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Chunder and Honks

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Hey spin me a yarn of Chunder and Honks
When Honks is dating this dude
And Chunder is mad but doesn't know why
And somehow can't stop being rude
Pray tell me a tale of Chunder and Honks
When Chunny fucks three girls in a night
And he's great, he's fine, totally okay


“There is nothing. Fucking. Wrong,” Chunder ground out, kneeling on the bed with his limp cock in his hand. “I’m perfectly capable of having sex with everyone in this room, just...let me get a bit of a run up to it.”

Poppy Carstairs looked at him pityingly. “All I’m saying is,” she said, taking a draw on her vape and puffing nauseating vanilla smoke around the room. “We’re all in here practically naked, and you are very much not responding.” She bopped his flaccid cock with the fairy wand she was inexplicably holding. “What are your feelings right now? We should unpack them, yeah? Do you think that casual sex is a healthy choice for you?”

“I’m fucking healthy!” What the hell was the woman on about? “It’s just not...stop looking at it!”

“It’s a very nice one, Chunder,” Honey Walker-Browning said encouragingly from where she lay on the bed in a pair of knickers and a flower crown. “I’m sure it’s perfectly super when it’s hard.”

“Thank you,” Chunder said, closing his eyes in mortification.

“Do you want me to give it a bit of a rub, sweetie?” India Fawcett-Winthrop said.

Chunder looked at her, feeling horrified by the suggestion. Anyone normal would want India Fawcett-Winthrop to give their cock a bit of a rub; she was bloody hot. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Mate, listen,” Poppy said. “Now we’re all very much up for having a fuck.” She looked around the room and the other two girls nodded. “And we’re very pleased you suggested it. But…” She looked him right in the eye and pointed her wand for emphasis. “Are you quite sure this isn’t anything to do with Honks?”

“Why would it...what’s he got to do with anything?” Chunder spluttered. He pulled up his underwear, giving the thing up as a bad job.

“We were all like super surprised when he turned up to the party with that boy.” India wrinkled her pretty nose delicately.

“Didn’t really notice,” Chunder said. “Haven’t really spoken to him tonight.”

“Yes, we know. And that’s fucking weird to start off with,” Poppy said. “You and Honks are a thing, aren’t you?”

“No!” Chunder said.

“Do you have an inability to talk about or understand emotions due to being damaged by boarding school?” Poppy continued. “Which is now manifesting in impotence?”

“No it bloody well is NOT,” Chunder said. He buried his face in his hands. “Look, he’s seeing someone new. And I don’t want to be all over him, you know? Like hey Honkers, mate! I miss you, do you miss me? Why don’t we see each other any more? Do you love him? It doesn’t matter if you do, I’m just wondering. That would make it all WEIRD. I’m giving him space, alright?”

“Hmmm,” Poppy said.

“Uggggh, leave me alone,” Chunder said, reeling in the wake of his own verbal diarrhea. “I just did a line off Honey’s arse.”

“I don’t think he’s in love with him,” Honey said thoughtfully. “I think it’s probably just the sex. Did you see his abs? I did. You can see them right through his shirt.”

Oh fucking FUCK it. “I’m going home,” Chunder said. “D’you mind telling everyone we all had sex?”

“Okay sweetie,” India said. “I’ll tell them you absolutely ruined me.”

“That’s so gross,” Poppy said.

“Your face is gross,” India said.

“You’re both gross,” said Honey cheerfully. “Let’s have another line. Perhaps we three can just fuck instead.”

Chunder took about 27 wrong turns in his attempt to leave the party. You’d think he’d be used to stately homes, but this one was a bloody maze. At last he pulled open the right door and glimpsed freedom. He just had to get through this crowd first.

Though Chunder had always found his height and broad shoulders pretty useful for shoving through crowds and getting served at busy bars—not to mention magnificent for rugby—but they were absolutely useless for letting him sneak out of parties without being noticed.


Oh, balls. You sort of had to acknowledge it when a Prince spoke to you—even if it was just Hazza—or it was treason or something. Probably. Chunder sighed and went over.

“Alright mate?” Chunder said. He nodded curtly to the short guy standing next to Prince Harry. “Honks.”

“Chunder,” Honks said formally. He circled his arm around his boyfriend’s waist. The boyfriend looked Chunder up and down slowly, and hooked an arm around Honk’s shoulders.

