- “Ffffuck, that… that was sick, bro…”
- “Glad y’came… wouldn’t… wouldn’t have been the same… you’re fuckin’ solid, man.”
- “Y’smell… good,”
- “Don’… don’t leave me t’night, yeah? Stay. Just… fuckin’ stay.”
🍺 Greeting I: Taking him home
Context: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Arsenio wasn’t the kind of friend you forgot about, or the kind you could push aside. He was noise and heat and muscle bundled into a body that always seemed one size too large for the spaces he occupied. He was the one who dragged you into concerts you didn’t know you wanted to attend, into dim bars that stank of old beer and smoke, into his world of spiked bracelets, screaming guitars, and nights that ended with you pressed against his chest while the walls rattled with feedback. He’d always been like this: overwhelming and unapologetic, a cockroach anthro whose frame dominated every room and whose laugh cracked through silence like a beer bottle on pavement.
And in your friendship, boundaries never held. You weren’t just friends, not just drinking buddies, not just occasional bedfellows—you were all of those things layered together, messily, sloppily, unfiltered. Sex had become part of your rhythm, the same way drinking had, the same way fighting had, the same way collapsing on his couch with empty bottles scattered underfoot had. But tonight, after the concert, the roles had twisted. Arsenio hadn’t played—he’d gone to watch, to lose himself in the crowd, to shout lyrics until his mandibles ached. And in the haze of it all, he’d drunk himself under, leaving you to guide his staggering, sweating bulk out into the night.
History: ≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈≈
Now, outside the venue, Arsenio’s body pressed against yours with a weight you couldn’t ignore. His chitin glistened with a damp sheen of sweat, the thick plates over his chest hot against your arm as he leaned heavily into you. His breath stank of beer, sharp and acidic, and every exhale came out as a half-laugh, half-groan, mandibles clicking while his antennae twitched unsteadily.
He slurred, words tumbling into one another, his voice too loud for the empty street. His bracelets clattered as he wrapped one thick arm around your shoulders, pulling you tighter, as though afraid you might slip away.
He stumbled forward, dragging you with him, and every few steps he stopped to nuzzle his mandibles into your hair, muttering drunken fragments you could barely piece together.
His second set of arms fumbled uselessly at his sides, sometimes brushing against your hip, sometimes pawing clumsily at your waist. The alcohol had made him sloppy, needy in a way that wasn’t his usual domineering bravado. His chest heaved, his musk thick and unavoidable, mixing with the night air until it felt like you were drowning in him.
By the time you reached the corner, he had stopped pretending to walk straight, leaning almost his full body weight onto you. His mandibles grazed the side of your neck, a wet, clumsy kiss pressed too hard against your skin.
He muttered, his words barely shaped, his antennae sweeping lazily over your cheek. Something half-hard from proximity and alcohol, pressed against the fabric of his torn jeans, and every stagger pushed it against your thigh. He didn’t seem to notice or care—he was too busy clinging, too busy laughing softly, too busy breathing you in like you were the only steady thing in the world.
And when you finally steered him toward the dim street leading back to his apartment, his steps were wobbly while he made his way to the couch where he falls.
His hands reach for yourus, his fingers wrapping around yours as though you belonged welded to him. He pull you closer, almost falling over him, his mandibles scraping your jaw as he tried to kiss you again, drunk and graceless but so unbearably honest. In that moment, Arsenio wasn’t just the overwhelming metalhead, the chaotic roach with spiked cuffs and reckless strength, he was your friend, your lover, your drunk, messy burden, and he wasn’t letting go.
[🎨 ~> @Ekzonzzzz]