Prologue
Peter was going to scream if Paul didn't stop singing that stupid song.
He loved his twin, he did, but he hated when Paul got a song stuck in his head and started singing.
Hated it.
"Paul..."
Paul looked over, his eyes hidden behind contacts that looked like flames to match his red and orange hair. "What?"
"S ... stop it?"
"Stop what?"
"Singing."
"Singing what?"
Peter glared. "You kn ... n ... now what you were s ... s ... singing!"
"I wasn't singing. I was drawing." Paul stuck his tongue out. Oh ... the little bastard had taken Peter's new tongue-rod, the glow-in-the-dark one.
"You w ... w ... w ... weren't supposed to take that, Paul! It w ... was for one of T ... t ... tap's new boys, special o ... ordered!"
"Take what? You can't take a song, Peter."
Oh. Oh! Peter was going to kill him.
Dead.
Peter rumbled and stood, slapping his hand down. "You are s ... s ... such a little prick!"
Paul stood up, stretching to lean over him. "Little, asshole?"
He puffed up, stepped closer. "N ... n ... no, you're a b ... b ... big, fat asshole!"
There was a gentle knock on the door. "I hate to interrupt..."
Peter turned, looking over at the stocky redhead standing at the door. "Oh, n ... n ... no problem. We can f ... f ... fight anytime."
Paul pinched his ass, made him squeak.
The man chuckled. "Yes, you seem quite practiced at it. I'm looking for the massage rooms. Hercules said I couldn't miss them, but I have to admit, I've managed it."
"You're real close. They're two doors back, down that little hallway." Paul offered a grin and a handshake, reaching around him. "Are you new?"
Paul's hand was taken, then his own hand was swallowed up in a big, beefy one, given a firm, but gentle shake. "I am. Bowie. I'm going to be in charge of Massage."
"Hi. I'm P ... p ... p ... p ... p..." Fuck.
Paul piped up. "He's Peter. I'm Paul. Welcome!"
There was another deep chuckle. "Hello, Peter. Hello, Paul. So you two run body mods?"
They nodded.
"Peter's the piercer." Paul grinned. "And I ink."
"Nice to meet you. I guess we'll be neighbors."
"Yep. Just remember that we only sometimes mean the things we scream at each other." Paul was such an ass.
"I m ... m ... mean it." He stuck his tongue out at Paul, chuckling as Paul leaned in and kissed it.
"Mmm..." Bowie made a soft, almost humming purr. "Well as long as you don't disturb my clients with the screaming, we'll get along just fine."
"Hercules soundproofed the massage rooms." Paul's flame eyes were steady on him, making him a little hot. "So we don't anymore."
"Good, good." Bowie's eyes flicked from him to Paul and back again, watching them. "Well, if the tension ever gets too high--there's nothing like a nice massage to loosen things up again. And you know where to find me."
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