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As soon as she wakes up with a mouthful of stiffly gelled hair, Lyn-Z thinks that she probably doesn’t want to remember the night before.
“Get the fuck off me,” she says after spitting out the hair, which was still attached to Jimmy’s head. She shoves at his bony shoulder. “Seriously, you’re on my arm.”
“Quiet!” Kitty mumbles into her hip. “M’trying to sleep it off.”
“I’m trying to get my arm back,” Lyn-Z hisses back. “Jimmy stole it.”
“But it’s so colorful and squishy,” Jimmy mumbles into the wet patch he’s left on her arm. “You’ve got a drool problem, though.”
“You’ve all got a not-letting-Steve-fucking-sleep problem,” Steve grumbles, poking his head up from where he was tangled up in their legs. “Come on.”
“It’s your damn drool,” Lyn-Z says as she manages to extricate her arm from under Jimmy’s head.
“Be that way, bitch,” Jimmy replies, pushing himself up on his elbows. “See if I plan another orgy with you.”
“I don’t think we really planned this one,” Kitty offers. Lyn-Z shoots her a grateful look. “I mean, we kind of got whammied with some sexy pixie dust.”
“I always thought there would be a sexy broad dressed in plant life nearby if I got sex-pollenated,” Steve says mournfully. “Not some kid in a Gumby costume waving a pepper grinder at us.”
“Our fans are awesome like that,” Jimmy says. “Shit like this doesn’t happen to just anyone.”
They share a grin.
“Seriously, I think that kid had to be a fucking secret supervillain,” Kitty says. “I bet he has a secret lair and everything.”
“I bet instead of a giant penny the horny little bastard has a giant pair of panties standing in the corner,” Steve offers.
Lyn-Z snickers. Most of the feeling has returned to her arm, and she begins to look around the bus lounge, trying to figure out where her own panties wandered off to. She’s beginning to remember what happened after Gumby sprinkled some of the sparkly dust shit that was in the pepper grinder on them.
She’s actually pretty impressed with the ingenuity of her bandmates. To think she thought she was the flexible one.
“Please tell me my clothes are somewhere on this bus,” she complains, unwilling to actually get up and look for them. There’s a languid feeling to her whole body that makes the soreness bearable, and she suspects she’s still a little stoned off whatever was in that dust, because she’s not bothered by either the nakedness or the filthiness of her band smooshed around her.
“I think Steve ate them,” Kitty says, not making any motion to move, still using Lyn-Z’s hip as a pillow.
“I think I ate your mom,” Steve replies.
“Weak, both of you,” Jimmy judges, then sing-songs, “I think I blew your minds.” He spirit-fingers at them.
Kitty snorts. “You mean, I rocked everyone’s world.”
“Hey, now,” Lyn-Z says, waving a hand. “I think we proved that we collectively are one awesomely talented fucking band.”
She stretches her left leg a little and mostly only manages to kick Steve. He grabs her foot and tickles her in retaliation, and her squirming finally jolts Kitty enough that she rolls over, away from Lyn-Z.
“I think that we left most of our clothes in the front lounge,” Kitty says. Now that she’s sitting up, Lyn-Z can see that one of her pigtails has fallen down and the other is crookedly at half-mast. She snickers.
“The driver didn’t even bat an eye,” Jimmy complains. “How was he not distracted by all this?” he motions towards his body, with its array of bitemarks, unidentified smears and hickeys.
“He has been with us for a while,” Steve points out. “I think he only turns around if he smells smoke.”
“Sometimes not even then,” Lyn-Z points out. She’s gingerly beginning to stretch and sit up, and each flare of pain is reminding her of another part of the night before. They had been seriously whammied, she hasn’t had a night like that since art school.
“It almost seems like this should be weirder than it is,” Kitty says philosophically as she tugs out her remaining hair ribbon.
Lyn-Z shrugs and tries to remember who left the scratch marks on her inner thighs.
“At least it didn’t happen on stage,” Steve says.
“Fuck, what are you talking about, that would have been even more awesome,” Jimmy says. “Then the rest of you would get to spend a night in a jail for whipping it out, too.”
“But it just wouldn’t be the same without the pink suit,” Kitty teases. “Though we might get some sweet orange jumpsuits out of the deal.”
“Just like I’ve always dreamed,” Steve says, pressing a hand to his heart. Bits of his hair are sticking up in strange clumps. It’s actually sort of surprising how much post-orgy looks like post-show. Lyn-Z makes an attempt to smooth her own hair, but figures it’s a lost cause.
“You don’t think there are going to be any, you know, crazy sexy flashbacks or anything, do you?” she says as the thought occurs to her. “Because that was kind of intense.”
“Or what if it damaged our sex drives?” Kitty says. “I mean, it was a totally untested drug.”
“Damnit, now I’m all paranoid that Little Jimmy is broken,” Jimmy says, prodding at his dick. “Someone come fix it with a kiss.”
“My ass feels broken,” Steve replies. “Kiss it.”
Lyn-Z stifles her giggles into her arm, then pulls it away, scrunching her nose as she tries to figure out what, exactly, is dried on there.
“You assholes are my favorite,” Kitty says. “Group hug!”
“Special moment!” Jimmy crows as he enthusiastically joins the hug.
“Gumby should roofie us more often,” Steve adds.
“I love you losers,” Lyn-Z agrees, squeezing them close.