Jj's fanfiction

The Brightest Magical Valley Ever To Sparkle

2008-05-08T14:31:04Z

The Brightest Magical Valley Ever To Sparkle
{All-American Rejects RPS, with guest star from ... director RPF? // Mike/Chris, Nick/Tyson // uhhhh, I have no idea how to rate this. PG? // SO FAR FROM TRUE OH MY GOD as if // so um, Tyson is a rainbow, Nick is a unicorn, Mike is a magical pink pony, and Chris is a waterfall. Also, Edgar Wright is a bunny. I know, I know you knew that, but no really. Bunny.}

All was still on a misty morning in February. Tyson was sleeping curled around Nick, blues rippling deep to light to deep blue rhythmically, covering Nick's shining white flanks.

Chris was the only one awake, falling over the rocks as usual. It was early, so he didn't feel like leaping down them; give him some time and a little more sunlight and maybe then he'd think about it. But it was far too small an hour to be doing that now.

A bunny came lolloping over the grass towards the pool Chris jumped into. He reluctantly steeled himself for some performance babbling, and possibly shimmering in the dawn light, but as the bunny got closer, he saw that it was only Edgar, and he slumped gratefully down to the pebbles.

"Morning," Edgar nodded at him. Chris made a noncommittal splashing sound. "Did you see the new guy? Don't suppose he's come here yet."

"New guy?" Chris asked, voice a little rocky.

"Yeah, Mike, this pony, just got here. Think he's a transfer from the Magical Forest."

"Really?"

"Well," Edgar evaluated, "he's pink. That generally indicates magicalness. They tend to come from the forest, so."

"Logical," Chris nodded, the ripples of it lapping at the pebbles near Edgar's paws.

Just then, the soft tread of hooves on dewy grass followed a pink pony across the meadow and over to the pool. "Hey Edgar," Mike smiled.

Chris forgot to babble.

~*~*~

Mike fitted in so perfectly to the valley that by the end of the first week, it was as if he had always been there. He spent a lot of time with Nick, eating sugarlumps out of the sugarlump flowers, getting chased by Tyson, and frolicking. Chris leaped and bounded majestically down his rocks whenever Mike looked his way, but Mike never came over unless it was with Nick and they wanted to frolick by the pool.

Nick started bringing Mike over more often, and Chris babbled gratefully. He splashed and gambolled with gay abandon, and Mike frolicked all the more magically and majestically with Chris as a backdrop. Tyson kept putting his feet in Chris's pool, watching the frolicking, and leaning his red in close to murmur, "Mike's mane looks extra shiny today, don't you think?"

Chris leaped brilliantly. "Shut up, Ty."

"No really, I mean it. I think you bring a little something to his frolick. A certain ... specialness."

"He has that already," Chris muttered, unable to concentrate on much that wasn't pink and cantering. Tyson reached with his green and patted Chris.

A few more weeks passed, and the sun shone, the mist rose and reflected Tyson's colours glitteringly, and Nick added another shimmer to his collection. He kept bringing Mike over to glimmer in Chris's spray, and the days they didn't spend by the pool, Chris merely fell; no style, no splendour, no atmosphere, just dropping water.

One morning, after a day or two spent down by the river, Chris heard the soft sound of hooves. He prepared himself for some show of babble or at least murmur, but before he could get started, the hooves got closer and Mike came into view.

"Morning," he greeted Chris, but instead of cantering or even glittering a little bit, he dropped to the ground and rolled over, hooves dangling over the edge of the grass.

"You okay?" Chris rippled close. He reached out and touched Mike's hoof haltingly.

"Didn't sleep much," Mike murmured. His eyelids drooped, and Chris rippled a little closer.

"I didn't keep you awake, did I?"

"No, no." Mike's smile, when it broke out, was dazzling. "My head was too full, is all."

"Want me to help with that?" Chris murmured, movement breaking against the pebbles. Mike smiled wider.

"Yes," he said, standing up. "Please."

He trotted into the pool, step by step, and hesitated by where Chris was falling softly. Chris moved a little aside, and Mike stepped into the glittering spray.

Chris poured onto him, sluicing over and bounding off Mike's shoulders, his back, his head. Droplets danced over Mike's mane, which he tossed, whinnying softly. Chris shimmered, and sparkled, slowly working tension out of Mike's body, until Mike was neighing loudly and delightedly.

Tyson's voice called from nearby, "Get a room!" Chris ignored him, wholly focused on Mike. He drifted down his mane, over and over, the movement softer each time.

Mike turned, twisting his neck around. "That's nice," he said, smiling serenely.

Chris enveloped him in droplets and shimmered in the sunlight.

Movin' Right Along

2008-05-03T13:29:11Z

Movin' Right Along
{All-American Rejects & Muppets // G // AU // 100% untrue & no claim made, all Muppets and Muppet situations belong to the Henson estate, this work of fiction is not for profit, no copyright infringement intended}

"Everything alright in here?"

The dressing room was crowded. So crowded, in fact, only Kermit's head and one hand appeared around the tiny crack he'd managed to push the door open to. It wasn't that there were a lot of people in the room, there were only five of them. But the dressing room was really only big enough to fit two, maybe three Muppets. And, well, there were five of them.

Toad, as a fellow amphibian, was the one who answered Kermit's question. "Sure thing. Ready when you are." He did have to say this around half of Mike, but Kermit still nodded.

"Well, good, you're on next," he said, turning to shut the door.

"Chris," Tyson muttered as it closed and left them with 15% more room to move, "your elbow is poking my ear."

"Your ear is twice as long as your head," Chris pointed out. "It would be difficult not to poke it, Droopy."

"Look who's talking, Bunny," came the retort.

"I'm a hare," Chris shot back.

"Yeah, and I'm a hound," Tyson growled, tossing his head. One of his ears smacked Mike in the shoulder.

"Hey, hey, no swinging the ears around," Mike ducked. "Or the cats," he added quickly. "This room isn't big enough to swing a me in."

Nick, who was napping under the table, said nothing. Since they were due to go on stage any minute and would rather need to be conscious for that, Tyson crouched down on all fours and yelled "WOOF" in his ear.

Nick started awake with an, "Aroo! Ty, what did you do that for?"

"We're the next act."

"Rise and shine," Toad added, extending a hand for Nick's paw.

Nick tried to shake himself as he stood up, but there wasn't much room and his ears got everywhere.

"All these damn dogs," Chris muttered, grabbing for his drum sticks. He held on to them tightly in the ensuing crush for the door, but once they were all out into the backstage labyrinth they could breathe easily.

On the way to the wings, they passed three chickens in spangly bow-ties, Gonzo in a sequined waistcoat, and Rowlf, who high fived Nick. Kermit was waiting for them in the wings, watching Fozzie, who was on stage and getting cabbages thrown at him.

"The opinions of the person who threw me are not representative of my own," one cabbage piped up, from where it had landed by Fozzie's feet.

"Thank you!" Fozzie beamed at it.

"How's it going?" Tyson asked Kermit.

"Hm. About average," Kermit said, head bobbing in an appraisive nod.

A voice called out from one of the boxes in the theatre, "I've seen Heimlichs that cure better gags than this!"

"It may be time to rescue him," Kermit amended. "You're up." He stepped onto the stage, ushering Fozzie off it and trying for a closing round of applause. Fozzie gathered the cabbages and carried them off the stage with him.

"...and they never ask if we agree with their..." one of the cabbages was saying to Fozzie as he passed.

"Ah, ladies and gentlemen!" Kermit continued. "Please put your hands together, and then apart, and then together again, and applaud for a hound, a spaniel, a cat, a hare and a toad; the wonderful, the fabulous, the All-Muppet Rejects!"

The audience cheered, the Rejects walked on to the stage, and from a box high up came the shout, "But they haven't even played anything yet!"

The accompanying voice added, "We haven't had a chance to reject them!"

The voices laughed, "Doh oh ho ho!", and the band began to play.

All My Best Titles Are Song Lyrics

2008-03-21T21:20:21Z

All My Best Titles Are Song Lyrics
Panic at the Disco RPS. Ryan/Brendon, Spencer/Jon. NC-17. Completely and totally untrue. AU. For jzbell, happy birthday my darling. I love you more than I can put into words ♥

Spencer, Ryan concluded, had some kind of magical powers. That, or the uncanny ability to sweet-talk his boyfriend's friend's friend's security guards into getting them on the guest list for this entirely swanky, if rather vacuous and showy, party. It was LA, Ryan expected nothing less; he'd left his wide-eyed wonder behind somewhere around the third semester at UCLA when he realised this was just another city and he was just another music studies major.

But that night, at that swanky LA party, Ryan wasn't just another music studies major; that night, he was going to meet his favourite composer. The guy who wrote movie scores that made tears prickle at the back of Ryan's eyes, just the right notes at just the right moments, delivered to perfection. He could always tell he was listening to a Urie score when his heart started swelling two minutes in.

He had been at the party for an hour when he felt his shoe connect with something that wasn't the floor; a voice said "Ow" behind him and he turned to apologise, and there, standing right there, was Brendon Urie.

Who was really, really hot in person.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Ryan launched into a big show of steadying Brendon, any excuse to touch him. "Are you okay? I did not mean to tread on you - here, let me get you a drink."

"Oh - thanks, okay, yeah." Brendon put his weight onto the ball of his foot. "I'll be alright. But um, a drink would be nice." He looked at Ryan, properly, for the first time, and his smile widened. "Oh. Hey, hi, I'm Brendon."

Ryan had the bizarre urge to say I know, but instead he just said, "Ryan. So what are you having?"

The smile changed tone. "Well, that all depends what's on offer, Ryan." Brendon's voice dropped a little on the last syllable.

Fuck me, Ryan thought about saying, but went for flirting rather than actually throwing himself at the guy. "I'm sure there's a lot of choices," he said, lowering his lashes. Three, two, one -

"There's one option I'm liking the look of," Brendon returned, voice staying low, a warmth spreading somewhere behind his cheekbones. It lit up his eyes, Ryan noticed as he glanced up and then back down. The movement was coy, and he caught Brendon's lips parting just a little out of the corner of his eye.

Bingo. "Yeah?" Ryan asked; a challenge, but not an aggressive one. Sexual energy was practically pouring between them.

"Brendon, honey," a voice cut in, and a bubbly-looking brunette cozied up to him, handing him a glass of champagne. "Why aren't you networking?"

"I'm doing a little of my own, uh." He extracted himself. "Mad, be a doll and network on my behalf? You're doing such a beautiful job already, I couldn't possibly do it better myself." He batted his eyelashes at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Do yourself a favour," she said to Ryan, who was trying not to stand too awkwardly, "don't be a personal assistant."

"Secretary," Brendon corrected her.

She fixed him with a look. "Dogsbody."

"Beloved employee," he countered, and folded her in his arms. "Who I couldn't ever do without."

"Okay, okay," she struggled out of the hug, "fine, I'll network for you. But you have to be back in an hour, Brendon. Promise me."

"Alright, alright, I promise. You're the best." He kissed her cheek and she took off into the throng.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. "What, so you think you can just flirt, get laid, and come back in an hour to mingle some more?"

Brendon's face fell. He opened his mouth, but Ryan added hastily, "Because you totally can."

Brendon sidled up to him. "The party won't last all night. It takes three minutes to get to my place."

Ryan swallowed. "Okay."

It actually took two minutes and forty-eight seconds; Ryan noticed the hands on his watch as they left and checked it again at Brendon's door. His apartment was stylish, minimally furnished, and had a framed gold disc on one wall, movie posters on a few others. The bedroom was clean and almost neat, though it had the air of having been cleaned specially. Probably in case Brendon met someone at the party.

Ryan undid his shirt and dropped his pants, stepping forward to take Brendon's tux off. "Careful, it's rented," was the only thing Brendon said, and then Ryan just sank to his knees and took Brendon's already half-hard cock into his mouth. Brendon made a sound in his throat, grasped handfuls of Ryan's hair. He pulled on it as Ryan sucked, and Ryan stopped, looked up at him, cock sliding from his mouth.

"Could you not?" he asked.

"What? Oh. Sorry." Brendon made that sound again as Ryan took his cock back between his lips, sucking at it languidly. It was completely hard now, and Ryan worked at getting it as wet as possible.

When he slid it out of his mouth again, wiping his bottom lip to break the string of saliva still attached there, Brendon made a noise of protest but Ryan just said, "You got condoms, right? Lube?"

Brendon nodded. "Yeah, yeah, uh. Yeah." He stumbled over to a chest of drawers beside the bed, fumbling with something, and tossed a package and a tube onto the bed.

Ryan crouched on it, bouncing on his knees. "Here, I'll," he said, taking the lube and squeezing some out onto his fingers. He coated them up, reached behind and under, and started working himself open. He knew it wouldn't take much, and it was just always faster if he did it himself.

Brendon was watching, wide-eyed. "Um," he said.

Ryan nodded at the condom. "Put it on, come on, we have fifty minutes."

"That's really not romantic," Brendon pointed out, but Ryan snorted. "It's not sexy either," Brendon continued. Ryan had to concede that one.

"Okay, how about put the damn condom on, I want you to fuck me. That better?"

Brendon swallowed. "Yeah, yeah that's better. Um." He fumbled with the packet as Ryan finished up preparing himself. The packaging tore a little, but the condom itself appeared fine. Brendon sort of paused, so Ryan took it out of his hand and rolled it on, keeping his hand splayed as he did so. Brendon's head tipped back.

Ryan followed the condom with a coating or two of lube, and then dropped to all fours. "Okay," he said, and he felt Brendon's hands on his hips. There was a pause, as though Brendon was going to say something, but then he was just pushing in, and Ryan pressed back onto him, relaxed his muscles, and closed his eyes.

It felt good, good like always, to be filled up. Brendon was nicely-proportioned, satisfyingly thick, and he dragged in and out slowly at first, leaving a pattern of soft kisses over Ryan's back (which sort of made his heart flutter a little bit, no one really thought to do that; biting, sure, and maybe licking over his shoulder blades with a flat tongue, but Brendon was kissing, just lightly, and it made his skin wake up and tingle). Ryan pushed back onto him and grunted, "Harder."

"Oh. Right, um, okay." Brendon went a little faster, but not really deeper or harder. Ryan tried to stop himself whining in the back of his throat.

"Harder," he repeated, slamming back with his hips.

"Sorry," Brendon muttered. He fumbled the rhythm, pushing in deeper, movements a little more sharp but not enough, not quite enough.

"Stop," Ryan instructed, and Brendon did. He pressed his face into Ryan's back, and it felt hot.

"Sorry, um," Brendon started, but Ryan was moving, turning to face him, flipping him over onto his back and climbing on, one thigh either side. He sank back onto Brendon, filling himself deliciously. Brendon's eyes were wide. "Wow. Shit, I - shit, Ryan."

"Shhh," Ryan gasped out, positioning his legs in the best angles, splaying one palm on Brendon's hip, other hand wrapping around his cock, and he started slamming himself up and down on Brendon.

"Shit," Brendon whispered, watching him. He bucked his hips up and fuck that felt good, so Ryan moaned. Brendon grasped for Ryan's hips and bucked up into him, trying to match his rhythm but never quite making it. He hit just the right spot once or twice, and Ryan arched back, long loud groans escaping. Brendon yelped and bucked up hard, and Ryan came a minute later, holding Brendon's cock between his muscles, jerking hard with his wrist.

Brendon's stomach was sticky as Ryan climbed off him. "Mind if I take a shower?"

Brendon was lying there, hardly moving except to breathe, struggling to return it to calm and regular. "Sure," he said, "bathroom's at the end of the hall."

The water was hot, and Ryan let it cascade over his skin as he stood in the shower, thighs still shaking. No matter how much water passed over his back, it wouldn't stop tingling where Brendon's lips had pressed.

They made it back to the party before Brendon's hour was up, and he disappeared into the crowd. Ryan found Spencer near the finger buffet, looking a little bored. "Hey, having a good time?" Spencer looked at him, and then stopped. "Did you shower?"

"Yeah." Ryan didn't say anything else. Not out loud, at least. They held a conversation entirely in eye movements and ear scratches, at the end of which Spencer laughed.

"Fine, okay, let's go. I'll round up Jon."

Ryan was absorbed in a book. It was Sunday morning, and on Sunday mornings civilised people did not sneak up behind people who were busy reading and put their arms around said reading person's neck.

Jon Walker, clearly, was not a civilised person. "Morning."

"I know," Ryan tried to fend him off. "I'm reading."

"Ryan, your love for me is deep and meaningful, don't pretend that it isn't." Jon propped his chin on Ryan's shoulder. "Talk to me."

"I'm reading." Ryan tilted the book to illustrate the point. "Go and bother your boyfriend."

"Spencer's asleep." Jon poked him in the shoulder. "And I want to talk to you."

"Fine," Ryan sighed, closing the book. Why Spencer couldn't just spend his Sundays at Jon's apartment, Ryan did not know. "What about?"

"William told me Pete told him Jeff told him Brendon was asking around. Trying to get your last name, maybe a phone number."

"Oh." Something flared at the bit of his belly; it felt far too much like hope. Ryan silenced it.

"Did you really have sex with him?" Jon asked. "Just, in the middle of the party?"

Ryan shrugged. It did not dislodge Jon's chin, merely made him snuggle further into Ryan's neck. "Yes," Ryan answered.

Jon sucked his breath in. "Did he mention that he was a virgin?"

Ryan broke away and span around. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"No, I mean - okay, I don't have like, a detailed history of his sex life, but I do know he hadn't had full sex. He was brought up Mormon, dude, I thought you knew that." Jon's eyes were wide. "Seriously, the fuck, Ryan? I thought you paid attention to the guy."

"I pay attention to his music," Ryan said, staring. "And I'd seen maybe three pictures of him before I met him. Shit, you're serious?"

"Yes, I'm serious." Jon dug around in his pocket. "Here - he heard a rumour Pete knew someone who knew someone who knew you, he said to give you this." He held out a folded piece of paper.

Ryan took and unfolded it. Scribbled in a messy hand were ten digits and the name Brendon, and call me, Ryan written underneath.

Jon patted his shoulder. "I'm gonna go buy some breakfast for Spence." He stretched, hunted for his wallet, and Ryan heard the door close behind him.

He programmed Brendon's number into his phone. He'd call. He'd call when it wasn't early on a Sunday morning and he knew from experience that if he didn't take Hobo for her walk now, he'd get back in the middle of Spencer and Jon having sex. And Spencer got loud. There were some things you just did not need to hear your best friend doing, and Jon Walker was one of those things.

Monday, he had class and then a shift at the coffee shop. Tuesday, he had a morning shift and then only one class. He dug his phone out of his pocket on the way out, flipping open the screen and switching it back from silent to buzz. He had three texts from Spencer; he replied to them, checked his email, and then sat on a bench out in the campus, hovering his finger over the tracking ball, address book stopped at the entry marked 'Brendon'.

He wondered what the hell he would say. Sorry I didn't know you were a virgin? Hey, the sex wasn't awful, want to have some more? The pad of his thumb rocked the tracking ball back and forth, back and forth.

He ended up clicking 'call' by accident. After a momentary panic during which he almost hit 'cancel', he just flipped the screen closed and held it to his ear.

It rang. "Hey, this is Brendon," a familiar voice answered.

"Hi." Ryan cleared his throat. "You uh, this is Ryan. From the party a couple of weeks ago? Uh. You gave a friend this number, so. I'm calling."

"Ryan," Brendon said, sounding eight thousand times more excited just in those two syllables than he had ten seconds ago. "I didn't think you'd call!"

"Yeah. Well." Ryan shrugged, swallowing. "I had a good time, and um. Thought maybe we could do it again. Maybe."

"Yeah, yeah, that'd be - yeah. When are you free?"

Ryan was about to mentally go through his schedule, but his mouth opened and he heard himself say, "Thursday at eight?" Thinking about it, that was the only time he'd be free in the next week.

"Thursday at eight is awesome," Brendon said, sounding like he was beaming. Ryan wondered for a minute how old Brendon was, but he figured it'd be less awkward to quietly Google it than to ask. "How about you swing by my place, I'll take you out to dinner."

Ryan blinked. He didn't get many real date dates, he sort of fell into things with friends. "Um. Sure, that sounds good."

"What do you like to eat? I'm sort of vegetarian, so -"

"How can you be sort of vegetarian?" Ryan interrupted. "What, you eat fish or something?"

"Uh. I just, I don't like animals being killed, you know? But um, sometimes I'll eat something with meat in it. My moral boundaries are bendable." He sounded sheepish.

"Hey, at least you're trying. I have no moral boundaries."

Brendon made a sort of little sound in his throat, but all he said was, "'s the way to go."

"Exactly." Ryan felt himself starting to smile. It felt comfortable, really really good, and he realised that he just wanted to stay on the phone for a while, talking to Brendon. Looking at his watch, however, reminded him that he couldn't. "Shit, I have to go. I got work, and I'm closing the store tonight."

"Store?" Brendon asked, sounding interested.

"Yeah, I work in a bookstore. And a coffee shop. Grad school's fucking expensive."

"Oh man, I hear that. My senior year of high school I worked two jobs, did school, and I was trying to compose stuff."

"That's harsh. Parents help you out?" There was something in his voice that made Ryan wonder.

Air rushed over the mouthpiece. "Not - I left home, so. Hence the two jobs, I was paying for the apartment and stuff."

"Yeah?" Ryan didn't really know what else to say to that. "Sounds tough."

When Brendon spoke again, he sounded like he was grinning. "Yeah, but it was character-building. I got lots of character."

Ryan laughed. "I'm getting that," he said. His chest felt light. "I really have to go get ready for work, I'm still at school right now. But I'll see you on Thursday, okay?"

"Eight o'clock," Brendon confirmed, sounding happy. Ryan couldn't help himself smiling. "I'll see you then."

Ryan spent the next couple of days alternately nervous about what to wear and sort of desperate for Brendon to fuck him again. In the end, he had Spencer and Jon pick out a shirt for the date; they chose different ones and argued over whether Ryan looked better in brown or red. He wore black just to shut them both up.

In the few seconds before Brendon answered the door at ten to eight on Thursday, Ryan examined the small flock of eagles that had taken up residence in his stomach and discovered that they weren't, in fact, there because this was Brendon Urie and he really liked this guy's music. They were there because his back had started tingling again and he maybe couldn't stop thinking about the way Brendon said his name while they were flirting. He swallowed a few times, and then the door opened and Brendon was standing there in a soft, dark red shirt, and Ryan's mouth went dry.

"Hi," Brendon started, brightly, but Ryan just stepped inside, shut the door behind him, and kissed Brendon.

It didn't even occur to him until Brendon started kissing back that they had not, in fact, done this before. Although why they hadn't was lost on Ryan, because Brendon's mouth was pretty much incredible and he tasted really quite nice, and Ryan slid his hands over Brendon's waist. Brendon shivered and smiled into Ryan's mouth and it was a while before they broke apart.

"So," Brendon said, a little breathless, looking really quite thoroughly kissed and Ryan was going to nibble on that lip in a minute, "want me to give you the tour? I have a Journey gold disc."

Ryan started laughing, just pure bubbles of happiness, because he'd just noticed that Brendon was sort of a dork, and that he really didn't mind that, and actually he found it rather endearing. So he put his hand in Brendon's, eyes still crinkled up at the edges, and said, "Lead the way."

Hey Good Looking (We're a Lot of Miles From Home)

2008-03-20T08:56:06Z

Hey Good Looking (We're A Lot Of Miles From Home)
{All-American Rejects RPS // Nick/Tyson, sort of Nick/OMC // NC-17 // 100% untrue & disclaimed // sort of a Mort AU // beta by Laura // Nick's fictional band, Missing Skies, are: Dan, vocals; Nick, lead guitar; Nigel, rhythm guitar; Andrew, bass; Charlie, drums.}

The sand room was never quiet. Hundreds of hourglasses, sand slipping through every second, set up a constant background shhhhh.

Tyson found it soothing. When he had some time – or rather, some stretch of non-time with no work to do; the non-realm he lived in existed outside time and space, so concepts such as ‘breakfast time’ or ‘afternoon’ didn’t mean anything here – he liked to take one of the books into the sand room and read. It was prying, true, but it wasn’t like it hurt anyone. He liked to keep an eye on the souls he’d be dealing with.

One of the hourglasses had only a small amount of sand left, Tyson noticed. Maybe a week. He stepped closer to see whose name was etched into the glass, find out where he’d be going next, maybe grab the dude’s book and read up so he’d know what sort of form to assume. Some people were traditionalists and wanted the whole cloak-and-scythe deal, and Tyson liked to be accommodating.

In letters grooved near the base, the glass read Nickolas Wheeler.

Tyson’s voice wasn’t projected in sound so much as the feel of gravestones falling onto each other like dominoes. “SHIT,” he intoned.

* *

It was a beautiful day, the sky a deep and clear blue, and Nick took his coffee out onto the balcony. He had the paper in one hand, cup in the other, sipping from it, and sat on the low balcony wall.

“Hey,” a voice called from above him, “watch out for the –”

Instead of coming to rest on the wall, Nick was gaining momentum, slipping over the side; he grabbed for the nearest surface, but his hand slid off it. As he fell, he heard his coffee cup smash on the ground below, the voice above shout “The paint’s still wet –”, and he thought schoolcollegefratbandgraduationfamebreakuprehabreformtourdowntime and fuck, why’d I have to get the tenth-floor apartment with the great view instead of the first floor with the yard – and then he felt himself suddenly stop.

He opened his eyes, but instead of a tunnel of light, all he saw was the hot guy who’d moved in across the hall a week ago. “Um,” Nick said, slowly becoming aware that he was sprawled in the guy’s arms. “Did – am I –”

“You’re okay. I uh, I caught you.” The guy set him down. “Hi. We … met in the laundry room a couple days ago.”

“Right, right.” Nick remembered. They’d flirted the whole time. If ever there was a moment he needed that coffee, it was now. “I – I think you just saved my life. It hasn’t really.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Look, I don’t know how to thank you. I don’t actually know what just happened. Um.”

The guy patted him on the shoulder. “You’ve had a shock. Go finish breakfast, okay? You’re alright now. And check for wet paint next time.”

“I –” Nick stuck his hand out. “I’m Nick.”

The guy paused, but then shook his hand. “Tyson. And you’re welcome.”

“Look, I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’m five years clean, so – you free for dinner some time? I’d really like to say thank you when I, uh.” He waved a hand.

Tyson looked hesitant, but he said, “Sure, yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Great. I – I have to go sit down for a while now, but can I stop by later to talk about a date for it?”

“Sure,” Tyson replied. “Sure.”

Nick went back inside. He took another shower, made some more coffee, and sat on his couch staring at the wall for a while. His hands were shaking, and he really, really needed a drink. Some wine, a beer, hell, he’d take vodka right now and he hadn’t touched the stuff since that incident with the strippers and the hotel bill. He drank another cup of coffee and called Dan.

“So you almost had to look for a new guitarist,” he said, once Lauren had prodded Dan awake. It was early in California.

“What?” Dan’s voice sounded still burned out from the tour, and thick with sleep.

“It would’ve been Nige and some new guy. I just almost died.” He wondered if this was what shock felt like.

“Nick, what the fuck are you talking about?” He sounded more awake.

“I fell off my balcony.”

“Shit, fuck, are you okay? How are you okay?” Totally, definitely awake now.

“Somebody caught me.” Nick closed his eyes, thinking, Tyson.

Dan paused. “Are you shitting with me? You live on the tenth floor.”

“Dude, I swear to you, he caught me.”

“Who?”

“That guy who moved in across the hall. Tyson, his name’s Tyson.” Nick waited for the ridicule, but it never came. “You okay, man? Usually this is the part where you rag on me.”

“You’re serious. Nick, shit, I just almost lost my best friend. I’m looking at flights.”

“What the fuck, you don’t have to –”

“Shut the fuck up, Nick. Don’t you give me shit for needing to hug you right now. Don’t you fucking dare.”

Nick swallowed down the You sentimental jackass. “I love you too.” It came out more strained than he’d meant it to.

“You alright?”

He blew the air out of his cheeks. “Shaken up. Really fucking need a drink. But, I’m alive, I just – can’t believe I almost died. If Tyson hadn’t caught me –”

“He did. Thank fuck, he did. Look, I gotta go, I have to pack, my flight’s in an hour. I’ll see you in four. And Nick?”

“Yeah?” Nick shut his eyes, waves of relief washing over him.

“Do I even need to tell you not to touch a fucking drop?”

His voice was quiet. “Yeah.”

“You drink, I’ll kill you my fucking self.”

“I love you, Dan.”

“You too. See you soon.”

Nick hung up, got up, and made himself another coffee. He thought about calling Charlie and Andrew, wondered what time it would be in Scotland and if their cells even had coverage in the mountains; he was looking at the clock, trying to remember the time zones, when he felt a sharp pain in his hand.

He heard a bang coming from his apartment door as he looked down, feeling like everything was moving in slow motion. An enormous spider scuttled away and out of the window. There was a bite on Nick’s hand, and sharp, vicious pain was starting to radiate outwards from it.

All he could do was stare at his hand, rooted to the spot. He blinked, and he was staring at brown curls of hair, then he blinked again and it was just his hand, but the pain had stopped. It smarted, the bite looked angry and red, but the poison was gone. He was vaguely aware of sounds coming from the bathroom, but all he wanted, all he wanted, was to drink himself to sleep and end this freaky, nightmarish day.

The bathroom tap stopped running, and Nick looked up. Tyson stood in the doorway, looking awkward. “I uh, I had to brush my teeth after I spat out the poison. I’ll buy you a new toothbrush.”

“Okay.” Nick’s legs decided it was time to sit down. As there weren’t actually any seats in the kitchen, he slithered to the floor.

“It might um, you might want to close the windows. Actually,” Tyson added quickly, “better if I do it.”

“Okay.” Nick blankly watched him stepping over his legs, heard the windows close. Then Tyson left the room, and there came the sound of more windows shutting. Nick tried to get his brain to work, but it felt like a large swamp of syrup. Tyson appeared in the kitchen again.

“Sorry about the door. I’ll fix the lock.”

“Thanks.” Nick paused. “What –”

There was a loud crashing sound, Tyson seemed to move faster than was humanly possible, and then he was standing over Nick, a cupboard in his arms. Nick scrambled up.

“Okay,” he said, “that should not have happened.”

Tyson set the cupboard on the floor. “Shit that was heavy. What have you got in there?”

“Condiments. Cans,” Nick answered absently.

“Heavy shit,” Tyson observed. “Sorry, uh, sounded like some things got smashed.”

“I’ll clean it up later. What are you even – how did you –”

Another crash, and this time Tyson was almost wrapped around him, holding up the elaborate light fixture that had just, apparently, fallen off the ceiling. “Ow,” Tyson said, though his voice was breathy. He was pressed up against Nick, their faces inches apart. Nick’s heart was thumping in his throat.

“What,” he started, sounding hoarse, and stopped.

Tyson swallowed and stepped away, hefting the light fixture onto the floor. “Is there anywhere safe? Where nothing can get in or fall on you?”

“My room has uplighting,” Nick answered, and then, of all the things that would make this day more bizarre, he blushed.

“Okay. In there. Quick.”

Tyson ushered him in and shut the door. “It’s been a while since a guy wanted to get in my bedroom so bad,” Nick joked, weakly. Tyson was checking all the walls.

“You have no idea,” Nick heard him mutter. “Alright,” he said, turning to face him, “you should be okay in here. For now, anyway.”

The morning caught up with Nick, sudden. “Tyson, what the hell is going on? Why’d you come to my apartment? How d’you catch things so fast? You a superhero or something? Because I can keep your secret identity hidden.”

Tyson hesitated, and then he sighed. “Sit down.”

“What –”

“Seriously, this will go better if you sit down.”

“Alright.” Nick sat on the centre of his bed, as far from any potential falling objects as possible. Tyson paced.

“Okay. See, here’s the thing. I’m, uh. You were supposed to die today, and I was supposed to take you to the Beyond, only, uh, I caught you instead.”

Nick stared at him. “What the fuck?”

“Did I not just save your life four times?” Tyson asked. “Look, okay, I know this is hard to believe –”

“But you can’t be Death, you live across the hall,” Nick felt he should point out.

“Actually, I’m kind of … specialised. There’s too much work for one Death, we have our own jobs. I deal with musicians, usher them On.”

Nick could not stop staring at him. “You’re the rock and roll Death?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

“I don’t believe you. Shouldn’t you be a skeleton?”

“What? No, that’s just for show. Started out in Gaul, kind of stuck after the Middle Ages. The whole scythe thing.” Tyson waved a hand.

Nick stared.

Tyson sighed. “Fine. You’re freaking out enough as it is, but maybe this’ll make you believe me.” There was a pause, and then Tyson was dressed in a black cloak, hood pulled up and over so his face was in shadow, a tall scythe in one hand. “SEE? SCHYTHE, CLOAK, ALL OF IT.” His voice felt like stone slabs. “NOBODY DOES THE SKELETON THING ANY MORE. WAIT, I THINK SOME OF THE ACADEMICS GET THE SKELETON TOO, IF THEY’RE ALL INTO THE MYTHOLOGY SHIT. BOATMAN’S PRETTY POPULAR. WE TRY TO MAKE IT EASY FOR THE SOUL, YOU KNOW? GIVE THEM SOMETHING FAMILIAR.”

“Could you, uh,” Nick cleared his throat. “Change back? It’s sort of creepy.”

“SORRY.” A moment, and then Tyson was just in shirt and jeans again. “SORRY ABOUT THE –” He coughed vigorously. “Sorry about the voice thing, it’s all slabby. Not much I can do about it, except talk like this.”

“You’re putting on the voice? The … non-slabby voice?” It was the weirdest question Nick had ever asked, including the time he’d found a girl curled up in Charlie’s drum kit and asked the band at large who had put the naked chick in the box. (Turned out Nigel was to blame.)

“Yeah.” Tyson eyed him. “You’re not freaking out as much.”

“Well, I guess I don’t think you’re crazy, since you … are actually Death.” The rest of what he’d said clicked into place. “Wait, I was supposed to die? I’m forty-one, dude!”

“Yeah, I know. I take a lot of souls younger than you.”

“But,” Nick looked at him, “you saved me.”

Tyson avoided his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Why?”

The carpet, from the looks of Tyson, held the great secrets of the universe. He mumbled something.

“What?” Nick asked, watching as Tyson glanced up at him and then back down, cheeks flaring red.

“I didn’t want you to die,” Tyson said, quiet.

“Oh.” Nick paused. “Why?”

Tyson dug at the carpet with the toe of his sneaker. “I didn’t exactly think this through,” he muttered.

“Seriously. Why’d you do it?” Nick kept watching him. Pink spots faded in and out on his cheeks, and if it was possible, Nick was watching Death squirm.

“I –” Tyson licked his lips. “I – read your book, sometimes. Um, the uh, the book your life’s being written in right now. Everything’s in there, and I look in on my souls every now and then, see how they’re doing, and uh.” He blushed harder. “I like you,” he said, so quiet Nick had to strain to hear it. “I uh, your hourglass was almost empty, I kind of … I guess I just figured I’d be, I don’t know, somebody? Even if it was just the dude across the hall. Um.” He was still staring at the carpet. Nick’s heart had decided his body was a pinball machine and it was going to aim for the highest score. “And then I saw you fall and – I couldn’t just, like.” He made a movement with his hands, and it took Nick a minute to realise it was a swinging motion. “I couldn’t let you die.”

Nick tried to clear his throat, but his heart was busy collecting points. He tried again. “Oh.” It didn’t have much sound in it.

“And now I’ve screwed up big time, because you’re not dead, and the fabric of reality’s going to rip if you’re still alive by tomorrow. You’re supposed to die today.” Tyson finally looked at him, running one hand through his hair until it stood up in peaks. Nick’s heart found time to knock against his ribs as it passed, because Tyson looked dishevelled and out of his depth and adorable.

“I don’t, um. What happens if I die?” He swallowed. His throat felt like a desert, he really needed a drink. Not even alcohol, just water or something, anything, because this was all weird and Death was a hot dude who’d saved him and basically, Nick was having a fucking insane day.

“I don’t know. Your soul goes somewhere, I have no idea. And … that’s it. I mean, I – I don’t know what happens then.” He gave a tiny, weak smile. “I’m just the delivery guy.”

“Right.” Nick paused. “I really don’t want to die, you know.”

“Me either. But um, I don’t know what to do about this whole … I mean, the universe or whatever isn’t going to give up, you’re meant to be dead.”

“Dan,” Nick suddenly remembered. Tyson looked startled. “Sorry, just – Dan, my best friend? He’s coming here, I called him after the balcony.” His heart settled and sank. “I don’t want to leave him.”

“You’re close,” Tyson nodded. His face was steadily falling.

“Yeah. He got me into the frat at college, started up the band with me. Man, he was such an asshole back then. Think I spent more time dealing with crying girls than doing assignments, thanks to him.” Nick glanced over at the picture sitting on the windowsill, of the whole band after they got signed – Charlie and Andrew standing as close as possible, it was right before they started dating; Nigel with one arm around Dan and one around Nick; Charlie hugging Nick with one arm and half of his body; every face alight. “He really came through for me, though.”

Tyson cleared his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Thing is, you’re going to have to leave him. You have to die today. I just –” Tyson looked at him for a moment. “I can’t,” he said, softer, “I fucking can’t. Shit.”

“Why don’t you just … not kill me?”

“It’s not me that kills you, I only make the transition easier. I’ve heard about souls who die without being severed, they have to separate themselves. Apparently it’s agony.” Nick winced. “Uh, and I guess I should have phrased it you’re going to die today.”

“Is there any way you can … I mean, what if you just –”

“Kept saving your life? Can’t stop you dying in your sleep, Nicky, I can only stop accidents. I know right before it’s gonna happen, but not before that.”

“You could wake me up?” he suggested, but without any sort of hope. Tyson shook his head. “Shit. Will you, uh. I mean, I don’t want it to hurt, you know?”

Tyson looked like he wanted to cry, or maybe punch something. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t, I promise.”

“Okay. Thanks. I guess, I – I guess I should say goodbye to the guys.” He paused. “Shit, gonna tear up. Crying is manly, right?”

“Totally,” Tyson nodded.

“Would you mind, um.” Nick took his phone out of his pocket. “I have to do this alone. But if I’m about to die, feel free to jump in and save me.”

“Of course.” Tyson left, looking pretty miserable. Nick took a deep breath and hit 1 on his speed dial.

“Dan, I hope you get this before you get here. I just, I wanted to say thank you. For pretty much everything. Tell Lauren I said to take care of you. I love you, man.” He hung up, hit 2, left Nigel a similar message, hit 3 and left one for Charlie and Andrew on Charlie’s voicemail. His voice only cracked once, when he was telling Charlie to take care of Andrew and make sure he didn’t get in any trouble. He made a few more calls, and then he closed his phone and took deep breaths until the urge to cry passed. Then he cleared his throat and called out, “Okay.”

The door opened. “You alright?” Tyson asked. He’d brought Nick’s jacket and was carrying a guitar case.

“Yeah. What are those for, I get to take shit to the afterlife?”

“You’re not going to the afterlife,” Tyson said, and he looked a little desperate. “You’re coming with me.”

Nick stared at him. “What? How can – what do you mean, come with you?”

“Look, it’s the only way I can think of to stop you dying. I mean, you can’t come back here or anything, but my place exists outside of time, you could live however long you want there.”

Nick blinked. “What – really? Your place?” He’d never thought about where Death might live.

“Yeah. I – don’t just, don’t say you’ll come just because I’m asking, but. Nick, I’m asking,” and Tyson’s face pleaded along with his voice. “Come home with me?”

Nick’s heart knocked against his ribs again. “I can’t come back?” he asked, keeping his eyes on Tyson, thinking fast.

“No. They’ll think you’re dead. Which you … would have been anyway.”

“But I wouldn’t be?”

“No.” Tyson held up the guitar case. “Figured you’d want this, right? Your first Firebird.”

Something about the fact that Tyson apparently knew him well enough to know exactly what he’d want to take with him made Nick’s heart flip over. “Okay. Yeah, I’ll come with you.”

Tyson’s entire face lit up. “Really? You mean it?”

“Yeah, really.” The urge to kiss him was very, very strong, but Nick resisted it. “I guess we go now, before something else tries to kill me?”

“Yes. Just – here, take this – oh fuck,” and he grabbed Nick and pulled him down. There was a loud smash, something went whizzing over Nick’s head, and Tyson gripped onto his hand. Nick closed his eyes, in case any glass shards or debris flew near his face – and then he felt like he was flying, weightless, for a minute. He tried to open his eyes again but they refused to budge; and then he felt soft grass under his knees and his eyelids flew open and Tyson was standing on a wide green lawn, still holding Nick’s jacket and guitar case. He held out the jacket.

“Thanks,” Nick said, pulling it on as he stood up. It was cold out here. “Hey, how’s the fabric of reality? It going to be okay?”

“THE WORLD REGISTERS YOU AS DEAD, REALITY’S SAFE.”

“The uh, the slab voice?”

“YEAH, I KNOW, IT’S HARDER TO COVER UP HERE. I’LL try, though.”

“It’s actually not all that bad. Just kind of … I guess it’ll take some getting used to.”

“Well, you’ve … got time.” Tyson turned away, indicated the huge rambling house behind them. “GO ON INSIDE, I’VE GOT SOME STUFF TO TAKE CARE OF.”

“Okay.” Nick held his hand out for the guitar case, and Tyson passed it over.

“LISTEN – I’M SORRY.”

“What for?”

Tyson ran a hand through his hair. “YOU HAD TO LEAVE EVERYONE.”

“Hey.” Nick waited until Tyson looked up. “You saved my life, dude. I had to leave them anyway, this way I got to say goodbye. I kind of always hoped I’d get time to do that, you know?”

“YEAH.” Tyson dropped eye contact. “ANYWAY, I’M SORRY YOU’RE STUCK HERE NOW.”

“I’d rather be here and alive than really dead. Stop apologising, okay?”

Tyson smiled a little. “OKAY. WELL – MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME, I’LL BE BACK LATER.”

Nick put the guitar case down in the front hall. The house looked a little dismal from the outside, but inside it was actually really nice. He started wandering. One room was clearly Tyson’s study, another turned out to be a huge kitchen equipped with pretty much everything, and there were a few rooms with couches that looked well-stuffed and comfortable. A narrow corridor led away, three doors at the end of it, and Nick went to look in the first room.

It was enormous. No, more than enormous – it seemed to be infinitely vast. There was a soft rushing sound filling the air, and as Nick stepped into the room he saw that it was filled with shelf after shelf of hourglasses, sand running through the narrow middle of each. There were names carved on them, but the second Nick realised he was looking at the lifespan of every musician in the world, he backed away and out of the room, creeped the fuck out.

The second room was just as vast, and filled with a soft scratching sound. The shelves this time held books, large leather-bound tomes. A single volume was lying on a table, and as he approached he noticed there were letters on the cover. He looked closer.

Nickolas Don Wheeler, it said.

He opened it to a random page.

“Everyone alright?” Nick asked, smoothing his shirt down nervously.

“They still love us, right?” Nigel swallowed.

Charlie patted Nigel’s shoulder as he passed. “They all bought tickets. Sold out comeback tour, remember? Of course they still love us.” He grabbed his sticks.

“Missing Skies, two minutes,” a voice called over the backstage PA.

“Time to go.” Andrew slung his bass strap over his shoulder. He, Charlie and Nigel left the dressing room, but Dan hung back. Nick could feel him watching as he strapped his guitar on.

“You’ll be okay,” Dan said. Nick’s hands were shaking.

“This isn’t the first show I’ve played sober,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, but it’s the first you’ve played without a whole load of beer in you.”

Nick blew the air out of his cheeks. “Fuck, I know. I really need a –”

“No you don’t. You’ll rock it the fuck out.”

“Dan –” Nick was cut off by Dan darting forward and pressing their mouths together. Dan kissed him, gentle, and Nick kissed back, breathing through his nose. It lasted maybe thirty seconds, and then Dan leaned back and Nick licked his lips and said, “Thought you were a two beer queer.”

“You needed steadying. It’s what I do, remember?”

Before Nick could reply, the door opened and the stage manager said, “Dan, Nick, one minute to curtain.” They nodded, and the door closed again.

Dan grinned. “You feeling any pangs of major remorse?”

Nick snorted and pushed him towards the door. “You’re a dick. Do warm-ups.”

Nick shut the book. He found an empty space on the shelf, slid his life back into its slot, and closed the door firmly behind him.

Upstairs there was an enormous bathroom with a bath you could probably swim in, and a barely-furnished bedroom mostly just housing a huge four-poster bed. Nick looked in the door down the hall, but it was clearly Tyson’s room, so he figured the other room was his. He was sleepy, still shaken up from everything, and oblivion looked very inviting. So he got undressed, draping his clothes over the end of the bed, and stretched out under the covers.

When he woke up, he kept his eyes shut. He could hear the ocean, so he must have left the window open. The bed felt softer and more comfortable than usual, and he’d had the weirdest dream; something about the dude across the hall being Death. Nick was still trying to think up a good enough excuse to bump into him again, maybe ask him out this time.

