Too Sweet Pt. 01

Author's Note - Hi! This is fully written but it is LONG. I'm going to break it into roughly 20k word chunks to make it easier to manage. So expect four total once it all gets approved.

This includes both f/m and m/m scenes. There isn't a bi category on Literotica, and there are more straight scenes than gay ones, so it's here in the Romance category. It also features some light BDSM later on - no dubcon or noncon, though. So be aware but don't worry ;).

Trigger warnings - discussions of domestic violence (not perpetrated by any main character), self harm, substance abuse, suicidal ideation, negative self talk, and mental illness. I try to handle these topics with care, but please remember that these are characters talking about themselves. They are not always going to be as careful with their language as I would be talking about mental illness in any other context. If you find any of it too hard to read, please click off and know I have no hard feelings <3

If you are or someone you know is struggling call or text 988 for the Suicide Lifeline in the US. For other countries, dial your local emergency number for local resources. Take care of yourselves!

1

Kit

Objectively speaking, the music was too loud. It was past the point of comfort, edging into pain, but I left it on. The words became incomprehensible. The familiar riff of an old song was lost in the volume. Only the beat remained, vibrating through my chest until it felt like the sound came from my own lungs.

The windows were down and, again objectively speaking, it was far too cold and wet for the breeze to be enjoyable. The damp air carried with it the oily, caustic smell of a wet road. I breathed it in, anyway, looking for something intangible in whipping winds.

The blue lights behind me were enough to shake me from my attempt at a self-induced trance. I flicked the radio off and tapped the hazards on. My ears rang almost as loudly as the music, but now my lungs felt empty without the pound of the drums and bass to fill them. I didn't take the time to wonder if I should be feeling anything other than empty as I pulled off to the side of the highway.

The officer took his time. In my experience, they always did. I wonder, sometimes, if it was a power play or if there really was some kind of pre-confrontation paperwork they had to do before ruining someone's day. I rummaged through oil change receipts and parking garage claim tickets for my registration. I was still digging in the glove box when the officer tapped on the roof of the car for my attention.

"Hi, um, sorry, I'm looking for the..." I trailed off uncertainly. The reflection of my own face in the man's mirrored sunglasses was warped, all rounded edges and bulging eyes. The face in his lenses sported a strained, polite smile and suspiciously damp cheeks. I wiped at my face in irritation.

"Your registration?" The officer prompted.

"Yeah," I tried to shake myself back into action. That emptiness in my chest was creeping to my brain. I felt another tear leak down my cheek as I forced my hands to start sorting through the papers again.

"Ma'am? Do you know how fast you were driving?"

I finally found the green bit of paper that proved I paid the car loan on the car that was actually owned by some sketchy online loan mill. I held it out to the officer along with my license and noted with growing frustration that my hands were shaking.

"How... fast?" I looked at the speedometer. It sat on zero, of course, and offered no help. "I don't know."

"85. Do you know the speed limit here?"

"75?" I chanced. I drove this road every day. That should not have been a guess.

The officer raised a disapproving eyebrow above his mirrored glasses, "No. It's 70." He finally took the documents from my shaking fingers. "Wait here. I'll be back in a moment."

I rested my forehead against my steering wheel while the officer went back to his car. I felt a lump in her throat and dug my fingernails into my wrist hard enough to bring more tears to my eyes until the lump faded.

...

"Kit," the voice I wanted to hear the least called my name as I tried to sneak into the office. Connie, the branch manager of this little slice of hell, had once had a prestigious job as the director of HR of one of the major factories in Monroe before the recession committed its quiet assassination of our small city. She now managed our branch of a struggling staffing company with all the bitterness of a woman who had lost her 401K, her job, and any shreds of human decency remaining in her black soul in one foul swipe.

"You're late. Again," she said.

"Yes, I'm sorry. I had some, um, car trouble. It won't happen again," I lied both about the reason I was late and the very obvious fact that I would surely be late again, very likely later that same week. For as much as I would like to pretend to be the unfairly maligned hero of this story, I knew even then that I was well into my prolonged freefall into failure.

