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Piece by piece

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Colin only wanted to get some new cheap-ass razors. He swears. Because what would a guy like him be in the mall for anyway? It's not like he had any desires for an impromptu shopping spree even if he had the money. Which he didn't, you know, and contrary to the popular belief that young, semi-homeless blokes should be depressed about the no-money prospect, he wasn't. He swears on that too. So maybe he wasn't the happiest man alive, but what was happiness anyway - just the other day he saw a quote saying happiness should be spelled hapenis and had a proper snorting fit, followed by an instant surge of compassion for the poor gay sod who wrote that. Colin could relate; cocks weren't really in abundance or just lying around, probably as rare as a fucking Lamborghini in these parts, which made them sort of a commodity. And elevated their status to highly unobtainable, which, yeah, ranked them up there somewhere with money and happiness indeed, so the graffiti kid truly wasn't all that far off with his philosophy.


Colin sighed.


Sometimes, he felt sorry for his own cock. Clearly something you owned shouldn't be considered an uncommon rarity, but to have this piece of equipment that sometimes pleaded with you, or begged you, and then proceeded to scream and sulk, even, at the very end - always in this order without a fault - to just have a heart, god, and let it meet others of its kind, was a complication he wasn't that keen on adding to the list of everything else.

Because semi-homeless cocks weren't something people would really wait in line to see. Or touch. Or anything of that sort.


So yeah. He was only here to buy that stupid razor, because he figured that semi-homeless, full-on beard-faced cocks had even less chance of ever having any hapenis ever again, so Colin was pretty anal (ha) about keeping up appearances. Maybe someday someone will see beneath the colour-uncoordinated clothes (at least they fit!) and his stupid ears and the whole i-don't-have-a-home thing, and ask him out for a drink. To which he'd gladly respond because if there was one thing he needn't worry about, it was the don't drink and drive rule. Right. Colin snorted - he realized he was doing an awful lot of that, lately, but when you're forced to make your own fun, you gotta go with everything you have.

Which was, in his case, not a lot. If he didn't count the just-acquired 4 for 3 razors, the clothes he had on, and few other things he stored in his tiny yellow car (low on petrol but high on enthusiasm) was really all he could call his, and to be quite frank he wasn't sure someone won't come and confiscate the bloody car anyway. Which would be rather unfortunate because then Colin would become the completely-homeless cock and the prospect of ever having any kind of hapenis would surely diminish altogether


He didn't steal the car, if that's what you mean. He found it on the edge of the vehicle demolition site and it seemed someone towed it there to get rid of it, but the thing looked fine to Colin and when he spent the last of his well-earned money (so maybe asking people for money didn't seem like a hard job, but if you count the humiliation part and the long hours acquiring it and still think begging is easy, then Colin would like to see you try) on a few ounces of petrol to drive the thing away to a deserted parking lot by the coast. Maybe he could find a bigger car that'd still work, more space for legs and all that, or one with a big trunk where he could hide when everything just became too much (or he took a little too much of that thing he referred to as Oblivion), but Colin kinda, sorta, maybe possibly fell in love with the round yellow piece of metal.


Because it gleamed in the sun and was in good condition against all odds, and the horn made such a happy sound and not to be vain, or egomaniacal, or see the world through pink goggles, but Colin felt the car was a bit like him, or that he was a bit like it, or at least he strived to be all that, and what better way to stay motivated than living in such quarters?

Anyway. Sometimes he got so excited over his own ideas he felt like he should be the picky one and not be so desperate for just anyone wanting his semi-homeless cock, because clearly one as mentally capable as him shouldn't just take whatever he could get, even if the offers were few and far in between. He may be a semi-homeless cock, but he was a funny one at that, and that, that made all the difference.


He had time to kill, so much of it, really - that's all he truly had enough of, and sometimes he fantasized he was one of the timelords, his own Doctor in a yellow, car shaped Tardis who fought the baddies of the universe with his good spirits, zapping them away with the power of his ears while blasting Yellow submarine from the car radio. 

Also, as a Doctor, he could get cocks without a problem.


It was a good fantasy, one Colin indulged himself with more often than not - what was the harm in it anyway - painting his own reality with tiny little things that gave his life a little more meaning?


So as someone who could control time, he liked to dawdle in the shopping centre. Usually people came to do some window shopping, but since he wasn't looking inside the stores anyway, he called it people shopping. Which, he knows sounds a bit, er, awkward at best and creepy as fuck at worst, but that's what he was doing. He found a nice little unobtrusive and secluded bench, sat down and watched people. He wasn't going to buy anyone, Jesus, but it was kinda mesmerizing - the crowd moving as a mass of its own, bustling and buzzing and while people moved in all sorts of directions, they still seemed like a well-coordinated bunch, an odd dance of side-stepping and avoiding and bumping, and sometimes, Colin singled people out. Sad ones, bored ones, happy ones, busy ones, rich ones, those with weird glasses, those with too many children; sometimes there were people who looked like they have no grasp of their surroundings, and sometimes, some of them glared at him right back. Those were always a particular bunch, because they looked at him in this weird way like they knew - and, what exactly did they know, Colin had no idea, but sometimes he suspected.