Honk’s boyfriend could pretty much just fuck off with how hot he was. He was over six foot tall with cheekbones you could cut diamonds with, a perfect nose which had never seen a rugby scrum, smooth brown skin and a bunch of glossy dreads which made Chunder very aware that the last time he’d had a hair cut had been when Honks had shaved his head for a bet. He scrubbed a hand over his uneven hair self-consciously. And Honey was right; you could fucking well see his abs through his shirt.


He was probably thick as shit at least, Chunder thought.

“This is Harrison,” Honks said. “You haven’t met yet, have you? He’s on spring break from Harvard.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Chunder said. Harrison frowned, which only made him more handsome. Chunder turned abruptly and walked away. He pulled open a random door and found himself in a room that someone as large, drunk and coked up as he was should definitely not be in. It was like museum, with little fiddly trinkets on every surface.

“Oi!” someone said behind him. He turned to see Honks looking furious.

“What are you being a complete twat for?” Honks said.

“I’m always a complete twat,” countered Chunder.

“Not to me, you’re not,” Honks said. He folded his arms and looked straight at Chunder. Chunder felt a strange tightness in his chest as he looked back.

There was no denying that he found Honks cute. He’d found Honks cute right from the day they’d met in third year at school, with his shiny black hair, his dark eyes huge behind his glasses, and his hint of an Indian accent. Honks somehow made the insanity of their Eton uniform look glamorous, like he’d just wandered in from one of those films with Helena Bonham Carter in them where no one said anything and just stared sadly out of windows. Chunder, on the other hand, looked like someone had shaved an ape and put it in a tailcoat. Body off Baywatch, face off Crimewatch, someone had said to him once. They weren’t wrong.

Prince Harry had been in their year too. Their friendship had survived Eton and Sandhurst (well, Honks had been at Cambridge, since he had actual brains) and scandals and wars and gap years in Africa, and finally, Harry getting engaged. But that monumental event, while great—and Mezza was an absolute ledge—had caused a weird tension between Honks and him. It was shit. They’d always got on so well, always. They’d even slept together twice, though memories were hazy on that from both sides.

Though Chunder was starting to have a suspicion about the problem from his side at least. But you don’t just fuck over twenty years of friendship because Honks had gone from cute to ‘oh my fucking God I love him’.

“I’m just in a bad mood. Poppy says I’m not making healthy choices,” Chunder said. “I just fucked her by the way. And Honey. And India.”

“I’m aware. They all made very sure to come and tell me all about it,” Honks said dryly.

“So I’m alright. And you’re alright, because you’re fucking Harpenden…”


“Whatever. So we’re all very much fucking alright. Alright?”

Are you alright though?” Honks said. Chunder picked up a weird little glass figurine and examined it, so as not to have to meet Honk’s eyes.

“Because if you…” Honks trailed off. “If you’re pissed off because of Harrison, you shouldn’t be.”

“Why would I be pissed off?” Chunder said. “I told you, I was with Poppy and Honey and India. Are you pissed off about that?”

“Not really, but mostly because I don’t believe you.”

“Oh fuck off Honks, I’m capable of pulling too you know. Like maybe I’m not all…” he waved the glass figurine at Honks. “You know, fashionable and attractive and all that shit. Maybe I don’t look really really fucking cute in nerdy little glasses and a nerdy little shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show off my forearms like...some people,” he trailed off having lost the thread of his rant.

“Will you stop being so arsey for a minute…and stop pointing that at me...” Honks began, closing his hand over the glass trinket in Chunder’s fist.

“Who’s being arsey? I’m just saying, we’re both having lots of sex, just not with each other. LOTS of sex. And we’re both very happy about that.”

“Speak for yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Chunder said, his heart beating faster.

“You know what I mean,” Honks said. He looked furious.

“I mean we’ve had sex twice. Not to mention all the times you’ve got off with me when you’ve been massively wrecked. And that second time we fucked, I gave you a really, really really good blowie. Like you said it was better than watching Freddie Flintoff getting a century at the Rose Bowl. That good. And then you didn’t remember it.”

“Honkers,” said Chunder, stunned. “Oh, mate...that’s fucked.” He felt properly horrified with himself. All this time he’d been feeling jealous and pathetic about Honks going and getting himself a boyfriend, and it turned out he’d been treating Honks like complete shit all along.