"Hm," Connie pursed her lips, looking like a woman about to demand to speak to my manager. I bit the inside of my cheek to keep the unhinged giggle in my heart and out of the audible range of the office. "I need you to go to Tech tonight and recruit some graduating mechanics."

I smiled and nodded, trying to project an air of enthusiasm that was beyond me even in my happiest moments. Connie arched an eyebrow at me, but graciously let my bad acting go.

...

I carried an armload of applications through the meager lobby of the local tech campus. It had seen much better days. It was once hard to get in, or so I was told. There was a wait list you had to get on well before your senior year in high school if you hoped to go into vocational training right after. That was when Monroe as a town was still a booming industrial gem.

But that was a long time ago.

I waited outside of a class barely one-third full of hopeful mechanics in hopes of convincing a few to at least take an application home.

It was late. I had stayed late in the office trying fruitlessly to fill a last minute order for some minimum wage laborers to work a one-off overnight shift. No one wanted that bullshit work but it was my ass that would be chewed tomorrow over it. My feet ached in my cheap high heels. I shifted my weight back and forth, hoping for some relief but finding none. I sat on the repurposed church pew that served as a bench on the wall. It wasn't any more comfortable than my Wal-Mart heels but at least I could close my eyes against the buzzing fluorescent bulbs overhead.

"Excuse me?"

Oh, no.

"Hi, are you waiting for someone?"

The concerned face of a handsome man came into focus. He was tall and athletically built, with stained but clean jeans, and a baseball hat with a Titans logo on it choking on a mop of dark curls. He was tanned and muscular in a way I would likely have paid more attention to if I wasn't on the verge of a full panic attack. He and I looked about the same age, so a bit older than the age of most students in this class.

I checked my watch. It was two hours later than when I sat on the bench.

"Oh, no. Oh, oh, no." I gasped and jumped up. My ass chewing tomorrow was starting to look a lot worse. "Is everyone gone?"

The kind young man looked towards the door where the chattering remains of the class was leaving for the night.

"Oh, um, I'm Kit Clark from, uh," I fumbled a stack of business cards and watched in dismay as they fluttered to the floor. The man stooped to pick them up before I could even move. He kept one for himself and handed the rest back with a concerned smile. He studied my card for a moment while I thanked him.

"Kit Clark from Skill Group," he supplied for me.

"Right, um, I was hoping to talk to the class about some upcoming opportunities I am recruiting for," I looked around for my forgotten stack of paper and scooped it up from the bench. "But, uh, I guess I missed my chance."

"I can take them to class next week," the man offered. "If that would help?"

"Oh my god, that would help so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

He seemed embarrassed by my enthusiasm. "It's no trouble. Really, it's ok."

"Would you be interested? It's a contract position with the possibility of permanent placement after six months. My client is looking for mechanics and CNC machinists," I asked hopefully.

"I'm sorry. I'm already signed on with another company with a position that starts in July," he told me. He was even decent enough to act regretful.

"Oh, congratulations!" I answered brightly. It sounded fake to me, too. "Can you tell me which company?"

"LaborFast. They were in here asking on the first day of class," he shrugged a little awkwardly.

"Yeah, that was smart," I sighed. "Could you maybe just fill out an application, anyways? I swear I won't call you. Just put a fake number? Just, um, ah, fuck." I wondered if coming into the office with just one application would be better or worse than empty handed with a growing sense of dread.

"Are you ok?" He looked so uncomfortable. I would definitely be uncomfortable in his shoes.

"Yeah. Yes, I'm fine. Sorry, a little groggy from that nap," I laughed stupidly like I'd made a joke. My new friend was kind enough to laugh along. "Anyways, have a good night!"

I rushed out before I made myself look worse. I wondered how that stupid conversation would come back to bite me while I climbed into my semi-reliable car. I hoped he was too kind to connect my business card to my dumb desperation.

I lived in one of those apartments that only a desperate introvert would live in. Someone taller than me could have stood in the middle and touched both walls. My bed was about three steps from the kitchen counters and claimed the proud title of being the only piece of soft furniture in my home. The rest of the floor space was taken up by a tiny two person table and as many bookshelves as I could fit in the room. If I felt the need, I maybe could have scrambled eggs while taking a shit in the joke of a closet that passed for a bathroom. But, leaving out Richard, the cat who didn't belong to me but who slipped through my window at night, I didn't have any roommates. I worked so much I only used it to sleep so it worked out just fine.

