The environment wasn't exactly the clinically pristine sensation of a doctor's office but there was something about the notion of this being a job that had protected him from the very concerns the artist brought up - rational by any measure and yet, unable to touch him like this. Lifting his shoulder in shrug again, Wyatt smirked.
"In a classroom, in front of an artist- " Turning back to face Hayden, the dirty blond pinched his mouth for a moment, the corners tilted down in a shrug of their own. "It doesn't mean anything." He was little more than an object to these people, it seemed - a bowl of fruit on the table. That was the magic of still life, even when they sought to label it Life Drawing .
"Fair enough," Hayden replied good-naturedly, sounding convinced. It was simple logic, but it was at least better than being thought to be some kind of exhibitionist.
Once again, green eyes diverted to shoes. Wyatt could tell there wasn't much excuse to stay now.
"Glad to put a name to a face," Hayden said resoundingly, a conclusion as he began to step back. Wyatt almost felt guilty for the moment their conversation shifted solidly toward an end. He wondered idly if those staccato syllables were a constant and natural thing or if he had something to do with them - and couldn't, for the life of him, choose a preference. It was probably rude to think that it made flushed cheeks and wide eyes a tiny bit extra charming.
Maybe Wyatt was simply relieved to know he wasn't the only one between them being affected so much.
"See you next time, maybe."
"Maybe," he echoed in return, while his thoughts echoed with hopefully in the silence that followed - his gaze set and stuck, frankly, as the brunette made his hesitant escape.
Bereft of a reason to remain, Wyatt strode rather purposefully toward his clothes in the back room - relieved, at least, that there was nothing for him to be late to as a result of his indulgent, if uncommon, loitering.
Chapter 4
Hayden was already shouldering his bags off his arms before he even got the door to his apartment open, lastingly flustered by that silly, brief encounter. All bedroom doors were shut when he came in, meaning Ryan and Veronica were in or out of the apartment, in some combination or tandem.
It took shuffling his newest sketches out of his bag for Hayden to realize the drone in the apartment wasn't just his brain punishing him for being awkward that day. Glancing toward the ceiling, he watched a light fixture over the couch rattle, and wondered when the hell they had bought a vacuum cleaner.
***
"Banging it against the wall isn't gonna suck the crap out of the corner!" Peter exclaimed, his voice rivalling the vacuum with very little effort, hopping from foot to foot on Ryker's bed like an over-exuberant warden. "Mine has a special hose that gets into deep cracks. You should invest in one. But you probably have to use a scrub brush or you'll ruin the molding!"
"Fuck the molding. The crap in the corner can't even touch us!" Ryker yelled back, barely able to hear himself over the steam engine era noise that was roaring out of the metal alligator at the end of his arm. "Why can't we cohabitate without the violence? This crap never did anything to me!"
This game had seemed like a good deal when Peter originally suggested it. A layer of clothing removed for every layer of crap that got extracted from the room. But Ryker should have realized there were a few cards stacked against him when the smirking little brunette finally shrugged out of his coat, making it clear that literally every garment was going to count. After two loads of laundry - tramped and hauled all the way down three flights of stairs to the machines in the basement - and the stack of trash bags sitting on the curb waiting for Thursday, this day off of work was starting to feel like a day on.
Work only the flushed sight of Peter's naked chest and the promising vee peeking over the slowly slipping waistband of his jeans could actually encourage.
Ryker grunted dramatically, bending to give the apparent hose running from one side of the machine to the other an experimental tug. It was solid enough to convince him it wasn't just stuck, but that only led him grunting in frustration as he finally pulled back to move on - there was more floor to do anyway.
"You'll have to come back to that later!" Peter proclaimed. Ryker could feel his movements getting less lazy and more aggressive the longer this went on - which was probably worse for the floorboards, and his arms, but the lease didn’t say nothing about vacuum scuff marks so whatever. The quick breaks for food or fooling around were barely enough to satisfy, and at this point, he might have been at the end of his rope.
