Lusty Garage Sell

"Hey Dory? You gonna want coffee? I'm about to order some…"

Dorian stirred at the sound of Becca's sweet voice, blinking against the light as he realized the door was cracked open—left that way by accident after he went for some water at night.

"Yeah… sure. I could use it after staying up so late. Just a plain Americano, thanks…"

Back in high school, Dorian had been a bit of a coffee addict. He kind of had to be, with all the tests piling up during his senior year.

Caffeine didn't hit quite the same anymore—especially now that he was technically an incubus… or whatever the hell he was turning into.

Still rubbing his eyes and yawning, he caught a glimpse of his aunt's gaze lingering a moment longer than necessary before she quickly shifted her focus to her phone, acting like she was placing the order.

It was only then he remembered he usually slept in nothing but his boxers. Thankfully, a thin sheet still clung to him, covering everything but his toned chest and abs.

"Alright," Becca said from the hall. "Should be here soon. Hope you're up and ready by then—we need to start early if you're doing that garage sale. Who knows, maybe we can get rid of half the junk in here. If not, I can call someone to pick it up for donations… or we check what we can list online and toss the rest in the garage."

He nodded groggily as she left, then dragged himself out of bed, stubbing his toe on the way to the bathroom.

After a quick shower and throwing on fresh clothes, he headed downstairs—only to see that the delivery person this time wasn't Emma.

The realization tugged at something in him, a quiet pang. He pulled out his phone and, almost without thinking, typed out a quick message to her.

Dorian:

It's sad but my aunt ordered coffee… and you weren't the one who brought it…

He wanted to test the waters with the girl to see just how much had changed since the day before.

Emma:

Oh? Sorry haha, I had to go all the way across town to deliver pizza to this older lady and her two kids. Who even eats pizza at 8 AM?!

Dorian:

"I am guilty of reheating it! But no I have never ordered pizza so early… to much oil for my poor stomach to handle… that early."

Emma:

"IKR! Well, it was sad indeed that you did not wait for me to be open to order that, now I wont get that extra tip!!! Of course you were going to give me extra tip right?

Dorian:

"Nah, I rather use it tonight, hope it is somewhere good, I'll be waiting~

Dorian settled into a chair at the dining table, unpacking some of the food as Aunt Becca reheated yesterday's leftovers in the old microwave.

"Well, at least this ancient thing still works," she said, glancing at the appliance. "You won't need to replace the bigger stuff… not yet, at least."

So far it seemed like she was enthusiastic about the meet up later, and her messages still looked jolly at least.

Dorian looked up, eyeing the microwave's rounded, almost overly cute design. It wasn't his style.

"That's a relief," he replied, "but I hope it holds out a few months. I'll need to swap some things out eventually—get stuff that's easier on the electric bill."

Becca nodded, pulling the warmed food from the microwave and dividing it into two portions.

"The coffee smells great, by the way," she said, setting the plates down. "Where'd you get it? I could use some for my morning classes."

Dorian sipped his drink, fighting the urge to stare.

His mind buzzed, her presence like an oasis in a desert, stirring those unfamiliar instincts he was still learning to control.

"It's not far," Becca said with a smile. "I'll text you the name. The shop's on the way to the university—probably set up there to catch some of the students."

"Perfect, I'll need the caffeine by then, a good amount," he replied forcing his focus back to the conversation. "Now, let's eat. I've got a ton to unpack, and we need to start moving the junk outside for the sale. The sooner we set up, the sooner people can start browsing."

Two hours later, Dorian and Becca stood in the driveway, surrounded by items they'd hauled out for the garage sale. A large sign with a bold dollar symbol leaned against a table, beckoning passersby.

So far, they'd only pocketed chump change from a few kids snagging old toys—some of which Becca vaguely remembered from her childhood.

A woman approached from the sidewalk, drawn by the colorful spread of boxes and furniture.

She appeared to be in her mid-forties, her tightly curled brown hair secured by a patterned headband.

Her floral blouse and capri jeans suggested a pride in her gardening skills, shone by the various neatly trimmed bushes adorning her yard across the street. Oversized sunglasses dangled from her neckline, and her gaze lingered more on Dorian and Becca than on the items for sale.

"So, old Abb's place is finally getting a makeover, huh?" she said with a wry smile. "Sad to see things change, but I suppose it's time. I'm Wilma, from the house across the street. Nice to meet you both." She glanced at Becca, perhaps mistaking her for Dorian's mother, before her eyes settled squarely on him.

[Careful, kid. I hope your standards—]

Dorian heard Yamir warn him as if not approving.

[What! No!]

Dorian flashed a polite smile, hoping to at least stay normal with the neighbors.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wilma?" he said, "I'm Dorian. Just moved here to attend Rothaven. As for my grandfather's house, I'm starting to fix it up, see what needs changing."

"Oh, Rothaven?" Wilma's eyes lit up. "That's a fine school. I went there myself, you know—best university around, if you ask me. I keep nudging my kids to apply, but they're too busy goofing off. Maybe meeting you will make them rethink their options."