I dropped my keys on the counter while fishing for a beer in my fridge. There weren't any beers to be found. I felt my breath hitch in my throat.

"No. No you will not cry over this you stupid fucking failure," I growled loudly enough that my neighbors probably wondered who I was verbally abusing and where I might fit them in my closet of an apartment. Tears leaked down my cheeks anyways.

The floor seemed clean enough to sit on so I sank down with my back to the refrigerator door. The warm exhaust blew out the bottom and heated my back. I sat there for a while wallowing in my self pity.

I rooted through my cabinets in hopes of finding some liquor stashed somewhere. Might as well start self-medicating so hitting rock bottom wouldn't hurt so much, right? I climbed up on the counter to reach those useless cabinets over the fridge and was rewarded with a small collection of tiny flavored vodkas left over from a bachelorette party I attended long ago, back when I was still pleasant enough to be around. I took a chance on the orange flavored bottle. The shot burned all the way from my teeth to my gut but it didn't calm the storm brewing in my chest.

I was tired. Just way too tired. That seemed like a reasonable enough answer. Bed. I would go to bed and, in the morning, this would be manageable. I twisted the top off another bottle and gulped it without looking. Ugh, birthday cake. Gross. Who is actually out there looking for cheap vodka that tastes like fake vanilla and butter flavored cooking spray? I coughed and gagged on the disgusting burn but I finished off the little bottle, anyways.

I flipped off the lights and climbed into bed still in my office clothes and clutching the remaining two bottles. I tried to think of the worst possible outcome. I had heard that once in many of the useless therapy sessions I had paid too much money for. 'Imagine the worst possible outcome and you'll see that it really isn't all that bad!' That didn't help but the vodka on an empty stomach kind of did. I opened one of the remaining pair and sniffed it cautiously. That birthday cake had me a bit gun shy. Cherry. I sat up with my eyes firmly closed to force down a shot that reminded me somewhat warmly of taking cough syrup as a kid.

When the numb feeling settled into my cheeks and ears, I opened my window for Richard and curled up to sleep. It didn't work. I lay awake with the room spinning around me until the buzz wore down into nausea and pain as the sun rose. I opened the email app on my phone, sent a perfunctory note to Connie claiming to be sick, and finally let the exhaustion take me out of consciousness.

...

My situation seemed no better after a few more hours of sleep. The three missed calls from Connie didn't help. I stared at the screen until my phone rang again. The screen lit up to flash the name "Connie - Work" while the speaker blurted out a snippet of music composed exclusively to alert cell phone users of incoming calls. I winced and picked it up.

"H-hello..?" I tried to sound groggy.

"Kit. Where are you?" Connie snapped.

"I emailed you this morning," I groaned with borderline overboard drama. "Connie, I'm really sick. I've been up sick all night. You don't want me there, trust me."

"You have orders rolling in! I need to fill thirteen no-skill positions at Alta Plastics. Who do you have ready?" She sounded frantic. I took some pleasure in that before stealing myself for her coming fury.

"I gave all my readys to Marina yesterday. Amber had an orientation today so she should have some to spare." I took a moment to swallow hard and clear my throat loud enough for Connie to hear.

"You don't have any readys?" Connie growled softly.

"I gave them all to Marina. So no. You could ask Marina if she has any ready," I tried.

"You are supposed to be interviewing at minimum thirty a week! That should give you at least twenty!" There it was. Connie's shouting was loud enough to make my ears ring.

"Connie, I need to go," I gagged audibly, "I really can't stay on the phone." My performative gagging was actually making me a bit nauseated. That might have been the stress of talking to Connie, though.

"We will talk about this tomorrow!"

"Ok, bye," I gasped out and made my best dry-heaving noise I could manage before ending the call. I was shaking. My mouth felt wet and wrong. Sweat on my neck made me shiver. I thought I might actually be sick.

I sat on the floor and leaned forward until my head rested on the linoleum to wait for the feeling to pass.

...

Teddy

I wasn't looking to date anyone until I finished school. Between working just short of full time running a forklift around a local warehouse and maintaining the A average goal I had set for myself in school, I really didn't have time.

