills in her direction as he grunted at her to get him a beer.
She slammed the glass down on the bar in front of him with a frown. The beer was warm with a massive head of foam, just the cherry on top of the massive pile of shit that was his life. He rested one elbow on the bar and traced the patterns on the wood with his finger as he allowed himself to wallow in his own misery.
Thrax had had a difficult couple of days, to say the least.
Just as he had been about to snatch the DNA bead from the previous body, he’d been discovered and chased out by immunity, their bullets grazing his shoulder and thigh. Three weeks he’d wasted in that body, and he didn’t have anything to show for it.
To top it all off, when he escaped through the mouth, he’d found himself on a chicken farm, and was nicked by some disinfectant spray as he glided through the air, ruining his favourite boots, as well as burning his leg slightly.
As he searched for somewhere to hide, the disinfectant spray was getting ever closer to him, and he was starting to panic. He swivelled his head around and spotted a lorry outside with hundreds of boxes of eggs. He had no other option; these eggs would give him a safe haven for now, and would also let him travel much further than simply using his cloak.
From there, he’d spent days trapped with the most idiotic germs he’d ever come across, bored out of his mind, until finally, the egg was eaten.
Although he couldn’t deny the practicality and security of infiltrating a body in this way, the mere fact of being chewed and rolled around in saliva was not his idea of a good time, and to add insult to injury, he was now dripping head to toe in soggy bits of egg. Not the great entrance he was used to making.
Despite being a virus, he was incredibly particular and, although he would never admit it, fussy. He would normally never enter a body like this, nor choose to inhabit a human as disgusting as Frank, but at this point, he didn’t care. All he could think about was a hot shower and a nap.
He’d had to spend the rest of the day hiding from immunity, dodging germs and, most importantly, trying to find somewhere he could wash his beloved cloak.
He was exhausted, uncomfortable, and pissed off. Oh yes, this body was going to burn, he’d make sure of that.
He was in the cheek when he finally spotted a hotel. It looked pretty run down, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He looked around him to make sure there weren’t any immunity cells nearby and darted for the door.
He tentatively opened it and stuck his head round to see a receptionist engrossed in a rom-com on the TV. He approached the desk, but she didn’t even look up at him. He raised an eyebrow and told her that he’d be staying for a couple of days.
She simply waved her hand at him dispassionately and slid the key towards him. “That’ll be 30 calories. Oh, also the lift doesn’t work, you can take the stairs over there.”
He rolled his eyes and left a few bills on the counter, before making his way up the creaky stairs to his room.
He chucked his clothes into the washing machine and took a well-needed shower. He sighed as the hot water trickled down his back, feeling how every tense muscle started to soften.
All warm and fuzzy from the shower, he collapsed onto the bed and drifted off almost immediately.
After a long nap, he woke to the sound of offensively loud music blaring from outside. He lifted his heavy head and brushed a lock of hair away from his face. What the fuck is that?!
He heaved himself up and staggered over to the window to see a disgusting nightclub just next door, with a billboard proudly boasting that they had ‘the cheapest beer and hottest girls’. Somehow, he doubted the verity of the latter claim if cheap booze was their first selling point.
Either way, after the couple of days he’d had, he was in the mood for a drink, or two, or five. I might as well make the most of this body before I torch it.
He pushed his way to the front of the queue. A seductive wink and a flash of a devilish grin was all he needed to get past the bouncers. They’d even been too flustered to ask him to pay the entrance fee.
He headed straight to the bar, seeing that there was a small germ sitting in the corner with a sullen expression on his face. Wait, this wasn’t a germ. This was a white blood cell! What the hell was he doing in this seedy nightclub?
Thrax eyed him up and down and smirked; he was hunched over the bar, staring straight ahead with a lost look in his eyes, his face pressed against one of his hands while he clutched a cheap beer in the other.
God, he looks like he’s had an even worse day than I have.
A mix of curiosity and boredom inspired Thrax to grab the empty stool beside the dishevelled white blood cell, figuring that he’d probably feel better about his own woes if he was in the presence of someone who was clearly going through something worse than himself.
Part of him also saw it as an opportunity to try and gather some useful information about this body before taking it down; white blood cells were infamous for being unable to hold their liquor, and therefore, their tongues.
Three beers in, Ozzy heard the stool next to him scrape over the floor.
