Kinder Eggs and Blowholes

Everything's normal (or as normal as it ever can get...) at the Zooniverse except that Howard and Vince don't work there. Rudi and the Hitcher, however, do.


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Genre: ,


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Length: words

Kinder Eggs and Blowholes by thymeth

“Get out of the pool!”

“What’s the sweat, squire? Has your guitar left ya for a younger pair of fingers?”

“Shut up about my guitar! And get your jalapeno-green ass out of the pool!”

“I’d rather be jalapeno-green than in a dress.”

“It is not a dress!”

“What the hump is going on?”

Fuck, not again. Rudi turned to find Fossil coming towards them looking very angry.

“The Hitcher is in the Porpoise Pool again, Mr Fossil.”

“He’s not fucking allowed a hundred feet near the Porpoise Pool, how the fuck did he end up in it?”

“I just…”

“Look, squire,” the Hitcher broke in, “It’s just a bit of ‘armless fun, nothing the kiddies won’t enjoy.”

“I don’t fucking care if the kiddies enjoy it or not!” Fossil yelled, “Get your bony mouldy ass out of there pronto. I’ll see you in my office. Now. Both of you!”

And he turned and stalked off in a huff.

“Come on,” Rudi snapped

“Oh, you want it,” the Hitcher cooed to the porpoises backed into a huddle at the other end of the pool, “Oh, I know you want it, you slags.”

“Fucking..!” Rudi exclaimed and stopped as a family passed, “Just… testing the water… yes, testing for… for… Hey, little boy, I have a Kinder Egg for you behind my door.”

“Oi! No Kinder Eggs, Mozart! You’re not allowed near the kiddies.”

The Hitcher followed that order, did he, but not the one about the porpoises? Green-faced bitch.

“Fuck you,” Rudi snapped at him and turned back to the family. But they had already left, in a bit of a hurry, it seemed.

A few minutes later, they stood in Fossil’s office, the Hitcher wet from the waist down and Rudi drenched after the Hitcher had pushed him into the Pool.

“What part of ‘Keep the Hitcher out of the fucking Pool’ don’t you understand, Rudi?” Fossil was yelling, “Any moron could do it.”

“That’s yer problem, innit?” the Hitcher said, “He ain’t even clever enough to be a moron.”

“Shut your bangers-and-mash-hole, ass-wipe.”

“And he was twiddling with his guitar again this morning,” the Hitcher continued nonchalantly, “Stroking it. Looked like he was ‘aving a wank to me.”

“I was not…” Rudi hissed, “I was changing a string!”

“No guitar needs strings changed twice-a-day,” the Hitcher answered, “Not even Santana’s guitars. You’ve gone wrong in that door of yours.”

“Don’t you talk to me about Santana’s guitar-whores, pea-face, or my guitar and I will be all over you before you can say ‘I’ve got a chimney’!”

“Shut up, you dung balls!” Fossil shouted. From the looks of him, he had been shouting quite some time. But neither Rudi nor the Hitcher had noticed.

“Now, I want you both to get back to work and stay away from the Porpoise Pool, children and that fucking guitar!”

“It is all your fault,” Rudi proclaimed as they left Fossil’s office.

“I ain’t the one with the guitar fetish, dress-man.”

“It is not a dress!” Rudi shouted, for the hundredth time that morning.

“You can keep saying that ‘til yer face turns green like mine, but it’ll still be a dress.”

“It is not a dress! That is not important,” Rudi said, steering the conversation back to where he had begun it, “It is all your fault.”

“They were begging for it, the salt-water slags, you know they were.”

Rudi opened the door to the Keepers’ Hut and they went in.

“None of the animals ‘beg for it’, I think you will find.”

“And guitars do?” the Hitcher said, standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his bony hips.

“That is completely different!”

“You stick your cock in a guitar. You’re Lord of Normal, intcha?”

“I do not ‘stick my cock in a guitar’.”

“O-ho, but I think you do. I’ve seen ya, squire, all hard and putrid and greased up ready to ram yer guitar to high heaven.”

“You… You…” Rudi stuttered before quite realising what the Hitcher had just said, “Have you been watching me?”

“Of course I watch ya, d’you think I’m stupid? I wouldn’t want that thing to get near me. But if it did,” the Hitcher said, his voice darkening, “I’ll cut you up.”

“I wouldn’t go near you with a twenty-foot pole if I had to and that’s the truth,” Rudi answered, “You disgust me with your talk of these base urgings.”

“What are you, castrated? Just you wait and see, I’ll get at those porpoises. ‘Cause I’m pure liquid evil.”

And with that the Hitcher pushed passed him and out of the door.

Rudi hurried over to the window to see if he had really gone. All this talk of porpoises and guitars had gone straight to his cock, threatening to explode any minute.

Yes, the Hitcher was stalking away towards the Hoofed Mammals.

Rudi drew a deep breath, steadying himself.

“Miranda,” he called softly, creeping over to the sofa and ducked his hand behind it, “Rudi’s here to take care of you.”

He found his guitar and pulled her out, her varnished wooden body gleaming in the sunlight from the window, strings glittering. Oh, she was beautiful.

