Conors flat: Corner of Main and Lexington, apartment 4E Login to Kupika  or  Create a new account 


Conors flat: Corner of Main and Lexington, apartment 4E

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30 January 2011, 04:50 AM   #1
Guest Poster
 The buildings in this town aren't very tall, this one in fact one of the only to
exceed three stories, and looking as if it had once been an office building retrofitted
for residential usage. Conor lives on the top floor of a building that has -and has had
for the past four years mind you- no working elevator, across the hall is an empty
apartment that the asian man who owns the entire joint acclaims to be haunted, though
Conor knows the real reason no one ever rents that specific flat out is because the
ceiling leaks. He doesn't know much about the people who live on the three floors beneath
him, or if there's anyone there at all in fact. He does however know that he gets Chinese
food half off from the man who he pays rent to, and that because of the restaurant on the
bottom floor, the entire place smells subtly of spring rolls. But that's alright with him.

He's never much been one for interior decorating, but what's he's been given, he's worked
with. The entire flat is doused in a colour scheme of white, grey, and various shades of
blue and green; the exposed brick making up the wall to the outside housing two large
scenic windows, eternally streaked and providing a slightly less than picturesque view of
the street below. There's a fire place that's never once been used, save to collect dust
for several weeks until he cleans it out because his nose starts to become irritated. It's
plain really, but suits to his personality. The dining room comes in the form of two bar
stools pulled up to the kitchen island, and the living room nothing more than a flat
screen television he won at a raffle somewhere, a lumpy couch and an armchair its hard not
to drown in, and a coffee table ready to snap under a pile of unopened mail. His room
however is slightly nicer, a bed/headboard combo, one of those nice ones you find in rich
people homes, and a down comforter laid atop it. And a plant he's named Phyllis. 

Conor kicks the door closed behind him, sopping wet and slightly flustered, setting the
paper bag of takeout on the kitchen counted before proceeding to peel off his outer layers
of winter layers of clothing. It was supposed to snow tonight, however it seemed that
temperature had not dropped far enough, and instead of white fluffiness, there was simply
a steadying downpour of freezing cold sleet. It's alright though, he can set his shoes
before the radiator just like any other night, and settle down in the arm chair with a
bowl of fried rice and watch the game. Well,..he'll not watch it. Oliver will though, the
older boy being fond of sports and such. It was funny, he thought, while using no more
than the thumb and pointer fingers of each hand to pull the hot aluminum containers from
the bag, how he considered them both to be boys, and not men. True that while Oliver was a
dick, and conor was apathetic towards anything but takeout and his plant, they were still
-in their own distinct ways- immature enough to be considered 'boys'.

He's nearly halfway through his second eggroll when the door opens and a sigh comes from
behind him. "Late, but whatever. Shoes off at the door. Beer's in the fridge if you want

There you go pet. Read and off to bed with you.

4 February 2011, 03:15 AM   #2
The Founder
Joined: 7 Dec 2010
Posts: 200
I forgot about this.

"Hi. I'm home." Oliver said. "Let's fuck." then they fucked vigorously into the evening.

srs reply this weekend. i still feel like shit and have no sleep. kthxbai.

6 February 2011, 04:06 AM   #3
The Founder
Joined: 7 Dec 2010
Posts: 200
   Oliver pushed his way through the door, soaked through to the bone from the
damned rain. He shook himself, sending droplets sailing in every direction. He knew he'd
get scolded later, there were already small marks over the wall and floor, along with the
coat on the rack, which, he noticed, was also drenched. The only two coats ever on the
rack were his own and Conor's, so he figured the male had just gotten home not too long
ago. He nodded at said boy's comments, even though he couldn't possibly see him.
   He slipped his shoes off, figuring he should change completely, but not caring enough.
He slid off the sopping coat and simply threw it on the floor, leaving a small puddle in
its wake. With a snort, Oliver strode to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge and
an egg roll from the bag on the table. Taking a bite, and asking through the food in his
mouth, "Hey, you get home just now?" he went to the beat up recliner, falling into it with
a thump, and a sigh. He shook his head, sending even more droplets across the room. He
noticed most of them landed on the boy on the couch, and snickered softly. 
   Stretching out, the brunette took another bite of the roll, head draping over the
chair's arm rest. "How was your day, darling?" he mimicked in his most obnoxious Nanny
Fine voice, laughing at his own lame joke.