He could smell coffee.

He opened his eyes. His room looked … different. The curtains were the same. The walls and his duvet were a different colour, though, and while he could hear the ocean he couldn’t smell it. He looked around; some of his stuff was where he’d left it, but a lot was missing. The picture on his windowsill looked suspiciously bright and fresh, the frame no longer bearing years of scuff-marks and chips of moving house a few times. And his bed had somehow become a four-poster in the night.

He got up. His wardrobe was still there, and when he opened it, all of his clothes were hanging on the rack. There was something about them, though … he looked closer.

They were all new.

And then he remembered that it hadn’t been a dream – that he was, to all intents and purposes, dead. He let it sink in for a minute, wondered who would be at his funeral, spent two point six four seconds feeling kind of awful, but then thought, Hey, at least I’m still breathing. He still didn’t know how all his stuff had got here, though.

He found soft, fluffy towels in the bathroom, and full bottles of all his favourite hair and shower things lined up on a shoulder-height shelf. He showered, thinking about trying to write some music on his own, or maybe Tyson played guitar and if not he could teach him, they could play for each other or maybe he could just play for Tyson, something. It could be pretty sweet here, the ultimate downtime. He let the steam build up around him as he lathered his hair, humming, and when he got out of the shower he put on soft, luxuriously clean clothes.

Tyson was in the kitchen, scrambling eggs. “So this is heaven, right?” Nick asked, sitting down and pouring himself some coffee from the pot on the table. It tasted as delicious as it smelled.

Tyson seemed to glow for a second. “No, that’s a gay club in London.”

“Oh. I think I went there once.”

“You’d remember.” Tyson had his back to him, but turned to grin. “That place is wild.”

“Well, I was pretty drunk.” Nick sipped at his coffee while he paused. “Um, Tyson? How come my stuff’s in my room?”

Tyson kept his back turned. “Uh,” he coughed. “I um, there was an accident, something fell off a plane – right when we came here, remember? Uh. Your apartment kind of got … smashed up. I saved what I could, replaced some other stuff.” His voice went quiet and he said, “Want this to be home for you, you know?”

Nick stood up, walked over, and kissed Tyson’s cheek. “You did all this for me?”

Tyson blushed. “Well.” He scratched at his ear. “Want some eggs?”

“Thanks.” He sat back down, and Tyson served up two plates of breakfast; eggs, bacon, tomatoes. “You have to eat?” Nick asked, watching him. “Or are you just being polite, or what?”

“I don’t have to eat to survive, but if I don’t eat I go all skeletal.”

“Oh. Hence the kitchen?” Nick started in on the food. Tyson was pretty good at making breakfasts.

“Well, this place was built for a human, so –”

“Wait, you’re human?” Nick stared. “What about all the –” He waved a hand.

“I was human when I came here. I’m pretty much immortal now, my voice changed, and I can do stuff for my job, alter my appearance, all that shit. No one out in the world can see me unless they’re gonna die soon, but aside from all that I’m basically still human.”

“No one can see you?” Nick frowned, thinking back. “But –”

“Cats can. Dogs, sometimes, and psychics. You were the only one who noticed me, last week.”

“Shit. Really?” Now he thought about it, several things made a lot more sense. “Huh.”

“Yeah. I’m actually not sure anyone could see you after I caught you. I mean, that was right when you were supposed to die, from what I gather no one saw you get caught. I uh, I think the official story is that you died then, someone swears they saw a body.”

“Fuck, seriously?” Nick thought for a minute. “Does Dan know? Is he freaked?”

“Um. Yeah, he knows, and they’re all pretty freaked, since you called them after you died. They’ll be okay, though.”

Nick nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” They were silent for a minute, and Nick finished his breakfast. He looked up again, saw Tyson watching him, and cleared his throat. “So how long ago did you come here?”

“I guess, uh, out in the world it’s been a few thousand years.”

“Wow.” Nick couldn’t take his eyes off him now the subject was changed. “So was Tyson your name before this?”

“Kind of. Like, an early form of it. I like to move with the times, though, I’ve been just Tyson for a while.”

“Wow,” Nick repeated. Tyson was going red again under the scrutiny, so Nick looked away. “Uh. Sorry. You’re just kind of fascinating,” he blurted out. Shit. Real smooth there, Wheeler.

Tyson coughed. “Thanks.”

“So,” Nick changed the subject again after a charged pause during which he mostly wondered if he should lunge across the table and straddle Tyson’s lap or if that would be too much at this stage, because he really sort of desperately wanted to, but they had a while and if things turned even more awkward they’d be stuck with awkward for a long, long time, “what do you generally … do around here?”

“I work, um, a lot. And – okay, I have a couple things to show you.” He stood up, dumping their plates in the sink.

“Death doesn’t have a dishwasher?” Nick smiled.

“Don’t – I’m not Death, okay? Here, I’m just Ty. So call me Ty.”

“Sorry.” Nick stood up. “Lead the way.”

Tyson first of all led him down the narrow corridor with the enormous rooms. “Sand room, archive,” he said, pointing as they passed the first two doors. “And this,” he said, holding onto the handle of the third, “is the records room.” He opened the door and Nick stepped inside.

It was even more vast, if that was possible, than the other two rooms. It was likewise full of shelves, but crammed in, as far as the eye could see, were records. Vinyl, LPs and EPs, more albums than Nick had seen in his entire life. “Okay,” he breathed,” now I know I died and this really is heaven. Well, I mean, I did die. But this is fucking heaven.”

Tyson looked like he was trying not to smile. “Any music that’s made in the world, it gets put on a record here.” He took a sleeve from the nearest shelf, tilted it to show Nick the familiar artwork. “Got all yours. I’ve … got everything. Even shit that never gets released.” He put the Missing Skies album back on the shelf, grabbed hold of a ladder that seemed to be attached to the shelves, and climbed up. He picked an album off a high shelf and climbed back down. “Def Leppard studio stuff that got scrapped. One of the tracks is just everybody throwing stuff at Joe.”

Nick’s eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Tyson grinned. “Here, it’s yours.”

Nick took it. “Holy shit,” he said, voice hushed. “No one else has heard these?”

“Just the band and Mutt.” Tyson laughed. “You should see your face, man.”

“I could fucking kiss you,” Nick declared. Tyson shifted.

“Uh. I have something else to show you, come on.”

They left the records room, back down the corridor, and Tyson led him to one of the rooms he’d seen yesterday, with the comfy couches. Tyson stopped.

“Um. I hope you like it.” Then he opened the door and Nick was looking at his own living room.

His pictures were on the walls. His guitar rack was in the corner, filled up with Gibsons, first Firebird on a separate stand. The couches even had his cushions on them, but they looked softer, comfier. His TV sat in another corner, the shelves above it full of his DVDs, cases alphabetised.

“I tried to get it as close as I could,” Tyson said, biting his lip. “I … is it okay?”

Nick put the record in his hands down and pulled Tyson in for a hug. The contact sent bolts of electricity all through his body, and he hugged Tyson tightly. Tyson melted into it, hugging back just as hard, breathing shakily into Nick’s ear. “It’s amazing,” Nick whispered. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

Tyson made a small sound, but didn’t say anything. He just buried his nose in Nick’s neck and inhaled. Nick’s eyes slid closed and he turned his head until his nose was in Tyson’s neck, and pressed a kiss to the skin.

Tyson’s breath stuttered. Nick kissed his neck again, softly working a line of kisses up to Tyson’s ear, and whispered into it, “You’re pretty awesome, you know that?”

Tyson groaned softly, shifted and darted in. He kissed Nick, desperate, hungry, and Nick kissed back, just as desperate, one hand in Tyson’s hair. He tasted a little like breakfast but a lot like something else, something in the way he smelled. “Nicky,” he moaned into their mouths, and Nick shivered deliciously.

“Ty,” he exhaled. Tyson nibbled on his lower lip, and the backs of Nick’s knees melted. He flexed the hand in Tyson’s hair, the other on his waist, sliding between the skin and the waistband of his jeans. Tyson pressed their hips together; they were both hard, and Nick groaned, pressing back.

Tyson was shaking. “I have to,” he panted, “I have to work – Nick, fuck –”

“You’ve got time,” Nick breathed, hands in Tyson’s hair and on his skin and if he didn’t get to fuck him right the fuck now he’d spend all day jerking off, and then he’d be asleep when Tyson came back. “Time doesn’t mean anything here, right?”

Tyson groaned. “Good point. I got stuff – upstairs, my room –”

They started moving, trying not to break any contact. “You got condoms?” Nick asked, between frantic kisses that left his spine tingling. “Think all mine got lost with the apartment.”

“No. Never … needed them here.” They broke apart to get up the stairs, practically leaping each step. “You don’t have anything, that stuff goes in the book. I um, I checked. You’re clean.”

Nick grunted as their cocks made contact again, through layers of fabric. “You clean too?”

“Hell yeah. Sparkling.” He sounded sort of amused at the concept that he wouldn’t be, so Nick stopped. He was pressing Tyson’s back up against the bedroom door and had been kissing along his neck.

“Ty, you’ve had sex before, right?” he asked carefully.

Tyson rolled his eyes. “I was twenty when I came here, dude. Which was relatively a lot older back then, like, middle-aged. Yes I’ve had sex.”

“With guys?” He had to check.

“With girls, with guys, none of whom died of syphilis. You think I wouldn’t check that shit? I’m totally clean.”

“Ty,” Nick flicked his tongue out against Tyson’s jumping pulse, “how long has it been?”

“Like you said,” Tyson angled his neck as Nick nudged his nose along it, “time doesn’t mean anything here.”

Nick undid the button on Tyson’s jeans. “How long?”

Tyson tilted his hips. “A long fucking time,” he groaned, and Nick dropped to his knees. He pulled Tyson’s shirt up, nuzzling every patch of skin until Tyson was whimpering and shaking hard.

“I am going to make this,” Nick said, pulling Tyson’s jeans down (he wasn’t wearing any underwear, fuck), “worth waiting a long fucking time for.”

Tyson’s breath hitched. Nick nuzzled along the shaft of Tyson’s cock, flicking his tongue out here and there, and then sucked the head of it in.

Tyson stopped whimpering. He stopped making any sound at all as Nick wrapped a hand around the base, taking as much into his mouth as he could. He listened; over the rushing in his ears, he heard Tyson exhale shakily. He started sucking.

Nick was good at giving head. He knew it, he’d had a lot of practice, and he knew how to tell when was the best time to do what to make the guy feel like the world was ending. There was always a trick to it, different with each guy, but he knew how to look for the indicators. He’d had a triad with two dudes from another band for a while, and Mike had made different sounds when Nick was sucking him off to when Nick was sucking him off while Chris fucked him. Nick’s longest-standing boyfriend, a tech Nigel had nicknamed Kadaver, had moaned in a particular way when he wanted Nick to twist his wrist. It was always, always in the noises.

And Tyson wasn’t making any.

Nick looked up at him, hollowing his cheeks. Tyson’s eyes were closed, his mouth was open, and his breathing was ragged. Nick pressed with his tongue, and Tyson’s breathing changed; he tried a quarter-twist with his wrist, and Tyson swallowed.

Nick went as still as he could, listening for every hitch and break in Tyson’s breathing. He sucked on instinct, pattern and speed, and Tyson gulped and squirmed and exhaled. He loosely tangled a hand in Nick’s hair, glancing down; Nick was still watching him, hollowed his cheeks again. Tyson dropped his head back against the door, mouth falling open, breathing hard. Nick took a chance, started working his other hand back, pressing in. Tyson’s hips bucked, but he flattened them against the door, looking down anxiously.

It took Nick a minute to realise Tyson was checking he hadn’t choked him, and he sucked reassuringly, heart dancing a polka on his ribs. He pushed the finger inside Tyson further in, curling it, and Tyson exhaled hard, scritching at the back of Nick’s head; Nick realised it was a warning, pulled off enough not to choke as Tyson came.

He swallowed carefully, sitting back on his heels, just looking up. Tyson still had his eyes closed, chest heaving, obviously trying to get his breathing back under control. Nick stood up, touched Tyson’s hip gingerly; Tyson twitched, opened his eyes.

“You okay?” Nick asked. Tyson nodded. Nick gently pulled Tyson’s shirt off over his head. “Come on,” he growled into his ear, “get in the bedroom. I really, really want to fuck you right now.”

Tyson opened his mouth, exhaling shakily, eyes rolling back to look up at the ceiling. He fumbled for the handle and they fell inside when he suddenly got the door open.

He yanked Nick closer, leaving his own clothes in a heap on the floor, tugging at Nick’s shirt. He crashed their mouths together when it was discarded, pulling the zip on Nick’s jeans down; Nick stepped out of the rest of his clothes as Tyson grabbed some lube from the drawer, lay down on the bed.

Nick knelt between Tyson’s legs, squeezing some lube onto his fingers. Tyson spread his thighs, arched up as Nick slid two fingers inside, worked him open. Tyson exhaled, shaky, and reached a hand for Nick’s cock; his palm was slick as he wrapped it around, Nick groaning at the sensation.

Tyson still wasn’t making any sound, just breathing. Nick added another finger, leaned down, flicked his tongue against Tyson’s earlobe and said, “Didn’t figure you for a silent one.”

“I CAN’T,” Tyson breathed, wind whispering over stone, “I CAN’T DO THE VOICE WHEN YOU’RE – FUCK, I CAN’T THINK WHEN YOU’RE –”

“Oh.” Nick kissed a soft line up his neck. “I’ll get used to the voice, Ty.”

“IT’S NOT EXACTLY SEXY.” It felt like it was raining in a graveyard. Sadly, Nick realised, he said it sadly.

He curled his fingers. Tyson bucked. “Try me.” Nick took Tyson’s earlobe between his teeth and tugged gently.

“NICK,” Tyson moaned, and it felt like a name on a gravestone.

“Um.” Nick stopped. “Maybe, um.”

“IT’S OKAY. I’LL BE QUIET.”

Nick breathed in, kissed over Tyson’s neck again. He smelled so fucking good. “It’s, maybe not forever, I swear I’ll get used to it –”

“NICK, REALLY, IT’S OKAY. JUST,” he tilted his hips up, “PLEASE, FUCK, I WANT YOU SO BAD.”

Nick groaned, took his fingers out. He slathered up his cock some more, lined up their hips, and pushed in. Tyson’s mouth fell open and he exhaled hard, curling his body up into the curve of Nick’s. “Fuck, Ty,” Nick whispered, feeling Tyson squeeze around him.

Tyson breathed, squirmed, and Nick trailed light kisses along his clavicle, memorising the way Tyson inhaled when something Nick did felt good. He set a fast, hard rhythm, and built up a mental map, how and when to do what to drive Tyson crazy. After a few minutes, he felt something against his stomach, looked down; Tyson’s cock was stirring, getting hard again. Nick groaned into his skin and Tyson’s eyes rolled shut.

“Ty,” Nick moaned, mouth against his neck, gently wrapping one hand around his cock and thrusting in harder. There was no sound, for several more minutes, except their breathing; Nick wanted to fill the silence, but he also wanted to listen, and he couldn’t keep hold of coherent thought in any case. He was too occupied with the sensations of Tyson around him, Tyson’s cock in his hand, the smell and taste of Tyson’s skin, how desperately Tyson kissed him when he grabbed the back of Nick’s head and yanked their mouths together. They were both shaking, and Nick pounded into him until his thighs ached, heat simultaneously pooling low.

He broke away from Tyson’s mouth and yelped, “Ty, fucking fuck,” as he came. He rocked every shockwave into Tyson, who grabbed hold of Nick’s hips and desperately pushed back onto them. “Fuck,” Nick whispered as he stilled. Tyson kept squirming. Nick licked a stripe up his neck, twisting his wrist and jerking Tyson faster. “You can talk,” Nick said, voice sounding throaty, “if you want.”

Tyson bit his lip. “YEAH?” he panted.

“Yeah.” Nick nibbled a little on Tyson’s earlobe. “Tell me what I’m doing right.”

“FUCK, NICK, EVERYTHING. I CAN’T EVEN FUCKING,” and he arched up, trailing off. “I FUCKING LOVE YOU NICKY, FUCK.” Tyson moaned, long and loud, and it was like creaking hinges but somehow, somehow it didn’t feel at all creepy now, somehow it felt sexy as hell when Tyson came like rocks falling.

Nick nuzzled him as he settled back, relaxing piece by piece. “MMMM,” Tyson sighed, stretching and going comfortably limp. “I’VE BEEN OUT OF PRACTICE FOR A WHILE, BUT THAT WAS GOOD. TOTALLY WORTH THE LONG FUCKING WAIT.” He opened his eyes. “WHAT?”

Nick was watching him, heart thumping. “You love me?” he asked, quiet. “I – right before you, um. You said you love me.”

“OH. UH.” Tyson closed his eyes, and Nick pulled out, shifting until he was lying next to Tyson, turned on his side to face him. “IT’S – WELL, I THOUGHT IT’D BE KIND OF OBVIOUS BY NOW. YEAH, I LOVE YOU.”

Nick nuzzled closer until Tyson moved his arm; he cuddled into Tyson’s side, one arm slung over his waist. Tyson curled his arm over Nick’s back, and Nick pressed kisses to his chest.

Tyson swallowed. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO –”

“It’s too early for me to say,” Nick interrupted. Tyson stopped, nodded. “I only met you last week. But Ty, I like you a lot. You’re gorgeous, and sweet, and I like the way you blush when you’re being thoughtful. You taste good. You feel awesome.” He trailed fingertips over Tyson’s skin. “I like making you feel awesome too.”

Tyson closed his eyes. “SMOOTH TALKER,” he whispered, but his voice cracked a little. “I’M NOT A GROUPIE.”

Nick leaned up and kissed him. “I mean it, Ty.”

“OH.” He bit his lip.

Nick settled back, kissed the skin within reach. “’m sleepy,” he said, holding off a yawn.

Tyson kissed his hair. “NAP. I HAVE TO WORK IN A MINUTE, BUT I’LL BE BACK AFTER.”

“Okay,” Nick murmured, curling closer and feeling sleep tug him down.

He woke up, and Tyson was standing by the wardrobe wearing nothing but a towel. “Hey,” Nick tried to mumble, lips stuck together.

Tyson looked over, face lighting up. “Hey, beautiful. Sleep okay?”

A familiar warmth started stealing through Nick’s body; after a minute, he realised what it was. I have a boyfriend, he thought, hugging the covers. I like my boyfriend. “Yeah.” The window was open, and Nick tilted his head towards it. “How come I can hear the ocean?”

“That’s the tides of time,” Tyson told him, pulling on a shirt. He selected a pair of jeans and put those on too, dropping the towel. Tyson, apparently, just didn’t do underwear.

“You’re kidding, that’s a real thing? I thought it was just poetry.”

Tyson shrugged. “It’s used a lot in imagery, mostly in romantic poetry, but yeah, it’s real. We crossed it to get here.”

“Huh.” Nick watched him for a minute. “Why’d you get dressed, Ty?”

Tyson glanced down, then back up, and the look on his face said all his Christmases had knocked on the door saying, “Hi, we have presents! And we brought some birthdays to gatecrash.”

“Wasn’t thinking,” he grinned, yanking his clothes off again and diving for the bed.

Nick kissed him, quick. “I have to pee. Don’t go anywhere.”

When he got back to the bed, Tyson pulled him close and rolled on top of him. “So I couldn’t concentrate,” he murmured, kissing the skin just under Nick’s ear. “Kept thinking about you, up here.”

“Did anybody, um.” He stopped. “How was work?”

“I wasn’t on collection,” Tyson said, hurriedly. “Just paperwork.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “Paperwork?”

“Yeah, the boss has a thing for it. And uh, he wasn’t exactly pleased that I brought you here. It’s okay,” he added quickly, “I wore him down. He’ll be grumpy for a while, but I filed all the paperwork right, so that should go a ways to appeasing him.”

“Uh. Thanks.” He paused. “Wait, you have a boss? Is it – God?”

“No, no, it’s Death. The real, original Death. He recruited us when there got to be too many souls, he was bending time to try and cope with them all, but it messed a lot of things up.”

“Oh.” Nick thought about that for a minute. “How do you get recruited for something like that anyways?”

“I, um.” Tyson avoided his eyes. “I was sort of a, uh. A seer. He talked a lot about destiny and my potential, but I think part of it was just that I could see him.”

“Oh. And you’re all, you know. Human? The recruits,” he added.

“I think so. Some of them have a whole extra arms thing going on, I don’t know what that’s about. The boss is definitely not human, though.”

“Oh.” Tyson started stamping kisses all over Nick’s chest. “Is this your way of saying shut up it’s sexy time now?”

Tyson snorted. “Sexy time?”

“What, you’ve been reading about me for who knows how long and you didn’t notice I’m a nerd?”

“I noticed that it’s cute,” Tyson grinned up at him.

“Oh yeah? Says the dude who’s fucking adorable when he’s not being sexy as all holy fuck.”

Tyson undulated. Nick was already half hard, but the movement tipped him closer to fully. “Really?” Tyson breathed, eyes closed. “ALL HOLY FUCK?”

Nick noticed the change in his voice. He also noticed that it had stopped being unsettling entirely, and now it was just … Ty. “Do you have mirrors?”

“HEY, IT’S BEEN LIKE, MILLENNIA SINCE I GOT LAID. DOESN’T DO MUCH FOR THE EGO.”

“Point.”

“UH. HANG ON.” Tyson rolled away and coughed. “LOST THE VOICE – GIVE ME A MINUTE. IT’S A LITTLE HARD TO UH, CONCENTRATE RIGHT NOW.”

“Ty,” Nick said over the coughing. “Ty. The voice is okay.”

Tyson looked at him. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO PRETEND IT’S ALRIGHT –”

“What the fuck, Ty, I’m not a girl. You can just, you know, talk like you. Seriously.”

Tyson rolled closer again. “ARE YOU SURE?”

“Yes.”

He grinned. “YOU LOVE ME.” He poked Nick on the arm. “HAH, YOU TOTALLY LOVE ME.”

Nick waited for eye contact before he said, quiet, “A little, yeah.”

Tyson stilled. He licked his lips. “YEAH?”

Nick pulled him closer. “There might be falling,” he said, soft.

A grin started spreading over Tyson’s face. He inched their mouths closer. “IS THAT SO?” he murmured, so softly it felt like smooth pebbles.

Nick brushed the tips of their noses together. “Find out,” he smiled, and kissed him.

From the Watcher's Diaries, 1765

2008-03-19T14:59:30Z

From the Watcher's Diaries, 1765
{All-American Rejects RPS // Nick/Tyson, Kim // [WARNING] R for sex and violence // 100% disclaimed & untrue // beta by Laura // set in the same continuity as Every Night I Save You}

Extracts From The Official Diary Of Mr Ritter

17^th April, 1764

The curate’s daughter, Miss Smith, has been called.

I wrote to Donaldson, told him how sorry I was about Miss Heather. The Council delivered my orders, I packed my things and came here. The parish is pleasant, the curate perfectly willing to give his daughter to do God’s work, and the child herself … she is a curious girl. She speaks of God’s will and might as though she had listened to all of Reverend Saul’s lectures, and though she speaks it mostly by rote, I see that it is in her heart. She has faith in this fight, the fight against evil. That is a powerful tool for a Slayer.

We will begin training tomorrow. I do not know how much work is to be done here; my orders are to bring her to London once her initial training is complete. It should not take too much time to prepare her – at the least, she should be well settled in town before the trial. She is not yet seventeen summers, though strong and willing. Yes, this should not take too much time.

20^th April

Tonight was Miss Smith’s first patrol. She insists I call her Miss Kimberley, her older sister is Miss Smith, but she is my sole charge and her safety is of the utmost importance so to me, she is Miss Smith.

The patrol resulted in one encounter with a vampire, which she bested after several minutes of struggle. It tried to take her from behind, but we have been honing her instincts and she turned quickly and drove the stake through its heart. To be truthful, she already listened to her instincts; I simply had to show her how to act upon them with sufficient speed.

We may begin with more complicated weapons as early as next week. Miss Smith is a most gifted Slayer, an asset to this fight and to the Council.

28^th April

Miss Smith today mastered the crossbow. She shows considerable skill with every weapon I train her to use, extraordinary physical agility and she can now identify a vampire on sight. I have made a full report to the Council and expect orders to bring her to London at the earliest opportunity. I have spoken with the child’s parents, and they are agreeable. We are needed in town.

~*~

24^th June, 1765

Last night our patrol took us across the river again. There is a menace in the streets, a vampire we cannot find. Its victims appear with neck wounds and no signs of a struggle otherwise, always mere yards from their own front doors. There is no connection between the victims that we can discern, no pattern to the killings, but the puzzling thing is that there is no geographical pattern to speak of. In the usual course of things, a vampire will make random killings, but it will stay in the same region, it will choose easy victims close to its home. If this vampire is doing so, its home moves daily.

I suggested to Miss Smith that perhaps it is more than one vampire, perhaps these killings are indeed random. She tells me her instincts are screaming that it is the same one, that she knows it is somewhere nearby. She thinks it is tracking her, feels as though she is being watched. I have, I must admit, suffered similar feelings in the past few weeks. We are being observed. We are being toyed with, as a cat toys with a mouse. We must be sure to kill the cat.

5^th July

Heat is upon the city. The days are longer, which means Miss Smith has more time to rest. She sleeps during daylight hours, as they do, in order to walk in their footsteps. She is an extraordinary young lady and a dedicated Slayer. This is how she survives encounters such as the one we returned from this morning.

My hands are still shaking. You will have to forgive the writing, whoever is reading this in years to come. Tonight, this morning – time seems such a strange concept with so little sleep to guide me – we were met by the vampire. The cat that has been playing with us. Tonight, it batted its paw at Miss Smith.

He gave his name as Mr Beckett. He is tall, thin, dresses in the fashionable clothes of the day yet brings unfashionable touches that speak of his age. I would estimate this as a century, possibly a little less. He is clearly a gentleman, clearly well-travelled, and clearly back in England for a reason.

He was in China last. I could tell by the way he pronounced certain words that he had recently been there, and a scarf half hidden in his waistcoat confirmed my suspicions. He spoke of Paris, of the colonies, of the East India Trading Company. He told us that he wants to see the New World next, but before he leaves the old world for the new, he wants to kill the Slayer.

That is why he is here. I suspect he found us quickly, that news of the last Slayer’s death has spread, that this Mr Beckett wishes to achieve glory by killing Miss Smith. However, he shall not succeed. We shall prepare, we shall fight, and my Slayer shall win.

9^th July

We have not heard from our friend Mr Beckett in days. I have been searching through the newspapers, but have not found any more news of attacks; it seems as though he has left.

Miss Smith knows he has not. I know it too. Even I can sense his presence now, a malevolent force in the city. Hiding. Watching. Waiting.

We must find where he is hiding, and do it quickly.

14^th July

All is lost, all is lost, Mr Beckett has my Slayer.

16^th July

The account I give now is not Miss Smith’s final battle. It is not Mr Ritter’s final battle. Alas, it is not Mr Beckett’s. It is his last on these shores, his last with the two of us, but he survives. Beware, New World. Beware.

Miss Smith and I discovered Mr Beckett’s hiding place three nights ago. Unlike the majority of his kind, he seems to enjoy splendour, and to live above ground. He … he taunted the sunlight, claimed that it cannot harm him; my Slayer proved him wrong on that score. I am getting ahead of myself.

He was waiting. He ambushed us, knocked me unconscious and took her. I awoke outside, later, with a note tucked into my pocket – I need not detail what the note read, suffice it to say that it was a threat to my Slayer’s life. I returned to his rooms, but he was gone.

I stumbled home, called the doctor, and wept. I am not ashamed of the weeping; Miss Smith is my Slayer, my charge, it is my sole calling and employment to protect her. I failed.

The doctor ordered me to stay indoors and in bed for at the least a day. I obeyed his orders as I could. Which is to say that I … did not obey them. I prepared myself, gathered my weapons, rested a little, and set out to find him again.

Yesterday, I discovered his new hiding place. I took my weapons, I burst in, and I found there three victims, two of whom had already become vampires themselves and the other on its way to awakening; the first was an easy kill, the other two had me cornered. I was using a sword, the bag containing the other weapons at my feet, and I heard laughter.

It was Mr Beckett. “She said you would come. I did not believe her. Yet I see that you are, indeed, as brave as she believes you to be.” He paused, watching as I fought his sirelings. I did not have enough room to swing the sword, and did not have the chance to reach for the stake in my pocket. “She is still alive. I am sure you know it. I never intended her death to be … quick.” He spoke that last word with such a smile that I filled with rage, knowing that she was being kept somewhere – I could feel her, somewhere close, alive still but injured, perhaps, or worse.

The two vampires I was fighting were strong, fast, precise. One of them sprained my wrist, but as he did so I saw an opportunity and grasped for my stake; I killed his friend, and then swung the sword and severed head from neck.

Mr Beckett applauded. He approached, slowly, step by step, speaking low and menacing. “You are persistent. I do like to see that in a Watcher. So much passion, so much fire, so much hate. You burn with it, with hatred for our kind. But you need not revile us, Watcher.” He had come to stand a few feet away from me by this point, I nursing my injured wrist and calculating how to get past him and to Miss Smith in time. “When I am finished with your Slayer, she will make you one of us, and you shall wreak chaos and bloodshed as the best of my children.” He sounded proud.

“I will shed no innocent blood,” I told him. I knew I must reach for a weapon; I knew that if I did, I would be dead before I could pick up the bag. I strike with the right hand, and it was my right wrist the vampire had injured; however, I still had the sword in my left.

Beckett took another two steps closer. “We shall see,” he said, and I drove the sword through his chest as hard and as quickly as possible.

It saved time to leave it in there, so I took the bag and ran for the stairs. He had been standing in front of them as though unwilling to let me pass, so I knew my Slayer would be up them. It took me moments to find her, while Beckett screamed in the room below – the sword was enchanted and brings intense pain to any demon it pierces.

Miss Smith was not in a pleasant state. The vampire had obviously been torturing her, the details of which I would rather I cast from my mind than set down in writing. The deepest wounds may leave their mark, but the rest are healing. I untied her, and she regained consciousness – I made to carry her, but she stood, said she felt ready to fight. “Are you quite sure?” I asked her. Her eye was swollen; such a small detail, but for some reason I could not take my eyes from the bruises. “What has he done to you?”

She flinched away from my administrations and insisted, “I will fight. I am the Slayer, Ritter, I have to.” Reluctantly, I handed her my bag of weapons, and as she was looking through it – Beckett’s footsteps had begun pounding up the stairs – she told me to get out.

“I am not leaving you.” I wanted to grip her arm, make some form of contact, to assure myself she was really there, really alive.

“In the room next door is a man,” she told me quickly, voice low. “He is still alive, Beckett wasn’t finished with him yet. Take him, see that he lives.” I tried to protest, but she hissed, “Now, Ritter. Find him. Take him. Save him.” The door burst in and she continued, “Beckett is mine.”

Beckett was smiling, the blood-stained sword in one hand. “I have been praying you would say that.”

“Praying? To whom? It is not God you pray to.” With an agility that should not have been possible in her weakened state, Miss Smith spun and lunged forward, dodging Beckett’s blows, and snatched the sword out of his hand. “I believe this is my Watcher’s.” She threw it to me. “Go. Now.”

I caught the sword and made sure to graze Beckett’s side and slash at his arm with it as I left the room. He screamed again, charging at Miss Smith, and I searched for the right door.

The first room I looked in held only a fresh body; not a new vampire, just a new victim. The second, however, contained a man chained to the wall. His skin was covered in welts, bruises and wounds, and he was barely alive. He raised his head, looked at me, and tried to speak; his lips were dry and cracked, caked in blood, and he coughed before asking, “Are you here to kill me?”

“No,” I answered, “I am here to help you. I will return momentarily.” I ducked back into the room where Beckett and Miss Smith were fighting; she was kicking him in the neck when I ran in. I yelled, “Axe?” and she took it from the bag and tossed it to me with one smooth movement, simultaneously yanking the wooden slats off the windows with the other hand. Beckett hissed and tried to move away from the sunlight, but my Slayer kicked him further into it. I did not stay to see more.

It took many swings of the axe, but the chains broke and the man dropped to the floor. He struggled to speak once more, managed, “Thank … you,” and then closed his eyes.

“No,” I whispered to him, “you will not die.” He seemed light when I lifted him; the sword I sheathed in my belt, the axe I held underneath his body, making sure to keep the blade turned away from him. I looked into the other room again. “Miss Smith,” I called.

She saw me, swung at Beckett with the larger axe in her hand, and her face plainly said Do as I told you and take him to help. I nodded, and ran as quickly as I could out of there. Another vampire tried to stop my escape, but I kicked him away, placed the man carefully down, beheaded the vampire with the axe, lifted the man back into my arms, and made my way out.

I returned to our rooms with haste, sent for the doctor, and set the servants to work caring for the unconscious man. I ran back to Beckett’s rooms to aid Miss Smith in any way I could, but by the time I got there the building was ablaze. She raced out of it just as I arrived.

We know Beckett escaped the fire, though we do not know how. He was sighted that evening gaining passage to the New World on a ship, and by now I have no doubt he is upon the sea, the New World before him, the old one behind.

The man he was keeping there lived. My Slayer lived. I lived. We have been graced indeed with luck.

The Very Private Diary Of Mr Tyson Ritter: Watcher, Scholar, Man

28^th July, 1765

I begin this diary in secret, in code, and by necessity. I shall destroy it at the slightest threat to what I must conceal within these pages.

I am falling in love with another man.

Even to write the words, in these strange symbols that shroud the meaning to all eyes but mine, it is unbelievable. Yet it is the truth; I care for another man. I do not think that he cares for me. I know he enjoys my company, seeks out my friendship, though I suspect perhaps a little of it is the debt of gratitude he owes me. I saved his life; his life feels bound to me.

Yet I cannot shake the feeling that his life was bound to me before this, that I had been waiting for many years to meet this man. It is a notion that cannot be, and yet it is. It is. I know what I feel, how it pulls at me when I look into his eyes.

His name is Mr Wheeler. We rescued him from a formidable vampire twelve days ago; it was his house the vampire had taken over, keeping him alive for reasons known only to itself, and Miss Smith burned the place to the ground. Mr Wheeler has not the money to buy a new house, is still recovering from his injuries, and as such he lives here with us as our guest and as my friend.

It is awful to see him suffer like this. The vampire was cruel, unusually so perhaps, and Mr Wheeler’s injuries are extensive. The doctors say he will live, that he will recover health once more with enough care and rest, and I know I can provide both. He may never regain full use of his left leg; it is likely he will walk with a limp and require the aid of a cane for the remainder of his life. He has expressed dismay over this; he loved to ride, to hunt once a year and especially to take walks by the river; but each time he speaks of his regret I speak only of my gladness that he is alive.

It is … incredible, this gladness. I could kiss the world, wear my knees out thanking God for Mr Wheeler’s good fortune, sing and cry out with joy because he is alive. His body is bruised and a little broken, but it is mending. His spirit is mending, I can see it day by day. He has nothing, he says, nothing left in this world.

I maintain that he has us. He has Miss Smith, he has a home should he be in need of one – and he has me.

He looks at me, when I say that. “You have me,” I say, and he looks at me and his smile is soft.

“Yes,” he replies, voice as soft as his smile. “I have you.”

My heart is breaking. He is the most handsome man I have seen in my life, despite the injuries. The bruises, the wounds, the cuts and grazes, they cannot hide his beauty. For he is beautiful, as flowers are beautiful, as the river at sunset is beautiful. His eyes change colour like a gem stone, his hands are strong, and his mouth is a perfect cupid’s bow. He lights rooms with his smile, his laugh sends my head into a spin, his voice sets my blood on fire.

He is, I am almost sure of it, falling in love with Miss Smith.

I discourage it as much as I decently can. She takes it as protectiveness and gives me silent thanks for it; she does not love him, she has spoken to me of it. She is fond of him, thinks him a good man and good company, but no more. That is my one relief; that his love is not returned. It is not much relief, for it means that he suffers all the more; that as his body suffers, so does his heart.

Mine suffers agonies. The longer he is in this house, the longer he shares our rooms and our meals, the deeper my feelings for him. I care for him as well as I can, make sure that the doctors call regularly and that his every desire is fulfilled – at the least, the needs of his body, of his –

I wish, so very hard, that I might fulfil other desires. That the needs of his body would extend one day – that he, with healthy limbs and no more need of my care – that he might ask for my care. That he might desire me. Desire me not as a nurse, not as simply a companion; that he might desire me as I desire him, as a lover, as a companion in life, as – I wish for it. I write this in code, I hope to God nobody finds it, and I wish for him.

The worst of it is that I feel no remorse. I know that I should, I should be ashamed of these feelings, I should pray for a release from this unnaturalness. Yet it does not feel unnatural. I know what is not natural, I fight and train my Slayer to defeat what is an abomination to nature every day and every night of my life. I know the feel and the taste and the smell of what is not natural, and these feelings I have for Mr Wheeler, my love for him – it tastes as natural as ripe strawberries. It feels as natural as sunlight, smells as natural as fresh earth after the rain. He is all that is natural to me.

Instead of praying for forgiveness for my sins, I pray that he will heal and yet need me. Instead of seeking penance, I seek his heart. I have already given mine to him.

15^th October

Mr Wheeler is not in love with Miss Smith.

I felt so much relief when he told me this that I had to excuse myself and lock the door, to come in here and release my emotion. Mr Wheeler is not in love with Miss Smith! He is not going to propose to her! I have been so worried, so torn inside with it, for weeks now. Yet he is not! Oh, what happiness this is!

I did not mean to ask, after breakfast this morning. Miss Smith had excused herself to rest; last night she fought five vampires at once, I believe she needs a little time to recuperate. The way he smiled at her as she left the room gave me such a pang that I could not stop myself. I asked, as though I had no control over the words leaving my mouth, “Do you love Miss Smith?”

He looked startled. “I am … fond of her, Mr Ritter. But love, of the kind I think you are speaking of – no, Mr Ritter, I do not. I am very sorry if I have somehow misled you, or Miss Smith, by action or word or look. She does not believe it, does she?”

“I do not believe she does,” I answered, barely containing the sheer force of emotion turning over and over in my chest. “Is there – was there ever a Mrs Wheeler? I did not feel it proper that I ask before now, and if I am overstepping the bounds of our friendship please –”

“Not at all,” he interrupted me. “I have hopes that our intimacy has grown such that I may be candid with you on this subject – that there is no woman I love.”

This was the moment I needed to excuse myself, for if I had stayed there may have been consequences. I wanted so much to tell him, to make some motion or say some word that might indicate my feelings towards him without leaving no chance for return.

I have had my moment, and must not linger here lest he grow concerned.

16^th November

Mr Wheeler is almost fully healed. He has some money for a new house, and shall soon take his leave of us.

I have thrown myself into training my Slayer. The Council have sent word that a demon has arrived on our shores and will no doubt soon begin a massacre. It is sure to happen here.

Mr Wheeler is leaving. I am almost glad there is an impending massacre to prevent.

25^th November

The demon is dead. I have written my full account of the battle in my official diary, I have no more strength to write of it. Miss Smith is injured, but alive. She will recover.

Mr Wheeler has some skill in healing wounds. We did not need to call for the doctor this time; Mr Wheeler has knowledge, experience, was a doctor in a parish in the north, and knows enough of the healing powers of the Slayer to adapt medicine methods to her needs.

I have asked him to consider staying here. He said he would indeed consider it. If he does not continue living here with us, he has made it clear that we may call on him as needed, that he wishes to continue our friendship, our … intimacy.

He uses that word to describe our friendship, he and I. He calls it our intimacy. He cannot know what I long for, what I yearn for with all my heart and soul.

He still cannot walk. He has a cane, and moves about the house with my help and Miss Smith’s and that of the servants. It will not be long before he can walk with only the cane. Then he shall most likely leave, and our intimacy will continue from further afar.

19^th December

This diary must never be found. It must be destroyed the moment I can set it down, because I must write this, I must set out the events of yesterday; for myself and myself alone, in my code, concealed and treasured and real.

It began in the morning. Miss Smith returned from her patrol, reported that two vampires had been killed, and retired to bed after breakfast. Mr Wheeler and I were perhaps a little quiet as we ate, I reading the paper and he staring for the most part at his plate.

Once we had both finished eating and Miss Smith had left, Mr Wheeler indicated that he wished to speak to me in the drawing room. He sent the servants out and told the footman that we were not to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. Then he turned to me; I must confess that I was bewildered by the entire proceedings and standing dumb, waiting for his purpose to reveal itself; and he began to speak.

“I have considered your kind offer,” he said. I noticed that he was trembling. “I am – profoundly grateful, Mr Ritter, for all you have done for me. Miss Smith – you – you both saved my life, and you have both brought me back to health. I cannot thank you enough. There is not a single thing I can do in this world to repay my debt to you.”

I made to speak, but he held up his hand.

“Please,” he said, his eyes echoing the word in the look he gave me, “let me speak. I must say this, and if I stop –” He breathed in, a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. “I cannot stay here.”

I do not know how I looked, what movement I must have made, what expression must have appeared on my face; I can only guess that it revealed my dismay, and hope that it concealed the depth of it.

He stepped forward, raised his hand as though to touch my cheek. “Tyson – Mr Ritter,” he breathed. “I am sorry, I – please, I beg of you, do not cease our friendship, our – it means more to me than I can express, you have been such a good friend. A true friend.” He stepped closer and whispered, “A great man.”

I swallowed. I could not trust myself to speak. Something different was in the air, something that told me this was not easy for him. That it should have been, but it was not.

“Mr Ritter, please say something.”

“I,” I tried. My throat was dry; I cleared it. “Come with me.”

I still do not know why I said it, yet at that moment I knew exactly what I wished to do. I led him, very carefully and mindful of his cane, outside. He has been outside for short turns in the park to test his leg, but he walked more surely than I had seen him do before. I knew he was as healed as he would become, that it was time for him to leave us. Yet I could not let him go.

We hailed a cab and I gave the driver an address, quietly so that Mr Wheeler wouldn’t hear it. The cab took us to where I had specified, and I paid the man.

Mr Wheeler looked around as I did so. We were close to the river. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked.

“Come,” I took his arm to steady his steps, feeling a physical jolt at the contact, “we are not there yet.”

We walked, slowly, until we came to the river, and then we walked down it a little way. As we came to the bridge, I turned onto it and we walked to the middle. All this in silence.

I stopped. The river was spread out beneath us, the city on either side. I turned to him and I said, “I only wish it were sunset. This is my favourite place in all of London.”

“It is mine too,” Mr Wheeler brightened, the question still not leaving his face. He gave it voice: “Why did we come here?”

I looked out at the river. “I wanted to show you,” I began, slowly; it was difficult to find the right words that did not circle too close to danger. “This place, this river, this city – it is where my heart lies. It is what I fight for, what I train Miss Smith to fight for.” I risked a look at him, and my heart all but stopped at the look in his eyes. He was watching me with startled respect, with warm affection, with – dare I say it, did I dare think it then? – love. “I fight for you,” I whispered, turning towards him suddenly. “I – for friends like you, for men as good as you are. That is – that is all I meant. You are a good man, Mr Wheeler. I am glad to know you.”

The words sounded empty, echoed strangely in the air it seemed, but Mr Wheeler smiled. “I am glad to know you, Mr Ritter. So very glad.”

There was not any more to say. We stood on the bridge and watched the water for a little while, and then hailed a cab and came back home.

I made up my mind on the bridge, watching the flow of the river in silence with him, to let him go. It was selfish to try and keep him; I would not, in any case, lose him. He would be nearby, we would call on each other and remain friends, he would aid myself and my Slayer when we needed him. I resolved to be content with this, to know that I could never love another person as much as I love Nickolas Wheeler, and to know that I could not have him.

When we arrived home, he took me back into the drawing room, sent the servants away again, and sat next to me.

“Mr Ritter,” he began, his voice quiet and hesitant, “we have grown to trust one another, have we not?”

“We have,” I answered. He was starting to tremble; I worried that our walk had exerted him too much. “Mr Wheeler, perhaps you should rest. You are shaking.”

He closed his eyes and smiled just a little. When he spoke, it was in a whispered rush, “If you do not wish this, it is a product of fever and I am the greatest fool in Christendom. I ask only that you are not – I ask only for forgiveness.”

I opened my mouth to ascertain what on earth he could mean, but he covered it with his own.

He kissed me. Hesitantly, gently, oh God I am so glad this is in code. Nobody shall ever read of this, so I am free to admit it.

When he kissed me, it was as though a fire had been lit underneath my skin. I was burning, could not stop myself moving, tangling a hand in his hair, tracing the curve of his neck with my fingertips, kissing him deeply. He made small noises, surprised at first, yet pleased, and then he began to whimper. He was still shaking, his hands plucking at the buttons on my shirt, and he broke away for breath. “Nickolas,” I exhaled.

