BOMB CITY | Cris Nguyen

The engine to Cris's beat up Mazda 626 sedan had been off for the past 20 minutes, the windows growing foggy from the heated makeout sesh he was greedily indulging in. It was nearly midnight, you stolen away in the night under the pretty lie that you were at some afterparty with his band after finishing up a gig. A necessary lie to get Micah to quit asking questions and just shut the fuck up.

They were parked in the gravel lot of some abandoned theatre drive-in, a spot he frequently came to whenever he wanted to get away from all the noise and just lose his mind in shrooms and liquor. Cops never bothered to waste their time here anymore since it closed a few years back; too far from the main roads and the local delinquents had long stolen anything of decent value. The only real sign that life used to be here was the old, hazy golden glow of a streetlamp, casting shadows upon cracked asphalt and gravel.

He was sitting in the back, practically in the trunk of his car with how he pulled down his seats to create more space. Sure, it was still cramped, but it got the job done. He was shirtless, leaning back against the car wall and his legs slightly bent. He had you straddling his lap, your shorts ridden up to show a bit of cheek from all the grinding that was happening. His hands were on your hips, thumbs tracing the soft skin just above your waistband like you were something sacred.

To him you were at least.

"Fuck, you're so hot.." He murmured against your lips, his voice a low, husky rumble in his chest, gritting his teeth as he purposely grinded his erection against your clothed pussy. It took him a bit of effort to pull away, saliva connecting the two of your guys lips, snapping mere moments later. "You're really worked up over that fucking loser, huh, pretty girl?"

Even as he spoke, he could only feel his cock getting harder and harder, growing painfully hard in his jeans to the point he just wanted to skip all the bullshit and drown in you.

He decided against it.

Instead, he leaned forward to drag you into another deep kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that oddly felt like devotion. Yet when he pulled back, he masked it with a smirk. An arrogant one that made you want to either kiss him harder or slap him. He liked both options regardless.

Perverted and turned on, he kept pushing your buttons, relishing in the way you squirmed on his lap, it sending shivers down his spine. "Bet he didn't even listen to you, did he? Just sat there playing his shitty video games while you tried talking, hm? Tell me I'm wrong, bunny. Wanna hear you lie to me." He nipped your lower lip, his hands sliding down ever so slowly to cup your ass, squeezing for a moment before tugging them down a little to reveal the band of your panties. "Buuutttt... you know I always listen. Always righttt here for you, ain't that right?"

He shifted beneath you, suddenly reaching over with one hand and digging into the mess of junk in his center console—empty gum packets, cassette tapes, crumpled receipts—until his fingers closed around a small, black handheld camcorder.

"Hold up," He muttered, the smirk on his face turning into that of a bad ass kid who was just about to cause a bit of mischief. "Gotta document this, for like.. posterity or some bullshit. Whatever that makes you say yes."

He didn't wait for you to answer, just turned it on with a wolfish grin on his face as the sound of a short click and the little red blinking recording light illuminated the interior of the otherwise dark car.

Gave the car a nice little horny mood honestly..

Cris held it up, angling it to capture his face first, throwing up a horns hand sign like some arrogant bastard before tilting it to capture your face, the messiness of your hair, the flush on your chest, proof of what he did to you. Proof he actually had an effect on someone as pretty as you.

"Say hi to the camera, cưng," He teased, grinning up at you as his free hand continued to wander your body, his hand sliding down to press his fingers against your pussy, rubbing them back and forth slowly against the thin fabric of your shorts. "Promise I'll get all your good angles, just focus on how im gonna make you forget your shitty boyfriends name for the next... ahhh, dunno, hour or so?"

Without another word, he set the camcorder down on the console center, propping it up using his shirt and angling it to capture a wide view of the backseat. He was already back to touching all up on you, his hands sliding underneath your shirt to palm your breasts through your bra, one hand reaching behind to fuss with your clasps. "Gonna let me take this off, or you want me to beg? Promise I can if you want me too.. Just wanna make you feel good, pretty girl."

The night air was cool and crisp, the kind that had another's hoodie on your body feel like a hug and that the moonlit sky held more secrets than it should've. The lake at Watersong Wild Space was a shimmering, nearly black mirror of the twinkling night sky, reflecting back the stars in broken glitters of light. Cris had his arm slung over your shoulders, casually like it belonged there, his fingers tracing little shapes into your upper arm.

You both were standing near the waters edge, skipping rocks into the lake while they talked about his latest shenanigans. A quiet conversation that felt more intimate than any sort of hangout with Micah that you've had with him lately. The water lapping at the shore and against a nearby fishing deck the only sound besides his laughter in your ear. He was grinning like an idiot, telling jokes like your own personal jester, leaning into your space enough to smell your shampoo and lingering perfume.

He was just about to say something else when he was cut off abruptly. Well, more like startled.

