Sociology? More like stuff-my-holeogy | Karl Marx x Talcott Parsons

That boy vibe kinda sus

A/N: apparently 27% of readers on this story are from the Philippines so shout out to all my Filipinos in chat hope you enjoy your stay 👍 (Also while I was researching colorado springs on the map apparently theres a place called Knob Hill can someone from the 9% of american readers please confirm that this is a real place cos that's hilarious)

2 days had past since the encounter with Karl, and Parsons just couldn't get him out of his mind. This was mainly due to the constant throbbing in his ass. The pain had subdued a lot, but it was still there to discreetly reminded him of what had happened. He hated himself for letting it happen, for willingly submitting, for unexpectedly enjoying it so much, for craving more. Parsons knew that he had to see Karl again, as much as he hated to admit it to himself. The hatred was still there, he hated these emotions that Karl made him feel. This wasn't how it was supposed to play out; it should've ended with Karl being threatened by this new contender in the game, not with Parsons being corrupted and confused by conflicting emotions. As much as he still despised Karl, he longed to see him, to feel him just once more.

Yet again, Parsons had spent all this time alone cooped up inside with nothing but his thoughts to accompany him. Well, more like a singular thought. This was the third night in a row Parsons had laid wide awake in bed, pale moonlight beaming through the open curtains as he memorised the patterns of the intricate designs on the ceiling. Any thoughts other than Karl were automatically dismissed despite Parsons wanting nothing more than to think of literally anything else. Someone could call him up and tell him that Prince Andrew and Tony Lopez had stolen their infant and his first thought still would've been 'damn that's crazy Karl wouldn't do something like that.' 

Parsons sighed as he rolled over on his side and closed his eyes, desperate to fall asleep. Not even 10 minutes later, he suddenly heard the faint sound of something being thrown at his window. Immediately, he thought that it must be Karl; obviously he must have come back for him. Parsons threw the sheets off his slim physique and eagerly ran over to the window, hastily unlocking the doors to the balcony and peering over the edge. Nothing.

Must have been his hopeful imagination. Trudging back inside, he lightly pushed the doors closed behind him and slumped back into bed, pulling the sheets over his shoulders. Parsons slowly drifted in and out of consciousness, his restless mind keen to replay the scene from the hospital over again for the 20th time that day. Being so caught up in his own head, he hadn't noticed the hooded figure crawling his way over the balcony and into the bedroom. Feeling the sense of someone watching him, Parsons turned over to see the balcony doors wide open, the wind breezing through and making the transparent curtains float around the room. Just as he was about to get up to go close them, Parsons gasped as a hand clasped around his mouth to stop him from screaming. He looked up with a petrified expression to find...

"Durkheim?!" Parsons yanked the hand away from his mouth, "what in fucks name do you think you're playing at?? I nearly had a heart attack!"

"Sorry bout that, didn't mean to scare mandem like that y'know." Durkheim pulled down the hood to reveal that it was in fact Durkheim, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him.

"Fuck that, why are you here? What do you want?" Parsons crossed his arms and looked at him with the most irritated facial expression he could muster, secretly happy that he'd come to see him.

"You haven't answered your phone in days! I figured that you've stuffed your head in that shitty manuscript again, breaking into your house is the only way I can get you to pay attention to me," Durkheim replied, suddenly muttering something along the lines of 'I wish you'd stuff your face in between my legs instead.'

"What?"

"What?"

Parsons looked at him suspiciously, "I, err, I'm not doing the manuscript anymore. I know it was your idea, but you're right, it is kinda shitty."