We did things then I only knew the words for. He tastes like sunlight, feels like soft earth, smells like strawberries. We kept as quiet as possible, locked away in my bed, tasting pleasure, reaching Heaven. I am sure that Heaven must be what I felt for a moment, Nickolas’s mouth on me, his hands touching everywhere. He arched underneath my fingertips, undulated like the waves, muffled his cries in the pillows. He is beautiful, so beautiful, without his clothes. We explored each other; in time, I know I will learn his curves, become familiar with the sounds he makes, find the ways and the touches that drive him to distraction. That is my objective, and his is to find the same on me. He seems fascinated with the hollow of my knee, the crease where leg meets hip; everywhere he touches, I am aflame.

This diary cannot be found. He will stay here, as our companion, as Miss Smith’s doctor and as my friend. None but the two of us will know that he sleeps here with me. My deepest wish has been granted; I thank God for it, and serve Him as well as I can. I train my Slayer, I help her when she needs me, and I care for my Nickolas.

I need nothing more in this world.

This diary now ends, and I must prepare a space and burn it.

You Smile So Wide (And I Don't Need Anything)

2008-03-18T07:14:19Z

You Smile So Wide (And I Don't Need Anything)
{All-American Rejects RPS // Nick/Tyson // R // 100% untrue & disclaimed // for Rhi, happy birthday darling ♥}

Nick liked Tyson.

This, he knew within hours of meeting him. They’d been talking a little, Tyson and the guys in the band, and he seemed like a nice kid so Nick thought, yeah, I like this dude.

It was a few months later, when Tyson was over at Nick’s place getting another bass lesson, that Nick was hit with it. It felt a little like being run over by a phantom truck, and he just knew: he liked Tyson. As in, thought he was funny, enjoyed his company, found him rather attractive, kind of wanted to slam him against a wall and make out with him a whole bunch. It wasn’t the first crush he’d had on a friend, and for a while it was okay. He was used to the pointless crushes by now; he was surrounded by guys, some of them funny and cute, some of them stupidly hot, all of them straight and liable to beat him to death and bury him in their back yard if he ever came on to them. He had made his peace with this some time ago, and resigned himself to a life of either pretending to like girls, being alone or getting the fuck out of the Midwest.

Whatever he did, he had to finish high school first.

It took the next two years for Nick to come to terms with the fact that his crush on Tyson wasn’t going to go away. That it was something kind of huge and really awkward and intensely inconvenient, because Tyson – crush entirely aside – happened to be Nick’s favourite person on the face of the earth. He liked the kinds of movies that were simultaneously awful and hilarious, he could make a mean bacon sandwich the morning after some serious alcohol was consumed, he knew exactly what to say to make Nick laugh until he thought he was going to die, no seriously, really this time, Ty, quit it or I’ll stop breathing. He was the best concert buddy ever; Nick could still hardly believe Tyson hadn’t been to a concert before he started taking him to them. Well, not since he was born, and of all the badass births there could ever be, Tyson’s had to be the coolest. Frankly, Nick would have a huge crush on him just on the strength of that, and his propensity to break out into classic rock at the oddest moments while drunk, stopping to say something about it not being bedtime yet and giggling. Nick still hadn’t worked out quite why the fuck he did this, but it was insanely cute.

Luckily – unluckily – Tyson was an affectionate drunk. Though a more accurate term would be flirty drunk. This caused Nick uncounted opportunities for a whole lot of physical contact, which Tyson seemed to be really very okay with (kill, bury in back yard, don’t make a move, Ty’s dad has a fucking shotgun in his house) – and this in turn gave Nick uncounted, endless and sometimes painful boners. Thankfully, Tyson never seemed to notice; either he was too drunk, or Nick made sure they were positioned in a way that Tyson would never feel it, or maybe Tyson did notice and just didn’t say anything.

Nick repaid this kindness in beer. Lots of beer.

College seemed like a good way out. He could put some fucking distance between himself and his increasingly obvious and fucking annoying crush, and yeah, maybe an advantage would be not having to see Tyson sucking face with his girlfriend, because wow, yeah, that wasn’t exactly a picnic. Tyson never asked why Nick didn’t have a girlfriend. Nick sort of made a point, sometimes, of saying that there just weren’t any girls around that he was interested in. Which was true. (He left out the rest of the declaration, which was that there was this one guy he was very, very interested in, who was hot and funny and talented and awesome and did he mention hot? But. Kill. Back yard. No moves.)

Turned out he was entirely wrong about college. He got drunk a lot, the frat guys were really nice to him and he made sure to never come on to a single one of them; happily, even while utterly and completely wasted, he still had survival instincts. So he spent the majority of his time partying it up with the other dudes, avoiding classes and homework and all that college shit that happens at college, and he missed Tyson so fucking much. There had never been a time, since he was fifteen years old, that Ty was not less than a half hour away. Ty was just … there, always, at Nick’s locker at school or meeting up after Band or hanging out at the weekends or playing the bar and getting bought drinks and escaping fights and always Ty, always right there and now he was so far away it felt like an arm had been hacked off.

One of the guy’s girlfriends, this amazingly gorgeous woman Nick knew he would have been crazy about if he’d swung that way, she got drunk with him one night and somehow wheedled it out of him. He blamed feminine whiles. He never breathed a word about the crush, though, just that he missed his best friend; she totally sympathised and they swapped best friend stories until the sun came up. They fell asleep tangled together and when Nick woke up his arm had gone numb and his neck was stiff but he felt a little less … like something was missing.

A week later, he packed up his shit, quit college (it really wasn’t all he’d hoped it would be, they made you do work and shit) and went home to make his career in music. His parents weren’t pleased, but his sister called and all she said was, “So I hear you’re an academic failure, little brother.” and he almost sagged against the wall in relief at the affection in her voice. He told her about his plans to be a guitarist, how he and Ty had their band and they were going to try and make it when Tyson was done with high school and there was this silence and then she said, “So the plan is to be a famous guitarist … in two years’ time?”

“Yes,” he replied, panicking.

“Okay. You know you can come stay if the folks ever get sick of you, right?”

Nick didn’t know whether to be grateful or worried, but he settled for the former and left the latter until later. (Later turned out to be four o’clock in the morning for two weeks, but she never said anything else so in the end he stopped worrying.)

Tyson was beside himself when Nick got back. He’d gone over there without saying a word about being back, about quitting, and the look on Ty’s face was worth every second of not telling him. When Nick said he was back for good, he thought Tyson might explode. As it was, he did a cartwheel.

No, really, an actual cartwheel. Nick hadn’t seen anybody do cartwheels since he was six. Granted, Tyson’s wasn’t a full cartwheel, he sort of folded in on himself half way through and landed sprawled out in the yard, but he grabbed Nick’s ankle and pulled him down too and then rolled them sort of into one entity and hugged the living fucking daylights out of him. “You’re back, you’re back, you’re really back?”

“I’m really back,” Nick confirmed. His chest was expanding.

“Thank fuck, I had this whole thing planned.” Tyson made no move to sit up or stop the contact, and Nick was so fucking happy to see him he cuddled closer. “I was going to just show up sometimes, as a surprise, and crash at your place for a weekend or blow off school for a few days. I was gonna eat all your food and watch all your porn. There was porn at college, right?”

Nick didn’t want to shatter any illusions. “Tons of the shit. Mostly lesbian, some art house, very tasteful.”

Tyson scrunched up his features in disapproval. “Who the fuck watches tasteful porn?”

“College students,” Nick supplied, deadpan. “The really pretentious ones who’ve lasted until like, junior year. They talk only in bullshit and eat a lot of granola bars.”

Tyson looked scandalised. “Granola bars?”

Nick just nodded sagely, trying to keep a straight face. “It’s this whole thing.” He kept it up for another five seconds before cracking up and laughing, “I am totally shitting with you, man, nobody ate granola bars. Except the cockroaches. And I am not joking about those.”

“They really do watch dirty porn in frat houses?” Tyson asked, hope written all over his face.

Nick snorted. “When they’re not making it right outside my damn bedroom door, yeah.”

So Tyson was pleased he was back – in fact, he barely let him out of his sight for two months, “Just to make sure you don’t run out on me again, man.” – but Tyson was still sucking face with his girlfriend.

Nick got a job at the guitar shop. He went back to giving lessons regularly, he and Ty wrote a bunch of new songs that sounded pretty good, and they played the bar. They got drunk a lot together, when Tyson wasn’t busy, and it was just like always.

Then Tyson’s girlfriend dumped him and Tyson wouldn’t say why or even talk about it at all. He just said it, “So I got canned today,” and Nick said, “What the fuck?” and Ty just held up a handful of beer bottles and motioned with his other hand for Nick to open them. They got drunk, Tyson especially so, and he was quiet. It was unusual, but it somehow wasn’t uncomfortable either. Nick didn’t know if he should say something or stay quiet too, but the alcohol coursed through his system and he just started talking, just about nothing, and by the end of the night Tyson was smiling again so he figured maybe he helped somehow. That was all he really wanted to do, all he knew he’d be allowed to do; help. So he did.

Tyson said it, when Homecoming came, when they played in front of everyone and she was there with her new boyfriend, at the end of the night Tyson turned to him and he said, “Thanks, Nicky. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

They were alone in the band room and Nick’s mind flashed up images of the day he’d got kicked out of Band, because anything was less bizarre than the tone of Tyson’s voice. It sounded a little like a goodbye and a lot like a door closing. “Hey,” he said, throat thick with a dread he couldn’t quite shift, “no problem. What friends are for, right?”

Tyson nodded. Tyson hugged him. Tyson didn’t touch him again for a week after that; he stopped getting quite so drunk, started talking about hot girls on TV again, and Nick felt cold. Physically cold, like he couldn’t stop shivering, like Tyson was his own personal heater and someone had flipped the switch to ‘off’.

They had a job to do, though, songs to write, a fucking record deal, a fucking label to please, an album to get ready, and Tyson suggested his grandparents’ cabin for a week. They could write songs, take some booze, have their own little party in the middle of nowhere. It sounded like total bliss.

Nick was dreading it.

When Tyson came to pick him up, he pulled him into the kind of hug that squeezes and grasps and it’s okay not to let go for a while. Tyson didn’t let go, and Nick melted. He tried not to, tried really fucking hard, but Tyson hugged every piece of fondness he felt for Nick into him and it was amazing. Nick stopped shivering for the first time in weeks, was warm again, and then Tyson stepped away but the warmth stayed.

By the time they got to the cabin, Nick had prepared himself as best he could. He had rules (remember: whatever you do, no matter how incredibly hot Tyson is, do not make a move) and deflection techniques (always keep your body tucked in a way that he cannot feel the boner, even if you’re cuddling fit to get into each other’s skin) and he felt good about this. He was going to survive this. He could spend a week alone in the middle of nowhere with the guy he’d been nuts about for five years, the guy his last ever wet dream had been about, the guy who was the reason he’d snuck to the bathroom at lunch break sometimes to jerk off – yeah, this could totally work. As long as they worked hard, got really fucking wasted and Nick kept his pants on, everything would be fine. He already knew Tyson looked stupidly adorable first thing in the morning, with his hair a total mess and his cheek creased from the pillow and his eyes bloodshot and his movements stiff and oh fuck, seriously, Nick was so totally fucking screwed. Screwed six ways to Sunday and eight to the rest of the week.

The first three days, they did a lot more partying than actual writing. They made up drinking games to do with the forest and watched terrible horror movies about cabins in woods, Tyson laughing when Nick got spooked at three in the morning by shadows and night birds. “I’ll protect you from the evil harmless branch scratching at the window,” he said, voice a caricature of bravery, yanking Nick into his lap.

Startled, Nick almost fell out of it. “Fucker. If we’re horribly axe-murdered in our sleep, I totally get an I told you so.”

Tyson laughed again. His grip didn’t loosen. “You’re a damsel in distress, Nicky. I’ll save you.”

“What are you, the hero?” Nick’s heart pounded against his larynx. He looped his arms over Tyson’s neck, hoping it wasn’t going too far. Tyson didn’t seem to mind.

“Duh,” he rolled his eyes. “I’m heroic and brave and true. You’re a damsel. It’s my job to rescue you.”

Do I get a kiss? Nick thought, thrill flaring somewhere under his ribcage. “Whatever,” he snorted. “You’re a knight in shining armour.”

“Am too,” Tyson protested.

“You don’t have anything shiny, let alone a suit of armour, dumbass.” Nick flicked him on the ear for good measure.

“Hey. I’ll have you know I have skills. Ninja skills from the government.”

Nick laughed. “How’d you get those?”

“I’d tell you,” Tyson said, face lines of seriousness, “but I’d have to kill you.”

They started actually writing the next day. Nick woke up to the smell of scrambled eggs and toast and the sound of Tyson humming. He stumbled into the kitchen and knocked back a glass of water. “Hey,” he said, voice shot through with sleep still.

Tyson was sitting on the ratty old couch, guitar on his lap, legal pad perched on the curve of it. He was practically vibrating, music running through him like a tuning fork. “Woke up with a tune in my head, think this could really be something.”

Nick grabbed the instant coffee jar from the cupboard. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, what do you think of –” He played some notes on the guitar. Nick listened, head to one side, as he filled the kettle.

“It’s good, I like it. Yeah, you’ve got something there.”

“Want to help me out with it?” Tyson looked up, over. “Kind of need two for this.”

Nick’s heart flipped. He thought absently about making pancakes. “Sure, just let me wake up first, okay?”

Tyson nodded, pencil tapping against the paper. He hummed something to himself and then stopped. Nick watched as Tyson’s entire body went still for three seconds, and then he seemed to reach some sort of internal conclusion, or perhaps the next part had come to him; he leaned over the pad and started scribbling.

Nick made himself some toast and coffee and sat next to Tyson, who was still writing. He picked up the first sheet of paper; there was a line of scribbled notes, a part of the page drawn like a stave, and a cluster of letters, then lines and lines of words underneath them.

“They need work,” Tyson said as Nick read through the lyrics. He looked up as Tyson handed him another few pages. “I haven’t got them right yet.”

“These are – these are good.” Nick had music in his head. He picked up the other guitar and tuned it up, staring absently at the pages as Tyson scribbled more beside him. Nick began picking out the tune on his guitar. He had a few ideas, hanging like mist at the back of the chords, so he tried them out.

Tyson was staring at him when he looked up. “Yeah,” he breathed, though Nick hadn’t even opened his mouth to ask what Tyson thought. “Yeah,” he repeated, “that’s – yeah.”

Nick looked back down at the pages, pleased. “Um, and I thought maybe –” He played a few notes of the chorus, but changed the chord slightly so the progression was a little different, and added one or two extra flourishes to the sound. Tyson sat up straighter.

“Dude,” he nodded, picking out the same notes on his own guitar, “dude, yes.”

Nick smiled down at his guitar, playing with the notes, shaping the song, and Tyson started to sing under his breath. The cabin filled with sound, their sound, the song they were writing, and Nick knew it then, like getting hit in the chest with a phantom truck again and just knowing: he loved Tyson. No matter what happened, no matter how far this went, he wanted it. He wanted everything, the late nights laughing themselves breathless, the song-writing sessions that could go on for days, the shows in the shitty clubs with shitty sound equipment where half the people there probably want to punch you in the face – he wanted tours cramped together in some shitty van Tyson’s dad said he’d sell them, he wanted to write albums and albums with Ty, guitar notes falling like raindrops, he wanted the ever-present fear that he’d do something to fuck it all up and clue Tyson in on how he felt. He wanted to be there when Tyson was sucking face with some model, when Tyson was a rock star banging the hot groupies, when Tyson got his heart broken and needed someone to distract him or just to drink with him. He wanted to be there for all of it, for everything, and he knew that he’d only ever be a spectator but he’d always be there. The alternative – a life not at Tyson’s side – was unthinkable.

They got the song half-done that day, sections of it almost finished, a lot of it needing work, and they only stopped because Nick’s stomach growled louder than the guitar strings so they made some popcorn and something beefy Tyson’s mom had given him for the microwave, because Tyson was in a beef mood, and they talked about the song as they waited for it to cook.

The sun was thinking about setting when the microwave pinged, and Tyson opened a couple of beer bottles and suggested they head out to the porch. So they ate dinner and drank beer and watched the sun set and they didn’t talk about the song at all, just about random shit that didn’t really matter. Nick built a titanium-shelled bubble for the memory, cupping it slowly and carefully before laying it in there and sealing it away under the label ‘the perfect evening’.

“You ever think about the stars?” Tyson asked at one in the morning, when they’d gone back inside because it was freezing. He slung one huge blanket over both their shoulders and got practically into Nick’s lap.

“The stars?” Nick repeated, shifting a little so his boner didn’t hit Tyson in the leg. (Ty had been doing these weird stretches for half an hour, making tiny sounds, and it was very distracting.)

“Yeah, you know, like – all these giant balls of gas, huge explosions in the middle of nothingness, so far away the distance is measured in years it takes light to get here – fuck, you know, light – and all we see is this tiny little thing in the sky, smaller than a firefly.” Tyson craned his neck and tried to see out of the window.

Nick eyed him. “Is there pot in this beer? Are you high?”

“Pfft.” Tyson leaned back into Nick’s body space and punched him a little on the shoulder. “I don’t have to be high to get existential.”

“Yeah you do, you’ve been like this drunk once before.” Nick tried to keep the corners of his mouth from twitching too much.

“I’m not high, dude.” Tyson shrugged. “Just thinkin’.”

“Okay.”

Tyson didn’t say anything else for a minute, he just smiled and curled up. He was fitted mostly into Nick’s lap, so Nick automatically put his arms around Tyson’s body to hold him steady; Tyson wriggled closer, more comfortable, rubbing his head for a second affectionately against Nick’s clavicle.

“What, you being a cat now?” Nick snorted, but he tightened his grip a little. Tyson settled, closer than he’d ever been, arms looped around Nick’s waist.

“Comfy,” he mumbled, head finding a space on Nick’s shoulder, so that his breath tickled against Nick’s neck. His heart thumped wildly as Tyson nestled closer to the pulse point, and when Tyson moistened his lips to speak again, the tip of his tongue flicked very slightly against Nick’s skin. Nick closed his eyes. “Nicky,” Tyson murmured. “Nicky Nicky Nicky. Nobody pays attention to me like you do.”

“Sure they do,” Nick murmured back, sounding a little hoarse. He swallowed. The tone of Ty’s voice was languid, sleepy, but definitely creeping towards a danger zone.

“No,” Tyson murmured, even more sleepy, “I mean, you. You notice shit. Remember stuff. Favourite – favourite, I don’t know.” He shifted even closer, if that were possible. “Favourite everything.”

Nick tried to keep his voice even. He shrugged. “I’m your best friend, Ty, that’s what they do. Remember shit.”

“Mmm,” Tyson exhaled. “You got wood.” He giggled.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit, Nick hadn’t realised how far Tyson was sliding into his lap. “Oh,” he whispered, trying to get more sound into it but failing, trying to shift but unable to move.

Tyson reached to pat his elbow. “It’s okay. So’ve I.”

Nick tried not to make a noise, and luckily all that escaped was a very small fraction of a sound. He covered it by clearing his throat. “Want some more beer?” he asked, slightly desperate.

Tyson shook his head as best he could, tucked so far into Nick’s body. “Gonna sleep,” he mumbled, barely forming the words. “You,” he breathed out, “sleep,” and he trailed off.

“Ty?” Nick jogged him a little, but Tyson just snuffled and clung on. “Ty? You really asleep, or are you faking?” No answer, only clinging, and oh, fuck, wow, Tyson really did have wood too. Fuck. “Ty?” Nick tried again, quieter.

Tyson made one of those soft sounds that he only made when he was really asleep, not pretending, and Nick thought about getting up somehow, disentangling them so he could go … somewhere he wouldn’t be sharing body heat with a Tyson sporting a boner, because seriously now, that was just not fair in the slightest. He tried to move, but Tyson made soft sleep-distressed sounds and shit, they sounded a lot like whimpers. So Nick stayed put, pinned to the floor on the blankets they’d laid out, holding Tyson steady and contained, Tyson still clinging on though his grip had slackened, and Nick just stroked fingertips down Tyson’s back and watched him sleep.

At some point in the night they must have moved, rearranged themselves, because Nick woke the next morning lying stretched out on the blankets. He didn’t open his eyes at first, just letting the memories of the night flow back in, and realised that Tyson was lying next to him, almost as close as before.

Closer, maybe, because he was moving very gently against him and it felt like – it felt like –

Nick woke up, fast. He didn’t open his eyes, was careful to keep his breathing as even and deep as he could, because Tyson was hard and Tyson was rocking against him and the minute Tyson woke up he had to think that Nick was asleep because otherwise they would have the most awkward moment ever and Tyson would probably never touch him in any way again. So Nick just lay there, concentrating on breathing as though he were still fast asleep, while Tyson moved against his thigh and Nick got slowly harder and harder. He hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable when Tyson woke up, but it could easily be explained away; morning wood, like Ty’s was, he had to be dreaming about some girl, thought Nick was some girl – Nick wondered for a second if he dared risk maybe kissing him, just a little, but concluded it would be pretty fucked up. Instead, he made a tiny sleep-sound he’d once heard himself make on a tape Tyson had recorded when bored in the middle of the night.

Tyson just rocked a little harder against him and … he whimpered. Nick made the sound again, because he always did it in threes if the tape was anything to go by, and Tyson whimpered, definitely that time; Nick made the sound the third time, and Tyson rocked harder against his thigh and moaned, so quietly it was almost inaudible, “Nick, fuck.”

Nick’s heart skipped a beat and it took him a second to remember to inhale. He hoped he hadn’t made any indication of being awake, but Tyson was still whimpering and definitely rocking against him now and maybe, just maybe, Tyson wasn’t asleep. Maybe he wasn’t dreaming.

Maybe he didn’t think Nick was a girl.

“Please,” Tyson breathed, and fuck, fuck fuck fuck a single word should not be that hot, but Tyson practically panted it at him, “don’t wake up, Nicky. Fuck.”

He definitely didn’t think Nick was a girl.

There was movement, and Nick felt Tyson roll further over him, so their bodies overlapped. Tyson rocked against Nick’s hip, and it felt so fucking good; and when Tyson’s hip came into contact with Nick’s boner, Tyson sucked his breath in and then moaned.

He went still for a second. Nick realised that Tyson was probably afraid he’d just woken him up, so he made the tiny sleep sound again, reassuringly. Maybe he should open his eyes, maybe let Tyson know he was awake, but what if that made Tyson stop? Nick really really did not want Tyson to stop, so he breathed evenly and made the sleep sound two more times. Each time, Tyson rocked a little bit harder, a little bit faster, burying his nose in Nick’s clavicle and drinking in a breath.

“Please,” Tyson repeated, panting, and it was all Nick could do not to arch at the sound, “please don’t – fuck, Nicky.” He rocked against him, hips twitching the movement, and then he rolled away suddenly.

Nick risked cracking his eyelids just to see where Tyson had gone. He had rolled over onto his side, back to Nick, shaking and shuddering. Then he let all his breath out in one go, stretching out from where he’d been curled over on himself, and rolled onto his back.

“Shit,” he muttered, and Nick shut his eyes tight again because fuck fuck fuck he’d just seen Tyson come, come right in his fucking pants, and it had been Nick’s name he said right before.

Nick heard a groan and – too late, too fucking late – realised it was him. Tyson went still. Nick tried to stop himself, tried to play it off as a sleep-groan or something, but when he opened his mouth again what came out was a small, moaned, “Ty.”

Tyson’s breathing went shallow. “Nick?” he whispered, just on the edge of hearing.

“Ty, fuck,” Nick exhaled, almost as quiet.

There was a slight rustle and Nick felt Tyson roll closer. “Nicky?” he whispered, only a fraction louder, and a few seconds later Nick felt something touch his stomach.

His eyes flew open. Tyson retracted his hand like he’d been burned, but Nick groaned, “Don’t stop.”

Tyson hovered his hand over Nick’s stomach, splaying the palm, less than an inch above the skin. “You want me to?” he whispered.

Nick’s heart thumped. He didn’t want to be buried in the woods, but Tyson had just fucking come after moaning Nick’s fucking name, so maybe Tyson wouldn’t actually kill him. At this point, he wasn’t sure he’d say no even if Tyson had a gun within arm’s reach; Tyson was looking down at him, so soft, hopeful, hesitant, with his hand so close, and Nick arched up to meet it and panted, “Yes, please.”

“Fuck.” Tyson brushed his hand against Nick’s skin, moving the shirt aside, skating his fingertips over it. “Fuck,” he breathed, and Nick bit his lip and arched and really, it shouldn’t feel this good, Tyson just touching him; Tyson had touched him a lot before, but never like this, and Nick tingled all over, squirmed, and groaned.

“Shit, Ty, please. Please.”

Tyson moaned, carefully undid Nick’s pants and slid his hand inside. Nick arched up off the floor, and the second Tyson’s hand touched his cock, had barely time to wrap around it, Nick came.

“Fuck,” he growled, hands grasping at the blankets, “fuck, Ty.”

Tyson fastened his mouth onto Nick’s clavicle and bit gently. He smoothed the skin with the flat of his tongue, moaned, “Fuck,” and then rolled on top of Nick and kissed him.

It wasn’t like any kind of kiss Nick had had before. It wasn’t like any kiss he’d seen Tyson have before, either. It was desperate, breathless, tripping over each other’s mouths and tongues in a push-and-pull struggle, grasping at each other with their hands and their lips and everything else. Their legs tangled at the thigh and Nick let out a hoarse groan.

“Fuck,” Tyson panted, shaking against him, getting hard again, “fuck, please, will you – fuck, Nick, fuck.”

Nick moaned, rolled them over, and got Tyson’s pants undone. He pulled Tyson’s shirt off – smoothed his hands over the expanse of chest and fuck, he was going to come back to that and pay attention to it – and shoved Tyson’s pants and underwear down past his knees. Tyson grabbed his discarded shirt and cleaned up the come that was drying on his skin, blushing slightly, but Nick was too busy staring at Tyson’s cock to notice much else. “Can I …” He tentatively reached for it, brushing his fingertips over Tyson’s navel.

Tyson hissed his breath between his teeth. “Fuck yeah,” he whispered, and Nick brushed his fingertips up and down the shaft of Tyson’s cock, watching it harden. His mouth watered.

Nick put his mouth back to Tyson’s, kissing him slower, surer. “Ty,” he breathed, “if I do anything you don’t want me to –”

Tyson grabbed the back of his head and kissed him deep. “What you’re doing right now?” he murmured, angling his hips up against Nick’s hand. “That’s pretty fucking good. That, I want that.”

“What about,” Nick kissed him, tasting, savouring this, “what about now?” He slid down Tyson’s body and pressed a line of kisses down his chest, over his hips. Tyson arched.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. “Please, Nicky, please.”

Nick breathed against Tyson’s cock, licking his lips. “You want me to?” He looked up at Ty, who was looking back as though half convinced he was dreaming.

“Oh fuck I do,” Tyson nodded, urgent. Then he reached one hand and ran a fingertip through Nick’s hair. His voice was soft when he said, “I really do.”

Nick pressed a kiss to the shaft. Tyson twitched, but settled his palm in Nick’s hair as Nick got into a comfortable position between Tyson’s thighs, half propped up on one arm. “I don’t really,” Nick breathed, flicking his eyes up to lock with Tyson’s, “know what I’m doing, so – if there’s anything you want me to do, just say.”

Tyson bit his lip. “Just fucking blow me, okay, Nicky?”

Nick let out a small sound. “Been wanting you to say that for fucking ever,” he muttered, and finally, finally, he sank his mouth onto Tyson’s cock.

Tyson threw his head back and groaned. The hand in Nick’s hair flexed and gripped; not tightly, just enough that Nick noticed. Then Tyson let go again and Nick started sucking. It felt … it felt so perfectly right Nick was almost knocked over by it. Just, having Tyson’s cock in his mouth, sucking and lapping and licking at it, twisting his wrist, shifting around to see if he could free the other hand and touch along Tyson’s thigh with it; making him make those noises, whimpers and sighs and moans and snatches of words, and Nick thought that now he’d heard what Tyson sounded like during sex there was no way he wouldn’t fuck him, fuck him so hard and so often, fuck him so much he wouldn’t be able to walk, just to hear those sounds and feel Tyson fall apart underneath him.

He hummed a little, deep in his throat, and Tyson undulated. Nick couldn’t smile with his mouth so full, but he hummed again, rippling a sound of pure pleasure through Tyson’s body, and Tyson’s head went back and he yelled, inarticulate; Nick’s mouth filled as Tyson came. He pulled off, keeping as much as he could in his mouth, and hunted around for a tissue. In the end, he spat out into Tyson’s discarded shirt, figuring it had already been used to clean up once that morning.

“Holy shit,” Tyson said as Nick settled back against him, pulling him close and trailing one hand up and down Tyson’s arm. “Hey,” he added, after a minute, “why are you still wearing clothes?”

Nick felt his cheeks get a little hot, but he grinned. “Waiting for you to take them off?”

“The wait is over!” Tyson announced, and yanked Nick’s shirt off; Nick was laughing as he tossed it away.

They finally returned to working on the song much, much later, and when they’d polished up the verses a little Tyson leaned over and kissed the corner of Nick’s mouth. Nick smiled and said, “What was that for?”

“You looked so cute, I just had to.” Tyson ducked his head a little, which was so fucking adorable Nick could just – then he remembered that he could, so he leaned in and kissed Tyson properly, a slow, languid kiss.

“I know what you mean,” he breathed, and Tyson smiled against his mouth and pulled him closer.

What Did You Bring Me (From the Gallows Pole)

2008-03-14T14:01:16Z

What Did You Bring Me (From the Gallows Pole)
{Supernatural FPS. gen. PG-13 for violence. 100% disclaimed. Beta by James. For frayen.}

Sam was pretty much resigned to follow Dean wherever his dick lead them, by now. He was working on saving him – fuck Dean and his fucking don’t you save me Sam goddamn crusade – but in the meantime Dean seemed determined to hook up with as many hot chicks as the universe would throw at him, and some he hadn’t talked to in years. Which was why they were in Nowhere, Iowa when some girl ran into the diner Sam where was waiting for Dean and had a very tense conversation with the waitress, ending in the girl who’d run in yelling “He’s dead, Sal, okay? Dad’s dead. And I don’t care what you say, it killed him and I will not sleep in that house any more. I’ll be at Lee’s. You should get out, too.”

She ran out again. Sam figured, hey, while they were here, looks like he’d found a job.

The waitress – Sally, her name badge said – came over to his booth. “Are you ready to order?” she asked, sounding distracted.

“Yeah, uh – are you okay?” Sam looked in the direction the girl had gone in. “That kinda looked a little … intense. Family trouble?”

She shook her head, tucking her hair behind her ear nervously. “Just my sister. She’s kind of crazy, I guess, we’ve all been through a lot. Um, now what can I get you?”

Sam ordered absently, thinking fast. “And hey –” he said as she turned away. “Sorry about your dad.”

She gave him a small, tight smile. “Thanks.”

It took him twelve minutes with the laptop, but he found the article, and a few minutes later Dean finally showed up. He stole four mouthfuls of Sam’s coffee and bit into the donut Sam had automatically ordered for him. “Wow, this trip was worth it,” Dean grinned around the pastry, flecks of sugar clinging to his chin.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, sidestepping the suggestive tone with a roll of his eyes. “Looks like there’s a job for us here.” He angled the laptop screen so Dean could see. “This guy, Ted Wilde, forty-nine years old, bank clerk, wife and two kids, perfectly normal guy. Dies last week when, get this –” He read off the screen, “His power saw, drill and a hammer fell on him.” The incredulity in his voice was palpable. “It was ruled as an accident, a warning not to store power tools on high shelves, especially if they’re plugged in.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “So? You thinking, what, maybe it wasn’t a freak accident?”

“The neighbours kept hearing things recently, banging and crashing coming from the house, there were a couple 911 calls. Everything had been quiet until about two months ago.”

“Huh. Could be nothing, maybe there was just some kind of dispute, suddenly he and his wife were fighting. His death could have been an accident, heat of the argument, she gets him with the work tools.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“What makes you say that?” Dean finished his donut and grabbed one of Sam’s. Sam ignored it. He inclined his head at Sally.

“That’s his daughter. His other daughter came running in here, I saw them argue. Little sister yells ‘It killed him’. She’s refusing to sleep in the house. She was terrified, Dean.”

Dean sat back. “You thinking poltergeist?”

“Maybe. Or a demon possession.”

“Well, at least it wouldn’t be one of the ones we let out, not if it’s been there a couple months.”

“Right,” Sam nodded. “Why don’t I check through the records, see if anybody died in or around that house, in case it’s a vengeful spirit.”

“I could do that.”

Sam stared at him for a moment. “You? You’re offering to do research.”

Dean shrugged, cavalier. “Yeah. My turn, right?”

“Who are you and where’s my brother?”

“Shut up.” Dean rolled his eyes and sat back in the booth, dropping the last of Sam’s donuts into his mouth.

“Wait.” Sam stopped, and he had to shake his head. It was just. “That girl you came here to see? Doesn’t she work at the library?”

“Maybe.” Dean was trying to suppress his grin. It didn’t really work. “Oh come on, Sammy! I’m offering to do the research here, dig through the records. You should check out the house, see if there’s any sulphuric residue.”

“While you, what? Research?”

“Something like that.” He’d given up on trying to suppress the grin. Sam repressed the urge to thunk his head on the table.

“Fine. Call me if you find anything.”

“Yeah, you too.” Dean took one more gulp of Sam’s coffee and sauntered out of the diner. Sam just shook his head, trying to clear the exasperation.

It took a flash of insurance company ID and some talking, but Sam got Mrs Wilde to let him in. She showed him where it had happened – Mr Wilde’s work station in the basement, all cleaned up now and filled mostly with boxes; “I just, I couldn’t have those things in the house after –”

“It’s okay,” he said as she turned away. She was coiled, clearly horrified to even be down in the basement. “I can take it from here, you don’t have to stay.”

“Thank you.” Visibly relieved, she headed up the stairs as fast as was polite.

Sam dug around, looked on the windowsills (there were two windows, high up near the ceiling so he’d had to pull a chair over to stand on it) and scraped at the walls, but there was no sulphur. The EMF meter, however, went berserk the second he turned it on. “So you are a spirit,” he muttered.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, making him jump. He pulled it out; Dean’s number. “Hey,” he said when he’d opened it, “what you got?”

“No deaths that I can find in the records, but there was one disappearance. A fourteen-year-old boy, twenty years ago, went missing. Lived in that house with his aunt, she moved to Ohio not long after. Kid was never found.”

“Well, it’s definitely a spirit we’re looking at. No sulphur, EMF’s going insane. I’ll check as much of the house as I can, I’m in the basement now.”

“Alright. Why don’t I see if I can get a hold of this aunt, meet you back at the motel?”

Sam knew he really meant why don’t I bang this chick some more, call the aunt and meet you back at the motel, but he let it slide. “Sure. I’ll see you there.”

He checked the rest of the house, telling Mrs Wilde “We’re very thorough.” The EMF meter went nuts pretty much everywhere, but especially in the guest bathroom and the master bedroom. He returned to the kitchen and said, “Well, that about wraps it up.”

Mrs Wilde nodded. “Um, would you like some coffee, Mr Johnson?”

She looked like she wanted to talk. Sam smiled warmly. “Thank you, that would be great.”

As she poured him a mug, she started, “I’m sorry, my manners are probably all over the place. I don’t know what to do, without – my husband, he – I’m sorry.”

“Hey. It’s okay. You’ve been through a lot.”

She tugged a ragged tissue from her sleeve, on the verge of tears. “Sorry. I guess – I guess you see a lot of grieving widows, in your line of work.”

Well. Yeah. “I do, and it’s okay. For what it’s worth – your manners are impeccable.” He gave her a smile, and she wiped at her eyes with the tissue.

“Thanks. It’s just – we’ve all been so stressed lately, with everything, and – now my daughter, Lily, my youngest, she won’t even come home. She just.” Mrs Wilde sighed, still wiping at her eyes.

“It’s bound to be hard, for all of you. A death in the family is pretty stressful, I’m sure Lily will come home soon.”

“No, it’s not that – she.” Mrs Wilde paused. “Can I tell you something off the record? I don’t want this to – I mean, this shouldn’t affect the claim, right?”

“What is it?” Sam moved a little closer.

“It’s nothing. It’s crazy, is what it is. But – Lily’s always been. Um, obsessed, I guess, with strange things.” Mrs Wilde looked uncomfortable as she mouthed ‘the occult’. “When she was little she was always seeing things. Fairies, monsters, ghosts, things like that. I thought she’d outgrown it by now, she’s sixteen, but I guess she hasn’t.”

“What makes you say that?”

“We moved here last year. Right from the start she said the house was haunted. It was all okay, until about two months ago. Then things … I’m sorry, you must think I sound like a crazy person.” She was slowly curling in on herself, one hand worrying at the top button on her sweater. Sam shook his head.

“Please, go on. It’s alright.”

“Well.” Mrs Wilde looked over at the door; the hall beyond it led to the basement. “My husband – Ted – he wanted a new work station, said he felt like having a hobby. He liked building things.” She looked back at Sam, a small fond smile and a soft look in her eyes. She really loved him, Sam thought. This never gets easier. “He … we weren’t using the basement, not really, so Ted knocked the wall through to make this big space he could work in. Lily … Lily wasn’t happy. She told him to leave the basement alone, that someone called Oliver didn’t want him to, but it was just one of her little daydreams. We don’t know an Oliver.”

“Was that about the time things started happening?” Sam asked, as gently as he could.

She nodded. “I guess when Ted knocked the wall through, it did something to the electrics. That’s all it was, some kind of wiring fault.”

“The neighbours heard bangs,” Sam reminded her, wording careful. “Was everything okay?”

“Yeah, it – Lily had nightmares, I think, she’d thrash around. We just let her be.”

“Mrs Wilde, may I speak with your daughter?”

“She’s not home, it – why would you need to talk to Lily?”

“Just to check it out. It shouldn’t affect the claim,” he added as she opened her mouth to speak, “but I just want to make sure. Only if it’s alright with you.”

“She’s not home. I guess, though, I – if you need to, I can give you her friend’s address.”

“Like I said. We’re very thorough.”

Lily was in her friend’s back garden when Sam was taken through to see her. “Thanks,” she said to her friend’s mom, “I’ll probably need to talk to him alone.”

“We’ll be inside.” She nodded at Sam and left them on the porch.

“Miss Wilde, I’m from your dad’s insurance –”

“I know who you are.” She was sitting on a swinging loveseat, dangling her legs back and forth. “You’re here about Oliver.”

Sam leaned against the porch frame. “Who’s Oliver?”

“He shouldn’t have made it mad. I told him, I said not to change the basement, but Dad never listened.” She curled up, pulling her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around her legs. “He was okay until then.”

“Lily, who’s Oliver?”

Lily looked up at him, frightened. “He’s the boy who tried to stop it killing my daddy.”

“Your dad died in an … accident, right?” Sam asked, carefully.

Lily shook her head. “It wasn’t an accident. He made it mad, and he wouldn’t listen, and Oliver left and something bad was there instead.”

Sam opened his mouth to ask another question, but his phone buzzed in his pocket.

“You’ll want to get that. It’s Dean.” Lily pulled her legs in closer, holding them tighter.

Sam closed his mouth and opened it again. “How did you –”

She gestured to the phone. “Go on, he hasn’t got long. She gets off in ten minutes and he isn’t there yet.”

Sam tugged his phone out of his pocket and answered. “Hey. What’s the news?”

“I got a hold of the aunt. Kid’s name was Oliver Cramen, she was his dad’s sister. Seems pretty certain he’s dead, and there is definitely something she is not telling me.”

“What do you think it could be?” Sam kept his eyes on Lily, who was tracing patterns on her knees with a fingertip, humming a Motorhead song.

“Don’t know. But I should probably make a personal appearance and use my persuasive powers, don’t you think?”

“You’re going to Ohio?”

“Yeah, if I shag ass I should make it by morning. Don’t worry, I won’t be gone long. You should stay there, keep an eye on the place. If it’s this Oliver kid doing the haunting, he’s probably pretty messed up. Didn’t you say that guy had kids?”

“Yeah.” Sam was still watching Lily. She gave him a smile and hummed a few bars of Led Zeppelin to herself.

“You should make sure they’re safe. I gotta say goodbye to the lady, she gets off in like ten minutes, then I’m gone. I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Alright.”

Lily was watching him when he hung up. “Told you.”

“Lily, how did you know who it was? How did you know his name?”

She shrugged. “Mom says it’s daydreams. Dad always said it was silly nonsense and I’d grow out of it. My sister just thinks I do it for attention.” She rested her chin on her knees. “I don’t.”

“What? What is it?”

“I know stuff,” she said, looking up at him again. “Sometimes. Not always. I’ll meet someone and I’ll know their name and some stuff about them. I have to pretend I don’t, get them to say what their name is, make it look like it’s a surprise when they tell me things. But I already knew.” She smiled. “He’s not gonna die, Sam.”

She’d said it, that she knew people’s names, but he still got a shiver all down his spine. “What – what do you mean?”

“Your brother. That deal he made? He’s not going to die this year.”

“He’s – he’s not?”

“No. He wants to.” She hummed another song, and Sam recognised it. From Dean’s collection.

“Why do you keep humming that? You like classic rock?”

She snorted. “Hardly. It’s all guys with too much hair saying how they want to party until they die too young with coke all over their faces. No, it’s Dean. He likes that stuff. He wants to party until he burns.”

“How do you –”

“I don’t know how I know. I don’t even know how he gets out of it, so don’t ask, I just know that he will. Somehow. He’ll live.”

Sam tried to process that. “He will?”

She nodded. “You want to know about Oliver,” she added after a minute. “I hate doing this, being all I know what you’re about to say!, but you weren’t asking.”

“Sorry. Yeah. Uh, tell me about Oliver.”

“He went away. He’s – he’s scared. He said not to move things around in the basement, that it would be mad. That he can’t stay if it wakes up, and it always wakes up mad.”

“What’s ‘it’?”

She looked at him, and suddenly she was a small, frightened girl. “It kills you. It finds you and it kills you.”

“What does?” he asked, gentle. She shook her head.

“It. I don’t know what it is, Oliver wouldn’t say – all I know is, it’s bad and I can’t stay there with it. It killed my dad. It’d kill me, if –”

“If what?”

This time, she looked less frightened. “If you hadn’t come. It would have killed me, and Mom and Sally, but you came. You and your brother. You won’t let it hurt us.”

“That’s right,” Sam said, jaw set. “We won’t.”

~*~

He spent the night in the motel, searching for every scrap of information he could find on Oliver Cramen and his family. Mother died when he was five, father disappeared soon after, grew up with his aunt in the Wildes’ house. Disappeared aged fourteen, nothing since.

The infomercials at four am sent him to sleep, and he woke up when his phone rang in his ear. “H’lo?”

“D’I wake you?” Dean asked, sounding amused. “It’s ten forty five, jackass, what’re you doing still asleep?”

“Guess I sleep better without your wheezing. You found anything?”

“Yeah. I just talked to the aunt. Turns out her brother, Oliver’s father? There was definitely something going on there, but she won’t tell me what. She looked real shifty though, when she talked about him.”

“Shifty, shifty how?”

“Like she was scared or something. Why? You find anything?”

“Yeah, uh – Oliver’s mom died when he was six, his dad disappeared that year too. No word or sign of him.”

“Well, that’s interesting. Because Oliver’s dad was definitely still in the picture when he was ten, at least, if not older.”

“Huh.” Sam wished he had coffee. “So, what, he … disappeared but showed up again or something?”

“No, I mean he was living with them and always had been. Way she talked about it, he didn’t have a whole lot to do with bringing Oliver up, just sort of was around.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yeah. Maybe you should talk to the neighbours, see if any of them were around at the time, see if they know anything. I’ll try the aunt again later, there is definitely something going on there.”

“Meanwhile, it’s not Oliver who killed Mr Wilde.”

“Wait. It’s not?”

“Not according to Lily Wilde. She’s his youngest daughter, the one who said it killed him? She’s some kind of psychic, knew who I was. Knew it was you calling me yesterday. She says Oliver tried to stop it, and she doesn’t know what it is but it’s bad.”

“Huh. You pick up anything but ghost vibes from the house?”

“Nothing, so whatever it is, it’s probably another ghost. Sounds like Oliver’s just a benign spirit, trapped there for some reason, but this other thing is a poltergeist. Vengeful.”

“Well, that can’t be good. If we don’t know whose spirit it is –”

“– No bones to torch,” Sam finished. “Yeah, I know.”

Dean paused. “If his dad disappeared but he was still around, maybe he wasn’t as around as, say, an alive person.”

“You think his dad could be the poltergeist?”

“Could be. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Yeah, and I’ll make sure the rest of the family are okay. Whoever this spirit is, I don’t think it’s going to stop at just Mr Wilde.”

“Sam?” Sam couldn’t see Dean’s face, but he knew it would have that my spidey sense is tingling look on it. “What is it?”

He let the air out of his cheeks. “Lily. She said we’d save them.”

“Hey, smart girl. She hot too?”

Sam snorted. “Dean, she’s sixteen.”

