krii7y
no warnings
3979 words
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one of the stories from my old blog, chinxino5. hope you enjoy! (whether it be for the first time or the second !!)
merry christmas!
To say anticipation buzzed throughout the town was an understatement.
Early August was always exciting for the small population as each year without fail brought five special days of good vibes, masses of cotton candy and adrenalized shrieks of joy and fear. There wasn’t a soul within the town that didn’t enjoy the presence of the lively carnival and it brought benefits to all.
Terrifying rides, endless games and prizes to win, silly booths for all sorts that could be imagined. Every man and his dog could be found walking the aisles of the carnival and not a single soul didn’t wear a smile on their face with hands full of showbags or cotton candy sticks. It was a day for excitement and endless fun.
For Smitty, it was no different.
The nineteen-year-old had his day planned down to the second. His list of rides in specific order, break times for food and finding friends, visiting those working at booths so he could laugh at and tease them; he’d even taken walking time and waiting in lines into account!
‘Excited’ didn’t cut it.
Until he visited Simone: his first mistake, and his mental list was set on mental fire right before his mental eyes.
The second she let her eyes fall on him he knew there was a problem and when she grabbed at his overalls and yanked him back to the tent behind the booth, he knew he was definitely going to be dragged into it against his own will.
Simone was by far his favourite to tease. An amazing friend, a lovely gal to be around too, but she just so happened to have the worst (by Smit’s standards) position in the carnival year after year (though she denied it being so awful). Having been through two of his planned six hours, he had decided to pay her a visit and boy, was timing a bitch.
“Smit, you’ve gotta help me,” were her first words. Unsurprisingly, they weren’t very comforting. “I’m on in ten minutes for two damn hours and Tyler’s gonna rip me in two if I leave an empty booth!” she exclaimed. He’d never seen her so distressed before and she didn’t cope with her panic very well at all. “I don’t have any supplies – I wasn’t supposed to be due for another couple of days! This is so unfair but I don’t know what to do, I need a fill-in and I don’t know anyone who can, I-”
“Simone! Stop, oh my God; breathe for one second please.” He cut her off, eyes wide in alarm at the state the girl was in. He hadn’t expected this at all, but she listened, falling silent and panting for a short moment. He rested his hands on her arms, gentle, and held her eye contact. “Breathe and start from the start. What happened?”
Her fingers relaxed, releasing him and inhaling deeply as told. When she exhaled, the panic was no longer rushed but instead dressed itself with concern and helplessness. “I got my period and I don’t have a tampon – none of the girls do. It’s not like I can sit up there and bleed through my pants for two hours, that’ll be so gross. I have to go home but I don’t have anyone to take my place!” Her dark eyes were saturated with pleading and although she didn’t voice it, Smitty knew exactly what she was thinking.
He took a step back, pointing a finger in warning. “Oh no. No way. Simone. If you’re asking me to go out there for two hours and sell my very high-value kisses for five dollars-” Smitty’s heart fell, stopping short as he watched the desperation swell in her eyes. An internal battle. He dropped his finger. It caused him physical pain to turn away, rubbing his face with his hands and letting a groan slip past his lips.
“Please Smit, you can have all the pay and I’ll call Marcel to bring you cotton candy and water! Please, please, please; I’ll do anything,” she begged, tugging on his arm to keep his attention.
All the rides, all the lollies, all the games…
He sighed, eyes shut in a pained defeat. “Fine”—Simone gasped, throwing her arms around him—“but you’re buying me a new toothbrush! And Marcel better bring that damb cotton candy or I swear I will ruin you,” he grumbled, hating each word that dropped from his lips.
Desperation fell away to relief as she bounced up and down on her feet. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He grumbled to himself as she squealed into his shoulder. Her hands were quick to usher her out of the tent. “You’re the best and I owe you a massive favour!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, watching her check the time with a pout on his lips. She jumped in her haste, pushing him to the back of the big red booth.
“Okay, c’mon. You’re on as soon as Chrissy’s out.” She hopped from one foot to another and glanced at her phone again. A hum of thought. “Remember to smile and be pretty. Flirting gets you customers, don’t swap too much spit because herpes are a thing, and if you need help Jay’s near by and he’ll handle it. Okay? Got it?”
He nodded, unhappily watching her back away with an eagerness to get home and clean herself up. “You owe me!” he reminded, crossing his arms as she gave him two thumbs up and a guilty smile.
“Good luck!” Her response was not at all encouraging but she slipped around the back of the tent and vanished with a phone to her ear, leaving Smitty to sigh.
Two hours…
Angry brown eyes turned to the behind of the booth. The stand itself was a little wooden structure, a tall red-painted box. The back wall could be opened, and the front was cut out with a small bench-like surface where the worker would lean across to kiss the customers. It was relatively cosy, the inside of the door wearing the big white words of “Kisses for $5!” for all of the aisle to see.
It wasn’t subtle and it definitely wasn’t unpopular.
As he watched, the back swung open and a familiar face stepped down. Surprise switched to humour as Chrissy acknowledged Smitty standing where Simone usually would. Smit sighed. “Simone got her period. Guess who her knight in shining overalls is.” He motioned to his attire and the girl cackled, not at all sympathetic.
“Well,” she huffed a happy sigh, “Get up there and pray away the mouth herpes.”
She laughed at the curse he dropped, holding the door open for him with a smug look on her face. He shook his head, stepping up into the one-person space. “You’re too happy about my suffering.”
“That’s what you get for being a good friend!” She pushed the door shut for him and he bit back his groan, hopping over the small stool and taking his seat.
Time for a long two hours.
-
At first it was rather intimidating. Sitting up in a brightly coloured booth with a rather bold offer above his head and hundreds of people walking past him; it was impossible not to be nervous. Some people just glanced at him, some looked to be totally analysing him. Friends gossiped, giggling with each other as they nodded in his direction.
That had been the source of his first customer, a girl with a shy smile and four friends cheering behind her. Her freckles danced under the sun and he breathed in deeply.
“Smile. Be pretty and flirty.”
A charming smile; one he’d perfected for the sake of getting what he wanted from people in the past. It was useful as he tried to keep calm and come off as reassuring as possible as she stopped in front of the booth. “Hey there,” Smitty managed, not having any idea how he was expected to speak to the customers.
She batted her eyes, blushing at the awkward situation. “Hi, can I get a kiss?” she asked, holding out a five-dollar note and flicking her gaze between his eyes and his lips, unsure where to settle.
He smiled, swallowing. What was he thinking; his kiss experiences had been good but not extensive. He was bound to fuck this up.
There wasn’t much time to think about that though as he took the money and tucked it into the little moneybox beneath his make-shift desk. “Sure thing.”
Who the fuck says “Sure thing” when asked for a kiss?
She licked her lips, bracing herself on the desk and he leaned in. Her lips were shy, pressing to his in hesitance and only lingering for a moment before drawing back. He remained relatively passive, resting a hand on her shoulder and allowing her to be as close or as far away as she wanted.
Her shy smile formed a bright grin, skipping back a step. “Thank you!” she chirped and spun on her heels, rushing back to her laughing friends.
He sat back. “Huh.” It wasn’t so bad, though he could tell his cheeks were rosy by the warmth his face gave. Maybe it’d take a little bit to get used to it and it wasn’t like that would be a problem either. After all, he had two hours.
It continued much like that. At times he sat watching people pass for long minutes, not earning much more than an unfocussed glance. A few periods, however, had a line of three or four people waiting, money in hand and varying levels of uncertainty written on faces. It wasn’t all that bad and he found himself comfortable with most of it.
A small greeting, a warm smile to encourage the highly-nervous youths and gentle touch when he drew them in for kisses. No one tried to push things too far, no one complained and no one was bad enough to have to call for Jay.
His bad experiences were, fortunately, very little.
An older woman who looked far too happy to see his nineteen-year-old baby face in the window was one. She dropped innuendos with every sentence and left her number in his pale hand, wiggling her fingers at his uncomfortable smile as she left.
There was also the girl who looked like she was no older than thirteen, big eyes and absolutely no sign of discomfort as she cheerfully asked for a smooch. He hesitated with that one. A cautious, “How old are you?” received a frowning response but after a little bit of persuasion she agreed to pay only three dollars and receive a chaste cheek kiss. Far less creepy, he was happy with that.
Nothing got any worse than that and his pretty face drew in quite the number of shy, kind girls. He got only six boys within the whole two hours.
The first looked pretty similar to him, small and pretty, soft-looking blonde hair and a smile that only half hid his nerves. Whether it was the kiss in general, or the fact the public display of being queer, the blonde was very shy and bashful about the whole thing. Smitty was surprised at how easy he found the situation.
As the guy approached, he could tell he was worried and offered a smile, keeping eye contact. “Hey, you lookin’ for a smooch?” It fell from his mouth without much trouble and he felt proud to see the surprise in the boy’s eyes as his reluctance faltered.
“Are, er… Is it girls only?” he asked.
There was the source.
Smit beamed. “Nope!” A barely noticeable exhale of relief. “Flirty!” He willed Simone’s voice out of his head. “I’m not picky.” A wink.
The blonde smiled, hands resting on the desk with a comfortable confidence. Pale fingers accepted the three coins and dropped them into the box. Smitty leaned forwards first, more excited than he had been for any other customer.
“C’mere,” he mumbled, cupping a tan cheek and drawing the boy in halfway. He let him cross the rest of the distance, sealing their lips together for a long moment before the boy pulled away.
He’d left a smile behind and Smitty ran a hand through his own white-dyed hair.
“Thank you,” the blonde said, smiling before turning away.