“There, there, Miranda,” he whispered as he kissed her neck, “I love you, my dear. Do you love me?”

Her strings vibrated, shivered as if in ecstasy, and he pulled her closer, pressing her to him.


“Fuck!” Rudi exclaimed and pulled away hurriedly to find the Hitcher standing in the doorway, “Just… just…”

“You’re not ‘changing a string’ again?” the Hitcher snapped, “You purple pervert.”

“No,” Rudi answered hurriedly, “Just tuning.”

He strummed a chord, Miranda’s strings against his fingers sending lightning bolts to his groin despite the Hitcher’s scrutinising gaze boring into him.

“I’m telling ya, you’ve gone wrong,” the Hitcher said finally, “Lucky I’m ‘ere, eh? To stop ya being disgusting.”

And he turned and slammed the door.

This did not bode well. Rudi knew; he was wise.

His urgings still evident, he strapped Miranda over his shoulder, her body hiding his shame and hurried after the Hitcher.

He rushed towards the Porpoise Pool and, sure enough, there he was, squatting at the edge, green fingers in the water, cooing.

“Step away from the Pool!” Rudi ordered, surprised at how commanding his voice sounded. Miranda leant heavily on him, encouraging him.

“And if I don’t?” the Hitcher asked.

“If you don’t do as I tell you,” Rudi said, his courage growing, “Miranda and I will make you!”

“I should like to see ya try,” the Hitcher laughed.

“Very well,” Rudi said, straightening up, ready to show off for Miranda, to show her what kind of a man he was.

He chose his chord carefully, touching her most favourite spots, and she yelled out in pleasure as he grazed her strings and pressed herself against him, so hard and suddenly that in one flash he came, barely registering the Hitcher flying through the air and hitting the wall with a dull thud.

The music died around them and, breathing deeply, Rudi cradled Miranda in his arms and went, still shaking slightly, back to the Keepers’ Hut.

“Hello, little boy,” Rudi said and swooped down towards a terrified-looking face, “Do you want a Kinder Egg?”

He had put Miranda away now and was on his way to make sure the Hitcher was behaving himself.

“Oi!” came a shout and before he had time to register what was happening, Rudi found himself half-way to the ground, something warm and heavy around him middle. He barely had time to think before he landed, his hair cushioning his head but his door flying open, the extra hand grazing its knuckles rather badly on the gravel as he rolled over and over, the warm something still clinging to him.

Rudi gathered all his strength and managed to stop and found himself looking down at the Hitcher lying pinned beneath him, white hair fanned out around his head, coat dusty and askew.

“What the fuck?!” Rudi exclaimed, breathless.

“Stay away from the kiddies,” the Hitcher snapped, breathing heavily, “No Kinder Eggs!”

An anger fiercer than anything Rudi had ever experienced flared up inside him, threatening to burst him open like a volcano. How dared the Hitcher lecture him about Kinder Eggs again?! Hadn’t Rudi just stopped him from getting into the Porpoise Pool? He should be fucking grateful for being saved from Fossil’s rage. And all he did was slam Rudi to the ground and tell him to keep away from the kiddies? He fucking needed to be taught a lesson. And not just a simple I’ve-Got-Something-Behind-My-Door Test, oh no. A proper lesson.

The Hitcher wheezed self-satisfied beneath him, grinning, and Rudi knew, for he was wise, that violence would get him nowhere. Not that he was a violent man anyway; he was, after all, a High Priest.

No, a stronger remedy would be needed.

And the most potent thing in the world, he had been taught already on his first day as a Monk, was love. And love was something the Hitcher did not understand.

So Rudi bent down and kissed him.

But instead of pulling away and being outraged as he should, the Hitcher answered Rudi’s kiss rather more passionately than was strictly necessary. And Rudi wanted to run away and hide somewhere safe and dark with his guitar.

But he had started this, he reflected, so he’d better finish it. The Hitcher needed to learn his lesson. No-one, not even green-faced Cockneys, pushed Rudi to the ground and told him to stay away from kiddies when he’d just rescued them from the Porpoise Pool!

Rudi touched the Hitcher’s lips with his tongue and sucked on them, noticing an uncharacteristic distant minty taste.

But the Hitcher did not seem phased and his tongue pushed into Rudi’s mouth, invading, possessively. Rudi gasped, unwillingly opening his mouth further, and the Hitcher wasted no time in owning him completely.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Rudi pulled away instantly and sat up, squinting against the sun to see a figure looming over them.


“Nothing!” Rudi stuttered, “Just changing a string. Fuck! No. Just… Nothing!…Sir.”

“ ‘E’s raping me, that’s what’s ‘appening,” the Hitcher said, “Using me own tactics against me. Gotta admire the boy, eh?”

“I’m fucking not raping you, you perverted old cucumber,” Rudi snapped back, “It was you who pushed me to the ground.”

“Enough!” Bainbridge boomed, “I don’t care who did what, all I care about is you two getting out of my way.”

“Sorry, sir,” Rudi said and got up, the Hitcher scrambling up after him.

“Now, I’d watch my step around here if I were you,” Bainbridge said darkly, “Who knows when my tongue might get the better of me and accidentally let slip what I just saw.”