So I wasn't trying to date this adorable temp agent I met when I filled out her application and pressured all my classmates into doing the same at our next class. I was just being my usual, helpful self.

It didn't matter that Kit Clark had messy auburn hair escaping from the very professional looking bun on the back of her head or that she had curled up like a cat, fitting her entire, tiny body into the corner of the hard wooden bench. I definitely didn't notice her freckles or the way she blushed when I woke her up.

I was absolutely not falling into the same old pattern of finding someone I wanted to protect. Nope. I didn't notice how helpless and how upset she had been at the prospect of not getting any applications.I was just being friendly. Definitely that was all.

My roommates noticed. I was staring at the TV screen and holding a controller, but Ira was soundly wiping the board with me. Foster plucked the controller from my hands mid-game to give Ira a real challenge.

"Earth to Teddy?" Ira said after Foster soundly beat him. Ira was pale in every sense of the word. He kept his white blond hair buzzed at the sides and long enough on top to flop over his icy gray eyes. Something about those weirdly pale eyes felt a little alien. We had known each other since we were children. We considered each other to be family.

"Dude, who did you meet?" Foster asked. Foz and I met much later than Ira and I. He owned the house we rented rooms in and generally acted as a gruff but kind older brother to the two of us. The first word that came to mind when you met Foster was "big". He was tall in a way that seemed illegal, and broad everywhere. His only hobby outside of video games was the gym and his workouts were all boxing and lifting heavier than seemed human.

"I'm not dating right now," I reminded them. "I have school."

"Uh huh," Ira nodded. "And his name is?"

"I didn't meet a guy," I said evasively. Sometimes being bi could be useful.

"So her name is?" Foster pressed.

"I don't even really know her," I said. "Just a cute temp agent. I don't have time to date. I'm just helping her out with some applications."

"Oh, you're helping her?" Ira scoffed. "That's a surprise. Ted is going out of his way to help someone and he's definitely not going to fall for her. Got it."

"I'm not-" I started, but Ira's phone beeped and he held up a hand to stop me.

"Did Ben break up with Darius?" he asked with a slow grin spreading on his face.

"Like two weeks ago, yeah," I confirmed. Monroe was a weird, small place for the LGBTQ scene. We all knew or dated each other at some point. It was a little different for me. There were plenty of gay men who wouldn't bother with me once they heard that I was bi. Then again, there were plenty of straight women who felt about the same. Ben, one of my best friends and a long ago boyfriend, and Ira enjoyed their own on again, off again thing. "Is he just now texting you?"

"Ah, fuck yeah," Ira hopped up and looked around. "I don't guess I can convince you two to get the fuck out?"

"Ben lives alone! Go there!" Foster shouted.

"Pretty rude to invite myself over," Ira said and rolled his eyes.

"Ay, dios mío. Just go. He texted you for exactly the reason you're going over there," I pointed out.

"Later losers!" Ira said and headed for the door.

"So, tell me about your cute temp agent?" Foster chuckled.

...

Ben

Ira and I weren't dating. Sure, we liked each other just fine. We had been friends for as long as I could remember. We just weren't very good together as boyfriends.

He and I had tried it for a bit right out of highschool. We hid it from Ted for a while. It seemed like it would be weird for him with me being his ex and Ira practically his brother, but that dopey himbo was ecstatic when he caught us on one of the few actual dinner dates we ever tried. We fought a lot. Let's go out. Let's stay in. Who was that guy? Why don't you make time for me? Blah blah blah. Just petty, stupid stuff because, realistically, we weren't compatible.

We were, however, excellent fuckbuddies.

Ira had me pinned to the wall in my apartment and I was desperately trying to keep it down. Last thing I needed was another noise complaint. That was hard with Ira's hands pulling at my shirt and his mouth locked to my neck.

"Don't you fucking dare give me a hickey," I hissed at him. Ira chuckled, but he didn't answer. Well, fuck. That meant he'd already done it.

He stepped back to move us from the doorway to the living room and smirked up at me. He was shorter than me, but he worked out like it was a second job to sculpt his lean muscles and broad shoulders into something that dwarfed my slim build.