“Oh. Well go on then, go be the knight in shining armour. Save the kids.”

“You’re a jerk.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll call you later.”

Coffee, he decided. Now would be a really great time for coffee.

Lily was home when he went to the house. “Hey, I thought you didn’t want to be here.”

“I don’t.” She looked uncomfortable, wrapping her arms around herself. “You need me to be here though, Mom’d ask questions. Besides, she’s at work.”

“Can I come in?” Lily nodded and stood aside, and Sam looked around. “Thanks. Listen, I’m gonna need your help, okay? Is Oliver here?”

She shook her head. “He’s scared. He’s hiding where it can’t find him.”

“Does he know what it is?”

She nodded.

“Lily, do you know what it is?”

“Not exactly. I just know that it’s angry. It was angry with Dad for changing the basement. And it’s angry with you, because you’re looking for it.”

“What about you and your mom and your sister? Is it angry with you?”

“Not yet.” Suddenly, she looked behind Sam, over his shoulder, and her eyes widened. “Duck.”

He dropped to the floor and heard a whizzing sound above him. As he looked, a kitchen knife embedded itself in the opposite wall.

Lily backed away. “It’s here.”

“Lily, get out of here,” Sam yelled, jumping up and reaching into his bag for the shotgun. He whirled around and saw three more knives hovering at head-height; he fired two rounds of rock salt at them and they dropped to the floor. A wisp of air was framed for a second in salt, and then it was gone.

Sam loaded the gun with another two rounds, but before he could snap it closed again he felt something shove him against the wall. His back hit it with force, and he felt three bruises blossom. He cocked the gun and got ready to fire, but the door to the basement banged open and he felt himself being dragged; the sensation lasted a few seconds, he shot blindly with the salt, saw something move quickly on the edge of his vision, and then blacked out.

He came to slowly. The basement walls softly came into focus, along with a splitting headache. He tried to move his arms, but they wouldn’t budge.

He looked down. He was tied to a chair, the one he’d stood on the day before to get to the windows (no chance of getting to them now, and besides, they were only slits, maybe just big enough for a cat to get through, not much more than ventilation) and as he tilted his head he felt something on his brow. It dripped onto his cheek and ran into the corner of his mouth, where he flicked his tongue out to taste it.

Blood. His blood. He must have hit his head pretty hard.

“You’re awake,” said a voice.

There was no one in the room. Sam looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the spirit, but it was incorporeal. “Who are you?”

The sound of disembodied tutting was really fucking eerie. “Now now, don’t be so cheeky. You come in here,” quiet menace, and it was moving, always moving dammit, “you poke around, into my business, move my things – you shouldn’t move my things, boy. I don’t like it when people move my things.”

“What – what things did I move?”

“My chair, boy, you moved my chair. I was sitting on that, I need it to – for purposes. Purposes. Always gotta move my things, never ask permission, always just take take take take take, never give, oh no, he won’t mind, it’s not like he needs things, oh no, he won’t mind. Just take.” The voice had trailed off into mutterings.

“I’m sorry,” Sam tried, slowly and carefully. “I didn’t mean to move your chair, I didn’t know.”

Out of nowhere, it seemed, a hammer came whizzing through the air and hit Sam, hard, on the arm. “But you should have,” the voice screamed. “What,” it continued, the hammer coming around to hit Sam’s side, “do I have to put labels on things? I’ll do it, I’ll do it,” the hammer hitting Sam’s arm again. His wrist exploded into white-hot jabs of pain. “If that’s what you want, I’ll label things, I’ll label this –” the hammer smashed something on one of the shelves “– I’ll label this –” it broke a box and spilled magazines over the floor “– I’ll label this –” a hole broke out in the wall “– it’s mine, boy, all of this is mine.”

Sam heard a distant sound from upstairs or outside, he couldn’t tell which, but the voice wasn’t finished.

“You,” it yelled, the hammer coming back to thwack against his leg, hard, “shouldn’t,” it hit his other wrist, “touch,” a solid hit to his shoulder and fuck that hurt, “my,” it hit his chest, “things.”

The hammer reached back to take a swing at his head and Sam dived. It whizzed past above him and the voice screamed – but it wasn’t rage. It screamed and it fucking screamed, and then there was silence.

The hammer clattered to the ground.

Someone banged on the basement door. After a couple of solid bangs, it burst open and Lily ran down the stairs. “Sam!” she shouted when she saw him.

“Hey,” he said, voice thick, “get out of here, it –”

“It’s okay, he’s gone. Here –” She reached out and untied him. Sam’s phone was clutched in one hand, open, and once he was untied she put it to her ear and said into it, “He’s hurt. Yeah, it’s gone. Thank you. Look, I really need to get Sam to a hospital, I’ll call you when we know he’s okay. Okay? Thanks, Dean.”

“Dean?” Sam lifted his head with an effort. His entire body was screaming in agony. He was pretty sure he had at least four broken bones.

“I’ll explain later. Come on, we have to go. I can’t – I can’t carry him,” she turned to the empty air to her left.

Sam felt himself being lifted by something warm and cold at the same time. “What –”

“It’s okay. It’s Oliver. Can you carry him upstairs? I’ll call 911.”

The most sensible thing to do in that situation would be to pass out. So he did.

When he woke up, he was in a hospital bed. A smiling doctor told him he had two cracked ribs, a broken wrist, four fractures and a minor head injury. “You’ll be out of action for a little while, but before long you’ll be just fine.”

“Thank you, doctor.” He noticed two people hovering outside the door; as the doctor left, Lily and Dean sidled in.

“Hey. How are you feeling?” Dean asked.

“Like a ghost just kicked my ass. What happened back there, anyways?”

Lily ran out of the house when Sam told her to, but she stayed close. “Oliver,” she called. “Oliver, I know you’re there. I know you’re scared, but you have to do something. Sam’s going to get hurt, come on, we have to help. Don’t let it get him too, please.”

And then Oliver was there, and so was Sam’s phone. It was buzzing.

“Yes.” She picked it up. “Dean.”

There was a pause. “Who’s this?”

“It’s Lily Wilde, your brother told you about me. It’s got him, he told me to get out and I don’t know what to do.”

“Lily, okay, you’re at the house? Do you know where your parents keep the shovels?”

“Yeah, there’s one out back. Why?”

“The spirit, it’s Oliver’s dad. He was crazy, his sister was a psychiatric nurse and she took care of him at home, she never told anyone. He killed Oliver’s mom but she didn’t know, and then he killed Oliver and when she found out, they had a fight, he died. It was an accident, she buried him out in the back yard.”

“Okay.” In the time it had taken for Dean to explain, she had rounded the house and grabbed the shovel. “What do I do?”

“Salted and torched the bones. She’s a natural.” Dean looked at Lily proudly. She grinned.

“It was kind of easy. I mean, the digging wasn’t. But the fire was pretty.”

“And what about Oliver?” Sam asked. “Where was he buried?”

“His aunt never found out. But he’s not – I mean, he’s okay, right?” Dean asked Lily. She nodded.

“Yeah, he’s – he just wants a friend. And I think he was protecting the house, making sure his dad didn’t wake up and go nuts again. Now his dad’s gone, it’s like he can rest.” She smiled. “He still wants to hang out, but maybe he won’t be around much any more. I’ll tell him to go towards any light he sees,” she added, smiling at Sam. He smiled back.

“She’s a good kid,” Dean said, when she’d gone. “Would make one hell of a hunter when she grows up.”

“Yeah.” Sam watched him. “She said something. Before – she said you’re not gonna die.”

“Yeah? She said something to me too.” Dean leaned closer and said, “I’m gonna need to save your sorry ass again soon.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Right.”

“He’ll be okay,” she said, watching Dean’s face as he clenched and unclenched his jaw, Sam beat up and unconscious down the hospital corridor.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one telling you that?” He gave her a rueful smile.

“Maybe. But you need to hear it sometimes, too.” She smiled at him. “Save Sammy. That’s what you do. That’s what you always do. He’ll never ask for it, Dean, but he needs it. He needs you.”

That brought the touch of a cocky grin to Dean’s jaw. “Yeah, that’s my little brother. Always needing me.”

She touched his arm. “He needs you alive, Dean. And you will be. You need to be.”

He shifted, uncomfortable now. “Hey, we all gotta live, right?”

She felt like nobody had really given him a hug in a while, so she did it herself. “Right,” she said, breathing in the scent of leather and blood and grease, strains of AC/DC songs running through her head.

Remember When We Lost the Keys

2008-02-15T20:35:33Z

Remember When We Lost the Keys
{Nick/Tyson // hard R // 100% untrue & disclaimed}

They're parking. They're not even really dating yet (or wait, are they?) but they're in Nick's car in some lane a ways out of town and they were making out until the stick shift got in the way and they climbed into the back.

That was a while ago. Tyson can't tell how many minutes, he lost count, because he's wanted this since his balls dropped, and that was so long ago he feels like a whole different person. They kind of almost made out when Nick came home from college; there was this moment when Nick opened his mouth to say something ("I came back because --") but just stopped, and Tyson felt every inch of the distance in the air between them and for an entire second it seemed to crackle, but he thought he'd imagined it. (That didn't stop him jerking off for weeks thinking about what might have happened if he'd leaned in, though.) And then there had been that night they were drunk and sort of made out, only it was kind of sloppy and weird, and since then they sometimes made out when they got together to drink, but right now they're sober and they're parking and Tyson feels a little like he can't breathe.

"Ty," Nick exhales into his mouth, and he's shifting closer, and this kind of feels a whole lot different to all the other times. They keep it light, it's just always been making out for the sake of making out, but this time Nick's closer, he's licking into Tyson's mouth, he's inching a hand up under Tyson's shirt and splaying his palm over Tyson's waist, and Tyson thinks his pants might catch on fire soon.

He can't help groaning a little when Nick slides his hand up, circles the pad of his thumb over Tyson's nipple, fuck, and Tyson kisses him even harder, one hand bunching in his hair and the other sliding over his thigh. He can feel it through denim, thinks about getting Nick naked, making him pant like this, and suddenly he can see it right behind his eyelids, Nick totally naked and looking at him like he wants to lick him everywhere, biting his lip, and the image is so hot Tyson's cock jumps. He's already pretty hard.

"Ty," Nick repeats, and he moves, half straddling his lap. Tyson whimpers when Nick's thigh presses against his crotch, and Nick tilts his head back, breaking the kiss. "Fuck," he breathes, and then he looks at Tyson and his eyes are almost all pupil. "Fuck, Ty."

It hasn't been like this. They haven't done this. They've become the kind of best friends who make out sometimes, maybe, but there's something in Nick's voice and suddenly Tyson is sure of the one thing he hadn't known; they really are going to be more than that. Boyfriends, he thinks, and he almost says it. "Nick," he says instead, tilts up, kisses just under Nick's jaw. Nick groans and presses closer, and Tyson feels something -- he glances down.

Nick's hard.

"That is so fucking hot," he murmurs, resting his nose on Nick's neck and inhaling. "Smell really good."

"I do?" Nick still has a hand up Tyson's shirt, and circles his nipple again. Tyson hisses. "We talking, or making out?"

"Can I get you off?" He asks it in a rush, fighting not to blush but Nick's cheeks go kind of red and it's impossibly cute. "I mean, not if it'll get weird," he adds even quicker, "I don't want -- I just, I just really want to get you off." He wants so badly to move his hand, press it against Nick, and maybe Nick would hiss or moan or arch his neck, but it would be unfair. He has to give him a way out, because if this gets weird and ruins things Tyson will be so pissed off.

Nick moans and arches his neck anyway. "Okay, yeah, that's. Yeah. Can I suck you off first, though?"

Tyson really can't breathe for a moment. His entire body pauses, heart skipping a beat, lungs frozen in mid-inhale. He might choke. But then he swallows and he's breathing again and he wouldn't have the first clue how to even spell the noises he's making.

"Jesus, Ty." Nick licks his lips and Tyson can't think about those lips around him, Nick's mouth, he practically has a fetish about it already, and Nick wants to suck him off and he drops his head back against the seat. The ceiling doesn't hold the answer to coherence.

Then his vision is obscured and he realises Nick's trying to pull his shirt off, so he helps, and Nick moves his mouth in a line over Tyson's chest. Tyson's breath stutters. "Nnnghhhh," he manages, before Nick's unzipping Tyson's jeans and shuffling them down and Tyson is almost too embarrassed to look at his own cock, and this must be kind of weird for Nick, right?

Maybe it isn't, though, because Nick sort of nuzzles against it, breathing along the shaft, and so Tyson looks down and Nick's eyes flick up to his and Tyson - Tyson thinks he could jerk off for months over just the look in his eyes. Fuck. "You okay?" Nick asks, voice throaty, low. Tyson groans.

"Yeah, I - yeah. 'm okay. You?" His breathing's shallow and his cock jumps when Nick licks his lips again.

"Fuck yeah," Nick breathes, nuzzling his cheek against Tyson's cock again, closing his eyes softly like there's nothing he'd rather be doing, like they're on some comfortable bed all soft and springy, not concertinaed into the back seat of a car. Tyson lets the air out of his cheeks.

"You gonna --" He's about to say something like you gonna need a minute alone with my dick? but Nick cuts him off by sliding his tongue up the underside, and Tyson curls his hands into fists. "Shit," he hisses. He feels Nick smile against his skin, and then circle his tongue against the head, giving a flick. "Fuck," Tyson says, the sound echoing sharp.

Nick licks up the underside again, tracing a line until he reaches the head, circles, flicks. He does this one more time and then, just as Tyson is about to beg, Nick takes the tip into his mouth and sucks.

Tyson's head drops back onto the seat again. Nick wraps one hand around the base of Tyson's cock, working his mouth down onto it slowly, so slowly, his other hand holding Tyson's hip down. Tyson tries really, really hard not to tilt up into Nick's mouth. He knows about gag reflexes, and he sure as fuck does not want this to end in Nick choking and not going down on him again, so he presses his hips into the seat and lets Nick set the pace. It's slower than the one Tyson wants, but Nick keeps pulling off to flick his tongue against the head again, and Tyson kind of really seriously likes that, so he's pretty okay with this speed.

He starts to notice a rhythm, after a while, as much as he can notice anything at all. Coherent, formed thought left him as soon as Nick kissed his chest, and all he can hear in his head is a long yell with no real words in it, just sound. All that's escaping are whimpers and moans he half swallows when Nick's tongue goes flat against him, mouth all around, wet and warm. He can feel Nick's other hand tracing patterns with his fingertips over Tyson's hip, his stomach, and the sensation is heightened because everything else feels foggy around him. He sort of sees it like a painting, that if he opens his eyes and looks down the parts of him Nick isn't touching would be watercolour, blurred, but where Nick's hands and mouth are the colours would be clear, rich; thick oil paint standing in swirls.

He feels a collection of heat, somewhere, and is suddenly aware of his hands, how one is in Nick's hair (and it feels soft and spikey all at once under his palm) and the other is gripping the seat-belt clip. Nick hums, all of Tyson's awareness narrows to the feel of the vibrations through him, Nick's mouth sucking, and he's almost taken by surprise when he comes.

Nick pulls off a little and twists his wrist. It shoots one last bolt of electricity through Tyson, sending his neck into an arch. He opens his eyes as he settles back. Nick is swallowing, carefully.

"Fuck," Tyson breathes.

Nick moves back upwards, practically undulating, and he pauses with his mouth inches from Tyson's. "You don't have to do that," he says, and his voice is shaking, "but - Ty, please -"

Tyson yanks him closer with both hands, one at the back of his head and one at his hip. Nick groans into his mouth, shifting until he's rocking against Tyson's hip. Tyson unzips Nick's jeans as fast as humanly possible. "When I blow you," he murmurs, Nick moaning in response, "I want to take my time, like you did. That was kind of amazing, Nicky." He pulls Nick's pants down a little way, palming a hand back up his thigh. Nick whimpers. "Don't think I have time right now," Tyson whispers, looking down. Nick's cock is sort of jumping, and Tyson licks his lips. "Fuck," he exhales, and wraps a hand around it.

"Oh fuck," Nick hisses, choking off the last syllable. He drops his head onto Tyson's shoulder, and Tyson had sounded way more confident than he actually feels, but Nick is shaking and Tyson shuts his eyes and thinks about the things he's wished for a long, long time Nick would do to him. He tries circling the pad of his thumb over the head of Nick's cock, and Nick makes a small choked sound, so Tyson does it again. He sets a rhythm, kind of fast. Wrist sprinting, he usually calls it, the kind of jerking off when you're not going to last long and every sensation is ten times louder so the friction feels almost intense; Nick tilts his hips and grips on to Tyson's arms and his forehead is still leaning on Tyson's shoulder so he can't see his face.

"Hey. Hey, hey Nick," he whispers, and Nick looks up. His mouth is open and his pupils are dilated to fuck and Tyson bites his lip. "Shit," he breathes, and he surges to catch Nick's mouth.

Nick kisses him back, hard enough to bruise, tongue lapping in. Tyson sucks on it, twisting his wrist and circling his thumb again, and Nick groans - and then he's coming, mouth slack and open, his top lip resting against Tyson's, and Nick's whole body is shuddering as thick spurts of come land on Tyson's stomach. It is the hottest thing Tyson has ever seen.

Nick slumps, kissing him listlessly, and falls back against his shoulder. He's breathing hard. Tyson holds his hand up and looks at it, head tilted to the side. "Huh," he says, and licks his palm.

Nick's eyes roll back. "Ty," he breathes, the tiniest of moans in it. "What are you," licks his lips.

"Seeing what you taste like. Practice." Tyson grins at him. "You taste good."

Nick rolls into him, until he's half covered. "Gonna kill me, aren't you?"

"I hope not." Tyson waits until Nick is watching again and then sucks one of his fingers, cheeks hollowing. Nick bites his lip. "Unless it's possible to die of having too many blowjobs."

Nick's eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. "I've never heard of anyone dying of that, Ty."

Tyson sucks the last of his fingers and swallows. "Just so long as we're not the first, that's alright then."

"What, you planning on sucking me to death?" The corners of Nick's mouth are quirking up.

"Maybe not to death," Tyson watches him thoughtfully. Fuck, he's pretty. "Maybe just until you can't walk."

Nick bites his lip again but says, "I need to walk, Ty. How else will I get places?"

"Don't worry, I'll carry you." Tyson says it heroically, because that's what he is, a hero. Nick snorts, which sort of ruins the nobility of the moment.

"You can't even carry your sister," and he's laughing. Asshole.

"I so can," Tyson protests. "And how about we don't mention any members of either of our families while our pants are down."

Nick's laughter has settled into a smile, and his eyes are lit up. Tyson's heart thumps, because Nick's looking at him like he always does, and maybe, just maybe, all the times Tyson smiled at Nick and thought Love me back, please, Nick was thinking the exact same thing back at him. Nick leans his forehead against Tyson's and shifts his smile a little lower. "I can live with that," he says, and Tyson closes the distance. After that, he's only aware of the soft push and press of their mouths, the feel of fingertips brushing over his skin, and the way Nick smells like sex but somehow more like summer after the rains, when everything's fresh and clean and everywhere sparkles with life.

The Prince and the — Wait, He's Not a Pauper

2008-02-15T20:32:14Z

The Prince and the — Wait, He's Not a Pauper
{Fall Out Boy RPS // Pete/Patrick // G // AU // 100% untrue & disclaimed // for Gale}

Once upon a time, there was a prince named Pete. He lived in a glorious tower filled with beautiful things and pretty people who wore eyeliner and skinny jeans, and most of whom were male. Despite this, Pete was not happy. He wandered the castle grounds longing for the day somebody would come in and shake up his safe little world.

There came a day -- a warm, sunny morning in June -- when a minstrel came to the castle. He had spent many years travelling, playing for whomever would listen, and he played for the court. As soon as Pete heard the minstrel's voice, a light seemed to beam on him from the ceiling (it was the spot-torch) and angels sang (it was the minstrel). He watched the entire set, enraptured, and the moment it was over he approached the minstrel and asked his name.

"Patrick," was the answer. "Excuse me, I have to -" He gestured to the lute in his hands, and Pete stood aside to let him pass.

He followed. "You're -- you have a really amazing voice. Seriously." He scratched the back of his head, searching for something to say that would endear himself to this minstrel, something that would make Patrick want to keep talking to him. "So um, where did you learn to sing like that?"

Patrick shrugged, closing the case he had built for transporting the lute. "I didn't, I just -- I just do it, I guess."

"You're amazing," Pete repeated. "You could -- I mean, wow, that -- do you want to stay here? I mean, be our court minstrel? I could totally get you that job. If you want it, just say the word, dude, it's totally yours."

Patrick shook his head. "I like to travel. But um, thanks."

"Well, can I come with you?" Pete asked, increasingly desperate now. "I could help you out, I swear! Carry your lute? Make posters! Spread the word to wherever you're playing, build up support. I could totally help you out!"

"What? No, why would you even want to?" Patrick seemed to be edging away. Pete dodged into his personal space and gave him a grin.

"Because I like being around people who are beautiful and amazing." He shrugged, a careless movement. "Besides, you need someone for promotion. I saw the poster you had up for this show, and seriously, I could do better."

Patrick folded his arms and tried to regain his sense of personal space, but Pete wasn't making it easy for him. "What could possibly make you think that telling me the way I do my job is not good enough will make me hire you?"

"Because I'm right," Pete grinned at him. For a moment, Patrick looked as if he might hit him, but then he stepped away.

"No, Pete. My answer is no. I have to get packed up, excuse me."

Pete stood his ground a little longer, but eventually conceded and let Patrick take his lute and go. He returned to his tower, thoughtful.

"Jon," he yelled, half an hour later after running down to the stables, "saddle up my horse. I have a minstrel to follow."

Pete caught up with Patrick the next day, before the performance. "What - Pete, what are you doing here?"

"Look. I can follow you around, do your promotion for you and annoy the hell out of you, or you can take me on. Patrick." He took a deep breath. "Let me prove to you that you need me."

Patrick looked at him for a long time, face inscrutable. At last he said, "Try."

Ain't Nothing But A

2008-02-15T20:24:30Z

Ain't Nothing But A
{The Cab RPS // Ian/Marshall // G // AU // 100% untrue & disclaimed // I can't remember if Ian has a sister or not, but in this AU he does // for audreysrev}

Marshall played the bar in the hotel for four weeks before his life changed.

His boss liked him. Said he was a good pianist and had a fresh, young, nice face that put the guests at their ease. He pretty much loved his job; he got to play piano all night and people-watch. Tiny dramas and romances and a whole cross-section of human existance and experience all laid out before him, and he watched quietly, the unconnected observer.

Then came the night that changed it all. A couple walked in, not particularly tall, and what Marshall noticed first was the guy's hair. It was one of those explosive curly mops that nobody ever wants (unless they were transplanted straight from the eighties) but some people can't help having.

Then the guy turned and he smiled at the girl and his arm was around her waist and Marshall noticed that the guy was very, very attractive. Despite the hair. He watched them as subtly as he could, heard the girl laugh and hit him playfully on the arm, and Marshall tried not to hit the wrong notes.

The guy caught his eye and smiled. Marshall smiled back, a reflex, the polite 'hello dear and valued guest' smile -- and the guy was walking over. He was walking over.

"Hi," he said, still smiling, and Marshall noticed that up close, he had nice eyes. "Do you take requests?"

"Yes," Marshall nodded, taking a risk and why the fuck was he about to say this?, "but I don't always play them."

The guy's eyebrows shot up momentarily and he broke into a grin. Marshall tried to ignore the way his heart was thumping. "Okay. It's just that my sister," he indicated the girl and oh god they were brother and sister and Marshall hoped the relief didn't show on his face, "wanted to hear a bar piano version of Hound Dog."

Marshall blinked. "Hound Dog?"

"In the style of gentle background piano," the guy grinned. The corners of Marshall's mouth twitched up.

Without breaking the flow, he segued into the tune, keeping the same volume and feel to the notes. The guy pinched his eyes together and grinned harder, obviously trying not to laugh out loud. "You actually did it," he said, gasping a little around suppressed laughter.

Marshall was finding it hard not to grin himself. "There's a lot I can do," he said, and almost kicked himself when he realised the tone it had come out in.

The guy stopped suppressing laughter and shot him a look. He was still smiling, though, like there was a joke only he was getting. Marshall kind of wanted to be in on the punchline. "That so?" he said, thoughtful. He leaned a little closer and said, "My name's Ian, by the way."

"Marshall," was the half-startled reply. "Alex, Marshall. Everybody just calls me ... Marshall, though."

Ian was smiling even more now. "Well," he said, "Marshall, maybe I'll catch you later."

"Yeah," Marshall nodded as Ian walked back over to his sister. "Yeah," and he played the Hound Dog chorus, lounge style.

Four Guys Tyson Never Slept With (And One He Definitely Did)

2008-02-15T20:15:08Z

Four Guys Tyson Never Slept With (And One He Definitely Did)
{All-American Rejects + Fall Out Boy + The Hush Sound + Cobra Starship RPS // Nick/Tyson, Tyson/B-Rob, Pete/Tyson, Darren/Tyson, Tyson/Toad, Pete/Patrick, Chris/Darren // hard R // 100% disclaimed & untrue // AU // it should be obvious to one person which bits are for him ♥}

The first time he saw the guy in the lunch line at work, Tyson was suffering one hell of a fucking hangover. A splitting headache and low-grade nausea was just the price you paid for getting utterly smashed and making out with your best friend the night before. It happened a lot, because they were Tyson and Brian, because they’d known each other since they were seventeen, because Brian was hot and Tyson had thought so since the day they’d met. Not hot like boyfriend hot, just hot like hey let’s make out sometimes when we’re drunk and nobody else will make out with us hot.

The guy in the lunch line was – at first glance, Tyson thought he was boyfriend hot. Like, oh hi hey there fancy going for some coffee some time hot. Then the guy turned, and he was talking to someone and he laughed, and the sun burst out from behind the clouds and angels sang and Tyson couldn’t stop staring at the guy’s mouth. Just, it was so perfect and such a gorgeous shape and somebody poked him in the back from behind to make him move with the line. He did so, absently, still watching the guy who was several people in front of him and deep in conversation with Patrick from marketing, and Frank was behind him, so the guy must be the new marketing guy. Tyson filed away the information and dubbed him New Marketing Guy With The Mouth Sent By Angels.

He was destined to carry this name for four months. During that time, Tyson was always first to the lunch line, watching out for him, and a few times New Marketing Guy With The Mouth Sent By Angels was standing at the back of the line when Tyson got there, so they actually exchanged some words and he became Marketing Guy With The Mouth Sent By Angels And The Ass Of Wonderment And The Eyes Of Please Bang Me Right Now Marketing Guy Please.

Somehow, every time Tyson talked to the dude, he forgot to ask for his name. So the guy’s title grew ever longer and Tyson began looking at the clock earlier and earlier, watching the minute hand crawl around until it was finally lunch time.

One morning, Pete clapped a hand on Tyson’s shoulder and said, “That clock’s not gonna go any faster if you just stare at it. The Force doesn’t work on time itself, you know.”

Tyson made a dismissive noise. “The Force is mighty and will work on anything.” He poked Pete in the side with a rolled-up sheet of paper from his desk.

“Will it get you to come over tonight and watch some movies?” Pete asked, dodging. Tyson reached further and hit him on the third try, the paper bending and creasing.

“Depends if you actually have movies that aren’t porn.” Tyson paused. “Wait, forget I said that, what time?”

Pete tended to invite most of the sales team to his place on the weekends, to watch movies and hang out and bitch about the management. He had an on-off thing with the Beckett of Beckett & Carden Enterprises, in that they sometimes met up in bars and fucked on each other’s couches, but his loyalty was to the team. Meaning that he went into detail but swore he didn’t double-agent on them. Vicky liked to point out that Patrick From Marketing would never date him if he kept on sleeping with the boss, but Pete just waved her away and offered her another drink.

Tyson got drunk that night, curled up almost in Pete’s lap as Ryland and Gabe threw popcorn at the screen during the boring bits (ie, the parts of the movie that weren’t porn) and asked around to see if anybody knew Marketing Guy With The Amazing Physical Attributes And Oklahoma Accent Who Badly Badly Badly Needs In Tyson’s Pants Like Yesterday and could furnish him with a name. Unfortunately, nobody could, although Alex did say he’d seen the guy in the corridor the week before; he’d bumped into somebody and got coffee all over his shirt (from the biggest cup ever, apparently) and shucked it off while heading to the bathroom to clean up, and Alex had noticed he had tattoos on his arms. Tyson slid further down in Pete’s lap and whined, “Oh God, why’s he have to have tattoos too? Fuck.”

“You like tattoos, huh?” Pete waggled his eyebrows.

Tyson crawled up and put one arm around Pete’s shoulders; the other was holding his drink. “You offering something, little man?” he asked, trying to bat his eyelashes. He had a feeling the gesture had failed, but gave himself points for effort.

“Only if you don’t call me little man.” Pete leaned in before Tyson could come back with but you are small and puny, jackass and, hey, he was wiry and tricksy and kind of a great kisser. Tyson heard Vicky and Gabe whooping, Darren laughing, and somebody shouting for a camera. This would be all over the office by Monday morning, but Tyson didn’t care right at that second. Pete was doing great things with his tongue.

They leaned back when the kiss ended, and Tyson swigged a gulp of his drink. “Thanks,” he grinned, toothy, “that was awesome.”

Vicky was triumphantly holding a camera. “Hah,” she declared, holding it aloft, “captured!”

“For posterity?” Pete raised his eyebrows.

“Duh, for the notice board.” Ryland rolled his eyes.

“I think shaming people only works when they have shame,” Tyson pointed out, petting Pete’s hip through his jeans.

“He makes a good point,” Gabe conceded from the floor.

The picture was, predictably, on every department notice board by the time Tyson got to work on Monday morning. He also found a CC’d email waiting for him with the picture as an attachment; he rolled his eyes at Vicky, puckered his lips up at Pete, and looked through the rest of his emails.

Lunch finally arrived, and Tyson headed down to the cafeteria only to find the entire marketing department was there minus Marketing Guy With The Heavenly Hair And The Upper Lip That Demands Filthy Things Be Done To It. They were close enough in the line that Tyson caught a few snatches of conversation and worked out that someone was sick that day, and figured it must be him. Tyson deflated and hoped Marketing Guy He Suddenly Wanted To Tuck Up In Bed And Feed Soup To got better soon.

For the next two weeks, Marketing Guy Who Was Gorgeous And Heavenly And Currently Sick left a marked hole in Tyson’s lunch hours. By the following Monday he had taken to sweeping his eyes over the cafeteria before joining the line, and if the marketing crew were sans Heavenly Lips he just headed back to the office and ordered in. This wasn’t so bad, because Darren usually did the same and they hung out, eating Chinese and trading movie quotes. Darren sometimes fumbled his chopsticks and blushed slightly when Tyson quoted something suggestive, and Tyson thought, huh.

On Wednesday, in the middle of Darren quoting some obscure movie Tyson had only heard of because Brian had once fucked this guy who was really into it and brought it over for them to watch, Tyson just leaned over and kissed him. He did it slowly, the corner of his mouth first, but then Darren made a soft sound and shifted and kissed him back. It was nice and it was slow and really kind of sweet. Darren was blushing when they moved away, and Tyson bit into an egg roll.

“Uh.” Darren cleared his throat. “Was that your way of saying you don’t know it?”

“No. I do know it, that was just … you’re nice. And cute.” Tyson grinned at him, and Darren blushed a little pinker.

“Want to, uh, want to see a band on Friday night? There’s uh, this club, a band my friend knows is playing there, they’re really good. I was uh, thinking of asking you to come.”

“Sure.” Tyson dropped the rest of his egg roll into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, while Darren looked like he was trying not to grin really hard. “Tell me where and when to meet you.”

Thursday, Marketing Guy With The Incredible Ass And The Cute Nose was still sick, and Darren cornered Tyson when he came back to the office for lunch. “Um,” Darren began, and from the look on his face this would not be good news. Tyson wondered if he’d accidentally sold the wrong quantities and the bosses would take the difference out of his pay or something. “I’m uh, I’m really sorry but I’m going to have to uh, cancel tomorrow night.”

Tyson blinked. “Cancel?” he repeated.

“Yeah, it – shit, this is – look, I’m really sorry, but um, there’s this guy, and – and I really like you, okay? I do, it’s just – there’s this friend of mine and I’m kind of in love with him and I thought there was no chance but last night we – there was – uh, we’re kind of seeing each other now and I’ve wanted this for years and I am so so sorry, Ty, really I am.”

“Hey.” Tyson pulled him into a rough, quick hug. “It’s okay. I’m happy for you, man, that’s awesome. I’m just … not used to being stood up before the date, you know?”

“Yeah. Uh. Sorry about that.” Darren examined the floor. Tyson waited until he looked up, and gave him a smile.

“It’s really okay. Good for you and your guy, man.” He clapped him on the back and headed down to the cafeteria again. May as well eat lunch there, for today.

Marketing Guy Whose Waist Is Hypnotic And Whose Smile Is The Cause Of Ducklings was still sick the next day, and Pete was busy – he’d finally worked up the courage to ask Patrick From Marketing out and Patrick had said alright then – so Tyson’s weekend was free. Brian had a new boyfriend, and they would no doubt be spending the entire two days in the apartment having loud, obnoxious sex like they’d been doing for the previous week.

Tyson got home that night to the sounds of being correct, so he grabbed a shower, pulled on his favourite shirt and headed out.

The first club he went to had a sign up saying ‘live music!’ and Tyson didn’t connect it in until he saw Darren at the bar, leaning up against another guy, who was very cute and smoking a cigarette. Tyson noticed that the barman was blond, stocky and really hot, but left anyway.

The second club he went to was exclusively a gay club, and Tyson ordered a drink and took it to one of the squishy couches. The place had gone through an entire redesign recently and now it was less sticky-floor-grope-while-dancing and more take-your-drink-to-the-couch-and-wait-for-a-guy-to-come-over-and-feel-you-up; and Tyson was hot. Guys usually made their way over.

Within half an hour, there was a dude. He was stumbling a little, looked very clearly out of place, and he dropped down in the seat next to Tyson. The music wasn’t so loud conversation was impossible over here, so Tyson gave him a warm, inviting smile and said, “Rough day?”

“Uh huh,” the guy nodded. He was slurring a little. “I lost my guy. My – there was a guy. Friend of mine. Tall, has this hair thing with – locks, something. Have you seen him?”

Tyson pointed over at the dance floor, where a dude several inches taller than everybody else there was gyrating against another tall guy – fuck, was that Gabe? – and said, “You mean that guy?”

“Yeah. Fucker left me all alone so he could get laid.” Couch guy slumped further against the cushions.

“Well,” Tyson grinned at him, “now you’ve got me.” He inched closer. The guy was pretty hot. “Can I get you a drink, stranger?”

It took ten minutes to get the guy’s name (“Toad,” he said, after a pause) and another fifteen before they were both very, very drunk, leaning against each other and indulging in a rousing session of Feel My Pain.

“It’s like – man, what the fuck is wrong with this shit?” Tyson sighed, pointing his beer bottle around the room at random. “There’s guys, like, everywhere, right? And lots of hot guys, and hey, I’m not like, stupidly picky, you know what I’m saying? I like guys. Guys are awesome. But they’re like my brother, or they’re in love with someone else, or they’re so insanely hot I just want to grab them and pound them against the counter but I hardly ever talk to them, or they’re … in love with someone else, and it’s like, what the fuck am I doing wrong? I’m lucky if I even get the guy’s fucking name.”

“Toad,” Toad repeated, watching Tyson’s nose. He was kissing him, suddenly, and Tyson just went with it. The kiss was sloppy, sudden, sodden with alcohol (Toad still had some of his cocktail in his mouth, and it mixed unpleasantly with Tyson’s beer) and not really terrible but not great either. Then Toad leaned away and said, “I’m not even gay. Shhhhh, don’t tell.” He glanced around, surreptitious, then started giggling. He abruptly stopped and said, “Shit, she’s gonna kill me.”

“Who is?” Tyson still had the mixed drink taste in his mouth. He wanted it out now, please.

“My girlfriend.” Toad sighed. “I gotta go.” He got up from the couch on the third try and stumbled away through the crowd.

Tyson left ten minutes after that, deciding to go in search of some snacks, some water and some pot, in that order.

Monday came. Tyson felt okay; he’d spent Sunday feeling like ass after two nights of partying, but by Monday he was fine again. He’d got it out of his system; he didn’t care that Pete had Patrick and Brian had Jonathan and Darren had his new boyfriend and that random guy he’d made out with was straight. He was fine, the world had just decided to screw him over for a while, but maybe he could ask Pete to ask Patrick what Marketing Guy Who Is Stupidly Attractive And Whom Tyson Misses A Whole Lot’s name and email address is.

He got to work, shucked his jacket off, switched his computer on, sipped his coffee and checked his email. There was a memo from HR, the month’s figures from Pete, a link to a youtube video of a monkey riding a bicycle from Vicky, and an email from someone called Nickolas Wheeler.

Tyson opened it. The subject line was “Re: Weekend antics and future blackmail opportunities”, so it must be something to do with that picture of him kissing Pete from weeks ago. He wondered if somebody had complained and HR were issuing a formal warning about displays of affection in the workplace or something, but then he noticed two things. Firstly, that the email was addressed only to him; and secondly, that Nickolas Wheeler was from marketing.

So Tyson,
I come back and suddenly you have a name and you’re kissing guys. Want to know why I find this interesting?
-Nick

Tyson sat there, staring at his screen. Guy from marketing. Who’s been away since the picture was taken. Marketing Guy With The Heavenly Ass And The Amazing Mouth And The Gorgeous Eyes And The Waist Of Lickableness And The Fucking Arm Tattoos was called Nickolas Wheeler.

Tyson looked up at the ceiling and mouthed ‘Thank you’. Then he hit reply and started typing.

Nick,
Where’ve you been? You’re the guy I’ve seen in the cafeteria, right? Yeah, I want to know why you find it interesting that I kiss guys.
-Tyson

He waited. He got started on some work, keeping one eye on the email symbol in his system tray, until a small sign popped up telling him he had a new email.

He clicked on it, trying to keep the thumping of his heart down to at least below his ears. It was from Nick.

Tyson,
I’ve been on a very long and very satisfying date with my couch. We had a threesome with the DVD player that lasted for days. (Or in other words, I had the flu.) You might have seen me, yeah. I find it interesting that you kiss guys because I happen to quite like kissing guys myself. Maybe we could have lunch together and trade experiences.
-Nick

And okay, perhaps it was just a gay-guy-from-Oklahoma-let’s-talk-about-homosexuality-in-general lunch date, perhaps Nick wasn’t really interested in him, perhaps he just wanted to start up, like, a Gay Support Group or something, but Tyson still jumped out of his chair and did a small victory dance.

“What the hell was that?” Vicky asked, leaning sideways in her chair to stare incredulously at him.

“It was a dance of joy,” Tyson informed her. “The human body moving in tandem with merriment.” He danced over to her and spun her chair around, grinning. “I have a lunch date with a hot dude.”

“Stop spinning me, ass.” Vicky braced her hands on her desk and righted the chair. Pete leaned around the divide in the cubicles, grinning that wide grin like he was a cat who’d just stolen an entire tin of cream and knew he’d get away with it.

“You mean Nick from marketing, right?” His eyes twinkled.

“Yeah. Why?”

Pete beckoned him over, and Tyson looked at Pete’s computer screen when he pointed to it. There was an email from Patrick there, reading I don’t know what’s going on, but Nick just put both arms in the air. I think he was reading his emails. “Looks like you’re both dorks.”

“Shut up.” Tyson thwapped Pete upside the head and darted away before he could retaliate. Pete threw a box of paperclips at him, and it hit him on the ass as he made his way back to his chair.

Nick,
I’m glad you’re feeling better now. Ignore everything Patrick says that Pete said. Pete will be lying. I’d love to have lunch with you. Whoever gets there first saves us a table, y/n?
-Tyson

He tried to concentrate on his work, but he didn’t have to wait long before the ‘new email’ sign popped up again.

So you didn’t just do a victory dance?

He bit his lip and looked over at Pete’s booth; Pete was grinning like the Cheshire cat. Tyson flipped him off.

Maybe. Maybe not. Did you just do \o/ arms?

Less than a minute passed before the reply came.

Patrick is a filthy liar and will get no more cookies.

Tyson couldn’t help grinning as he typed.

You have cookies?

Ten minutes elapsed before the reply came; attached was a shitty cell phone picture of a plate of cookies. It looked like they were chocolate chip.

I’ll bring some for dessert.

Tyson’s fingers hovered over the keys as he debated what to say. In the end, his first reaction won.

You are the perfect man.

His stomach dropped the second he sent the email. All they’d said was they’d have lunch. Nick was definitely interested, and he knew Tyson was interested, and Nick clearly was entirely made from the footsteps of angels or something, because he was hot and possibly dorky and brought cookies to work and kissed guys and Tyson liked him so much but it was a bit early to be bandying words like perfect around. He was just about to send another email attempting to save his ass when his inbox refreshed.

I see you are easily pleased. Excellent.

Nick wasn’t freaked out. He didn’t seem to be discouraged at all, actually, and Tyson sagged with relief.

Hey! I’ll have you know I’m not easy. I am very … not-easy.

Nick’s reply was almost instantaneous.

Cough Pete cough.

Tyson could almost see the look on Nick’s face, the way his mouth would twitch as he tried not to smile. It was distracting.

Shut up, I was drunk. There was porn. He has tattoos. It’s a thing.

He managed to get almost all the way through a sales call before looking at his inbox again.

You like tattoos?

He dialled the next client while typing.

Yeah, they’re hot.

He got through two more calls before the sign popped up again. He finished the call, hung up, and clicked on the email. There were three attachments; the first was a picture clearly taken in the office bathroom mirror, showing Nick’s upper arm covered in a tattoo of the Queen logo; the second was a picture of his other upper arm, showing what looked like the Muppets; and the last was a wide shot, also taken in the bathroom mirror, showing Nick’s back and the backs of his upper arms. He had a tattoo on each shoulder blade, and one on the back of his left arm. The email just read, I’ll show you mine.

Tyson stared at the screen. He saved the pictures, immediately transferred them to his phone, and just let himself stare for a minute at each in turn. He tried not to whimper.

At last, his brain began to reassemble and he remembered that Nick would be waiting for an answer.

…cocktease.

He bit his lip after sending it and returned to staring at the pictures. Fuck. The curve of Nick’s back mesmerised him, made him want to trace it with his tongue, envelop him from behind and see if their contours matched. He breathed through his nose, trying to keep it even, glad he’d worn loose pants. Fuck.

He looked up and saw that he had another email.

Oh, you have no idea.

Tyson bit down a whimper. Fuck. He was totally fucked. How was he supposed to get through lunch now?

Just so we’re clear, you’re not seeing anyone, right? Are you free … some time in ever?

He stared at the pictures while waiting for a reply. He knew he should be working, calling clients, selling shit, but he could not tear his eyes away from Nick’s back.

He looked up after a few minutes. There was an email.

I am definitely not seeing anyone, I am free whenever you’re free and if I’m not free when you’re free I’ll make myself free. Is that clear enough for you?

Tyson’s fingers flew over the keys, heart thumping somewhere around his waist.

Bathroom, ten minutes? You free then?

He traced the curve of Nick’s shoulder on his phone’s screen with his thumb. Fuck. A reply came a few minutes later.

Um. No. Buy me lunch first? Or – at least have lunch with me first?

Oh fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, he’d already screwed up.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that – I’m sorry. I just. You’re really, insanely hot, and I meant it about the cocktease. Sorry.

The second he sent it, he realised just how far he had put his foot in it. He thunked his head down on the desk and quickly typed another email – I didn’t mean, by cocktease, I don’t mean you’re deliberately – I don’t – I’m sorry! – but Nick’s reply came before he could send it.

Can we meet on the fire escape on my floor, five minutes? Not for sex.

This must be a new record, fucking up with a really great guy before a date had even started to happen. Tyson thunked his head against the desk softly five times before typing Sure, yeah, I’ll see you there.

Pete leaned over out of his cubicle. “Ty?”

“What?” Tyson sighed. He should be working. He knew that. He didn’t need Pete on his back about it.

“Patrick says Nick says it’s okay. You screwing things up already?”

Tyson flipped him off again. “Fuck you, like you have the best track record in the world.”

“Dude, I said nothing. Don’t shoot the messenger.” Pete held his hands up.

“Jackass,” Tyson threw at him, deciding he’d be warm enough outside in just his shirt.

Nick was already on the fire escape. A lot of people went there to smoke, but nobody else was out there when Tyson stepped onto it.

The first thing Nick did was kiss him.

The outside world was colder than Tyson had bargained for, which might be why he got goose pimples all down his arms; but then Nick shifted closer and, fuck, Tyson started kissing back as soon as he could move. Nick’s mouth was as amazing as it looked, and when Nick’s tongue eased into Tyson’s mouth they groaned in unison and Tyson’s hands cupped Nick’s hips and pulled him closer. Nick groaned again and pressed close and fuck fuck fuck Tyson could feel that Nick was hard, aligned them flush, started grinding.