Another guy strolled up with a skateboard under his arm, brightly coloured hair peaking out beneath a backwards cap. Smitty couldn’t lie when his heart almost stop beating. A cute smile with pierced dimples and pretty eyes – the guy was very attractive and a gentle kisser.
Overall, they came with very enjoyable experiences. The guys were the best, though some pretty girls did have him melting too. It was far less awful than he’d expected it to be, the two hours passing slowly but eventfully. He was also mildly proud to say he’d gotten rather used to kissing and mostly every customer walked away with a smile on their kissed lips.
With fifteen minutes left of his shift, Marcel appeared with water and cotton candy (as promised) along with Simone’s message of: “You’re the fucking best and I’ll bring you pizza one night in return.”
At five-to-one, he turned up. A year or two older than him, long bleached hair tied back and a pair of the prettiest eyes Smitty had probably ever seen. He greeted Pretty Boy (as he dubbed him) with a smile as usual, popping a piece of cotton candy on his tongue before lowering the stick and moving to address the guy.
“Hey, uh, do you have a map?”
Oh. Not a customer.
Smitty blinked in surprise, glancing down beneath the desk. Nothing other than his water and the moneybox. He returned his eyes to the boy. “No, sorry. I don’t.”
To his surprise (and confusion), a hand fell to rest on the wooden frame and a charming smile pulled at pink lips. “Sorry, I just keep getting lost in your eyes.” A straight set of white teeth were flashed and it took Smitty a long few seconds to acknowledge the fact that he’d just been really, really badly hit on.
He blinked. The cheesy smile didn’t change. “Do you, uh… do you want a kiss?” he asked, not so sure of Pretty Boy’s intentions with his flirting.
The question seemed to be exactly what he was looking for as he leaned on the counter and beamed. “I’d love one actually.”
Smitty didn’t move. He stayed leant back against the door, balancing on the back legs of his chair and watching the boy batt his lashes. “It’s five dollars.” Deadpan. He had only a few minutes left of Simone’s shift and maybe he was supposed to be joyous and cheery with his customers, but he was getting tired and this guy seemed to have enough confidence and happiness for the both of them.
But at Smitty’s comment, his smile fell to a frown of thought. “Oh.” Smitty waited. “Can I try again?”
“Dude. What are yo-”
“Is your name ‘nobody’?” That same smile, accompanied with a small laugh.
Smit sighed, rocking forward on his chair and resting his elbows on the bench, chin on his hands. He didn’t bother responding.
“Because I was told nobody’s perfect.”
So, Smitty may have been highly unamused by the first line… But he hadn’t heard that one before and he couldn’t deny he was kinda impressed. And maybe this guy wasn’t completely boring; he had quite the nice face as Smitty really took him in. But no matter the quality of his flirting or his pretty face, he wasn’t gonna get a free kiss.
“A kiss still costs five dollars.”
The disheartened look only lasted a moment before the cheerful glimmer returned to those gorgeous eyes. Smit squinted a second. “How has your day been, sugar?” A not-so-smooth transition but not one he’d question.
He shrugged. “Not too bad. My friend bribed me to fill in for her in a kissing booth and now I’m dealing with some guy trying to hit on me with shitty pick-up lines and cliché pet-names.” His words weren’t bitter though, sounding flat and uninterested but not unkind. He watched for the odd carnival-goer’s reaction. A laugh dropped from split lips, not at all bothered or worried. His confidence never wavered.
“I bet it’s been a successful one,” Pretty Boy said, reminding unconcerned. “With a face like yours I’m sure you’ve got a million dollars back there.”
Another bit of blue cotton candy dissolved on his tongue. “Mhm,” Smitty hummed. “You want a kiss? It’ll make it a million and five.” That really made him laugh, grin on his face as he pulled the tie from his hair before retying it. Smitty watched him curiously. “What colour are your eyes?”
Another laugh, the boy leaning close when he dropped his hands away from his hair. “I’ll tell you for a kiss,” he cooed. His smile was tempting.
Smit grinned, pointing at the white words behind his head. “Five dollars.”
Pretty Boy was persistent, Smitty gave him that. It wasn’t all bad, the guy rather funny as he tried and tried again with flattery and flirting that got him nowhere. Any fluster Smitty had felt remained hidden and he found himself hanging onto whatever words were to fall from those pink lips next.
“How about I strike you a deal?” In an attempt to mock professionality, the Pretty Boy placed his hands face down on the desk.
Smitty’s grin was unrestrained. “A kiss for five dollars.”
Ignored. “A kiss… for the price of a couple of shitty pick-up lines and some five-star quality flirting from Yours Truly.”
A hum of thought. “If one of those shitty pick-up lines includes you handing me a five dollar note, then sure.”
The guy turned, throwing his hands up with an exasperated groan as Smitty giggled to himself. So what, maybe he was a bit funny too. He turned back, pout on his lips instead and there was no way Smitty could fight away his smirk. The persistence was impressive but no matter how pretty those eyes were, he wasn’t getting a kiss without five dollars.
“I’ll ask nicely?”
“It’s five dollars.”
“Pretty please?”
“Five… Five dollars?”
“Pretty please for the pretty boy?”
“If I kiss you will you fuck off?” Smitty clapped his hands over his eyes, grin hidden by his wrists. The excited gasp pushed away his fingers.
“Yes!”
“Sweet.” He leaned back on his chair once again. “That’ll be five-fucking-dollars.”
“Oh my God! Fine!”
For a fleeting moment Smitty thought the boy was leaving as he spun around and his heart fell. Worrying that he’d actually made him feel unwanted, his grin dropped. But his concern vanished real quick the second Pretty Boy turned back around and dropped a large jar onto the desk full to the brim with silver five-cent coins.
The grin on the boy’s face was smug. “Five dollars!”
Smitty’s eye twitched.
It took him two minutes to count out the mass of small silver coins. All the while his last customer stood grinning and watching closely, fully aware that the shift had ended minutes ago. Smitty didn’t have the effort to brush this boy off. He’d come this far and tried so hard; it would be crushing to refuse now that he’d actually given him the five dollars (despite the form it’d come in)
“Four-ninety. Four-ninety-five. Five hundred.” Smitty huffed a sigh as he dropped all the coin back into the jar minus a single five cent coin. Capping the jar and placing it on the bottom of the booth beside his water, he stuck the last of his cotton candy into his mouth. The coin was cold as he pressed it into the hand of this Pretty Boy. “And five cents change,” he finished, eyes full of feigned hatred.
He looked awfully proud, batting his lashes and leaning forward on the table. “Now can I get a kiss from Snow White?” he cooed.
Smit squinted. “Are you calling me that because I’m pale?”
“No.” That stupidly pretty smile. “I’m calling you that because you’re beautiful.”
Now that was bad. Smitty rolled his eyes, scoffing at the corniness of the comment and reaching forward to catch a handful of the boy’s shirt. “Shut the fuck up, will you?” And with that, he brought him close and gave him what he’d been asking for.
Maybe the struggle it took for the two of them to finally reach that point was the reason behind the tingling warmth that trickled into Smitty’s bloodstream. Or maybe it was just the spontaneousness of it all; how whacky this guy was with his relentless flirting and persistence. Or it could just be the fact that he was a mind-blowing kisser. The way he took only a second to adjust, hand cupping Smitty’s face where they met above the desk. The way his lips were so soft but a bit chapped where he’d worried them with his teeth.
The struggle had definitely been worth it.
These five-dollar kisses didn’t last much longer than a few chaste seconds but it took no genius to say that this one exceeded any expectations as the seconds dragged on and Smitty’s lips moved lazily, mimicking the other.
Completely lost in their own world, it was a shock when they separated. Smitty’s eyes were blown wide, while pale eyes were much calmer. “Okay, so maybe it was worth the five dollars.” He caught his breath before Smitty but the smaller was quick to catch up, brows furrowing in insult.
“Hey, my kisses are worth far more than five dollars,” he defended.
The customer grinned, hand still lingering on the side of Smitty’s face. It made it easier for him to swoop back in, capturing those awe-struck lips once again and sealing another kiss between them. It lingered, once again, but ended faster than the first and the hand dropped away as Smit once again blinked himself back to reality.
His frown was quick to reform, leaning back and folding his arms. “Excuse me, you’ve gotta pay for that! These lips aren’t workin’ for nothing; I ain’t a cheap hoe!” The laugh he earnt was well worth it though he wouldn’t ever say so. This guy was a piece of work and if he didn’t get his-
“What’s your name?” Ah. Very good at avoiding the subject.
Smitty’s eyes sharpened but his lips curled in a sly smile. “That’ll be five dollars.”
The silver coin glimmered in the sun beside a shining grin. “How does five cents and two rides on that big-ass blue rollercoaster sound instead?”
Smitty plucked up the courage, leaning across the desk – his sly smirk becoming flirtatious. Go hard or go home, right? “Five cents, three rollercoaster rides and a homemade dinner tomorrow night at seven.”
Blueish-green eyes squinted, smile broad with no intent of refusing. “Why do you think I can cook?”
“It’s a hunch,” he grinned. “Am I wrong?”
“Guess you’ll have to see tomorrow night.” An equally flirty grin. “What’s your name and your number, sugar?”
Smitty didn’t answer, turning and opening up the backdoor of the booth. A girl he didn’t recognise flashed him a grin and stepped up to take his place as he ducked around the back to grab his valuables, before reappearing out the front where the boy waited.
“After one ride, I’ll tell you my name. The second, you’ll get my number. And the third, another kiss.”
The words had that gentle smile pulling back to bear a grin and Smitty held out a hand. Ring-laden fingers curled around his. “What will it cost to spend the rest of the day with you?”
