Spoiler
This is a bit too long, I know, but there just wasn't any unawkward place to cut it. If I would've cut it at one point, the next part would only be about one page long. So that's why it's quite long. Your thoughts on improvements are greatly valued and please do leave your ideas down in the comments; it helps a lot. 
Enjoy!
Enjoy!Chapter 1, part 2 if you haven't read it: topic87685.html
18+ rating for a reason. Just saying.
----------------------------------
Sully forced an eye open, thawing through the grit of the night. He turned his head towards the window, the pillow rustling underneath. Rays of light punctured the shades; the smoky rods of illumination danced on his naked form, curiously probing through the story of last night etched upon his skin. They shyly poked at a purple blossoming of bruises spread across his chest and abdomen, courtesy of a little someone who wasn't as little as he seemed once he stood up and whupped the floor with Sully's drunken ass. Sully groaned and brought a hand up to his head, probing an ugly feeling cut. It hurt. His hand came back slightly reddened on a fingertip.
He never got hangovers and had always been proud of this trait, laughing at friends clutching their heads on the morning following a night of hardcore drinking. It seemed God had seen this too good of a trait as to go unpunished, so the Almighty Asshole had cursed him with flawless memory when nights to town were being talked about. Remembering every single stupid thing you say or do while drunk is not something you grow too fond of.
Even now, Sully remembered smashing a bottle on a table and drawing blood from his own forehead with the broken end just to prove to a Russian bastard he could do it. He could recall telling Jerry he'd only be a small while when he left, promising not to drink any more, and immediately afterwards buying another beer. He also could recall talking to a sweet young broad, all swaying hips, pursing lips and batting eyes. In fact...
”Aww, fuck me,” Sully cursed into the stuffy room.
”For the sixth time? You are such an animal Mister Kale,” purred a sweetly high-pitched voice, somewhere from the tangle of sweat-soaked bedsheets. ”But don't you worry one bit, I like animals. Especially the fluffy ones. Are you fluffy, Mister Kale?”
Sully's hand found her soft, creamy hip as he faced her, their faces, their lips scant inches apart. Her lucious, brown hair flowed from her scalp like the waves of pleasure they had ridden in the veil of night. Eyes blue as any cliché you like drew Sully into their swirling embrace. Her breath flickered and teased his lips, ever faster as her appetite grew. Her eyes were begging him to take her away from this world, divert her mortality into a world full of now's. A world where concepts like yesterday's and tomorrow's simply ceased to exist. Her lips parted as she bent in, craning her lovely swan-neck to fly away with him, fly away, if only for a while. Her questing lips found a pair of upturned fingers.
”First off,” whispered a very morose, unfluffy Mr. Kale, ”my name is Sully. And no, I'm not fluffy, I'm afraid. I'm not even fat enough to be called fluffy. I'm a boring ass normal person who is going to go crack a beer, contemplate suicide and then probably zone out due to sheer self-pity.”
”But-” the young woman tried to say.
”Ssh. No talky.” Sully frowned at her. He took in her narrow hips, her perky little breasts (which she was trying to emphasize by arching her back), and the rebellious look she cast him. It didn't take him too long to put two and two together. ”You're not eighteen, are you?”
The girl's eyes widened and her features froze. ”Y-yes I am. Why would I lie?” she stammered out.
”Bullshit.” There wasn't a hint of uncertainty in Sully's voice, and not much empathy either.
The girl – whose name had completely eluded Sully – cast her eyes down and the two prone figures shared an awkward silence. And not because they were both naked. Guilt hang in between the late lovers like the curtain drawn across a finished puppet-show. They were so close, Sully could feel her shuddering in time with silent sobs. His instincts took over and he gently lifted her chin up. Her mascara ran in rivulets down the length of her face, blurring her beautiful features with dark scars.
”Hey, don't cry,” he said, not unkindly. ”I won't sue you or anything, no one will know outside these walls. I just want to know, how old are you, really?”
Her lips trembled and a trail of clear snot was leaking out of her nose. She snorted it back in and closed her eyes, trying to get her breathing under control. ”Six-sixteen,” she panted through her misery.
”Jesus fucking Christ,” swore Sully, letting his head plummet into the too-soft pillow. This was the problem with girls these days. By looking at them, the only thing you could discern was if they were over or under fifteen. Fifteen and over, they all looked the damn same, with their mini-skirts and tanktops and what not. No wonder pedophilism rates had gone up; half of the poor bastards most probably never knew what hit'em.
”Are you... go-going to b-beat me now?” The words were frail as a hollow mannequin, wreathed in a small girl's fear of the big, bad world.
Sully looked over and his eyebrows shot up. She was actually serious. Her hands were raised half-way, ready to cradle her head protectively once the shaggy man in front of her started laying down the inevitable beating. ”I'm not gonna bloody beat you, you moron. What would I do that for, huh? Would I prove my masculinity by beating a small girl because she conned me? Think, idiot, think.”
He came off a little too rough and regretted it immediately. ”C'mon, let's throw some clothes on you and stuff something down your throat (he scowled at her wet, wry grin). See how we feel after some warm food in our stomaches. Sound like a plan?”