Suddenly, mid-stroke, vacuum died, and Ryker had a moment to hope that the damn thing had well and truly kicked it, unable to continue its defined contribution to his purposes. Employed he may be, but not quite prolific enough for Peter to reasonably demand an errand to fetch a new one off the shelf. Could he?
“Break time!”
Oh flitted through his thoughts just in time to turn at the sound of Peter's voice, finding the shorter brunette dropping the cord to the ground like a vanquished foe. Still half bared in all his cinnamon toast crunch milk glory, the smug little shit practically skipped toward the stairs, disappearing down them a moment later.
Was this a test? Or a trick? Ryker wondered if he should plug the damn thing in and finish while Peter wasn't looking. Catch him in a bear hug when he came back up and get back to more interesting activities while they still had daylight to kill…But he was also thirsty and a little hungry and absolutely done with the coiled up dust motes that continued to flee at the first sign of an air current. So, he dropped the machine down without concern, letting it clatter to the floor as he started down the steps.
Peter was already way ahead of him in the kitchen by the time Ryker got downstairs, finding Hayden in the den in addition, papers draped across his lap. Was it already that late in the day? How Peter had the power to make time slow and speed and everything in between.
"Hey," Ryker offered Hayden in greeting, catching a glimpse of the grayscale sketches on his way past - only to pull an animated stop short, his neck and shoulders pantomiming being caught in a stage hook.
"Ooh, pretty boy," Ryker murmured, his grin a bit lecherous as he flicked his eyes up to Hayden's face. "New model or are you seeking inspiration at the local nude park? Can I come?"
"It's j-juh-just from class," Hayden explained, laughing in that nervous way of his. Which probably meant, it was a little bit more than just from class. The look on Hayden's face was certainly enough to have Ryker's brows rising curiously. Though, given the artists penchant for blushing and stuttering, the chances of there being something more fun to poke there were generally quite slim.
"Ohmigosh!" Peter chirped, leaning over the back of the couch, seeming to have teleported from the kitchen. Not that Ryker minded. "That looks like a guy in my econ class. He always sits in front of me and argues with the professor."
Peter's innocent interjection had Hayden's head whipping up like a sailor's widow recognizing a crew mate in the crowd.
"Really? W-what's his name?"
"Fuck, I dunno! There's like two hundred people in that class. Besides, I don't think he's the kind of guy who'd do that sorta thing. Real crotchety. And he's also a Jew, with the little hat and everything. I’m pretty sure they’re not supposed to take those off."
"Oh." Visibly disappointed, Hayden glance back at the sheets of paper in his lap. If only love were as easy as finding out your best friend took Economics with a beautiful exhibitionist.
"Somebody's got a crush," Ryker teased, his fingers wiggling under the sad droop of Hayden’s chin before he could look too dejected, and laughed as he escaped the reflexive clamp down.
With Peter bent over the back of the sofa like that, though, there were better places for his fingers to be.
"He's j-just nice-looking," Hayden defended, his own hand tucked under his chin for protection. "D-do you know how many p-puh-pudgy grampas I've d-drawn? Too many."
"Got any good ones of his dick?" Ryker asked, slipping
his fingers through the loops on Peter's jeans as he set his own still jean clad dick against the seam separating plum cheeks. Reaching bared shoulders or even the bumps of a bowed spine threatened to topple them both over the sagging monstrosity they called a couch, but Ryker nipped at the soft skin over Peter's ribs instead, dodging an elbow a moment later. Yelling, Peter tried valiantly to pry Ryker away, but decided just to shove him face first instead.
"Not in front of Hayden, you perv!"
"How am I the perv?!" Ryker demanded incredulously - apparently, unabashedly distracted from Hayden’s woes (sorry, Hayden). Giggling maniacally, he dropped back against the wall, slowly sinking down while he fended off Peter's attack. When he got low enough, Ryker hauled forward, his arms going around his half naked not-your-boyfriend (if that's what Pete was gonna insist on calling it), and turning to take them both to the ground.
