The Deux Ex Pasta

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"Wake up," I hear an angelic voice say to me in a dulcet, sing-song tone. "Time to rise and shine!"

What happened? Wait, let me go back a chapter and read what happened.

...Ah, I got hit by a school bus. Fun. Am I in heaven? This doesn't feel like heaven. Doesn't even smell like fried chicken. My neck aches, and my arms, and my everything. Suppose I'm dead now. Cool.

"I said, wake up, sleepy-head!" I hear the voice again, but I'm not particularly inclined to do that just yet. I have a splitting headache, which I suppose comes from my head splitting open. You know, of all the ways I thought I would die, getting hit by a bus was not on my top ten. Which are drowning, in a fire, drowned by the smoke of a fire, catching on fire on water thanks to environmental pollution, or a selfless sacrifice for a loved one.

Oh, shit. Did Hayden die too? Man, he's definitely going to heaven. Maybe I'm in hell? Oh god, am I entering a plot where I have to escape hell to reunite with a loved one? Am I doing a Dante's Inferno? Or a reverse Orpheus, depending on your leanings.

"I said up, you greaser fuck!" I hear the angelic voice, not so dulcet or sing-song'ish, followed by a punt in my giblets.

I jump up, broken bones be damned. Hmmm... I should have broken bones, shouldn't I? I don't feel like anything's out of place. Everything aches, sure, but nothing's broken. And I know I'm not that lucky. Broken bones and cuts are sexy, yet, I don't feel or see anything amiss.

In fact, I don't see anything. Just a void, cold and uncaring. Wait, I still have those dumb-shaded glasses. Wonder why they didn't break upon impact. I take them off, and... still nothing. But I can now see Hayden, eyes shut, on the floor like a Snorlax, snoring away.

"Hey, you woke up. Cool..." says the now-annoyed voice. "Mind waking up the big guy too? I punted him in the balls but all he did was moan and smile. Ew."

Can't say I saw that one coming. Might wanna try it later. Also, what the hell is happening? Where am I? Where is that voice coming from? Is this gonna be a stupid sideplot? We already have a wedding and a tournament to get through, for Pete's sake! Also, who is Pete, and why does he likes japanese wine so much?

"Um, excuse me," I say.

"You are excused," says the voice from somewhere in the void.

"No, I mean, I'm sorry, but-"

"Well, Mr. Sorry," says the voice, with a slightly bitter edge, like an apple cider gone slightly wrong, "I asked you to wake up the big sow. You are not being very helpful."

"Well, I'm sorry-"

"And I'm waiting for you to do what you were told," says the voice. "Seriously, so hard to find good help these days."

This is going nowhere, fast. Maybe Hayden will have better luck trying to sort this out.

Now, what I'm about to do should never be done in any shape or form to an unconscious person, but I've slept with Hayden before, and he can give Rip van Winkle a run for his money. Can't tickle him, slap him, push him, or flick the light on and off passive-aggressively like an angry dad getting late for work, because he won't even budge. The only way to make him wake up is by, well...

I mount him like a reverse horse, grabbing his head with both hands, pulling it back and lick his neck, slowly. Most nerves pass through the neck area at some point, so it takes just a little stimulation to send shivers down a person's spine, jolting anyone awake.

Never lick another person's neck without their consent, folks. Unless they're into it, I guess.

Hayden stirs awake, groaning as he shifts his weight. Probably aching all over, too.

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