Figure Model

by Parker Porter

  "You're not the first person to want -" What, exactly? Wracking his thoughts for an appropriate noun was a lost cause, leaving the dirty blond to shrug as he stood in front of the threshold, torn on whether to remove his shoes. "Something beyond...what we did. " A breath shuddered out of him, finally dragging his gaze up to bright green. "But, I think. Well, it feels like, it's the first time that I sorta did, too."

  "You've never been with someone like this before," Hayden said, almost a question, but not quite. Wyatt felt his eyebrows rise minutely at what nearly sounded like an accusation, but - the truth being what it was - he was unable to offer more than another small shrug. Under a scrutiny that he had been all but basking in for weeks, that suddenly felt sharp enough for him to glance away, only to be drawn back up a moment later.

  "You don't have to make a display for me," Hayden went on, a little firmer. "Trust me, I know all about privacy. And hiding. You shouldn't have to do that, if you don't want to."

  It took bristling about whether he was being reassured or given permission to realize that he didn't need to look for the first moment it would all fall apart. In fact, he was probably bringing something upon himself just worrying over it.

  Hayden stepped closer, brows drawn and lips parted like he might be sympathetic. Or just as shaken as Wyatt was. The dirty blond took another careful breath, and felt himself flinch toward a straighter spine when the shift of his shirt made him too aware of his own skin. With all the unused space visible over the brunette's shoulder, it was some sort of thrilling that the two of them were wedged into the front hall instead, especially with the scent of charcoal and shampoo teasing him with awareness of their proximity.

  Absolutely ridiculous! After having the man's cock in his mouth, Wyatt ought to be a little immune to the excitement of a blossoming attraction!

  "It's not that I don't want to," he murmured, voice tight despite his attempt at casual, instantly concerned about whether they were talking about hiding or displaying. "Though, I'm sure there's plenty I don't want to do." Really selling himself, there, Wyatt thought, resisting impulses to reach for Hayden's sleeve again - or his own shirt collar. As if one loose button might give him a hint of the soothing apathy that had made modeling such a low labor career.

  "I'm not sure what, exactly, I want," Wyatt continued in explanation, feeling like just his words were enough to heat up the limited air between them, but that was just as likely the flush in his cheeks making him warm. "I know that I don't want to never see you again, or to make class difficult for you. Which might still happen, but I won't do it on purpose." Closing his eyes a moment, he huffed quietly, finally surrendering to the impulsive curl of his fingers into the soft cotton of Hayden’s shirt. The physical link was arbitrary and aimless and far too satisfying for what it was.

  "The job is an excuse," he added, a little breathless as the words left him as quickly as the realization came. "A safe, secure, hidden bubble where I can do lots of things I want to do, but can't for lots of reasons. And if anyone finds out, I have an excuse. It's good money. It's easy work. Money is a necessity. It's just that you exist outside of that bubble and if following you out of it means still being able to spend time with you then I want to do that too."

  Hayden caught his attention between the grip on his sleeve and Wyatt’s face, the dirty blond wondered if he was making a proper case for himself, or just sounding like a madman. At least Hayden hadn’t pulled away yet, though his skin shifted warm beneath the fabric of his shirt, under Wyatt’s knuckles.

  "Still," the artist murmured, close enough now that Wyatt wondered if he could hear his heartbeat, if he tried. "There are places where you can be yourself and still feel safe."

  For what he was worth, Wyatt believed him - especially with a closed door at his back and a distinct lack of onlookers (which he hoped wasn't entirely integral to Hayden's definition of meaning something ). It certainly didn't seem likely that a charcoal-stained art student was going to call his parents up and list off all the shit their prodigal son had been doing off at college, with or without complete strangers. Where that all this allegedly sinful self-indulgence stopped having consequences - all of his plans for adulthood basically relied on that.

  Believing Hayden didn't do much against the rush of a half panicked pulse - especially when the brunette shifted closer, chin tipping in an enticing and inviting manner. Wyatt swallowed against a rock in his throat, inhaling audibly between suddenly parted teeth. After the rush and violence of his last attempt at a kiss, it seemed important to focus this time, if only on his aim and force.