The carpet wasn't quite padded enough down here for that to be painless, and his elbow rang like a gong at the impact, but Ryker buried his face between Peter's cheek and shoulder and started blowing raspberries instead of wincing. Peter shrieked against the onslaught of sloppy noise and sensations.
Rolling them over - partially to avoid a winding up shot from Peter's left hook - Ryker perched up and then stood in an almost fluid movement, feigning a brush off of his clothes before stepping over Peter entirely. Maybe if he left the little brunette wanting a little bit, the vacuum wouldn't need to be plugged back in. Besides, he needed water. Desperately.
Hayden made his getaway in the interim, but before Ryker could make it to the sink, Peter pounced, knocking into Ryker's back, arms coming around his chest. If he had any intention of getting them on the floor, though, it was dashed, since for a couple of skinny nerds, Peter had the misfortune of being the skinniest.
"You've always been a perv," he stated, as if this were something to argue about. Ryker could only assume he was referring to the more-than sketchy circumstances surrounding how they met.
***
What kind of McDonald’s didn’t have a fucking drive-thru? Ryker couldn't help but scoff a bit as he pulled into a spot - already too hungry to try finding another one before he made it too close to home to justify eating out at all. With a perfectly rolled joint smoldering in his ashtray and a whole four packages of instant noodles awaiting him at the apartment, it wasn't worth the convenience of not having to buckle his belt again.
Pushing into the fluorescent wasteland of red and yellow, Ryker was just high enough not to give a damn about the smattering of people hanging out at McDonald’s at two AM. Eyes already on the menu as the door thumped shut behind him, Ryker stopped a pace or so behind the end of the line, hands in his pockets with his head tipped all the way back - half to put off needing to push his glasses back up his nose.
The moment he glanced down, Ryker was suddenly quite grateful there was no drive-thru - apparently, finding it in him to give a damn after all.
A petite brunette in little red shorts, looking like he’d sprang out of some kind of exercise VHS. Missing the sight of this would have been devastating, even if Ryker had no way of knowing it would have been missed at all. The Loudmouth just knew he would have regretted something.
Was this the Mickey D’s new mascot? A cute twink in knee highs, covered in dicks, who looked like he’d enlisted and lived through the Great Glitter War? With an ass like that, Ryker just hoped he could ride. Like, anything. He would accept "scooter" at this point.
"Looks like someone had a fun night!" Ryker remarked happily, keeping his voice quiet enough to stay between them. It was the middle of the night after all. "Still lookin’ pretty cute for someone who looks like they lost a tickle fight with an arts and crafts kiosk."
Oh shit, Ryker thought, breath caught like he took a fist to the gut when the red and yellow fairy boy turned in place to pin him with sharp brown eyes. The glitter-covered brunette had the audacity to look surprised, coming in here dressed like that. Granted, how many people expected to get chatted up by a stoner sporting yesterday’s sweatpants (yesterday had only been a couple hours ago, after all).
"Were you at the parade today?" the brunette asked curiously. "I saw the tattoo booth but I'm to chickenshit for that, my friends did this.” He held out his arms, patterned with all different sizes and colors of marker penises, some more detailed than others.
Ryker felt his brows rising into his hair, glasses slipping almost off the end of his nose, caught in time by smacking himself in the mouth. That had been today?
Yes, duh, of course, he decided glancing down long enough to read the primly printed sharpie letters sprawled across a bright yellow chest:
CUTE, GAY, AND READY 2 PLAY
"Well, I like them," he answered on a laugh, almost astonished that he hadn't been scowled or sworn at yet. "I like your shirt more, though. Know where I can get one of those? I need it."
The pride-celebrating brunette looked down, tucking his chin against his collarbone to pull out the blouse of his top, where it was tucked in to his shorts. "I made it, actually," he said, setting his hands on his hips a moment later, looking proud for other reasons now. "I'd have to make you one. They don't sell them at Walmart, y'know."