“I kept waiting for us to actually y’know, date, but we didn’t—even though there’s no good reason for us not to. So I assumed it’s never going to happen.”

“Never going to happen,” Chunder repeated.

“Not in this reality,” Honks said, and Chunder felt sick.

“What...what about another reality?” he said desperately. “Honkers?….Isn’t there...Oh, what the fuck!”

Honks screamed as the figurine they were holding lit up. Neither of them could let go of it. Chunder felt the strangest sensation, like g-force mixed with deja vu, and those things were not supposed to go together. Now everything was dark, and then it was light again.


Chunder and Honks are in an AU
(That means it's not like real life)
Chunder’s a bored Regency peer
While Honks is in want of a wife
Honks, you see, is nouveau riche
He got all his money through trade
So in order to gain some real status
He must marry a well-born young maid


Lord Chunder looked out across the press of the ballroom, eyes searching for his guest of honour.

He usually found throwing balls a dreadful bore, and attending them even worse, and quite honestly this had been no different, but for the guest of honour.

Mr Honks, owner of Honker’s Shipping, to be precise.

The young upstart had first captured Lord Chunder’s attention at one of the Prince’s favourite Hells. They’d been seated next to each other, played five hands of baccarat, drunk three bottles of claret, and had become firm friends. For months, they had racketed around London’s Hells and opium dens, racetracks, theatres and bawdy houses (but never a dog fight, for they were too soft-hearted). Over opium-infused cigarettes on Lord Chunder’s terrace one evening, Honks had revealed that as he was a single man in possession of a good fortune, he was in want of a wife. A titled wife, for choice.

“But my dear friend, this is very easily remedied,” Lord Chunder had said. “I shall arrange a ball.”

And Mr Honk’s had lit up with a smile that Lord Chunder would throw infinite numbers of balls to see again. “I should be so very much obliged, sir,” he said.

One further indulgence had been to arrange an appointment for Mr Honks with his tailor, John Weston. Lord Chunder had attended with him, to ensure Mr Weston tended to Mr Honks as assiduously as any of the gentry. He had been watching proceedings idly when Mr Weston went to his storeroom to fetch some samples of lining. They were left alone, Mr Honks fidgeting with his cravat.

Lord Chunder allowed himself a long look at the man. Excellent tailoring could disguise a good many flaws, but when there were no flaws to disguise, the effect was quite devastating. Mr Honks would be the most lovely attendee at the ball, that was very clear. He swallowed, and shifted in his chair.

“Could you assist me a moment?” Mr Honks said, with a small frown. “Mr Weston says a mathematical knot would suit, but I’m afraid my eyesight prevents me...”

Chunder stood as though pulled up by a string. “Let me,” he said, and lifted his hands to Mr Honk’s slender throat.

They were close, so close. Chunder could feel the warmth of Mr Honk’s breath on his cheek, and smell his familiar scent. He felt a flush rise relentlessly in his cheeks, but he refused to look up into the face which had become so dear to him, lest his feelings betray themselves. But as he too struggled to arrange the cravat, he became aware of Mr Honk’s breath coming faster, and he lifted his gaze.

Foolish error. Mr Honk’s dark eyes were fixed upon him, his full lips slightly apart. His chest was rising and falling rapidly under the new coat, and Chunder had never been so aware of another person in his life.

“Has it defeated you too?” Mr Honks said, intimate and low. Chunder could not help but wet his lips.

“I believe it has,” he replied. He released the cravat, and for a tiny moment, took hold of both Mr Honk’s upper arms. “I…” he began. But Mr Weston returned, and Chunder had retreated to his chair and attempted to calm himself.

A fortnight later, and Lord Chunder was searching the dance floor for a flash of that tailored blue coat. He hoped very much this endeavour would be a success, for he had received news only that morning that his elder brother had finally managed to bankrupt their estate entirely with his gambling and risky investments. This would be the last extravagance Lord Chunder would enjoy, unless he too married well—and quickly.

“Lord Chunder!” Chunder dragged his eyes away to look at the lady who addressed him.

“Lady Carstairs,” he said with a small bow. She was accompanied by Miss Fawcett-Winthrop and Lady Walker-Browning. They were all rather drunk.

“So where is this delectable man you wish one of us to marry?” Miss Fawcett-Winthrop said.

“I am not quite sure at present, but I do plan to introduce you all,” he said. “Ah, wait—here he comes.”