6 February 2011, 05:14 AM   #4
Guest Poster
 Of course he just drops his coat on the floor, connor thinks, playing with his
food and beginning to feel like it was going to turn into one of those nights. Oliver odd sort. Charming in his own way, which is of course why he gets laid so much, but
an asshole, which is why the girls he fucks are never interested in extended
  He had these irritating little habits sometimes, such as dropping shit instead of
putting it away, talking with his mouth full, and shaking out his hair just to piss connor
off. Also, he seemed go be one for dumb questions and stupid jokes.
  Connor rearranges himself on the couch, slim legs tucked under his body, bowl balanced
in his lap, and he looks over at Oliver, eyes narrowing before his expression softens and
he takes a moment to wipe the water from his cheek. 'Fine actually. Right up until your
obnoxious ass walked in, tracked dirt on my floor, flung your coat wherever you pleased,
and got me wet. ' deadpan serious for a second, before he smiles and takes another bite. '
your jokes also suck. How're you?'

6 February 2011, 05:35 AM   #5
The Founder
Joined: 7 Dec 2010
Posts: 200
   Oliver just laughs, knowing full-well what a dick he can be. But Conor knows he
does it in good humor. He really does love the boy. They've been friends for so long.
They're practically brothers anyway. He crosses his arms, making a face which includes
crossing his eyes, puffing out his cheeks, and sticking out his tongue. "My day? Oh. Eesh.
Another idiot at work decided it would be a good idea to take my lunch." he snorted,
rolling his eyes and stretching out even further, lean muscles shifting beneath his skin.

   He finally felt his back crack, and Oliver felt much better. That is, until he fell off
the chair and onto the wooden floor. "Ah, shit, Conor!" he rubbed his head, pouting like a
child. "I hit my head," he stated obviously, looking at the boy, and then onto the floor,
looking for his eggroll.

7 February 2011, 03:24 AM   #6
Guest Poster
  Connor's about to make some comment concerning the fact that if he had a nickle
for every time he's told Oliver to write his name on his lunch, he's be a rich man, but
suddenly the brunette in question topples out of his chair with a yelp and a resounding
crack as his head hits the hard wood. In a slightly less than graceful manner, his bowl is
out of his lap and he's crawling to the edge of the couch, both hands on the arm, peering
over with a more worried expression than he'd like to admit. 
   He's sitting up though, which is as good as anything.  Oliver's at least not curled up
on the floor bleeding from a cracked skull or something. Connor bites his lip, trying to
figure out whether he's making a mountain out of a molehill, or if he's actually injured
himself. No, Ollie's not one to over exaggerate, not about this sort of thing. 
   He reaches out, taking his hand from the no doubt sore spot from his head, "Don't touch
it. And don't you dare eat that after its been on the floor" He says, climbing off the
couch, avoiding stepping upon the eggroll in his socks.  Walking over to the drawer next
to the sink He pulls out a plastic bag from the middle, and a dishtowel from the top. Ice is good for this sort of thing isn't it? Yeah. 
   Ice in bag, towel around bag, and soon he's kneeling before Oliver, making oddly
maternal 'shushing' noises and pressing the ice gingerly to his head. "Don't lean back so
far next time, yeah?" He says, in that soft condescending way that he does. Wait,
Oliver's perfectly capable of holing the ice to his own damn head, he realizes, and
with a rather awkward "uhm" Connor hands him the bag, scooting back a ways to lean back on
his heels, hands folded in his lap because he can't find anything else to do with them.

7 February 2011, 04:07 AM   #7
The Founder
Joined: 7 Dec 2010
Posts: 200
Oliver snorts, picking up the egg roll, dusting it off, and taking another bite
out of it anyways. "I'll do what I damn please," he mumbles, rubbing his head despite all
of Conor's maternal shit. He sits cross-legged, head bent forward slightly as he tries to
regain his groundings. Rather dizzy, and more than a little sore, the boy sighs, allowing
the other to place the make-shift icepack on his head. 
   Why was he being so nice to him, anyways? Usually it was good-hearted snapping and a
manly pat on the back or something. Y'know, "bonding" between guys. Something had gotten
into the guy lately. He had been nicer, in his own way, at least. There was no outright
"kind" when it came to Conor. He had always been, how would you say it? Oliver shrugged
internally. Rather apathetic towards everything, he supposed. He had never seen the other
boy act more than mildly interested in anything, really. He'd never be seen fan-girling
over something. He'd never seen Conor be anything really. No real smiles, always some
sarcastic remark and a humorless laugh. So why had he been acting this way lately? 
With a sigh, Oliver took the ice pack, taking note of yet another weird reaction from
Conor. "I can handle myself, there, buddy," he scoffed, getting up, only to fall
right back on his ass. He groaned, deciding instead to simply lean on the couch. "Do we
have any aspirin or something?" There was already a bruise forming on the brunette's head,
and he could feel it easily.