His eyes twinkled, pulling the boy after him as he started down the lane towards squeals of fear and excitement. He glanced back, winking.
ohmtoonz
warnings: exotic dancer, mentions of lap dances, mentions of sex
8496 words
.
one of the stories from my old blog, chinxino5. hope you enjoy! (whether it be for the first time or the second !!)
merry christmas!
The café was always busiest on Sundays. Couples going for coffee dates, Mom’s bringing their kids out for iced chocolates, college students escaping their apartments and study schedules. Ryan adored the place. It was simple, sweet and filled with good vibes. He didn’t care how busy it was, there was never a time where it felt claustrophobic or uncomfortable. Tables and booths were filled with locals, yet no one felt out of place or too crowded.
That’s how it worked.
“Luke!” The familiar barista called out a familiar name. Ryan’s roommate, Craig, had worked at the café for all four years they’d been living together. They earnt money from very different professions but got along all the same.
The familiar name belonged to a man Ryan didn’t exactly know but one he definitely wanted to know. He was someone the brunette had been aware of for over a month on his café visits. The man sipping a black coffee, either on his phone or just staring out a window. Ryan had to remind himself not to outright stare every time he was in the same building.
The man was Godly. He was probably the most attractive guy Ryan had set his eyes on, and everything he did was undeniably hot. Ryan spent his coffee runs ignoring Craig’s suggestive looks and trying to seem busy on his phone, instead of staring at Luke.
Craig made eye contact across the store as he slid the coffee across the bench, well aware of Ryan’s thoughts after weeks of “he looks like he’s been carved by God Himself” and “I don’t know how you can look sexy by frowning at a phone, yet he does it”. The blue-haired man made a face when Luke turned away, aggressively pointing at Ryan and flicking his head towards Luke’s back.
Ryan smiled, raising a hand and wiggling his fingers childishly. There was no way he’d bother trying anything with Luke. It wasn’t as though he were scared or anything, he just typically wasn’t date material and didn’t want to bother trying to hook up with the guy. He seemed too real and genuine (though those assumptions were ridiculous, Craig claimed, seeing as he’d never even spoken to the guy). Seeing as anyone Ryan bothered with tended to be too much, or too romantic. Romance never went too well with him either.
If they didn’t have an issue with him, they definitely had an issue with his lifestyle.
He dropped his gaze to his book, coffee warm against his wrist as he stretched out in the booth. So far, he’d managed to keep his own space in the busy café. It was often on Sunday’s he’d find himself sharing with one or two people in the busyness of it all. There wasn’t ever an issue with that, of course, the place only ever held an atmosphere of welcoming and kindness.
He did, undeniably, enjoy his own space though and revelled in the niceness of his own booth.
Without thinking, his eyes flicked up, seeking a familiar face and familiar coffee by instinct. It wasn’t something he meant to do as he stretched his hands up over his head, it was just something he was used to doing, something he didn’t care much for. His gaze sought out attractiveness, at least that’s what he told himself.
Unfortunately for him, attractiveness had eyes that were looking his way. Luke stood between two tables, dragging his feet slowly as he decided where to settle. There was, unsurprisingly, no empty tables or booths, so the bearded man looked to be searching for who seemed most approachable to share a space with.
He was looking at Ryan, and upon making eye contact, he didn’t bother to look away. Instead, Ryan blinked once and dropped his gaze back to his book, blank expression as though the eye contact was unspecific and unimportant. His arms fell back beside him and fumbled with pages as he reopened his book.
The same page he’d been staring at since he arrived stared back up at him and he tried to actually read some of it instead of drawing pictures between the inked words. After another minute of keeping his eyes under control, a body shifted into his space, sliding into the booth across the table from him.
“This seat taken?” Ryan looked up to calm, dark eyes and a perfect face. He didn’t falter, little smile on his lips as he pointedly ignored Craig’s erratic movements in his peripheral vision.
He took a sip of his drink, blinking slowly. “Is now, apparently.”
Ryan wasn’t one to get easily flustered, keeping his cool as Luke watched him with eyes that didn’t betray anything. The two had a mutual comfort between one another, faces of disinterest, yet eyes that examined expressions closely. Luke seemed very aware of Ryan, far more intrigued in the man across the table than he normally would be in someone he was merely sharing a booth with.
With some reluctance, his green eyes returned to his book. His eyes drifted over words, reading the same sentences on repeat, skipping paragraphs, going back. His attention refused to remain on what he was reading, very aware of the man across from him, noticing how dark eyes continued to flick up from his phone to Ryan.
The coffee slowly drained, leaving a sweeter taste on Ryan’s tongue. He rubbed worn paper between his fingers.
“What’s got you so distracted?” Luke’s question caught him off guard, dragging his eyes up to the other who watched him with curiosity. At his raised eyebrow, Luke gestured to the book held gently in Ryan’s fingers. “Either you’re thinking real hard about something, or you’re just an incredibly slow reader. You’ve been reading the same page for five minutes.”
Ryan smiled, huffing a small laugh as he let go of the book with one hand. It fell closed and he pushed it to the side, resting his forearms on the table and leaning forward slightly. He just grinned. “Distracted is one way to put it. You’re Luke, right?” He held out his hand, voice smooth and easy. The other smiled also, not unkind as they shook hands firmly. It was manners.
The way Luke was watching him made Ryan curious about how firm his hands could be elsewhere but that was just something to think about.
“Yeah, and you’re Ryan I’d assume, unless you’ve been regularly stealing some poor guy’s coffee whose name is Ryan, who has awful tastebuds and orders coffee far too sweet to be healthy every day.” The jab was light and playful, not at all meaning any offense or harm. It was a note of interest, a hint that the man had been paying attention to Ryan, paying attention to the type of coffee he ordered every day.
A fact that peaked his curiosity.
“Coming from the guy who drinks black coffee.” He took a sip of his sweet drink, unafraid to test the waters. Luke laughed, amusement dancing in his eyes. He was, clearly, just as intrigued.
He shrugged, sitting back in the booth seat. One handed raised in mock-surrender. “Fair point – my wake-up call isn’t the most delicious coffee, but at least I’ll still have teeth in twenty-years.” Before he could offer another comment, possibly a question in the way that his brows furrowed and lips tweaked, a song started from his pocket.
Ryan couldn’t help the little smirk that settled on his face, hands raising to rest his head on, elbows on the table, as he watched Luke scramble for the phone blaring “Baby Got Back”. He flashed a slightly embarrassed smile to Ryan as he answered, finishing his drink. “What’s up Jon?” Ryan took a moment to lower his eyes from studying Luke’s face, instead looking over the cover of his book in mild disinterest. He listened to the disappointed sigh, and glanced at the other, who was running a hand through his hair. “Yes Jon. Yep. Okay. You’re a fuckin’ idiot. Yes, I’ll be home in ten. Yes Jon. Oh my God, tell me when I get back. Goodbye Jon.” The audible squeaking that echoed from his phone was abruptly silenced as Luke groaned. When he met Ryan’s curious stare, he smiled weakly in apology. “My dumbass roommate’s humiliated himself in-front of our neighbour,” he explained, shaking his head. “He’s been crushing on this dude for far too long and is probably going to call an ambulance if I don’t get home in ten minutes.”
Ryan just smiled, sitting up and nodding as he finished his drink also. “I get it, I know dramatic roommates.” His eyes slid to Craig who he happened to make eye contact with in that moment. The blue-haired idiot, made a thrusting motion from behind the counter, earning a disgusted glare from the woman he was serving and Ryan’s rolled eyes. He looked back to Luke who was smiling.
“I’m sure I’ll be running into you again sometime soon,” the other said, winking slyly as he stood, shuffled out of the booth and strolled out of the café. Ryan watched him go, drank in the swing of his hips. Craig strolled up, having just delivered coffees to the table a few metres from him.
The brit wore a proud smirk, taking the seat Luke sat in just moments before. “Does this mean you’ll stop telling me how sweet his ass looks in skinny jeans?”
Ryan rolled his eyes, smile still on his lips as Craig leant on the table. The man flashed a grin, chin resting on his knuckles as he batted his lashes. “Chill; I didn’t get his number or anything,” Ryan said, laughing at the way Craig’s expression fell from excited and suggestive to disappointed. He opened his mouth to protest but his roommate stood, aware of how he would respond. “I don’t date, remember.” It was something he told the blue-haired man frequently, no matter the amount of times he was given someone else’s number, or the amount of times the brit attempted to set him up with someone. He shuffled out of the booth, Craig standing also as to go back to his shift. “You know why too, don’t ask. I don’t need to date either, now go before your boss kicks your ass again.”
Craig groaned, childish glare following Ryan as he left the shop.
-
Ryan almost ran into Luke as they both stepped up to receive their drinks at the same time. It was a moment of slight embarrassment when the taller smiled down at him, grabbing both drinks and handing Ryan his before turning to find a seat.
No exchange of words. It wasn’t needed. Shaking off his heart-eyes, he followed but chose a booth a few away from that that Luke occupied. There was no need to sit together again. The coffee shop was bare and the Wednesday morning hadn’t provided Ryan with any necessary need to follow up after their other conversation. He’d easily avoided Craig bringing it up at home, the brit being just as persistent and irritating as he was a good friend.
Sinking into the booth chair, he pulled out his book, having read a large portion since Sunday, and was on the last few chapters. He found his place, holding it open with one hand as his eyes skimmed back and forth, and took a sip of his drink with the other.
