All the Pretty People
by Scribe

Emery, lying comfortably on an overstuffed loveseat, picked up the last slice of pizza from the paper plate he had balanced on the rounded mound of his stomach. He examined it critically. *Do I need to eat this piece of pizza?* he thought. The answer was fuck no, he didn't need to. He'd already accounted for most of one of the three pies. But anyway, since when had not NEEDING food stopped him from eating? *Okay, now the question is, do I WANT to eat it? Pizza is best when it's either piping hot, or actually COLD. Room temperature just doesn't thrill me, but I'm sure as shit not trekking out to the kitchen.*

Maybe just part of it? He didn't really like green peppers. He started by picking them out of the congealed cheese. He could have just dumped them back on the plate. Instead he carefully stuck them down between the cushions, wiping them off on the plush material. It amused him to think of someone coming upon the disgusting, dull green, rubbery little morsels. *They'll think
someone had a hell of a case of boogers.* Once he had the green peppers done, he started on the olives.

He glanced up as he wiped away a piece of olive, and met cool blue eyes. Nick was at the billiard table with Steven, waiting his turn as the younger man bent, sighting up a shot. Nick was resting his cue on the floor, long, elegant hands folded around it near the top. Nick was staring at him, his lips curling downward in distaste as he watched Emery.

Emery looked down quickly. *Damn you. That's right, stare at the animal. Which one do you think I'm like? A pig? That's the usual one. maybe an ape? I had someone call me a sheep once.* He snuck another look. Steven had finished, having missed his shot. Nick walked around the table and bent to study the lay of the balls. His jeans were old and well-washed, worn thin, and they pulled tight across his buttocks.

Emery swallowed and quickly grabbed another gulp of soda. He was glad that Nick had just caught him dirtying the furniture, and not staring. The contempt already in his eyes was bad enough. *Not that I expected any different. After all, he's one of the Pretty People.* Pretty People were fairly predictable in their reactions--either disgust, contempt, amusement, or pity. That was if they noticed you at all.

Emery regarded the others in the room, classifying them. Pretty People: Professor Reardon (who looked at him like he was an interesting specimin of bug), Pam (she actually seemed a little friendly, but he could sense the slight 'ew!' lurking at the back of her eyes), Steven (goldenboy All-American pretty, who didn't seem to register Emery at all), Sister (a little haunted, but still
Pretty with a capital P, and she watched him with distrust after he'd made a couple of little comments about her sister), and Annie... Hm, Annie? He shook his head minutely. Maybe in a few years, but she was still too unformed.

That left the unpretty people. Himself, of course--even his mother didn't bother to try to tell him that he was handsome anymore. He was kind of glad that she'd given up on the charade. Then there was Vic and Cathy, who were sitting on one of the other sofa's, talking quietly. He wasn't sure whether to count them or not, since neither of them were exactly young anymore. Still, he was pretty sure that neither of them would have qualified as Pretty People even in the first flush of youth. But then again, maybe that was just his own wishful thinking.

Emery picked at a pepperoni slice. It was welded onto the crust, and he had to peel up a large chunk of cheese to remove it. Hamburger crumbs and mushrooms pattered down onto his shirt. After he ate the pepperoni, he picked them up, one by one, and ate them.

Annie was watching him. He made a face at her. Her expression didn't change--it remained blank. Oddly enough, it didn't really bother him, because there was no condemnation or dislike in it--there was NOTHING in it. She'd managed three good sized slices of pizza herself, while Pam and Sister picked at theirs. He kind of liked that--she hadn't fallen into that 'gotta stay thin at all costs' mindset of the Pretty People. *Enjoy it while you can, kid. If you keep it up, you'll end up like me. You'll be the fat girl, and that's even less fun than being the fat boy.*

"It's getting late." That was Cathy, the automatic writer. "Sister, I can take Annie to bed, if you like. I really don't want to go up alone."

"No, you really shouldn't," Joyce agreed.

Vic stood up. "Well, I don't like the idea of two ladies going off on their own, so I'll escort you. I think we'd all better have adjoining bedrooms. That way if anything happens, we can just give a shout."

