A lamppost on Wisteria Lane

by Wersgor

A short Desperate Housewives fanfic, featuring Andrew van de Kamp and Justin.

Dusk had settled over Wisteria Lane. Andrew sat on the steps of the Van De Kamp house, smoking weed and not giving a damn if anyone saw. There wasn’t much Andrew did give a damn about these days — not since Mom had gotten that phone call from the hospital, telling them that Dad was dead.

The news had killed something in Andrew, too. Dad had been the only one the whole planet who made a difference. He couldn’t care less about his sister, Danielle. He hated his Mom completely — hated her so much that every time he’d kissed a girl in the past year, he’d had a nightmarish vision of her growing up to be another Bree Van De Kamp. Maybe that was why he’d spent so much time with Justin lately.

Dad had been the only one. Now, just like that, he was gone, and Andrew was ready to get really crazy.

For a while things were going so well! Ever since he had started learning about the black arts. Booze and pot helped him dodge reality, but with this shit, he could change reality! He had searched through every arcane website he could find, ordered books of dark necromancy over the net — thank you, amazon.com! — and at last he had found a spell that actually, really worked. A spell that could implant his own will, irresistibly, in the helpless minds of others.

At first he had practiced in subtle ways — like making that snoopy Mrs. Mayer trip over her own feet all the time. Then he had tackled Justin. Andrew had lusted after the hunky blond track star since seventh grade — that gorgeous face! That perfect body! But his friend had always been completely and unshakably straight. Not any more. Thanks to the black magic “virus” planted in his mind, the high school stud was now Andrew’s fuck-toy whenever he wanted. Justin didn’t know why, at the most unexpected moments, he would suddenly drop everything else and find himself going to Andrew’s house when no one else was home, eagerly doing anything that Andrew wanted him to do. He just knew it was beyond his control.

Andrew took a last drag and tossed the used-up joint away. It wasn’t helping. Dad was still gone. He had come so close to being Andrew’s greatest success. The one thing the boy had never liked about his father was putting up with all his crap about “discipline”. But the incantations Andrew had muttered, night after night, had fixed that. With his mind properly fucked, Rex no longer enforced discipline, but begged for it. Like Justin and the others, his memory had been altered to think that he had always been this way. And his helpless BDSM compulsion had driven Rex and Bree to the brink of divorce. Soon Mom and Danielle could piss of, and Andrew would finally have Dad all to himself. He’d already picked out the leather ensemble he was going to buy.

And then this had to happen. A stupid fucking heart attack!

But there were ways to fix that, too. They were dark and dangerous ways, but for Dad, it was worth the risk. The Powers would bring Dad back to him. They had to.

But first, they needed a sacrifice.

“Hey,” greeted Justin from the sidewalk, waving. His grin was cheerful, but something in his blue eyes looked stunned and confused. As usual, he was wearing the tight jeans and revealing wife-beater that Andrew liked him in.

“What’s up?” Andrew asked innocently.

The tall blond shrugged. “Nothing. I was just thinking about you and…well, here I am.” He shrugged again, with a baffled smile. He didn’t know why he was here.

“Your timing’s good,” said Andrew calmly. “Everyone’s out.” No need to say that Mom was with her boring friend George, whose whole life now revolved around her — another little mindwarp designed to drive his parents apart. Even less need to mention that Dad was gone. After all, he’d soon be back.

“So…what do you wanna do?” grinned Justin lecherously.

Andrew’s smile was cool. “We’re gonna do some of that black magic stuff I told you about. Some really dark, heavy shit.”

Justine frowned. “Hey, I don’t know, man. That stuff sounds dangerous. You don’t know what you might be messing with.”

“That’s okay. We’re doing it anyway.”

Justin shuffled his feet. “Not me, man. I want to hang with you, but not — ”

“Shut up, you have no voice,” snapped Andrew impatiently.

Justin’s lips continued moving for a moment before he realized that no sound was emerging. He put a hand to his throat, panic sweeping across his handsome face. What’d you do? he tried to say, but no words came.

“That’s better,” his smaller classmate said smugly. “Now come on inside.”

Justin felt his feet start moving, by no will of his own. It was as if someone else was moving them. He struggled to regain control, to force his legs to obey him. With an effort, he halted. He was trying to turn and run, trying so hard that he was sweating. His muscles strained and bulged, but he was rooted. It was taking all his will power just to resist moving forward.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake. You can’t fight me. You should know that by now. Look, you’re gonna get laid. By me, your sex god. That’s the only thing you care about. It’s the only thing you can think about. Isn’t that right, slave?”

Justin’s mind seemed to be in a blender. The truth of Andrew’s words washed over him, as it always did. He was going to get laid by Andrew again! The mere thought of it had his heart pounding, his cock leaping erect. He was going to get laid by Andrew, his sex god. A tiny part of his mind tried helplessly to tell him something else, but he couldn’t seem to hear what it was saying. And who cared, anyway? He was going to get laid by Andrew.

Andrew smirked at the glassy-eyed, dreamy smile on his friend’s face. “Good. Your brain is toast, isn’t it, stud?”

My brain is toast, Justin mouthed silently, unconcerned about the meaning of the words. He was going to get laid by Andrew.

He followed his Master into the house, pulse racing. “Strip,” Andrew ordered, and he obeyed mechanically. When his ripped, tanned body was naked, he stood waiting for the next command. He did not wonder why Andrew was spending so much time setting up black candles around the living room, carefully placing them in a precise pattern. He did not wonder what the big, leather-bound book was that Andrew was holding, from which he read an incantation in some strange language, repeating it five times as he stood beside each candle in turn. He did not wonder what the odd symbol was that Andrew was drawing on his broad chest in charcoal. He simply stood waiting.