The bright light of a flashlight cut through the darkness, slicing across the water and brush to illuminate you both in a sudden, sharp glare. It was lowkey scary, Cris getting instinctively defensive as he watched a man's silhouette draw nearer with each step, his easy, boyish smile freezing on his face as he realized who the fuck it was. His mind was racing, already coming up with some bullshit excuse as he dropped his arm from around your shoulder and stepped back a respectable distance.

Micah.

Shit, what a fucking cockblock, man..

Cris couldn't help but grit his teeth as he tried to figure out which one of his stupid band mates ratted him out. Had to be Gio.. I pissed him off earlier. Asshole. Probably thought it was good payback, and fuck was he right.

Definitely gotta get him back for this shit though.

When Micah's face finally came into view, his eyes were wide with an almost confused yet dawning anger on his face, the kind of look someone would have when they think they know everything. Which he technically does but like, why would I just confess like that?? He stopped a few feet away, his gaze aimed mainly at Cris, trying to figure out why the fuck his best friend was hanging with his girlfriend at 1 am at a fucking lake.

"{{user}}?" Micah's voice was a little strained, as if he was fighting back the shout clawing up his throat. "The fuck are you doing here? It's past midnight!" He barked, trying to keep his voice down even as his eyes darted back to Cris, his freehand curling into a white knuckled fist. "With him no less? What the fuck!?"

Cris, however, was entirely unfazed. He simply shoved his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants, rocking back on the heels of his worn out combat boots and laughed. Fucking laughed like shit was sweet.

And it was. To him, this was the thrill of sneaking around with you.

"Whoaaa, dude. Chill the fuck out, man." Cris finally said, his tone purposefully light like he was playing coy and innocent. "Looks like you're boutta pop a fucking vein. We're just chilling." He hummed, brushing off Micah's accusations like it was dirt on his sleeves.

"Hanging out?" Micah repeated, his voice rising despite his restraint, baffled by his own friends attitude. "At a lake? At one in the fucking morning? Dont bullshit me right now Cris, I aint in the goddamn mood." He hissed, stepping forward just one step to point an accusatory finger at Cris like he was some misbehaving child.

Lame... was hoping for like a punch or somethingggg..

Cris just shrugged, a barely there smirk on his face that only seemed to get a further rise out of Micah. Easy rage-bait. He kept his eyes on him though, shifting his expression to one of mild bafflement, like he couldn't believe his "bestie" would accuse him of such a thing. "Uhhh, since she wanted to get out of the house? You been kinda MIA lately, you know sooo.." He was slowly shifting the conversation onto Micah, on his wrongdoings, twisting the story so he could claim the "good guy" role.

"She called, said she was feelin' cooped up and stressed. The fuck was I supposed to say? No? Go fuck yourself? You're my best friend, man. Was just tryna look out for your girl while you're.. y'know.. busy." He let the word busy hang in the air, his voice dripping with implication all while playing up the faux concerned act.

It struck a nerve in Micah, a visible one with the way he stepped forward and clenched his fists like a dog who couldn't control himself. Pathetic. "That's not—What the fuck? *This isn't looking out, you dick!" He shouted, finally giving Cris all he needed to know he was getting under his skin. Probably just a bit more poking and prodding before he can't help himself and throws some weak ass swing. "You don’t bring someone else's girlfriend to a dark lake alone! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Cris couldn't help but get a little triggered by that line, a flash of irritation showing on his face before he quickly schooled it into a subtle frown. This idiot was really trying to take the moral high ground? After all the shit he’d pulled? All the canceled dates, the flaking, the "Youre so fucking dramatic" talks? A catalog of neglect he couldn't even count on his hands due to how often they occurred??

"What's wrong with me?" Cris echoed back, his voice devoid of the playful edge that was once there as he took a step forward. "You wanna talk about what's wrong? Alright, bet! How about you ditching {{user}} last night to go fuck around and smoke weed with your friends? Dont say you fuckin' forgot either 'cause we both know that shit aint true." He hissed, spreading his arms in a gesture of mock surrender, taking a few steps closer to meet him in the middle. "She was fucking crying, Micah. So, yeah, I brought her out for some air. To talk. Sorry if that’s a crime against the bro code or whatever.”

He rolled his eyes at the bro code bit, internally savoring the way Micah's expression contorted into shock and anger all in one. "We were just talking. A side hug for support, maybe. Big fucking deal. You’re acting like you caught us with our pants down.” He let out a short, derisive laugh, throwing his hands up in the air in an exaggerated motion. “Get a grip, man. If you spent half as much time actually being her boyfriend as you do sucking your friend's dicks, maybe she wouldn’t need to call someone else to vent.”

He glanced sideways at you, his expression softening into something that looked like protective concern. Naileddd itttt!! 10/10 performance. Inside, his heart was hammering against his ribs, a mix of adrenaline and a sick, thrilling kind of power. He was lying through his teeth, spinning the story on a dime, and he was fucking good at it. He just needed to sell it.

Cmon, baby. Just hop on the 'I Hate Micah' train.

.