7 February 2011, 04:51 AM   #8
Guest Poster
Last edited by psychoprogramming, 8 February 2011
Connors head tilts slightly to the right in annoyance, and the room is so quiet in
that moment that he can hear  the movement as ..well as whatever it is inside him
slides against itself. He's never quite been good at anatomy.  Anyhow..lately he's been
feeling...what's the word, less like a royal cunt? So much for attempting to be nice
though. Now Connor simply runs his fingers over the floorboards for a brief moment before
picking himself up of the floor,  settling back down into the cushions of the couch to
finish his food. "Do I have aspirin you mean?" Comes a cold reply,  eyes narrowing
as he stares down into his rice. "Last time I checked yeah, somewhere. I think at least."

  He would have gone to find it, a few seconds ago; but now Connor finds himself in a
slightly less than charitable mood. He offered his help, and that offer had been spat back
unto his face. Well fuck it; if Oliver wants aspirin then he can go find it. Fishing the
remote out from beneath the cushions, he flicks it at the screen, the news or some other
uninteresting program flaring to life. There's going to be a bruise there, but fuck it if
it matters to him. It does, in an odd way of course, but let that show and Oliver would
take it upon himself to find new and interesting ways to rephrase "taking it up the ass"
for the next week or so. His eyes slide shut for a moment, then open once more to steal a
glance towards Oliver, before shifting over just as quick back to the screen. "Its
uh..fuck. Third shelf of the medicine cabinet. You'll have to jiggle the knob a bit. It
kinda sticks.....and don't be retarded and fall."

8 February 2011, 12:43 AM   #9
The Founder
Joined: 7 Dec 2010
Posts: 200
Oliver sighed, rolling his eyes and getting up a little wobbily. He gripped the
back of the plush couch for support, and fought off a dizzy spell. "You're- you're a
real," he groaned, dropping the ice pack and rubbing his head. "A real d-dick." His words
were slurring slightly, and he was incredibly dizzy, but the brunette refused to look any
weaker than he had to in front of Connor. 
   With a quick bout of resolve, he straightened, making his way quickly down the short
hallway to the bathroom. There's barely enough time for Oliver to get the toilet lid down
and sit before he's rocked by another head-pounding dizzy spell. He pushed himself up,
clutching the counter of the sink and looking to where the aspirin was supposed to be. Of
course there was nothing there. 
   Did he have a concussion? Probably. Oliver had fallen pretty hard. With another painful
groan, he slid down against the wall, landing with a thud on the floor. What was Connor
doing? Was he watching tv? Probably. He went back to his usual self again after the kind
moment. In his dizzy, and becoming more and more illusioned state, he began to wonder
whether he liked the kind Connor or the mean one better. What did it matter?


8 February 2011, 03:39 AM   #10
Guest Poster
    Its not that he feels bad about his frequent, inconvenient mood swings.
There's nothing to feel bad about really, since it's a natural occurrence and he can't
help it. It's just these moods, these funks that every so often he'll fall into. And like
some, who're clawing at the walls of the pit they've fallen into, trying desperately to
get back to being happy and content, Connors fine with wallowing in it. It's's
weird though. He even thinks so himself, in that small portion of his brain that's still
able to function. 
    In those funks, the world dissolves to nothing more than an old movie from the
fifties; all black and white and various shades of grey. He could still see the colours,
taste the food, hear the words, but he had stopped living them years ago. The green of the
bedroom curtains no longer carried any emotion with them, not not jealousy or naturous
growth or anything else; they simply meant green. The light blue of the comforter wasn't
calming, it was just a colour. Suddenly his food was just food. Sustenance to avoid
starving to death, and he puts the bowl down upon the coffee table, rubbing at his eyes
with the back of his hands. "Fuck," comes the softly muttered complaint, the lights from
over head hitting his face just right to bring out the circles beneath his eyes. It's been
a few minutes..maybe Oliver's died. Maybe he's died and he's going to haunt Connor's
apartment and be a twat and use his ghost powers to steal his socks and retarded shit like
     He pulls himself to his feet, a rush of blood going straight to his head, making
everything heavy and weighed down, as if trying to run through water. It was a hassle,
sure. and it would probably be less of a bother if he took medication for it, but of
course he wasn't one to trust anything that came in one of those little twist cap bottles.
His sister had one of those, a twist cap bottle, in the days before the 'great crash', as
he calls it sometimes, but now she didn't have anything but a pine box and a plot of dirt
somewhere in northern Minnesota. Padding over the wooden floor, the cold seeping at his
feet through his socks, nothing more then a sensation he's barely able to notice before he
find's himself leaning against the door frame to the bathroom, arms crossed over his
chest. "You find it? Or you just gonna sit here and be dead or somethin'?"

