Wyatt was still positioned by the stool, lingering for some reason Hayden couldn’t guess. Hesitation danced between them for a handful of thick seconds, but when Wyatt opened his mouth, Hayden had a feeling he already knew the answer.
“I should head home," he murmured in response, sounding, at least, apologetic. He nodded toward the back room, where his clothes awaited him. "Maybe next time?"
Hayden hated to admit it, because it was such a pathetic thing, how physically disappointed he felt by Wyatt's answer. Part of him wanted to hit himself upside the head - fuck, duh, of course he wouldn't want to. Not everyone was as (apparently) shameless as Hayden, willing to walk into a cafe somewhere with his own semen and someone else's spit lining the seam of his jeans. Not to mention the impromptu nature of it all. People had schedules. Wyatt could probably have been doing homework now, and Hayden had kept him for far too long.
To be fair, Wyatt didn't seem to have minded.
Only the vivid memory of that eager mouth kept Hayden from getting too down on himself, a completely unwarranted feeling. Not to mention the follow up offer, that had his chest swelling and taking all the breath it could, while he wiped his hands on a rough paper towel - dark charcoal still embedded in the whorls of his fingertips and under his nails.
"Yeah," he said casually, if he could even manage casual with the rate of his heartbeat and the state of his lungs. "Next time."
Another beat of hesitation, and Hayden tossed out his paper towel to take pointed, almost wobbly steps back to his stool, to pack up. Wyatt looked eager (no, not eager, he told himself, just ready) to leave, or at least change or perform his own version of cleaning up, so Hayden tried to make himself look like he wasn't staring, or lingering. Even if he couldn't help some glances, just a few.
Taking down his sketch-laden pages,he found something to offer his eyes, as his pulse calmed in his veins. Running water filled the silence for a minute, then the crunch of a paper towel, as Wyatt busied himself at the sink. Without another word, he excused himself to the back room, leaving Hayden alone with his drawing.
Thoughts of sticking around for a goodbye danced through Hayden’s head, but either the perceived tension or his own scaredy-cat mind got the better of him, and he quickly packed up to leave. Maybe the cool air on his walk home would calm the flush in his cheeks, riding him over with the memory of brown eyes and wry lips until Thursday.
Chapter 6
"I told you I’m not gonna fuck around on the couch.”
“Why not?”
“Because!” Despite already finding himself in a very compromised position, consisting of his legs wound around Ryker's while he did his best not to sink and disappear into the lumpy couch cushions, Peter was not backing down from this one. Patrick Swayze and Whoopi Goldberg were arguing on the TV but hadn't been the center of attention in the apartment for at least the last five minutes. The VHS was way grainy anyway, like someone had buried their tape recorder under a bunch of sand and pulled out the cables too hook up to ABC or whatever channel had been airing Ghost at the time.
Shuffling steps at the front door and the sound of the knob had Peter kicking away like nothing had happened, since he wasn't super inclined to get down and dirty in front of any of Ryker's roommates (even if it often turned out that way, accidentally). Veronica Jones teased them too much and Ryan just commanded so much attention without even meaning to and Hayden was probably the only person Peter truly respected besides like, Whitney Houston. Sure enough, it was Hayden after all, and Peter was sitting pretty with his face propped up in his hand by the time he made eye contact with the flustered auburn-haired artist.
"Ooh, somebody orgasmed today. Who’s the lucky babe, Flores?”
"Ugh, shut up, Ryker."
"N-no one," Hayden answered while he hung his coat, quick and defensive despite his speech impediment. "I just got back from class...it's cold out."
"I know! It only just turned fall, what the hell?" Peter agreed, rolling his eyes.
"Cold enough to get your dick licked," Ryker accused, already hung up, even as Hayden started to move away. The lanky brunette launched off the sofa to place himself in the artist’s path, using those couple inches he had to his full advantage.
"Nothing happened!" Hayden insisted, empty hands rising to his defense.
"Hayden, buddy, you can't come home looking like your soul was sucked out of your balls and not share a little. Do I need to get out the s'mores? Get a little middle school sleepover in here? I'll do it. I'll truth or dare the shit out of you."