  With Hayden presenting himself like this, Wyatt couldn’t find a reason to resist, eyes slipping shut in increments as warm breath fanned over his face.

  "I know a place where you practice."

  He couldn't help the reflexive recoil at an unfamiliar voice, his grip on Hayden's sleeve dropping as the brunette whipped away. Across the living room, leaning against the railing of a tucked-away staircase looking smug, was none other than Peter Jackson.

  "What are you doing?"

  "What are you doing?! And you - if you were just going to make out with my best friend anyway, Wyatt , you could have come to GSA!"

  Of course, it just had to be Peter Jackson, of all people. Wyatt could have handled any number of roommates or classmates or strangers (one way or another, even if that meant resorting to eye contact avoidance). But not the campaigning presidential candidate with a knack for haranguing him, who looked like he had just woken up. For a moment, Wyatt had it in him to wonder whose bed he was coming out of - whether it was his own or not (and where was Hayden's? Did roommate's call each other best friend?)

  His full name felt a bit like a palm across the face, somehow, but he suspected that the tone had done that on purpose. Either way, it certainly worked well enough to have Wyatt bristling again, his shoulders curling up like a cockatoo's crest on the rise.

  "I have plenty of reasons not to go to G-S-A," he answered pointedly, his own familiar monotone almost a relief in the wake of whispered confessions. Hayden was left with nothing to do but glance between them, and at this point, Wyatt wasn’t sure he could get back to that kiss.

  "Right right right, you spend all your time posing naked and fucking artists," Peter sneered, smiling devilishly the whole way down the stairs.

  The flick of Wyatt’s eyes from Peter Jackson to Hayden was involuntary, motivated entirely by the not quite comfortable rise of some riled sensation or another (with all the anxiety bouncing around his blood stream, it was difficult to discern them individually) with the basically explicit understanding that the art student had talked about him to other people. Should that be flattering? Maybe he should take comfort in the fact that Jackson had help figuring him for something other than straight - better than embodying a stereotype.

  "Anyhow, that’s not what I meant. Hayden’s going to a piano recital this Saturday, the one for the Advanced Classical class at the university. I’m sure he’d love to take you as his date. I’m gonna be there doing concessions with GSA, so we can make sure you’ll be safe and sound, if any injustices are done."

  "I don’t know about that, Peter" Hayden said, sounding wary. “That was supposed to be a friend thing, with all of us.”

  "Don’t you think Wyatt should meet your friends?" Peter asked, packing on the charm. "What better place to be yourself safely than around friends?"

  "It’s too short notice."

  "It's a piano recital, Hayden, not a fucking wedding."

  Fortunately, they were engulfed enough in each other not to pay too much attention to the shaken gay Jewish finance student, silently debating whether this was enough to meet his emergency escape standards. He was close enough to the door to do it without being stopped, and there even seemed to be a chance of being followed by the person he wanted to continue a conversation with, and almost no reason for the other to also give chase.

  Thank God Hayden was handling the gentle No for his own excitable friend
, because Wyatt didn't know how to make it polite.

  "Where're we goin’?" Another person plopped down the stairs behind Peter, rubbing squinting eyes and flinging piles of black curls back away from his face. Brows furrowing, Wyatt could feel himself glaring at the set (a little relieved to have more than one person coming down the stairs, though them coming in pairs didn't quite eliminate any concerns about Hayden's presumed monomorous preferences - there was no telling with art students). The new interruption managed to drift past them without much interference, though, closing what looked like the bathroom door behind himself.

  "I don't listen to much classical music," the dirty blond muttered eventually (almost a lie, with his modelling experience), prepared to list any excuse that would get Peter off his back.

  “G-guys-”

  "It's not about listening to it, it's like a special occasion," Peter stated. “You dress nice and clap to be polite and just sit there. If you don't want to go, just fucking say so." Trailing off, he crossed his arms, and Wyatt had just enough wherewithal to sense he was gearing up for something.