9 February 2011, 02:34 AM   #11
The Founder
Joined: 7 Dec 2010
Posts: 200
There's no point in trying to act tough at this point. Oliver was sure he had a
concussion, and also sure he probably shouldn't be sitting on the floor of their bathroom,
near tears from the pain in his head. He had never cried. Not once. Crying showed you were
weak. It showed people that you had weaknesses they could possibly get at and dig their
way into, like ticks. The idea terrified him. So when the brunette, sitting on the floor
looking pitiful and staring at the ceiling, felt a warm track dripping down his cheek, he
quickly wiped it away with the back of a hand, before shifting that gaze to the cheap
linoleum floor.
   "Go fuck yourself, dickface." came a muffled, malicious reply, as Oliver's head fell
against his lap, pounding harder. He could feel every pump of his heart. Every vein and
vessel and muscle in his body. It ached. And he couldn't not cry any more. He felt
like shit, and in reality, he'd had an even shittier day at work, and an even shittier
week. Oh, sorry, make that month. It was like every god damn person was out to get him.
Not that he'd ever tell Connor that. Not that he could ever show such weakness and be a
fucking pansy.
   He snorted, and slid down the wall even further onto his side. The floor was digging
into Oliver's hip, along with his shoulder and ribs. Why was he so bony? Didn't he eat
enough? Pretty sure he did. Oh well. The fetal position. The most comforting position,
like the womb. So he lay there, on the floor, looking pathetic and stupid and weak. "Go-
fuck yourself..." It wasn't even a whisper this time, it was an outlet of breath. He was
so tired.

what the fuck is this shit. ugh.

10 February 2011, 04:19 AM   #12
Guest Poster
Last edited by psychoprogramming, 10 February 2011
   He wonders for a brief moment what it's like to cry, not having done so in so
very long. Maybe it's simple inability..or just raw stubbornness, but Connor can't
remember the last time he just, sat down and cried. His sisters funeral? Waking up in the
hospital? It was certainly..longer than he could remember. Was it before he tied a tie
around his neck and stepped off the kitchen table? Or after, realizing that he was still
alive and his little sister was dead because of him?
   "Fuck Ollie," it's soft spoken and gentle, and..strangely, the feeling of indifference,
for now, is gone. And he tugs his sleeves from where they've bunched around his elbows,
crouching down to lean back upon his heels, fighting for balance one second, and hovering
precariously close to the man who just told him to go fuck himself the next. "Ollie Ollie.
Olly Olly oxen free", and conner laughs at his joke; taking a tissue from the box on the
counter and holding it out to him; knowing full well that if oliver doesn't accept it, 
that he's comfortable with his own sexuality to wipe the tears from his friends face and
not be weird about it.  Its not one of those large obnoxious laughs either, just a small
one, more to himself than anything.  
    "I guess we don't have anything for your head then..yeah? Are you going to live
though? At least for an hour or so..since im willing that after a fall like that you've
got a cucussion. You wanna stay here? Maybe sit on the couch where its more comfortable?
You want your food, maybe?" much for not being weird and awkward about things.