Red crept across Hayden’s face and into his ears (or had it been there to begin with), giving himself away more than anything. Though Peter was willing to blame Ryker’s filthy mouth. One could only hear so many lewd references before they reached their limit. As a constant victim of the Loudmouth, Peter was sympathetic - until Ryker gasped, sudden and dramatic.
"It’s Tuesday afternoon! Couldn't be sketchbook pretty boy, could it?" he asked, a smile splitting his face. The crimson hue extended down Hayden’s neck, and Peter cried out in realization.
"Oh my fucking god!" he yelled, scrambling up onto the arm of the couch, sneakers scraping at the old material. "Hayden, I thought he was fucking around. I hoped he was fucking around! Hayden. Hayden! Did you fuck the model?"
"I'm not sure it qualifies as fucking..." Hayden uttered quietly, only serving to prove their theories.
"Not sure it qualifies, huh?" Ryker echoed, visibly pleased with himself - if he wasn’t spot on, then he was close enough to be alarming, though Peter was still too hung up on Hayden’s escapade to mill that part over too much. He remained slack-jawed on the edge of the couch, staring at the taller boys as they jerked around and dodged each other. This was better than any dumb tape they could put in. Hayden Flores, involved in debauchery beyond the bedroom? Stuttering Hayden Flores? After going to high school with him, Peter could say that without a doubt, no one would have expected such a thing from Hayden.
"Second base only? Even you aren't petal pure enough to be this flustered over making out. Spill it, pal." Pinching his lip up into something resembling a 20s gangster, Ryker flopped down toward the sofa with Peter, elbow up and fist against his chin to give an expectant look.
"Tell, us, everything ."
"There's not much to tell," Hayden confessed.
"Bullshit," Peter retorted, settling back against Ryker, arms crossed. "He said everything, now until you wind up telling some boring ass missionary story, I am gonna have to insist."
“Not missionary!” Ryker moaned.
"Well, we sort of wound up alone 'cause class was cancelled," he confessed quietly, hand rising to the back of his neck. "And I drew him for awhile, and then it just kind of..." Hayden clammed up, and Peter didn’t have the heart to make him keep going. Besides, he was already hung up on details.
"In class!" Peter cried, arms flying up. "He's trying to get extra credit!"
"Just kind of," Ryker echoed, tone equal parts salacious and scandalized while he tried to wiggle his way under Peter’s shirt. "Just kind of what ?"
It looked like a real miracle that the art student managed not to cover his face, oscillating between glaring at them and looking anywhere else, face ablaze. It was enough to make a man feel guilty, even if (or maybe especially because) he was enjoying the display.
"Pretty sure you have to fuck the professor for extra credit," Ryker added when Hayden didn’t. "What do you get when you fuck the model though?"
"Stop!" Peter bleated on an ugly giggle when Ryker's hand ghosted over particularly tender skin, slapping his hands from under his shirt. "Come on, you know I don't know anything about all that artsy fartsy shit - no offense Hayden, it's just that I can't draw a stick figure or fucking anything."
“It’s okay.”
“So what happened!”
"I mean, Ryker already kind of figured it out..."
"What?!" Best he could, Peter whipped his head around to look at Ryker. "How'd you know that?"
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Ryker blinked innocently at the both of them for a moment, pinned by Peter's inquiry. A laugh bubbled out of him, and he gestured vaguely toward the artist.
"Hayden's got blow-job face," Ryker answered simply enough. "And not, recently fucked in the throat face. Definitely had his soul sucked out of his balls face. Considering that tight little lip on those sketches, I'm guessing it was surprisingly plush." Winking at Hayden, Ryker gave a deep, lecherous chuckle.
Blinking himself, quiet and judgemental, Peter turned back to face Hayden. If he had a blow job face, like Ryker said, then Peter wasn't quite familiar enough to discern it from his regular flustered face. The artist flushed and blushed and everything in between so easily, sometimes it was hard to tell whether he was happy or sad or even angry, and Peter was out of practice. They should make one of those face emotion refrigerator magnets just for Hayden.