He raised his head and looked up, and up some more, until his eyes landed on the stranger’s face. What the fuck…?
His eyes glided over his face as he studied his features, trying to work out what the hell he was. He’d never seen anyone who looked even remotely like this guy before. His skin was a ruby red, his hair, if you could call it hair, was a deep plum colour, and his face was sharp and angular.
He narrowed his eyes and instinctively reached for his gun and radio to report this… thing, but stopped himself. He didn’t exactly fancy seeing his colleagues right now, not after the way they’d all openly mocked him, taken his position away and humiliated him in front of Leah.
This guy didn’t seem to be looking for trouble, just a drink. Besides, why should Ozzy care? He’d been suspended. He was officially off the clock.
“Where are you from, then?” he asked brashly, his cheek resting on his hand.
The man frowned and turned his head to face him. He lowered his sunglasses and Ozzy’s breath hitched in his throat. His eyes were golden, no, a brilliant yellow, hypnotic and smouldering. Ozzy stared at him for a moment, before clearing his throat and straightening himself. “Not the talkin’ type?”
The man cocked his head slightly and smirked as he looked Ozzy over. His gaze was slow, deliberate, calculating, and Ozzy could practically feel his eyes boring into his soul.
“Okay, sorry”, Ozzy mouthed, turning his head to the side.
“Get me two of whatever he’s having”, the stranger said to the barmaid, flashing her a seductive smile. Ozzy felt a shiver run through him as soon as he heard his voice. It was low, sultry and warm, and he spoke with a strong southern drawl, dripping in confidence, giving the impression that he owned everything and everyone around him.
Who the hell is this guy?
He slid some bills over the counter and Ozzy’s attention was drawn to his hands, or rather, his fingers. Long, spiky, almost claw-like, and eerily slender, especially the one on his left hand. This wasn’t an ordinary germ, no, this guy was something way worse.
Ozzy caught himself staring and quickly looked back at his drink.
As the barmaid set the two beers down on the counter, the stranger pushed one of them towards Ozzy and gestured with his head for him to take a sip.
Ozzy furrowed his brow and sat up in his seat, hesitating for a moment as he debated whether he should drink any more.
Fuck it. He had no job to go to tomorrow and no reason to wake up early. He’d had a shit day, and besides, it was his Frank-given right to drink himself silly if he wanted to (and he wanted to). “Uh… thanks!”
He grabbed the glass and took a big swig, forgetting about how disgusting this beer was. “Fuck me, that’s rank” he started to say, before remembering that someone had bought it for him and turning to face him with a sheepish grin. “I mean, that’s Frank… in’ good!”
He laughed nervously and clinked his glass against the other man’s. “Cheers!”
They were silent for a moment as they both took a few sips, before the man turned his head to face Ozzy. “So, what’s a white blood cell like you doing in a grimy place like this? We viruses normally come here to get away from the likes of you.”
Ozzy almost choked on his beer at that. “What do you mean you’re a virus?! Wait, how do you kno… ah, I mean, I-I’m not a white blood cell!”, he stammered, before his eyes widened. Shit, my disguise!
He spun his head round to look at himself in the mirror behind the bar, only to see that his disguise had completely softened; he still had long hair sprouting from the top of his head, but apart from that, he looked like his regular white blood cell self.
“Fuck fuck fuck”, he whispered as he quickly raised his hand to the side of his face, trying to stop the other man from seeing, as if that would help somehow. Shit shit shit shit…
“Don’t worry, baby. Your secret’s safe with me. I won’t tell anyone here what you are, as long as you don’t rat me out to immunity. Deal?”
Ozzy slowly turned to face him. It went against his better judgement to trust a guy he’d just met, especially this skeevy, spiky character, but he was tired, and desperate to keep drinking, so he simply nodded his head. “Deal” He took a huge swig of his beer and buried his face in his hands, groaning loudly.
The virus raised an eyebrow. “What’s got your nucleus in a twist?”
“Work”, Ozzy mumbled, his voice muffled by his palms.
“Oh, so are you undercover right now then?”
Ozzy scowled and rested his hands on the bar again, sinking lower in his seat. “Pfft, no. I wish. Immunity wouldn’t trust me with somethin’ like that.”
“Why? Are you new to the job?”
“No! I’ve been a cop for over a year now, but they only see me as this reckless, impulsive screw up. I bet they wouldn’t even trust me to fight a simple infection without supervision.”
