The Fucking of Pinstripe Potoroo

He left it for a few hours and tried to busy himself with other things – if Pinstripe wanted to be left alone then he would leave him be but he couldn't get him out of his mind. He had been in a bad way when he had left and being sexually abused by N Tropy for who knows how long, must have taken its toll on him mentally. What sort of a partner would he be if he didn't at least check on him?

He waited until dark, then he would have had most of the day to calm down then he headed over to his airship, hoping he would have recovered from his ordeal and was back to his normal self.

When there was no answer, Dingodile let himself in. What he saw, pained him: Pinstripe lay curled up on the sofa with a blanket over him. The place stank of smoke; there was a full ashtray on the table beside him along with an empty bottle of whiskey – his anaesthetic of choice for blocking out his torment. His ears were drooped and his eyes bloodshot and puffy where he had obviously been crying. He was full of self hate over the complete and utter fool he'd made of himself the last few days and that he'd wept like a baby in front of N Tropy and especially Dingodile. Ironically it made him cry even more. What must he think of him for being so weak? In the short time they had been together, he'd seen him throw up in public, allow himself to be abused by another guy and get so drunk that he'd had to change his clothes for him because he'd passed out and wet himself. He laid the blame for all of it firmly at N Tropy's door; he was the reason he had started drinking heavily but it didn't make it any less embarrassing. Why was Dingodile still hanging around? He was too ashamed to even acknowledge him when he came and stood in front of him.

“Mate, are you OK?” Dingodile realised it was a stupid question as soon as the words had left his lips.

Pinstripe looked at him and glared.

“What do you think? Just leave me the fuck alone,” he snapped, his voice wobbling and cracking.

“Don't be like that,” Dingodile said softly, kneeling down and stroking his hair the way he had come to love only this time he pulled away.

“You'se may as well just go. I can't be with you'se the way I want and its never gonna change. He humiliated me because he knows I love you'se and he's jealous. It'll just get worse if we stay together. And why you wanna stick around with me anyways? I don't want you'se seeing me like this. N Tropy was right: I am pathetic.”

“There's no shame in crying mate, it don't mean I love you any less,” Dingodile said softly. “This is all his fault; if he has to blackmail you to get you to sleep with him, he's the one that's pathetic, not you. You're amazing – smart, successful and gorgeous. We can't keep letting him get away with this, its having a really bad effect on you. You're obviously hurting.”

He persisted with trying to comfort him with his touch and massaging his ego with compliments but Pinstripe wasn't letting up.

“What can we do?” he yelled, raising his voice and slapping his hand away in frustration. “I don't wanna be part of one of his sick experiments!”

He put his head in his hands and broke down in floods of tears. Dingodile shook his head in despair. He looked at the empty bottle then back at the sobbing mess in front of him and being third time lucky, managed to put his arm around him and sneak some physical contact.

“Mate, this isn't you,” he said firmly. “Drinking and feeling sorry for yourself? No way! Not the Pinstripe Potoroo I know.”

“Yeah? Well maybe you'se don't know me as well as you think.”

“Come on. I think we know each other pretty well by now and I know you are better than this. The Pinstripe I know wouldn't let a mad man like Dr. Nefarious Tropy get one up on him.”

“Hmph.”

There was a pause as Pinstripe contemplated this. Dingodile noticed the burns N Tropy had inflicted on his neck. They were still red raw and angry looking. He'd dealt with his fair share of burns after having a few mishaps with his flamethrower so he offered to clean them up for him.

“Do what you want, everybody always does anyway,” Pinstripe snapped back.

He knew that was his backhanded way of saying yes please so went into the bathroom to rummage through his medicine cabinet for some ointment. By the time he came back, Pinstripe was off the sofa, dressed smartly in his gangster outfit and was armed with his tommy gun, his brows burrowed down into an expression of absolute rage.

“You're right, this ain't me. I'm gonna kill that motherfucker and trash that fucking lab of his,” he snarled.

Dingodile's face lit up, “Yeah baby, that's more like it.”

“We'll get him tonight, when he's sleeping. We'll get the drop on him; he'll never know what hit him,” Pinstripe cocked his gun and grinned. “Lets go. We'll take the lab foist.”

They hopped in Pinstripe's car and headed to the castle (stopping by to grab Dingodile's flamethrower on the way), where the secret lab was: the place of Pinstripe's nightmares. The adrenaline was coursing through their veins and their hearts were thumping... finally N Tropy was going to get what he deserved. Dingodile gazed adoringly at his lover driving full throttle with a fire in his eyes that he had not seen for a while. It was making his cock creep to life already...

“Good to have you back mate,” he smiled, reaching over and squeezing his thigh.

“Good to be back,” Pinstripe said.