So this came in the mail yesterday from the glorious euphorbic. I’ve been told to warn against possible Strict Machine spoilers, but let’s be serious, it’s a must-read. So please do so if you have yet to.
So without further ado, here’s this lil postcard ficlet of joy!
* * *
The itching had gotten to a point Erik could no longer ignore. It wasn’t the agonizing burn and itch of road rash, but the wet itch of suffocating skin under plaster. He’d attempted to relieve it by shoving various implements under the hard shell (toothbrushes, pens, chopsticks from takeout) but he stopped when he realized the hydrocodone had helped prevent him from noticing when he drew blood. That was his limit; it had to stop.
It was Friday, about an hour before Charles would show up and Erik had enough time to get out to the garage and back to the couch. He took another painkiller and wrenched himself out of bed.
In the wash of agony Erik lost track of time and progress. With Alex out, he had freedom to snarl, curse, and sound like he was hyperventilating from pain. But he made it to the garage and collapsed on a stool with his circular saw. The plaster made a terrific mess as the saw’s teeth tore into it. He was halfway down the cast on his right arm when the garage door opened and Charles walked in.
"There’s an exhibit of 20th century Japanese art at the—" Charles’ face went pale, his eyes wide. "Erik! What the (omg what does this say!?)"
Erik finished the cut just as Charles pulled the cord, but Charles looked much less impressed than Erik thought he should. “It was itching.”
"So you decided to scratch it with a saw?"