She nodded, running the back of her hand over her eyes; it returned blemished.
”Why don't you take a shower first, though?” Sully suggested, catching a glimpse of the dark stain before she hid her hand behind her back. As it was, the suggestion was much to her delight. He gave her a brown towl and pointed her in the right way. The irregular splattering of water on tiles soon echoed through out the small apartment.
Sully slumped to the fridge, pulling on a pair of slacks on the way. He pulled out a glass Coke bottle and seated himself by the kitchen table, corking the bottle on the edge of the table. For the next five minutes, he considered the requirements for a life-time in jail on charges of pedofilism. When the girl emerged steaming and smelling of Axe he had progressed on that line of thought, and was currently half-way through a revelation. Perhaps pedophiles weren't raped that much in prison, as people would be sexually afraid of him on an instinctual level.
”Where do I put this?” asked the girl.
Sully looked at her, frozen in the act of taking a sip, and started. The alcohol and the darkness had apparently befuddled his senses. He had known she had looked alright, even drunk he held some standards. But she had looked the regular pretty, the girl-next-door sort of thing. What Sully now saw in front of him made him re-evaluate his opinion of her. She hadn't bothered to put her clothes back on.
The light pouring through a shadeless window made her young skin glow, causing the question of angels to arise in Sully's head. Her brown hair was still slick from the shower and plastered to her scalp; she had let it flow down her chest, partly concealing the roundness of her bosom. Just enough was hidden for the imagination to take over and enhance their size, tone, feel, even smell. Needless to say, they looked perfect.
”Mr. Ka- I mean, Sully? The towel?”
Her belly was flat, muscular even. Sully hypothesized her to be some sort of gymnast; last night definitely spoke in favor of it, considering some of the more potentially awkward positions they had endorsed in. His gaze traveled past her sparse patch of hair (been there, done that), taking in the strong, shapely legs. She was beyond hot, the steam rising from her probably had nothing to do with water of any temperature. Her hips were thrust out to one side and she was holding out the brown towel in a loose grip, shaking it to direct Sully's attention to it.
”Oh,” said a shook-up Sully, ”the towel. Just – just throw it over the door.”
”Mmkay,” replied Miss. I-sway-my-hips-just-for-you. She vanished back into the bathroom, with Sully vainly attempting not to watch her peach bottom as it flashed in the holy light. A painful throb from downstairs caused Sully to fidget in his seat. Why did nothing like this ever happen without a catch? And why, why in the name of all that is rightous and fair, can an underage be allowed to possess a body rivalling that of Venus herself?
Another five minutes passed and the girl joined him at the table, stiff and alert. She still looked a little washed up, and her expression had a detached stillness to it. Thankfully, she had her clothes back on.
Well, thought Sully, I guess those do technically count as clothes.
He was referring to the yellow tanktop and miniskirt that she was wearing, unknowingly feeding a stereotype. If their purpose in life were to either shield her from the weather or from the stares of any person with testosterone in their circulation, they were failing miserably.
Sully finished off the Coke in a long draught, the dramaticness of which was massively reduced by a fit of coughs induced by the bubbly liquid entering places not meant for it – mainly the nose. The girl tried her utmost best not to laugh, and one could hardly accuse the expression on her face of being a grin. The stiffness left her, her insticts telling her this wasn't a man that would hurt her.
Like any man would do, Sully said in a very gruff and manly voice, ”Meant to do that.”
To which the girl replied, ”I know”, as she knew was only appropriate. She found a better position to sit in, letting her posture slacken.
Now that Sully's manliness' existence had been ensured, he was free to go fetch them both a bowl and a spoon. Unceremoniously, he dumped the former and latter onto the table, followed by a half-empty cereal box. Or half-full, depending on your view of life. With as much sermon, Sully sat down and poured himself a bowl full of CocoPops. He munched on them absent-mindedly, barely remembering to use the spoon. Through the crunches that dominated his internal hearing he heard the girl cough politely.
”Would you, by any chance, happen to have milk?” she asked, her tone awkward.
Sully considered a moment. Then he shrugged. ”Could be. Check the fridge.”
She left the table. Sully kept crunching away at the chocolate crunchies. The fridge slammed closed and she sat down again, now pouring herself the cereal. The little puffs hammered against the ceramic bowl, the box thumped on the table, the sound of liquid splashing, the clatter of spoon on bowl, teeth crunching.
”So... Sully. What do you do for a living?”
”I stamp things. Documents, files, presents, boxes – even a cat once. You name it, I stamp it. No wait. I used to stamp. I got fired just yesterday, for being late. Care to guess why I was late?”
”You overslept?”
”I wish,” snorted Sully. ”Damn car died right underneath me.”
”Ouch.”
”You bet.”
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Sully stared fixedly out the window. It was rather late in the morning, which meant the worst of rush-hour had passed. Cars by the truck load still streaked past, blurring colors whizzing right or left. A squirrel clambered onto his window sill, chattering obscurities. Sully stared at it, watched it fidget, watched until it jumped off and fled onto the street. A flash of color. A splatter of flattened red and brown marred the black granite. Crunch, crunch.