It was delicious, it was excruciating, and Nick ground back, stroking his fingertips over Tyson’s arms, tangling his hands in his hair, kissing him so hard and so fucking desperate that Tyson felt like his skin would melt and fizz at the slightest touch.

“Sorry,” Nick breathed, breaking away, still keeping their noses pressed together, his mouth open, exhaling hard, fuck, “I didn’t – this wasn’t meant to – fuck.”

“I should be,” Tyson inched his fingertips through the gap in Nick’s shirt between the buttons over his stomach, “the one apologising, I didn’t mean to make out you were – I didn’t just assume you were the kind of guy who’d fuck in a bathroom –”

“I’m not,” Nick moaned as Tyson touched the perfect, soft, gorgeous skin under his fingertips. “I don’t do that, I don’t – I don’t know you all that well, we only just started – talking, oh fuck Tyson.”

Tyson leaned in to take Nick’s earlobe between his teeth and found earrings there, so he just licked up the curve of it and growled, “Call me Ty.”

Nick’s knees buckled slightly. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Tyson tried to stop himself rocking his pelvis against Nick’s, but it was almost impossible. It was as though his muscles were operating entirely without him. “I think,” he whispered, trying to keep from moaning too loudly, “I think we should go back inside and not – I think we should get to know each other.” He quickly added, “I don’t mean sex. I mean like, actually.”

“Right. Okay. Good plan.” Nick seemed reluctant to move. He was rocking against Tyson, fucking exquisite movement and if they didn’t stop this soon, Tyson would fucking come in his pants. And they were nice, expensive pants, so he wasn’t all that keen on ruining them. “Right. That – uh, that means we have to stop this, doesn’t it?”

Tyson swallowed. “Yeah. That’s uh, that’s the flaw in the plan.”

“Every plan has to have one,” Nick pointed out, arching his neck. It was a very, very unfair movement, and Tyson retaliated by licking the exposed skin. “Oh fuck. Okay now seriously, if we don’t stop we’re both going to end up getting fired.”

“You’re probably right.” Tyson squeezed his eyes shut and forced his body to move away. It protested, but eventually he felt cold air instead of warm, tight, hot fucking body against his. His hands grasped at air currents for a second, and then he opened his eyes. Nick was standing there, smiling softly at him. “Fuck,” Tyson breathed, “you’re beautiful.”

Nick laughed a little. “Uh. Thanks. You’re, um.” His eyes went soft as he gazed back, and Tyson could almost swear the air between them crackled. He felt a tug and realised he was inching forwards; Nick was doing the same, and caught himself at the exact moment Tyson did. “I’d better –” Nick indicated the door, and Tyson nodded. Nick nodded back and then darted through it.

Tyson stayed out on the fire escape for a minute, curling his palms over the rusting metal. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling like his entire body was busy storing the memory of that incredible kiss, and exhaled a soft, “Fuck.” Then he went back inside.

There was an email waiting for him when he returned to his desk.

Ty,
Well, um, where to start. My middle name’s Don, I have a puppy called Richie, named after Richie Sambora who is one of my favourite guitarists – name the band he’s in? I also have a roommate called Mike, he’s been my best friend since we were like five. We grew up together. Ummm, I like the Muppets, I play guitar in my spare time, I hate marketing but the guys here are awesome and good friends, and sometimes I bake. I’m addicted to the Food Network and Will Ferrell movies. I like red wine.
Your turn.
-Nick

Tyson wanted to just curl up in his chair and type out his life history and talk to Nick all day, but he had a list of calls to make and the faster he did them the sooner it would be lunch and there would be Nick and more talking and possibly more making out, though if they did any more of that Tyson would have to excuse himself and go jerk off in the bathroom to relieve the tension. So he made the calls, composing scraps of email in his head, and once they were done he started typing.

Nick,
Richie Sambora’s in Bon Jovi. I would do JBJ so very hard. My middle name’s Jay, my best friend Brian’s my roommate, I sing when I’m drunk and in the shower but not much otherwise, my little sister taught me piano and I love what Brian calls old dad music. Roy Orbison, the Beach Boys, anything from the sixties. I like seventies stuff too, like T-Rex and shit, and man, INXS are the best. I also like musicals, don’t laugh at me for it. I never wanted to sell shit but apparently I’m good at it. Gabe likes to put rumours around that I’m the office slut, but it’s not true I swear. I like really bad horror movies and am a student of the fine art of slapstick. Ever heard of Pauly Shore?
-Ty

Lunch rolled around ten minutes later, and there’d been no reply from Nick. When Tyson got to the cafeteria he was already at a table, and waved Tyson over.

“I’ve heard of Pauly Shore,” he said when Tyson sat down, “but I haven’t really seen any of his stuff.”

Tyson stared. “You’ve never seen Bio Dome?” Nick shook his head. “That does it. This weekend, you, me, I’ll kick Brian and his boyfriend out, we are watching movies. Deal?”

“Deal.” Nick’s eyes were shining a little. It was incredibly fucking cute. “If next weekend you come over to mine, I’ll kick Mike and his boyfriend out, we’re watching Good Eats. Have you seen it before?”

“That’s … a Food Network thing, right?” Nick nodded. “Yeah, no, uh. I’m really more of a does-it-go-in-the-microwave? kind of a guy when it comes to cooking.”

“Alton Brown’ll change that for you. He’s a fucking genius.”

Tyson had been inching his foot closer and closer to Nick’s as they talked, and it was at that point their ankles made contact. Tyson felt about fourteen, playing fucking footsie under the table, but that didn’t stop a jolt going to his heart and his groin.

Nick’s breathing went a little shallow and his pupils dilated. They hadn’t exactly been not dilated before, but his eyes were suddenly almost black and it was so fucking hot Tyson had to swallow and force himself to stay in his seat. “Uh,” Nick cleared his throat. “So we have a – we have a deal?”

“Yeah,” Tyson breathed, staring at Nick’s mouth. “Deal.”

“Um.” Nick looked down at his plate, and Tyson licked his lips. “Are you, uh – gonna eat?” Nick’s ankle crept up Tyson’s leg a little way, rubbing gently.

Tyson’s breath caught in his throat. “Not uh, not sure yet.”

“Right.” Nick nodded absently. Tyson began calculating the risks versus the benefits of knocking several chairs over and tackling Nick to the ground. He knew, intellectually, that jumping him in the middle of the crowded cafeteria would be within the realms of This Is Beyond A Bad Idea, but – but Nick. He felt that tug again, realised he was inching closer, and pulled himself back.

“Um. This uh.” He made the mistake of looking at Nick again, and fuck, fuck, remember how bad an idea it is, Ritter. No jumping in crowded places, especially where it’ll get you fired. “I kind of.” He waved a hand.

“I know.” Nick nodded. He was staring at Tyson’s mouth. “Yeah, uh, me – me too.”

“I should probably,” Tyson made a vague gesture towards the door. “I mean, it – it could get.”

“Yeah,” Nick said quickly. “Yeah, it – we really shouldn’t be –”

“Not at work, right, right, yeah.” Tyson couldn’t help staring a little. “I mean, I’d end up having to – uh. Relieve a little tension, as it were,” he lowered his voice and was about to waggle his eyebrows when he saw Nick turn kind of red and look down at the table.

“Um,” he said. Scratched his ear.

Tyson sat very, very still. “You didn’t.”

“Well!” Nick glanced up at him and blushed harder. “What, after that? Out on the … yeah, I did, okay?”

Tyson sidled closer; he had to. “You mean,” he whispered, “you jerked off in the bathroom? Like an hour ago?”

Nick nodded, glancing up again to look him in the eye, and Tyson whimpered.

“Fuck. I gotta go, I’ll be – uh, I’ll be back.”

“Shit,” Nick hissed as Tyson stood and made his way, with some difficulty, out of the cafeteria. He found the nearest bathroom, checked around, and was relieved to find the place empty. He locked himself into a stall and shut his eyes.

On his eyelids played a scene. The kiss, out on the fire escape, the grinding, the touching, the moaning – Tyson unzipped his pants and reached into them – Nick stumbling inside, finding a bathroom, jerking off, rough movements, breathing through his nose, and maybe he’d shut his eyes, maybe he’d slam a palm against the wall, maybe he’d come hard and fast –

“Ty?” Nick knocked softly on the stall door and Tyson exhaled, shaking. “Ty.”

He unlocked the door, yanked Nick into the stall, and kissed him hard. Nick moaned, one hand going to cup the back of Tyson’s head and the other snaking between their bodies, touching the fist Tyson was gently thrusting into. “Fuck,” Tyson breathed into his mouth.

“Ty,” Nick whimpered, “stop.”

“Can’t stop. Shit. Can’t stop, fuck, Nick,” and then, like so many fucking jerk-off fantasies Tyson had had since he saw Nick months ago, Nick stilled Tyson’s hand and sank to his knees.

“Ty,” Nick exhaled, looking up from under his hair, and that mouth, that perfect fucking mouth sank onto Tyson.

Tyson’s head thunked back onto the door. Nick sucked, and it was fucking incredible, and when Tyson looked down Nick hadn’t taken his eyes off him. They were dark, and holy fuck watching Nick suck him off was very probably the hottest thing Tyson had seen in his entire life. He came within a minute, and Nick swallowed. Nick fucking swallowed.

He zipped Tyson’s pants up again, standing, and then kissed him. He tasted bitter, but good, and Tyson lapped at his mouth hungrily. “Fuck yeah,” Nick murmured, pressing hard against him, and Tyson undid Nick's pants and got a hand in; Nick arched his neck and hissed, “Fuck yeah,” and angled his hips, pushing up into Tyson’s hand until he stood on tiptoes.

“Mmf, fuck,” Tyson murmured, watching his hand on Nick, the way Nick rocked against him, rolling up onto the balls of his feet and back onto his heels. “Gonna get your suit ruined if –”

“Yeah,” Nick agreed, breathy, his eyes closed and his mouth hanging a little open, “kind of don’t care, fuck, Ty.”

Tyson groaned. He kissed Nick, hungry, then kept as much contact as possible as he got onto his knees. He pulled Nick’s pants down enough, mouth watering in anticipation.

Nick let his breath out as Tyson began sucking. The feel of Nick’s cock in his mouth was just as fantastic as he’d imagined it would be, and he instantly got to work sucking and licking and lapping. Nick tangled his hands in Tyson’s hair, head thrown back as Tyson watched, heart thumping, getting a perfect view up the expanse of Nick’s body every time he breathed in. Nick’s thighs twitched whenever Tyson pressed his tongue along the shaft, so he worked that into the rhythm, Nick starting to whimper the more he did it. He sucked soft and hard in a pattern, moving his tongue, stroking the skin he could reach with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around the base of Nick’s cock, and Nick whimpered and breathed hard and stifled moans against his arm. Tyson sucked particularly hard, Nick’s entire pelvis twitched and he bit down on his wrist to keep from groaning loudly; Tyson sucked again and Nick let out a strangled sound and came. He tasted good, and Tyson swallowed carefully as he stood up and rearranged Nick’s pants for him.

Nick wrapped his arms around Tyson’s neck, pulling him close. “We really shouldn’t do that at work again, you know,” he breathed, their mouths inches apart.

“I know. Totally fucking worth it, though.” Tyson kissed him, less urgent now, almost languid. Nick hummed into his mouth.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed when they broke apart, biting his lip and rolling his hips just a little. “Want to come over after work and screw me? Maybe watch some movies or eat something too.”

“You kind of lost me at ‘screw’, there,” Tyson admitted, swallowing. “Is there any word stronger than Yes?”

Nick nudged their mouths back together. “I think if there is,” he murmured, “you’ll screw it out of me.”

“You’re just doing it on purpose now, aren’t you?” Tyson breathed.

“Yes.” Nick was obviously trying not to grin. “Screw. Screw screw screw me, Tyson Ritter.”

“Oh fuck you, you bastard. You really are a cocktease.” Tyson dipped his thumbs into the waistband of Nick’s pants, stroked at his hips. Nick bit his lip again.

“It’s just fun to watch you squirm,” he said, though his voice was cracking a little. Tyson moved his hands around to the small of Nick’s back, under his shirt, splaying his palms there and stroking the skin. Nick’s eyelids fluttered shut and he arched into the touch.

Tyson lowered his head to Nick’s neck, kissing lightly and flicking his tongue out at the pressure points. “I’ll make you squirm,” he growled. Nick gripped at his arms.

“Fuck, yeah, you will.” He tipped his head further back and Tyson traced the tip of his tongue up and down Nick’s neck. Nick whimpered, falling against the wall. “Ty,” he exhaled, “Ty, we have to stop, we – not at work, okay?”

“Sorry.” Tyson stepped away with difficulty. Air rushed into the space between their bodies, cooling Tyson’s skin. “Right. Work. Yeah.”

“Come home with me tonight? I’ll make you breakfast and drive you back here tomorrow and everything.”

Tyson couldn’t stop himself moving closer again. He wrapped his arms around Nick’s waist and kissed him. “Did I mention,” he murmured, “that you are the perfect man?”

“It might have come up.” The corners of Nick’s eyes crinkled in amusement. Tyson was just about to reach to stroke a fingertip near them – they were so cute – when the bathroom door banged open.

They sprang apart. Tyson checked himself over and tucked his shirt back into his pants, Nick doing the same. Then they nodded at each other and Nick ducked out of the stall first. Tyson waited a minute, hearing the door close twice, and then escaped himself.

Vicky took one look at him when he got back to the office and wolf whistled. “Tyson,” she whooped, “you sly dog.” She held up a palm and he high fived it. He couldn’t really help grinning.

“What, what, what is it?” Pete’s head appeared around the cubicle wall.

“Tyson has totally had sex just now. With Nick, right?” Tyson nodded, and Vicky punched him on the arm.

Pete laughed, and came over to slap Tyson on the back. “Smug fucker.”

“Shut up. And don’t let this get out, okay, please, I don’t want anyone thinking my boyfriend’s an easy slut who fucks in bathrooms. Because he doesn’t. Despite … evidence to the contrary, he doesn’t, okay? Don’t you fucking dare start any rumours, Saporta,” he yelled over in the direction of Gabe’s cubicle. One finger raised over the top of it, flipping him off silently. “Fuck you too, just make sure you don’t. Nick’s honour is impeccable and if anybody calls it into question I’ll kick their ass.”

There was a very soft sound from somewhere about Pete’s person. Grinning, Pete put his cell phone to his ear and said, “Dude, did Patrick give you the phone?” He paused, laughed, then handed the phone to Tyson. “It’s for you.”

“Hello?” The display read Trickytrickified. Nick’s voice replied.

“Hi Ty. I heard that, Patrick was on the phone to Pete. Thanks for defending my honour.”

“Hey, nobody says a word against you, okay? Not while I’m around.”

“Awww.” Nick sounded like he was smiling. “I’ll see you in the parking lot at five thirty.”

Tyson got back to work amid a constant stream of high fives, cackling sounds and emails from Pete asking for details. An email came at three from Frank, just reading Nick’s had this stupid grin on his face all day. It’s really fucking cute. I hope you’re not an asshole. Tyson expressed his lack of assholery and his having only good intentions with Nick. And all the while, he and Nick emailed back and forth, back and forth.

Things I know about Tyson Ritter:
-He likes movies. (So do I. This works out well.)
-He doesn’t cook. (I do. This works out well.)
-He gives amazing head. (This works out very, very well.)

Things I know about Nick Wheeler:
-He has tattoos. (I like tattoos. This works out well.)
-He likes cooking. (I like eating. This works out well.)
-He gives the kind of head people write songs about. (This works out very, very well.)

Might not cook tonight. Kind of have other plans. Order in?
-N.

I have plans for tonight that do not involve you in an apron. Though that also could be fun at some point. Ordering in is the best course of action to take, yes.
-T.

You like Thai or Chinese? Or we could get Indian? I have the numbers of about eight great restaurants. Or there’s pizza.
-N.

I am yours to do with as you please. Take that in as many ways as it is possible to take it in.
-T.

There is such an obvious joke in there, dude. Make me work harder for it.
-N.

Oh I’ll make you work for it. Real hard. Oh yeah.
-T.

I stumped you, didn’t I? HAH. Screw. Screw screw screw.
-N.

Gloating is unbecoming on a person, young man. I suggest that you stop it.
-T.

Make me.
-N.

…so when I said you’re a cocktease and you said I have no idea, you really really meant it, didn’t you?
-T.

Kinda, yeah. Sorry.
-N.

No, it’s good, I like it. It’s a little straining on the pantal region, but all in a good cause. How long is it until five thirty?
-T.

The pantal region, Ty?
-N.

Yeah, you know, Boner Land. Where I’m at right now.
-T.

Is that Boner City in Boner Land where the signposts are at an angle and the coat hook industry collapsed?
-N.

I hate you.
-T.

Hahahahahahahahahahaha.
-N.

I hate you, Nickolas Don Wheeler. Quit laughing.
-T.

And we are back to “make me”. ;)
-N.

I believe I already stated my intention of bringing an end to your activities, Mr Wheeler. I have ways. Methods. You wouldn’t believe the moves on me. I’m like a ninja, you’ll never see me coming.
-T.

What, except for the part where you’re six foot plus and not at all stealthy?
-N.

Oh, I’m stealthy. I’m stealthy like you’d never know. You just wait, I’ll have your pants off in four seconds flat and you won’t know what’s hit you.
-T.

That a promise?
-N.

I won’t make promises that I can’t keep, Nick. I won’t make promises that I don’t mean.
-T.

…are you quoting a Def Leppard song?
-N.

Maybe. You like them?
-T.

The tattoo on my right shoulder is a Def Leppard album cover, dumbass.
-N.

Fuck, you made me go look at those pictures again. Now I’ll be here in the Boner Hospice because I am DYING.
-T.

Hang in there, Ty. CPR in one hour and counting.
-N.

Is it five thirty yet?
-T.

No. It’s four thirty five.
-N.

Is it five thirty yet?
-T.

…no, Ty, it’s forty after. If you keep asking me if it’s five thirty yet every five minutes, you will never get laid.
-N.

Okay, but if I keep asking Pete he’s going to punch me.
-T.

Tyson, if you don’t quit asking Pete right now, Patrick is going to punch me.
-N.

Alright, okay. I’ll quit it.
-T.

You’re so fucking cute, Ty. Half an hour.
-N.

Sorry, I was just thinking about … stuff. I really should do some more work before I go, right?
-T.

Ten minutes and counting. Do some work!
-N.

Fine, bitch, I did work. Five twenty five.
-T.

Meet me in the parking lot in two minutes.
-N.

Fuck yeah. Gonna make you sweat, gonna make you groove.
-T.

Can we leave out the part where you make me burn and make me sting? I’d rather we just get to the chorus.
-N.

Isn’t the chorus just a bunch of dudes going “ohh-ohh” and “hey baby”?
-T.

My point exactly. See you down there.
-N.

“There was such an obvious joke in that,” Tyson said when he got to the parking lot and saw Nick standing next to a green car, keys in one hand. “Make me work for it.”

“Oh, I’ll make you work for it,” Nick grinned, pulling him close and kissing him, just the right amount of heat and just the right pressure and just the right everything. “Real hard.”

Tyson smirked and leaned in for another kiss. “Yeah,” he murmured into Nick’s mouth, “you will.”

All In A Row (Soaked Through With Sunshine)

2007-12-06T11:28:27Z

All In A Row (Soaked Through With Sunshine)
{All-American Rejects RPS // Nick/Tyson, Mike/Chris // NC-17 // Secret Garden AU // 100% untrue & disclaimed // warnings for rimming, edging and ridiculous amounts of romance}

London, 1880
“I’m afraid this do will be a frightful bore,” Chris said, though he was grinning a lopsided grin and fastening his tie in a rather jaunty manner. “Though I dare say there may be some amusement.” He winked, and Nick laughed. He turned a page in the newspaper and stretched more languidly across the chaise lounge. “Michael said he would bring a friend. Some distant relation whose parents have just left him some ghastly rambling old house in the country – family heirloom, I gather. According to Michael, he’s quite a hoot. And,” he added, fixing his gaze onto Nick’s in the looking-glass, “one of our sort, if you catch my meaning.”
“I do, and you’d be well to say nothing more,” Nick flicked a corner of newspaper at him. “How does Michael find this out?”
“He has a gift,” Chris declared, grandly.
“I was aware of that when he dragged the admittance out of me within twenty minutes of my acquaintance.”
“He has an eye for it,” Chris amended. “Perhaps the Irish can simply tell.”
“If that is the case, remind me never to set foot in Dublin.” Nick turned another page. “I would be set upon at once.”
Chris raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth, but Nick beat him to it.
“If you say one word about a group of sailors, I shall use this newspaper in unspeakable ways.”
“Nickolas,” Chris placed one hand over his heart. “Is that a promise?”
Nick rolled his eyes and flicked the nearest part of Chris with the corner of his newspaper again. “You are an ass.”
“Is that any way to speak of the fine gentleman that is Christopher Gaylor?” came a booming voice, thick with an Irish accent, from the doorway. Mike walked in; though really, Mike did not walk anywhere. He bounded, as if his heels had springs. He wrapped his arms around Chris from behind and planted a smacking kiss to his neck. “How’s my feller?” He was grinning from ear to ear.
“Almost ready for public consumption, so be careful,” Chris answered, though he turned around in the circle of Mike’s arms and kissed him, quickly. His eyes travelled over Mike’s shoulder and widened a little; Nick followed his line of sight to the doorway and saw someone standing there.
“Ah, where are me manners?” Mike slapped a palm against his forehead. He turned back to the doorway, one arm still around Chris’s waist. “Chris, Nick, this is Tyson Ritter, a distant relation to the Kennertys. Ty, these are my good friends Christopher Gaylor and Nickolas Wheeler. Though Chris is more a good friend than Nick.” He winked, just in case his meaning were not already blatant.
“How we are not all in gaol yet, the way you two carry on, I don’t know,” Nick sighed, trying to get his neck into a better angle so he could see Tyson properly. All he had seen so far was the shape of a tall man; but he twisted further just as Tyson stepped fully into the room, closing the door behind him, and Nick finally saw his face.
Tyson was the single most beautiful thing Nick had seen in his life. Nick liked beauty; he had studied texts and paintings and works of music at university, at times trying to deconstruct their beauty to find out what created it, at other times simply sitting back and letting the sensations of being in the presence of genius wash over him – but Tyson, this man, he was quite simply the most beautiful thing of all. More than the perfect symphony, more than scores of poetry books, more than a sunset over a lake seen from a boat in the middle of it. (He and Chris and Mike had rowed out to the centre of a lake in Derbyshire once, just to watch the sun set. It was a magnificent sight.)
Tyson’s face broke into a smile, and Nick watched, dazed, as he became even more beautiful. “You must be Nickolas, if he’s Christopher,” he said, holding out a hand for Nick to shake.
“Please,” Nick said, faintly, clearing his throat and trying to remember what to do with his limbs. “Call me Nick.” He shook Tyson’s hand, startled by the physical contact. Tyson’s grip was firm, his fingers long and his palm warm. Nick swallowed.
“By the grace of our lord,” Mike muttered, watching them, “I do believe our Nickolas has fallen in love.” He nudged Chris, who laughed.
Nick blushed. He opened his mouth to tell Mike to mind his own business, but couldn’t quite remember how to make words come out. Tyson was watching him, cheeks a little pink himself. (It was more attractive than it had any right to be. He looked like an angel when he blushed, Nick thought.)
“I, um,” Tyson started, his voice low and obviously only meant for Nick. Mike and Chris arranged their features to make it look like they weren’t straining to hear the words. “I wouldn’t, um. Be indifferent, if.” He cleared his throat, blushing harder and looking helplessly at the newspaper now sliding off Nick’s lap.
Nick still couldn’t recall how to form words and make them appear outside of his body, so he just nodded a little and tried not to gaze at Tyson too much.
“Pull yourself together,” Chris told him, leaning over to snap his fingers by Nick’s ear. Nick jumped. “You have to be presentable to company in half an hour.”
“Er.” Nick at last found his voice. “I – of course. Yes. I, yes.” He cleared his throat again and stood up. “I had – I must finish dressing.” He retired to the other room, throwing a helpless look at Chris and letting his eyes linger a little on Tyson. He bit his lip, not noticing he was doing so until the door was closed and he was leaning against it. “Oh, God,” he exhaled, sliding down until he sat, knees bent to his chin. He looked up at the ceiling, collecting himself, breathing evenly in and out and willing his erection to at least hide itself under his coat.
At the party that night, all he was aware of was a blur, glinted with light. The candles seemed to make the chandelier sparkle, every piece of jewellery was almost blinding, and the ladies he danced with laughed with shimmering teeth. His eyes refused to stop searching the room until they landed on Tyson; a head of curls, taller than approximately half of the men, bright blue eyes, a sloping smile and a laugh his ears easily picked out of the crowd. He kept catching Tyson glancing at him, and they would simultaneously blush and look away. Nick fervently hoped nobody had noticed; he danced more heartily and with more handsome, unmarried young women than he usually did, played cards with the other men and watched Tyson from behind his eyelashes during the games, pretending to be contemplating his hand of poker. He lost just the right amount of money before declaring himself unlucky for the night, and rather tired; he made a great show of yawning and bidding everybody good-night.
As he rose to go, Tyson stood too. “Mr Wheeler, may I trouble you for a little company for some of the journey? I have not spent the years in town that you have, I fear I do not know the way to my lodgings from here.”
“Just ask the cab driver,” someone shouted, drunkenly and merrily. Tyson smiled a polite small smile, still turned towards Nick.
“But of course,” Nick answered, as soon as he could trust himself to speak. “I should like a little company, if only for some of the way. Come, I shall show you.” They left, passing Mike, who winked at them from behind his cards, a small pile of bank notes sitting on the table in front of him. Mike was what was known as lucky. He regularly beat everybody in the room at cards, to cries of, “See that? The bloody luck of the Irish. Unfair, that’s what it is.” (Mike, of course, cheated. Sometimes.)
The night air was foggy, shapes looming out of it as hansom cabs passed. Nick’s rooms were within walking distance, and Tyson’s lodgings only a little further. They walked in silence, every now and then opening their mouths to speak but stopping at the sound of hooves, or footsteps. When they reached Nick’s rooms, he stopped.
“I … I live here, this is. Your lodgings are just, you go down to the end of the road and turn left and …” Nick’s voice trailed off as Tyson stepped closer. He smelled like the fog, like the wine and the smoke from the party, and underneath that, like soap and something musky and sweet. Nick inhaled hungrily. “You.”
“If you want me to come in with you,” Tyson whispered, mouth a little way from Nick’s ear, “all you need do is ask.”
Nick swallowed. “I,” he breathed, “I would. Please,” he whispered, “Tyson, won’t you come in?”
“I would be delighted to,” Tyson whispered back, and Nick got them inside as fast as he could, inside and up to the rooms he shared with Chris, past the maid dusting the mantelpiece in the drawing room with an instruction that they were not to be disturbed, and into Nick’s bedroom. He hardly dared look at Tyson as they whisked through the flat, Tyson’s scent enveloping his senses, Tyson’s footsteps and breathing just behind him.
Once the bedroom door was closed, Nick turned around and pushed Tyson against it and fastened his mouth, hungrily, desperately, onto Tyson’s. Tyson groaned and grasped at his hips, pulling him closer, crashing their erections together. They moaned then in unison, Nick grinding hard against him, Tyson grinding back, using the door to propel himself and Nick towards the bed. Nick walked backwards, trying not to trip, tasting wine on Tyson’s tongue, plucking at his shirt, hands shaking as he undid the buttons. He had not ever, in all of his life, wanted someone so urgently as he wanted Tyson now. They fell onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and groans, and Tyson moved his mouth, moved it down to Nick’s neck, licking and sucking and leaving a line of tiny bites that made Nick shiver. He arched his neck, Tyson licking a line up his exposed throat, undoing his shirt buttons, pushing items of clothing hastily out of the way. Movements frantic, they managed only to get each other’s trousers unfastened before Tyson simply settled his groin over Nick’s, pressing their erections flush. They thrusted against each other, delicious friction, mouths crashing together again, swallowing each other’s whimpers and moans. Nick came, suddenly, overwhelmingly, gripping Tyson’s arms and bucking up against him. Tyson came a few seconds later with a long low moan, grinding onto Nick’s stomach.
They lay in a tangle, letting their breathing return to normal. Nick stroked fingertips through Tyson’s hair. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, exhaled. Tyson stirred in his arms.
“You,” he murmured, “are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, Nickolas.”
Nick smiled. They slept on top of the covers that night, still half clothed, until Nick awoke shivering at some hour of the morning and pulled the blankets over them.
He awoke next to sunlight streaming in through the shutters, and breathing damp against his earlobe. He shifted, and when he caught sight of the curling dark hair on the pillow next to him, the night before crashed in via his temples.
Meeting Tyson. The party. Coming home, shaking with anticipation, getting Tyson in the door, kissing the very life out of him, the feel of Tyson coming on his stomach. He looked down; his stomach was faintly sticky and a little crusted. He shifted, trying not to wake Tyson, but there came a mumbled, “G’morning.”
“You’re awake,” Nick observed, settling closer to him. Tyson lifted his head and smiled. Nick flooded with warmth; Tyson was breathtaking, he thought, with his hair wild and his eyes half-closed and his smile so open.
“I thought you might have been a particularly good dream,” he murmured, leaning closer. Nick caught his mouth with his own, kissing him languidly. It was different from the biting, devouring kisses of the night before; soft, gentle, slow. Nick’s entire body began to tingle, piece by piece.
When they finally broke apart, Nick had one palm cupping Tyson’s cheek without remembering putting it there. “I didn’t believe,” he whispered, “in love at first sight.”
Tyson smiled. “I did,” he whispered back, trailing a line of light, small kisses along Nick’s jaw until he reached his earlobe, taking it softly between his teeth and tugging just a little. A bubble of joy welled in Nick’s chest until it escaped in a small laugh.
“Tyson Ritter,” he remembered, thinking back to Mike’s introductions. “Where have you been all my life?”
“Yorkshire,” Tyson answered, voice muffled by Nick’s throat, which he was currently kissing with an open mouth. “Rugby. Cambridge.”
“I’m a Repton and Oxford man myself,” Nick breathed, arching his neck.
“Let me guess,” Tyson murmured, voice a rumble against Nick’s clavicle. “The arts, mainly.”
“How did you know?” It dawned on Nick that Tyson was making an infinitely slow downward progress, and a squirming feeling began in his belly.
Tyson looked up and gave a toothy smile. “I had a feeling,” he said, and helped Nick out of the rest of his clothes.
His downward progress had rather sped up by the time all of Nick’s clothes were tossed aside. Tyson’s head had ended up somewhere around Nick’s waist; he moved and shuffled down until his legs must have been hanging mostly if not all off the bed. Nick bent one leg, and Tyson rested his cheek against the thigh. He contemplated Nick’s morning erection, bobbing closer and closer to his stomach as he squirmed under the scrutiny.
“True beauty,” Tyson murmured, then turned his head and licked a long line up Nick’s thigh. Nick’s breath stuttered and hitched as Tyson licked lines and circles and swirls over his skin, from the dip behind his knee all the way up to the crease where leg met hip, always keeping to the soft flesh of the inner thigh. Nick’s nerve endings tingled and awoke as Tyson’s tongue swept across them, further and further in, before skating tantalisingly from hip to hip, starting in on the other thigh. Nick spread them further at Tyson’s nudges, Tyson’s hands following his mouth to stroke and press and trace patterns with his fingertips. Nick tried hard to keep quiet, but it was difficult; he wanted to whimper, to moan, to cry out as Tyson’s tongue swept ever closer to its target.
At last, when Nick was trembling and his hands were opening and closing aimlessly and he was breathing hard through his nose, Tyson’s tongue swept once up and down Nick’s erection. Nick’s hips bucked off the mattress and Tyson’s breath puffed across the shaft, a small amused sound, pleased, coming from Tyson’s mouth – and then he dipped his head, back, down, past the base of Nick’s erection, past the sensitive folds of skin, and when Nick realised where Tyson’s destination lay, he couldn’t help the groan he gave, spreading his legs as far as they would go and closing his eyes as Tyson’s tongue found, at last, its mark.
Nick had been to bed with men before – had even, on occasion, been invited to join Mike and Chris – but not a one of them had ever done this to him. Tyson lapped, his tongue a wet and warm and delicious sensation against him. Nick wished he could spread his thighs more, and he bucked up against and into that wetness, hoarse moans emitting from his throat as Tyson’s tongue worked, licking and lapping and gently thrusting inside once for every five times Nick’s heart beat. It was racing, threatening to thump right out of his chest as he arched, squirmed, writhed as Tyson mercilessly thrust and lapped.
Tyson moaned, and Nick felt it go through him and arched harder, coming without so much as touching himself; his hands had been fisting the sheets since Tyson’s tongue touched him, and he almost ripped them as he came, his every particle shaking, almost not caring if he screamed in ecstasy.
As he settled back, Tyson giving his still-twitching thighs several last wet, open-mouthed kisses, Nick crooked one finger to beckon him back up. Tyson crawled up his body and wrapped his arms around him. They were both shaking.
It took Nick several moments to return his breathing to normal and his limbs to stop trembling, but as he stilled he noticed that Tyson was making small desperate sounds. “Please,” Tyson breathed, shaking against Nick. “Please.”
Nick moaned, rolled Tyson over onto his back, and slid quickly until his head was level with Tyson’s waist. He waited the few seconds it took Tyson to look down and lock their gaze; and then Nick slid his mouth onto Tyson’s erection, fighting the urge to close his eyes in pure pleasure. It felt good, right, perfect to be sliding his mouth up and down it, giving soft sucks, wrapping one hand around the base and eliciting broken sounds from Tyson, half whimpers, fractions of moans. Nick licked and sucked in an instinctive pattern, the note of Tyson’s whimpers higher and higher as he went. Nick twisted his wrist; Tyson let go an “Ahh!” before flinging one arm over his mouth and – Nick could see it from below – biting down to keep the groans in. Nick’s eyes rolled shut and he moaned, soft. Tyson gave a startled buck and a gasp, and he came.
Nick’s mouth filled. He made sure to give a few last sucks and bursts of pressure from laying his tongue along places on the shaft he had never thought to lay it before, but felt he wanted to, with Tyson; at each of these pressures, Tyson twitched with his whole body and let another piece of a moan escape. Nick at last lifted his mouth away to swallow, eyes on Tyson’s dazed ones.
Nick crawled up and lay on Tyson’s chest. Tyson was heaving his breath back, and wrapped both arms around Nick. “You are incredible,” he murmured, kissing Nick’s hair.
“All I ask is that you let me do that, again and again,” Nick murmured back. He looked up to see Tyson staring at him in startled disbelief. “Now I’ve done it once, I don’t think I can bear not doing it as much as I possibly can,” he explained. “You,” he breathed, leaning closer to brush their noses together, “you make the most exquisite noises. I shan’t be able to think about anything else for some time.”
“You’re an angel,” Tyson whispered. “An absolute angel, sent from Heaven to me. What I don’t know is what I did to deserve such goodness.”
Nick closed his eyes and inched their mouths closer. “You took those words right out of my mind,” he breathed, and kissed him.
:*:
London, 1886
“The advantage of having no family,” Mike declared, pointing accusingly at Nick and Tyson, “is that nobody is trying to marry you off.”
“You wait until my sister is old enough to bother me,” Tyson returned. “She already keeps writing to ask if I’m engaged yet. I blame that governess of hers, filling her head with romantic nonsense.”
The effect of this sentence was rather diminished, in Nick’s opinion, by the fact that he had pulled Nick into his lap and was playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Nick was curled up in Tyson’s arms, head leaning against his shoulder, Mike’s various aunts and cousins finally having left.
“It’s all that Catholicism,” Chris stated, returning from the drinks cabinet with glasses of whiskey. “Large families looking to be made even larger.”
“Well, here’s one lad who won’t be increasing the size of the Kennertys,” Mike said, holding his glass up. “Cheers.”
Chris was looking thoughtful. “You don’t want any little Michaels running around?” he asked, voice gentle. Mike just looked at him, shaking his head and pulling him close.
“Are ye mad?” He kissed him, a soft press of lips. “I’ve got you, what on earth would I want my own progeny for?”
Chris just smiled, and settled against him on the sofa. “What about you?” Nick asked him, warm and safe as Tyson stroked fingertips through his hair. “Would you want little Christophers and Christinas?”
“No,” Chris shook his head. “I’ve got my hands full with this one,” he tilted towards Mike, who laughed.
“Get away with you,” he chuckled, pushing a little. Chris just grinned, and Mike pounced on him. They ended up stretched out on the sofa, Mike pinning Chris down onto it and kissing him thoroughly, whiskey glasses set aside on the table. Nick turned his face up to Tyson, like a flower basking in sunlight, and smiled softly.
Tyson whispered into his ear, “You’re so beautiful,” and brushed first their cheeks and then their lips together. Nick’s smile spread, peaceful, content, and he opened his mouth softly and kissed Tyson at a gentle pace set entirely to their heartbeats.
:*:
London, 1891
“Are you not going to introduce me?” asked the girl, as Tyson led her inside the house. A small dog trotted at her ankles, and she was dressed in the current fashion. Nick bowed politely.
“Bailey, this is my friend Mr Nickolas Wheeler, with whom I share this house. Nickolas, my darling sister Bailey. It is her first season in town.”
Bailey blushed a little, demurely, as she curtseyed. “How do you do, Mr Wheeler?”
“Very well, I thank you, Miss Ritter,” Nick replied. “Your brother informs me we are to bring you out into society.”
“I do hope the task won’t be very tiresome for you,” she said, all eyelashes and coquettery. She would be married within a twelvemonth, he thought wryly.
“My dearest darling, there is no need to practice your charms on Mr Wheeler,” Tyson told her, directing the footman with one hand to take Bailey’s things to her room. “He is quite the confirmed bachelor.” He leaned closer to her and whispered loudly, “And far too old for you, in any case.”
“Don’t be silly, there’s no such thing,” Bailey replied, still smiling prettily at Nick. He wanted to laugh, but held it down.
“I am going to have to keep my eye on you,” Tyson said, smiling with utmost pride at her, “I can see that.”
“Oh Tyson, I do hope you will not scare away any suitors. If they are … agreeable.” Bailey smiled again at Nick.
This time, Nick did laugh. “There is certainly no doubt that you are a Ritter,” he said, extending an arm to her. “Come, let me show you the house.”
He caught the look Ty threw him over Bailey’s shoulder, and grinned back.
:*:
Thistleplain Manor, 1892
“You will keep my things here for me, won’t you?” Bailey asked, suddenly sounding like the anxious young girl she really was. Tyson pulled her into a rough hug.
“Of course, you silly little thing. I shall expect you to visit, whenever you can manage.”
Nick added his own arms to the hug. “He shall be tired of my company by the time you return; no doubt I will need your persuading for him to like me again.” He winked, and Bailey giggled.
“Pshaw, I could never grow tired of you, Nickolas,” Tyson pooh-poohed. The hug broke, the three of them returning to the ordering of Bailey’s cases to the carriage. “Reginald will take good care of you, I am sure of it.”
“I know it,” Bailey smiled, happiness radiating once more from every pore. She had been married the week before; Nick had spent the entire ceremony trying not to stare at Tyson, who had given her away and looked nearly unbearably splendid in his morning suit. Reginald was a good man, due to serve in India under the English government. Bailey was excited by the prospect of life in the East; the heat, the society. She would have all the other Mem Sahibs for friends, and had told Nick she felt she could be perfectly content there.
After the carriage had left, and the servants returned inside the house to their duties, Tyson wrapped his arms around Nick. “Are you quite sure you wish to live here?” he murmured, lips close to Nick’s ear.
Nick leaned back against him. “Perfectly, absolutely sure. Just as long as you are,” he added.
“Oh yes,” Tyson breathed, pressing kisses to the skin just behind Nick’s ear. Nick shivered, hoping his knees wouldn’t buckle. “Absolutely certain.” He felt Tyson’s smile, and closed his eyes to inhale shakily. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Tyson’s arms slipped from around his waist, and Nick obediently followed as Tyson bounded through the gardens, laughing, walking with springs in his heels as if he had taken Mike’s shoes when they left London. Nick let out a whooping laugh and his own heels lifted him off the ground in joy.
They bounced through the kitchen gardens, past the orchard, and then Tyson stopped. He took a key out of his pocket, held it up, and smiled a particular smile at Nick. “Welcome,” he said, slipping the key into the lock in a green door in the wall ahead of them, “to our paradise.”
He opened the door, took Nick’s hand, and led him into the garden. It was lush and green, with ivy growing over the walls and trees lining them; a fountain stood in the centre, water cascading out of a graceful mermaid’s urn. Tyson closed the door behind them and stood, beaming, as Nick took it all in. “I,” he breathed.
Tyson wrapped his arms around Nick’s waist again, this time pulling him to face him. “It’s ours,” he said. “We can come here whenever we like, and we can lock the rest of the world out. Just us, and the trees, and the garden.”
“Oh Ty,” Nick breathed, knowing he should be looking around at the garden again but unable to take his eyes from Tyson’s, “it’s beautiful.”
“I would give you the world, were it mine to give,” Tyson whispered, and it seemed as if all the love in the world was pouring from his eyes into Nick’s.
“This is the world,” Nick whispered back, leaning in and touching their foreheads, their noses, tilting until their mouths met and Tyson sighed in perfect contentment.
:*:
“So this is the ancestral pile,” Mike observed, eyes taking in the house and the grounds.
“No,” Tyson said, taking one arm from where it was wrapped around Nick’s waist so he could point over at the moor, “that’s the ancestral pile. This is just our house.”
Chris laughed. The distant rumble of wheels signalled the carriage’s progress down the wooded avenue away from the house, and all the servants were inside it taking Chris and Mike’s bags to their rooms. “Did you inherit the moor?”
“Yes,” Tyson said, seriously, “from my mother.”
“Did she love it out there?” Nick asked, turning his neck a little. Tyson’s body was spooned around him from behind.
“She did,” Tyson nodded. “Taught me about the birds and the foxes.”
Nick nestled further into the curve of Tyson’s arms, and Mike beamed at them. “Look at you two. Like a pair of newlyweds, you and your big house and your moor.”
Nick laughed. “I feel like a newlywed.” Tyson kissed his hair and smiled into it. “We landed on our feet here,” he sighed, happy, looking up at the angry grey winter sky. “You should see it in summer, it’s glorious.”
“Invite us before Christmas next time,” Chris rolled his eyes.
“Pssh, you don’t need an invitation,” Tyson waved a hand. “The invitation is implied in our being here and you being there.”
“We’ll remember that,” Mike assured them, grinning. “And so will you when we’re bearing down upon you and won’t leave you alone.”
“We’d like that,” Tyson said, sincere. “Come on, Nick, let’s show them the gardens.” He winked, as if to say All but ours; that’s our secret, and Nick felt deliciously happy as he thought of their own secret paradise, a place nobody else knew, a place where they could shut the world out. The day was blustery, but not wet, and Tyson showed Mike and Chris the gardens and the grounds a little, while Nick went inside to make sure dinner would be ready for four at the correct time. He and Tyson showed them all over the house; its libraries, studies, bedrooms, suites for guests, the one they had set aside for Bailey, who hadn’t even reached India yet – Chris examined the tapestries and paintings, while Mike exclaimed over the books in the libraries, and Nick and Tyson proudly stood as only those sharing things they are fond of with people they adore can stand.
As evening drew in and the threatening clouds began to empty onto the moor, a chambermaid lit the lamps and they settled in with a bottle or two of brandy, talking over art and music and science, as if they were still the students they had not been for over a decade, Nick curled up in Tyson’s lap, warm by the fire, and Mike and Chris with their limbs tangled, sitting as close as could be. Nick felt full, after supper, and sleepy, and safe here with Tyson’s arms around him, Mike’s hearty laughter circling over his head, the scent of Tyson’s skin warm under his nose. He nuzzled against Tyson’s neck happily, like a cat.
“I half think you’re going to start purring,” Tyson murmured. Nick looked up at him, letting his eyes shine freely.
“Perhaps I am,” he smiled. He almost felt as though he could, too, a rumble deep in his chest somewhere, the sound of perfect rightness. Tyson kissed the top of his head and beamed down at him.
“I do so love you, Nickolas,” he whispered. Nick leaned up and nudged their noses together.
“And I you, Tyson,” he exhaled, closing his eyes.
They excused themselves, Mike watching them leave with twinkling eyes and a muttered, “What did I tell ye? Newlyweds.” Nick turned the blankets on the bed down as Tyson unbuttoned his shirt, and when Nick looked up he saw Tyson had been watching the curve of his back. Tyson took hold of his hips, the touch gentle.
“I keep thinking I should one day think you less beautiful,” he murmured as Nick straightened his back and leaned against him, “but it hasn’t happened yet.”
“I,” Nick breathed. “You will never be anything less than an angel to me.” He turned to face Tyson, kissing him breathlessly, hungrily. Tyson pressed them both gently onto the bed, undressing Nick quickly.
“I love you, oh Nick,” Tyson exhaled, his voice shaky as he pulled Nick to him, skittered fingertips across his skin. Nick arched into the touch. “Will you let me – I want to try something.”
“Anything,” Nick nodded, clutching at Tyson’s arms.
“You must promise me you won’t try to do a thing to me, all right?” Tyson bit his lip. “This is all,” he leaned forward and kissed Nick’s neck, “for you.”
“I will, I – yes, I promise – oh Ty,” Nick whimpered, as Tyson’s fingers stroked in the places he knew Nick liked. Nimble, clever, beautiful fingers, Nick thought, as they made their way over his skin, circling and skating and touching, waking every nerve ending, making his skin tingle and glow and come alive.
Tyson breathed steadily as he wrapped his hand around Nick’s erection, and Nick thrust up into the touch. “Shhh,” Tyson whispered, as Nick let escape small whimpers. “Be patient, my love,” he murmured, mouth under Nick’s ear, kissing and licking in circles and lines. Nick lay as still as he could as Tyson stroked with that hand, sure and strong strokes that were somehow absolutely perfect and nowhere near enough. Nick’s toes curled as Tyson slowly but surely built up rhythm; but just as a tightness began in Nick’s lower back, Tyson pinched something hard and the flash of pain drove the orgasm clean away.
“Ty –” Nick protested, but Tyson’s mouth was on his clavicle.
“Shhhh,” he murmured, and it vibrated through Nick’s chest. “You promised you’d let me.”
Nick settled back and Tyson set a rhythm again, slower, sure strokes that were so delicious Nick could hardly bear it, just perfectly this side of pleasing, so close to enough yet not quite, and as Tyson slowly, slowly built the rhythm again, Nick felt another tightening, another pooling, and this time he said, “Ty –”
Tyson pinched, again, and the orgasm receded. “Yes,” Tyson whispered, moving up to kiss Nick, let him bite hungrily at his mouth, trembling all over, “yes. That’s exactly it, Nicky.”
Nick moaned, and Tyson started the rhythm again, slow and perfect and not enough, until it was almost enough and he staved off the orgasm. He did it seven more times, each more exquisite than the last, until Nick couldn’t stop shaking, his throat producing a constant stream of whimpers and moans, and at last, at last, Tyson let him come, let it spill over his hand, and Nick saw stars on his eyelids, his whole body involved in the sensations, his mouth falling open and loud groans coming out of it.
Tyson fell onto it as soon as Nick went slack, reverberations still twitching through him. Tyson covered his body with his own, and at last Nick could use his hands, plunged them past Tyson’s waist and grasped hold of Tyson’s erection in both palms. It took one hard stroke for Tyson to buck and cry out, coming into the space between them as Nick watched the curve of his neck.
They curled in together, breathing slowing, and turned over onto their sides after a minute. Tyson’s chest curled around Nick’s back, and they settled as close as two people could. Tyson kissed Nick’s shoulder.
In the morning, Nick woke early and found Chris standing at the windows of Tyson’s study, looking out at the blustery moor. “You’ve built a heaven here,” he said when he heard Nick’s footsteps and turned to smile at him. Chris turned back to the window. “You and Ty, your own piece of heaven.”
Nick smiled out at the moor. “Yes,” he said, “we have. You and Mike are always welcome here.”
Chris smiled at him again, still the young boy Nick had sat next to at school and asked to borrow blotting-paper from. “I am glad of it,” was all he said, and Nick squeezed his shoulder before going back to the bedroom to see if Tyson was awake yet.
:*:
Thistleplain Manor, 1901
They had locked the door and spent all afternoon in the garden. The sun was high, the sky one big arch of glorious blue with wisps of cloud wheeling across it every hour or two. The trees and the walls kept it cool, but they splashed water from the fountain onto their faces and flicked drops at each other, laughing. Nick’s shirt was half off and Tyson caught him, arms circling his waist and pulling him in closer, tugging the cloth away from his body.
“Come here, my beautiful boy,” he murmured, and Nick smiled into the kiss, their mouths open and meeting in the middle, corners turned up.
“I’m not a boy any more,” Nick reminded him. “My limbs are creaky and ancient.”
Tyson chuckled a deep, throaty chuckle and a glint appeared in his eye. “You are not too old, my angel. Your limbs are lithe yet.” As if to demonstrate, he hoisted Nick up by the hips and set him on the thick stone edge of the fountain. Nick wrapped his legs around Tyson’s waist, rocking their hips together. Tyson tipped his head back and groaned.
“You are right, of course,” Nick murmured, leaning in to press his mouth to Tyson’s neck. “I am never too old for this.” He tugged Tyson’s shirt out and away from his trousers.
Their progress left a pool of clothes by the fountain and they lay in the bower they had made, soft blankets stretched out as Tyson examined every inch of Nick’s naked body with his mouth and his fingertips. Nick moaned at every touch, gasped at every lick, his entire self awake and alive with sensation. The birds wheeled out of the trees at his cries as Tyson’s tongue prepared him, their favourite game.
The oil came after Tyson’s tongue, a small jar kept secreted under a stone, and when Tyson slipped inside him Nick tasted heaven, just like always. Tyson set a slow rhythm, hand working on Nick, mouth leaving small light kisses all over his neck and his cheeks and his eyelids and the curve of his ears. They made slow, delicious love as the garden grew around them, their paradise, both trembling with barely-held sensations and low moans and murmurings.
Nick’s orgasm wasn’t like the crashing of the tide, as it usually was; this time, it crept over him slowly, filling him up from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head with a quiet, tranquil ecstasy. He breathed out, and whispered, “I love you, Tyson, oh, I love you so entirely,” and he quivered with it and felt he might just rise up off the ground. He felt as if he was filled with golden light, an aching beauty too enormous for just his body to hold.
Tyson was shaking, and breathed, “I love you, oh Nick, I love you,” with the same wonder in his voice, and when Nick looked at him he knew Tyson was feeling exactly the same, having exactly this orgasm, and he kissed him hungrily, firmly, perfectly.
They lay tangled in the bower afterwards, neither needing to say a word. Nick stroked his fingertips down Tyson’s arm and murmured, “I suppose I am not so old after all.”
Tyson propped his head up on his hand and smiled. “I did tell you.”
Nick settled closer, arms around. “Let’s stay here a while,” he said, “and watch the roses grow.”
Tyson kissed his hair. “You’re so silly,” he murmured, fondness radiating out of the words. Nick’s skin hummed happily.
They slept like that, twined together, the lovers in the garden, and as the sun set beyond the wall it seemed for a moment that a shaft of light stole in through the keyhole in the door. It alighted on Nick’s hair, moved briefly to Tyson’s eyelids, and then it was gone.
Nick shifted closer to Tyson, and slept on.

