Chapter Description: Tom wakes up on the toilet
Chapter 8: One Adventure Later…
To dream the impossible dream
To fight the unbeatable foe
To bear with unbearable sorrow
To run where the brave dare not go
BONG! BONG! BONG!
Head ducked, Tom Dean stumbled through the door, his brain still spinning. It wasn’t on his breath, but he was drunk too. Dang, those dwarves knew how to throw a victory party, and dwarven ale was nothing to be trifled with. Part of him wanted to vomit, but only on the off chance that he’d get to taste the stuff again.
The inside the house was as dark and quiet as he’d left it. Good. If Malacus was his own off-brand Narniano fuck that likely meant that only a few minutes had passed in real time while he’d gone on his epic adventure. On second thought that place was awesome...it was his New Narnia. Malacus was ‘Next-Gen’, not ‘Off-Brand’.
The Pevensie kids couldn’t catch poison arrows and then throw them back at elven assassins so fast that the wood caught fire mid flight. That had been a cool moment. It didn’t hurt that the elf had looked like a pointy eared Josh Hamlin. Also, apparently, Elves had purple blood.
But Malacus, for all its similarities to similar and classic high fantasy tropes, might not follow quite the same rules. He was home alright. Things were back to normal. His nice silk pajamas, the only pair he owned, had reverted back from their armored form. Oh well, it’d been nice while it had lasted.
Speaking of lasted: The time on the digital alarm clock was still blinking and barely ten minutes had passed according to it. That didn’t make it true. In the C.S. Lewis books, entire lifetimes could pass in the blink of an eye and the Pevensies would come out of the closet no older than they had been. That shoddy clock shorted all the time and it would be just Tom’s luck to find out that the weeks spent routing out monsters in Malacus had passed at the same rate on this side of the clock.
He was still “Titan Tom”, in spirit if not body. And weeks of battle and intrigue had sharpened his wit. It wouldn’t do him any good to get caught with his pajama bottoms down. Only one way to figure out. Find the prepaid flip phone that his mother kept for “business”.
It should be in the kitchen, Tom knew. That’s where the charger typically was. But Mary could have very well taken it to bed with her. He wouldn’t be able to get any rest until he knew the date, however. He had to be sure. It might be easier just to jump back into the clock, but that was the coward’s way out, and Tom was no coward. Not anymore.
A step to his left and Tom had to stop himself from swearing after barking his shins on the coffee table. “C’mon Tom,” he chided himself. “You can strangle a hydragon with your bare hands, but you can’t find a cheap phone in the dark”.
Waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dark, Tom lowered himself to the floor and began crawling; scraping and scrabbling around. How far the mighty had fallen, and all because of a bit of drunken homesickness. At least Nox promised that as long as he’d kept Malacus in his heart he could return anytime he liked. The dwarves and centaurs would be able to hold off for a bit without him so that he could rest and recoup here in ‘Earth Realm’.
Slaying the hydragon; now that had been glorious! He’d never even known such a thing existed: A three headed dragon, with each head spewing forth a different terrible substance. Fire. Ice. Lightning. (A lightning breathing dragon? Jesus!) Tom had been absolutely incredulous when he ripped off the middle head, and two more grew back. That’s when ‘acid breath’ got added into the mix.
If not for the safety of the satyrs, Tom would have been curious to see how many heads he could have ripped off before a breath weapon repeated itself. Instead he just strangled the monster. So metal!
It had been great and the party afterwards even greater. But even great acts required an intermission, Tom rationalized. Hence why he’d come back to Scrumpton and was now on all fours, looking for a phone.
“Tom?” his mother called out from her room. She didn’t sound particularly worried. More sleepy. “Is that you?” Tom grit his teeth. “Tommy?”
Tom did a stage whisper back, letting the hush of the apartment amplify his whisper so as not to wake Katlynn. “Go back to sleep, Mary. I’m just going to the bathroom.”
“Okay…” And Mary’s snoring continued. Huh. She definitely didn’t sound like her son had been missing for weeks on end.
Going to the bathroom: Just thinking about it made the lie turn into a truth. Tom had become a champion at holding his bladder for prolonged periods of time. The super strength he’d possessed in Malacus had passed to more than just his arms and legs. Armor was still a pain in the ass to strip off, and the magical races of Malacus, for all their mystical and eldritch proficiency had yet to master the intricacies of a flush toilet.
Just then, the young man was actually looking forward to releasing his bladder into a porcelain bowl instead of a bush. Tom’s hands hit the smooth floor of the kitchenette. No crumbs. At least his mother kept a clean kitchen. The lack of crumbs wasn’t making it any easier to find the phone.
If only he could see better without having to turn on all the light-
The last of the dwarven ale wore off, as Tom felt a greater pressure in his bladder and an increased sense of sobriety. Duh! Tom smacked himself in the forehead, stood up and opened the refrigerator door.
The dim light spread out over the entire kitchen area, casting a veritable spotlight on the little black phone under the kitchen table, it’s chord traveling up to the wall. It was nothing at all for Tom to prop the fridge door open, get the phone and check it.
The date was the same. He’d been gone for only a few minutes. Good. A rumbling in his gut and increased pressure in his bladder made Tom’s little victory feel incomplete. No time to sleep, yet. The fridge door was still wide open, Tom made a quiet and quick shuffle over to the bathroom.
Lights on! Bottoms down! Lid Up! Ass seated. Even after all that time in a fantasy realm, Tom still had the basics of potty training down pat. The ache from his bladder sang out in releaf first as liquid hit liquid, followed by a wrenching in his gut and an instinct to push.
“Ho boy!” his own voice echoed off the tile. He groaned a little bit he emptied himself out. Sometimes it was the simple things that brought the most joy.
With the relaxing of his bladder and bowls, a strange calm came over the young man. An easy relaxation. It was a little bit like cumming, actually. Just less abrupt. Definitely as tired. Maybe his body was catching up with him now.
He was all-but superman in Malacus, but back in Scrumpton, his body remembered it’s limitations. It was almost like he never went into the clock. All his body remembered was laying on the nice comfy couch, masturbating into the jammies (and that hawt fantasy about the girls), and now going to the bathroom.
His eyes closed, and he breathed deep. Just for second...just...for...a...
“Hey…” a familiar voice prodded him into consciousness. “Little brother….wake up!”
Tom opened his lids. “Huh?” His voice came out a dry rasp. The dwarven ale was definitely hitting him now...worse on its way out than on its way in. So THIS was a hangover, huh? Worth it. Very worth it.
“Wake up. I need to go.” It was Katlynn. He was home, alright.
Like a big jungle cat, Tom let out a long and low yawn. “Okay. Okay.” Tom cleared his throat. “Just a second.
“Hurry up.” She repeated. This time with a bit more urgency. “I need to go.”. Tom was already nodding back off when he felt a rough slap on his shoulder. “You fell asleep on the toilet.”
Tom let out another yawn. “I did?”
“You’ve been there all night.”
That woke him up, more than the slap. “I fell asleep? On the toilet?”
“Passed out like Elvis.”
Oh how the mighty had fallen.