11 February 2011, 02:36 AM   #13
The Founder
Joined: 7 Dec 2010
Posts: 200
He looked up. Of course he would look up. "Olly Olly oxen free." He
actually blushed. Oliver blushed. Blood rushed to his cheeks and he bit his lip in, to
anyone else, what would be the most adorable way. He was blushing, and biting his lip, and
it was as if a bird was thrashing around in his chest and fuck, was it hot in here? He
took a few big gulps of air, willing the tears streaking down his face to stop. What was
wrong with him? Why was he acting like this? 
  Oliver Isaac Burton was as straight, or straighter, than any guy. He was the type that
girls flocked to. And he was by no means shy about it either. He had fucked many girls.
Plenty, too many! He wasn't a manwhore, but he got around. And honestly, the boy had no
idea whether or not Connor was gay, straight, or into necrophilia for all it mattered. He
didn't give a shit. There had never been any problem with him when it came to being
friends with gays, lesbians, or bisexuals. He could care less as long as you didn't shove
it down his throat. 
   But now. This? What was this? Why was his stomach clenching and his heart trying to
break his ribs? He'd never felt like this around anyone or anything. The only way he could
even think of to describe it in words was like mixing going down the biggest drop on a
rollercoaster, and the fear he felt before getting a shot. He was terrified, no
petrified of needles. So he had no idea what this was. 
   "I..." he paused, hiccuping through a sob. "I want- a- a..." he stopped again, voice
hitching once more. Oliver couldn't control himself at this point. Whether it be the haze
his mind was under, or the confusion, it didn't matter. He leaned over, as if to get up,
but ended up hugging Connor. He clutched the boy's shirt, and buried his face against the
soft material.
This was unexpected, but he didn't move.

15 February 2011, 03:17 AM   #14
Guest Poster
Everything is white, from the cold tiles on the floor, to his toothbrush, sitting
in the glass cup on the counter. Everything is white, and clean, and perfect; except,
nothing is. It's odd, no matter how hard he tries, things aren't quite what he'd like
them, everything so imperfectly imperfect that he'd be satisfied just to scream. There's a
faint red streak marring the tiles, from where he got a bloody nose the other day and it
dripped on the floor, drying before he could clean it up. The black logo on his shampoo,
spelling some brand name in french he couldn't even begin to attempt to pronounce.
Perfectly imperfect...or imperfectly perfect. Did it matter? There's dirt on the knees of
his jeans, and a dust bunny plotting away in the corner. And his best friend sobbing like
a fool onto his shoulder. 
What's a boy to do in a situation like this? Shove him away, "Dude stop being gay", make
some crude joke and walk out to allow him to regain composure on his own? was that..kind?
Humane? certainly not in this case. 
Connor breathes a sigh, closing his eyes and accepting the hug, leaning into it, one hand
curling around to rest against his back, the other moving to Oliver's hair. Fuck, he's
such a girl. "I'm sorry Ollie. Whatever it is I'm sorry."
"I want a-"
How many times had Connor asked for something and never gotten it? How devastating was
that feeling? Did Oliver deserve to live though that? No, no of course not. "Anything
Ollie. Anything you want, you just ask. Just tell me. And I'll get it." There's a draft
that flows through the room, upsetting the dust bunny, and it shift several inches, Connor
catching to slight motion just as his eyes open it again. And by god, he doesn't take his
eyes off that damn thing until Ollie calms down enough that Connor's not afraid he'll
choke on his own tears.

18 February 2011, 06:46 PM    #15
The Founder
Joined: 7 Dec 2010
Posts: 200
   Nothing really made sense right then, not the hazy vision or the fact that he
was hugging his roommate. He was straight, right? And he wasn't into bromance, so why did
Oliver feel so- so safe? Why did he feel that everything right then was just so fucking
perfect. He buried his face in Connor's shoulder, figuring, distantly, that he probably
felt incredibly awkward at that moment. And to be honest? He couldn't give a fuck. 
   With a soft sigh, and a reluctance that probably should not be felt, Oliver pulled
away, only to look down at his feet, sitting cross-legged and exhausted. What was wrong
with him? God, he must be high. Ugh. "I- I want- wanted. Wanted a hug." he mumbled,
sniffling pathetically. He was flushed and his eyes stung as the tears began drying up,
slowly. His nose was runny, so he grabbed some toilet paper and wiped it, feeling stupid
and weak. "I'm sorry. I don't- I'm just so-" he just stopped talking, unable to continue
when he couldn't stop his little hiccups from interrupting his speech. It wasn't like the
poor brunette knew what he was going to say anyway. He furrowed his brows, raking a hand
through disheveled locks. 
   Finally, grudgingly, he looked up at Connor with wary, tired, scared eyes. What
was wrong with him? He shouldn't be scared to look at Connor. He was the one who girls
flocked to, the tall, toned boy that was so outgoing, no one could stay away from him.
Girls hung on him, yet, he was never in a relationship for more than a few weeks. Never
had been. He hunched his shoulders then, feeling exposed. "I'm just- god. I'm sorry."

he was then cut off as connor kissed the fuck out of him.

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