Sister went over an took Annie's hands, pulling her to her feet. "C'mon, sweetheart. I'll tuck you in, okay?" She started to lead Annie out, and the girl threw a glance his way as they exited. Emery found himself frowning--not that unusual an occurance, but he couldn't say WHY he was frowning. There had been something in that final look, but he couldn't identify it. What was it? He was familiar with annoyance, pity, and disgust--it hadn't been any of that. It hadn't been friendly, either--it was too distant for that. The closest he could come was... recognition? Like she saw something familiar in Emery. Not necessarily something good, or something she liked, but not necessarily anything BAD either. *What the hell does she think she knows about me?*

Vic and Cathy trailed after the girls, walking close together, talking about old people stuff, he supposed. He wondered idly if they'd share a room. People that age still did it, didn't they?

Joyce and Pam were sitting on the other couch, sitting close together, talking quietly. *Huh. That's the closest I've ever seen the Mad Professor to anyone. Don't they look cozy?* There was a burst of giggles from the women. *Damn, fucking slumber party time.* He grinned to himself, quickly taking a bite of the now slightly limp crust, because he knew that it was a dirty grin. *Always wondered what went on at those slumber parties.* Images flitted through his
mind.

Last year, Mom had gone in the hospital to have her tonsils out. He had to force back a snort. Tonsils, at her age. And since she was as old as that, and she'd let them become massively infected before she went to the doctor, she was in the hospital for four days. Emery had spent most of the time sitting at her bedside, constantly fetching blankets or drinks, adjusting the thermostat, listening to her whine about having to eat clear soup and sherbert. ("Not even any ice cream, Emmers. They say it'll cause phlegm. It's not fair. You're supposed to get ice cream when you have your tonsils out. You could bring me some, Emmers. They wouldn't check if you brought it in... in a box, like it was a present. Buttered pecan, and I'll pick the pecans out.") *And save them, and eat them when it doesn't feel like they're tearing your throat out.* That was Mom--predictable.

Yes, he'd spent a LOT of time in her hospital room, but he'd also made twice daily trips to the adult section at the video store, and had gorged on porn, knowing that this was his only chance. The store had a good variety. And he'd noticed that almost all of the 'straight' videos had at least one lesbian scene in them. That had been interesting. Seeing slender fingers with long, scarlet nails gently caressing breasts, watching a carefully made-up face push into a neatly trimmed pubic bush...

Emery tossed the empty paper plate on the table, and pulled a throw pillow into his lap, covering his awakening erection. *Shouldn't think about things like that here. Sure, there's plenty of room for privacy, but who the hell would want to go off on their lonesome for a wank in THIS place?*

Sister came back into the room, and made a bee-line for the two women on the couch. She stood in front of them, hands on slender hips, demanding that they move aside to make room for her. She was refused, with laughter. Sister tossed her head, then turned around, backed up, and proceeded to wiggle her way between the others.

Pam and Joyce laughed, and tried to push her away, trying to squeeze together and possibly force her off onto the floor. She managed to slither in, and ended up with the other two women half falling across her, all three of them laughing. Nick and Steven paused in their game. Steve looked at Nick and rolled his eyes, shrugging. Nick smiled and said softly, "Girls will be girls. Your shot." He looked up, his eyes catching Emery's. He didn't smile, but Emery thought that his eyes were a bit less disdainful. "Want to come play a round?"

Emery shook his head quickly. Alone was one thing--he was a fair shot, but playing against someone? He came over all elbows and thumbs when he had to compete. He'd be lucky if he didn't rip the felt. "No, I like to watch."

"Do you?" There was a hint of dry amusement in Nick's voice. "Yes, I suppose you do. Well," He patted Steven's shoulder. "We'll just have to try to give him a good show, won't we?" Steven glanced at Nick, then back at Emery, with a slow smile and a nod. Nick's hand had lingered on Steven's shoulder, and now he rubbed, sliding it down the other man's arm. "Your turn, dear boy."

*Is that a smirk?* Emery watched as Steven considered the balls, then came around the table, putting his back to Emery. He bent over the table, making a bridge of his left hand and laying the billiard cue on his knuckels, sighting down its length. *Shit, it isn't fair--they BOTH have perfect asses. That sight belongs on a calendar. It belongs on tv, selling for The Gap, or Dockers, or Levis or something.* He licked his lips. *It belongs right over here, on my lap.

He was taking a long time lining up that shot. Emery watched as he shifted from one foot to the other. Emery was mesmerized by the subtle sway of his hips. He heard Nick say, "Watch your form, Steven. Emery, what do you think of Steven's form?"