He had to yank the book to his chest in order to avoid spoiling it as the little sip of coffee exploded from his mouth all over the table. He coughed violently, choking because of his body’s violent rejection of the drink. Having expected his usual mouthful of sugary goodness, he was definitely not ready for a mouthful of bitter thickness.
Bitter thickness that seemed to have coated his tongue and mouth, refusing to leave his taste buds alone. “H-holy, fuh-uk,” he coughed out, the few other occupants of the café watching him with raised eyebrows. He ignored them, standing and meeting Craig’s surprised bright eyes with a glare. “The fuck, dude?” he rasped, only to cough again as the brit grabbed a cloth and rushed to his roommate’s table. The hand over his mouth hid laughter he couldn’t help and other café-goers returned their attention to their phones or the cars driving past.
Someone else arrived at his table before Craig, a drink in hand and an apologetic gaze. Ryan’s glare softened instantly. “I’m sorry, I think I gave you my drink by mistake,” he said quietly, Craig silent as he arrived and began wiping down the table. Ryan’s aggravation melted away almost instantly. “I’m so sorry man, I’ll buy you another one.” Before Luke could even reach for his wallet, Craig’s co-worker arrived with a sweet smile and two drinks.
“Here you guys go, sorry for the mix-up, it’s on the house.” Evan, as Ryan knew him, placed both drinks on the now clean table and both workers scurried away to get back to work, Craig not without an elbow to Ryan’s side.
With quiet “thanks”s, Ryan sat back in his seat, thankful he hadn’t spat all over himself. Surprisingly, Luke sat across from him, seemingly not having the effort or want to return to his own table. Aware of the incoming conversation, Ryan closed his book and slid it to the side, taking a large mouthful of his drink to wash out the bitterness.
He lifted his eyes, meeting Luke’s stare through his lashes. “That better?” the other asked, a smile on his face as he, too, sipped his own drink.
“A lot,” Ryan scoffed, happy as the awful taste washed away. “How do you drink that?” he asked, nodding at the drink Luke held.
His only response was a shrug and an amused smile, before the question was brushed aside in replace of a topic change. “Tell me about yourself, Ryan.”
Unexpected but not unwelcome. Ryan’s eyes drifted to the ceiling, wandering what there was to tell. “Not much to say,” he responded with a shrug. “I live with Craig over there—“ he nodded at the blue-haired barista, “—and I have a dog. I’m an only child, I’m single, I spend too much time in this café and have a shitty sleeping schedule.”
Not the prettiest of introductions, but it wasn’t an untruthful one. Luke didn’t seem discouraged, only laughing and running a hand through his hair. At Ryan’s inviting nod, he hummed in thought. “I live with my friend who’s in love with your roommate’s co-worker, I spend too much time on video games and I’m also single.” The playful smirk on his lips showed his last little fact obviously had more meaning than Ryan’s had. If that wasn’t enough of a hint, the wink that followed was and Ryan bit back the heat that crawled up his neck. Luke didn’t seem to have any intentions in following up on the specific phrase, instead asking a simple, “Got a job?”
Ryan raised a brow. Playing the “I-didn’t-say-that-game” now, are we? He shrugged. “Dancing.” Not a lie, just not very specific. He may not have had any intentions for the man in front of him but he didn’t want to scare him off instantly. His answer seemed to have peaked the other’s interest though.
“Really? I do dancing too, what type?”
Now, Ryan was struck with a distrustful curiosity. “Dancing” was a vague answer, and could mean anything. The smirk that followed Luke’s response was something that made Ryan wander if they did the same type of dancing. Such a thing would be surprising and quite amusing because of circumstance and general coincidence, but Ryan wasn’t about to go and say so. Instead, he sipped his drink and folded his arms. “I don’t know, what dancing do you do?” he asked, trying to make sure he didn’t sound too suspicious.
At Luke’s laughter, he realised his avoidance was fairly childish, but he smiled all the same. The bearded man only grinned, flashing white teeth as he leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table. “Well, Ryan, two can play this game,” he joked, obviously following the childish antics. “Shall we make a deal?” Ryan nodded, uncaring for the unknown waters he was treading in. Luke grinned. “You can come to one of my shows and see what dancing I do, if I can come to one of your shows.”
It was a simple deal but definitely a risky one. They way Luke’s eyes wavered, almost daring Ryan to agree. He had to be thinking the same thing. They had to do the same sort of dancing.
There was no way he didn’t.
Ryan lifted a shoulder, head tilting slightly with a lop-sided smirk on his face. Confidence never wavering, he leant forward and reached his arm across the table, wrist up. “Deal, but you’ll have to give me your number so I can tell you where and when.”
Yes, Ryan was definitely starting to like Luke’s smile. He also loved the feeling of the pen on his skin, marking a number he would shortly be putting into his phone. When his hand was returned, he casually opened up his phone, dialling the number all the while very aware of Luke’s stare.
When his green gaze lifted again, Luke’s phone went off on the table beside his drink and Ryan cancelled the call, satisfied.
“Wonderful,” he said, standing. Smirk on his lips, he sipped his drink and slid his phone and book into his bag. “I’ll see you ‘round, and I’ll be expecting a time, date and address sometime soon.”
He dropped his right eye closed in a flirty wink of his own, before sweeping past him and strolling out of the café, drink in hand.
-
Thursday, 23:02
Luke -> Ryan
Luke: I have a show on Saturday night, 8pm. Address is *********** and cost to enter is $30
Ryan: oh hi there
Ryan: that suits fine, I cant wait to see your mysterious dance
Luke: I doubt you’ll expect it
Luke: also sorry if I woke you up
Ryan: you didn’t, don’t worry
Luke: oh yeah, shitty sleep schedule. why you up?
-
Ryan frowned at his phone, shrugging on his see-through, cropped tank top. The music was muffled in the backroom and he glanced up as Bryce walked through the curtain, several notes tucked into his snug blue shorts.
The blonde tugged the cat ears off his head, blue eyes reaching Ryan with a warm smile. “You going on?” he asked, and Ryan nodded.
“In a sec.” His eyes returned to his phone, typing out his response.
-
Ryan: night show
Luke: it’s late as shit, when does the show end?
Ryan: soon
Ryan: speaking of which, I gotta go
Luke: sure, sure, go practice your moves ;)
Ryan: not for anyone special
Ryan: ;)
Luke: im offended
Ryan: see ya lukey
-
He put his phone in his desk, standing and patting Bryce on the shoulder as he retrieved his head band and put on his shoes. “See you in a bit, Brycie.”
-
“So what if he isn’t a stripper?” Craig offered, strolling into the kitchen as Ryan dipped another plate into the soapy water. The blue-haired man was very curious about the whole exchange between Ryan and Luke. So many things could turn out a total surprise and a lot could go embarrassingly wrong. “Like, I know he was being supposedly suggestive, and I know you know an exotic dancer’s body when you see one, but like… what if?”
Ryan flicked his head, clearing his face of his hair. He needed to book a haircut. “Yes Craig, I’m quite aware of the chances that he might, in fact, not being a stripper. But his ass is really hot and all the guys I work with have really hot butts, so it makes sense.”
He almost thought Craig had left the room at the silence that began to spread around the kitchen but when he turned to glance over his shoulder he met eyes of judgement and disbelief. “I have a really hot ass though.” Ryan almost missed the quiet words his roommate muttered and threw his head back with laughter as the insulted man stomped his way out of the room.
“Your ass is mediocre,” he called after him, earning a violent: “Fuck you!” He only laughed again, loud and happy. He really did adore his roommate, the two having chosen very different paths in life but still finding happiness in them and in rooming with one another. Craig had no issue with Ryan’s job as Ryan had none with Craig’s.
He shook his head.
Luke was surely an exotic dancer. He had the right body, the right face, the right flirty confidence. There was no way he wasn’t.
-
Saturday, 10:34
Ryan -> Luke
Ryan: address is ********** im working monday, wednesday and friday next week from 7pm onwards
Ryan: just let me know when suits you best so I know you’re coming
Luke: wow you have a lot of shows on
Luke: now im really curious to what dancing you do
Ryan: guess we’ll have to wait and see wont we :)
-
Ryan had fucked up. He’d done it now. Craig was right, he was just a goddamn idiot. He read everything wrong, he signed up to something he shouldn’t have, there was no way he could go through with this.
When he pulled up to the address, he tripled checked the messages before letting his head hit the steering wheel. He had twenty minutes before 8pm and before the show was supposedly about to start and the address did not lead to a strip club at all.
He pulled his phone into view, head heavy against the leather. “I made a mistake,” he muttered when his roommate picked up. “He’s a fucking ballet dancer.”
Craig’s voice pulled away as his loud laughter rung through the speaker. He just groaned, eyes squeezed shut. “His ass will look nice under a tutu, I’m sure,” the brit retorted, howling with laughter at his own hilarity.
“I fucking hate you.” With the lovely statement having reached his roommate, he clicked the red button and dropped his phone to his knees, the laughter cutting short. “Fuck me,” he muttered, pulling the keys from the ignition. He committed, he was there, he didn’t want a confused, or insulted text tomorrow when Luke didn’t see him watching.
He had to go in. He said he would.
He could just tell Luke not to go to his. He could just try and call it off.
He managed to drag himself out of the car and shuffle into the building, feeling very out of place. A lot of viewers wandered around, a line forming to buy tickets and filter into the theatre. Ryan stopped at the end of the line, hands in his pockets and eyes following people filtering in and out of the room. A group of five teenage girls filed in, trotting along on their toes, separated by wide, firm tutus around their waists.
