by J. Emery
Irritation buzzed in his veins. The urgent need to fidget crawled into his muscles and out through his hands. Anything to get out this directionless energy and channel it somewhere.
Do something. Do something.
His brain screamed it and he wanted to listen. He wanted—needed—to do something. But what?
Noah growled in frustration and dug his fingers into his jean-clad thighs.
And then his eyes fell on West. His head was bowed as he read his book, his profile stark, backlit as it was by the sun shining in the window. There was the faintest bump to the bridge of his long nose and tendrils of hair caressed his cheeks. He looked like art. Still and fine as some classical sculpture. His fingers splayed across the cover of his book were long. Made to be recreated in marble.
"Have you ever modeled?" Noah's mouth asked without consulting his brain first. Fuck.
West started. His mouth opened and closed as he took a breath. His eyes met Noah's. They were completely blank. His wide mouth made a flat line as he pressed his lips together.
Noah winced. "That sounded like an awful line." He held up his sketchbook like a shield. "Okay it was awful. But it wasn't a line." The sooner they got this awkward encounter over the sooner Noah could get back to vibrating out of his own skin so he rushed on with the rest of his explanation. Straight into the open arms of imminent doom. "I need a model. If you would be interested in sitting for a few photos. I pay. Not much, but I pay." Out of his peripheral vision he saw Michelle emphatically shaking her head and making Xs with her arms from behind the counter. If it wouldn't have been too obvious he would have flipped her off. He already knew this was a terrible idea. He didn't need her help in making himself look like an asshole.
Noah braced for the scathing reply. West wasn't interested. Obviously. He'd made it perfectly clear that the ideal way to see Noah was never. Second only to "in a flaming car going over a cliff."
West's brow furrowed.
Here we go. Noah hoped it was a creative diatribe.
"Okay."
NOAH LOOKED LIKE HE'D been slapped. His head rocked back as if West's palm had really just connected with his face. His eyes flew wide. "Wait. What? Really?"
No, said West's brain.
"Yes," said his mouth.
"Seriously? You will?"
No.
"Do you want me to change my mind? Because I can."
"No, no. Don't do that. Don't do that." Noah leaned forward eagerly.
It made no sense. West didn't even like Noah. Not like that. Not in any way, come to think of it. West didn't count those times when Noah had bitten his lip, teeth raking soft pink flesh, and for one brief moment West had believed in heaven. That was lust. And it didn't count. There was no logic to the surge of need that hijacked his senses when Noah smiled at him.
West swallowed and prepared to take back what he'd said. His mouth opened. No sound came out. Not a squeak or a cough or the three words he needed to get himself out of this situation. Never mind. Wait. That was two words. But it was like someone had turned on a light inside Noah. He smiled like a revelation and West was weak. He couldn't even run away. His legs wouldn't support him.
"Shit. This is perfect." Noah had the grace of a dancer as he transferred himself into a vacant chair at West's table. "You're saving me. Thank you. Really." His hand settled warm over one of West's. His eyes were still blazing. Everything was suddenly too hot and too close, that spicy clean scent that clung to him wrapping around West.
"I've never done this before."
The smile Noah flashed was full of sharp teeth and promise. "I can teach you."
It didn't sound like he was talking about modeling anymore. West didn't mind. He was willing to learn whatever it was Noah was teaching.
Noah talked fast and animatedly with his hands before handing West a bent business card with his number and an address he hastily scrawled on the back. "That's my studio. Or one-quarter of my studio. We share. It's all very cozy. I get it Tuesdays and Fridays so whichever day works best for you. We can also do something less formal outside the studio if that doesn't work for you. I'm flexible."
West, whose eyes had been following the shape of each word forming on Noah's lips, wished he hadn't said flexible. Flexible just put him in mind of other things. He didn't want to be thinking about those things. Not now. Maybe not ever. He planned to take this secret shame to his grave, if possible.
Noah tipped his head to look up into West's face. "You okay?"
No. He'd never been less okay.
"I'm fine. I was just thinking. My schedule—" was wide open now that finals were done and West was doing his damnedest to avoid his family. But he couldn't say that either. "Tuesday?" His voice cracked and he cleared his throat before he tried it again. "Tuesday." Yes, that sounded more decisive. Not at all like he was having a coronary.
"Until Tuesday then."
CHAPTER SIX
Well. This Is Going Well
Noah's studio sat along the river in the middle of a block of other reclaimed and renovated brick buildings. West parked in the lot around the side, checking the GPS again just to be sure it hadn't led him astray, before he stepped from the car. This had to be the place. It screamed art, almost literally since it had a mural splashed over the doorway in pinks and turquoise and paisley-like swirls of yellow. The building on the corner held a stationary shop with pastel flags fluttering beside the door, but the rest of the block was full of subdued shades of red, brown, and black. Loft spaces. Offices. That was more his speed. These carnival bright pops of color felt like a warning sign. Keep out. Do not enter. The same way poisonous plants signaled their intentions. Bright usually meant deadly.
