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Warning: sensitive material ahead, me mateys! Ye have been warned. Don't like it? Don't read it.

Continuation of:

"The word 'happiness' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."
~Carl Gustav Jung

Sven threw his helmet across the room and sank down into a vacant lounge chair. Other jockeys bustled around him, preparing for the final race on the card, but he was done for the day. No use moving now.

He ran the ‘Cap over and over again in his mind, wondering how the hell they had lost, only to find no fault with him nor his horse. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Hemali slow down the backstretch? Then again, if he hadn’t, the stallion would’ve returned with a lungful of dirt and the end result could’ve been catastrophic.

So what then? Had it been a fluke? Had Hemali just been having an off day?

No. Sven had felt the creature beneath him as the horse all but breathed fire at his adversaries. Hemali had been so alive during that race, beating Fighterjet by over half a length.

Which could only mean one thing: Reebok was improving. His dominance over Hemali had happened before and it seemed the bay was only getting better with age. They had a real fight on their hands now.

A body plopped down next to him on the arm of his chair. Sven cracked open an eye he had long since closed during his musings to spy a familiar black and blue pattern. Great. Just what he needed. He shut his eyes again, unwilling to deal with his friend right now.

“Hey man, why the long face?”

“ Go away, Drew. I am not in the mood.”

“Why? ‘Cause you lost the ‘Cap?”

Sven opened his eyes and scowled. “What do you want, you pest?”

Drew huffed. “Pest? Pest! I am no pest, sir.” Sven yelped when the other man poked him in the side with his riding crop.

“Yes you are.” He batted the whip away.

“Well if I am a pest, then you are a dinglehopper. You dinglehopper.”

“I’m a what?”

“Dinglehopper. As in the Little Mermaid?” A blank look. Drew sighed as if put out. “Look it up. It’s very educational.”

Sven closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I ask again: What do you want?”

Drew waved behind him at the other jocks filtering out the door. “Race is over. Time to go home.”

Sven blinked. “The race is over? How long have I been sitting here?”

“I dunno, man, but if you have to ask me that, maybe you should lay off the cough drops before bed. Christ almighty.” Drew flopped down next to him, their thighs almost touching. Sven’s heart began to race. It always did when Drew was near. He tried to stop it, tried to shut down his natural reaction, telling himself that it was useless, pointless, hopeless to want, but all he had to do was brush against Drew, inhale his naturally spicy scent and—

Sven reared back. “Skit, brorsan, go shower.” He shoved a laughing Drew away, shaking the sweat from his fingers. “Disgusting kille.”

Drew cackled and began to strip. Sven forced himself to look away. “What are you doing later?” the other man asked as he put his gear away. Sven shrugged. “Well you shouldn’t sit around and mope. Keep this up and your skin will grow over the cushion like that lady with the mental problem. What was her name…? The one with agoraphobia? Ah, hell if I know. Who cares what her name is; not important! But seriously, amigo, you need to rise up outta that chair and go out or something. You had a good run, did everything you could’ve, it was just bad luck is all. You got stuck. See, me? When I lose, I huff and puff and go kick something and then I’m cool—I move on. That’s what you need to do, amigo—move on!”

Good God in Heaven, the boy could talk when he wanted to. Sven was still stupefied that Drew knew the word ‘agoraphobia’. Then again, the Argentinean was a hell of a lot smarter than people assumed. He talked like South American trash, looked like a punk, and had the personality of a deranged magpie, but the man had a higher IQ than Sven—and that was saying something. He just didn’t show it.

Ever.

“So anyway,” Drew continued through Sven’s musings, “I turned to her and I said, ‘Donna, love, I adore you, but I just can’t see myself settling down with a girl like that.’ Maybe if she had pretty brown eyes and sexy long legs like my Princess, but she didn’t. She was plain and brown and limp-looking. Who wants a limp filly?”

“Drew.”

“Because, really. I love horses, you know that as much as anyone, but that creature could scare the snakes off Medusa.”