Any sort of hope that Luke wasn’t about to do a ballet show vanished when two men walked in, hoodies casual and comfortable, but legs clad in tights. Their faces were done in fancy makeup, colours encircling their eyes and crawling up their necks. Ryan had to close his eyes for a few long seconds and collect himself. He offered a kind smile and $30 to the lady at the counter, taking the ticket and tucking it into his phone case.
He forced himself forward, following a couple into the theatre and finding his allocated seat. His rapid-fire messaging to Craig was only answered with winky-faces and he could only turn it off as the lights dimmed and a woman stepped onto stage.
She gave the little introduction, instructing phones to be turned off completely and everyone to be respectful. The show lasted an hour and a half, running through six performances of varying styles of ballet dancing. He settled in his seat, curious and uncertain. He’d never been to any sort of dance shows that weren’t in clubs and the whole scene was very domestic.
Even still, he kept quiet and appreciated the highly contradictory dance style to that he knew so well. Single performances, duo performances, group performances; he waited through a full hour of different emotive displays and themed dances before finally a man stepped out onto stage splattered in black swirls and patterns up his chest and back. His legs were clad in black tights, white shoes on his feet visibly worn and stained from constant wear.
Ryan had to remind himself to swallow as the familiar face appeared, his dance jumping into action before the green-eyed man could even take in the sight of him. His dance lasted about five minutes, varying between different tempos and tones. His expression stayed calm, sometimes fluttering with the strain it took to do jumps and move like he did. Ryan was mesmerised.
He followed to rhythm of the music with his body, feet directing him across the stage, jumping and leaping. It was a type of dancing Ryan had never exposed himself to and it was one he was both curious and intrigued about.
By the time the performance had finished, Luke was visibly exhausted and he bowed slightly before carrying himself off stage on quick feet. Ryan paid half attention to the rest of the shows, the last twenty minutes going by in seconds before the lady from the beginning was back on stage, saying thank you, and everyone was applauding.
He joined in, waiting as the majority of the audience filed out of the room. He followed after a few minutes, leaving the theatre and navigating around groups of people. Moms congratulated their daughters and groups of dancers cheered and talked excitedly. He set his sights on getting out of the crowded room but was stopped just before the door by black-clad legs and a painted chest.
“Hey there, stranger.” Luke’s half-painted face was twisted in a smile, eyes bright and exhilarated from his previous performance. “What did ya think?” he asked. “Ballet?”
Ryan laughed, face crinkling in genuine admiration. “Definitely unexpected, but it was cool.” He gave himself a few seconds to think about how lame ‘it was cool’ sounded before adding: “I liked it.”
Luke looked unbothered, gently grabbing Ryan’s elbow and pulling him through a door that read “backstage, do not enter without permission”. Instantly, the chatter outside quietened and he was following the dancer around the back of the stage and through another door full of bright colours, mirrors and couches. A few other dancers were spotted around and they barely spared the two a glance.
“Make yourself at home while I clean up,” Luke said as Ryan looked around. It wasn’t so different from the back room he was so used to at his club and it freaked him out a little. “I’m excited for your dance.”
Ryan grimaced, dread pooling in his gut. He lifted a hand to the back of his head, eyes on the carpet as the other walked to a sink and soaked a cloth in water. He may not have known the ballet dancer too well, but he knew him enough to know the other would not give up about seeing his dance easily.
“About that…”
He lifted his gaze, making his decision, and met Luke’s dark eyes through the mirror he stood in front of. He almost forgot what he was going to say as he watched the other man wipe the paint off his face and shoulders.
He was jolted back to life as the other shook his head. “Nu-uh. I know what you’re going to say and there’s no way you’re backing out of our deal. You got to see me dance around like an idiot, I want to see you do the same.” His tone was teasing and friendly and Ryan felt reluctance crawl up his throat. Luke was so nice and genuine, it felt wrong to be dragging him to see him dance on a pole in next to no clothes when the guy was probably expecting a hip-hop performance. Luke turned, no longer looking through the mirror as he perched himself on the stool and wiped at the paint on his arms. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m not gonna judge how you dance or what you wear – I’ll come by on Wednesday and then buy you that coffee I promised you on Thursday. Sound good?”
Yeah except once you see my dance, you won’t want to buy me coffee, or talk to me every again. “Honestly, Luke, I don’t think you’re going to want to watch. It’s not the type of dancing you’re expecting.”
“How would you know what I’m expecting?” He turned back to the mirror but his eyes continued to flick between his reflection and Ryan’s. “You can’t be that bad, and either way you can’t stop me from dropping by.” His tone was nothing more than playful, no meaning of offense or nastiness.
Ryan ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think you’re going to like it much, and don’t bet I won’t say I told you so.” He was beginning to wonder if the ballet dancer ever felt disheartened from anything by the grin on his face.
He rinsed the cloth again, wiping at his chest and abs which were stacked with muscle. Ryan tried not to stare but ended up trying to make it as subtle as possible. By Luke’s casual smile when he turned back around, shiny and cleaner, he hadn’t noticed. “I think you’re exaggerating. Dancing is dancing, I’m not one to judge.”
Ryan knew the conversation was done. There wasn’t anything else to say and Luke was stepping up in front of the other man, holding out the rinsed cloth. “Would you mind washing the rest of the paint off my back?” Luke turned, rolling his shoulders forward slightly and giving Ryan more access to the painted skin.
He tried his best to keep his mind clear as he wiped the remainder of the back ink off the expanse of skin, accidently making eye contact with a blonde girl across the room. She wore a smirk, blue eyes glimmering with amusement, and she winked at him before returning her attention back to cleaning the shoe in her hands.
Hanging the cloth over Luke’s shoulder, he sat back down on the couch. “Thanks, Ry,” Luke said, grabbing a shirt and tugging it on. “Come on, I’ll walk you out so you don’t get lost.”
Ryan nodded, lips pursed as to not openly exclaim how precious the nickname ‘Ry’ was. His smile was gentle, but distracted when he followed Luke from the room, raising his hand in an unsure wave to the blonde who wiggled her fingers at the two of them.
Before he could think of anything to talk about, they were back in the lobby which had fortunately lessened in busyness. “Thanks for coming by, I’m glad you enjoyed it and I’ll be at the address on Wednesday.” Ryan nodded, not really sure what to do other than smile.
“Thanks a lot, it was cool to see. If you change your mind let me know.” Before he could say anything stupid, he turned and walked from the building and to his car. By the time he shut the door and his keys were in the ignition he had opened and closed his phone three times, going to Craig’s messages, Luke’s messages and the phone app. Allowing his head to hit the steering wheel with a groan, he turned the device off completely and pulled out of the carpark.
-
The first half of the week travelled by far too quickly. Tuesday was the only day Ryan wasn’t working and he spent the duration of the evening talking over the Star Wars marathon Craig was trying to pay attention to.
It wasn’t like him to panic much about a person. He never really caught feelings or got attached to people, and he was always mighty accurate about them cutting ties when they found out about his dancing. It was unfortunate but never heart-breaking.
For some reason, his urge to not scare off Luke was stronger than he’d expected. He’d texted the guy at least once each day to tell him that going on Wednesday night would be a mistake and he really wasn’t sure about their deal anymore. No matter what he said, the guy was persistent. But he couldn’t just tell him, there was no way. It was often that people he “liked” hung around for a bit and revelled in the first few dates and chats, but the second they hit a snag or he told them about his dancing, the relationship was cut and he didn’t ever see them again.
He never found himself actually caring and he resented that he cared about how Luke would react. He barely knew the guy and they’d shared less than ten conversations together. They’re little deal was just a bit of playing around; testing waters with flirting. It was harmless and obviously stupid seeing as Ryan hadn’t expected himself to get so invested in the other man.
He could barely think of anything else over the three days, spending hours on the pole he had installed back in his and Craig’s apartment. His roommate both loved and hated to watch him practice, admiring the skill and strength Ryan had to be able to do such a dance and fearing for his own sanity and sight at the amount of his roommate he could see.
“You need to chill out. He’s going to come and see you dance and he’ll either never speak to you again, or he’s gonna ask for a lap dance and you’ll get laid!” Craig’s methods of reassurance weren’t amazing but it was the thought that mattered and he tried. Ryan didn’t reject his offers of a movie marathon though, cuddling up under at least six pillows and ignoring the urge to practice his dance more.
He was obsessively careful about his routine, far more than usual, and his focus on Monday was incredible. Bryce had to ask if he was okay at how hard he pushed himself while dancing and he got called over for lap dances back-to-back the whole night. He earnt a lot of money, much to Craig’s amusement, and the brit didn’t hold back on openly wondering whether Luke would pay for three lap dances, or nine.
Ryan brushed him off and pretty much passed out the moment he dragged himself out of the shower. He didn’t even bother to put on pyjamas, instead dreaming of the different songs he could dance to on Wednesday night.
-
“Dude, are you okay? You look like you’re going to throw up.” Bryce’s worried voice accompanied his motherly expression almost too well as he watched Ryan’s reflection. The blonde was centimetres from the mirror, colouring his eyelids carefully with several shades of blue. He and Ryan had been working together for over a year and had gotten quite close. They didn’t bother with one another much outside of their club nights but had a strong friendship nonetheless.
Ryan swallowed, checking his phone time again. He’d sent Luke a message thirty minutes prior telling him to let him know when he was going to get there. He finally looked up to Bryce and sighed. “Yeah, I’m fine. I should have told him not to come anyway, should have been more firm about it.”
Bryce closed the palettes, packing them away neatly in his drawer, and turned to his friend. “No, no, you know he wouldn’t have let you. By the sounds of it, he would have turned up no matter what.” The blonde had a friendly smile on his face but couldn’t mask the concern his eyes wore. “When he gets here, go out there and do your thing because I can tell you it is amazing and he’ll be at your waistband in seconds, asking for you to sit in his lap.” The blonde strapped his heels on, pausing after a second to lift his eyes and add: “Or on his face.”