  "Or, you know, you could always just call 'next time' and not actually follow through."

  That was all Wyatt needed to know with absolute certainty that Peter Jackson was not going to let this thing go with any mercy or ease. Further arguments and excuses died on his lips under the realization that not only had Hayden talked about him in the context of their meeting, but also obviously in the context of their parting. As if that were allowed to be at all surprising. It had been a week, after all, and he could hardly expect the brunette to deny himself the comfort of friends.

  Why those friends needed to include the nosy and apparently spiteful GSA-advocate, Wyatt had no idea. And it was hardly his fault that he didn't like the idea of any of his classmates knowing that much about him.

  "Fine," he bit out, perhaps a smidge too fast, if only because he didn't want the silence to linger around that. Considering he was still standing here, caught up in a debate over what this recital should consist of, Wyatt couldn't exactly imagine fleeing to be a real alternative anyway. Maybe it would be easy for the two of them to slink away before the evening became too daunting. It was easy enough to leave a silent auditorium without a fuss.

  At the very least, it sounded like a chance to see the brunette dressed up - and there was no ignoring the sliver of relief that being surrounded by people who had no reason to side-eye, brow-quirk, or otherwise remark upon (silently or otherwise) anything they did or said or were. If only, perhaps, by virtue of the fact that they were close with Hayden.

  And somehow, that was also more daunting than “meeting the parents”.

  "Will going make you leave me alone?" Wyatt asked, figuring he ought to get something out of what could potentially be an aggravating and embarrassing experience for the sole purpose of entertaining Peter Jackson.

  "I mean, as much as I can," Peter gushed, at least having the sense to look a little surprised when Wyatt barked. "I won't talk to you if you don't want me to but to be honest, if you're gonna be fucking Hayden and hanging around all the time, you'll probably be seeing a lot of me. All of us. It's inevitable." With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered back to the stairs.

  "By the way, Hayden’s ex is performing, just letting you know!"

  That certainly changed things, but Wyatt tried not to let it change the resolute expression on his face.

  The lanky bum emerged from the bathroom, hurrying after Peter, movement drawing Wyatt's attention just long enough to avoid staring at anyone in particular. Equal parts relieving and annoying. He hadn't even had the chance to contemplate the likelihood, frequency, or content of future encounters. Dread bubbled up a bit in his throat - the dirty blond was fairly picky about his social interactions for a reason.

  "You don’t have to go. I'm serious," Hayden slipping back into the forefront of Wyatt’s attention effortlessly. He nodded toward the ceiling, looking like a startled frigatebird picking a fight.. "I can deal with him, too. He doesn't even live here, he just sleeps with the guy upstairs."

  "If going will shut him up, it's worth it," the dirty blond answered simply - wondering if he should be presenting himself as manipulative and back-handed. It was hardly his fault that Peter Jackson was so prepared to throw words in his face, and clearly quite comfortable with interrupting class over personal details that people around them simply didn't need to know.

  "He just better be prepared for me to fall ill at nine fifteen," Wyatt added on a bitter murmur, tempted by the impulse to reclaim the proximity of Hayden's space - a little too excited to pick up where they had been interrupted. "If you don't want me to go, though..." he trailed off, hesitant to echo the reassurance verbatim. "We could do something else, another time."

  "No, it’s not that," Hayden answered, "If you want to, then I want to. Just as long as he's not bullying you into it."

  “Then it’s settled,” Wyatt murmured, finding it in him to smile, then. Even though he had twenty-four hours to prepare for whatever Hayden’s friends and his ex entailed.

  The tmp-tmp-tmp of quick feet down the stairs silenced any further word, and both watched as Peter appeared again. "I forgot, I had to pee," he explained, disappearing into the bathroom a second later with a bang of the door against the wood frame. Far less antagonizing.

  Chapter 11

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “This shirt’s a little too small,” Peter explained, straightening his sleeves in front of Ryker’s mirror. “I want to make sure it doesn’t pull out if I tuck it in.”

  “Peter.” Hayden regarded him from the bottom of Ryker’s stairs, voice almost stern, unless Peter was imagining. “I mean with Wyatt.”

  Tired of his own reflection, Peter turned at the top of the stairs. Hayden’s arms were crossed over his chest, dressed in a white button up, with his bangs pushed back, styled, leaving his forehead bare. He looked like he was going to a funeral, not a piano recital.

  Peter could imagine how long and arduous Friday must have felt for Hayden under the weight of Wyatt's soul-bearing and the plans that they had made. He still couldn’t believe what he had come downstairs to Thursday afternoon, but given how everything lined up that week, Peter was perfectly happy to take the credit for making Wyatt get his ass in gear. Even though no one was giving it to him. With a success rate like that, though, he was pretty certain this next part would go off without a hitch.

  The best part, though? Seeing the dumb pretty boy who was just cruel enough to have Hayden in a tizzy squirming.

  “Chill out, Hayden. You get to spend some time with him away from the classroom.” Grabbing the railing, Peter started his way down the steps. “You can show off your handsome model boyfriend to your friends and maybe even go home with him after.”

  “He’s n-not my boyfriend,” Hayden corrected, valiantly fighting a rosy flush.

  “Yeah Pete, I thought you of all people would be a stickler about that.”

  Peter tensed, but Ryker sounded humorous enough as he skipped down the steps after him. It took Ryker’s arm coming around his shoulders to loosen up, though, glad more than anything that the Loudmouth had cleaned up for their little night out.

  “Guess ol’ Wyatt’s room must not be clean enough,” Ryker lamented, pouting at Hayden.

  “Why are you wearing that shirt? We’re going to a piano recital, not a luau.”

  “Well with all you bozos dressed like the Weird Cousin at Christmas someone’s gotta be the life of the party.” Ryker wiggled his shoulders, the loud floral print on his shirt wiggling with it, and Peter wasn’t quite quick enough to dodge a stolen kiss.

  “Where’s Ryan? I know I left that beautiful black boy somewhere around here.”

  “Meeting us there,” Hayden mentioned, hands sliding from their folded position in his elbows to his pockets. “He’s coming from a gallery thing.”

  Probably better, Peter figured. Didn’t want the first friend they subjected Wyatt to to be
the best looking one. Peter wasn’t that sadistic.

  There was a rap at the door just then, sending all heads in that general direction. Hayden moved quickly around various furniture to answer it, and Peter was right to mumble Speak of the Devil under his breath, when the door opened to reveal none other than Wyatt himself - right on time too.

  “Hi,” he murmured, mostly to Hayden, though Peter was quick to interject.

  “Didn’t you wear that on Thursday?” It earned him a dirty look from the Jewish figure model, and Peter decided he ought to start counting how many he’d have by the end of the night.

  “No, I didn’t,” Wyatt uttered, while Hayden closed the door behind him. “I happen to wear collared shirts a lot.”

  “You also happen to wear nothing a lot, now what does that say?” Peter demanded, relishing the moment Wyatt went red in the face. He was on a roll today.

  “Down, Peter, stay! Bad dog, you be nice!” Ryker scolded dramatically, earning a nice kick to the shins a moment later.

  “We should get going,” Hayden chimed in, nodding toward the door. “Don’t want the parking lot to fill up.”

  “Right.”

  “Gotcha.”

  “Sí, señor.”

  They all filed outside, separating so Hayden could ride with Wyatt, and Peter with Ryker. He watched Wyatt’s Volkswagen Rabbit pull out and follow them all the way to the music hall, unabashedly twisted around in his seat, even in traffic.

  “Peter dear, darling, light of my life. I got kush stashed under your seat so I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t get us pulled over.”

  “I’m not gonna! Shut up.” Slipping down to face forward, Peter decided if anything juicy happened, he could ask Hayden. Right now it just looked like they were barely talking, and knowing Wyatt (all two things Peter knew about him), that could be anything from taxes to seders.