We'll Be Standing Here (For the Next One Hundred Years)

2007-12-06T11:23:40Z

We'll Be Standing Here (For the Next One Hundred Years)
{Nick/Tyson // hard R // 4,900 words // 100% untrue & disclaimed // for Shonna.}

There are actual fireworks the first time Tyson kisses Nick.

::~::

It’s the third week in June, and already Tyson is trying not to dread the end of the summer. The remaining band members drifted away last semester, so now it’s just him and Nick playing, and he’s even showed Nick some of his lyrics and they jammed out a melody. Nick fleshed it out some on the drums while Tyson played the bass notes he’s had stuck in his head since the words crashed in there. It sounds … well, not like a whole song, exactly, but definitely the basis for a solid song, one they can play at Mike’s when it’s finished.

The thing is, Nick has this summer and then he’s off to college. The thing is, Tyson can’t stop watching him as discreetly as possible and thinking about kissing him.

He’s come close. A lot of times, he’s come close. Usually when they’re drunk and Nick – who is an affectionate and giggly drunk, it’s so fucking cute – decides he really likes the shape of Tyson’s body and wants to cover it and tuck himself into the contours. Tyson instinctively pets him when he does this, and Nick beams up at him from his lap and Tyson shifts so that his boner won’t poke Nick in the ear or something. And sometimes they’ll be talking about any old random shit that probably wouldn’t make sense to them if they were sober but is perfect and clear and true with alcohol buzzing through their bloodstreams, and Tyson is petting Nick’s hair and Nick is nuzzling his belly and it’s just natural, the whole thing, all of it. So good, and so right, and Tyson always feels blissful when he has a cuddly Nick in his lap. Sometimes they end up with their heads near each other and that’s when it’s so close and Tyson’s insides flip and flop and generally have some impressive high jinks without him because he’s too busy staring at Nick’s mouth to form coherent thought or even really move much. But he always passes it off as just, y’know, being in an altered state of consciousness, and Nick never says anything or seems awkward at all. He just snuggles closer.

It happens a lot. So much so that whenever Tyson even smells beer or anything else alcoholic he gets a sense-memory buzzing in the pit of his belly and he can’t stop smiling. The same thing happened once when he found a shirt of Nick’s in his bedroom that Nick had somehow left there, and it had smelled so Nick-like that Tyson had caught his reflection in the mirror and realised he was beaming fit to crack his face in two.

Having a crush on your best friend is not, on the whole, the best possible outcome. Not when your best friend is another dude, in any case, because being kinda gay (though he’s not really sure yet, because he likes girls a lot, but some guys, fuck; especially Nick, Nick’s the hottest thing this side of the sun and it is so, so wrong, but the fact that Nick has a penis is a total fucking turn-on, so maybe he is kinda gay) is one thing, but letting on is entirely another. Best friend or no, that whole thing could go very, very wrong. Like, off the fucking charts wrong. Tyson isn’t sure how Nick would react; he knows how he thinks he’d react (sympathy, or maybe pity, and he would keep the secret and not say anything, would also try not to treat him any differently but it would be so fucking awkward and it would really fucking suck), he knows how he wants him to react (jumping Tyson’s bones would be preferable to anything else … in the world, basically), but he doesn’t know how he’ll actually react. Would react, that is. Because Tyson really does not want to tell Nick he thinks he’s incredible and would very much like to pound him against a wall. Or that he spends more time in class thinking about blowing Nick than whatever the subject he’s meant to be studying is. Or that he has crazily vivid dreams where Nick just shows up in the middle of the night, climbs in through Tyson’s window and takes his coat off to reveal that he’s naked underneath, and proceeds to make out with Tyson for what feels like hours and hours.

Tyson has taken to doing his own laundry.

They get drunk the last Monday in June, after they play a few songs at Mike’s. People like to buy them drinks; there’s a few patrons of that bar who have taken Tyson rather under their wings, buying him drinks, talking to him about rock’n’roll lifestyles and crazy stories from the Oklahoma scene. It’s a little like he’s their pet tiny rock dude, and he is totally okay with being a pet tiny rock dude if it gets him drinks and stories and chances to glance over at Nick to see his face lighting up when anybody mentions a band he likes and what happened this one time they toured through the state. That’s kind of the best part, watching the way Nick’s face goes from interested listening (eyebrows slightly raised, eyes politely attentive, mouth open just a little) to delighted (eyes crinkling up, mouth breaking into a smile, spots of faint pink on his cheeks) in a matter of seconds. How his mouth stays in this elastic, stretched shape but slackens as he listens to the story, smile solidifying and drifting like the tide as the whole tale unfolds. Even if it’s one they’ve heard before.

This time, this one night, they get a few stories but most of the regulars aren’t there, or are busy having their own conversations and don’t want to play with the pets tonight, so Nick suggests they head somewhere and drink a while, and Tyson volunteers his back yard because everybody else will be in bed by now and as long as they keep quiet and in that one spot round the corner of the building they’ll be out of view. He doesn’t add that they’ll be out of view of everybody, that there is not a single angle from the street or the yard or anywhere else where you can see into that one little patch of grass. He thinks it, though.

It’s dark when they get there, but the kind of summer-dark where you can still see and they’re not drinking in pitch blackness. Nick’s winding around him even sooner than usual, so perhaps the dim light helps, lowering inhibitions in combination with the beer they’re drinking. Tyson doesn’t much care why, he just physically vibrates a little and hums a tune he heard Nick singing this afternoon, drifting the palm of one hand over Nick’s hair. Nick turns his head and nuzzles closer, his nose under Tyson’s ribcage.

It’s comfortable, and as long as Nick stays where he is and doesn’t move his torso four inches to the left, it will stay comfortable. Nick joins in the humming and taps out a beat on Tyson’s side with his fingertips.

Tyson could stay like this for the rest of his life. Nick smiles up at him and says something, something about it being warm or maybe something about a worm, Tyson can’t tell because he’s trying to make out the shape of Nick’s features in the dark. He doesn’t say anything back, just smiles and nods and keeps humming. He changes the tune and sings I’ll believe when you don’t believe in anything softly, to make Nick smile. It works, and Nick cuddles closer and almost soundlessly continues the lyric, I’m gonna hold you till your hurt is gone, be the shoulder that you’re leaning on and Tyson thinks, if it all should end tonight I’ll know it was worth the fight. He doesn’t sing it. He just strokes his hand down Nick’s back, a hesitant, gentle movement.

Nick curls further into Tyson’s body and hums that particular hum that isn’t a tune, just the sound of contentment rushing past vocal chords. He’s shifted by now so that his head is on Tyson’s shoulder, their bodies curled around each other. Tyson’s back is against the wall, hard and cold, but Nick is soft and warm in his lap and Tyson can’t stop himself moving his hands over Nick’s back. Nick shifts against him.

For a moment – just a fleeting moment, so Tyson can’t be in any way sure about this – he feels something hard pressing against his hip. His heart stops, breath stilled in his throat, for what feels like an hour but is probably more like one and a half seconds. Nick doesn’t notice, he just keeps shifting, winding closer and closer around him, and then – fuck, Tyson definitely feels something.

Nick has a boner. He either hasn’t noticed it, or hasn’t noticed that it is now digging into Tyson’s side, but surely he’s going to notice that Tyson has gone completely still. Surely.

Nick hums something deep in his throat, but it sounds a little like a growl and Tyson’s pulse jumps. Nick’s mouth is close to his shirt, Nick nuzzling almost into his neck, and – and then, so lightly that Tyson really can’t be sure it has actually happened, he feels Nick’s mouth ghost against his skin.

He gets dizzy, needs more oxygen; his breathing has gone shallow, so he gulps air in and thinks, this is it. Kiss him. Do it, go on, do it now, he’s drunk and cuddly and fuck, he’s hard, and oh fuck am I digging into his ribs? I think I am. Fuck, he knows I’m hard too, fuck fuck, and he – I swear, he fucking kissed my fucking neck just then, do it, do it, kiss him. Kiss him. Come on Ritter, don’t be fucking chicken. Kiss the dude.

Tyson swallows. His mouth has gone dry, so he swallows some more times and tries to get rid of the sandpaper-tongue feeling. His heart is pounding in his chest, his stomach has turned to ice cream, and most of the higher functions of his brain have shut down. Nick is nestled comfortably in his lap now, stroking lightly at Tyson’s side with a fingertip, and really, is this normal? It’s normal for them, but it occurs to Tyson suddenly that maybe he wouldn’t cuddle like this with anyone else. Not any of his guy friends; he tries to imagine getting drunk with any one of them and this sort of thing happening, and the thought almost makes him laugh aloud. This is definitely, exclusively a Nick-and-Tyson thing. But what if Nick does this with all of his guy friends?

Nick’s fingertips ghost over the curve of Tyson’s elbow and Tyson thinks, you know what, I don’t think he does. Which leaves this sort of touching – drunk touching, that only happens while under the influence, though they have no qualms about hugging or sitting pretty close on the couch when sober, and since Nick switched to playing guitar Tyson’s developed a habit of playing leaning up against him, or cupping Nick’s back with his body in the solos – as something that is a Nick-and-Tyson thing.

Tyson very much wants there to be a Nick-and-Tyson thing. And – and maybe Nick wants there to be a Nick-and-Tyson thing. And Tyson really should just fucking kiss him, because his pants are way too tight and uncomfortable, because Nick is warm and relaxed and happy, and no, fuck, he can’t, what if he’s reading this all wrong? He could be, it could just be a … maybe it’s a Nick-and-Tyson thing – okay, it definitely is, fine, so it is a Nick-and-Tyson thing, this touching, this physical ease, and okay, yeah, maybe Nick has wood, but there’s all sorts of reasons a guy could be sporting a coat hook. Maybe he has porn playing on a loop in his head, because it can’t just be Tyson that happens to, right? Although lately his brain-porn really hasn’t featured anyone but the dude currently curled around him, so the fact that it plays on a constant loop when Tyson is drunk might not necessarily be a drunk thing, it could just be because Nick’s there. But either way, maybe this whole touching thing is completely platonic. And if Tyson does it, if he shifts around a little until their mouths are level and darts in before Nick can say anything or stop him doing it, if he just kisses him, well. Fuck, even if it lasts two seconds before Nick jumps up and runs off into the night in horror, Tyson knows he’d keep those two seconds sealed in a perfect memory bubble next to every single make-out dream he’s ever had about Nick.

But if there’s any doubt, if there’s any possibility that he’s wrong, that Nick isn’t interested in him like that, if all this is totally just friendship and nothing more, then fuck. Tyson breathes in the scent of a warm and happy Nick and knows that he is entirely, completely, totally and utterly fucked because he’s already far too addicted to this to risk it.

So he doesn’t kiss Nick. Even when Nick looks at his watch and says it’s too late to go home, can he just crash here? Even when Tyson gets the blankets out but Nick shrugs and says why bother, it’ll just be more laundry, they can both sleep in Tyson’s bed, he’s going to fucking fall asleep on his feet; he lies down, and Tyson goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and make small incoherent noises into his arms. Nick is asleep by the time Tyson gets back into the room, and he looks so peaceful and so fucking pretty that Tyson wants to just stand here all night and watch him sleep. He makes himself get into the bed, and Nick is still just awake enough to scoot closer and give him a slack smile before drifting down deeper. Tyson tries to keep his heart rate down so that he can sleep, but he is hyper-aware of Nick’s breathing and the way he smells and feels through two layers of cloth.

Tyson wakes up early the next morning with Nick making soft noises in his ear. He looks over and sees that Nick is twitching slightly, his eyes flickering beneath the lids. He leans closer and whispers, Are you dreaming about me, Nicky? Nick smiles and stops twitching, like Tyson’s voice calmed whatever dream he’d been having. His features iron out to just peaceful again, and he breathes deeply.

Tyson thinks desperately, I love you. He looks up at the ceiling; Nick is asleep, definitely asleep, and when Tyson risks a glance he sees that Nick is hard again. Fuck, he thinks, and shoves his pants down his thighs. He jerks off slowly, carefully, breathing as evenly as possible and keeping on the alert for signs of Nick waking up. It doesn’t take long, with the smell of Nick next to him, the contact from where Nick’s arm is touching him just a little, and Tyson shifts his hips, imagining Nick sliding into his ass and fucking him hard, the way Nick would look at him, the sounds he’d make, the way he’d lean down and bite at Tyson’s neck and moan fuck, Ty against the skin. Tyson comes as silently as he possibly can, aching to yell out Nick’s name, struggling to stop himself arching up into his hand, into his imaginary Nick’s body curve. He squeezes his eyes shut as the aftershocks ebb away, and listens to Nick’s breathing. He can’t help a sudden rush of fear, that maybe Nick heard that somehow, maybe he woke up and saw and Tyson was too caught up in it to notice, but no, Nick is still definitely asleep, so Tyson wipes his hand on his pants and gets out of bed to drop them into the laundry basket.

He turns around after doing so, and Nick’s eyes are open. Tyson thankfully is at least wearing underwear, and Nick looks pretty sleepy still. His lips are stuck together when he tries to speak, and Tyson desperately strangles the thoughts about how he could help unstick those lips. He just mutters something about the bathroom and dashes out.

Nick asks if he can take a shower, and Tyson says of course, yeah, and heads downstairs to locate some breakfast and take his mind off the fact that Nick is currently naked and wet and in his bathroom. Then it occurs to him that Nick keeps a spare set of clothes at Tyson’s house sometimes and maybe that also isn’t what best friends usually do. Then again, maybe it is.

Nick emerges into the kitchen smelling of freshly-washed hair and Tyson’s vanilla soap, and Tyson quickly inhales his spoonful of cereal to keep from thinking thoughts involving eating Nick up and the obvious innuendo contained therein. They spend most of the day watching videos when it gets too hot to just lie in the grass outside looking at the clouds and singing snatches of songs to each other. They’re building a FrankenSong, and they’ve got most of the chorus pieced together now. Tyson heard a few lines of a bridge last week that would work in nifty ways juxtaposed with it, so he sings those at Nick, and Nick punches a fist straight up into the air and sings it back to him.

Tyson could stay like this for the rest of his life, butted up against Nick in the grass, because no matter how sober they get there’s always touching, and just doing nothing much. He knows that if nothing happens with Nick, if this really is all platonic, that he’ll have to get over it and date someone else, but this is okay for now. Nick’s going to college in the fall, anyway, and there’ll be lots of girls there and Nick will forget all about him so, really, Tyson only has this summer. He just hopes it’s enough.

Nick points out a cloud shaped like a pair of breasts and Tyson laughs, thinking, please don’t let the summer end.

::~::

His mom invites Nick over for the fourth of July, because Nick’s family are going to some firework display at his cousin’s and Nick always gets so bored at the family cookouts that he usually sneaks over to Tyson’s when he knows they’re going on, and Tyson’s mom knows this, because Tyson’s mom is kind of awesome sometimes. Nick’s folks say it’s okay for him to come, and Randy comes home with some impressive-looking fireworks, and he asks Nick and Tyson to man the grill while he sets them up. Bailey hides behind Randy’s legs when they start going off, and covers her ears for most of the bangs.

Tyson leads Nick off to that one spot around the side, where they cuddled a week ago, and they sit on the grass and eat hot dogs and have a really great view of the fireworks. Nick has ketchup on his chin and Tyson reaches over to get it with a napkin; Nick’s eyes just crinkle up and he says thanks, takes another bite of his hot dog, and before Tyson knows what he’s doing he’s leaning close and brushing his mouth against Nick’s.

Nick has bits of hot dog on his lips, and his tongue is just snaking out to pull them in when Tyson’s lips come into contact with it. They both jump, springing apart, and Tyson feels his face go hot; Nick just chews his mouthful of hot dog, swallows, and says uh, his voice slightly hoarse. Hesitant.

Fuck, Tyson thinks, and leans in again. He doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing, or why on earth he thinks it’s a good idea, but he kisses Nick again, and this time he keeps his mouth pressed there for five seconds.

On the fifth second, Nick makes a sound and kisses him back.

Tyson almost pulls away, but Nick is kissing him back so he stays there, quivering, heart thumping like crazy and just hoping he won’t breathe wrong and break the spell. Nick moves closer, and Tyson feels the tip of Nick’s tongue against his lips for the second time; but this time, he opens his mouth just a little, and Nick eases his tongue inside.

That’s the point at which Tyson groans. He hears fireworks going off in the sky above, sees flashes of light on his eyelids, but Nick is kissing him deeper and harder, one hand cupping the back of Tyson’s head, and it’s all Tyson can do to remember how to breathe. He knows he’s making noises, that he sounds desperate and wanting, but fuck, he can’t help it, he can’t stop. Nick tastes like hot dogs and lemonade and something, something that he can’t define but that makes him think of nights curled up around each other talking about nothing, and he guesses it’s the taste of Nick. He wants to catch it on his tongue, tries to, gentle quest into Nick’s mouth. He feels the vibrations as Nick moans, at the exact moment a firework explodes with a loud bang.

They kiss, and they kiss, and they kiss, and it’s like every single make-out dream he’s had, only this is so much fucking better because he’s not going to wake up from this, this is real and Nick wants there to be a Nick-and-Tyson thing as much as Tyson wants there to be a Nick-and-Tyson thing. He runs his hands over Nick’s back, shape and feel he knows so well, and Nick shifts closer and moans a little, and it’s so hot Tyson could die when he does that, so he touches Nick again in every place that makes him squirm or groan. Nick pants into his mouth and Tyson thinks he might come any fucking second from this.

When they finally break for air, Nick moans softly, Fuck, and rearranges his shirt over his lap. Tyson holds still so as not to knock him over and hump his fucking leg, and when the danger passes he just nods and breathes hard and says, So, uh, do you – and Nick yanks him closer by the shirt and crushes their mouths back together; a desperate movement, a charged movement, and Tyson gently pushes him down onto his back on the grass and settles on top of him. Nick groans, Yes, fuck, Ty, and Tyson grinds down onto him and fuck, it really shouldn’t feel this good through two pairs of jeans, but it fucking does. Nick arches and pulls Tyson into another kiss, one hand going to the back of his head and cupping, flexing, running through his hair. Nick’s hips are shifting, his thighs moving apart until Tyson is lying between his legs, and Tyson undulates his hips. Nick groans into his mouth. Tyson tries not to die.

Suddenly the fireworks stop and a voice calls through the air. Tyson jumps up off Nick, but thankfully his mom doesn’t round the corner until they’re both sitting up again, inches and inches of distance between their bodies. Tyson’s mom says Bailey’s had enough and they’re going inside, and if Nick wants a ride home he’d better go soon, before it gets dark. She adds that if he wants to stay over that’s also fine, and there will be waffles in the morning. Tyson sneaks a look at Nick, whose hair is a mess and has blades of grass stuck to it in places, like they’ve been wrestling, and no matter how hard he tries not to he still blushes.

Nick smiles innocently up at her and says he can’t pass up the offer of waffles, and she laughs and says she’ll get the spare blankets out. Tyson hears Randy packing up the grill and the remains of the fireworks, and he asks if it’s okay if they stay out here a while, and his mom says of course it is.

When she’s gone and everybody’s back in the house, Tyson turns to Nick and he says, Nick, let’s make the summer not end, and Nick gets it, he nods and he swallows and he beckons Tyson closer and he says, Wanna make out some more. It’s a statement not a question, but Tyson still nods in answer, and maybe it was kind of a question because Nick’s face breaks into this beam and he leans closer and this time he kisses Tyson slow, sets this languid pace that the only word for is delicious, and Tyson thinks it, over and over, delicious delicious fucking delicious.

He shuts his eyes and prays silently that fall never comes.

::~::

Fall comes.

Nick leaves.

He calls Tyson nearly every day, a voice down a telephone line. Tyson gets drunk just for the sense-memories; the old ones of Nick curled around him, cuddly and warm, and the new ones of Nick making out with him for hours and hours, tasting of beer, touching him everywhere until they’re both whimpering and end up jerking each other off, or sometimes they’ll go down on each other. Those are his favourite times, when he looks up the expanse of Nick’s chest and sees the look on his face, eyes closed, lips wet and parted, breathing hard. Tyson’s getting good at blowjobs, at knowing exactly where and how and when to apply pressure, and he masters timing Nick’s orgasm to the second just before college begins.

Their attempts at phone sex are a universal disaster, but that doesn’t stop Tyson jerking off to the sound of Nick’s voice, trying to keep his breathing even but Nick can always tell, whispers Fuck, Ty, starts jerking off too. They just breathe at each other, hitches and stifled moans and Tyson learns to listen for how close Nick is, groans and growls to tip him over the edge, and the sound of Nick coming is like liquid heat at the base of his spine.

Then one day, Nick doesn’t call, and Tyson figures, well, he’ll call tomorrow. But he doesn’t, and he doesn’t call the next day, and Tyson tries not to think about all the girls Nick’s been meeting, all the partying he’s been doing without him. Nick will call tomorrow. Tyson, meanwhile, has homework, so he grabs a ball and heads outside to procrastinate.

The ball has barely bounced back into his hand four times before he hears somebody approaching from behind. Everyone else is out, so he tenses, ready to turn around – but then the somebody puts their hands over his eyes and says, Surprise.

The hands smell like Nick. The voice is Nick’s. Tyson whirls a one-eighty and there, the sun lighting up his rumpled hair and a smile playing across his mouth, is Nick.

Tyson grabs him, babbles You’re really real? Really really? and Nick laughs and says Yes, really really and pulls him closer. He touches their noses together and says, See?, and Tyson closes his eyes and kisses him.

He leads Nick inside, stopping to grab the cookie jar from the kitchen, and heads up to his room. The door closed, the jar set on his desk, he walks Nick backwards over to the bed and gently lays him on it, Nick smiling that little soft smile. Tyson takes Nick’s clothes off a piece at a time, whispering words into his skin as he goes, and Nick curves up to meet his mouth, groaning quietly. Tyson presses kisses to every inch of Nick’s skin he can reach, and then he sucks him in and Nick hisses and Tyson hums and it feels so fucking good to be giving him a blowjob again. He makes it last, taking Nick close to the brink and pulling him back so many times Nick starts making high-pitched whimpering sounds at the back of his throat. Tyson groans, sucks just so, and Nick comes with a long low yell.

He whispers You’re incredible, fuck, Ty as Tyson crawls up his body again, grinning triumphantly. Nick kisses him hard and reaches into his pants, wriggles down the bed to pull them off, and Tyson feels Nick’s mouth, wet and warm and fucking perfect, and he tries not to come right away. Nick can make it last too, and he does, Tyson shaking and emitting broken moans by the time he finally comes. Nick flops down next to him, and Tyson asks if he’s hungry. Nick shakes his head and Tyson says, okay, and leaves the cookie jar alone.

He asks how long Nick’s here for, has to, just so he knows, but Nick says he’s not going back, he dropped out of college. Tyson stares at him and asks, Why?

Nick replies, I came to make the summer not end, and Tyson just catches his mouth and kisses promises into it.

He wakes up later, the room dark, Nick still naked and sprawled across him, and he just listens to his breathing for a while. Nick’s eyes flutter open and he murmurs, What?, and Tyson just shakes his head, Nothing. Was watching you sleep. Nick smiles at him, curls up closer and warmer, breathes, Okay, and Tyson could stay like this for the rest of his life.

Or, What You Will [1/7]

2007-12-06T11:09:50Z

Or, What You Will
{All-American Rejects + crew &c RPS // Nick/Tyson & Kim/Brittany & Robyn/Toad // NC-17 // 45,000 words // 100% untrue & disclaimed // AU // for Two Lines // research help from Mitch & Shelly, beta by Laura & James // crew &c primers can be found here}
[1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7]

There is a theory that states that the gods – or, if you prefer, God and some of His closest friends – like to play chess. This could naturally be a perfectly reasonable pastime for any deity, stimulate the mind and keep it active after all that creation is over, but for the fact that due to a shortage of building materials in the wake of said creation, they use people for the pieces. Subsequently, our lives are played out on some cosmic chess board, ruled by the whim of archangels trying not to win too much in case they incur God’s wrath and get sent to the various and sundry hellfire pits they were threatened with if they didn’t eat whatever the angel equivalent of their greens is.

There is, of course, another theory that states that the first theory is a load of old codswallop.

If the first set of theorists are right, somewhere an angel is spluttering, “But – but you can’t move that piece there, it -” while another angel merely smiles ineffably.

Of course, if the second set of theorists are right, what happened next had nothing whatsoever to do with chess.

* * *

Nick had endured some bad dates in his time. The majority of his college years had sometimes felt like one very long, very bad date, with brief bursts of half-decent boyfriends interspersed here and there.

Shaun had been one such boyfriend. So when Nick had almost literally bumped into him in a bar downtown, and Shaun had asked him if he’d like to meet up for a drink on Saturday night, Nick thought he’d maybe be in for a night of rekindling the old flame, possibly ending with reunion sex and maybe a dinner date. It had been a while, to put it mildly, since he had been out on any kind of a date or had sex that wasn’t with his own right hand, so he was a little eager for the re-igniting.

It was, as it turned out, a complete waste of a perfectly good Saturday night. The Shaun whom Nick had dated in college was a funny, engaging, smart kind of a guy. The Shaun he had met in the bar had seemed a little off, but Nick had figured it was just the strangeness of suddenly seeing each other again, or a perception created by the loud music and the close atmosphere, or perhaps a bit of both.

The Shaun who turned up on Saturday night was still smart, but the funny and engaging parts seemed to have fallen by the wayside. His hair was short, he talked seriously about politics and the real estate market, and then he mentioned that he had a wife and Nick decided to leave. They had hugged after he’d made his excuses, and it was weird. A little because Shaun was, in a way, hotter than ever, but Nick was less attracted to him personally.

The apartment was empty when he got home; Robyn was spending the night at Toad’s. Nick heated a pizza pocket in the microwave and changed channels until he found a horror movie marathon, trying to ignore the pervasive thought If I don’t get laid really fucking soon, I am going to punch something. He chalked this up to another near-miss in a long line of near-misses, though this opportunity had at least got to the drinks stage before belly flopping, and ripped the pizza apart with his teeth.

He ended up falling asleep on the couch at three in the morning, reluctant to go to bed because he’d only jerk off, and lately that was starting to depress him. At least, he thought sleepily, he hadn’t got to the picking random strangers up stage yet; though he could take Shaun as a warning sign, since he’d changed so much he may as well have been a stranger.

He woke up on Sunday morning, shivering and still on the couch. Then he remembered that the next day was Monday, and that it would hold a staff meeting he had an ominous feeling about. So he stumbled into his bed and buried himself under the covers as though, if he snuggled down far enough, he could shut out the world and either Monday wouldn’t come, or he would somehow magically not feel like yanking chunks out of the wall just for something to do that wasn’t entirely depressing.

* * *

Kim was running a bath when the phone rang. She wedged it between her shoulder and ear, adding another few clusters of salts to the water. “Hello?”

“Oh hi, good, you’re in. Listen, are you free tonight?” Robyn’s voice sounded harangued.

“I was just about to take a bath, but yeah.” Kim waited.

Robyn sighed. “Can I come over? I mean, if you want time with Brit, that’s cool, it’s just –”

“It’s okay, she’s at work. Nick still being a total bitch?” She turned the tap off.

“Total bitch,” Robyn confirmed.

“Of course you can come over, sweetie.” Kim dropped her robe. “How about in an hour?”

“You are a lifesaver, thank you so much,” Robyn sighed.

“Please,” Kim waved her hand as if Robyn could see it. “Like I’d pass up hanging out. Bring some wine, I have ice cream.”

“Oh God, I love you so much. I’ll see you in an hour, okay?”

”See you then.” She put the phone back in its holder and petted the cat’s head as she passed. She firmly closed the door (that cat had a habit of getting it open and trying to take a bath with you, and Tyson may not mind it but she definitely did) and sank into the hot, bubbly water.

Her hair was almost dry when the doorbell rang and Robyn held aloft three bottles of Cabernet Sauvignon. “They’re Nick’s, but he offered. I think he felt bad about the fight today.”

“What was it about?” Kim led her into the kitchen, to put two of the bottles in the rack and find a corkscrew for the third.

“Well, it started about the staff meeting tomorrow, I think he’s worried what the principal might say about some of the new things the school’s implementing,” Robyn said, fast, her Oklahoma accent thicker than ever. She really must be upset, Kim thought, opening the wine. “But then I don’t even know what happened, but we ended up fighting about wet towels. I mean,” her eyes opened wide and bewildered, “you’d think having your gay boyfriend for a roomie would be fun.”

Kim rolled her eyes. “Yeah,” she said, “it’s not all the time.”

“I know, right? Nick’s normally fine, he just. He seriously fucking needs to get laid.” Robyn let out an exasperated sigh, gratefully taking the glass of wine Kim offered her. “I don’t care, goddammit, he needs some serious ass for his dick.”

“Jesus, it really is bad.” Robyn almost never talked about sex without euphemisms and vague hand gestures. She still blushed sometimes.

“Kim, he hasn’t had sex in two years. Two years. I should know, he keeps stealing the hot water bottle. I mean, he lets me have it back, y’know, when I need it. But it’s practically his teddy bear now.”

“Well, you did get a fuzzy bear cover for it,” Kim reminded her. She led her gently to the living room, armed with the wine bottle, a large tub of ice cream and two spoons.

“Yes, okay, but that’s not the point. He’s just – he’s so fucking picky, you know? And he doesn’t do casual sex, he has to have a boyfriend for it, and there’s no one we know who’s gay and interested.” She folded in on herself as she sank onto the couch.

Kim cracked open the ice cream and handed Robyn a spoon. “I have the opposite problem,” she sighed.

“Ty still in Arizona on that shoot?” Robyn asked around a mouthful of Ben & Jerry’s.

“Yeah. At least it’s quiet around here. But oh my God he just will not stop bringing all these boys home. I can hardly move in my own kitchen for barely-legal boythings, I swear. Is it too much to ask, for me to walk around naked in my own home when I’ve just got up? But oh no, Tyson’s latest conquest from the night before is in there, making coffee and doe eyes.”

Robyn giggled. “Boythings?”

“If you’d met them, you’d know what I mean. There really is no other word for them, Rob, I swear to you.” She swallowed a mouthful of wine, savouring the taste. “This is really good, wow.”

“Nick’s,” Robyn repeated. “I mean, this is the guy who’s saving up so he can go to France on a wine-tasting tour.”

“Ty’s got a shoot in France in a few months,” Kim said, scooping up a spoonful of ice cream. “He’s got this movie here first, though. And I don’t think it’ll be wines he’ll be doing a tasting tour of.”

“Kim!” Robyn giggled into her wine glass. Then she sobered and said, “He’s really doing well now, isn’t he?”

Kim looked around at the room, not entirely aware she was doing it. “Yeah,” she said, and she was smiling softly.

“You don’t mind?” Robyn spoke as if stepping through verbal land mines. “I mean, I’m sure you’ll get more parts soon, it’s just a lull –”

“It’s okay, Rob. And no, I don’t mind. I’m proud of my boy,” Kim said. “He keeps saying he’ll put a word in for me, that every casting director he blows will know my name. And he does blow a lot of them, so there’s hope for me yet.”

“It really bothers you, doesn’t it?” Robyn was watching her with sympathetic eyes.

Kim sighed. “You know, guys look at him and they think here’s this model I can screw. He needs a guy who’ll look at him and say here’s Tyson, this man I like.”

Robyn tilted her head. “Did he say that?”

“No.” Kim dug her spoon into the ice cream again.

“But you think maybe he’s looking for someone?” Robyn pressed.

Kim laughed. “To be honest? No. I’m just sick of all his boythings. If he just had a fucking boyfriend, maybe he wouldn’t be so obnoxious.”

Robyn snorted. “I could say the same about Nick. I remember when he was with Mike, he was so happy and mellow. Now he’s wound all tight with the new school shit, and sexual frustration.” She enunciated every syllable of the last two words. Kim giggled, and then she stopped, and laughed. It sounded sudden, louder than she’d meant it. Robyn jumped.

“Sorry.” Kim tried to cover her mouth, but the giggles didn’t stop. “Sorry. I just thought – we should totally set Nick and Tyson up.”

Robyn laughed too, then. “Have they ever even met?”

Kim thought about it, trying to suppress the bubbles of laughter still emerging from her chest. “Um, no, I don’t think so. No – remember, Nick was too sick to come to my birthday party last year, and Ty was working the year before that – no, yeah, they haven’t met.”

“They would drive each other crazy,” Robyn pointed out. She looked around the room. “Nick’s a neat freak. Tyson’s – well, he’s Tyson.”

Kim laughed harder. “Oh God, they’d kill each other in a week. We can’t do it, it’s just too cruel.”

There was a pause for a few seconds, as they both tried to get their laughter under control, avoiding each other’s eyes. Then Kim looked over at Robyn, and Robyn looked back, and they burst out laughing again. “We have to,” Robyn gasped.

“They’d hate us!” Kim pointed out. “Tyson doesn’t date.”

“Nick’s really picky,” Robyn agreed. “They’d hate each other so much, oh God, it’s too bad. We can’t.”

They looked at each other and chorused, “But we must.”

When Kim could breathe again, she said, “Come on, Rob, they’ve given us so much shit, they’ve been so obnoxious, we have to pay them back.”

“Okay.” Robyn’s voice was muffled; she was holding her hands over her mouth, as if she could contain the laughter in them. They were starting to calm down now, laughs turning to half-swallowed giggles. “Okay, yes, let’s do it.”

“When is Nick free? Ty gets back tomorrow, and it had better be some time this week, really, I think the movie starts a week on Tuesday.”

“Hmm. How about this Thursday? I’m pretty sure Nick’s free then.”

“Yeah, Ty’s free then too,” Kim said, stretching out to see the wall chart in the hall where they kept their schedules and whose turn it was to feed the cat. This had become a necessity after two weeks, three fights and one rather annoyed kitten. “Thursday. It’s a date.”

“We should book it for them – where?” Robyn popped another spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. She was curled up in the cushions, her hair falling over her eyes, and Kim was reminded of why she had somewhat of a crush on her.

“How about the Thai place that just opened? I went there with Brit last night, it’s really nice. Perfect first date place, just enough lighting and some good food.”

“Thai’s Nick’s favourite, that’s perfect,” Robyn beamed. “Do you have the number?”

Kim hunted around on the coffee table, under magazines and books and slips of paper and a few parking tickets. “Aha! Here it is.”

Just as she was trying to remember where the phone was, the front door opened and closed and Brittany called out, “I’m home!”

“Honey, do you remember where the phone is?” Kim called back.

“It’s … out here, babe,” Brittany answered. She appeared in the doorway, holding the phone, her coat half off and the black-and-white hostess uniform beneath perking at them brightly. “Oh hi, Rob.”

“Hey Brit.” Robyn had curled up even further into the couch and smiled from her nest of cushions. Kim shot Brittany a look that said She’s so cute, Brit, and Brittany shot one back that said, She really is. She is also very straight and very dating Kevin. Kim’s eyes answered, I know, I know. “We’re being evil and sneaky.” Robyn sipped her wine again and giggled.

Brittany handed the phone to Kim and returned to taking her coat off. “Oh?” she asked, coming back into the room and accepting the glass Kim pressed into her hand. She sipped. “Oh wow, this is the good shit.”

“It’s Nick’s,” Kim and Robyn said in unison. Brittany laughed.

“So what are your evil and sneaky plans?” She settled on the couch, sitting half in Kim’s lap, looping one arm around her waist. “I’ve told you, no taking over the world after ten pm.”

Kim giggled. “We’re going to set Tyson up with Nick.”

Brittany’s eyebrows shot into her hairline. “What did they ever do to you?” she asked, a dramatic gasp. Kim and Robyn laughed.

“Brought endless boys home,” Kim said.

“Picked fights just because he’s a whiney undersexed bitch,” Robyn added.

“Stole all the hot water and my bubble bath,” Kim pointed out.

“Oh my God, Nick does that too,” Robyn exclaimed.

Brittany considered the arguments. “Yeah, you’re right. They totally deserve payback for that.”

“They’re going on a date on Thursday,” Kim told her. “That Thai place we went to last night. I was just about to book it.”

“You are cruel and unusual, but I like it,” Brittany murmured, leaning over to kiss the skin just behind Kim’s ear. “I’m going for a shower. I feel unclean after tonight.”

“Your boss still being a slimeball, huh?” Kim rubbed circles on her back, gentle touch. Brittany nodded.

“You really need to report him or complain or something,” Robyn said, offering her the ice cream tub. Brittany shook her head.

“Rob, I’m his personal assistant. I have no one to complain to. And I really need this job. Even if it does mean serving his vacuous guests their test tubes of champagne and genteel lines of coke. That’s what he said to me – make them genteel, my dear, genteel. So you’d want to lick them up with a spoon.” She rolled her eyes. “I cut them thin, he didn’t tell me to change it so I must have done okay. Ugh, Hollywood parties.” She shuddered. “Oh, and four of Tyson’s boythings were there. Unfortunately, they recognised me. Good in that the boss thinks I’m more well-known than I am, but all but one of them said they’d tried the numbers Tyson gave them and ended up with a pizza place, a laundromat and a phone box in Sacramento. I had to tell them I couldn’t remember his number just to get them off my back.”

“See, he totally deserves to be set up with a bitchy queen,” Kim said, still rubbing soothing gentle circles.

“Nick’s not a bitchy queen all the time,” Robyn pointed out. “Just, y’know, when he hasn’t been laid since the dawn of time.”

“Hell, I was a bitchy queen when I hadn’t been laid since the dawn of time,” Brittany admitted. “But who knows, maybe they’ll like each other, maybe they’ll have sex, and then Nick will have gotten laid and Tyson will have another notch in that bedpost of his.”

Kim laughed. “Remember when we gave him an actual bedpost and a penknife?”

“I don’t think he got the hint,” Brittany grinned. “Is there any of it left?”

“Bits,” Kim nodded. “He’s running out of room to carve.”

Robyn giggled. “You two,” she said, fond. Kim leaned further against Brittany, almost feeling herself glow. “I’d better get home, I guess,” Robyn sighed, draining her glass. “Keep the other bottles,” she added. “I’m sure Nick won’t mind.”

“If he does, tell him we’re wooing Tyson for him with them,” Brittany suggested.

Robyn unfolded herself from the couch. “Thanks for the ice cream, Kim.”

“Any time, you know that.” Kim leaned over and gave her a one-and-a-half-arm hug. “I’ll call and book the restaurant – shall we say nine o’clock?”

“Nine’s good. Okay. Time to go home and tell Nick about his date. This should be … interesting.”

