Written in about 45 minutes for the contrelamontre interjections challenge.
Stalky & Co. is by Rudyard Kipling, and can be found here.
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More Close Than A Brother
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"Con-found!" Stalky kicked the door shut behind him. "You giddy brutes! What if I'd been a master?"
"Couldn't be. Heard you dancin' down the corridor, yellin' war cries. Don't tell me that's how a master approaches." Beetle stretched and smiled, his mouth obscenely red.
"Oh, run along, Artie dear," said M'Turk. He was straddling Beetle, both boys half-dressed at best. Beetle lay quietly under M'Turk's not inconsiderable weight, his eyes half-closed. "Beetle and I've got business of our own. Go bait Heffy or bully a fag like the pure-souled youth you are."
"The deuce I will! Here, shift over, Turkey. 'Tain't fair you and Beetle should always be -- be larkin' without me."
"You're too jolly English, Stalky. Sentiment drippin' out of your ears. Beetle's more sensible than that, aren't you, Beetle?"
Beetle rippled impatiently under M'Turk's hand.
"Get on with it. Stalky, if you crease my Browning, I swear I'll scrag you."
Stalky leant back, scooping up the book from where it lay in a nest of blankets, and tossed it with abandon onto a nearby shelf.
"Beastly careless habit of yours, leavin' your books around. You don't know how to look after your things, Beetle. Serves you right if we -- hypothecate them."
"My Hat! Is that what you did with my bags?" Beetle yowled as M'Turk shoved him down. "You scabs! I had to write home about them. My people were no end wrathy. That's the third pair this term."
"If you ever took heed to your possessions, we shouldn't have to do it for you. Stop dancing! We've got the ticket. You might be give it if you're good to your Uncle Stalky. Shut him up, Turkey!"
M'Turk leant down and kissed the boy lazily, running his tongue over Beetle's teeth. Beetle went limp.
"You are beastly cads," he moaned. "Get off my leg, Stalky, it's goin' numb."
"He's horrid bossy, ain't he? Do shut up, Beetle de-ah." But Stalky moved, rearranging his legs in a complex motion. "Come to my arms, my beamish boy!"
"Take off your bags first," Beetle said practically. "I've got to finish Turkey first, anyway."
Stalky opened his mouth to object, but M'Turk cut in before he could speak.
"Fair's fair -- Artie. Collar a fag if you can't wait. To recapitulate, my dearr -- "
Beetle flung open his arms invitingly. M'Turk bent, burying his face in Beetle's neck. Beetle's head went back, his eyes soft.
"Sentimental piffle," Stalky muttered. "(Confound these bags!) You'll wake the floor with your warblin'."
"You're an abject burbler, Stalky," said Beetle, smiling up at M'Turk.
Stalky shed his trousers and clambered on the bed. He elbowed M'Turk in the side, kissing him roughly when he turned his head.
"You an' your sentiment," said Stalky. "Urh!"