Snap card

by BRK   

Bored in Venice, two close friends decide to play a knock-off card-competition game they found in the market. It doesn’t go the way they expect.

Finnley stood next to me at the railing as we looked out over the lights of eventide Venice and let out a gusty sigh. “I’m bored,” he said, taking a long sip from what I knew to be a very strong cocktail. (I always mix ’em bold.)

I turned and gaped at him, my astonishment only half-feigned. “Bored?” I repeated. “Let me see,” I said, ticking the attributes of our current venue off on my fingers. “You’re in the best hotel in all of Venice, standing on the edge of a rooftop balcony with city, the canals, the freakin’ Adriatic laid out before us, you’ve got the best company in the world standing next to you, and you’re just—over it?”

“Bored,” he confirmed, though with a sly glance my way. “Sated with indifference. Stultified by the tedium. My mind has been rendered smooth by the lack of the merest stimulus.”

His sweet mouth was quirked at the corner, and I snorted, then gulped down the rest of my own drink. Finn smiled easily, something I was glad for him to do as much as possible. The light breeze ruffled his loose shirt-sleeve shirt a little, and I couldn’t help but envy it.

We’d ended up alone here together half by design, half by accident. As it happens, Finn’s parents had insisted on a month-long grand tour of Europe as an epically picturesque and suitably scholarly endcap for his 18th year. (One of his family’s many harmlessly eccentric traditions being that birth years were celebrated at completion, not onset.) Finn, being rightly concerned his parents would get tied up in business and vanish from the snaps and selfies for most or all of the trip, had insisted on bringing along his equally nerdy and not-quite-so-rich best friend, a.k.a. me. Or, as his mom insists on calling me, “that nice friend of yours—the one with the glasses.” At least his dad tried to learn my name, though instead of Otto he always called me Otter, like the guy from Animal House. Not an upgrade on “your friend with the glasses,” really.

Also, I wasn’t sure if it was as a sop to my passing interest in the occult or a complete coincidence, but all our high-end lodgings so far were supposedly haunted by strange spirits and unknown phenomena. Here, the in-house woo-woo was attributed to a lusty tenth-century sorcerer-monk supposedly executed after training his secret lover—the doge’s son—as a gladiator. Not even his name was known, only that he was surpassingly beautiful, and he was known as Fallen Angel, forever pining for his own personal Spartacus.

Anyway, to no one’s surprise, the parental units had been trapped in a snarl of international schmoozing all the way back in Marseilles and had waved us onward along the itinerary, first to Rome and then, when they didn’t show there either, on to Venice. Along the way we’d been fed, soaked, steamed, fêted, pampered, and generally catered to in every way, and—yeah, I was bored, too. Even the nightclubs were getting same-old, and I was kinda done with everyone crushing on Finn because he was obviously rich and acceptably nerdcute with the crooked smiles and adorkable shyness and his wavy blond hair falling in his eyes… because crushing on him was my job and for me it was all about the smiles and the adorkable and the nerdcute.

He was looking at me. “You want to hit some clubs?” he said, and I got a little flutter knowing he was less than enthused. He’d had a couple drinks, and when he was buzzed he didn’t want to bother dealing with strangers. I felt the same way.

“Nah,” I said, as offhandedly as I could. Then: “We could play that card-competition game I picked up in the market.”

Finn shrugged, amenable to anything diverting not involving crowds and gawkers, and I went to get the little package out of my laptop bag. He followed me into main room of the suite and poured us both more drinks from the very extensive bar (included in the price, apparently, which gives you a clue as to how inflated the price was).

I found the little cardboard container and looked it over. It was the size of maybe a large deck of standard playing cards or little larger, like a small set of tarot cards, but was printed to look like a cross between Magic: The Gathering and Yu-Gi-Oh!, only all in Italian and with unfamiliar images of blue-eyed warlocks, Conan-esque warriors, overmuscled orcs, and other such sexed-up fantasy creatures. All the pics were slightly blurry, as though we couldn’t get good remote images from that particular universe, though I was more inclined to put it down to very shoddy printing.

I opened the container and slid the cards into my hand, then frowned as I shuffled through them one-handed. “Huh,” I said.

“What?” Finn said, appearing at my shoulder with two drinks in hand. I could smell the vodka and my existing buzz reacted in friendly recognition. (Finn mixes ’em stronger than I do.)

“Look,” I said, showing him the cards. I’d bought the deck as a joke because, seeing it in the stall, I had laughingly assumed it must be a hilariously off-brand iteration of one of the well-known card systems, like a deck-based-game version of Turkish Batman. Figuring out the randomly twisted rules and bizarre cards would probably be a blast.

Instead, I’d been had in a completely different way: all the cards were blank. Just a blue calico endpaper design on one side—presumably the backs—and pure, unsullied glossy white on the other.

Finn looked at me, excitement sparking in those golden-brown eyes of his. “We’ll just have to make it up on our own,” he said.

I grinned. This was why I loved Finn. “Find some pens, then, and let’s go!”