Sully looked over the rim of his spoon, finding the girl scrutinizing him. He waved his hand in the air and she cast her eyes down, blushing. Girls; go figure.
”What?” asked a partially annoyed Sully.
”I was just – wondering. Are those... real?” She pointed at his eyes.
”Are what real?”
”Your eyes,” specified the girl.
”Umm... Last time I checked, they were working fine and didn't seem to exist in another dimension. Sure they're real.”
”No, no. I mean, are they really different colored? The other one seems a bit bluish while the other is clearly brown. I was just wondering if that were natural of if you wore contact lenses or something like that.”
”Oh. Yeah, it's completely natural. Or technically not, as they're mutated.” Sully chuckled. ”Funny story about them actually.”
”Pray tell,” said the girl, smiling. Her cereals lay before her, temporarily forgotten.
”Well, it happened when I was what? Three? Four? My parents took me to the doctors, 'cause they weren't sure what my different colored eyes meant. Poor bastards must've thought I had some sort of life-threatening disease if you judged by the speed with which they raced me to the hospital. When we get there, the doctor looks at me for a few moments, then at my anxious parents, then back at me. He then rubbed his nose rather awkwardly and said, 'It's nothing too unusual, definitely not life-threatening. It's a rather mild case of Heterochromia Iridum.'
”Now, my mother had been reading me the Harry Potter books as bedtime stories – just to give you a little background into what happened next. When the doctor uttered the words Heterochromia Iridum, he had absent-mindedly tapped a ruler on the table. I had bolted up out of my chair, pointed at him and screamed as loud as I could, 'A sorceror! An evil sorceror! Get away from us!'”
The girl had listened with a grin on her face, anticipating some sort of twist, but when Sully got to the screaming part, she burst out in laughter. It was a deep, rich laughter which sounded odd coming out of the small person. Sully found himself grinning along, internally laughing at his younger self.
”What -what, ahaha -” She paused to wipe a tear out of her eye, chuckling. ”What happened next?”
”Oh, you know. I ran from the room and down the hallway as fast as I could, exciting panic everywhere I went. In the end, the info-point had to announce that no, there was no fire, just a little kid who had heard one story too much. By this point, half of the workers had already exited the building in various degrees of panic and by questionable routes, so I got to hear about it for a long, long time.”
”Weren't you the charming little toddler?”
”Indeed I was. I was the cutest motherfucker you're ever going to see. Too bad for everyone, I was also evil.” Sully laughed. ”Cute reminds me, I never got your name, Miss...?”
”Well, would you look at that. I never did say my name, did I? How rude of me. Though a little someone wasn't very keen on finding it out, because he was too busy finding other parts of me more attractive,” said the girl with a wink. ”But it's Amy. Amy Sutherland.”
”Nice to meet you, Miss. Sutherland,” said Sully, offering his hand over the table.
”The pleasure's all mine, Mr. Kale,” replied Amy, grasping Sully's hand warmly.
”Now that the niceties are out of the way, the food's getting cold! Eat up, me hearties!” said Sully, swiping his hand in a dramatic fashion over the set table. ”Eat it while it wriggles!”
”Aye, aye, Cap'n Kale!” saluted a highly amused Amy. She dug into her cereal like an animal, using her hands to scoop up the softening Pops. Milk dripped down her chin and for some reason beyond his wordly sight, Sully felt Sully Jr. giving him the signal. A hot brunette devouring CocoPops apparently could be highly arousing. Who woulda thunk?
Amy drained the rest of her cereal with a measured toss of the bowl, and slammed it onto the table. ”Good enough for ya, Cap'n?”
”Yeah, um, sure. Not something I see every day.”
Amy snorted. ”Don't you dare spout the same stereotypical bullshit as everyone else. 'Girls are always nice and clean.' 'Girls never make a mess.' 'Girls poop rainbows and sunshine.' We're humans, just like you guys. We're allowed to be total pigs if we want to.”
Sully held his hands up, palms forward. ”Hey, hey, hey. No need for a rant. I wasn't thinking any of that, honest. In fact, I actually quite liked it, shows me you're normal. I hate them pretty ass little girls that float around on daisies and throw caramels into the air. Pretending fucks if you ask me. A person should be just like they were born to be: loud, arrogant, and full of dreams. The basis for a good life right there if you ask me.”
”Amen.”
They sat in the happily pregnant silence for a moment or two. The cars passing by could be heard as dull roars of engine, with the occasional blast of horn. Great clanks and wierd whirrup noises erupted from the factory at the end of the block. Amy's toes were stroking the inside of Sully's calf.
”Hey, Amy,” said Sully suddenly.
”Mm?”
”What you said about girls having the right to be sloppy. Does it extend to what I think it does?”
Amy turned her big, sapphire eyes on him. They danced with amusement. ”Why don't we find out?” Her hand found his hardened crotch from underneath the table, and Sully didn't think too complicated thoughts for the next fifteen minutes.
