Smouldering Penis (Altered Beast X Rowley O'Brien Smut)

Asphyxy

The two had started to roam the beach, breathing in the sweaty evening air like it was a futuristic oxygen device, depicted in a political cartoon. (Imagine a glass dome on a trolley with a tree inside it, but you have a breathing tube connected to this tree, so you can walk and breathe simultaneously; a heartbreaking vision of dystopia.) Rowley observed Altered Beast with raw and tender eyes. I mean, a looker was something, but a man who helped him with his problems when he was in need? That was a whole different ball game.

"Oh Alty isn't it lovely."

"I guess... I'm kind of different though, I prefer rainy days under the mohair blanket back in my Chevy pickup truck; Laying there watching a good show, with a Papa John's and a White Claw, just looking out at the rain. It's so serene. You should try it sometime."

"Okay."

The waining electric sunlight beamed down from the heavy, sexy sky onto their flaky heads, filling their souls with purpose and their dense, moist brains with radiation. After a while, the sullied, woollen Johnny-On-The-Spot of the two, Altered Beast, turned to face his hoary new flame, and let free an adoring grin from him's wry lips.

"Let's spend some time together tonight O'rizzle?"

The beast shook with anticipation.

"Just you and me?! Whaddya say!?"

The 60 year old musician peered up on his stout frame, observing the towering Alty via beady, old, dry eyes.

"I say yes Alty."

Altered Beast bit down onto his one plump, red lip with glee.

"Let's go fetch the evenings fastings, then!?"

"..."

Alty led O'Brien down to a family owned, decrepit seafood restaurant. It sold oysters and oysters only. Alty spoke of it with an air of familiarity, like it'd been somewhat of a hub for him... In years past... more innocent times.

"Welp-"

Alty slammed his head against the old, Americana, acme, oaken door with ferocity and consumption-based intent. It buckled on thin hinges.

"-This is the place!"

At once, the door was flung open. From within the dark, dingy depths of the family business, a figure became absolute, standing, blackened and lopsided in the doorway, like a rail with a generally upsetting face. Without warning, a greeting was blared by the tight-skinned, pink-eyed, possibly female cretin that stood before them, pushing and pulling air into it's baggy cheeks like a sort of pufferfish:

"Heyyo AlTerEd BeAst, we hAven't seen yoU in a wHile."

The twisted creature raised one forking mitt to point a finger at Rowley.

"ANd who is hE?"

"That's my..."

The Beasty turned to face his love and they exchanged an earnest glance.

"-My beefcake... That's my beefcake."

"CoMe iN."

The yoken dyad shuffled into the Oyster-house, and the smell of rotting flesh instantly hit their noses. It was a tart, vinegary infringement of the human senses, and the both of them started to become light headed, but in a kinda good way.

"SIt."

The horror who had invited them in for a meal had now been joined by some similarly deformed offspring, who gestured for them to be seated. Too bad that the seats weren't up to much. They were as much chairs as they were decaying blocks of plastic, interlaced with old iron bars that were worn from age and oranged with rust. They sat down happily. Rowley picked up a laminated menu from the thatched tabletop in a cherubic and sweet manner.