His collar was choking him. Noah hadn't said anything about what to wear—or not wear—and it hadn't even occurred to West to make sure that this wasn't a naked thing before agreeing to come to this place. He had just agreed, swept up in Noah's infectious enthusiasm and the uncomfortable realization that West wanted Noah to continue smiling at him at any cost. Why he didn't know.
But he really hoped this wasn't a naked thing.
West was relatively fit. He hadn't heard any complaints from the few guys he'd hooked up with in the past and he liked the way he looked when he bothered to think about it at all. That didn't mean he would be comfortable baring his ass for a camera. For people to see and stare at for years to come. Immortalized like one of those bugs trapped in amber. Forever.
Oh, God, he was going to be sick.
West practiced his deep breathing for another minute while rooted to the spot. Terror tasted like rubber and burnt fast food coffee. He hadn't dared go to the coffee shop in case Noah was there. Which also made no sense when they were going to be seeing each other anyway. Sense and West used to be such good friends. He didn't know what had happened.
Finally, the cold drove him inside. It was either that or go home. He didn't want to go home. Yet. That might change once Noah started speaking again.
The interior of the building boasted a new kind of old aesthetic. Original hardwood floors stripped down and refinished, bowed by decades of feet, mismatched doors and bare brick walls with notices pinned up on a pink bulletin board. The floor popped like gunfire as he made his way to the paint speckled stairs leading up to Noah's third floor studio. The doors lining the halls—other studios, he assumed—were all painted flat black and numbered. Some had been decorated. Photos. Painted motifs. Little touches to mark ownership. West followed the numbers upwards until he found the right door. He flinched back from the Pride flags on instinct. It was possibly the first time he'd seen them out in the wild, a whole cluster stuck to the door in little groups like flowers. That was already bordering on more excitement than he could take. The door was already ajar and from within he heard the scratchy sound of music. It was loud after the stillness of the hallway.
West pushed the door open before he lost his nerve.
The studio was awash in blinding white light from a pair of windows. No
ah lay on the floor with one knee bent and a camera over his face, looking up at the ceiling. West looked up too. There was nothing there but peeling paint and a spidery web of cracks. Potentially mold. This looked like the kind of place that harbored secret mold infestations. He doubted Noah was looking for anything like that though.
"What are you doing?"
Noah jumped and fumbled his camera. "Fuck, you scared me." He sat up. The camera hung around his neck by a strap.
Jesus. It even had a strap. West was in over his head.
"You're late."
"Am I?"
West had left early to avoid just that, but he couldn't remember how long he'd stood outside staring at the building while he casually panicked. It had felt like minutes. It could just as easily have been hours.
Noah shrugged, but his smile reappeared, crooked and as unexpectedly refreshing as a sudden spring shower. "I figured there was a decent chance you might stand me up so consider me pleasantly surprised. Oh, and before I forget." He pulled a folded paper out of his back pocket and held it out. "Your release form. We're very professional here. All the formalities observed."
"We?"
"Me. But it sounds better if I say we, don't you think? Makes it sound like a partnership."
West raised an eyebrow. He took the paper and unfolded it. There were only a few lines to read, but he hadn't expected any kind of paperwork and hadn't brought a pen. He couldn't sign without a pen.
Shit. Why had he thought he could sail in here without a care? Be anonymous. Be a model. As if that was something he would ever do. Noah had release forms and West didn't even have a pen.
He wanted to go back to anonymity and spur of the moment impulses. The more he thought about everything, the worse it felt. West refolded the paper and shoved it into his own back pocket. "Do I really have to sign?"
"Not right yet. But if we're going to work together, I would feel better about it if we did things the proper way. Today's no big deal though. This is just a trial to see how we work out."
There was that we again.
"Okay."
Noah hopped up and dusted himself off. One side of his shirt hiked up as he moved, baring a slip of skin over his hip and something that looked like a tattoo. West stared at it. He couldn't quite help himself. The tattoo disappeared as the shirt slipped back down but West kept watching. Just in case.
"We don't have to do this at all if you're too nervous. You know that, right?"
"I'm not nervous." He wasn't. He wasn't, he wasn't, not at all. That wasn't his heart racing in his chest. But he couldn't quite shake the feeling that someone would burst in and catch him in the act. What act and who would do the catching, he didn't know. It didn't matter. It didn't even matter that no one knew where he was right now. Not even Charlotte. She would have started crooning at him on the phone and asking invasive questions and he knew he would lose his nerve if that happened. He'd barely had enough nerve to get himself here and out of the car to begin with.
"Okay. Sure," Noah said indulgently. "I'm just saying."
"Well don't."
Noah's smile thinned to a stiff little line.
"Sorry." West flushed. "I might be a little nervous."
"No shame in that. So how about I just explain what we're doing today and maybe that'll help a little. I know I feel better when I know what's coming at me." His voice had taken on an almost singsong quality, light and soothing to match the small curve of his lips.
It should have been annoying.