Shit, he thought on those occasions. I've been discovered. I've compromised my timelord identity and will have to recharge with another body.

And usually, when those kind of thoughts occurred, he was reminded exactly why his cock was a lonely one. But he refused to change on the principle.


Today he didn't even get to the finding a bench bit, because someone seemed so utterly helpless and lost and frustrated that Colin could feel it from three shops away. Which was kinda odd now that he comes to think about it and he'll definitely need to reconsider this whole it's just a fantasy, you don't actually have any special powers, but he swears he could feel the agitation rolling off of that lone figure, standing a bit to the left of the public toilets and working his lower lip like he was trying to break the world record.

Colin thought it might not be a bad idea to just go and walk by. As a doctor, he could help. Maybe. Just assess the situation and if the prognosis was don't fucking bother, he'll go and do just that. The closer he came, though, it was obvious the bloke shouldn't look as put out as this one did, because in Colin's mind, no one who seemed to be that well-off had any good reason to not prance around like a squirrel on drugs and burst into a song on random occasions. Colin didn't like the rich folk, but hell, even he'd join in on a song if it made the poor sod smile. No one could accuse Colin of not being helpful. Plus, he had a yellow car, he had a reputation to live up to.


But no. This bloke wore jeans that Colin just knew cost more than all his possessions combined and was stupidly well-built and it took honestly less than even that one glance at his pose to know he was one of those who withheld their cock from the less fortunate crowd. One of the Teasers. One of the God gave me all this but you can't have any. And it wasn't even that Colin wanted any of that, but the fact still stood. Still, Colin wouldn't let himself differentiate between people in need, no, he was awesome like that so he just walked by once. And then again. And again.


On his fourth passing, the bloke in question snapped.

"What do you want?"


Ah. Cranky, much? One of those, then, as well.  "Just walking around, you know."

"No, I don't, and could you walk around somewhere else?"

"What, do you own this bit of the floor?"


Mister Richcock opened his mouth like he wanted to continue this weird bickering, but then just looked exasperated. Almost a bit embarrassed as well, Colin thought and wondered if his emotions radar was off, or did loaded, confident people actually have the matrix for insecure present in their genes as well, because this was unheard of and just begged to be examined further.


"I'm in a bit of a situation."



"What could be so awful?"

"I -"


And then Expensivejeans just looked even more embarrassed as before. Colin would be enjoying this if he didn't feel so out of depth - since when did cocky and flustered go well together in any universe?

"Yes?" He prompted, and then wondered if dragging the s out like some weird half-snake half-idiot didn't actually make the matters worse.





And it's not that Colin didn't hear it the first time, he did, it would be impossible not to with ears this big, and the other bloke looked like he really didn't want to repeat what he said, but Colin couldn't help himself. Because seriously, being someone whose car was the most important thing in the world to him, his - if not house, then surely a shelter, his bright, promising place that the world wasn't as fucked up as people believed it to be, his little yellow tin can filled with hopes and dreams and sometimes imaginary buttons and machines for his space travels, and this guy, this idiot here didn't know where his car was? Colin had half a mind to just walk away because there was only so much he could do, or was willing to do with spoiled rich brats, when the other bloke deflated.


"Just forget about it."

"But -"

"I said - "

"How can you not know where your car is?"

"I left it here last night and went clubbing and crashed at my mate's, and now I don't know where it is because it's not where I thought I left it, and why the fuck am I even telling you this?"

"Beats me."


"Want me to help you look?"



The plea threw Colin off, he'll admit. Because he was quite ready to just wave and go because it wasn't as if the bloke couldn't just go down to the nearest car dealership and get a new one, right, but then he looked up at him, lost, and hopeful, and Colin just thought god damn it. God damn it.


"I suppose two pair of eyes is better than one, yeah," he added weakly and followed Puppyeyes out.

They descended a couple of flights of stairs - the old, traditional way, and Colin shot a longing look at the electric ones that stood right there, all alone and begging to be used and damn, he's going to burn all the calories he managed to consume today, thanks a lot, when the other guy, apparently his newly self-appointed working out trainer or something, turned to him.


"I'm Bradley, by the way."

"Oh, good. Now I can stop giving you names in my head."


"Nicknames, you know. Monikers. Descriptions-turned-capitalized-first names. Hi, Bradley. I'm Colin."

"What did you call me in your head?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"


Colin smirked, watching how Bradley went from confused to exasperated to pouty all over the place in a manner of 5 seconds. The almost-offended look was highly entertaining and Colin thought 1-0 for me, but then really, the pouting thing was a bit of rules regulations breech because didn't everybody know that in fair play, one must not use manipulative force to distract the opponent?