Planting his arms on backrest and armrest, Peter managed to yank his body around, right out from under Ryker's grip. A second later, he was planting his butt against the cushion again, his back to Hayden. Brows arched haughtily, he crossed his arms, drawing out the moments between action and speech as he set his pointed gaze on the four-eyed idiot.
"And just how would you know Hayden has a soul sucked out of his balls face?"
Judging by the look on his face, Ryker didn’t expect to be made the new center of attention. Hayden escaped to his curtain behind them, but despite the noise, Peter had no intention of letting Ryker out of his sights.
"Clearly, because I've sucked his soul out of his balls," the Loudmouth answered simply, as matter-of-fact as a man could be with those precise words coming out of his mouth. "Never mind Veronica's oral fixation. Ben's got a real similar look to him some nights. Not that I could blame the girl. That's a good couple of’ dicks right there. Fuck, I think Hayden's probably the second largest I've ever seen, and that's including this monster." Cupping himself, Ryker nodded sagely, lips pressed into a tilted smirk.
Knowing how things had unfolded in high school and how they had apparently continued for a good while after graduation, Peter was almost prepared for Ryker to just mention how had seen Hayden come out of the bedroom certain times with Veronica on his heels. That would probably have been a preferable answer, but he wasn't quite hoping for it - or expecting it. This time, Peter had hit the mark with his insistent demand (for once). He wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed, or pleased he had been right.
"I knew it!" Peter interjected, arms flying up dramatically again. Lewd gestures be damned, Peter swung his legs around and clambered off the couch without even offering a new Ryker's way. As if he owned the place and the stairs led to a space that was solely his, he started marching for the steps, all huffy energy. Admittedly, it was a bit played up, but it was the kind of conflict that was just big enough to warrant a little discussion, but not big enough to delve into a fight and his subsequent escape, you know? Peter thrived on those kinds of conflicts, especially when he was right.
"You want to be my boyfriend but how can I trust you to resist temptation? Have you ever even had a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend? The sound of Ryker’s footsteps hurrying to catch up with him was fuel enough for Peter to keep ranting. “If you're used to all these little friends with benefits agreements coming and going, and you live with all your friends, how can I trust you to break a habit?"
"How about because I want to be your boyfriend?" Ryker demanded,sounding a little impatient and defensive. Trudging past Peter, he flopped onto his bed, back against the wall and a pout on his face. "I'm not an idiot. I know what exclusivity is just like I know what loyalty and fidelity and promises are."
"I wouldn't say you're not an idiot," Peter mumbled inaudibly, crossing his arms while Ryker took a tone with him - even though it was Peter's own fucking fault, since he started it.
"Ask me how long ago it was," Ryker said, a little bit of a challenge in his voice.
"You could just say how long ago it was!" Peter proclaimed as his arms whipped out to his sides. Couldn't settle on a pose for very long. "I don't understand why it hasn't come up already, Ryker. You'd think, early on, you might have mentioned that you fucked one of my friends from high school. I mean, we both know Hayden, so it would have even been funny at the time!"
"I don't remember," Ryker answered with a shrug. "It was so long ago that I would have to think about it and then count up the months. In fact, I think it was during freshman year, because I was still taking a full set of classes. I didn't even know how openly gay Hayden was yet!" Ryker’s tone took on that whining note it did when he didn’t want to argue, his gestures restless. "I do have enough manners not to go shouting 'I fucked that guy' from the rooftops just ‘cause I met his neighbor. Besides, it's not like me and you have traded notes on the history of our sexual experiences." Lifting his head a bit, Ryker gave a pointed look, mouth pinched and brows raised.
Ruffled in a way he had been trying to avoid, Peter sighed, and attempted to compose himself - though he knew that couldn't last for very long, depending on how Ryker responded. "I'm just saying, I'm a little hurt that I'm only just now learning about this," he finished, pulling out all the stops to maybe turn this around and make it not his fault.