Ryan couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a little bit lighter at the confidence the younger man spoke with. He jumped as his phone went off, Bryce grabbing the rabbit-ear headband off his lap and gently fitting it on his head. “I’ll be out there. Give him three minutes to come inside and look around, then strut your stuff and dance for him.”
He didn’t even get the chance to say ‘thank you’ as the kitten ears settled in blonde hair and the man was sweeping through the curtains. Ryan listened to the catcalling and hollering for another second before returning his attention to his device as it rung again.
-
Wednesday, 19:46
Luke -> Ryan
Luke: I didn’t get the wrong address, did I?
Luke: Ryan?
Ryan: so do I say I told you so now or…
Luke: oh
-
He couldn’t.
Shaking his head roughly, he put his phone down and stalked up to the mirror. Whether Luke actually came in or not was up to him and Ryan had no say anymore. What little of a relationship they had was gone but that didn’t matter; Ryan had a pole to dance on and money to earn.
He shoved Luke from his thoughts, tugging on his see-through tank top and fitting his transparent blind-fold over his eyes. It looked opaque but only dimmed Ryan’s vision at most. He pulled his booty-shorts up, adjusted his bunny ears and hair before facing the curtain.
His thin fingers pushed the material aside, stalking onto the catwalk effortlessly in the red stilettos. The crowd of mostly men yelled and called, the music drowning them out as he set his lips in a slight smirk. Bryce fell back, legs twisted around the pole to hold him up as he flipped upside down and grinned at his partner. The blonde dropped down onto his hands, legs elegantly swinging off the pole and back over him.
He stood up without a stumble and Ryan paused behind him as he dropped down into a low squat, the music exploding around the two of them. The brunette’s lips pulled back in a grin as he watched his friend slide the loose shirt up his body and over his head slowly. The crowd howled with enthusiasm, the lean, muscled body of the younger man igniting further excitement.
Ryan stood tall and proud as the boy bounced on his heels, standing and twirling. He was only just taller than the older dancer and circled him in long paces. It was a known fact that people loved Bryce’s legs.
Then the blonde was gone from beside him, not bothering to look back. He took possession of the pole on the left, grinning at the hooting as he started to scale and spin around it. Ryan turned his attention away, focus on his own performance as he dragged the toes of his heels along the red carpet.
He slid his hand up and down the right pole, circling it slowly. It was cold under his fingers as he dropped down, ass facing the audience as he pushed himself out and back up. The effect was expected, whistles erupting from around the room and following him as he raised one leg, hooking it around the pole. Every move he made was rehearsed, calculated and flawless.
Doing as he’d done hundreds of times before, he pulled himself up, locking the other leg around the pole and spinning.
Then he was dancing. His shoes barely weighed him down, legs built with muscle and memory of holding him up, spinning, lifting; everything of the sorts. He moved with the upbeat music much like Luke had done in his tights and after climbing another metre off the ground, he locked himself in place on the pole with his legs and feet.
Looking back over his shoulder, he dragged his tank top up over his head and threw it into the crowd. He arched backwards, bending completely upside down and grabbing onto the metal below his feet. Sucking in a breath, he let his legs unhook and swing back over his head, coming to a stop on the floor that had him bent at ninety degrees, ass in the air.
He glanced over at Bryce who was grinning at him, and winked at the blonde as he swung his hips from side to side. Before he was even standing upright, he was scaling the pole once again. It came naturally to him, linking one leg around the metal shaft and holding on with one hand. The other found his ankle, slowly dragging it up through the air and over his head.
The crowd roared, his flexibility just as popular as Bryce’s legs. He managed to impress most with his strength and mobility, holding himself upside down with legs split at 180 degrees. He spun the pole around, dragging himself through the air along with the music and vocal crowd.
His and Bryce’s dance lasted seven minutes before they were both panting and grinning, lined with a thin layer of sweat. They stood side by side and bumped knuckles, soaking in the shouts and whistles.
Ryan almost forgot Luke was even there, almost forgot to look out for him as the two easily strolled down the steps. They retrieved their shirts, pulling them back on and splitting up to wander between tables and up to the bar. They weren’t allowed to drink anything alcoholic but Mike happily supplied the both of them with large glasses of water and heavy compliments before the two took off to talking to their audience and hopeful customers.
He fell out of his usual personality, all batted eyelashes and confident smirk. He flirted and spoke with many eager men, promising to wander back by them later in the evening when the private room was ready. He didn’t rush, or bother getting his hopes up seeing as it was very likely Luke had taken one look at the place and bolted.
It was a rather big surprise when he found himself beside the man he thought to have not even walked inside. He met dark eyes, stopping in his confident walk and faltering in his thoughts. Only for a moment. A moment of “oh fuck, he’s actually here” and “he’s disgusted, he hates me”.
His moment ended.
Luke reached a hand out slowly, giving him all the chance to move away or refuse the interaction. He stayed in place, not able to pull his eyes away from Luke’s, and gasped when firm fingers hooked under the waistband of his shorts. He stumbled forward, pulled right up to Luke who seemed quite the opposite of disgusted.
The bearded man took a moment to let his eyes wander up and down the brunette completely and Ryan had to force down a blush when those eyes returned to his, hazy with what looked scarily like hunger.
“You were right.” When he finally spoke, Luke’s lips twitched with a slight smirk. His voice was low and smooth and doing things to Ryan’s self control. “I definitely wasn’t expecting this.”
Ryan swallowed. Wasn’t he supposed to be the sexy one in this situation? “I told you so.” His voice barely came out as a whisper and he didn’t find the oxygen to say anything else as Luke pulled out a twenty and tucked it into his waistband, folded up nice and neat.
“How much do I have to pay to get you alone?” Oh God Ryan was going to lose it. With a harsh kick to the gut, he snapped himself back into place. He was the dancer, he was the seller, he was not going to get flustered. With that in mind, he stepped closer.
Smirking and bending down, he ran his fingers over the back of Luke’s hand before gently taking a hold of it. “How long do you want me to yourself?” He slowly slid Luke’s hand up under his top, giving him complete access to his abdomen and chest.
The playful, light-hearted Luke Ryan was beginning to get used to seemed to be very out of sight and out of mind. He was instead showing a very sexy, very hot side of himself, one Ryan was definitely not opposed to. Seeing as he hadn’t seen the place and ran in the opposite direction instantly, Ryan was more than happy. Having his fingertips dancing curiously under his shirt was something else.
“How long can I have you for?” Ryan was going to have to decide on what he was doing sooner rather than later or he was going to be giving Luke a lap dance right there in the main room.
Sucking in a breath, he stepped it up a notch and pressed in close. He pushed Luke’s hand flat against his chest and ignored the feeling of Luke’s hot breath on his cheek. “Depends; want me to be on your lap through that door or back at my place?” he whispered into the other man’s ear. Judging by the way Luke coiled up like a spring, the night was going far better than Ryan had even hoped. When he pulled back, Luke’s eyes were dark and sharp, a raw need he had never seen before in anyone. He grinned. “I owe three men a lap dance. In fifteen minutes, come through that door and I’ll meet you there. You can take me back to mine or yours; it’s up to you, baby.”
Luke nodded and Ryan found it almost impossible to drag his eyes away. And maybe he swayed his hips a little more deliberately than he usually would when he walked away.
Through the three short songs, he couldn’t remove Luke from his mind and the idea of being taken home. He’d definitely had a lasting effect on the ballet dancer and it didn’t at all seem to be a damaging one. He collected his payment from all three men, and added tips, before apologising to Mike and letting Bryce know about the situation. The blonde had to smack a hand over his mouth as to not laugh openly, before another guy was taking his hand and moving into his space.
The blonde played his part, linking their fingers and leading him towards the private room. He managed to shoot Ryan a definite wink before he shut the door and Ryan was left strutting back to the back room.
Luke was in front of him the moment the door was shut and Ryan’s parted lips morphed into a teasing smirk in seconds. He locked the door behind him before slinging his arms over the other man’s shoulders. “Want to strip me, baby?” He almost moaned the words into Luke’s ear as he ground his pelvis forward. He didn’t get the chance to say anything more as deft fingers caught his chin, pulling him back.
A hand grasped his ass at the same time as Luke pressed forwards, crashing their lips together. He swallowed Ryan’s smirk and dropped his other hand to his waist. The dancer’s fingers pulled and tugged at Luke’s hair, gasping into his mouth and welcoming the tongue that joined his. His back met the door, the taller man’s hold on him strong and controlling. Hands slid down the back of his thighs and he jumped up, easily locking his legs around Luke’s waist.
He didn’t hesitate to roll his hips forward, eliciting a strained groan from Luke.
“You know you’re not actually supposed to touch the dancer during a lap dance,” Ryan panted when he pulled back. He didn’t even know if Luke heard a word he said as lips and teeth began nipping and sucking at his neck and throat. The moans and gasps that left his lips only seemed to encourage the other and both of them were very clearly being enveloped in their own arousal. “Are we going to just do this here?” He yanked at Luke’s hair hard enough to pull him back, eyes level with his. With his attention, the dancer pressed forward and nipped at his bottom lip. “Or are you going to take me home so we can do this in my bed?”
It took Luke three seconds of thought before Ryan was dropped onto his feet and his hand was snatched up. He let out a hoarse giggle, grabbing his bag of belongings and yanking Luke after him out the backdoor. The bearded man led him to a little silver car, spinning him around and pinning him against the side to taste his tongue again.