And. He wasn't really distracted, per se. Just because Bradley told him his name and then did that thing with his lips didn't mean he was getting fond of him in any way. So he wouldn't use the word distracted. Maybe - maybe more like prone to diversions, and someone exercising their lips in front of him definitely meant Colin's attention will jump at this weird and most rare sight-seeing.


"I'm not telling you."


There. He could say no to people, see? No matter what foul play they tried against him.

Bradley huffed out an annoyed groan then - which did nothing, absolutely nothing at weakening Colin's resolve but instantly found its way on the yellow-card offenses list - and pressed on.

"You can't tell people something like that and then refuse to tell them. It's like - ... I don't know, it's like saying you have a secret and then keeping your mouth shut. Or saying you saw or read something great but you won't share."

"Maybe you're just too used to getting everything you want."

"No, this is the common decency rule. Like if two people go in the same direction and it's pissing it down and there's only one umbrella, they share it. Or, if your neighbour is out of sugar you lend them some, not give them like salt instead. Stop giving me salt, Colin."


Colin gaped. This was fun.

"Okay, so what you're saying is I'm refusing you common decency. And here I was, thinking that offering you help with finding your car was exactly that. Silly me. Also, if I was the one with umbrella I'd chuck it and dare you to race me in the rain. And as it goes for the sugar, I'm not giving you any because I can tell pretty much by just looking at you that you don't actually cook."


It was Bradley's turn to process the verbal vomit Colin loved so much, and he wondered, briefly, if Bradley will take offense, but he didn't mean it as such because he was pretty sure his eyes were fucking gleaming throughout their exchange, he could feel it, and if Bradley failed his body language class, well, that really wasn't Colin's problem.

Bradley snorted. "Touché."


"I really can't cook."


Colin grinned but then nudged him forward, because as pleasant as tossing the ball between them was, standing at the middle of the stairs wasn't, and Colin had to admit two things started bothering him. One, they were drawing attention because the two of them really didn't look alike at all - someone as nicely dressed and built as Bradley just didn't seem plausible to have an idle chat with someone who looked like Colin, and Colin's done some begging around this place before and maybe people thought he's doing it again and they'll get security or something, and he panicked a little bit, okay, and the other thing was - Bradley's car looked like the last thing on Bradley's mind right now, and that just annoyed Colin because hello, dude, your car, he'd be flipping shit if his car was missing. Sometimes he wondered  what nature thought when it created rich people. It must have been stoned out of its mind.

(In which case it could give Colin a call, he'd come over and keep it company; he's not an unselfish person.)


"So what does it look like?"


"Your ride."


Colin rolled his eyes and then overtook him on the stairs and skipped downwards.

"A mini."


Right. "What?"

Colin was glad Bradley couldn't see his face right now because suddenly this whole thing sounded a whole lot like some weird innuendo about sizes. And, he was pretty sure it in fact wasn't one, because he just couldn't picture Bradley having a mini sized gear shift. Maybe he had an automatic and he didn't know how to handle one? Or. Erm. Okay that was highly unlikely because people like Bradley surely knew what to do with their appendages, and this whole thing started to sound really weird, even inside his head, so it might be best if he dropped it. It would be a Doctor thing to do, to know when to give up.


"What are you driving?"

"Oh, a mini Cooper."

"Is that one of those obnoxious square boxes?"

"Is that your highly developed skill of describing things? Because if that's the best you can do, I don’t think I actually want to know what you called me in your head."

"Don't worry, I didn't call you square and obnoxious."


"Though that wouldn't be far off, actually." Colin stroked his chin pompously. "Hmm. Maybe cars and their owners are alike, like they say about people and their dogs."

"If that's true then your car is too frolicky for its own good. And it gives you a pain in the neck."

"You forgot out of line parking and only an occasional oil change."

"Oh, eww."


Colin barked out a laugh and smirked at Bradley.





In the next thirty minutes, Colin learned three new things:

One, Bradley's mini was red.

Because Bradley told him so, not because he'd actually seen it. Which brings him straight to number two, actually. 

And number two was, that the car must have been stolen. Because they couldn't find it anywhere. Mini Coopers weren't that rare and there were a few around in all the colours of the rainbow, but none of them were Bradley's red. Bradley's good - or, maybe that wasn't his good mood, Colin didn't actually know the guy, maybe it was his cranky mood or something, but honestly, it felt on the positive side - spirits deteriorated faster than Colin could come up with silly ideas to counteract the gloom that followed. He stuck around while Bradley called one of his mates to pick him up and drive him to the police station and then walked away with a wave.

As he was rounding the corner, Bradley looked so small and pathetic, mourning the loss of his car, that Colin just had to shout back, I called you Richcock Expensivejeans, and got a tentative smirk that momentarily lit up Bradley's face in reply.


When he was walking back to his car, faster than usual because he had an inexplicable urge to run away, as much as he didn't know what he was running away from, revelation number three happened:

He was lonely as fuck.