She extended her hand to Dorian, her smile warm but calculated, as if sizing him up for something more than a neighborly chat. She offered the same handshake to Becca, though her gaze held a flicker of intent—something planned; probably the thing about her kids.

[You didn't work your magic… right?] Dorian thought, his mental tone sharp.

[Why would I?] Yamir's voice drawled, trying to defend himself. [You don't need to keep asking. I know our position. I even dialed back the aura so it doesn't mess with that old—]

Wilma cut through the internal banter.

Wilma stepped toward the tables, her fingers trailing over a vase with a nostalgic glint in her eye. "Guess I'll start by browsing what you've got. I always liked the aesthetic of old Abb's place."

"Sure thing," Dorian replied, keeping his tone friendly. "We'll be setting out more items later. If anything catches your eye, we're holding another sale tomorrow. Whatever doesn't sell is probably getting donated."

His attention shifted to Aunt Becca, who was chatting with another customer—a man in his late forties or early fifties. The guy lingered, clearly more interested in her than the items, his laughter a touch too eager as he sifted through a box of old clothes.

[Ha! Looks like the party's just getting started,] Yamir's voice purred in Dorian's head, brimming with mischief. [Let me help you out—crank up that aura to move some more merchandise.]

Wilma interrupted, holding up five small items—a two vases, a photo frame, and a strange candle holder. "I'll take these for now. Twenty bucks, right?"

Dorian nodded, accepting the cash with a quick "Thanks!" as she paid and strolled off, clutching her finds.

[Well, that might help,] Dorian thought cautiously, [but don't go overboard. I don't need any… problems.]

[Relax, kid,] Yamir chuckled. [I'll keep it tame. Just a touch of illusionary magic—nothing wild. Instead of them getting all hot for you, they'll feel that pull for a specific item. Should help with your little money problem, right? I know you're stretched thin, and this'll give you something to look forward to as far as powers go.]

Dorian glanced back at Becca, who was expertly charming the older man. He was now holding a stack of items—far more than he'd likely intended to buy—grinning as she tossed him a warm smile. She had a natural knack for this, her charisma almost rivaling Dorian's newfound aura.

[Guess I'm not the only one working the crowd,] Yamir remarked, sounding faintly impressed.

Dorian watched, equally as impressed, as the man eagerly snatched up an entire box of old clothes for fifty dollars.

Still, it barely dented the pile of items they had left.

The next few customers were easier to handle, and Dorian began to grasp what Yamir meant by using his charms strategically.

When an item caught someone's eye, it pulsed faintly red, almost imperceptibly.

The customer would then seize it with enthusiasm—some outright seemed to want to kiss it, others just gently stroked it lovingly, others gazing at it like a prized treasure, even when it was something mundane like a worn shoe, a faded hat, or an old board game.

One incident stood out: two women, both well-endowed in various places were locked in a heated tug-of-war over a vinyl record. Dorian doubted either owned a player, yet they battled fiercely, their struggle drawing curious glances from other browsers.

[Alright, calm it down, kid,] Yamir's voice chimed in, laced with amusement. [You've got this. Just ease in, hold their hands gently—haha, trust me.]

Not wanting a simple garage sale to escalate into a police matter, Dorian stepped forward and lightly grasped their arms as instructed.

The women instantly relaxed, their tension melting away, though they swayed slightly, dazed. Their eyes locked onto him, faces flushed.

"Must be the sun getting to you both," Dorian said smoothly, adding a playful wink. "Let's get you both into a chair to relax. That record's not worth that much, right?"

The women's reactions were odd—legs pressing together, breaths catching faintly. They nodded, one of them still clutching the vinyl tightly on her bosom.

After another hour, with a good portion of the items sold, Dorian and Becca decided to call it a day. The sun blazed high, and the heat was becoming unbearable.

"I'm going to need another shower," Becca groaned, fanning herself with her hand. "This is why I hate summers. The heat, even caused the customers to go wild at times. I wonder why..."

Dorian chuckled. "No idea, but I'll handle the cleanup. Thanks for the help, Aunt Becca—you were amazing out there. You should take half the profits."

She shook her head, waving off the offer. "Keep it, Dory. I know you need it to fix up this place. The less junk we have, the more comfortable it'll be."

Dorian saw her back inside, then began packing away the remaining items. He hadn't tallied the exact total, but the cash in hand was close to twelve hundred dollars. Not a fortune, but enough to start tackling the house's needs.

Within minutes of clearing the garage sale, Dorian dove back into cleaning, sorting through items to set out for the next day's sale.

He began moving pieces he'd initially thought wouldn't sell—old lamps, dishware, a rustic looking chair—into the garage, hoping to clear more space. The house still demanded so much work. Glancing at his phone, he realized it was nearly six in the evening.

"Damn it, my date!" he muttered, heart racing. He'd almost forgotten his plans with Emma.

Dorian rushed to shower, then rummaged through his closet for a shirt that struck the right balance—casual but sharp, perfect for a night out without seeming overly formal. He didn't want Aunt Becca getting suspicious.

[Looks decent enough for wherever you're headed,] Yamir's voice chimed in, tinged with impatience. [Now move it. I burned a lot of magic with that sale, and I'm starving. You owe me a good portion of that next meal, kid.]