Emery's eyes skittered to Nick. The Englishman's expression was bland, but there was a wicked glint in his eyes. Emery managed to say, "It looks okay to me." *Oh, my GOD, he just winked at me!*

He looked away quickly, desperate for something else to fixate on before the blushes started. He could turn beet red in about three seconds, and it wasn't attractive. The group on the couch caught his attention again. They were rough housing, almost wrestling. Joyce was still half across Sister's lap, and the younger girl was holding her there as the older woman laughed and twisted, trying to pull away. She managed to slither out of the girl's grip, but her sweater was rucked up around her armpits, showing... *Oh, DAMN! Who'd have ever though the Professor would go for Frederiks of Hollywood! Black with red lace.*

Pam reached across Sister with a teasing smile, grabbing the bottom edge of the sweater. Emery waited for her to drag it down. Instead Joyce put her hands over her head as the blond girl knelt up on the sofa facing her, and the sweater was pulled over her head. Emery could feel his eyes widening so that he must look like one of those cheesy paintings form the sixties--the ones of the ragged urchins with the mutant-sized eyes. He looked over at the billiard table to see if Nick and Steven had noticed what was going on. They were preoccupied.

The game seemed to have been forgotten. At least he was pretty sure that they didn't intend to continue it, since they were pretty well fucking up the lay of the balls with what they were doing.

Steven's cue lay on the floor, discarded. The young man had turned his back to the game and hoisted himself up till he was sitting on the table. Nick was standing between his spread thighs, holding Steven's head still, hands buried in his hair, as he kissed him. Steven had his arms around Nick, hands gliding up and down the older man's back. As Emery watched, he slid both of them down the back of Nick's jeans, stuffing them deep, and grabbing a double handful of ass to jerk Nick closer.

Now Emery looked back at the trio to see if THEY were noticing what was happening with the men. They'd been busy. Joyce was down to just her panties, her pale nipples hard and puckered. He could tell that because they were kind of SNAPPING when Sister flicked them. Emery blinked at the plain white cotton panties, one leg still caught around Sister's ankle. Pam had one hand under Sister's skirt, and the other down the front of her own pants, both moving
restlessly.

Emery, afraid to miss anything, let his gaze ping-pong between the two scenes playing out before him. To the right, Steven's jeans were tossed back on the table, knocking a red ball neatly into a pocket. Nick's jeans were pushed to half-mast, exposing an ass just as firm and muscular as Emery had imagined.

Sister had her face between Joyce's spread thighs, biting at the black satin crotch of the older woman's panties as Pam moved to kneel at Sister's feet, sticking her head up under the dark girl's skirt.

Steven had wrapped his arms around Nick, and Nick had lifted Steven's knees up to hip level. He was moving, his ass flexing smoothly as he rubbed against the younger man. *Is he going to do it? Is he going to fuck him right out there on the table, in front of God and everybody?*

Emery pressed down on his crotch, feeling the hot mound of an erection. This was so good. It was better than any of the porno tapes he'd ever see--even better than Swinging Switchers.*

The breathless giggles of the women had degenerated to moans and slurps. Joyce was naked now, and Emery could see the pink flicker of Sister's tongue on the pink folds of Joyce's sex. *Oh, geez, she's SHAVED! I can't believe she was walking around under all that 'academic look' crap like that!*

Pam suddenly emerged from Sister's skirt. Her mouth looking slick and blurred, she crawled toward the billiard table. Emery followed her progress with interest, wondering if she was going to joing the two men--that might be interesting. But she passed them without a glance, even though Steven was in the process of begging Nick to shove his hard, fat cock in his ass and fuck him raw. Pam reached out till she snagged the butt end of the cue, then dragged it back toward the sofa, eyes gleaming. Emery started to hyperventilate. They did some interesting things with inanimate objects in porno movies.

He looked back at the men. *I want to see cock. If I can just see cock, it'll be perfect.*

As if he'd heard Emery, Nick dropped Steven's legs and turned, stepping out of his jeans. He smiled at Emery and indicated the thick erection that bobbed before him. "Like this, Emery?" Emery swallowed. Nick began to walk toward him, his cock swaying and drooling.

Behind Nick, Steven groaned in frustration, whining, "Nick! Get back here and fuck me!"