He remembered how hard it was to get anything out of Hayden Flores in high school. A coming out? Forget it. Peter wasn't one to talk of course, but they weren't talking about him, they were talking about Hayden. Well, the conversation was sort of about both of them, so in that context it wasn't about him, but either way.
At least Ryker seemed to back down from whatever upsetting cliff he had worked himself up to then, evident in the sag of his body and exaggerated movements. Even if that stubborn look had Peter rolling his eyes again. He figured he ought to take advantage of the wind down while he could (before guilt ate him alive).
"And I don't fuck my friends," Peter said, finally, striding to the edge of the bed. "Simply by virtue of the fact that I don’t have very many." None like these guys, he added to himself, sinking to the floor to plant his elbows and chin on the bunched sheets.
"Do I have a soul sucked out of my balls face?" he asked as if it were an innocent question, staring up at Ryker from the harsh angle. To his own credit, Ryker laughed.
"You sure do," he answered confidently, already smiling as he shoved himself forward down the length of his bed, propping up just in time to be a few inches above Peter’s face. "It's one of my favorites. Saw it right before you vanished for the summer. Absolutely gorgeous. Second only to your fucked into the seventh dimension face. And fuck knows if Hayden even has one of those."
“The seventh dimension, wow. Didn’t know we had that many.”
Ryker’s fingers slipped under Peter’s elbow, until gliding far enough to grab him around the wrist. “You wanna see it? I'll show ya right now, Pete. Only need about fifteen minutes."
Despite the (eternal, blatant) use of that stupid nickname Ryker insisted on tacking a letter S to the end of, a fluttery rush of excitement and relief left Peter swelling with a breath, staring as Ryker got all suave and cool. Tried to be suave and cool, but didn't have a prayer.
"I'd much rather see yours," Peter stated, hauling himself to stand so he could climb up onto the mattress. "It's really fucking funny, like this-" Peter furrowed his brow and set his jaw with his mouth half open dumbly, more akin constipation than anything else. It wasn't long before he broke character, laughing his way down to Ryker's mouth, where he forgot what he had been wound up about in the first place. Saving them both the trouble of a tried and true fight.
Chapter 7
Despite the consternation involving what went on between him and Ryker in the months following his breakup with Veronica before Ryker met Peter, that Peter seemed oddly concerned about, Hayden's every thought was occupied waiting forty-eight hours for the next Life Drawing class - for incredibly, stupidly, ridiculously obvious reasons. Right up to the moment he reached the door on Thursday. A lack of notice outside the classroom and the sight of
other students setting up inside was enough to know that he hadn't made some idiot freshman mistake this time. An idiot freshman mistake that made hopes and dreams come true, but was pretty stupid of him nonetheless. However serendipitous it might have been.
He must not have schooled himself very well, because the professor gave him an odd look when he rushed in. It was enough to have him slowing down, as he moved to find an easel and stool he could drag to the front, just like always. As if he hadn't memorized that smooth form that kept him awake at night, last time he was in this room. The only thing that could bring Hayden down now was if Dan with the ponytail came out of the back room instead of Wyatt.
Even while he got his supplies together, there was no missing the moment the door to the adjacent room opened, and Wyatt strolled out just as he always did, every time he had been scheduled for Hayden's class. Terry cloth white robe and all, walking as if nothing was out of the ordinary that day. And really, it wasn't. It was last time that had been strange.
Of course, Hayden felt the heat in his face immediately, a fresh view of those sloped and sharp features drawing to mind vivid memories that had threatened to grow murky in the last day. The real thing, even far away, was a hundred times better.
Given how little faith he had in himself other times, Hayden worried about his willpower not being strong enough to handle his desire, and the subsequent steps he would have to take to keep a boner concealed at three in the afternoon. But now he felt much more confident in his ability to sit there without making a scene. The only place blood was rushing to was his face. Maybe he had become so used to nude models that he had built up an immunity - so long as the life wasn't being kissed out of him.
Realizing everyone else had gotten to work while he sat there staring like an idiot, Hayden followed suit, perhaps focused on communicating the sculpted form to paper impeccably now more than ever.
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