At last Andrew undressed, and pushed him down into an all-fours posture. His heart leapt. It was finally happening! His senses swam at the sight of his god’s naked cock before him, smeared with some scarlet substance that Andrew had gotten from a jar. Its scent was strong and pungent. Justin’s lips half-parted hopefully, but after a teasing moment Andrew moved around behind him. He felt the hard, erect rod brush against his butt cheeks, then the warmth of his Master’s lightly-haired crotch pressing on him. The cock pushed roughly into him, pounding again and again, and he gasped softly. He felt the red mixture being plastered inside him, sticky, but cool like menthol. He felt Andrew’s legs leaning heavily on him, but he did not move from his doggie pose. His god had not told him to.

Andrew paused, breathing heavily for a moment. Then he slowly pulled out, leaving Justin feeling empty, abandoned. Was it over? No! Joy filled him as his Master moved around to the front and, reaching for the jar, painted his cock scarlet again. Then he pushed it between his slave’s waiting lips. Justin sucked with delirious pleasure, unworried about the red goo going into his system. All that mattered was the ecstasy he felt.

At last Andrew shot off into Justin’s throat, letting him gulp down the mixture of cum and sacrificial ointment. He stood there for a long moment, enjoying the feel of being inside Justin’s warm body one more time. Then he slid his penis out, stroking his slave’s blond hair gently. “Stand,” he ordered, and Justin obeyed.

Andrew spent a few minutes adjusting Justin’s pose. The strong runner’s legs were spread apart, one extended before the other. He raised Justin’s right arm into an outstretched salute, pushed the corners of his lips into a smile. He kissed the smiling lips lightly, then said, “Wait right there, buddy.”

With that, he walked out. Justin waited placidly, finding nothing odd about standing in this pose alone in the room. He was still awash in the afterglow of their wonderful experience together. Indeed, it felt quite natural to not be moving. His muscles didn’t seem to be made for movement. They were stiff. Positively rigid.

A faint awareness trickled into his mind. He did feel rigid. Not only his muscles, but his entire body, somehow. His cock, still erect, felt like a steel bar. There seemed something vaguely wrong about this.

He heard the kitchen door slam, and tried to look toward it. His eyeballs would not obey; they were locked in place. He realized that he couldn’t blink either. His eyelids were stiff, more like steel shutters than flesh.

Andrew reappeared, grinning, carrying something that was out of Justin’s frozen range of vision. Justin wanted to ask what was happening, but of course his mouth was trapped in a motionless smile. Besides, he had no voice.

Andrew poked at Justin’s chest with a finger, then felt his arm. It came to Justin that in each case, his skin had not bent to the pressure. It had become hard, unyielding. And…cold. His whole body was becoming cold.

“Almost too late,” observed Andrew. “Hot damn, this shit really works!” He reached up to Justin’s outstretched hand and, with some difficulty, pushed the fingers into a curved position. Then he lifted up the thing he had brought from the garage and folded the stiff fingers into place around its handle.

A lantern.

Andrew stepped back and admired the effect. “Good as gold. Or rather, iron!” He pinched Justin’s cheek, or tried to. The hard metal surface was cold and unbending. He settled for tapping it, making a faintly ringing sound. He ran both hands appreciatively over the broad shoulders and the bulging arms, every muscle line fixed in solid, immovable, metallic grey.

It was difficult to think, yet on some level Justin’s mind was aware of sensations. The blood moving sluggishly in his veins as it congealed into thickening liquid metal; his heartbeat slowing as that organ solidified; the lungs becoming rigid in his chest. His vision was becoming blurred. There was no pain. Iron does not feel pain. He was simply ceasing to be a human being.

A last flicker of thought cried, But…I loved you, Master!

Andrew cupped the statue’s smiling face in his hand. “Sorry about this, stud. But it’s for a good cause. You’ll never know how good.” Then he giggled. “And wait’ll Mom sees you! Oh, man — this is going to rock her world!”

My god is happy, the statue realized, and in the final second before its mind was gone, it was happy, too.

Andrew dragged the statue out to the front lawn and stood it there facing the street. The lantern didn’t really work, but it still looked cheery and welcoming, he thought — especially with that huge, erect steel cock. It would be great at parties.

Naturally Bree thought otherwise. The moment she came home and saw it, she flew into a fit of hysterics, screaming, “What have you done, Andrew? That thing is obscene! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Andrew, with perfect honesty, replied, “Yes.” Speechless for once, Bree ran to her bedroom and locked herself in for the night.

But his gleeful mood faded as the evening went by and there was still no word from Dad. No call, nothing. What had gone wrong? Had the Powers not accepted his sacrifice?

Maybe it hadn’t been enough. Maybe it had to be more.

Maybe if he gave them a matching pair?

Andrew sat on the floor of his room, gazing at a single black candle. As a distant bell chimed midnight, he muttered the arcane words of the spell of power, and focused his mind on bending the will of another.

“John Rowland. John Rowland. John Rowland…”

“…When [Ryan] Carnes was cast in a small role on Desperate Housewives, he had no idea — and neither, it seems, did the show’s writers — that his character would return months later to come out of the closet, dragging Bree Van De Kamp’s teenage son with him. Carnes didn’t mind: ‘That show is so hot, if they asked me to be a lamppost on Wisteria Lane, [I’d have agreed].’” —The Advocate, April 26, 2005

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