“Drew.”

“Medusa, I say! She had the funniest tail, too; all floofy and short and the color of a poo-covered Easter bunny. Huh. I wonder if she poops jelly beans. Now that, I would pay to see. I’ll have to go back and ask, ‘cause if she poops jelly beans then that changes every—”

“Drew!”

Drew blinked and stared at him from where he was leaning against his locker. “Good God, Sven, what?”

The Swede thrust out an arm and pointed toward the showers. “You are in your briefs, brorsan. Go shower. Now.” He refused to look. Refused. To. Look. No looking. None. Don’t look at him, don’t look, don’t look—

Oh hell. He looked. And damn if Drew didn’t look as sexy as ever, all dark skin and sweat-dampened hair and bright white briefs.

“Fine, fine, you shower Nazi,” the man groused, oblivious to Sven’s fixation as always. He gathered up a towel and flounced toward the showers. Halfway there, however, he paused and turned back. Sven glanced up quickly and blushed, sure Drew had caught him staring at his ass, but Drew merely said, “Seriously, though, Sven, it was only a race. You did good.”

Sven looked away, his mouth twisting into an unhappy frown.

“Maybe you should come home with me this week, huh? Visit the family, see little Lia and Ray before Derby Madness starts. And hey, TJ says she has a surprise for you next time you show up. Besides!” He clapped his hands around the towel. “I can show you pictures of the jelly bean-pooping filly if you do.”

A huff of laughter escaped Sven as Drew walked away. Yes, the Argentinean really was a smart man. Why else hide his intelligence behind a veil of laughter, if not to cheer his best friend up? Only a smart man would think of that.

“Thank you, min älskling,” he whispered to the empty air. Perhaps he would. A few days away would do him good. He just had to figure out how to avoid Drew as much as possible during that time, because if their interaction a few minutes ago was any indication, he was losing his ability to resist.

Shown:

Azrael

Art, Characters and Story © me

Next on:

Description
Warning: sensitive material ahead, me mateys! Ye have been warned. Don't like it? Don't read it.

Continuation of:

"The word 'happiness' would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness."
~Carl Gustav Jung

Sven threw his helmet across the room and sank down into a vacant lounge chair. Other jockeys bustled around him, preparing for the final race on the card, but he was done for the day. No use moving now.

He ran the ‘Cap over and over again in his mind, wondering how the hell they had lost, only to find no fault with him nor his horse. Maybe he shouldn’t have let Hemali slow down the backstretch? Then again, if he hadn’t, the stallion would’ve returned with a lungful of dirt and the end result could’ve been catastrophic.

So what then? Had it been a fluke? Had Hemali just been having an off day?

No. Sven had felt the creature beneath him as the horse all but breathed fire at his adversaries. Hemali had been so alive during that race, beating Fighterjet by over half a length.

Which could only mean one thing: Reebok was improving. His dominance over Hemali had happened before and it seemed the bay was only getting better with age. They had a real fight on their hands now.

A body plopped down next to him on the arm of his chair. Sven cracked open an eye he had long since closed during his musings to spy a familiar black and blue pattern. Great. Just what he needed. He shut his eyes again, unwilling to deal with his friend right now.

“Hey man, why the long face?”

“ Go away, Drew. I am not in the mood.”

“Why? ‘Cause you lost the ‘Cap?”

Sven opened his eyes and scowled. “What do you want, you pest?”

Drew huffed. “Pest? Pest! I am no pest, sir.” Sven yelped when the other man poked him in the side with his riding crop.

“Yes you are.” He batted the whip away.

“Well if I am a pest, then you are a dinglehopper. You dinglehopper.”

“I’m a what?”

“Dinglehopper. As in the Little Mermaid?” A blank look. Drew sighed as if put out. “Look it up. It’s very educational.”

Sven closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I ask again: What do you want?”

Drew waved behind him at the other jocks filtering out the door. “Race is over. Time to go home.”