West hated being handled. It made him feel manipulated. But coming from Noah, who he barely tolerated and who barely tolerated him in return, it didn't feel like that. Noah had no reason to be nice to him. He'd already made that perfectly clear. Some of the tension eased from West's shoulders. "The deal is pretty simple. I'm just going to take some photos." Here he held up his camera. West didn't know if it was a good one or not, but Noah handled it like it was precious. "A few simple poses. Nothing too strenuous or elaborate. Just enough so you can get a feel for how we do things. Learn each other a little. Then we'll check them over. If it goes well maybe we do more another time. Very business-like. Any questions? I'm used to working with established models so I don't know what sort of questions regular people have."
"What kind of pictures? Like... how do you..."
Noah's grin was knowing. "You were dying to ask that, weren't you?" He cackled. "Don't worry. It's clothes on except by mutual agreement. You don't have to do nudes unless you want to. If you're into it, we can make arrangements for that later too." He gave West an appraising up and down look. He wagged a finger at him. "But what's all this? What's up with the business casual? I mean, I can work around it but..."
West didn't see the issue with a button down and khaki slacks. They were perfectly normal clothes for a perfectly normal day, chosen when he'd caught himself agonizing over his wardrobe a little too long. He didn't want to look like he'd been trying too hard. So he'd put back the designer jeans and the sweater. This wasn't a date. And he didn't want to give Noah the impression that West cared what he thought of him.
"They're my clothes," West said, hackles rising. "What else was I supposed to wear? You didn't tell me to wear anything special."
"True. An oversight on my part. I wasn't expecting all the... loafers."
West followed Noah's gaze down to his feet. "They're shoes."
"Indeed they are, and very sensible ones too. They really set off the khaki of your pants." Noah dropped onto a stool, posing with his chin perched on one fist. "Can I just ask one thing though? Do you always dress like Steve from Blue's Clues or was this just for me? Call it my professional curiosity."
Rather than answering, West turned on his heel and started for the door.
"Wait. Wait, wait." Noah was off the stool and at his side, one hand clinging to his arm, in seconds. "I was only teasing, sweetheart. Come back and we can start over. No more comments about the clothes. Hand to God."
West had the ridiculous urge to bite the hand resting lightly on his forearm. Maybe it showed on his face because Noah snatched his hand away and hid it behind his back before West could do more than think about biting.
"You're an asshole."
"It's true." Noah nodded, still hovering at his side. "But I'm an asshole who's willing to prostrate himself before you if it means that you'll stay for a few photos. Hopefully more. I would like more. You've got the bone structure of a fucking fashion model and I want it any way I can get it. Even in loafers."
He... wanted.
He wanted West. Or his face—his bone structure, as Noah had put it.
West had never been wanted before. Not in the way that Noah seemed to want him. Wholeheartedly and desperately. Funny. West used to think need was the greatest part of the hierarchy, but it really wasn't. He'd figured that out after years of being on call with his family. They needed him for plenty of things. For support. For company. They needed him because he was convenient and he was reliable. Their need for him was almost thoughtless after all these years. Instinctual. But want? Want was a choice.
Noah wanted him.
Those three words were going to be the end of him. He could already feel it. But they still worked.
"You said something about prostrating."
Noah flashed him a sly smile. "So I did. What did you have in mind?"
"WHEN I PROMISED YOU anything, I didn't think you were going to be this easy," Noah said as he lined up the first shot. A coffee carrier from their coffee shop run sat on a spare stool beside the one that West perched on. There was only one cup left in it. They had walked over together, bracing against the wind, barely even talking but that could have been the wind. Or the awkwardness between them. Noah had finished his coffee on the way back to the studio, using it to fill the silence, but West had insisted on saving his, rationing it out in dainty sips. At this rate it would last him a week.
"I thought I would start off small. And I like coffee." He shifted on the stool, looking anywher
e but at Noah.
"Fair enough. I wasn't really looking forward to groveling on all fours. At least not this early in our relationship." The camera shutter clicked. Like clockwork, West stiffened. "Relax. We're only talking. Pretend like the camera isn't even here."
"You say that like it's easy."
"It can be. If you let it."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." West would never win at cards. His face was expressive, each of his emotions playing out on it in real time. All those fluttering moments of uncertainty pulled at his brows and turned his lips down in a pout before he caught himself and went blank again. His extremely rare smiles shone with the power of the sun. Those tended to linger, like even he didn't want to relinquish them too quickly. Noah could get drunk on watching it. He also wondered what the hell weighed so heavy on West's mind that he'd shown up looking like he was about to burst into tears. It must be something serious.
But they weren't close enough to ask that kind of thing, were they?
In lieu of answers, he kept his voice pitched low. He knew anxiety when he saw it.
"There's no one here besides you and me. These are just test shots to get you used to being in front of the camera." He took another just to illustrate. This time West barely flinched. "No one even has to see them, including you, if that's what you want."
That got him unclenched. Just a bit. It was a start. "Really?"
Noah pressed buttons on the camera, navigating back through the handful of shots he'd already taken. They weren't the worst things he'd ever done. Rough, maybe. But it wouldn't take much to get them all to where they needed to be. Assuming West was willing. He wanted West to be willing. There was a part of Noah that would do just about anything to make sure that happened. He tried not to listen to that part. Too often it ended with Noah curled up on the floor feeling like he'd been punched in the balls by life.