It’s a bit awkward, trying to get off when there’s a being from Planet Who The Fuck Knows using your body like one of those tiny-living houses. Meaning: it’s a bit awkward trying to get off when you’re being watched at all times. But honestly, this is the first time Larry has allowed himself to feel turned on by something in six decades, so the Negative Spirit is going to have to deal. He tries not to think about it.
He also didn’t think he was still capable of - you know, having an orgasm - until stupid sexy Flex came along and... came. Along. He had to do that to Larry, he just had to. Yes, he knows it was an accident, it wasn’t Flex’s fault, but… jesus , he can’t stop thinking about it. His first orgasm in sixty years. How romantic, how intensely romantic.
This is also Larry’s first time allowing himself to think about another man while getting off - probably ever. Even when he was—-
Even before the accident, he never allowed himself to imagine. He only allowed himself to touch. Now, however, after his development and growth, after finding shreds of self-acceptance (mere shreds, but ), he decided to steal Cliff’s beaten up laptop and…. he’s not exactly sure what his plan after stealing the laptop was, but he’ll figure it out.
Well. It’s unbearable.
He goes to the home screen — Google.com — and his hands shake, tremble, tremor as he types in naked men on video.
First result: The Naked Truth Of Male Body Image.
Not exactly what he’s looking for; he wants a different kind of male body image.
He scrolls down a bit.
Naked men discuss body hair. No. Naked men visit a museum in Italy. No. Ohio man robs a QT while naked. No. Jesus, no. Come on.
None of this is what he wants, none of this is what he needs.
Larry knows what he has to type.
He can’t bring himself to actually type the word porn, so he types in gay p…… and selects the first suggested search that comes up---which, thank god, is gay porn.
It brings him to the gay section of a website called pornhub.com.
Part of him — well, most of him — is intimidated by it. The very thought of watching two men that he doesn’t even know have sex. It’s…. incredibly hot, but also incredibly embarrassing, and he still isn’t 100% sure his dick even works like that now; that could’ve just been Muscle Magic making him come, not his actual body working to make him come.
Oh. God. He’s thinking about it again. He turns on the first video he can find, watches intently. It all seems so… fake, Larry thinks, there is no genuine passion, and then: god, how fucking old am I, it’s porn, of course it’s fake, and his dick is still very very much not doing what it’s supposed to do when you watch porn.
He closes his eyes, listens to the noises—-the moaning, the begging—-even pictures himself receiving, being fucked hard and good and touched everywhere, everywhere, finally having someone to touch, but it’s still —- nothing is happening.
He’s about to give up, when—
“Uh, Larry. You forgot headphones, bud.”
Shit, shit, fuck, shit, every swear word in the world is rushing through his mind, because that’s Flex’s voice and Flex Mentallo, who is now at the manor for some reason, knows he is watching porn, and his life is absolutely one hundred percent over. No one was supposed to be here—
Now he’s hard.
He doesn’t know what to say, so he just. Slams the laptop closed, but the noise doesn’t stop. Fuck fucking Cliff for breaking this. The moaning is still audible; slightly glitching, but still very audible. No matter how hard he bangs on the laptop, he cannot get it to stop.
“Hey, everything okay in there? Hope I didn’t scare you.”
He finally gets the laptop to shut up by thrashing it against a wall. It must be an incredibly concerning noise, because—
For some unknown reason, Flex Mentallo decided to walk in on someone who he has every reason to suspect is naked and getting off—-and Larry thanks every God in existence that he decided to wait on taking off the bandages. Flex has both doors open.
So this is his life now, huh.
“What the fuck?” he says, an instinctive response. “I mean—-just—-next time, ask before you do that, unless you want to die.”
Flex laughs. Larry cannot tell if it’s because he genuinely thinks Larry is funny, or if he’s trying to make the situation less horrible.
“I’m not joking.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I have a flex for that, anyway. Sorry for walking in on you, I just heard the banging and thought something was wrong.”
“It’s fine.” He pauses, takes in the words. “You have a flex for… what, exactly?”
“Radiation immunity!” Flex beams, inappropriately happy. This really isn’t the time. “I flex the soleus and it keeps me safe for…. twenty four hours, I think? A while.”
“You really can do anything, can’t you?”
Flex is staring at him now - right at his waist, in a spot that reveals everything, everything about Larry’s feelings, everything. Larry can feel himself begin to wish he was capable of dying, because this is the most humiliating day of his life and he’ll never be able to function after this is over.
“Uh,” Flex says. “Yeah, uh. Basically.”
“Great,” Larry says. “Please forget that this happened.”
“I have a flex for that too—”
“Just go,” Larry says. “Please.”
Flex nods, turns to the door, but turns back around moments later; his expression has changed. Intrigue, now. Hope.
“You know,” he says. “I can do it again, if you want.”
“Flex the muscle that made you c—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
Yeah, Larry is officially dead, or: he will be if he ever hears Flex say the word come.
“Sorry. I must have—-I read the situation wrong. I’ll go.”
Now he just feels like an asshole, which is not the outcome he was hoping for today.
“Wait,” Larry says. He stands up, hates himself for standing up. “Only if you want to.”
“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to,” Flex says. He turns once again, approaches Larry, whispers you deserve to feel good, and. And. And. Larry can feel himself melt, embarrassingly, right under Flex’s gaze, as he pulls Larry closer, closer, until they are against one another and Larry can’t take it anymore.
“No,” he says. “Not like this.” He wants to be touched, he wants to live.
Larry is trying a new thing he’s heard of called Being Brave. “Do you really have a muscle for radiation immunity?”
Flex smiles. Beams again, beautiful. “Yes,” he says. “I do.”