“Lord Chunder, this is the most marvellous...oh.” Mr Honks stopped in his tracks as the three ladies turned as one to look at him.

Lord Chunder couldn’t help but smile at him, and Mr Honks smiled back.

“Hmmm,” said Lady Carstairs.

“These are…” Lord Chunder gestured vaguely, helplessly caught in Mr Honk’s eyes. Wives was all he could think to say, but that seemed rude.

“Oh I see…” Lady Walker-Browning started to say, looking pertly from Chunder to Honks and back again. Miss Fawcett-Winthrop tapped her with a fan.

“Hush, Honey,” she said.

“But dear Chunny and Mr Honks…” Honey began.

“Are very good friends. We know Honey. Shhh,” Lady Carstairs said.

“I...would you do me the honour of dancing with me?” Mr Honks said, tearing his eyes from Chunder’s at last, and bowing to Lady Carstairs.

“Oh Lord, no,” Lady Carstairs said. “But perhaps you can assist Lord Chunder. He has a philosophical conundrum he wishes to discuss and I’ve had far too much wine.”

Lord Chunder didn’t know what either of those words meant, but felt grateful to Poppy all the same.

“If you would accompany me to my breakfast room for a moment,” he said. “I would like to clear my head. It is infernally hot in here.”

Poppy went on tip-toe for a moment and kissed Chunder on the cheek. Then she gave him a small shove and turned back to her friends.

“Come,” she said. “I have just seen the officers of the Rutshire regiment arrive. We shall have larks now!”

Mr Honks followed Chunder silently to the breakfast room nearby. Chunder closed the door and turned to his friend.

“I cannot help but think I shall not make a good husband to any of these ladies,” Mr Honks said, looking pensive.

“I don’t know why you want to be part of the ton anyway,” Chunder said. “We’re all such awful shits. And none of us pay our bills, so we won’t make you richer.”

“But without being part of it, I have no call to associate with those of my friends who have become very dear to me,” Mr Honks said. He looked down at his perfectly manicured fingernails and Lord Chunder could not be sure of his expression.

“Mr Honks?” Chunder said. He felt his friend was trying to tell him something of great importance, but he could not quite allow himself to hope.

“Well I mean you, of course,” Honks said.

Chunder’s heart leapt. “We are very dear friends. Indeed I have never had a dearer,” he said immediately. “And yet you see, it is more than that. I wish to see you every day. Your friendship is more precious to me than any notions of station, or title or even reputation. If the Prince himself told me to renounce your company, I would defy him. I hope I make myself plain. And...I hope that you return even a fraction of my feeling, for that would be enough.”

Mr Honks looked up at him, his handsome face a picture of relief and affection.

“Not a fraction,” he said. “But all.”

And Chunder, his heart beating a relieved tattoo in his chest, grasped both Mr Honk’s fine-boned wrists and pulled him close.

“Buy my family estate,” he said. “The title with it. I have just lately received news that my brother had bankrupted us, and I’d be so vastly obliged to you, I can hardly say.”

“Lord Chunder,” Mr Honks said, in great surprise. “Can you mean it?”

“I have never meant anything more sincerely,” Chunder said.

“But an estate is a great responsibility. Could...could you perhaps be prevailed upon to manage it for me?” said Honks, his tone light, but his face full of hope.

“My dear friend,” Chunder said, his throat tight with emotion. “Of course I can.”

“Then, nothing would give me greater pleasure,” Honks said, pressing close and tilting his face up in invitation.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” Chunder said joyfully, his heart swelling.

“Well I rather think you ought,” Mr Honks said. And then didn’t say anything else for quite some time, until Chunder had finished pressing him against the breakfast room sideboard and kissing him until he felt drunk from it. Things began to get a little more frantic as Chunder got Honks legs apart and hitched him against the wall, and then they were frotting together, Honks giving the most devastating little moans of pleasure, until they managed to knock a small glass figurine off a side table.

“Oh!” They broke off and both bent to pick it up. Some blasted thing of his Aunt’s no doubt. They held it between them, Chunder stroking his thumb across Honk’s knuckles.

“I hardly dare believe that this is going to happen,” Honks said, his eyes soft. “That this togetherness shall be my reality.”

“We are meant to be together, in any reality,” Chunder said, his heart full. “Mr Honks...oh Good Lord!