The dancer laughed into the kiss, feeling the strong hands almost bruising his hips as they both hung onto the kiss.
When they broke, Luke vanished from him completely, striding around the side of the car. Ryan took his time getting comfortable in the passenger seat while Luke started the car and pulled out, not even bothering with his seat belt. Ryan had to stop him from running three red lights and speeding on the way back to his apartment, giving out quick and simple directions. Neither shared a single word as they rushed into the building, hands still linked. Luke didn’t even try to restrain himself in the elevator, pressed up against Ryan’s back with one hand sliding down his thigh and the other across his chest.
He pressed a wet kiss to the side of the man’s neck, earning a laugh that ended in a breathy gasp when he bit down on the juncture between his neck and shoulder. The moment the doors opened, Ryan was pulling out his key and rushing down the hall. He barely fumbled with the door, slamming it and locking it before turning to Luke.
The grin on his face was lit with excitement and exhilaration as he slowly backed up down the hall. “Come and get me, Lukey.” He almost purred, darting through the main room to his own bedroom. Luke shut the door behind him, eyes alight with hunger as Ryan backed up. Green eyes flickered with a matching grin as he sat back on the edge of the bed. His fingers hooked into the collar of Luke’s shirt, pulling him down to eye level and licking his lips. “I’m all yours, baby,” he whispered.
-
Thursday, 7:34
Craig -> Ryan
Craig: im happy for you but next time fucking message me so I dont walk into the apartment while you’re getting fucked
Craig: scarred for fucking life wow
Craig: i never want to hear the words “your mouth feels so hot baby” from you ever again
one of the stories from my old blog, chinxino5. hope you enjoy! (whether it be for the first time or the second !!)
merry christmas!
“It’s green.”
Craig blinked, eyes sparkling with the smile on his face. He dragged the suitcase along behind him, constant drone of chatter and excitement filling the massive airport.
The sign with Craig’s name on it was forgotten, hanging from Tyler’s hand, and the brit released his bag to throw his arms around his tall friend. “I’m glad you know your colours.” The words were mumbled into his shoulder and Tyler blinked down, accepting the face full of fluffy green hair.
He instinctively curled his free arm around his friend and a smile lifted his lips. Inhale. Green hair that smelt of vanilla.
Then Craig was pulling back, grabbing his suitcase and tugging at Tyler’s shirt in a silent, “Move along.”
“When did you dye it?” he asked curiously, falling into step beside him. It wasn’t much of a surprise that the other had redyed his hair; he was known for having had crazy hair colours in the past. Infamously pink, blue for the charity of a near-fatal incident, silver just because; he was the most colourful of their group.
But green? That was new.
He scoffed. “Thanks Tyler, my flight was great. Some kid cried for three hours straight.” He tilted his head side-to-side as he spoke, grinning as he nudged him. He adopted a bounce in his step as he walked, unaffected by anything else.
The joy of getting off a long flight couldn’t be ruined and Tyler fought back his fond smile as they wound their way through crowds and escaped the airport’s mass.
“Yesterday.” He followed Tyler in the direction of his car as the American raised a brow curiously. Craig shrugged at the unasked question. “Felt like it,” his smile showed his honesty. “Haven’t gone green before, why not?”
Car unlocked, bags in the boot, both in the front. Tyler gave an inquisitive look to the clover-green hair, only the top dyed while the sides and back remained his natural soft brown.
“You like it?”
Keys in the ignition and the comfortable rev of the engine. He hummed. “You still look like a fuckboy.”
He was happy to hear the giggly laugh that put a fond smile on his lips. “Fuck you!”
-
The first time Tyler got the chance to touch Craig’s freshly dyed hair was when they’d finished putting all of his belongings in the spare bedroom. He was planning to spend the two weeks there with Tyler, easier access to the upcoming music festival they both were quite excited for.
They’d chosen to stay at Tyler’s when they heard of the event and for no particular reason Craig asked if he could stay for an extra week to chill out. Tyler couldn’t see why not. He didn’t often get to spend time with his friend without a computer screen and half a country between them.
As they retreated downstairs to the large living room, Craig flopped lazily on the couch and Tyler crossed behind him with the kitchen in focus, his tummy rumbling eagerly.
Thoughtlessly, he dropped his hand over the back of the couch, fingers landing atop Craig’s head. He buried them in the green and faltered in his step, mid-ruffle, as he realised just how soft it was under his touch. It took him a second to snatch his hand away in his surprise and continue to the kitchen, ignoring the confused pink that spread across his cheeks.
Craig didn’t bat an eye and Tyler frowned to himself. How was his hair that soft?
Since then he seemed to find every excuse possible to touch the shorter man’s hair and Craig was one hundred percent fine with it.
When it was messy in the morning, Tyler would thoughtlessly push it back as he walked past.
When it was particularly neat, he couldn’t help but take a spare moment to mess it up until the Brit complained.
When Craig yawned or collapsed with tire after a busy day of excited recording or exploring town, he’d pat his hair in a soft and weirdly intimate way. (Although Tyler refused to let the word ‘intimate’ enter his head at all while describing his actions, especially his actions towards Craig Thompson.)
When they got drunk after a lazy day, splayed out half on top of each other, half off the couch one night, chatting and giggling about memories neither could quite remember, memories that still made them smile. Or was it being with each other that tugged sweetly at their lips? Their minds were too fuzzy to care. But the feeling of Tyler’s fingers rubbing aimless patterns into Craig’s scalp was torturously enjoyable and having his fingers in that perfect hair left Tyler more content than ever as he dropped his empty beer bottle.
And the next morning Craig convinced himself and Tyler that his hangover had brought a headache along with it, just so he had a reason to sit between the man’s legs while they ate cereal and watched kid’s cartoons, fingers drawing focused circles across his scalp. Determined to chase away a headache that didn’t exist, they only encouraged the weightless feeling in Craig’s chest as he closed his eyes and almost fell asleep under the touch. Tyler loved that he was allowed to mess the flurry of green up only to comb it back with his fingers after.
Whether he had a reason or not, he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of Craig’s soft hair between his fingers.
He only really questioned it eight days into the trip, the night before the music festival. When Craig sat down on the couch beside him, leaning back in comfort, and his immediate reaction was to raise a hand to settle in the Brit’s hair.
The realisation had a jolt of surprise running through him. But with the pretty hair already tickling his fingertips he didn’t have the courage to drop his arm away and make the action any more weirdly obvious than normal.
Craig never noticed. He never complained. His eyes only closed with bliss like they always would and Tyler tried to fight off unwanted thoughts as he dragged his short nails back and forth through the brunette roots of the brit.
That night he couldn’t stop thinking about it, couldn’t think of a single other thing as he tossed and turned in his mess of blankets. He craved the softness, he craved the scent of vanilla. Excitement filled his thoughts at knowing he would get the chance to give his temporary housemate a head massage the next day, or maybe just ruffle his hair whenever the opportunity arose.
He drifted off to sleep with dreams too inappropriate to think about the morning after, without rosy cheeks and a cold shower.
Time to think about it was scarce though as Craig ushered him into the car with their day’s belongings, the excitement jumping between them as they headed off to the festival.
And it had been better than they’d hoped. The artists were perfect, the constant resonation of the beat through them, bouncing around within their ribcages. Tyler could barely lift his smiling eyes away from his companion.
Green hair. Pale eyes. Wide smile. He looked young and fresh and pretty, dare he say.
His realisation seemed to be forgotten behind him, analysing thought no longer important for those moments as they laughed and sung and danced. A moment of breath, a pause in the craziness.
The two were panting and sweating, smiles refusing to go anywhere, and Craig’s hair was ruffled and crazy in his excitement.
Tyler reached up, ran his fingers through it and pushed it back out of his face, and Craig’s smile dropped, eyes wide. He acknowledged the casual tone of what Tyler had done, the casual tone of what he had been doing for days on end. He watched Tyler’s hand fall away, watched Tyler’s smile falter, licked his lips and blinked as he mulled something over.
After a second, the shortest moment of eye contact possible, he leaned in close and Tyler’s heart dropped at the very deliberate amount of space put between them.
“Going to the toilet. Find you later?”
Dry throat. He nodded, managing a smile that lacked any sort of enthusiasm. Craig walked away looking troubled and Tyler couldn’t enjoy the next song that rang through his bones.
But the volume of the event didn’t leave room for conversation. When Craig found him a while later, they put a thin wall between them and pretended nothing changed, pretended nothing had ever changed. Tyler practiced his fake smile as concern rose, as fear hovered in his chest. Had he pushed boundaries? Had he gone too far? Crossed the line between casual touches and intimacy?
Craig was practically asleep late evening, buzzing with the small amount of alcohol in their systems. He fell into the front seat, passing out almost instantly, and Tyler was left along with his thoughts for the twenty-minute drive.
“Mini,” he whispered, unbuckling his friend who remained in his peaceful sleep in the front seat of his car. Tyler pulled on his arm. “You gotta get inside and then you can get back to sleep, alright buddy?” Voice gentle, too gentle, too affectionate. “Come on, Craig.” Intimate.
A soft groan, a mumble that no one would be able to understand. Tyler moved carefully, pulling the Brit’s legs around until they hung out of the car instead.
“Mini,” he cooed, smiling at the sleepy face.
A groan of more enthusiasm. “Carry me.” The second time his mumble was actually coherent and Tyler scoffed.
“You wish. You’ve got legs, come on,” he urged, pulling the boy’s arm, hoping he would listen.
He just grunted. “No.” Bottom lip puckered in his childish sleepiness.