"A shame, really. Walmart is missing the mark with a big chunk of their market. All those rainbow suspenders and flavored lubricants basically going to waste," Ryker conceded, nodding gravely. With his fists up on his hips and his chin tipped up, the pink haired pixie boy almost looked like Peter Pan - or shit, maybe Tink. Wasn't exactly a bad look, though, especially with those narrow little thighs spread for balance.
With the tension in the rolled seams of those little red shorts, Ryker couldn't help but imagine how much further they could stretch, how far up they would slide.
"Do you accept cheeseburgers as payment, or should I be more creative with exchange offers?" he asked a moment later, more than excited about a viable excuse to see the shorter brunette again. Dressed like this or otherwise. "I don't have much to my name but I got a car, and some Arizona ice tea, and my dick's pretty big, plus I'm told my tongue makes up for itself when I stop talking."
Normally that kind of talk was bound to get the speaker shunned, punched, or worse, but Ryker was just confident enough in this interaction not to stop talking. No one was around to call beep-beep anyway.
"You're funny," the brunette said a smile curling in the corner of his cheek - really only serving to boost Ryker’s confidence even more. He wondered if the context of the day, the pixie’s day specifically, had anything to do with his lenient acceptance of this behavior.
"Thank you," Ryker answered, managing not to sound surprised despite the ricochet thing his pulse was doing. "I'll be here all week, try the veal!" There was just enough promise in that smile to have him shuffling in place instead of making a break for the exit before law enforcement could be involved.
"Give me five minutes." The brunette splayed all of the fingers on one hand, before sauntering up to the counter to order. Every once in a while, he spared a glance over his shoulder and Ryker did his very best to stay still. Even as the pride pixie paid and walked all the way to the door opposite the one Ryker had come in from.
"Clocks ticking," he teased with a cheeky grin, suddenly wound tighter than any clock while he tried not to stare at the plump little ass that faced him when the still-nameless fairy prince turned away.
Ryker wondered if he was about to be escaped, and figured he may as well offer the good humored twink the courtesy of being occupied, finally strolling to the counter to order himself. By the time he was collecting his bag of dollar menu cheeseburgers and large coke, Ryker was thrilled to find red-shorts beelining toward him.
“Back! I just had to give my friends their food. They were too lazy to come in, but I guess that’s their problem now.”
“Well no problemo here, amigo,” Ryker replied, tipping his large, sweating drink cup up in affirmation. "So, for the shirt, I have mine in orange? Yellow isn't really my color. I can go as high as
eight cheeseburgers." Shaking his bag a bit, Ryker stuck the straw in his mouth, grinning like an idiot around it while milk chocolate eyes held him in place.
"One is fine. I think Fruit of the Loom does orange," the little brunette replied, all but confirming the deal while Ryker did his best to read between the lines.
The almost deserted McDonald's left a ton of plastic booths open, and Ryker wanted absolutely none of them. He watched the brunette look around too, as if entertaining the idea for a split second.
"Do you want to sit down?" he asked, half his glittery face pinched up in consideration. "Or do you just wanna like, cut out the middleman and start in that car you mentioned?"
"I like cutting middlemen," Ryker answered before he could think, idly hoping in the aftermath that it didn't sound as potentially creepy from the other side as it suddenly did to him. Another glance around the mostly abandoned dining room preceded his turn toward the side exit he had come from, far from interested in passing on or delaying this one in a million opportunity. Cheeseburgers could be microwaved, damnit.
Tipping his head to the side, Ryker lead them out and across the dark parking lot to his champion chariot. The fact that he was being trailed by a pink-haired pixie prince ( ha! ) fresh off the pride parade boat ( oh! ) had his blood rushing excitedly, flushing hot in the cool night air. Was he hallucinating this? Why did that seem so plausible?
Oh, maybe because super hot guys in booty shorts and tall socks didn't follow him too often.
Balancing his bag against his chin, Ryker pulled out his keys, gearing up to hit the lock front and center on the first try. Sure didn't want the cutie beside him thinking he struggled to hit the mark. A sigh of relief when he didn't miss probably wasn't the most alluring thing either, but considering his first impulses had been successful so far, the brunette wasn't too nervous about that.
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