"Fuck yourself, Steven." Nick's eyes, smoldering, fastened on Emery, searing him with their heat. "I've found a more appealing playmate." Steven cursed, then lifted and spread his legs as he lay back on the table, and crammed two fingers into his asshole, beginning to saw them in and out.

The women had gone from moans, to panting cries, and now voices rose to near screams. *If they aren't quiet, the old fogies will come back to see what's wrong,* Emery thought. He looked over at the sofa, prepared to warn them.

Red. That was what first struck him. Red against white, blood against pale skin. WAY too much blood, but then again, wasn't that area supposed to be rick in capillaries? Wasn't that what caused the heat and swelling during sex? So a bad bite there would probably bleed like a motherfucker, which was why Joyce was smeared red from belly to thighs, and Sister's chin dripped with gore.

Emery hitched in a breath, ready to scream. Before he could, he saw the way that Pam was thrusting *no, stabbing, a motion that violent is definitely stabbing* with the billiard cue, and he was very grateful that Sister's skirt was still down, because he really didn't want to see what was making the blood flow down the wood to stain Pam's hand. *This can't get any worse.* Pam, teeth gritted, jerked upward, and there was a cracking sound as the cue snapped. She turned it in her hand and brought the thick butt end down on Sister's head with a sickening thud--once, twice. The girl's legs began to jitter. Then Pam turned the stick and raised it high over her head. Emery managed to look away as she bagan to drive it toward Sister's face.

"Nick! Oh, my God! Joyce--Sister... BLOOD!"

"Yes, there will be, I suppose."

Emery felt his heart squeeze alarmingly as he looked back at Nick. The older man was bending over him, grinning. His cock... It was huge. It looked the size of a bodybuilder's forearm, the moist, magenta head the size of a fist. Nick's voice was cooing. "You're a virgin, aren't you, Emmers?" He reached toward the cringing boy. "This will hurt..."

"NOT REALL!" Emery screamed, his eyes snapping shut. "NOTREALNOTREALNOTREAL!"

"What's not real?"

It was Nick's voice, familiar in its annoyance, but it sounded like it was across the room.

Emery cracked one eye. Nick, fully clothed, was standing behind the table, giving him an irritated look. Steven, bent over his cue, gave Emery a brief glance, then smacked the ball he was aiming at solidly, sending another ball into a pocket. "You could make someone miss a shot like that, Emery."

Emery looked around frantically. Joyce was at the desk, pen poised over some sort of form, watching him with interest. Cathy, Vic, and Pam, on the couch, were watching him with varying degrees of wariness and concern. Sister was squatted beside Amy, an arm around the girl's shoulder, glaring at Emery suspiciously. Amy was serenely playing with the dollhouse, and didn't look up at all.

"What was it, Emery?" Joyce asked. She clicked on a microrecorder, holding it toward him. When Emery was silent, her voice became impatient. "Well, come on! You're here to participate, not just veg out. You could forfeit your fee if you don't co-operate."

"Bullshit." His voice was a croak. While Cathy winced and Sister made a disgusted noise, he swallowed, then started again. "Yeah, bullshit. My Mom isn't the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree, but she's studied up on contracts. Just try to dick me out of a cent of that five thousand, Reardon." He manged a weak laugh. "I'd kinda like to see that. Blood sport, dontcha know."

Joyce scowled, but she took some of the bitchiness out of her voice. "Emery, please. It must've been significant for it to get that kind of reactiton out of you. What did you see?"

Emery didn't intend to answer. That was something he was going to take to the grave. He wouldn't speak of it, not even if he found himself a damn good therapist, and was urged to unburden his soul. He wouldn't say it, because he knew that Rose Red had to have something to work with, and he suspected that it first used whatever it found inside its victims.

"What?" Everyone looked at Sister. She was bending close to Amy. "Amy said something. What, sweetheart?" Emery shriveled as everyone in the room seemed to lean forward in anticipation. Amy looked up, her eyes drifting around the room to touch briefly on each of the party before finally coming to rest on Emery. "What happened?"

Amy's gaze, for a moment, was disturbingly direct. Emery flinched. Now, now she would find eloquence. Now she would break through the boundaries of her illness to tell them all.

"Pretty People." She nodded, then bent to peer into the dollhouse. "All the Pretty People."



The End