“I’d cut you up if you did,” the Hitcher answered equally darkly.

“Really?” Bainbridge said and put his hands on his hips, “I’d reconsider if I were you. You see, grasshopper, I happen to know that you’re an illegal immigrant.”

“I’m not,” the Hitcher said, “I’m pure Cockney.”

“Pure Cockney you may be,” Bainbridge answered smugly, “But you’re still from another planet. Alien in the word’s every sense, in fact.”

“I… You… You won’t get away with this, you slag!” the Hitcher raved, “You’ve got no proof, I’ll cut you up, I’m pure evil, me.”

“You’re green, man! You’ve got a polo for an eye!”

The Hitcher fell silent, dumb-founded just like Rudi.

The Hitcher was from another planet?! Well, that did explain his green skin. And his fascination with porpoises. And his constant banging on and on about being Cockney.

“As for you,” Bainbridge continued, pointing a gloved finger at Rudi, “You’d better watch yourself too. You’re to stay out of public view as much as possible, your stupid hair is blocking out the sun.”

“And if I don’t?” Rudi asked, instantly cursing himself. No good ever came of standing up to Bainbridge.

“I know what happened at that music shop, in the guitar section,” Bainbridge said, “The newspapers might have blamed it on a rampant pigeon with diarrhoea but I know better. And that Santana concert last summer.”

“You fiend!” Rudi hissed.

“Thank you,” Bainbridge said with a small bow.

“Why don’t ya just fire us then, squire? We’ll be out of yer face in no time.”

“And where do you propose I find suckers stupid enough to work 14 hours a day for less than minimum wage to replace you?” Bainbridge asked, “I think you’ll stay here. Good day.”

And he left, his smug smile almost visible thought the back of his head.

“It is all your fault,” Rudi snapped.

But the Hitcher did not answer, he just grabbed hold of Rudi’s arm and began pulling him in the opposite direction.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Rudi exclaimed, trying to free himself. But he couldn’t. Who would have guessed the thin, green man was this strong?

“Come on,” the Hitcher cooed, almost softly, “Come with yer Uncle Hitcher, you slag.”

“You… Fuck!” Rudi shouted as he realised what was happening, “You are not going to have your wicked way with me, you rapist!”

“Who said anything about rape?” the Hitcher whispered, backing Rudi into the Keepers’ Hut, fingers digging into his arms, coming closer, “You want it, you slag. You know ya do.”

“I most certainly do not!” Rudi said.

Then he found himself sat hard down on the sofa and the Hitcher climbing onto his lap.

“O-ho, I think you do,” he hissed in Rudi’s ear, “Admit it, squire, I may be all green skin and bones, but I’ll give ya more pleasure than that guitar of yours ever will.”

Rudi pulled away, alarmed.

“When did you begin thinking of others more than yourself?”

“Don’t get yer door all excited,” the Hitcher answered, his twig-like fingers roaming Rudi’s chest, “I like a tight, cold blowhole around my cock as much as the next guy, but I’ve never been able to resist a bit of man-flesh. And certainly not one as willing as yours.”

And with those words, he grabbed Rudi’s crotch and squeezed hard, making Rudi cry out, much like a cat that’d just been stepped on.

“You’re loving it, you whore,” the Hitcher cooed, licking Rudi’s neck, “I’ll fuck ya so ‘ard there’ll be nothing left of ya but yer dress and yer door.”

“It is not a dress,” Rudi answered automatically, breathlessly.

“I don’t fucking care,” the Hitcher said and pushed Rudi down on his back and straddled him, “It looks like a dress.”

“It is… not…” Rudi tried, but had to give up, unable to concentrate with the Hitcher sitting heavily on him, rocking backwards and forwards, “I… Fuck.”

“Don’t ya worry about that,” the Hitcher whispered hoarsely and leant down, tugging at the neckline of Rudi’s robe, kissing his collar bone, “We will, boy, we will.”

“Get out of the pool!”

“Get yer finger out yer anus, I’ve got needs,” the Hitcher shouted up at him, “I’m a right horny old man-witch. Nothing can satisfy me except a cold, wet blowhole. Unless…” He turned around, grinning up at Rudi.

“Unless what? Say what you want to say in a plain way, don’t play around in riddles.”

“Unless I can ‘ave me burning loins satisfied by some quivering man-flesh in a dress.”

“It is not a dress!” Rudi exclaimed, “It never has been and it never will be!”

“And I still don’t care,” the Hitcher answered and climbed out of the Pool, leaving a trail of water as he stepped lightly over to Rudi, “Come ‘ere, you slag.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then,” the Hitcher said and pulled Rudi closer by his necklaces, “I’ll tell Fossil about you and yer guitar in the Ape Salon this morning.”

“I have not been near the Ape Salon,” Rudi protested as the Hitcher grabbed his arse. But he could not help moaning ever so slightly when the Hitcher’s thigh pressed between his legs.

“Fossil don’t know that, does ‘e?” the Hitcher said, grinning up at him, “But I’d tell him anyway. ‘Cause I’m pure evil.”

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