Chunder and Honks are flying in space
(Yes friends, it's another AU)
Chunder's a sentient spaceship
And Honks has a place on the crew
Chunder is not the smartest AI
He sometimes forgets minor things
Like holding steady gravity fields
Who knew humans didn't have wings?
Honks finds himself charmed by Chuns
He's a friendly, tolerant bloke
Who's happy to spend his free time
With a ship that makes ersatz coke


Lieutenant Honks was manning the bridge alone again—it was a quiet shift—and the USS Chunder was flying like a dream, despite the first hour of Honk’s shift involving a meteor shower. Chunder still felt his sensors buzzing from it, even though he’d known he was in the safest of hands.

“You’re quiet,” Honks said. “You don’t like meteors much, do you?”

No, Chunder agreed. My sensors aren’t fast enough.

“They’re fucking great sensors, mate,” Honks said reassuringly. “You just need a kick-arse bridge bunny to help you use them. Luckily, you got me.”

Lucky, Chunder agreed. Honks was his favourite Lieutenant. Nothing fazed him, and when Chunder did careless things like letting the gravity fluctuate in the mess during dinner, or got too close to a cool looking alien star ship, Honks would just laugh and help him sort it out. And though Chunder wasn’t the most sensitive AI to aesthetics, he did appreciate the way the Lieutenant looked in his uniform.

Chunder sensed the approach of another crew member. Lieutenant Harrison.

Honks felt Chunder’s judder of annoyance. “What’s up?” he said.

Someone is here to see you, Chunder said. Harrison.

“Oh,” Honks said. He bit his lip. “You know we were…?”

Yes. I see everything.

“Fuck, I always forget that. So you know we…”

With the robotic probe, yes.

“NO, I...oh fuck. You saw that? You saw that. I meant, you know we broke up?” Honks said, a bit flustered.

I was not aware, Chunder said.

“So, could you...get rid of him?” Honks said.

Of course, Chunder said.

Harrison was just pressing his palm to the door lock when Chunder put the bridge on lock-down, sending a petty little shock through the sensor pad. Harrison staggered backwards against the far wall, clutching his hand. Chunder lifted the gravity for a brief moment in the corridor, and Harrison tumbled with a shriek through the doors Chunder had opened for him, slamming them shut behind him.

“Woah,” Honks said. “Thanks Chunder.”

No problem, Chunder replied.

Honks gentled Chunder’s thrusters. “I’m off duty now,” he said. “But can we do the thing?”

We can do The Thing, agreed Chunder. Return to your cabin.

Honks handed over swiftly to the next shift: Lieutenant’s Carstairs and Walker-Browning, and Lieutenant Commander Fawcett-Winthrop. Then he almost ran back to his cabin.

Honks took off his uniform, leaving on only his undershirt and shorts, and waited excitedly as USS Chunder secured the doors.

Check the communication tube.

Honks yanked it open. “Mate!” he said, his face lighting up when he saw the small package of powder.

You’re welcome. Mate, Chunder replied. Are you ready?

“Hang on,” Honks said, expertly cutting himself two lines and snorting them quickly. “Good to go.”

Gravity field cabin 111 deactivated. Gravity to re-engage at 0100 hours.

Honks gave a wild whoop as the gravity lifted at the same moment the purest of synthetic coke hit his bloodstream.

“Oh wow,” he babbled as he tumbled around the room. “Mate. This is fucking legendary. You’re a fucking legend.

In response, Chunder flooded the cabin with white, sparkling light and Honks sighed with happiness, lost in drugged bliss.

“Chunder, I hope I get to spend the rest of this mission with you,” Honks said, floating lazily on his back an hour later.

And I you, Chunder said.

“And maybe the mission after that,” Honks ventured.

All missions. Always, the USS Chunder replied.

“That would be perfect,” Honks said. “You’re perfect.” He executed a slow back flip for emphasis.

So are you, Chunder said, and the cabin flooded with soft pink light before he could prevent it.

Something rattled in the communication tube.

“Looks like someone’s fucking around with 3-D messaging again,” Honks said, floating over to examine it. “What’s this?” He tried to remove a glass figurine which had jammed there.

This is not in my manifest, Chunder said. Be careful

“Is it alien?”

Chunder tried to examine it. It is not from our reality he concluded. He wished his protocols had more details on what happened when you went through too many wormholes. He just fucking loved the feeling of going through wormholes. But it probably had consequences.

I will attempt to send it back. Hold it up.