He tensed his hands into fists and raised his voice further, “oh, and just to rub salt in the wound, I got fuckin’ suspended today… without pay!” He took the beer and downed the rest in one, before slamming the glass back on the counter.
“Hmm”, the virus said as he gestured at the barmaid to get them two more beers. “Are they right though, when they say you’re reckless?”
Ozzy turned to face him with a confused look. “No, I mean, yes… oh I don’t know!” He sighed and rested his head on his hands. “I tend to jump headfirst into things without thinkin’, I guess. I often get into brawls with germs and then the immunity force has to come and help me out.”
Ozzy grabbed his beer and started taking huge gulps, before wiping the foam from his lips with the back of his hand. “I dunno, this job just ain’t what I expected, I suppose.”
“Lemme guess, you want to be like the cops in those ridiculous action movies with explosions where you get to be the hero and get the girl at the end, right?”
Ozzy spun on his chair to face his whole body towards him. “Right! You get it!", he yelled, throwing his arms in the air. The virus laughed at that.
Ozzy smiled at him. “So what about you? What’s your story?”
“Oh, I’m just passing through. I won’t be in this body for long, trust me.”
Ozzy looked puzzled at that, but the virus simply waved his hand as if to dismiss it. “And, to be honest, I’ve had a pretty shitty few days too. Looks like we’re both down on our luck.”
“Well, don’t you worry! We’re in this together, pal”, Ozzy said enthusiastically as he patted him on the shoulder. He quickly withdrew his hand as the virus’s expression suddenly changed. He could’ve sworn he saw a brief flash of something in his eyes; a mix of sadness and warmth.
‘Pal’, the virus mouthed, before turning round to the barmaid again. “Give us two whitehead russians and four shots of rum.”
Ozzy fumbled around in his pocket for the money, but the virus shook his head. “I’ve got this, baby. You’re not exactly in a position to be paying for drinks now, are ya?”
Ozzy smirked and narrowed his eyes. “Thanks for the reminder.”
They clinked their shots and downed them. Ozzy coughed as the rum trickled down his throat, and the virus laughed again. “Not a drinker?”
“Nah nah nah, I can handle anythin’ you throw at me, pal, trust. I’ll drink you under this muthafuckin’ table.”
The virus smirked and downed his other shot.
Ozzy smiled at him and prodded him on the shoulder. “What’s ya name, then? I mean, I think I deserve to at least know the name of the guy I’ve just been barin’ my soul to.”
“Thrax", he said, as he pushed Ozzy’s second shot towards him, "you?"
“Osmos-” he paused, not wanting to give his full name to a complete stranger. He could practically hear the whispering of rumours around the precinct if his colleagues found out that he’d been hanging around with a virus. “Ozzy, the name’s Ozzy.”
“Well, nice to meet you, Ozzy”, Thrax said as he extended a hand out. Ozzy shook it enthusiastically, shooting him a big grin.
Those two whitehead russians turned into four, and then six, and then Ozzy started to see double. He dragged Thrax to a table in the corner, claiming that it was to get away from the judgemental barmaid, but it was really just because he kept almost falling off the stool, and needed a chair with a back to be able to lean against.
He pushed Thrax onto the chair and sat down next to him.
“So, lemme get this straight. You’ve never spent more than three weeks in one body before?”
“Don’t think so. I get… bored staying in the same place for too long”
“Do you travel with other viruses?”
Thrax scrunched up his face. “Why on Earth would I want to do that?”
“I dunno… don’t you get lonely?”
Thrax frowned, never really having thought about it before. Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time someone had actually asked him about his life. No one had ever really shown interest in him as a person.
Sure, people flocked to buy him drinks or ask for his number, and men and women alike would practically line up to take him back to their flat, but it was obvious what their intentions were, and that they didn’t care about him on any level other than physical.
Thrax’s face softened to a smile. “I guess I do get lonely, sometimes, but hey…”, he said in a low voice, clinking his fourth whitehead russian against Ozzy’s, “...I’m in good company tonight.”
They continued talking about their lives, their plans, telling stories, and they kept drinking, or at least Ozzy did.
After a while, Thrax noticed that Ozzy had started swaying, his eyes glazing over. He gently took his drink from him and held his chin up with his claw. “We need to get you sobered up, Ozzy. How about you show me those dance moves you were bragging about before?”