After the door had closed behind Robyn, Kim turned to Brittany. “You want that shower now?” she murmured, kissing along Brittany’s shoulder.

“Mmm, want to scrub my back?” Brittany asked, catching Kim’s mouth with her own. They kissed as Kim hummed her acquiescence.

* * *

Nick had started to feel bad for snapping as Robyn was getting ready to go over to Kim’s, so he insisted she take three bottles of his favourite Sauvignon, as a peace offering. When she’d gone, he collapsed onto the couch cushions and couldn’t decide what DVD he was in the mood for, so he ended up just watching his TiVo’d episodes of American Idol and mentally counting up the ingredients he had left in the kitchen. He felt like baking; Robyn would hopefully be less pissed at him when she got back, and if he started on a batch of muffins soon, they’d be ready for breakfast the next morning so Rob would have to forgive him for picking stupid fights. He’d been doing that a lot lately, so he decided to play around with honey in the recipe for half the batch. He had a feeling it would make the muffins just the right kind of sticky-sweet, and he knew Robyn was a sucker for that sort of texture.

He was whisking vigorously when he heard the front door open. “Rob?” he called, watching the consistency of the batter.

“Yeah,” came her voice from the closet. Her head appeared around the kitchen door a few seconds later. “What – Nick, what are you doing?”

“Baking. If I get these in the oven soon we’ll have muffins tomorrow morning.” He gestured to the bowl in his hands.

“You’re in a better mood,” Robyn observed.

Nick shifted, eyes dropping back to the batter. He didn’t trust the electric whisk with this recipe, not since The Great Blueberry Disaster of ’06. “Yeah, uh. Sorry about before, I was just – I don’t know.”

“Nick,” she said, coming into the room and standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, “you’ve made six batches of cookies in two weeks, and now muffins, and you only bake when you feel guilty. You’re being a total bitch.”

Nick dropped the bowl on the counter. “Right, this is coming from the girl who left lipstick all over my wooden spoons.”

“You asked me to taste things. I was wearing lipstick. You know what, no, you are not going to turn this into another fight, goddammit. You need to get fucking laid, Nickolas Don Wheeler.”

Nick blinked. Fights, he was prepared for. Declarations of his deeply unlaid status, which he really didn’t need reminding of, he was not. “What the fuck?” he sputtered.

Robyn held a hand up. “No arguments, Nick. I know a guy, he’s free on Thursday night. You two could go for Thai, there’s this really nice new place. Have some fun. Have some fucking sex for once.”

Nick wrinkled his nose. “Are you seriously pimping me out?” he asked, incredulous. “A blind date? Sex with some guy I don’t even know? No thank you.”

Robyn took a deep breath. Nick was starting to get the feeling she was reaching the point at which he should just give up and back down. “Look. Nickolas. There’s this guy, a friend of a friend, I’ve met him. He’s really nice. What’s the harm in going on one date, just having dinner? You don’t have to sleep with him,” she added, as though it were an effort to say. “Just eat some Thai food and talk to this guy, okay? Please? For me?”

Nick sighed. “Who is he?” he asked, and quickly added, “That’s not a yes.”

Robyn rolled her eyes. “He’s Kim’s roommate.”

“What – the model?” Nick blinked. “You want to set me up with a model?”

“He’s not – he’s not some dumb Hollywood bimbo, I swear,” Robyn sighed, exasperated. “He’s really nice, and funny, and kind, and sweet, and kinda goofy.”

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re serious about this.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Just give it a try, okay? Look – oh! Wait there a minute!” She bolted out of the kitchen and Nick heard her doing something in her room, maybe looking for something. There was a few moments’ pause, and then, “Aha!” She came back in, holding a magazine out. “There, see, that’s Tyson.”

Nick looked down at the pages in her hands. It was a double-page spread for an aftershave advertisement, and Robyn was pointing to a man with finely-cut cheekbones and crystal-clear blue eyes. Nick gaped. “You … seriously, you’re setting me up with him? But I’m – I’m a fucking high school teacher, Rob, he’s not going to – seriously, Rob, the fuck?”

Robyn made a dismissive hand gesture. “Don’t sell yourself short, Nick, you’re way hot. And I bet you’ll have a lot in common with him.”

Nick goggled. He couldn’t help it. “Like what?”

“Um.” Robyn thought for a minute, and at last she said, “Well, you know Kim, right?”

“I … I guess so, yeah,” Nick shrugged.

“And Tyson knows me. So there, already, you’ve got us in common.”

Nick just stared at her. “There’ll be good Thai food?” he said, at last. Robyn nodded. Nick sighed, “Fine. I’ll go on the date. But it had better be good Thai food, okay? It had better be.”

“You have flour on your nose,” was all Robyn said, and she left the room before he opened his mouth to reply.

When Nick woke up the next morning, the sun was shining, the sky was a clear and arching blue over the smog, and it was another beautiful day in Southern California. Nick stretched out in the bed like a starfish and muttered to himself, “I don’t need a man, I have me. I have space in my bed, my best friend’s my roommate, I love my job. I don’t need a man, I have me.” The mantra was really starting to get stale by now, and Nick had the feeling that if he didn’t stop snapping at Robyn and picking fights, he wouldn’t have a best friend for much longer. His eyes wandered over to the magazine, which he’d tossed onto the bedside cabinet. Tyson’s clearclear blue eyes smouldered back at him. “You’d never want to have sex with me,” Nick told the pages. “You’re a fucking model. I teach kids to play guitar.” He closed his eyes. “Robyn’s delusional.”

Tyson just continued to smoulder quietly at him. Nick reached over and closed the magazine. A perky airbrushed blonde smiled at him from the cover, informing him that his hair could look twelve times better in only two weeks. (He’d already tried the article’s instructions, and while it was true his hair did look better, it had started going limp after a month and he’d switched back to his favourite conditioner because Antonio had given it to him and it worked wonders. Robyn had bought him a year’s supply for his last birthday, and since the birthday before she’d given him the appointment with Antonio and a facial, his fantastic hair was really down to her.)

He heard muffled sounds coming from the kitchen and figured she must be up, so he stuck his head round the door and said, “Hey, I’m going for a shower. You need the bathroom?”

Robyn shook her head. She was already dressed, and holding a half-eaten muffin wrapped in a napkin up to her mouth. “Oh God Nick,” she said, and it was half a moan. “What did you put in these muffins, they are so good.”

Nick concluded that it officially had been seriously way too long since he’d gotten laid, because her moaning was starting to stir something at the base of his spine. He shifted against the doorframe for a moment and then went over to put his arm around her shoulders. “My secret. And I’m sorry about how I’ve been lately, really I am. I guess I just need to, I don’t know.”

“Get laid? Not be such a whiney little bitch all the time?” Robyn suggested, watching him shrewdly.

He glared. “Relax some more,” he corrected, but Robyn grinned around her mouthful of muffin.

“That’s what I said,” she teased. Nick looked at her imploringly, and she relented. “You should come to yoga class tonight. It’s really relaxing, and I know, okay, I do remember that Mike left you for your yoga teacher, but you – I mean, you’re over that now, right?”

“Yeah,” Nick answered, and he was. “Yeah, okay. I kinda miss yoga, y’know?”

“Good. Brit’ll be there this week, for once she has a night off, so she can tell you about Tyson.” When Nick groaned in exasperation, she added, “You are still going on that date, right?”

“I guess,” Nick sighed. “Okay. Maybe. Yeah, alright.”

Robyn shook her head. “You’re going. Now go grab a shower or we’ll be late.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nick saluted and headed to the bathroom.

They were, in fact, a few minutes early and when they got to the faculty room Nick handed the box of muffins to Robyn and said, “Go take some to Toad,” with a wink. She just grinned and headed over to where Toad was pouring himself some coffee.

Nick dropped into a chair beside John. “Rough weekend?” John asked. Nick shrugged and held out one hand, tipping it this way and that to indicate eh, so-so. “I took my nephew to the park,” John continued. “Remember how he was obsessed with his GI Joe and wouldn’t put it down?” Nick nodded. “Turns out he’s moved onto Sindy. He says he likes dressing her up. Richard said they should move out of LA before he starts saying he wants to be a casting agent or something.”

Nick laughed. “Does he still want to be a fireman?”

“Yeah, you should see the way his eyes light up when the trucks go past.”

“Dude, that’s impressive. It’s been fireman since he was two, right?” John nodded, and Nick continued, “Three consecutive years, for a kid as young as Alden? That’s awesome.”

“He’s got his mom’s focus,” John grinned, but before either of them could say anything else Jeff sat down on Nick’s other side and the principal came in and clapped his hands in the officious way that meant Settle down and hear me speak. Nick smiled at Jeff in greeting and sat back, sipping the enormous cup of coffee he and Robyn had stopped at Starbucks for. (The school coffee left a lot to be desired.)

“Good morning, I hope you all had good weekends,” Principal Linton began. “Don’t forget the meeting this afternoon after last period, I want you all to be there. Now, everybody have a good Monday.”

* * *

When Kim finally got home from work that night, the world was still slightly tilted wrongly. Brittany was at yoga and Tyson’s suitcases were strewn over his bedroom floor so she figured it must be him in the bathroom. She knocked on the door and called, “How long are you going to be in there?”

“Another ten minutes,” Tyson’s voice echoed, the sound of water sloshing as an undertone. “And hi, I missed you too.”

Kim rolled her eyes. “You know I love you, dumbass,” she called, and added, “I’m gonna go feed the cat.”

“Okay.” Tyson sloshed around in the bath again, and Mr Whiskers (she had tried to call him Napoleon, but Tyson had called him Mr Whiskers all the time when he was a kitten and it had somehow stuck) rubbed against her ankles, so she led him into the kitchen.

When Tyson emerged, drying his hair with a towel that looked new, he reached over for a hug. “How’s my girl been?” he asked, kissing her forehead affectionately. Kim managed to smile at him.

“Oh, you know,” she evaded. “How was the shoot?”

“It was … Arizona.” Tyson shrugged, carelessly. “Kim, promise me you won’t ever have sex on a dune in the desert. I’m still washing the sand out.”

Kim rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you at least put a blanket down?”

“Yes, but sand has magical properties and can find its way through the thickest of blankets,” Tyson informed her, grandly. “Besides,” he admitted, “Marco was really vigorous.”

“Marco? The camera guy you told me was cute?”

Tyson nodded and leaned closer to stage whisper, “The boy is excellent at head,” with a wink. Kim just laughed.

“By the way, Ty, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” Tyson grabbed a Pop Tart out of the box on the counter and started eating it cold.

The longer she evaded his eyes the better, so she watched Mr Whiskers attacking his food. “Yeah, see – I know this guy, and I think you two would hit it off, and well. He’s single, you’re single, I thought, why don’t you go on a date with him?”

Tyson almost choked on his mouthful. Once he’d managed to swallow without hazard, he started laughing. And laughing. And laughing.

“I’m serious,” Kim told him, resolutely not letting the corners of her mouth twitch up. She folded her arms. “I’ve booked a table at that Thai place I told you about, for Thursday night.”

“But,” Tyson said, laughter stopping abruptly as he saw the look on her face, “but Kim, I don’t date. I get laid.”

“You’re going on this date,” Kim said, her voice firm. She felt obstinate and she didn’t care.

“Fuck off, I don’t date.” Tyson shook his head and took another bite of his Pop Tart. Crumbs sprayed a little as he said, “With dating comes all that relationship shit, and I don’t do that. You know I don’t do that.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ty, it’s one date. Just have fucking dinner with this guy, that’s all I ask. Just see if you might like him.”

Tyson put his Pop Tart down and placed both hands on Kim’s shoulders. He looked at her hard, and said, “Is this just because you don’t like me screwing around?”

Kim looked back at him for a minute. “Yes. Okay? I just, come on, Ty! It’s not even that I don’t like you screwing around, I just don’t like tripping over the boys in the morning when I am trying to wake up. You know? It’s like a home invasion every day of the week.” She leaned against the counter, avoiding his eyes again. “What’s the harm in it, Ty, just going for dinner? Have some good food, talk to Nick, see if you hit it off.”

“Wait, wait, Nick? Robyn’s Nick?” Tyson blinked. “You want to set me up with someone you know?”

Kim stared at him with one raised eyebrow. “And which part of ‘I know a guy’ tipped you off to that, hmm?”

“Yeah, but – I mean, this is – I like Robyn. I don’t want to sleep with her roommate, Kim, come on. That makes it – no way, dude. I have boundaries.”

“Your boundaries are fucked up.” Kim felt as if she were hearing someone else, though it was her voice. “Tyson, you’re twenty-three now. How long are you going to keep screwing every kid in Hollywood? How much longer, seriously, are you going to keep on thinking of sex as not with another person? That’s why you don’t want to go on this date, isn’t it? If it’s a friend of Robyn’s, that makes him a person, and you like to forget that so you can toss them aside with no thought to the consequences.” She was breathing hard by this point, surprised when she realised her hands had balled into fists and Tyson had taken a step back.

“Woah. Woah. Is that really what you think? What the fuck, are you okay?” Tyson was watching her as though she were a tiger held to the wall by a thin chain that was threatening to break. The thought made her want to punch something. So she turned, balled up her fist, and slammed it into the fridge door. The magnets on it rattled.

There was silence for a minute, as she got her breathing back under control. “Sorry. Sorry, I just – sorry.” She sagged, and sank to the floor. Tyson looked far too tall from that vantage point, until he came over and sat next to her, pulling her onto his shoulder. She buried her face there and realised it was wet. She squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “I got fired today.” The words felt like relief, whooshing out of her mouth.

“Fuck, honey, I’m so sorry. What happened?” Tyson smoothed her hair down off her forehead and Kim curled into his side.

“One of the other girls,” she sniffed, “stole four hundred dollars from the cash register. She blamed me. So I got fired.”

“What the fuck?” Tyson exploded. “That is fucking insane, no way – come on, we’re going back there, there is no way you’d steal that money, they have to believe us –”

Kim put a hand up to silence him. “They do believe me,” she sighed, “even though she planted the money in my locker. They know me there, Frank said he knew I’d never steal it. But it’s a serious accusation and they had to let me go. They fired the girl who stole it too. Frank said he’d give me a good reference.”

Tyson was still quivering with anger. “But – but they can’t do that –”

“They can. It’s okay, I’ll find another job.” She didn’t add, Even though it took me for-fucking-ever to find this one, and every wannabe starlet in the city will be needing the same job as me. We're all waitresses in this town.

“Hey, and this gives you more time for auditions, right? Get your career back on the upswing,” Tyson jostled, making the switch from indignation to cajoling, though Kim could tell he was still angry.

A laugh escaped her throat, and it was surprisingly bitter. “I don’t even know if I want that career any more.”

Tyson looked startled. “Really?”

“I don’t,” Kim started. “I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice tight. She could feel more tears prickling at the backs of her eyelids. “I don’t think I know what I want. I don’t – Ty, I don’t know what’s got into me tonight. I’m sorry, I – I’m sorry about what I said. I don’t think you don’t see your boythings as people, I didn’t mean it –”

“Hey, hey, shh, it’s okay.” Tyson rested his cheek on her head and stroked his fingers through her hair. “And for the record, you know I do. I like every one of them. I’m sorry if it bothers you that there’s so many, I just –”

“I know. You’re having fun.” Kim gave him a weak smile.

Tyson shrugged. “They get bored of me. I get bored of them, too, they’re only really interested in the sex. But so am I, so it works out okay.” He smiled at her, toothily, and she let go an explosive giggle that might have been a sob, were it not for the way he was hugging her.

“Will you go on the date?” she asked, sniffing.

“Will you talk to me about what’s wrong?” he countered.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll go on the date, then. But it won’t work out, you know it won’t.”

Kim laughed again, half-heartedly. “Yeah, I know.”

[cont.]

Or, What You Will [2/7]

2007-12-06T11:05:45Z

Or, What You Will
[1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7]

* * *

By the time Thursday night came, Nick had already had a bad week. Monday had been the staff meeting that landed him with twice as much paperwork as usual, though yoga had indeed been relaxing. He and Robyn had hung out with Brittany a little before and after the class, and that part had been fun; but then Brittany had checked her messages and rushed off, saying something had happened to Kim. Robyn had spent that night and Tuesday evening at Kim’s, and Toad had come over on Tuesday to wait for Robyn to get back, so in the meanwhile he and Nick had had beer and talked about school and the merits of trashy reality TV. They’d ended up watching a movie and dozing off; Nick had woken up with Toad pressed up against his side, thankfully not too near his boner, and pretended to still be asleep when Robyn came in and woke Toad up by straddling him and licking up the curve of his ear. Nick had gone to bed with earplugs in and jerked off, though the fact that it really wasn’t enough and the fact that an image of Tyson’s eyes were the last thing he thought of before he came made him curl up afterwards feeling rather empty. Wednesday was Parent-Teacher Night, so Nick had had to talk to Mike and Chris about Chris’s nephew, and while he honestly was over Mike by now, it still gave him a little pang to see them holding hands. They had invited him over for dinner if he was free at the weekend, and he’d answered, “Depressingly.” Mike had just patted his shoulder and told him to come over on Saturday afternoon for a cook-out.

“This is what it’s come to,” Nick had moaned to Robyn on the way home. “Pity invitations from old married couples I used to date.”

“You never know, things might look up tomorrow night,” Robyn had pointed out. Nick had rolled his eyes.

“Right, yeah, the model. Hey, is Kim okay? What happened to her?”

“She got fired, there was this whole big deal. She’s okay now, though. Got a job interview on Tuesday.”

“Oh. Good.” Nick had watched the lights zip past outside the car window.

Now it was Thursday night, and he had showered, exfoliated, deep conditioned his hair, brushed his teeth, and he was trying to decide what to wear. Robyn had already left for a movie date with Toad, so he couldn’t even ask her what she thought of the shirts he was considering, and he couldn’t exactly call John or Jeff. He really needed more gay friends. Or at least girlfriends.

Then he thought of Kim, and scrolled through his phonebook until he found her number, and hit 'call'.

“Hi, it’s Nick,” he said when she picked up. “Hey, I heard about your job, I’m sorry. I hope Tuesday goes alright.”

“Thanks,” she said. She sounded like she was smiling, so Nick took that as a good sign and plunged on.

“Listen, uh, can I ask you something? Only Robyn’s out with Toad, and I can’t ask any of my guy friends.”

“Okay, fire away.” There was reckless overly-jolly laughter in her tone, which gave Nick pause for a moment, but he figured he didn’t know her well enough to ask.

“I’m trying to figure out what to wear tonight, and I can’t decide between three shirts.”

“Okay. What pants are you wearing?” she asked, her tone switching to professional.

“Black suit pants. Is that too much?”

“Hmm, probably. Ty’s wearing those new jeans with the hip thing, if you’re in suit pants you might feel overdressed.”

“Okay. Thanks. How about black jeans, would they be okay?”

“They’d be fine, Nick. And don’t be so nervous, Tyson doesn’t bite.”

Nick heard a faint voice in the background say, “Well, not unless he asks,” and he swallowed.

“Shh, Brit,” Kim called, and Nick let the air out of his cheeks. “She was joking,” Kim told him, “if you heard that.”

“Yeah, okay. Listen, thanks, I think I know which shirt to wear now. I’ll um, I’ll talk to you soon. And good luck on Tuesday.”

“Thanks. Have fun tonight.”

“Yeah.” Nick cleared his throat. “Bye then.”

After he’d hung up, half of his brain said, ‘Bye then’? Could you sound any more awkward, you retard? The other half was sneaking another look at Tyson’s magazine spread.

“Oh yeah,” he muttered to himself, “tonight’s going to go great.”

The restaurant was lovely. The lighting was subdued enough that the place felt intimate, but bright enough that it wasn’t too romantic. The whole room reeked of elegance, style, expense, and first date tension. Though Nick concluded that that was probably just him.

He was there five minutes early, and shown to the table that had been booked in the name of Ritter. The maitre d’ made it very clear by the way he looked down his nose at the bookings list that they had only secured a table because Tyson’s name meant something here. Nick tried hard not to feel like that was ominous somehow.

Twenty agonisingly long minutes later, the door opened and every head in the place turned as if drawn by magnets. A tall, almost ethereally beautiful man strode in and up to the front desk to give his name, but the maitre d’ already had two menus in his hand and smilingly led Tyson over to the table where Nick was sitting.

Nick watched them approach and had a momentary wild hope that Tyson would be led to another table so they wouldn’t have to make conversation because holy shit Tyson was ten times more beautiful without all the makeup and airbrushing and shit, and what the fuck was Nick even doing here?

“Hello,” Tyson said. His voice was pitched low, at a frequency Nick’s brain registered as Seduction. He slid into the seat opposite, and took the menu from the maitre d’. “Thank you, my good man,” he said, grandly yet dismissively, and the maitre d’ bowed and dropped the other menu on the table before leaving.

Nick picked it up. “Uh. Hi. You must be Tyson, right?”

“Yes. And you are Nick?” It was phrased as a question, but there was no uncertainty in Tyson’s voice. His eyes were soft, though. Nick shifted in his seat.

“Yeah. So uh.” His mind instantly went blank. “You … got here okay?”

“Fine, yes.” Tyson smiled at him, eyes smouldering, and Nick blinked rapidly. This was bizarre.

“Uh.” He cleared his throat, licked his lips, and then remembered his water glass. He gulped from it, grateful for something to do so he didn’t have to look at Tyson. “Have you … been here before?”

“No, but I’m told the eg muu is the best in all of Los Angeles,” Tyson replied, eyes burning Nick’s cheeks. He leaned forward and added, voice dropping even lower, “Why don’t we get a banquet?”

Nick swallowed, shifted in his seat, and wished he’d worn looser pants. “Alright.”

Tyson indicated the menu with a hand. “You pick. I’ll eat anything.” The last sentence was delivered slowly and deliberately. Nick sort of felt as if parts of his brain were falling off.

“Er. How about,” he tried very hard to take in the words on the menu, but Tyson was silently doing that smouldering thing again and he had to mentally shake himself before he could concentrate. “Banquet A looks nice. If, uh, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine,” Tyson said, not even looking at the menu. He was folding his hands artfully under his chin, not taking his eyes from Nick’s face. Nick blushed and looked back down.

“Uh, do you – want to order the wine?” he asked, working to keep his voice even.

Tyson was smiling when he looked up, but it was the kind of smile nobody ever directed at Nick. The kind that came with red horns and a forked tail. “Why don’t you pick? I hear you know your wines.” He made it sound like a euphemism. Nick swallowed again and wondered how he was supposed to eat while Tyson was channelling so much sexual energy into the air around their table.

“Uhm. Okay.” He looked back at the menu, flipping to the beverages portion. “Oh, they have a good Chardonnay on here.”

Tyson raised one hand and clicked his fingers. Nick tried not to stare; he could hardly believe that anybody actually did that. Nevertheless, a waiter materialised, and Tyson said, his voice a command but not a harsh one, “Two bottles of your finest Chardonnay, and we shall have Banquet A please.”

“Certainly, sir.” The waiter folded their menus and left with them. Nick wondered what the hell happened now.

“So tell me about yourself,” Tyson said, voice warm but low again, eyes still on him.

Nick was struggling to keep track of his own name, so he stalled for time. “What do you want to know?” he asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound quite as squeaky to Tyson as it did in his own head.

“Oh,” Tyson said, slowly, his mouth curling around the words, “anything. What do you do?”

“I teach music at high school,” Nick answered, on surer ground now.

“Do you like it?” Tyson asked, pouring every ounce of his attention into the conversation. It was disconcerting, so Nick fiddled with his napkin.

“Yeah, it’s – I really like it. I’ve been teaching kids to play guitar since I was eleven,” he added, risking a look up. Tyson was drinking in every word, and Nick’s voice faltered again. “Uh. So I … you’re a model, right?”

“And an actor,” Tyson nodded.

“Do you, uh. How’d you get started?” Nick gripped onto the table for some kind of support, and hoped Tyson wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, you know. I auditioned, eventually the jobs started coming,” Tyson waved the subject dismissively away. “Let’s talk about you, Nick.” He smiled, and Nick suppressed a small sound.

“Uhm.” He cleared his throat. “Well, what – sorry, I just, you know how your mind goes blank?” He tried a half-smile. Tyson matched it warmly. “Yeah, uh, I just – um, I gotta go to the bathroom, I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Alright.” Tyson very obviously watched his ass as he stood up and made his way through the tables to the door marked ‘Men’.

He looked into the mirror as the tap ran. His face looked hot, though his hair was fine and so was everything else. He did rather have a hunted look around his eyes, he thought as he leaned closer, but aside from that and the flushed cheeks he just looked normal. Nothing special. So Tyson’s constant attention was kind of puzzling, and Robyn had said that he wasn’t some Hollywood model, that he was – what was it? – nice, funny, kind, sweet, kinda goofy. The man with the smouldering eyes and the seductive tone of voice was not what Nick would call kinda goofy. He turned the tap off, sighed, and concluded that Robyn had just said those things to get him onto this date. But now he was here, so he may as well eat some good food and try to at least make conversation.

By the time he got back to the table, the drinks had arrived, and so had the starters. “I said the wine was okay. I hope you don’t mind,” Tyson indicated the bottles as Nick sat down. He sipped from the glass Tyson had filled for him, held it in his mouth for a moment, and swallowed.

“I don’t mind,” he said, “and it’s good.”

Tyson gave another of those smiles, took the ribs from his plate and bit into them. He ate them slowly, savouringly, and with a lot of tongue.

Nick half expected smoke to start rising off Tyson’s body any second.

By the time they’d cleared the main courses – Nick had the best keang phed kai he had ever tasted, Tyson made small but highly obscene noises over his ped pad khing and used his fingers a lot, licking and sucking them until Nick felt dizzy – the conversation still mostly consisted of Tyson asking questions in a low murmuring voice and Nick struggling to answer around the buzzing behind his ears and the rather pressing evidence that he was not at all indifferent to the very obvious attempt at seduction that was going on.

They were also onto their third bottle of Chardonnay, and Nick was feeling drunker than he should have been. He decided that either he was just really nervous, really horny, and really strung out, or Tyson had slipped some roofies into the wine. His erection was, unfortunately, on the exquisitely pleasant side of unbearable; but it was, rather more fortunately, hidden from view by the table, so he pretended as well as he could that he was just fine, thank you very much, despite the fact that he had spent the past ten minutes describing his favourite Iron Maiden guitar solos using seafood metaphors. “Sorry,” he said when he’d reached a breathing point, “I think I’m a little drunk.”

“Oh,” Tyson said, eyes dancing with amusement, “I don’t mind. So am I.”

“Right. Good. Okay then.” Nick surveyed the table, and it took him a moment to realise that it was empty because a waiter had just cleared their plates. “We should have coffee, right?”

“Absolutely,” Tyson nodded, and another waiter seemed to appear out of thin air beside them. “Ah, just who I wanted to see,” Tyson said to him, voice grand once more. “This elegant gentleman and I would like some coffee.”

“And the bill, sir?” the waiter prompted hopefully.

Tyson fished a credit card out of his pocket. “Settle it with this, my good fellow,” he said, and the waiter hurried away.

“You’re very commanding,” Nick noted. He struggled over the word a little, but not too much. “It must be useful.”

“I get what I want,” Tyson agreed, as the waiter returned with the receipt for him to sign. “Please,” he added as Nick fumbled for his wallet, “this is on me.” He leaned forward and said, conspiratorially, “That way it’s not our girls who set us up; it is me taking you out to dinner.”

Nick’s head span. “Okay then,” he said, because there really wasn’t anything else he could say to that. He blew on his coffee until it wasn’t burningly hot, and gulped it down.

He didn’t feel at all sobered until the cool night air hit them on the way out. “Can I take you home?” Tyson asked, and the words ‘demur’ and ‘coquette’ flitted momentarily through Nick’s brain.

“Um. You paid for dinner, I should – I should pay for the taxi,” Nick protested, weakly.

“If you insist,” Tyson acceded gracefully. Nick’s head started spinning again.

It took a good hour for the taxi to get to Malibu; the first half of the hour was spent with the same pattern of Tyson asking questions that made everything sound like a sex act, Nick trying to reply while covering his lap, and the air gradually thickening with the sexual tension that had dispelled nicely when they’d left the restaurant.

And then Tyson had leaned over and murmured, “Are you going to keep me in suspense all night or are you going to kiss me?” and Nick had swallowed and tried to make sounds but nothing had come out, so Tyson had smiled and leaned in further and kissed him.

He tasted of ginger and spring onions and coffee and wine, and Nick kissed him back, feeling like his whole head was fizzing, like he was dining out on expensive Thai cuisine all over again just from the taste of Tyson, the way he was kissing him like it was a victory, like it was everything he’d been wanting all night.

Nick paid the fare when they arrived at his place, and when the driver asked if he should wait for Tyson to get back, Nick just opened his mouth and closed it again.

“No, thank you, that won’t be necessary,” Tyson purred, one hand still on Nick’s knee. Nick could hardly breathe.

Tyson got out before him, and as Nick was stepping out of the taxi he leaned over and muttered to the driver, “Wait for him.” The driver nodded and left the engine running.

“So this is your place,” Tyson said, when they got to the front door. He whistled, low. “Nice.”

“It’s Robyn’s.” Nick shifted, fumbling in his pocket for his keys. “She’s over at Toad’s – uh, Kevin, her boyfriend, we call him Toad because he has this mascot, on his desk, and the kids – anyway, yeah, uh.”

Tyson leaned in and kissed him again. He smelled like lemongrass. “You must have a beautiful view,” he murmured, and Nick swallowed. It took him a second to realise what Tyson meant; it wasn’t what he’d made it sound like.

“It – yeah, it is. Um, anyway, I … I’d better go,” he said, trying hard not to stammer.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Tyson moved closer, his limbs lithe and almost breathing the word flexible into the air.

“Uh, no, I’ve got … I gotta teach the kids what an octave is tomorrow.”

“I thought you said you teach high school,” Tyson murmured, mouth still close to Nick’s.

“It – it’s a joke, it. Never mind.” Nick’s voice trailed off. It was hard to look at anything but Tyson’s mouth. “So uh.”

Tyson moved suddenly, pushing Nick up against the door, and kissed him hard. Nick’s spine and knees turned to water, his brain to mush, and he didn’t even fight the whimpers that escaped his throat. Tyson edged a knee between Nick’s thighs, and Nick groaned.

“Um,” he panted when Tyson leaned back again. “Uh. I – I’d better – so uh, goodnight then.”

Tyson blinked. “You’re … really not inviting me in?” He sounded as if Nick had just mentioned that the moon had been painted purple.

“Well, no, I gotta – y’know. Uh. Work tomorrow and. But it was fun tonight, it really was. Thanks. For – for dinner and all.”

Tyson was still blinking rapidly. “Um. Uh. Okay?”

“The … taxi’ll still be there. So. Goodnight, Tyson.” He leaned up slightly and kissed Tyson’s cheek. “I’ll see you again some time, okay?”

He got the door unlocked and closed it softly behind him, hearing Tyson mutter, “What? What? That’s it?” Nick leaned his back against the door for a minute, squeezed his eyes shut, unzipped his pants and silently jerked off. It took three strokes for him to come, suppressing a yelp; he exhaled, and went to look for some tissues.

Robyn bounced up to him in the faculty room the next morning and beamed, “So Kim told me Tyson hadn’t come home this morning. I take it the date went well?”

Nick stared. It was too early for this. He had not had enough coffee. “He wasn’t with me,” he said, abrupt. “He dropped me off at home after dinner, that was that.”

Robyn stared back. “You … he just – dropped you off? That was that?”

“Rob, you told me he was sweet and nice and kind and goofy. Well, he wasn’t. He was just this,” Nick waved his hands vaguely, “model, and he kept asking about me but he never told me anything about himself and he just listened like it was – like he was fucking acting or something. I know I’m desperate, but come on.”

“Wow. I – I’m sorry, Nick, I guess I just. He must be … different on a date, I mean, I’ve only seen him around Kim and they’ve known each other for years, so I guess – it really went that badly?” She looked crestfallen.

“You are never setting me up with anyone again,” Nick told her. “Ever. Okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I just, y’know – you’re lonely, I wanted to help.” She really did sound upset, so Nick gave her a quick hug.

“Hey, it’s not your fault, it – I mean, thanks, I guess, for trying. I’ll just – keep looking, I suppose. D’you think that guy at yoga class was cute? The one in the green shirt, I swear he kept looking at me.”

Robyn patted his arm. “I think he was there with his wife.”

“Oh.” Nick sagged against the wall. “Wow, it really must have been a while. I think my gaydar’s rusting.”

When Nick finished guitar club that afternoon, he stopped by the school office. Melissa handed him a slip of paper and said, “A Mr Tyson Ritter called to say that he had a really good time last night and wants to know if you’re free on Tuesday for another date.” She looked at him breathlessly. “It can’t be the model, right?”

“He’s an actor too,” Nick said absently, looking at the slip of paper. There was no phone number. “Thanks, Melissa.”

“Are you going to call him?” Melissa looked almost fit to burst.

“Maybe,” Nick shrugged. From the look on Melissa’s face, she was about to expire with jealousy. All Nick wanted to do was get in his car and go home, not talk about models he may or may not call. “Uh, have a good weekend, okay?”

“Bring him to the Christmas party,” Melissa called after him. Nick just kept walking.

He switched his cell phone on and it beeped. 1 new text message, he read. It was from Kim, and it said Ty said to give you his number, followed by ten digits. Nick leaned against his car and sighed.

He drove home, Euphoria on the CD player, tapping the steering wheel to the beat. When he got inside, he heard Robyn’s giggle coming from the living room, and Toad’s voice, so he waved hi to them and escaped to his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He held his cell phone between his palms, thinking it over. The date hadn’t exactly been awful, just really weird. And Tyson hadn’t not been nice, just … strange. And really intense. But, a small voice at the back of his head spoke up, he must really have been listening to you. He tracked you down to your school. And maybe he is just chasing you down for sex and he’ll leave in the morning and break your heart, but for fuck’s sake, at least you’d get laid before the nights of sitting in with Rob eating Bailey’s Haagen Daas from the tub and declaring all men evil. And the sooner you put out, the less you’ll have to be upset about, so call him.

Nick questioned the logic in that last statement, but hit the ‘call’ button on Tyson’s number anyway.

It was picked up within a few rings. “Hello,” Tyson said, and his voice was just as seductive over the phone as in real life, albeit tinnier. “Nick?”

“How did – oh. Kim give you my number?” Nick fiddled with his cuffs.

“She did, yes. Did you get my message?” It sounded as if Tyson were stretching out into a lounging position, possibly on something soft, though that could just be Nick’s imagination. (He realised he was picturing butterflies flitting around Tyson’s head, and maybe some clouds in the background, so yeah, he was imagining things.)

“Yeah, uh. Thanks. So um, I’m free on Tuesday, if you still want to – if you want another date.” He tried to stop sounding so nervous, but the more relaxed and languid Tyson’s voice sounded, the tighter he felt wound.

“Sounds good. Would you like to go for dinner again? Or perhaps for drinks somewhere?”

Nick grasped at the suggestion as though it were oxygen. “Drinks! Yes, um, there’s this bar I’ve been to a couple times. It’s in Malibu, not far from here.”

“Oh – listen, Nick, I have to go, but why don’t you text me the address and I’ll meet you there at, shall we say nine o’clock again?” Tyson’s voice had changed, the seductive tones almost entirely dropping out of it. Nick wondered what was happening near him, and what Tyson’s apparent habit of using different voices for different people might mean. Besides that he was not a bad actor.

“Okay, great.” Nick paused. “Uh, so I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah. Sorry to have to – I really have to go, okay, I’ll see you Tuesday bye.” This last was said in a rush, and the line went dead before Nick could say anything.

It was three seconds before Nick let himself think Oh my gosh that was so cute when his words all ran together. Then he shook himself and went in search of some alcohol.

* * *

Kim had spent most of that week, after finally convincing Robyn that she was okay now and no, really, it was fine if she went home, dropping resumes everywhere she could think of, calling old employers, and chasing down Frank so he could give her the reference he’d promised. It practically glowed off the page, and she’d given him a hug in thanks. By Thursday she had four interviews lined up for the next week, starting on Tuesday. Tyson’s read-throughs for the movie began the day after, so Tyson seemed to be cramming in as much Ty-and-Kim time as possible while they were both between jobs.

At least, that was the only explanation Kim could come up with for the way he was behaving. He’d catch her trying to remember tap steps in the kitchen, or elbow-deep in a cupboard looking for an old sketchbook and her charcoal pencils, or just standing swaying to the song stuck in her head, and he’d rush forward to catch her as if she was falling, and gently coax her onto the couch. They watched endless reruns of Frasier that week, and all of Brittany’s Scrubs DVDs that she’d left there. Tyson suggested them with the air of assumption that comedy would be just what Kim needed in such times of unemployment, but she wasn’t worried and he just never got the hint.

Not that she didn’t want to spend time with him, of course, and she did love Scrubs and Frasier, but sometimes there was something good on Living, and he hadn’t watched the classic movies channel in days. This was unusual for a Tyson between jobs. She tried to talk to him about it, but he’d just change the subject and talk about a funny thing he’d seen in an airport this one time, so in the end she gave up and let him be the comforting gay boyfriend, even though she was pretty sure there was nothing to comfort her about.

On Friday afternoon, when he finally showed up, he made some toast and declared, “I am famished.”

“That’s what being out all night’ll do for you,” Kim agreed, almost quivering with excitement. Tyson watched her for a minute, grinning. “Well?” she exploded at last. “Tell me about it! How did the date go with Nick? Clearly well, since you’re still in yesterday’s – wait a second.” Kim looked hard at his shirt. “That wasn’t what you were wearing last night. Did you … borrow some of his clothes?”

“What? Oh. No, these are some of my things I left over at Brian’s. That’s where I was last night, he called me to say he’d washed them. I went over to collect, we got talking, I fell asleep. After the sex.” Tyson was grinning wider, and Kim just stared at him. “Oh relax, I was kidding about the sex part,” he relented after a few moments. He patted her on the arm. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“And what about Nick?” Kim reminded him, pointedly. He put both hands on her wrists, as if to steady her.

“I tried, honey, I really did. I did everything I could, but he just. He didn’t invite me in, he said goodnight, and I … what was I supposed to do, break the door down and demand he sleep with me? I mean,” he continued, starting to pace now, grin entirely gone, “he was hot. Holy fucking shit he was hot. And I did everything, you know? All that shit you’re supposed to do on dates, all the usual shit that gets me laid. And nothing. I mean – not nothing exactly, he was obviously interested, if you know what I mean.” Tyson nudged her unsubtly with his elbow. Kim rolled her eyes. “So there was – I don’t get it. We were making out, everything was fine, and then he said he had to work in the morning and he’d see me sometime. That’s never happened to me before.” He looked completely bewildered.

“Well, he … really does have to work this morning,” Kim conceded, thoughtfully. “Maybe he just … really had to sleep?”

“But he was practically ready to go off, I could feel it. Literally.” Tyson slumped.

Kim shot him a sharp look. “Do you want to see him again?” she asked, careful to keep it sounding casual.

“Yeah,” he said without thinking. Kim suppressed an Aha! “But I don’t know if he wants to see me, I mean – he did blow me off.”

“Call him,” she said, reaching over to grab the phone and hand it to him. “Ask him for another date.”

Tyson took the phone from her, but then paused. “Shit, he didn’t give me his number.” He tapped the phone against his chin, and before Kim could open her mouth to say that she had it and could give it to him, Tyson said, “I know! He said he works at a high school, let me …” Kim watched, silent, as Tyson dug out a phone book and started flipping through the pages, muttering things to himself. After five or six minutes of searching, he stopped on one page and dialled a number.

She listened to him leave a message, but no return number, and watched him hang up. “You really like this guy, don’t you?” she said, soft. For some reason, she felt like crying.

“What? Kim, are – hey, what’s wrong?” He slid onto the couch next to her and automatically put an arm around her.

“Nothing, nothing, it – hey uh, he doesn’t know your number. Want me to give it to him, so he can call you? I can … give you his number too.” She tried not to let her voice sound too choked up.

“Oh – shit, yeah, thanks. Are you sure you’re okay? That was the deal, I go on that date, you talk to me about what’s wrong.”

“I did talk to you. I’m fine now. Really,” she added, when he just looked at her disbelievingly. “Can we watch Grease?” she asked after a minute. Her voice sounded kind of small.

“Sure,” he nodded, though he seemed reluctant to move from her side. He set the DVD up while she texted Nick and put his number into Ty’s phone, and they watched the movie, Tyson more subdued than usual. He kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye, but she just absorbed herself in the story, singing along under her breath.

Tyson’s phone rang just as Danny spotted the new leather-clad Sandy, and he ducked out into his room to take the call. Kim sang along under her breath for a few lines, but as Danny watched Sandy’s ass as she climbed up the fairground ride, Kim felt something in her chest snap and she sobbed. It hadn’t been particularly loud, but she half registered a movement from Tyson’s doorway, and a few moments later, as she let out another sob, he said something quickly and darted back into the room. He wrapped his arms around her and she shook, crying hard, until the car on the screen took off.

“What’s wrong, baby, what’s the matter?” Tyson murmured, stroking his fingertips through her hair, smoothing it down.

“I don’t know,” she whispered through gulps of air. “I don’t know, I feel like I’m – I’m falling apart at the seams, like I’m coming apart, am I – is it all still there, is it – Ty,” she whispered. She didn’t even realise she was clinging too hard to him until he gently moved her hand away and she saw the red marks. “Shit, Ty, I’m sorry, I –” And just like that, the world righted itself again. She sat up, extracting herself from his arms. “Fuck. I’m so sorry, I don’t know what got into me, I – I’m fine now, I’m –”

“You are not fine,” Tyson stated. “Kim, what the fuck, what’s going on?” He tried to pull her back towards him, but she stood up instead.

“Listen, I – I’m going to go have a shower. I’m fine, I’m fine, really. It was just a – a weird moment. Guess it was the movie, or something, I get so overemotional sometimes – I’ll uh.” She gestured, and then escaped out of the room.

The pounding water made her realise just how tight her shoulders were. She kneaded them under the spray, letting the steam rise around her in billows, slowly relaxing all of the muscles in her back. She’d had a few moments like that one this week, but usually in the middle of the night, and she’d sneak out to the bathroom so as not to disturb Brittany with her crying. She figured it must just be stress, what with being fired and looking for a new job, the uncertainty of it, not that it was the end of the world if it took her a little while, she’d still be able to eat, and if the worst came to the worst Ty would help her out, and so would Brit, and she’d get through this. But maybe it snuck up on her, just for moments, because there was no other explanation for them. So that must be it.

When she got out of the shower, she found Tyson and Brittany in huddled whispers in the living room. “Hey,” she greeted them, “I’ve got a headache, I think I’m just gonna. Maybe take something and go get some rest. I guess I’ve,” she carried on, because they were both watching her with concerned eyes and she just wanted to escape into bed, “just been stressed lately, I’m not feeling so good.”

Brittany got up, came over to her, and wrapped both arms around her. She kissed her, gently. “Rest is good,” she agreed. “Want me to come with?”

“No, I’ll be alright, I’ll just. Take something, y’know, for the headache.” She kissed Brittany’s cheek and said, “Goodnight, Ty,” and left the room.

She lay in bed for a minute before taking anything, just to close her eyes for a second, but she was asleep almost instantly. She didn’t wake when Brittany slid into the bed later that night, nor when she got up again in the morning and got ready for work. When she finally did wake up, Brittany was gone, but she’d left a note on the pillow that read At work until 3. Love you, B xx

Kim looked at the clock, remembered that it was Saturday, and closed her eyes again.

When she finally opened them, feeling like only a few minutes had passed, it was dark and Mr Whiskers was curled around her ankles. She got up, stumbling and reeling even after she’d found the light switch, and discovered Tyson in the kitchen. She started making some coffee, but Tyson took the jar out of her hand and began making it for her. “Ugh,” she moaned, “what time is it? How long was I asleep?”

“It’s ten, Brittany went home, and you’ve pretty much been out for twenty-four hours.” He handed her the coffee. “Are you coming down with something? Here, let me check for a fever.” He pressed a palm to her forehead. It felt deliciously cool. “Shit, your head’s all warm. You should probably take something.”

“I’m getting sick?” she asked, feeling small and young but at least like this would make sense of how awful she’d been pretending she didn’t feel.

“Looks like. My poor girl,” Tyson soothed, pulling her close for a warm hug. “I’ll make you soup and feed you medicine and you’ll feel all better.” He said it in the small squeaky voice they’d always used when either one of them was sick, calculated entirely to make the sick one smile. It worked.

“What would I do without you, Ty?” Kim muttered, as the percolator popped and bubbled.

Instead of his usual answer (“Die, clearly”) Tyson just looked at her and said, “Don’t find out, okay?”

[cont.]

Or, What You Will [3/7]

2007-12-06T11:04:19Z

Or, What You Will
[1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7]

* * *

Tuesday was Nick’s early finish day, when his last period was a planning period, so he basically finished up at one twenty-five. Most Tuesdays he spent the last hour at school, though, working on the lesson plans for the next few days, getting as much of his paperwork done as possible so he didn’t have to take any home.