A few moments later we were sitting down at the small, round table by the balcony, the doors open to let the gentle night air in. We had two narrow-point sharpies, the deck was divided between us, and I was getting psyched. I pushed up my steel-rimmed glasses. We’d already decided on a methodology for the first set of rounds: set the theme for each round, each of us has fifteen seconds to write a card name and a six-word description, then the two-player snap, Fallen Angel decides who wins. “Okay, first go,” I said, staring into Finn’s eyes. “Theme is… fixing the universe, inconsequential changes only.”

Finn grinned and started writing. I hit the timer on my phone and got to work. Fifteen seconds later the timer went off. “Snap!” Finn said, smacking his card on table between us. “Snap!” I said at the same time, slapping my own card next to his. Instinctively, we had them facing the other for our “opponent” to read.

“Yay Centaurs,” I read aloud, laughing and taking a swig from my cocktail. “Halfhorse dudes are a real thing. Dude, that feels a little consequential,” I drawled, looking up.

He was holding up my card, handwritten text toward me, like an exhibit. “And what about this?” he laughed. “Cerulean Eyed Fool: Finnley swaps gold eyes for blue? Me with blue eyes would totally rock the world off its axis.”

“I dunno,” I said, grinning into my booze. “Fallen Angel agrees, I win this one.” As I sipped I stared into those eyes, and… were they looking blue in this light? I had to be imagining it. Reflected lights from the city on the canals, or something. I look a longer sip, and, yeah, I was feeling very loose.

We set the cards aside and readied new blanks. “Okay, my turn,” Finnley said. “The two of us are like… blank. Physical changes, target stays change-unaware. Go!”

I lost a second staring at him, and then quickly bend to to start writing, ignoring my rabidly chubbing cock. Was Finn using the game to flirt with me? Fifteen seconds later we called out “Snap!” together and smacked down our cards.

I read what Finn had written aloud. “All the Right Curves,” it said: “Otto’s built like a fitness model.” I looked up at him in amazement, feeling the booze rush to my chest in confusion. “The hell?” I said. I’d never so much as lifted a dumbbell, and skinny enough to look like the “before” picture, so the idea of me with any kind of muscles was a joke.

“It’d be rad, right?” he said. “Especially if you didn’t even know it. See what I mean?”

I was going to answer, but his eyes looked crazy blue and I was having trouble wrapping my head around it. “Okay, what’s yours?” he said, checking my card. “Top of the World: Finn’s tall like a basketball star.” He looked up, chuckling and shaking his head. “Dude, that’s not so going to work, I would look ridiculous!”

I was inclined to agree, honestly, but I’d been caught on the back foot and couldn’t think of anything.

Finn was already clearing the cards away. “Fallen Angel says I win,” he said smugly, turning over his next blank card. “Okay, your… turn…”

He trailed off, staring at me. At my chest, specifically. I looked down, then up. “What?”

Finn blinked slowly, eyes wide. “Dude, you’re ripped,” he said.

I looked down again. My body was just my body. I’d always been really well-defined, sure. Maybe you could call it muscular, at least since puberty, but I only ever worked out for tone. I frowned up at him. “I dunno, ripped is kind of a stretch…” I said, then I was trailing off as I got lost in cerulean eyes. I’d loved Finn’s golden-brown eyes, the blue thing had been a random example of something to change that wouldn’t matter, but the fact that I had kind of made them blue was getting me hard.

“What the hell,” we said in unison, staring at each other with long-brewing lust. That fire had been banked and smoldering for three years, but tonight someone had thrown oil on those flames and all best were off.

We drained our glasses and thunked them down together. “Your turn,” Finn said, not taking his eyes off me.

Self-consciously, I pushed my glasses up. “Physical changes, anything goes. Results normalized, both aware.” Finn’s grin was salacious and predatory, and my heart stuttered. “Go!” I called.

We wrote, slapping our cards down with a “Snap!” well before the time limit.

He read mine aloud quickly. “Shelf Stacker: Finn’s chest and arms stack +1.” He looked up, excited.

I did his, all nerves. “Two For One Sale: Otto’s giant cock has a twin.”

I looked up, and as one we shouted, “Fallen Angel says we both win!”

I jumped up, blood on fire, and he did the same, wrapping me in four strong arms as my gigantic cocks tried to rip out of my slacks. We kissed hard, almost desperately. He was taller now, but that was fine with me. More than fine.

“I gotta fuck you,” I said urgently as my mouth slid off his and I mashed our cheeks together, feeling up and down his long, deliciously tapered back.

Finn grinned. “Hope you’ll fuck me twice,” he said.

Then we were kissing again, and amazingly I was distracted from the ecstasy of his mouth by the rapture of so many hands on my back and nape and ass. Fuck, I should have asked for more.

I grabbed his face and looked at him right in the deep blue eyes. “We are so not done with this game,” I said.

Finn was grinning wide, in perfect agreement. “So not done,” he repeated.

Then we were kissing, and the night melted into a dream that neither of us has ever quite woken up from.

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