Ozzy’s eyes lit up and he nodded quickly, before rising to his feet and grabbing Thrax by the wrists. He staggered over to the dancefloor, dragging Thrax behind him, and turned to face him when he reached the middle of the floor. He dragged his finger down Thrax’s chest. “Get ready to be amazed, Thraxy”, he slurred.
He slowly circled Thrax as he waited for the beat to drop, staring him dead in the eyes.
I must look so cool and intimidating right now.
Jesus, he looks absolutely insane.
As soon as the chorus dropped, Ozzy started throwing himself around in a seemingly random manner. Arms, legs, shoulders all being flung in different directions, yet somehow in perfect sync with each other.
Thrax raised an eyebrow. He had to admit that the cell had moves, even if they were in a completely random order and not to the beat of the song at all.
He felt Ozzy wrap an arm around his waist and press his front against him. “Think you can keep up, big boy?”, Ozzy uttered. Thrax didn’t know if he was trying to appear threatening or seductive. Ozzy himself probably didn’t even know.
Thrax grabbed his wrist and brought his arm round to the front. “Careful, baby, I don’t think you’ll be able to handle the heat.”
Ozzy simply grinned in his face, his eyes hazy and his cheeks flushed. Thrax softened his grip on his wrist and put a claw under his chin as he looked him over. He couldn’t deny that he was attractive for a cell; broad shoulders, a small waist, toned arms, and a cute face to boot with an adorable, almost infectious smile.
If he wasn’t so blind drunk, Thrax would probably try and flirt back, but this virus had morals. He may be a mass murderer, but sleeping with someone so much more intoxicated than himself was definitely beneath him. He couldn't take advantage of this man, it just wouldn’t be right.
He spun Ozzy away and watched as he continued to dance by himself. Then, Thrax’s foot started tapping, as if it had a mind of its own. As the song continued, he couldn’t help bobbing his head to the beat and humming along.
Before he knew it, he had completely let go, and was waving his arms around and swinging his hips without a care in the world, screaming the lyrics for everyone to hear.
Ozzy noticed and slid back over to him, grabbing him by the hands. “Yeaaah, baby, that’s it! Don’t let it all settle at the bottom! Shake that capsid, shake it!”
He flung his arms around Thrax’s neck and leaned all of his weight on him. He tilted his head back and shouted, “I’ve never had so much fun!”
A few more songs later and Thrax was absolutely exhausted. He hadn’t had a proper night’s sleep in days, plus, having someone hang off his neck and yell in his ear wasn’t exactly how he wanted to spend the rest of the night.
He grabbed Ozzy by the shoulders and carried him back over to the table, before plopping him on the chair and sliding in next to him.
Ozzy leaned on his shoulder and Thrax pushed him off. “God, you really can’t handle your booze, can ya?”
“Oh, fuck off, I’m completely sober, look!” He held up three fingers in front of Thrax. “How many fingers am I holdin’ up?”
Thrax laughed loudly. “How the fuck does this prove that you’re sober?”
Ozzy frowned for a moment, before realising and breaking out into a fit of laughter. He slapped his knee and wheezed as tears started streaming down his face. Thrax grinned from ear to ear and patted him on the back as he started coughing from laughing too hard.
He waited for Ozzy to calm down before asking his next question. “So, tell me something, why did you get suspended?”
“Oh where do I even start? Well, basically…”
Thrax watched with no small amount of amusement as Ozzy retold the story about the oyster, making over-the-top gestures with his hands, adding exaggerated character voices and hiccupping at random intervals.
“... and then I pressed the puke button, and Frank vomited all over Shane’s teacher” Ozzy shouted, clutching his sides as he laughed. “You should’a seen Mrs. Boyd’s face!”
Thrax laughed too, not at the story, but at the way Ozzy was leaning back in the chair, head thrown backwards, legs swinging back and forth. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed so loudly in his presence.
This guy’s nuts. “Well, from your story, it sounds like you did the right thing. If that germ had made its way into the bloodstream, it could’ve caused way more problems for Frank than simply getting fired from his shitty job.”
“Well that’s what I said!” Ozzy yelled, before grabbing onto Thrax’s sleeve and dropping his head on his shoulder again. “Ow! You’re so spiky.” He tightened his grip on his jumper and nuzzled into him. “That’s fine, though… I like spiky.”
Thrax looked down at him and frowned, but made no effort to push him away this time. “What the fuck are you going on about?”