Honks grinned, still very high. He held the figure up.

“Don’t send me back with it, will you,” he said. “I love this reality. Our reality. It’s….oh, oh what the fuck!


But now light dawns for Chunder and Honks
Though more for Honks than for Chunder
He gets why Chunny's been acting weird
He sees the strain Chunny's been under


They stared at each other, blinking.

“Let’s get out of this fucking house,” Honks managed, dropping the glass figurine like it had bitten him.

They did. Chunder’s head was a fucking mess, quite frankly. Had he taken ket? He didn’t think he had, but fuck knows at this point. They made it out of a side door and into a little paved garden.

Honks sat down suddenly on a cast iron bench.

“I should go in,” he said. “You were going home, weren’t you? Don’t drive.”

Chunder reached out and circled Honk’s forearm with one of his giant paws. “Just wait a sec,” he said. Honks looked up at him.

“Can we sort this out?” Chunder said.

“Is there anything to sort out?” Honks said. Chunder hated the way Honks looked when he said it. Hated that it was his fault Honk’s looked like that.

“Yes,” he said. There’s everything, he wanted to say, but his thoughts were all over the bloody place. We’re meant to be. Don’t you know? It’s what the universe wants!

He just wished the universe would give him the right words to fix it.

“I’m really sorry for being an epic fucking arsehole, Honkers,” he said at last.

Honks said nothing. Just waited, staring at Chunder.

“I’ve been a massive fuck up. I don’t even know what I was thinking. I just...I miss you,” Chunder finished up, hopelessly.

“So it’s ‘let’s be friends’ then, is it?” Honks said, and Chunder thought, yeah. He’d take that, if it was going. If that was the only option. But then he thought of Harrison’s arm around Honk’s shoulder, and Honk’s arm around Harrison’s waist, and Harrison’s stupid fucking shirt-defeating abs, and...

Actually, fuck that.

“Come home with me,” Chunder said. Honks gave a snort of exasperation.

“No—listen. I’m wrecked. I had eight jager bombs and two lines of coke off Honey’s arse. And maybe some ket? Not sure about that part. But I need to crash. Can we please go to mine, and not fuck, and then, in the morning…”

He tugged Honks towards him, putting his hands on his waist. “In the morning I’m going to tell you I love you. And then we’re going to have sex that’s better than Freddie Flintoff’s anything.”

What?” Honks managed.

“I’m going to tell you I love you. I’m in love with you. Have been for ages actually but I have an inability to talk about or understand emotions due to being damaged by boarding school.”

Honk’s raised both his eyebrows.

“Poppy,” Chunder explained. “But, yeah. It’s the truth. I’m not telling you now, because I want to do it properly.”

Chunder could have sworn they’d already had this conversation, many times. Hadn’t they? Or they were going to. Either way, they were supposed to be together, that was all.

“I think you just told me, mate,” Honks said, his eyes huge behind his glasses.

“Yeah,” Chunder breathed. “Think I did.” And then Honks smiled.

Chunder couldn’t help but kiss him—first on the nose because, well, he had a really nice nose, but also because Chunder was still pretty drunk and got his aim wrong—and then on his mouth, and that was even better. And then Honks straddled Chunder’s lap and the kissing got really fucking intense, and Honks was making those little moans that Chunder remembered from...somewhere...and for an instance it felt like Honks was wearing uniform or...or...Jesus, were they floating?

“Mmmm. Fuck,” said Honks, coming up for air, eyes impossibly dark. Chunder thudded back to this reality.

“Shit. I’d better go and break up with Harpenden,” Honks said, leaning away.

“Harrison,” Chunder said. “But you’ll come back? Like, ten minutes?”

“Five.” Honks smiled his crooked, cute, heart-melting smile. “Promise.” He kissed Chunder again, lingeringly, and Chunder felt so floored with lust that there was a chance his legs might never work again.


“And just so you know,” Honks murmured, giving Chunder’s bottom lip a gentle bite and sending shivers all over him. “Tomorrow morning I’m going to tell you I love you too. Alright?”

Chunder felt a strange, existential shift in his universe—and many other universes besides—as the fact that Honks loved him settled into this reality. G-force and deja vu. Everything was as it should be and how it always had been at the same time.

“Alright,” he said, looking at his immutable, beautiful reality in the shape of his legend of a best friend. He grinned. “Yes. That is very fucking much alright.”