Page 54 of Shroom for Improvement

Everything.

“Oh.”

My wank. Oh, gods. It had seen that? But how much did a house really understand about... those sorts of activities?

As though Claude read my thoughts, he said, “It started talking to me. I had a shower and... afterwards, the house... Jenny, spoke to me.”

I swallowed. Pretended I didn’t feel my cheeks and ears catching on fire.

Claude closed his eyes and shook his head. “It... oh, fuck... it questioned the necessity and enjoyment levels of...” He paused. “Actually, I can’t do it. I can’t tell you what it saw.”

But he didn’t need to. Presumably the house had witnessed my wank and had then tattled to Claude. Damn, why would it grass on me like that? I scrubbed my hands down my face and groaned. Now both a sentient house and Claude knew I’d masturbated the very second I got back to my room. How much detail had it gone into when relaying this info?

I hadn’t been able to find privacy fast enough. Was barely inside my room before I jiggled Claude’s train-print PJs down under my balls and collapsed onto the magically returned chair. I’d been gasping for the release. It had been a long time sinceI’d come as hard as that on my own. There was even cum in my stubble.

But at least Claude couldn’t know I’d thought of him the entire time. Could he? My cheeks flamed all over again. I didn’t think I’d called out his name as I came. Or did I? Shit.

“Can Jenny read minds? Or can it only see and hear us?”

Claude paused, tipped his face towards me. I couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t think it can read minds.”

My sigh of relief was altogether too obvious.

“Although...” he said, and my stomach dropped. “I never thought to ask, but Jenny knows what I like. What we like, I mean. It created two perfect rooms for our individual needs. It knew I like puzzles and trains and dark spaces. And I’ve only seen a crack inside your doorway, but I don’t think a more Sonny space has ever existed.”

I tried not to fixate on the way Claude seemed to know what I liked. Knew whether a space “suited” me.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said, driving home the mortification another mile or two. “It’s a perfectly natural thing to do, and well, I myself oftentimes partake in—”

“Holy shiitake!” I yelled, stopping him before he finished that sentence and caused me to combust from the sheer humiliation. “You can stop speaking now. Please.”

Claude nodded vehemently. “Yes. I’m sorry. Thank you.”

Last thing I needed was to picture the man opposite me with his dick in his hand. What kind of faces would he pull as he brought himself to the edge? What kind of noises would he make as he tipped himself over?

No, Sonny, shut it down, now!

We were quiet for the longest time. Claude continued eating his breakfast, occasionally shooting me glances and looking away the millisecond we caught each other’s eye. Itried not to think about wanking. Me wanking. Claude wanking. Wanking in general.

How was I supposed to cope with a fortnight or perhaps longer with no way to release my pent-up tensions? Especially a fortnight around Claude. A man who had been both the cause of and solution to those tensions for quite some time now.

I wondered if there was anywhere besides the bed and breakfast where the house wouldn’t see every movement I made. Perhaps the gardens? Or maybe I could take a walk into the nearest village, rent a room in a different B&B. A non-pervert one.

“So,” I began tentatively. “Apart from ratting me out, what else did Jenny tell you?”

Claude thought for a minute. “It said you, or rather we both, have the ability to figure out the ritual. That the answer is right in front of our faces. We just have to look and we’ll see it.”

“So, Jenny knows what the ritual is?”

“It does, but it can’t tell us because of the ancient shroom fae bonds.”

“Of course it can’t tell us. That would be far too easy. Fancy being able to tell us the one thing we need to do to keep it alive.” I sat back in my chair. “Well, I am a little more optimistic than I was yesterday. At least we know the answer is within our grasp, and not some long-forgotten spell neither of us had a hope of stumbling upon.”

“If anything, it makes me more nervous,” Claude said. He looked down into his half-demolished eggs royale. “I have a habit of screwing up even the most basic of magics. Always have done. My mother never shouted at me, but... Not important. It’s not important right now.” He shook his head as though ridding it of his memories. “I’ve never been responsible for anything, and this...” He motioned his fork in a circle, pointing to the room at large. “If we fail... It was bad enough when thehouse was only magic, but now that it’s real, sentient... It has a personality. It has a name—Jenny. And Jenny’s talking to me, and casually insulting me, though it also said some nice things, but... Sonny, what if I fuck this up too?”

I watched as the five-hundred-year-old fae opposite me seemed to shrink in on himself. His shoulders hunched, his bottom lip pulled under his teeth, his eyes downcast like he couldn’t bring them to meet mine, couldn’t muster the strength.

The “too” part of his question grated against something in my chest. What else did he believe he’d fucked up? One thing? Many things? Everything?

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