Little shop of horrors

Little shop of horrors pt 3

Little Shop of Homos
Kewl_Kid

Chapter 3: Chapter 3 - Confusion

Summary:

Now (It's Just The Gas), but gay

I just want to add that I am so sorry for how gay this gets ESPECIALLY towards the end of the chapter. I am just so sorry. So just keep in mind that it is VERY homoerotic...
Chapter Text
Going to the dentist can be a scary experience for everyone. All the drills, wires and blood is enough to make even the strongest man squeamish. But the worry wobbling around in Seymour's gut was of a different nature.

He made a promise to Audrey. A promise to discover the sexual orientation of Orin Scrivello. And while he was never very good at following through on anything, Seymour was sure to make a valiant effort to uncover this mystery. But Audrey wasn't the only reason he came. Seymour wanted to know if Orin was a little tutti frutti for his own personal reasons.

He hated to admit it, but Seymour felt the beginning of a crush blossoming. He knew full well this was a bad idea. He knew he should stomp on that weed, ignore his feelings until they went away. But he was curious what would happen, how far he could go until he crossed a line.

He stopped in front of the door to Orin's office. It was made of wood. The white coat of paint was chipped from years of wear, like an old boat who had sailed on the sea for too long. The handle was metal, cold to the touch. Seymour's hand rested there, his clammy palm heating and moistening the metal. His bandaid covered fingers fidgeting, unsure if he should open it. There was a placard nailed onto the wood that read "Dr. Orin Scrivello D.D.S.", and through the glass pane above, he saw him.

Orin stood at his desk, a stern look on his face. He stared down at the paperwork beneath him, a pen in hand. He looked so professional in his dentist uniform. It was white as a bunny rabbit. Crisp and pristine. From where he stood, Seymour couldn't see a single stain or wrinkle. This surprised him. Seymour had never seen him without a leather jacket on, and he wasn't sure which look he preferred.

Despite being alone, Orin still seemed anxious. On edge. A loose strand of hair fell in front of his face. Orin cursed as he angrily raked his hand through it, forcing it out of the way.

Seymour was entranced by every little move he made. The way his right foot tapped impatiently against the linoleum floor, causing the rest of his leg to jitter. The way his brow furrowed and nose scrunched ever so slightly as if this paperwork was an annoying waste of time. And how he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip. His teeth rocking back and forth, side to side. It seemed to Seymour like an unconscious nervous habit Orin didn't even realise he had. He smiled at the thought. Seymour looked at Orin's hunched, tensed shoulders. He wanted nothing more than to walk in there and massage his muscles and--

Seymour shook his head. This was a bad idea. He should leave. He took one last look at Orin and his eyes wandered to his hands. What was he writing? What poetry was he painting on the page? As Orin wrote, Seymour watched his hand danced across the paper like a graceful swan spreading its wings, taking flight across the endless expanse of the ocean--

Orin looked up, glancing at the door. He saw someone was there, but didn't pay attention to who. "Next!" He called out as he looked back down at the paperwork.

"That'd be me, Dr. Scrivello," he nervously uttered.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"S-Seymour Krelborn. We met yesterday." He fidgeted with his hands.

He stopped writing. "Ah yes. The guy with the plant."

"Right," he nodded.

Orin placed down his pen. "And the bandaids."