A huff and a roll of crystal blue eyes. “Fine, you lazy sack of shit.” A grumble lacking hostility. His voice and touch carried a tablespoon of care he didn’t think he was able to harbour for anyone else. Only Craig. Only ever Craig. “C’mere,” he murmured, leaning into the car to get his arm around Craig’s back, other one looping beneath his legs.
With a heave, he pulled him out of the car and up into his arms, Craig almost instantly burying his face in Tyler’s chest. The night respectfully hid the rosiness of the American’s cheeks.
Getting inside, getting upstairs; he laid Craig down on the bed and pulled the sheets out from beneath him. Feeling more like a mother than ever before, he pulled off his friend’s shoes, once again thinking of that look in such gentle eyes. That look of surprise, of confusion, of realisation. Tyler found the will to touch that green hair again but refused it, helping the other shimmy down beneath the covers.
His arm was snatched up before he could say goodnight and pretty eyes cracked open, glazed with exhaustion.
“Sleep with me?” A soft murmur, a whisper in the night that held its breath. A whisper that meant far more than it was aware of.
“What? Craig don’t be stupid, go to-“
A hard tug on his shirt, a more definite pout. “Stay here and sleep with me.” He couldn’t say ‘no’ a second time.
So he asked instead. “Why?” He couldn’t help himself, knowing the lack of thought Craig put into his words when he was tipsy. It didn’t mean anything, yet he had to know if it did. He wanted to prove himself wrong.
“I like you near me.” A simple enough answer that held so much more. “I missed you being near me. I want you near me now,” he rephrased and there were no words that allowed Tyler to refuse.
He just stared, Craig tugging gently on his arm and sleeve as he dozed.
“Please.” Almost asleep. Doused in exhaustion.
Tyler sighed. “Are you sure?” he whispered, fearful of who could hear them speak but at another tug he kicked off his shoes and pulled off his jacket. A sleepy nod. “Budge over then. If you hog the blankets I’ll kick you out.”
Craig didn’t argue, shuffling aside. Tyler imagined the happy smile on his lips as he pulled up the blankets and slid beneath them. He jumped in alarm as the Brit rolled back towards him and pressed right up against him, one leg resting between his and his head falling to rest in the crook of his neck.
“C-Craig…” He didn’t know what to say or how to ask if this was okay. He didn’t know how Craig would react in the morning, sober and awake. He knew he didn’t have the strength to push him away and leave.
“Morning,” was all he was allowed and the finality of the childish tone seemed to finish their conversation. Craig snuggled up against him, quite content to be up close and personal. Tyler couldn’t deny how comfortable it was and he allowed his hand to fall to rest in the middle of Craig’s back.
Comfortable. Close. Intimate.
Sleep had a hold of him too, and the last thing he remembered was Craig taking his hand and lifting it to the back of his head. Not needing any more encouragement, Tyler’s fingers sunk into the tangle of fluffy green hair, very lazily and slowly drawing little swirls and circles against his head.
He slept with a smile on his lips.
-
He awoke to movement, a body on top of him wriggling and shifting. One of his arms was curled around it, holding whoever it was tightly, and his other hand was buried in soft hair. He’d never felt just so content
“Tyler.” A sleepy mumble. “Tyler, let go of me, you heavy fuck.”
Like the asshole he lived up to be, he curled his arm tighter around his personal morning heater and turned his head to hide his face in that pretty, vanilla-scented hair.
“No.” The stubborn refute was accompanied by the soft press of a kiss he let fall to Craig’s head. “Too early.”
Annoyed groan. “It’s already nine, you prick, let me go.”
Careless grunt.
“I will piss right here, right now.”
Irritated grunt.
But the threat did its job as Tyler unwound his arms and turned away, allowing the Brit to make his escape. He felt cold in the absence, fingers tingling as they wished to bury within hair once again and the second Craig returned Tyler was reaching out to drag him back to his chest.
The Brit didn’t fight it too much, but also didn’t relax. “Tyler, let me go,” he said, smile on his lips as he slapped at the man’s chest. He continued hitting him lightly, wriggling and not allowing him to get comfortable so much that the older let him sit up with a pout on his lips.
“What do you want, Craig, can’t we just sleep until two? I’m fuckin’ tired.”
Tyler watched him roll his eyes, hands resting on his shoulders, and he froze as the Brit leaned down and pressed his lips against his, angled to fit them together.
He was not expecting that but didn’t even get the chance to think about it before both his hand was seeking out the fuzz at the back of Craig’s neck. The arm around his back pulled him down and he eased the shorter man’s mouth open, dipping his tongue into exciting territory. Craig’s fingers bunched up his shirt and he let out the whisper of a sigh before he pushed himself upright and broke the kiss.
Tyler followed, pushing himself forward and chasing the proximity. “No. More,” was all he managed, catching his jaw between his fingers and drawing him back in.
Craig’s smile felt gentle against his lips and they silently agreed that they’d need to talk about what it all meant later. But laying back with Craig above him, kissing him, loving him; he didn’t need anything else than those gentle lips and that soft green hair.
smitz
no warnings
897 words
.
one of the stories from my old blog, chinxino5. hope you enjoy! (whether it be for the first time or the second !!)
merry christmas!
Smitty huffed, brown eyes sharp and irritated. They glared up at the first aid kit which, for some stupid reason, was sitting atop the fridge and his unfortunate height of 5’7 made it impossible for him to reach. “Cam!” he called, holding onto the top of the fridge door and pushing up as much as he could. The tips of his fingers barely grazed the red fabric before he fell back to his heels with defeat. “Fitz!”
“I’m here, I’m here! Jesus, what’s wrong?” Fitz winced at the volume of his boyfriend’s voice, strolling into the kitchen and running a hand through his hair. By the looks of it he’d been napping, or at least dozing, before his boyfriend had yelled for him.
His eyes fell upon the boy, his own hoodie hanging off thin freckled shoulders and a pout on those soft pink lips. A pale finger pointed up at the red pack on top of the fridge. “I can’t reach it,” he grumbled, hating to be at a disadvantage just because he was short. His pout grew as Cameron looked up to the kit and down to his boyfriend, before smiling gently and shaking his head.
In comparison to the Smitty, his height of 6’5 was annoyingly useful. Especially for this sort of situation (one not too uncommon for either of them)
“What did you do?” he asked, a teasing tone of humour in his voice as he walked over and pulled the kit off the fridge. “Hop up.” He tapped the counter and dropped the kit. Smit obeyed, sitting atop the bench and folding his arms. His long pants were already rolled up on his left leg, exposing a pale shin with an ugly-looking graze on the side. It oozed blood, “Christ, what did you do?”
Smit looked away, still pouting, and didn’t watch as Fitz dug through the kit for a bandage. “Nothin’,” he mumbled and ignored the little laugh that left his lover’s tongue as he found what he was looking for and knelt down to be level with the bleeding leg.
“So your leg just got cut up by itself then?” he mused.
A warm, damp cloth wiped the blood from the wound before the sticky bandage was placed to cover the torn skin. He smoothed it down and Smitty flinched, kicking the Kiwi lightly with his other foot. “Shut up.” His scowl was ridiculously childish as Fitz stood. “Why was it on the top of the fridge anyway?”
Fitz snickered. “So you can’t get it,” he said and took the punch to his arm with a giggle.
“Prick.” Smit dropped back to his feet, bending down and pulling his pants back over the bandage while Fitz rezipped the first aid kit and pushed it into the cabinet on a lower level. The Canadian walked from the room, pointedly brushing past the other. Fitz only laughed.
“Yeah, yeah.” He followed the boy and caught up quickly, curling his arms around the his middle and bending down to settle his head on his shoulder. “You’re welcome, Smit,” he teased, kissing the freckled bare shoulder as he tried to wriggle out of the embrace.
“Get off me, you piece of shit.” The smaller boy stomped down on his feet and twisting from side to side as Fitz locked his hands above Smitty’s tummy. “Let gooo,” he whined as Fitz tucked his face into the side of his pale, freckled neck.
His lips danced on the soft skin. “Tell me you love me.” He brushed his nose and lips up and down, knowing how ticklish Smitty could be as the boy grit his teeth to stop his shriek. His hands pulled and pushed at the arms around him.
“No! This isn’t fa-air!” he stammered through his words as he laughed, long fingers reaching around to his sides and digging into the sensitive skin. “C-Cam!”
“C’mon, Smitty,” he cooed, breath teasing him more. “You love me, right? You love me sooo much, don’t ya!”
“Yes! F-fine! I love you, okay? Now get off, you cuck.” His scrambled words resulted with exactly that as the fingers stilled and Fitz dropped his hands, allowing the Canadian to jump away and spin around with a glare. The attitude was skin deep.
Fitz grinned in delight. “Aw. Love you too, Baby.” Dark eyes rolled and a hand reached out to grab a hold of the smaller boy’s sleeve. “You woke me up from my nap so now you have to come nap with me.”
He didn’t wait for the boy’s refusal or acceptance, dragging him back upstairs and ignoring the complaints. Obviously, the Canadian didn’t agree with his flawless logic, but followed. “I’m not tired. I don’t wanna sleep with you. You suffocate me when we cuddle.” It didn’t change a thing as he allowed Fitz to grab his fingers instead, leading him more than pulling him along.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he dismissed, kicking the door shut and pulling his boyfriend down onto the wide bed, yanking blankets over the two of them and locking his arms around the smaller boy’s body. Smitty grumbled something incoherent, cuddling closer and hiding his face in Fitz’ neck. “I love you,” the Kiwi cooed.
A small huff of air against his neck before a quiet, disgruntled, “I love you too,” was whispered back. He drifted off with a smile on his lips.
