And here it is, the other completed Max Gluteus story I've written! This one was done with the help of a friend of mine who heard about Max and LOVED the concept and execution, so when I asked for their help they were glad to contribute! This is the story so far featuring the poor guy that I'm most proud of. :)
As previously noted, the third Max Gluteus tale is almost complete, but I've struggling so much with the climax and conclusion that I can't really release it yet. Once it's complete, though, you readers will be the first to know. In the meantime, please enjoy this little tale and laugh at Max's (and Nile's) suffering! I hope I delivered well enough. :D
Part 1 on DeviantArt
Part 2 on DeviantArt
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Max Gluteus and the Eye of the White Tiger
by Skaea and an anonymous co-writer
Contains: */M and some */F Hotbuns. Mildly NSFW.
Word Count: 13,861
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The work of an archaeologist is never done. That I can say for
certain. You can never get any rest on the job, be it due to a new assignment
in some foreign country, a new artifact in need of cataloguing… or in my case,
a flea-infested seat cushion.
A month or so after my first adventure in Central America, I was given a lead
by my supervisor regarding a monastic temple in the mountains of northern
Tibet, on the border of south China. A mysterious object known as the Eye of
the White Tiger, an object of unknown and no doubt plot-relevant mystical
power, had recently been discovered, but for some reason, the people who had
found it had fled in terror from whatever was in there before they could
investigate its nature in full. It was decided quite quickly that I was the one
for the job, given my success at my previous endeavor — though it was to the
surprise of the department that Tlacotl decided to come.
Of course, one thing led to another, and we’d soon found ourselves in a dingy
rickshaw winding its way up some third-world town, its destination being the
village at the foothills of the Himalayas.
“Is everything okay, Max?” asked Tlacotl, curling her arms close to her body;
she was not used to cold climates, so she had insisted on dressing in as many
mountaineer jackets as she could, along with several pairs of khakis and
fur-lined hiking boots. “You look… uneasy.”
“It’s nothing — ow! — Just these — ouch! — fleas in the seat
cushion — owie! — They’re biting my bottom almost constantly — aaagh! — and
making it difficult — yeeoww! — to concentrate…”
She shook her head in mild distaste. “Seems like your curse is just as busy as
you. Not to mention extremely possessive.”
I snorted at that remark, pulling my own dark brown parka a little tighter
around me. We had tried to keep up a romantic relationship as much as we could
since we’d met back in the Mesoamerican jungle, but it was not to be,
because of course. The curse always maimed my ass every single time
we tried to even kiss. Tlacotl had been devastated when I finally told her that
we had to break up, but we’d eventually conceded that in hindsight, we
should’ve seen that coming a long way away, and at least our friendship
remained unbroken in spite of everything.
“Well, it’s — yowch! — not my fault that every time we — aiiieee! — tried to
seriously commit — gaah! — the curse made sure that I — oowwch! — could never
get even a moment’s happiness — aack! — without getting my poor bottom getting
hurt to compensate!”
The tribal woman nodded sagely. “It’d make sense that it wouldn’t work out.
Your curse was, after all, brought about by you getting horny with someone when
neither she nor her relations wanted it.”
“I still think — aaah! — it’s a little — owiieee! — excessive…”
“I could almost agree with that, but then again, you do put
your priorities over those of others sometimes, too. Not exactly ideal for
relationship building, isn’t it?”
“Fair point. Aaargh! Damn fleas! My ass is gonna itch for days…”
“Count yourself lucky. Ah, here we are!”
We disembarked from the rickshaw at our designated stop, with me exiting a lot
faster than normal. I instantly started scratching my bottom with extreme
fervor, earning a look of pity from my companion in spite of herself.
“Don’t worry, I’ll get you some anti-itch cream as soon as we get to the
village,” said Tlacotl, deciding to follow my lead to the place in question.
“So… I take it you’re aware that the Monastery of the White Tiger is square in
the middle of tiger country? Which is a rhetorical question, by the by.”
“T-Tigers?” I shivered uncomfortably.
“You know… Panthera tigris? Largest member of the cat family?
Basically like a jaguar, but bigger, stripier, and meaner—”
“I know what a tiger is, dammit! It’s just… After that one
time with that jaguar…”
“Oh, right. You’re probably gonna get mauled, huh?”
“Took the words right outta my mouth, there. So, would it be too much to ask to
help me out in case of, well… you know?”
“Why do you think I decided to come? You need help, regardless of the status of
our no-longer-existent relationship. I can’t imagine striking it out on your
own without getting yourself killed.”
I scoffed at that last bit. “Tch, I should be so lucky.”