“I dunno”, Ozzy replied as he started trailing his fingers over Thrax’s thigh.
They stayed like this for a while, until Thrax noticed that Ozzy’s head was slipping off his shoulder. He patted him on the cheek and leaned in to whisper, “right, I’m taking you home. Where do you live?”
Ozzy grabbed onto Thrax’s sleeve as they walked back to his flat and started screeching the lyrics to one of the songs that had been playing in the club. “Yippie-yi-yo-yippie-yi-yea, wanna bump yo' body, babyyyy”
Thrax laughed and put his arm around Ozzy’s shoulders.
“Imma grant your wish and let you know what's on my mind… It's about that time that I hit you for some bump n' grind… I'm in the mood for you, I wanna FEEL YOUR GROOOOOVE”
“Ozzy?”, Thrax said quietly, squeezing his shoulder.
Ozzy stopped singing and looked up at him. “Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
Ozzy laughed and grabbed onto Thrax’s hand that was draped loosely over his shoulder. They walked in silence for a moment, before Ozzy said, “hey, next time we go out I’ll pay, alright? We’ll go to a karaoke bar and have a blast. Everyone loves my singing there, you’ll see.”
Thrax squeezed his hand and smiled sadly. He knew that there wouldn’t be a next time. He had no intention of staying in this disgusting body much longer, and would probably leave as soon as he had the energy to.
Even so, it felt nice to be invited, to be included. It had been years since he’d been asked out, and even longer since he’d actually had fun with someone else. Despite their obvious biological differences, he had felt a genuine connection with this man, more so than with anyone he’d met in a long time.
He felt Ozzy stumble and lean more of his weight into him, so Thrax stopped walking and picked him up. He hoisted him over his shoulder, and Ozzy reached down to grab two handfuls of flesh, laughing as Thrax jostled him to make him let go.
Thrax then felt Ozzy's hands move into his hair and his fingers sliding through his braids.
He didn’t shake him off this time, and simply tilted his head to the side as Ozzy started gently running his fingers over his scalp.
They didn’t say anything else the rest of the way home, the sound of Thrax’s boots hitting the floor and Ozzy’s soft humming filling the silence.
“So which one is your flat?”, Thrax said as they reached Ozzy’s street.
Ozzy lifted his head and forced one eye open. He pointed in a seemingly random direction and grunted, and Thrax headed over to the door.
Ozzy fumbled around in his pocket for the front door key and waved it in the air for Thrax to take. Thrax opened the door and staggered up the stairs with Ozzy still over his shoulder.
When they reached the third floor, he used the second key to open the door to his flat, scowling when he saw the state it was in.
Empty pizza boxes piled up higher than Ozzy himself could probably reach, a week’s worth of unwashed dishes, socks drying on the radiator, odd stains embedded in the carpet.
Jesus, this is a cry for help if I ever did see one.
“Welcome to my humble abode”, Ozzy slurred as he patted Thrax on the butt, “make yourself at home.”
Where?! Thrax thought to himself as he scanned the room.
He slung Ozzy down on the sofa, before standing up to his full height and cricking his neck from side to side. “Fuck, you’re heavy.”
Ozzy laughed and pushed on his stomach. “Man, I like you. You’re funny”, he said between hiccups. “I don’t think I’ve ever *hic* laughed so much in my *hic* life.”
He sat up and gazed at Thrax for a moment with a big smile on his face, before raising his arms. “C’mere, Thraz.”
Thrax rolled his eyes at the way he had mispronounced his name, but couldn’t prevent the small smile that crawled across his face. He’d never been called ‘funny’ before, and had certainly never been told that he was ‘liked’.
“Ohh you like playin’ hard to get? I catch ya drift… well if you won’t come to me…” Ozzy sat up on his knees and threw his arms around his waist, pressing his cheek against his chest. “...I’ll have to come to you!”
Thrax pulled Ozzy’s arms from around him and pushed him down to lay against the back cushion. He leaned down so they were face to face and said in a low voice, “are you thirsty? Hungry? Do you want me to get you anything before I leave?”
Ozzy patted his thighs and waggled his eyebrows in an attempt to be sexy, but it came off more insane than lascivious. “I want you.”
“Wow, although that is incredibly tempting, you need to sleep, or you’ll have a hell of a hangover tomorrow”, Thrax replied, before heading to the kitchen to get him a glass of water.