Sven blinked. “The race is over? How long have I been sitting here?”

“I dunno, man, but if you have to ask me that, maybe you should lay off the cough drops before bed. Christ almighty.” Drew flopped down next to him, their thighs almost touching. Sven’s heart began to race. It always did when Drew was near. He tried to stop it, tried to shut down his natural reaction, telling himself that it was useless, pointless, hopeless to want, but all he had to do was brush against Drew, inhale his naturally spicy scent and—

Sven reared back. “Skit, brorsan, go shower.” He shoved a laughing Drew away, shaking the sweat from his fingers. “Disgusting kille.”

Drew cackled and began to strip. Sven forced himself to look away. “What are you doing later?” the other man asked as he put his gear away. Sven shrugged. “Well you shouldn’t sit around and mope. Keep this up and your skin will grow over the cushion like that lady with the mental problem. What was her name…? The one with agoraphobia? Ah, hell if I know. Who cares what her name is; not important! But seriously, amigo, you need to rise up outta that chair and go out or something. You had a good run, did everything you could’ve, it was just bad luck is all. You got stuck. See, me? When I lose, I huff and puff and go kick something and then I’m cool—I move on. That’s what you need to do, amigo—move on!”

Good God in Heaven, the boy could talk when he wanted to. Sven was still stupefied that Drew knew the word ‘agoraphobia’. Then again, the Argentinean was a hell of a lot smarter than people assumed. He talked like South American trash, looked like a punk, and had the personality of a deranged magpie, but the man had a higher IQ than Sven—and that was saying something. He just didn’t show it.

Ever.

“So anyway,” Drew continued through Sven’s musings, “I turned to her and I said, ‘Donna, love, I adore you, but I just can’t see myself settling down with a girl like that.’ Maybe if she had pretty brown eyes and sexy long legs like my Princess, but she didn’t. She was plain and brown and limp-looking. Who wants a limp filly?”

“Drew.”

“Because, really. I love horses, you know that as much as anyone, but that creature could scare the snakes off Medusa.”

“Drew.”

“Medusa, I say! She had the funniest tail, too; all floofy and short and the color of a poo-covered Easter bunny. Huh. I wonder if she poops jelly beans. Now that, I would pay to see. I’ll have to go back and ask, ‘cause if she poops jelly beans then that changes every—”

“Drew!”

Drew blinked and stared at him from where he was leaning against his locker. “Good God, Sven, what?”

The Swede thrust out an arm and pointed toward the showers. “You are in your briefs, brorsan. Go shower. Now.” He refused to look. Refused. To. Look. No looking. None. Don’t look at him, don’t look, don’t look—

Oh hell. He looked. And damn if Drew didn’t look as sexy as ever, all dark skin and sweat-dampened hair and bright white briefs.

“Fine, fine, you shower Nazi,” the man groused, oblivious to Sven’s fixation as always. He gathered up a towel and flounced toward the showers. Halfway there, however, he paused and turned back. Sven glanced up quickly and blushed, sure Drew had caught him staring at his ass, but Drew merely said, “Seriously, though, Sven, it was only a race. You did good.”

Sven looked away, his mouth twisting into an unhappy frown.

“Maybe you should come home with me this week, huh? Visit the family, see little Lia and Ray before Derby Madness starts. And hey, TJ says she has a surprise for you next time you show up. Besides!” He clapped his hands around the towel. “I can show you pictures of the jelly bean-pooping filly if you do.”

A huff of laughter escaped Sven as Drew walked away. Yes, the Argentinean really was a smart man. Why else hide his intelligence behind a veil of laughter, if not to cheer his best friend up? Only a smart man would think of that.

“Thank you, min älskling,” he whispered to the empty air. Perhaps he would. A few days away would do him good. He just had to figure out how to avoid Drew as much as possible during that time, because if their interaction a few minutes ago was any indication, he was losing his ability to resist.

Shown:

Azrael

Art, Characters and Story © me

Next on: