“Jesus, Mack,” Maribel finally snaps. “If you don’t bring me my coffee I’m going to rip your throat out with my teeth.”
Mack rolls his beautiful eyes and turns away finally to make the rest of his deliveries. Caleb is disappointed to see him walk away again but is quickly consoled by the excellent view of Mack’s superb ass he gets from his this vantage point on low-to-the-floor tattoo chair he’s sitting in. His enjoyment is cut short though, when he hears Zoey behind him. “Okay, let’s do this. Shirt off, Wolf Boy.”
Shit. He’s suddenly incredibly self-conscious, realizing that he’s going to have to sit there shirtless in front of this Greek god. Mack finishes handing out coffee and goes back at his station, where he sits at the drafting table facing Zoey’s station. Caleb toys with the hem of his t-shirt. Mack's looking down at whatever he’s working on, like he couldn’t care less about Caleb pulling his shirt off just a few feet in front of him, because of course he doesn’t. Even if he is into guys, which Caleb doesn’t know for sure, there’s no way in hell he’d be interested in Caleb. Guys who look like Mack can get anyone they want…like other guys who solid walls of muscle with amazing eyes and… yeah, well. Caleb no longer suffers from the crippling lack of self-esteem that plagued him in high school, but there’s a long way between fledgling confidence and whatever it takes to be confident enough to take his shirt off in front this living statue of masculine perfection. Such confidence likely doesn’t exist for mere mortals like him. Mack is so incredibly out of Caleb’s league, they’re not even playing the same sport.
And, weirdly, it’s that thought that gives Caleb the push to just suck it up and strip his shirt off. If there’s no way in hell Mack would ever be interested in him, he doesn't have anything to lose, right? He settles into the chair, shirtless and facing Mack straight-on, his heart thumping. He steadies himself by focusing on Zoey’s hands on his back. They’re soft and warm as she traces them over his tattoo, and her loose hair tickles his side as she leans over him to take a closer look. Caleb makes himself focus on the feeling of her hands on him instead of the way Mack’s eyebrows are furrowed so deeply there’s a series of lines running across his forehead, lines that Caleb’ hands are practically aching to smooth with gentle caresses.
“This won’t take long at all,” Zoey says. “You’ve kept almost all of it. Your skin likes to be tattooed, Caleb.”
He risks another look at Mack, and a thrilling jolt of surprise and excitement surges through him when he sees that Mack’s eyes are on him, an unreadable expression on his perfect face. Caleb may not think he's all that great to look at, but apparently Mack does, because he is definitely looking, eyes wondering over Caleb' bare torso with unmistakable desire. He flushes even redder under the heat of his gaze, and Mack's eyes go wide when he catches Caleb watching him, but he doesn’t look away, which is all the encouragement he needs. Caleb raises an eyebrow and grins in reckless, futile flirtation. When Mack doesn't still doesn’t look away, he widens the grin, starting to think that his flirtation isn't so futile.
Nothing to lose, right? He winks.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think Mack actually growls as he exhales loudly in response, and then glares down at the table.
It should scare Caleb, or maybe even offend him, but it doesn’t. He grins even wider, not bothering to hide his delight at having affected Mack in that way, in any way. He hears Zoey snort behind him as she sets to work touching up the tattoo, the buzz of the machine and the stinging burn-and-drag of the needle grounding him back to reality.
“So,” Zoey says casually, “what do you have going on after this, Caleb?”
“I’m taking my friend Abbie out to drinks. She just moved to town to start med school at UW. I’ve been helping her move boxes and unpack all day, actually. Sorry if I’m all sweaty and gross,” he adds as an afterthought, fighting the urge to sniff at his own armpits to see just how gross he really is.
“Oh, I don't know, Caleb, I’m sure there’s some people who think you smell absolutely delicious,” she purrs, and that’s a weird thing to say to someone. He risks another glance at Mack, who’s glaring and staring down at his table with a look of concentration on his face like he’s mapping the new world or something.
Go big or go home, Caleb thinks. “Would you, um, like to join us,” he asks Zoey, and then, a little louder, “everybody, I mean. You should all come out for a drink, give Abbie a proper Seattle welcome.” He doesn’t look at Mack. Well, he tries really hard not to look at Mack.
“Sounds fun,” Zoey says, stopping to wipe the tattoo with a neatly folded paper towel before putting the needle back to his skin. “But we wouldn’t want to intrude on your night out with your girlfriend.”
“Oh, Abbie’s not my girlfriend,” Caleb corrects her, possibly a little too quickly. Maybe a little too loudly too, but whatever. “We’ve been friends since sixth grade,” he explains. “She’s practically my sister,” he adds.
“Do you have a girlfriend?” Zoey asks, trying just a bit too hard to seem casual.
“Nope,” Caleb answers, popping his mouth on the p just a bit. “I’m gay,” he adds, and then, “but no boyfriend either.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sees Zoey nod and smile like she’s won a prize or something. “Well I’m sure that won’t be true for long,” she says. “If that’s what you want, I mean. You’re too adorable for any guy with eyes to leave you alone for long.”
Now it’s Caleb’ turn to snort-laugh. “Um, thanks?” Compliments make him uncomfortable and he usually responds with witty self-deprecation, but he can’t think of anything to say at the moment. Mack has stood up and is reaching to pull down a drawing from where it’s been tacked to the wall to above his table, and his shirt rides up above the waistband of his jeans. The buzzing of the machine, the music blaring from the shop’s sound system, the hot sting of the needle against his skin – it all just kind of fades into the background as Caleb’s eyes zero in on the thin line of skin revealed. Mack is twisted to the side a bit, giving Caleb a view of the insane cord of muscle that runs from his hip around and down to disappear under his jeans. It’s damn near pornographic, and Caleb has to look away, shifting slightly in the chair to not-so-subtly adjust his growing erection. It’s possible that he groans. Mack just sits back down, that laser-focus expression back on his face, the set of his broad shoulders square and firm.
He hears Zoey laugh. “I’d love to get a drink with you and your friend,” Zoey says. “Dante, how about you?”
"Definitely," he answers from the front of the shop.
“Maribel?”
“I’m going to take a rain check tonight. I’m beat. Next time for sure, though,” Maribel answers.
“Mack, you want to join us for a drink?” Zoey calls, not even acknowledging Maribel’s response. Caleb feels nearly nauseous with anticipation and tries to prepare himself for the inevitable disappointment. From what they all said about Mack the last time he was here and from his brisk demeanor tonight, Caleb’ is guessing that Mack isn’t really a going out for drinks kind of guy, which is goddamn shame, because Caleb needs to find a way to spend more time with him.
“Sure,” Mack says, in that quiet, gentling voice that sends a shiver of want through Caleb. “Sounds fun.”
Apparently, he was right to assume that Mack would say no, because Maribel and Zoey share another expression of surprise, first meeting each other’s eyes and then looking over to Mack, who smirks and flashes those bright eyes at Caleb before looking back down to his work, letting his sister and friend stare. Maribel’s eyes remain narrow and suspicious, but Zoey recovers quickly and laughs. “All right then. Let’s get you finished up so we can get our drink on, Wolf Boy.”
5
As it turns out, though, drinking with Mack is a terrible idea – because Caleb drinking at all is a terrible idea. He doesn’t really drink all that often, preferring the relaxing high and no-hangover miracle of weed to the blurry sloppiness of being drunk. And t
he hangovers. But it’s pretty much impossible to be even a semi-social twenty-something without alcohol involved, and Caleb is anxious about hanging out with Mack, and several double gin and tonics in quick succession will definitely help with that, right?
So, so wrong. Some people are mean drunks and some people are sad drunks, but Caleb is an enthusiastically happy drunk whose already limited brain-to-mouth filter pretty much disintegrates after the second drink. This isn’t much of a problem when he’s lounging around the pool at Abbie’s house or at their favorite college bar with his best friends. Friends who love him no matter what absurd crap he says, no matter how loud and sometimes, handsy, he gets. Friends who graciously smile and roll their eyes when he starts telling Abbie about how he used to try to masturbate while thinking about her way back when he was in denial about being gay (“seriously, Abs, I tried. I really did. Hard. Well, not hard. That was the problem, you see? You’re so beautiful, so perfect…I just…I just like guys, okay?”); friends who aren’t above videoing him calling Jackson “so pretty, like, porcelain doll pretty” before asking him again if he’s sure he doesn’t want to “give the whole dude-lovin’ thing a try,” but who have the good grace to not post it on Facebook (thanks, Leo).
Caleb is a ridiculous drunk, but he’s blessed with friends who know him well enough to not hold it against him. Tonight is different though. Abbie is here, but the second she stepped into Triskele Tattoo to retrieve him for drinks – she had gotten tired of waiting, she announced with a haughty flip of her strawberry blonde hair – Maribel took one look at her and decided that she wasn’t so tired after all. She and Abbie have been snuggled into the corner of their booth for the past hour, which hey, you go get yours Abbie, but that means she’s left Caleb alone with three of the most intimidatingly-beautiful people he’s ever seen, sucking down gin like he’s dying of thirst.
Zoey’s boyfriend, Xavier, shows up, and Caleb just rolls his eyes at his tall, dark handsomeness. It’s like he walked into a tattoo parlor and found himself in an alternate universe run by the CW. Actual people in the real world shouldn’t have perfect hair like Zoey’s (or Abbie’s for that matter), or Dante’s absurd cheekbones or Xavier’s sun-bright smile…or Mack’s…everything. Caleb is glad to meet Xavier, though, because he’s nice and mellow and his presence confirms that Zoey and Mack aren’t a thing, which a huge relief. Mack seems more relaxed with Xavier around too, tension easing out of his big shoulders, his eyes coming up from his glass more often. Xavier’s arrival also means that the conversation turns to him for awhile, and Caleb takes refuge from feeling like he has to talk to sip at his drink and surreptitiously stare at Mack.
“What was that,” Mack asks, head swinging sharply to stare him, eyes falling to where he's working the straw like a chew toy.
“What?” he responds. Smooth, Caleb, the increasingly harder-to-hear sober part of his brain says.
He and Mack have exchanged glances and a few brief sentences over the course of the evening’s chaotic group conversation, but this is the first time Mack is speaking directly to him without everyone's attention on them, and it’s downright overwhelming, his everything.
“Sorry,” Mack says, looking like he’s going to turn away from him, but he doesn’t. “I thought you said something to me,” he adds softly.
“Surreptitiously,” Caleb slurs, because even though he didn’t realize it, he must have said it out loud, even if it was only a mumbled whisper. Mack must have insanely good hearing.
“What?”
Caleb snorts a laugh, very pleased. Now it’s Mack’s turn to be confused and unsmooth.
“That’s what I said,” Caleb’s heart is starting to race as he processes the fact that he’s having a conversation with Mack. Well, it’s not much of a conversation, but it’s something. “Surreptitiously is what I said,” he explains, the syllables having lost all edges.
“Surreptitiously,” Mack repeats, not slurring at all.
“I was trying to be surreptitious,” Caleb elaborates, as if that explains anything.
Mack’s eyebrows narrow further in confusion, like Caleb is a particularly annoying puzzle he can’t figure out. It’s a look he knows well on the faces of many, but there’s a simmering heat to the way it’s cast on Mack’s features.
Before Mack can respond Dante asks him a question and they get pulled back into the main conversation. The gin is making Caleb soft-limbed and warm, and then he’s talking to the group again, but he’s not exactly sure what about, losing his train of thought when Mack picks up his pint glass of beer and takes a long swallow, his strong neck muscles moving smoothly, captivating Caleb’ attention. He’s an excellent multitasker though, even drunk, so he just blabbers on until he thinks he’s at a place where stopping will make sense. He’s still staring at Mack, and shit, that obnoxious sound of a slurping straw in an empty glass is definitely coming from him.
“Gonna go grab another drink,” he mumbles, sliding from the large corner booth, needing to put some distance between them so he can catch his breath and calm his wildly beating heart.
It’s crowded and noisy, and but he battles his way to the bar and buys another drink. He doesn’t want to go back to their table yet, so he just goes with the crowd, eventually finding a small square of space next to the photobooth tucked awkwardly into a corner in the back of the room. There’s a tangle of expensive-looking heeled boots sticking out from under the curtain of the photobooth and squeals of drunken laughter each time the flash flickers. The women eventually pour out in a wave of tequila and perfume and cackle at the black-and-white strip of photos the machine spits out at them.
It’s a little quieter in the corner once they leave, and Caleb leans his spinning head against the wall behind him. He wants to close his eyes and relax, but he’s managed to find a spot that lets him stare at Mack from a distance, and he can’t seem to not watch him, trying to memorize him from every angle.
Soon, though, a guy appears in front of him – a little blurry, but maybe cute – and he tells him his name, which Caleb pretends to care about, just keeps on pretending to listen to Alex or Alan whoever while watching the way Mack leans in with comfortable familiarity to say something to Xavier, who smiles and laughs in response. The corner of Mack’s mouth ticks up slightly and Caleb audibly gasps, holding his breath for the smile he’s aching to see. He doesn’t though, because AlexAlan is talking again, loudly enough in Caleb’ ear to be heard over the crowd and the music and to pull his eyes away from Mack.
“Your ex?”
“What?” Caleb’s lack of eloquence tonight is truly remarkable.
“The stud you’re glaring at. Your ex, right?” The guy is leaning in closer, but Caleb can’t really respond because the thought of being Mack’s ex-anything seems at once both too good to be true and utterly devastating. The guy takes his nonresponse as confirmation though, and moves even closer, pressing a hip into Caleb’s and whispering in his ear. “I can help you make him jealous,” he coos, and a hand skates across Caleb’s stomach to wrap around his waist. He snorts lightly at the suggestion that Mack would ever in a million years feel anything remotely like Caleb-related jealousy, but he finally does close his eyes then, because he’s tired and he doesn’t know who this guy is but he’s warm and nice and seems to want him, and at this point, maybe it’s enough. His eyes are shut tight but he’s still seeing Mack’s, and that hint of a smile, letting himself pretend for just a minute that the weight he feels against his side is Mack’s, even though this guy is much too small to even compare.
The sting of drink-chilled lips against his neck sends chill a dark through him. He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want this stranger. It occurs to him distantly that Mack is practically a stranger too, that they just must met earlier this evening. Just a few hours ago in fact, but nearly everything in him screams that it’s wrong to think of him as a stranger. Maybe it’s the booze, maybe it’s the desire unlike any he’s ever felt, maybe it’s the way he feels drawn to the man like a
moth to a flame, but he feels like he’s known Mack his entire life.
He starts to pull away from the wall, trying to get away, but the guy seems to be taking it all wrong because he pushes harder into Caleb, grinning now. “That’s right,” he’s saying. “Forget about him. I know his type. Too pretty for his own good. Let’s get out of here. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t even remember pretty boy’s name.”
“Mack,” Caleb says, the first thing he’s said in minutes, his head starting to throb, his voice morose. “His name is Mack.”
The guy just laughs, squeezes his side where he’s still holding on to him. “Who cares,” he breathes. “What’s your name?”
“Caleb.”
The voice that says his name does not sound at all like his own – surely he never growls like that? The slight weight against him is gone suddenly, like AlexAlan jumped away or something. Caleb finally opens his eyes, has to blink a few times before he’s really sure what he’s seeing.
Mack is towering, possibly glowering, over AlexAlan, and hell, was that guy always this short, or does everyone just look tiny and out-of-focus in comparison to Mack? “Hey there Mack,” Caleb purrs, “it’s nice to see you up close again,” he’s saying, grinning like a loon even though Mack looks so mad. It should scare him, that look, and it seems to be doing the trick on AlexAlan, because he’s sputtering and stumbling away, saying something like “sorry man, I didn’t think you two were still together,” which makes Caleb laugh even more.
“Caleb,” Mack says again, although there’s less of a growl to it. He steps forward and takes Caleb's drink from his hand – he had forgotten it was there, still half-full. “Are you okay?” Mack is saying, the furrow of those thick angry eyebrows softening into something that Caleb chooses to interpret as concern, even though Mack still looks pretty pissed and Caleb is feeling drunker by the second.
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