By the time he came back, he found Ozzy with his head hanging over the back of the sofa, his mouth open, snoring loudly.
Thrax headed towards the door, but stopped himself. He couldn’t leave Ozzy on that awful sofa all night, without a blanket or a pillow. He was partly to blame for his inebriated state, after all, and this man had given him the most enjoyable night he could remember in... well... ever!
“One last favour, baby”, he whispered as he gathered him in his arms. He carried him down the dark hall, igniting his claw in favour of turning on the light, not wanting to wake Ozzy up.
The door at the end of the hall had ‘OZZY’S ROOM, KEEP OUT ’ stuck onto it in big, wooden letters, so it was safe to assume that that was his bedroom. He pushed it open with his foot and peered in to see an unmade bed, along with what looked like a month's worth of clothes sprawled over the floor. He staggered over to the bed and clumsily pulled the sheets back, before placing Ozzy down.
Ozzy stirred and opened his eyes slightly. He smiled up at Thrax, seemingly unalarmed by the big, glowing claw that was only micrometres from his face. “You’re a nice virus…”, he whispered, before sinking into the pillow below and falling asleep again.
Thrax smiled to himself and pulled the covers over Ozzy's shoulders; maybe he wouldn’t kill this body after all.
Ozzy woke up with a pounding headache, as if someone was squeezing his skull or trying to drill a couple of holes into it.
He peeled his eyes open, only to be met with the sight of his bedroom swirling around him, and his eyelids fell shut again. He pulled the duvet over his head as the waves of nausea crashed onto him.
He felt hot, feverish, like all the sugar from the alcohol he’d drunk had suddenly ignited and was swirling around his nucleus with a vengeance.
What the hell happened last night?
He desperately wanted to stay under the covers as long as possible, but the heat was becoming unbearable, and he stuck his head out of the sheets again, gulping the cool air like a fish.
He curled up in a ball in the middle of the bed as he tried to recall the previous night’s events.
He remembered being in that awful club, meeting a virus, laughing a lot, dancing, being carried home, then… why did I keep touching his butt?
He covered his face with his hands as he remembered his outrageous, obnoxious singing. God, he must’ve thought I was a right freak.
He continued to try and piece together the rest of the night. Okay, so I was on the sofa, then I hugged him, and said that I wanted … oh FUCK!
He tore the bedsheet off himself and sighed with relief when he saw that he was still wearing the same clothes as the night before. Small mercies. Thank Frank.
Contrary to his horny behaviour, Ozzy hadn’t really wanted to sleep with that virus. He just always got a little handsy when he was drunk, and he was certainly glad that the virus had been more of a gentleman than most would.
Ozzy relaxed his head back into the pillow and shut his eyes as he thought about ‘what if’.
It wasn’t like he'd have said no if the opportunity had presented itself. The virus was certainly very easy on the eyes, stylish, confident, and that voice; commanding, self-assured, and dripping in lust.
Ozzy shivered as he thought about it. Maybe if he saw him again he would ask for his number. If only he could remember his name, or anything about him, really. He’d never forget those eyes though, or that voice.
He grabbed the clock from the bedside table and squinted his eyes to try and get them to focus.
12:37pm.
“Fuck, I’m late for work!” He leapt out of bed, which he immediately regretted, and slumped back down on the mattress.
His head was screaming at him, his eyes scratchy and his legs weak. He brought his hand up to his face as he tried to recall why the hell he had gone to that club in the first place and allowed himself to drink so much.
His eyes widened as he saw his gun and badge on the nightstand, suddenly remembering that he had been suspended.
He stared at his badge for a moment, before noticing the glass of water next to it. He cocked his head, before grabbing it and chugging the lot. Did that virus leave this here? What a nice guy.
Ozzy stared off into space with a smile as more memories from the previous night started to return to him. He hadn’t had so much unbridled fun with another person in as long as he could remember, and more importantly, the virus had listened, actually listened to his problems, rather than just brushing them off and finding a way to blame Ozzy for everything.
He hadn’t visibly passed any judgement on him, and seemed to genuinely care about him in some way. Hell, he’d even carried him all the way home and tucked him up in bed.
He placed the glass on the table and crawled under the covers again, wishing for darkness.
Sighing deeply, he gripped onto the pillow and shut his eyes. I wonder if I’ll ever see him again.