On that particular Tuesday, after a weekend spent partly at Mike and Chris’s suppressing the simultaneous urges to drive as far away as possible and proposition them for a threesome, and partly at home watching movies with Robyn and Toad and Jeff (because Jeff’s fiancée was visiting her parents and Nick had not hung out with Jeff at the weekend for almost three weeks) Nick realised at lunch time that his cell phone had been stolen by one of the kids. It had been left to languish at the bottom of a paint tin and was discovered during a freshman art class, when it had almost been poured out into a paper tray.

So he spent his free period and the rest of the afternoon at first trying to salvage what he could of the phone, but at last giving up and driving into town to find a cell phone store. It took him a lot longer than he’d thought it possibly could to buy a new phone and have it activated, so he only had enough time to program in Robyn’s number and John’s, both of which he knew from memory, before he had to get ready for his second date with Tyson.

This time, he dressed even more carefully. It was a nice bar, so he felt okay with wearing a pair of his more casual suit pants. The kind that said hey, he was well-dressed, but he wasn’t afraid to have a good relaxing time either. He coupled those with his favourite pair of boots, which had the added advantage of the very small heel that put him at an even height with Tyson. Then he picked out a well-cut black shirt that sidled up to you and stated, softly, “Well hello there. Care for a small chatette?” He laid them out on the bed, after making it up with new sheets, shook out the curtains, wiped the windows, hoovered the floor, and took the basket to the laundry room. Then he showered, brushed his teeth, cleaned the bath and the floor, got the specks of toothpaste off the mirror, and finally got dressed, his towel hanging over the heater.

Robyn would be at Toad’s that night. He swept his eyes one last time over his bedroom and decided it was good enough. He gathered the few glasses that had been left out in the living room and put them in the dishwasher. He wiped the kitchen counters down, checked the clock again, and concluded that he wouldn’t be too early if he left right then.

There was a pleasant breeze in the air. The bar was only ten blocks away, so he walked it, drinking in the scents of the trees lining the streets. The route took a gentle downhill slope, and he felt good. He felt like a guy who was going to finally fucking get laid tonight.

When he got to the bar, he ordered a glass of wine and sat up on one of the high stools, positioned near enough to the door that Tyson would see him even if the place was crowded, but not so close it looked like he was waiting for someone. He sipped his drink and watched the other bar goers. A couple who were obviously still in the first flushes were sitting at a table near him, their ankles slowly entwining as they gazed into each other’s eyes and she played with her straw. A group of women, one of whom was in a wedding dress and another in a supposedly nurse’s uniform, gathered at the bar and loudly ordered cocktails. A man who looked to be in his late thirties was sitting in one corner, resolutely reading a book. To Nick, sitting there feeling detached from the scene, it seemed like a small act of rebellion.

He noticed himself getting existential and thoughtful, so he ordered another glass of wine and tried not to sneak too many glances at his watch.

After a while, the couple left, probably to go home and have sex. The group of loud women in costumes also left, gleefully shouting something about a club. The man with the book read on. Nick looked at his watch. Tyson was twenty minutes late, he’d give him another five. Tyson was half an hour late, maybe his taxi had got stuck in traffic. Tyson was forty-five minutes late, perhaps it had taken him a while to find one.

Tyson was an hour late.

Tyson, Nick realised, had stood him up.

He drained his glass and got up. The book-reading man gave him a tiny smile as he left, but Nick just grunted in return. He walked the ten blocks back, the air colder, his shirt too thin, too wide open at the neck. He let himself in and saw the empty living room, the too-clean bedroom, the sparkling bathroom.

He flung himself onto the couch and found his episodes of Good Eats on the TiVo. At least Alton Brown had never let him down. Alton wouldn’t stand you up after making you think he liked you. Alton would cook you delicious potato bakes and woo you with vegetables. Nick hugged the remote and thought about putting an ad in the personals. Wanted: a guy like Alton Brown. Glasses optional.

Maybe it was time for the ice cream.

He was just doling out three scoops and drizzling chocolate sauce onto them when he heard the front door open. “Rob?” he called, wondering if she and Toad had had a fight. He hoped not. “What are you doing home, I thought you were –”

“Nick, where have you been?” Robyn stood in the kitchen doorway, her hair awry from where she’d just yanked off her hat. “Didn’t you get our messages?”

“What – no, my phone took a bath in some paint, I had to get a new one – what messages? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s Kim. She’s in the hospital.”

Nick dropped his spoon. “Shit, what happened, is she okay?”

“She was in a car accident this morning, on her way to that interview. The other guy was alright, but Kim – she broke some bones, there was some kind of bruising, the doctors said she’s lucky she didn’t puncture a lung – she’ll be okay, they’re just keeping her in to make sure. But she’ll be alright.”

“Shit.” Nick grasped the counter for something to do. “Is she – can I go see her, is it –”

“It’s too late tonight, they made us leave. Tyson said he’ll go back tomorrow morning before work, he’s starting read-throughs but the hours are weird. I said I’d go in after school.”

“Yeah, yeah I’ll come with you.” Nick stopped. “Wait, Tyson was there?”

“Yeah, he’s been there since this morning. Y-- oh.” Robyn’s hand flew to her mouth. “You – you thought he stood you up?”

“Um. Yeah.” Nick moved so he was standing in front of the ice cream bowl, but Robyn had already seen it.

“And you – wow,” she said, craning her neck to look around him, “chocolate sauce? Were you going to put sprinkles on?”

“Um.” Nick examined the floor. It was pretty clean, but he’d probably need to go over it again at the weekend.

“Wow.” Robyn was looking at him, soft, when he glanced back up. “You really like him, don’t you?”

“I don’t – I don’t know him, Rob,” Nick sighed. “I always feel like he’s playing a game with me. But I guess I, I mean – I kind of want to see him again,” he admitted.

Robyn put her arm around his shoulders. “He really likes you too, you know. He was going frantic when he couldn’t get hold of you, but when Kim said he should go find you and explain, he refused to leave her bedside. He’s really sweet, I swear to you.”

“Maybe around Kim,” he shook his head. “But every time he talks to me, it’s like – I don’t know, it gets weird. And really intense. I’m not sure I want to do intense, y’know?”

Robyn shook her head in exasperation. “My God you’re so picky.” She squeezed his side in a quick half-hug. “I love you, you weirdo.”

“I love you too. Weirdo yourself. You going over to Toad’s tonight?”

“Yeah, is that okay?” Nick nodded, so she kissed his cheek and put her hat back on. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“Have a good night,” Nick called after her. He grabbed the sprinkles out of the cupboard and went back to his TiVo.

He drove Robyn to the hospital after school the next day, since her car was still at Toad’s and Toad was having a football night with some of his friends. He’d run out at lunch time and returned with a Get Well Soon card he’d passed around the faculty room. He pressed it into Nick’s hands when school ended that day and told him to give Kim his love. Robyn blew a kiss to him as he drove off, and he cheerfully blew one back.

“Things with you and Kevin are getting kind of serious, huh?” Nick asked, as Robyn buckled her seatbelt.

“Thank you,” she said, quiet. “You called him Kevin.”

Nick shrugged. “He doesn’t mind me calling him Toad, right?”

“No, no, he thinks it’s neat, it’s just. Sometimes it’s like I’m the only one who uses his name,” she shrugged.

“Isn’t that,” Nick faltered but carried on, “kind of nice, though? I mean, that you have this – special thing that only you get to do?”

Robyn patted his leg. “You really miss having a boyfriend, don’t you?” she said, sympathetic. Nick just nodded.

“I’m a house cat,” he reminded her. They had once had a three-day-long discussion of what animal they’d be, and both had agreed that Nick would be a cat. Most of the three days had been devoted to what kind of cat he’d be; it had quickly been established that Robyn would be a tigress, and once that was agreed there was nothing either could add to it. In the end, they had concluded that Nick would be a tabby, one of those ones with dark stripes, a few ginger patches, and white paws. Robyn had then sketched him as a cat, with the glasses he occasionally wore for reading perched on its whiskers, and coloured the drawing in with pencils. Nick had had it framed, and it still hung near his wardrobe.

It took them a few minutes to find a parking space in the hospital’s lot, and when they passed by the shop inside it they bought a bunch of flowers, so by the time they finally got to Kim’s room a nurse ushered them out again straight away, saying that Kim needed her regular checks but it would only take a few minutes. They waited outside, Nick holding onto the card and Robyn sniffing at the flowers. Brittany showed up right before the nurse called them back in.

“Hi baby,” Brittany said, her voice hushed, as she leaned over and kissed Kim’s cheek. Nick edged around the bed and sat in one of the chairs on the other side of it. He smiled at her and held out the card.

“This is from everyone at school. Toad sends his love,” he added. Kim smiled as she opened the envelope and read all the messages inside.

“I haven’t even met most of these people,” she said. Her voice sounded slightly hoarse.

“Well, they’re all thinking of you,” Robyn told her, gentle.

“That’s really nice of them.” Kim sounded grateful, and kind of content. She patted Brittany’s hand and said, “Listen, girls, can I have a minute with Nick?”

“Sure, honey,” Brittany replied. “We’ll just be outside, okay?”

“Thanks. I love you,” Kim called after them both as they left. She turned to Nick when the door had closed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked. “You … look pretty beat up.” He tried not to wince, but mentally kicked himself. She just laughed.

“I had a fight with a car,” she said, grinning a little. She leaned closer and added, in a conspiratorial sort of voice, “It didn’t win.”

“Good.” Nick couldn’t help grinning back. “Rob said you’ll be okay, that – the doctors said you’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I will. Quit stalling, you know I want to talk to you about Tyson.” Kim was watching him closely, and Nick blushed.

“Uh. Okay then.” He shifted in his seat.

“He told me you blew him off at the end of your first date,” she said, sitting up carefully. He held her pillows for her and tried to arrange them comfortably. “Thanks, it’s okay, I’ve got it. So – what happened?”

Nick blew the air out of his cheeks. “Well, it – the date was okay, I guess. He’s just – he’s a little intense, y’know? And it was just kind of … weird. Like he was playing some big game but nobody told me the rules. Does … that make any sense?”

Kim was watching him, thoughtful. “Yeah, you know what, it does.” She paused. “Why’d you give him a second chance?”

Nick sat back and looked up at the ceiling for a second. “He called me at my school, Kim. He … I don’t know, I just thought –” He looked at her quickly, and then down at his lap. “I thought maybe he liked me. And, I don’t know, I kind of just wanted to see if – if it could go anywhere. But I guess, I mean – it didn’t happen, and he’s just so weird, like – he puts on these voices,” he said, talking faster, leaning forward and watching her eyes, “he talks to everyone differently. I just don’t think he’s being him when he talks to me, and I’m … to be honest, okay, I’m kind of desperate. But I’m not that desperate.”

Kim didn’t say anything for a minute. She just nodded, and looked over at the wall. Nick played with his cuffs nervously, wishing she would speak. At last, she said, “I spent all weekend with Ty, and he didn’t bring anyone home. That hasn’t happened … since I’ve known the guy, basically.” She looked at him. “I don’t know if it means anything, he’s kind of been taking care of me, but –”

“Taking care of you? Are you okay?” Nick thought that, aside from the bruising and the casts on her arm and leg, she looked fine.

“I thought I was getting sick, and either I was and all the meds Ty gave me made it go away, or I wasn’t and I just had a nice weekend in bed. But yeah, Ty’s been making soup and we’ve watched old movies and stuff.”

“Really? Does he like old movies?” Nick didn’t realise he was leaning forward eagerly until she laughed.

“You know, me and Rob wanted to set you up because you were both so annoying. We figured you’d hate each other, but God, you should see you two. I don’t think Ty even realises it, but he likes you a lot.”

“We were annoying?” Nick thought about it for a minute. “Well, I guess, I mean – I can be kind of a bitch sometimes.”

“Especially, according to Rob, when you haven’t gotten laid in forever. And Ty is always bringing home these bright young boythings who screw him and get fake phone numbers if they ask for one. He screws around, Nick. I don’t mean that he’d cheat on a boyfriend, but he hasn’t had a boyfriend in his entire life. To be totally honest with you, it was sort of a … payback thing, that first date. Because Tyson doesn’t date and you’re really picky, but – I guess it backfired, because Tyson really likes you and now he thinks he’s blown it.”

“Well.” Nick swallowed. “He kind of has. I – he screws around?”

Kim reached out and patted his hand. “Nick, I don’t know you all that well. Not as well as I’d like, maybe. But even I can see that you like him, and he likes you, so – why don’t you give him another chance?”

“Because he’s weird and he’s playing some dumb game and he screws around,” Nick answered, “and I just don’t want that.”

“What do you want?”

Most people ask that question as if they want to know the answer, but they don’t, and it’s clear that they don’t. Kim, however, asked because she really did want to know, so Nick sighed and said, “I guess, just … a good boyfriend. Someone like Toad is for Rob, y’know? Like Brittany is for you, although that’s girlfriend, but you know what I mean.”

Kim shrugged. “Partner. Same thing.”

“Right. I just, I kind of miss having that, y’know?”

“A kind of sense of belonging.” She looked almost close to tears, and he made a clumsy movement as if to hug her or wipe them away or stand up, or something in between.

“Hey, I’m – sorry, hey, are you okay?”

“People keep asking me that lately,” Kim said, sounding as if she didn’t know whether to sigh or laugh.

“Maybe you should talk to them,” Nick suggested, hoping it was the right thing to say.

“Yeah. Maybe. Hey, could you call the girls back in?”

“Yeah. And – and thanks.” He stood up and made to move towards the door, but she grabbed his wrist loosely.

“Will you be friends with him, at least? He’s a good friend, I promise.”

Nick realised he was smiling. “I’d like that.” She let go of his wrist; he patted hers affectionately and a little awkwardly, and then he went to call the girls back in.

On the way back home, Robyn asked him, “What did Kim want to talk to you about?”

“Tyson,” he answered. “Yeah, that whole thing’s … not really happening. But we’re gonna be friends, I hope.”

“Yeah?” She sat back and watched the streetlights go past. “I’m glad.”

* * *

Kim lay in silence for a while, after visiting hours had finished and Brittany and Robyn and Nick had gone home. Tyson wasn’t due to finish read-throughs for another half hour, but he’d already arranged to come in and visit after that, so she waited.

The hospital sounds settled around her and she listened until they melted into a background burr. A soothing murmur, almost, of squeaking footsteps and wheels and beeps and voices in another room. Her eyes drifted closed to the swish swish of distant hospital gowns.

When she woke up, Tyson was sitting next to her bed, holding her hand. “Hey, how’s my girl?” he asked, smiling at her softly, and she had a moment of perfect clarity and a thought that came with it: He’d be so happy with Nick. She tried to push away the tinge of sadness.

“I’m doing okay,” she answered. “How was work?”

“Thrilling,” he replied, half wry and half excited. “Although going on first impressions, I am not going to get on with my leading lady. But since she made it clear that she wants a stunt double for the kissing scenes, I’m guessing it goes both ways.”

“Oh Ty,” Kim sighed. “Was she horribly obnoxious?”

“Very. She called me a fag, and not affectionately. Just because – remember that party six months ago, with the dude’s house that had a spiral palm tree up his staircase? And remember the guy who was serving the vol-au-vents, how I ended up having sex with him in the pool? Yeah, apparently that was her brother, and she doesn’t approve.”

“Why, was he upset or something?”

“No, he’s on the cast, my character’s love interest’s cousin’s next-door neighbour, or something, he was fine. Said it was nice to see me again and I was looking good. I said the same to him. No, she just doesn’t want her baby brother to be gay.”

“Wow. Okay, yeah, permission to hate her.” Kim shook her head. “So hey, unless something else happened at work, I have something to talk to you about.”

“Oh?” Tyson shifted closer, tilting towards her quizzically. Kim almost patted him on the head, but thought better of it.

“Nick was here earlier. And I talked to him and … I’m sorry, Ty, he just doesn’t want to date you.”

“Oh.” Tyson sat back. “Oh. Um. Okay? Did he say why?”

“Yeah, he uh – he said you were kind of weird and intense, and he felt like you were playing games with him or something, and he’s not into that. He wants a boyfriend, Ty. And I … kind of told him that you screw around, so uh. Not – not that you’d cheat or anything, just sleeping with a lot of different guys. So. Sorry about that.”

“Oh.” Tyson nodded, a short movement. “No, that’s, yeah, that’s okay. Okay then. Good to know.”

“He did say he’d like to be friends, though. He likes you, he just … he’s looking for different … things.” Her voice trailed off as he shot her a wounded look.

“That’s bullshit. That’s one of those stupid bullshit things boyfriends say – you’re just not what I’m looking for right now, I need to find out about me, I want some space – bull. Shit.” He looked at her. “Tell me straight. Please.”

Kim looked back at him. “He wants commitment, Tyson. He wants a boyfriend who’ll be there and hang out with him. Someone to have communication with. You don’t do that, and he didn’t need me to tell him that. He’d already guessed.” She sighed. “But you should see his face when your name gets mentioned, Ty. He likes you, he really does.”

“Right. Right. Well, I guess, yeah. I guess it wouldn’t work out, I mean – yeah.” Tyson was looking at his lap. She squeezed his hand.

“But you two can be friends, and you can carry on having sex with as many boythings as you want,” she pointed out.

“They’re not boythings,” Tyson protested. “They’re – they’re Rich and Marco and Johnny and Taylor and Harry. These guys have names, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry. But you can just do your thing with all the Richs and Marcos and Johnnys in Los Angeles, and you’ve got another friend now. Okay?”

“Right.” Tyson was still looking down at his lap. “Right.” Finally, he looked up, and he gave her a tight smile. “It’s all good.”

Kim opened her arms, and he leaned over to hug her. “Exactly,” she said, glad he couldn’t see her face. “It’s all good.”

* * *

Nick decided, after the whole Tyson thing, that he may as well make it official that he was desperate, and signed up for a dating website. The first four guys who sent him messages made him want to burn his computer just to get far enough away from them, but the fifth one sounded nice. A normal, down-to-earth kind of a guy, who liked music and movies and worked for a computer company. Nick sent him a message back and they arranged to meet up for a date.

Robyn hovered over his shoulder as he tried to pick out something to wear. “What happened to all this ‘I’ll never go on a date with someone I don’t know’ shit?”

“You set me up with Tyson,” he pointed out, moving hangars aside and holding up a red shirt. “Too much?”

“Mmm. Muted colours would be better, like …” She reached into the wardrobe and pulled out a silky dark brown shirt. “How about this one?”

He shrugged. “Alright.”

Toad managed not to snigger when he said to have a good night as Nick left, and Robyn just waved anxiously. Nick got a taxi, figuring that at least he could drink if it turned out to be a disaster.

The date, in fact, went well. Much better than any date Nick had had in a long while. They didn’t run out of topics of conversation, there were barely any awkward pauses, and the guy really was very cute. All the same, when the night ended, Nick kissed him and said it had been fun but he had to work in the morning. The guy looked disappointed, but nodded and said alright then.

The same thing happened with the next guy he met on the website; the date went well, the conversation barely stopped, and Nick laughed more in one night than he had in the previous week. But when it came to it, he just didn’t want to invite this stranger back home.

“What the fuck is wrong with me?” he moaned to Robyn, sprawled out on the couch and half over her legs. She was petting his knees soothingly. “I meet a nice guy, he’s funny and great, we hit it off, he’s interested, I’m not uninterested, but then I just … say fucking goodnight.” He dropped his arm over his eyes. “I am doomed. Doomed to be an old spinster fag with a million cats and two teeth between us.”

Robyn sighed. “You w-” she began, but just then Nick’s phone rang.

“Um,” Nick said, reading the display, “it’s Tyson.”

“I’ll be in my room, okay?” Robyn patted his shins and left while Nick pressed the ‘answer call’ button.

“Hey, hi,” he said, feeling his stomach swoop.

“Hi.” Tyson’s voice sounded different, and it took Nick a couple of seconds to realise that was because there was no seduction in it. “I was just … calling to ask how it’s going. Y’know. How are you?”

He sounded awkward, and a little hopeful, and he definitely wasn’t coming onto him. Nick felt relieved, but not as much as he’d thought he would. “Oh, you know. I just had a couple dates, not sure if either will go anywhere. You?”

“Uh.” Tyson sounded kind of taken aback. “Yeah, no, I – there’s this guy at work, the dolly grip? He’s really cute. Was thinking of making some moves.”

“Right, yeah.” Nick felt as though he were sinking, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Sounds, uh. Good, yeah.”

There was a pause so awkward Nick was amazed it didn’t become solid and grow legs. “Can we start again?” Tyson asked at last, and Nick let the breath he’d been holding out.

“Yeah, yeah that sounds good. Listen, I hear your hours are crazy or something, but if you’re free this weekend maybe we could go for coffee somewhere? Just,” he added quickly, “just as friends, you know, not a date.”

“That sounds good. I’m free uh, how about Sunday afternoon? I could pick you up from your place, we could just see where we end up.”

“Yeah, great idea. Okay, so I’ll … see you Sunday – about three?”

“Three’s good. Yeah, I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah. Okay then.” Nick risked opening his eyes, and saw Robyn standing in the doorway. “See you then.” He hung up, and moved his legs so she could sit down again.

She didn’t sit down. “You need some ice cream?”

He shook his head. “We’re going for coffee on Sunday. Just as friends, you know.”

“Yeah.” Robyn sat, watching his face carefully. “You sure you don’t need ice cream? You look a little … low-fat soya worthy.”

“No, I’m okay, I’m just.” He sighed. “I’m doomed,” he repeated, slumping further into the cushions.

She held up the remote. “On a scale of Doctor Who to Muppets, how bad is it?”

He considered, carefully. “I’d say about a Columbo.”

“Columbo it is.” He bent his legs so she could get up, and kept them bent while she picked out the right DVD and started it up. She sat down again, and he stretched across her thighs.

“Toad coming over later?” he asked, as the menu screen started up.

“Yeah, his brother’s leaving in about,” she checked her watch, “an hour. Kevin’s going to see him off at the airport and come here.”

“Cool. I think my earplugs are still working.” He shot her a grin, and she thumped his leg with a loose fist.

“Ass.”

Kim was allowed home from the hospital that Friday, so Nick, Robyn and Toad went over with wine, pretzels and another bunch of flowers. Robyn also gave her a stuffed bear with “I ♥ you” stitched into its stomach. When Brittany started asking them what take-out they’d like for dinner, Nick offered to cook something instead.

“Take him up on it,” Toad told them. “I swear, if I swung that way, I would sleep with him just for his mushroom risotto. It’s tempting as it is.”

Nick puckered his lips and Robyn poked him on the arm. “Don’t you go stealing my boyfriend with your food,” she giggled. He put an arm around her.

“It’s okay, you’d just steal him back with that outfit I saw in your laundry yesterday.”

“Oh God.” Robyn buried her face in her hands. Toad was obviously trying not to grin too hard. “Shoot me now. This is like my brother finding out.”

Nick patted her on the arm, holding down laughter. “Honey, I think your brother’s gathered by now that you don’t just snuggle.” His voice cracked, a fraction of a laugh escaping.

“Oh don’t,” Robyn groaned, hiding in Toad’s shoulder. He was shaking with silent laughter already, and then another part of the same laugh made its way past Nick’s throat, and then all five of them were laughing.

Over the noise came the sound of the front door closing. “Hey, what’s funny?” Tyson asked as he shucked his jacket off. He dropped into the chair next to Kim’s and kissed her on the temple.

Brittany pointed at Robyn and said, through her giggles, “She has sex with Toad.” All five of them burst into fresh laughter. Tyson shook his head.

“I guess you had to be there, right?”

Toad composed himself enough to say, “Nick – Nick found one of Robyn’s, uh, outfits in the laundry. Poor Rob got all traumatised.”

“He’s like my brother,” she repeated, clearly torn between laughter and horror. “I don’t want him to know I have sex!”

“That’s what I have earplugs for,” Nick reminded her, and Robyn buried her face in Toad’s shoulder again, laughing.

“Wow, you crazy kids and your whirligig of fun.” Tyson shook his head. The laughter gradually died down. “I’m starving, folks, where’s the pizza guy?”

Brittany pointed at Nick. “He’s cooking.”

“Oh – you cook?” Tyson asked, looking at Nick. It was the first time he’d addressed him, in person, without obviously mentally taking his clothes off. Nick swallowed and shifted slightly.

“Yeah. Uh, let me go see what you guys have.” He stepped over several pairs of legs on his way to the kitchen, and when he got there he opened cupboards and looked in the fridge and the freezer.

“There’s saucepans under the drawers.” Tyson’s voice came from the doorway, making Nick jump. “Sorry. Hi.”

Nick swallowed, suddenly assaulted with a full-senses memory of the last time they’d kissed, Tyson pushing him up against his front door, the way he’d tasted. He swallowed again and said, “Thanks.”

They ate clustered around the coffee table, Nick sitting between Robyn and Brittany, trying not to stare at Tyson too much. “Oh wow,” Kim breathed after her first mouthful. “This really is good.”

“See, I told you.” Toad gestured with his fork at her. “I would totally sleep with you for food like this,” he added to Nick. Somewhat pointedly.

Tyson didn’t say a word, and Nick’s cheeks were red for the entire rest of the meal. Later, as they were leaving, Tyson pulled him aside and said, “Are we still on for Sunday?” and Nick nodded, avoiding his eyes because he had a horrible feeling that if he looked up he’d do something really stupid like kissing the living fucking daylights out of Tyson. So he just nodded again, grabbed his jacket, and left.

When they got home, Robyn hugged him and said, “Alton?”

He nodded. “Alton.”

“I’ll get the sprinkles.”

Nick sighed when she handed him a bowl full of ice cream scoops seeped in syrup and covered in sprinkles. “Robyn, you are a doll. Now go screw your boyfriend’s brains out.”

“Please stop,” she groaned, hitting him with a cushion. Toad just grinned and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

“I think we should do as the man says,” he murmured.

Nick turned the volume up on the TV and dug his spoon into the ice cream structure, while on the screen Alton began to detail the many uses for cabbage.

* * *

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

Kim watched Tyson pace, one hand up to his face as he chewed on his thumb. “Do what?” she asked. Mr Whiskers, who was sitting on her lap, flicked his tail.

“Be friends with him, like – you saw what that dinner was like, he wouldn’t even look at me. Oh God, I blew it, I fucking blew it.” He collapsed into the armchair and looked over at her pathetically.

“Oh Ty,” was all she said. If she could have reached, she’d have petted his arm.

“Should I call him? I mean, maybe I should say I’m sick, or – no, wait, I don’t want to lie to the dude.” He stood up and started pacing again. “Maybe I can – maybe it’ll be okay. Right?” He turned to her, imploringly. “We can be friends, right?”

She bit her lip but said, “Of course you can.”

“Right.” He sat down in the chair again, the movement more a folding fall than anything. “Yeah. Shit, what should I wear? What do you wear for coffee with the guy you –” He stopped. “Shit, I don’t even know what.”

“The guy you like who rejected you but still has a very obvious and massive crush on you?” Kim supplied. “I’d say what you’re wearing now’s fine.”

“He – crush on me? Really?”

Kim rolled her eyes. “Huge. Trust me.” Mr Whiskers made a small mrrw sound as he yawned, as if in agreement.

Tyson played with the hem of his jeans. He was folded up so his legs and arms stuck out at odd angles.

“Almost as big as the one you have on him,” she continued, unable to suppress a grin as he looked up sharply. Then he just shrugged and nodded.

“Well. Yeah. He’s hot,” he exclaimed, falling back against the chair, “and he can cook and he makes me laugh and shit, seriously, Kim, I haven’t felt like this about anyone before. And ugh that’s such a fucking cliché, but it’s so fucking true. I’ve never met a guy like Nick Wheeler.”

Kim decided not to say You totally want to date him, hah, I knew it, and instead went with, “Aren’t you going to be late?”

Tyson looked at his watch. “Shit, yeah, unless I leave now.” He squared his shoulders. “Time to go be just friends.”

“You can do it.” Kim gave him two thumbs up.

He stopped at the door, darted back into the room and said, “Are you sure what I’m wearing is fine?”

“Yes, now go,” she gestured. “Shoo, go on. Go make googly eyes.”

Tyson said, “I hate you,” but he blew her a kiss before he left. She just laughed, and settled down with the pile of magazines Brittany had brought her, one hand kneading at Mr Whiskers’ fur.

[cont.]

Or, What You Will [4/7]

2007-12-06T11:03:01Z

Or, What You Will
[1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7]

* * *

Tyson was late, but instead of arriving in style to be noticed, this time he just rang the doorbell and breathlessly apologised. “I got stuck in traffic,” he said, looking at Nick like he was desperate to be forgiven.

Nick’s heart ricocheted around his ribs. “It’s okay. You want to come in? I’ll give you the tour before we go.”

“Okay, yeah, that’d be great.” Tyson looked relieved and Nick led him inside.

“This is the front hall,” he said, complete with sweeping arm gesture. Tyson made ‘ooh’ noises, and Nick’s voice hitched a laugh as he said, “And through here, we have the living room. TV, Robyn’s DVDs,” he indicated the cases piled onto a shelf, “my DVDs,” indicating the neat rows covering four and a half shelves, “and our great guardian, the TiVo.” He patted the box fondly as they passed. “That door leads to the laundry room, out from the patio doors is,” he slid one of them open and led Tyson outside, “the uh, patio. Roof of the garage, really, we just keep the sun chairs and the table out here mostly. Sometimes we eat here, when it’s nice and we’re home when the sun’s setting. It’s pretty beautiful.”

Tyson looked around appreciatively. “I knew you’d have a good view.”

Nick, thinking of the way he’d said it last time, blushed. He cleared his throat, hoping Tyson wouldn’t notice, and took him back inside. “And through here is my domain, the kitchen.” Tyson took in the cabinets, the surfaces, the oven, the microwave, and the tall fridge-freezer whose surface was covered in magnets.

“Hey,” he said, leaning closer to read some of them, “I saw that When in doubt, add more wine one someplace … oh! That’s right.” He turned back to Nick. “This guy once, he was working on a shoot, he had this weird accent, like he’d been dropped in the middle of the Atlantic ocean?”

“Yeah? My sister got me that one on vacation.” He led Tyson out into the hall again. “That door’s the bathroom, that one’s Robyn’s room so we’ll leave that and here,” he opened his door, “is my room.”

Tyson stepped into it with the air of someone who is trying not to break a spell. “It’s nice,” he said, looking around. He spotted the framed picture near the wardrobe and moved closer. “Hey, this is pretty good. Who drew this?”

“Robyn. It’s uh, it’s me as a cat.”

Tyson looked at Nick, then back at the drawing. “But this cat’s wearing glasses.”

“Yeah, I uh, I wear glasses sometimes. For reading.” He pointed to the case by the bed. Tyson looked over, then at Nick and back to the drawing again. He seemed to be trying to arrange his features into an impassive expression.

“Oh.” He peered at the drawing. “You know what, this cat looks like it should be called Socks. But like – Socks McGee.” He grinned at Nick over his shoulder. “You know what I mean? Like, Socks McGee can get you anything you want, if you’ve got the right price.”

“Like he could bust you out of jail?” Nick matched Tyson’s grin and moved closer, looking at the picture again. He did have rather a mischievous air; perhaps it was the whiskers.

“Dude, he’s a criminal mastermind. The brains of the operation,” Tyson tapped his own temple, “the one you never see. He never gets caught.”

“Like Macavity,” Nick grinned. Tyson straightened up and put one hand to his chest.

“Macavity,” he began to recite in a grand voice, “Macavity, there’s no one like Macavity. He’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity. His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare. And when you reach the scene of crime – Macavity’s not there!” This last was delivered in hushed tones and wide eyes.

Nick tried very, very hard not to let any of the sounds rushing through him escape via his throat. When he could finally trust himself to speak again, he said, “You uh, you like that poem, huh?”

“Are you kidding me? TS Eliot is the shit.” Tyson grinned at him. “And Cats is my favourite musical. Whatever else you might think, you cannot deny that Memory is a fucking classic.”

“Uh. Uh, yeah.” Nick had to pretend he had a cough, for a minute, but when he could talk again and had stopped thinking He is so fucking cute he is so fucking cute he is so fucking cute on a loop, he said, “I guess we should –” but in the middle of the sentence, Tyson’s phone rang.

“Shit, it’s the producer,” he said. “I have to take this, sorry.”

“Go ahead,” Nick waved an encouraging hand motion.

“Hi,” Tyson said into the phone. “Well, I – I’m with a friend, we had pla- I know. Yes. I can be there in,” he checked his watch, “twenty minutes, I – I’ll be there. As soon as I can. Yes. Okay.” He hung up, looking like he wanted to hurl the phone across the room. “I’m really sorry about this, but I have to go. There’s some location we can only have today, but they just got it agreed and we have to start shooting like, now. I’m really sorry.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We can hang out some other time,” Nick said, feeling his heart sinking into his knees.

“It’s just, they’ll fire me if I don’t get there, and I need this job, it could make my career in movies.” Tyson sounded like he was pleading, willing Nick to forgive him. As far as Nick was concerned, there was nothing to forgive him for.

“It’s okay, really. You should go,” he practically pushed Tyson out of the room, stopping short of actual bodily contact. “Don’t get fired, Ty. I’ll be here when you don’t have to work, seriously.”

“Thank you, so much, I will make this up to you. I promise.” Tyson dashed out to his car, and Nick watched him drive away before sinking onto the couch, finding some episodes of Friends on the TiVo, and curling up to watch them.

He switched his cell phone on at the end of Monday’s classes and it beeped to inform him of a new voicemail message. He listened to it as he gathered stray drum sticks and music stands and put them away in the band room.

“Hi Nick, it’s Tyson.” He sounded hurried. “I’m still really sorry about yesterday, and the shooting schedule is kind of insane. I have a night off in like, a week, but that’s it. Can we do something uhm … next weekend some time? Call me.”

“You’re in a good mood,” Robyn beamed at him when he went to pick up some paperwork in the faculty room. That was when he noticed he was humming Two Steps Behind under his breath.

“I guess I am,” he smiled at her. “Ty called, we’re gonna reschedule for next weekend. He’s got crazy hours with the shooting, y’know?”

“So you guys are practically dating now. Right?” Jeff asked, sidling up behind him. Nick groaned.

“We are not dating. Tyson doesn’t date. We’re just going to hang out.” He clocked the three incredulous faces of Jeff, Toad and Robyn and added, “Maybe have some coffee. Y’know. Hang out. Talk about shit. Yeah, he does that now. It’s nice,” he said, exasperated. “What are you all looking at me like that for?”

John walked up and said, “Hey. What are we giving Nick shit for?”

“He’s not dating Tyson, apparently,” Jeff informed him, grinning rather too much for Nick’s liking.

“Because we’re just friends,” he insisted. John snorted.

“Yeah. Uh huh. Just keep believing that, Nicky.” John patted his arm condescendingly.

“Oh fuck you, all of you.” Nick shook his head, exasperated.

“No, yeah, you’re right,” Toad nodded. “Totally friends. You don’t desperately want to bang him, or anything like that. Oh no.”

“Shut the fuck up.” Nick rolled his eyes. “I’m going home, okay? Home.”

“You coming to yoga tonight?” Robyn asked him, obviously still trying hard not to laugh.

“Yeah, want me to drive you?”

“I can pick you up,” Toad spoke up. “We could have supper or something on the way back to my place.” He slipped an arm around her waist. “It’s been a while since I took you out to eat.”

“Mmm, sounds good,” Robyn smiled, leaning against him.

“Ugh, you two.” John rolled his eyes. “Nick, you’re my only single friend. Hide me.”

“Stand up to it, John!” Nick said in Coach Voice. “You’re bigger than the coupledom! Crush them like an egg!”

Jeff, John and Nick chorused, “Like an egg!” and dissolved into laughter. Toad looked at them quizzically, and Robyn shook her head.

“They saw this TV show once, with these kids playing baseball, and the coach said that to them. ‘Crush the other team like an egg. Like an egg.’ They … still quote that.”

“That will never not be funny,” Jeff informed her.

“Never,” Nick added. John just contributed a firm nod to the argument, since everything had already been said for him.

“I am out of here,” Robyn said. “I’m surrounded by guys,” she added in a sigh.

Toad nuzzled her cheek. “But you still like me, right? Even though I’m a guy?”

“I like you best of all,” Robyn nodded, and Toad beamed. “Okay. See you all tomorrow. Nick, I’ll see you at home.”

Jeff turned to Toad after Robyn had gone and said, “So wow, you two, huh? You said the big L yet?”

“Not yet.” Toad was still looking in the direction she had gone, even though she was probably at her car by now. “I have to pick the exact right moment for it.”

“The big L?” Nick asked.

“He loves her,” John explained.

“Oh dude.” Nick clapped Toad on the back. “Yeah? That’s awesome, man. She’s totally nuts about you.”

Toad ducked his head but couldn’t hide his smile. “I thought maybe I’d say it tonight, you know – take her out for something romantic, get candles going at home, and then tell her. Do you think that’s okay, d’you think I should? Is it overkill?”

Nick felt like his head might crack in two if he grinned any harder. He grasped Toad in a quick hug and said, “She would love that, seriously. So much.”

Toad exhaled nervously. “Okay. Good. Do you – do you think she loves me? I mean, you’ve known her pretty much forever, right?”

“Since we were kids,” Nick nodded. “And yeah – I think she does love you. She hasn’t said it, not in so many words, but I’ve never seen her like this.” He felt like hugging him again, but refrained. “Aw dude, I’m so happy for you.”

Yoga class that night seemed to speed by, and Nick waved Robyn and Toad off after it and drove home, stopping to rent a DVD and get some wine on the way. He was half way through the movie when his phone beeped with a text message.

It was from Robyn, and it read Kevin loves me!! We’re IN LOVE!! Nick typed back Congratulations!! That’s awesome xxxx and on the TV screen, a bridge blew up.

Nick decided the next day that he would spend his planning period at Kim’s. He bought coffee and some ingredients on the way and when he rang the doorbell he heard her call out, “Just a minute!” The sound of crutches on wooden flooring came closer and closer, and she opened the door. “Nick, hey! What are you doing here?”

“Tuesdays I finish early,” he said, holding up his grocery bags, “and I bought some stuff for making lunch. Can I come in?”

“Of course, yes –” She opened the door wider and edged aside so he could get past. He put the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and took a few things out of them that needed chilling. He found places for them in the fridge, and went to join her in the living room. She was sinking back into an armchair, slow going with the crutches. He rushed over to help, and arranged the nest of cushions so she could have her leg propped up. “Thanks,” she said, when he’d finished.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked. “Tea, or something?”

“Ty has some tea in the cupboard over the sink. That’d be really great, thank you.”

He spread his arms out. “For the next couple hours, I am yours. Figured I could make myself useful and entertain you while everyone’s at work, right?”

“You’re an angel,” she sighed, visibly grateful. “I’m starting to work my entire day around the Cartoon Network. Save me.”

“Just wait there, I’ll be back in a minute.” Nick found the tea, and made it as quickly as he could. He took it in to her and said, “Okay, and I’ll be back in another minute. You haven’t eaten yet, right?” She shook her head. “Okay, good. I’ll be right back.” He darted back into the kitchen and made sure the toaster was plugged in.

Ten minutes of watching bagel halves sit in it, grilling salmon, and slicing vegetables later, he grabbed the cream cheese and made the bagels, arranging a crisp, leafy salad around the edges of both plates. He took them into the living room with a small verbal-trumpet fanfare.

“I give you,” he announced, grandly, “bagel a la Wheeler.” He handed her the plate and a napkin and settled himself with his own on the couch.

Kim bit into her bagel and moaned, “Oh God this is incredible. Mmnf, please come over all the time, you are very welcome.”

“Maybe food is the secret,” Nick observed once he’d swallowed his mouthful. “If I could just cook for a bunch of guys and the one who makes the best noises gets a date. Or something.”

Kim laughed. “That might work. Tyson won’t stop talking about that dinner you made for us.”

Nick tried hard not to blush or burst out into a grin, and hid behind his salad. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Kim looked at him for a moment, and then laughed again. “You may as well have a huge flashing sign over your head, Nick.”

“Not you as well,” he groaned. “They would not shut up about it yesterday, I swear. We’re just friends.”

“I know.” Kim smiled at him, opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. “Nick, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” He picked a few crumbs up from his plate with the tip of one finger.

“Did you always want to be a music teacher? Like, did you just know?”

“Yeah,” he said, slowly. He looked at her. “That or a guitarist, and that didn’t happen, so. Yeah. Why?”

“Well, it’s just – I mean, I’ve kind of talked to Ty about this, and Brit, but not really like.” She turned to him, earnest, and said, “Nick, if I tell you something, will you promise not to repeat it?”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” he nodded.

“It’s just that I – the weekend before the accident, I slept a lot, and Ty said my head was hot, like I was coming down with a fever or something, but I never did. And I – I’ve had these sort of,” she paused. “I don’t know, like just these moments, I guess, ever since I got fired.”

“What kind of moments?” he asked, careful. She was worrying at her shirt, twisting and untwisting it between her fingers.

“It – I don’t even know. Like one minute I’ll be fine, the next I’m crying and I feel like everything’s falling apart. They don’t last long, they’ve mostly been at like, four in the morning or something, but I’ve had a couple in front of Tyson and I think he’s worried. And – and I’m worried. I didn’t have any in the hospital, but I’ve had them every day since I came back.” She looked at him, helpless. “I don’t know what to do, and I really don’t want to worry Brit or Ty, y’know, but I. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Nick put his plate on the table, moved over and put his arms around her. She didn’t cry, but her breath hitched a little and she hugged him back. “What was it about getting fired that upset you?” he asked into her hair, taking a chance that it was the right question. He’d had practice with crying women, since all his best friends had been female; he was the only guy he knew who’d learned from the age of fifteen when to shut the fuck up and hand the chocolate over, and when to stick around and just wait for the inevitable talking.

She laughed slightly damply. He pulled back to see that her eyes were wet, so he hunted around for a box of tissues and handed it to her. “Well, there’s the getting fired part,” she said.

He didn’t reply, just kept on looking at her and waiting. She sighed.

“I guess it was … I’d worked there for almost two years, you know? I liked it there. My bosses were nice, the work wasn’t bad, it was something to – it was a good job.”

“And?”

She stared at him. “Shit, you’re good at this.” When he didn’t say anything, she added, “And I didn’t have to go to any stupid auditions.”

“You already had a job,” he suggested, slowly, watching her closely just in case he was wrong, “so it didn’t matter that your career dried up?”

She was perfectly still for a minute, and then she sort of crumpled right in front of him. He thrust a tissue at her as she started to cry, and moved round to hug her again. “Sorry,” she said between hiccups, “sorry, I just.”

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “Is that what’s wrong?” He was at a loss, but hoped his voice at least sounded reassuring.

“No, not the – not the career dying, no, that –” She curled up and blew her nose, so he went back to the couch. “I loved my job. It wasn’t what I wanted to do forever, but when I got fired I thought, now I can audition more, but – but I don’t think I want to be an actress any more, Nick. I don’t want to be a model, I don’t – I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, what I want to do with my life, but I – I don’t want that again, I don’t.”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. You don’t have to do that shit, it’s okay.” Nick wished he could do something with his hands, anything to at least feel more useful.

Kim blew her nose again. “I’m sorry, I know this is – it’s all stupid, but I’d feel like I was letting Ty down if I told him. We started out together, you know? I met him on his first job, I helped him out when I was doing okay, he helps me out now. We have each other’s backs, you know? And we’re kind of … in it together. So if I’m not – if our lives go so different, I just.” She wiped at her eyes with the tissue, crying subsided now. “I’d just miss it, you know? It’s us against the world, it’s always been that way, partners in crime –”

“You won’t lose Ty, Kim, no way. I don’t even know him and I know that.”

She smiled weakly at him. “Thanks, Nick. I guess I just, I know I’ve been worrying over nothing, but. I don’t know what I’m going to do now.”

“Well.” Nick thought for a minute. “What do you like to do?”

“Paint,” she replied instantly. “I mean, I – I’m not great, and I can’t draw like Rob can, but I like playing with colours and patterns and textures. It’s kinda – comforting, I guess.”

Nick nodded. “Art therapy? My sister did that in college. There’s probably a centre somewhere here, there’ll be classes. Maybe you should try that, teaching it some day?”

“Huh.” She considered. “Art therapy. Yeah, I’ll – I’ll think about it. Thanks, Nick.”

“Hey, any time. Just glad I could help.” He patted her hand affectionately. “And talk to Ty and Brittany, okay? Tell them what’s been going on.”

“Okay, I – yeah, I will.” Kim looked up at the clock and said, “Brit should be getting home soon, her boss said he’d only need her until three.”

“I’ll leave you two to talk, then,” he said, standing up. He took the plates into the kitchen and stacked them in the dishwasher. “Are you okay now?” he asked, when he returned to grab his jacket from the chair he’d flung it over.

“Yeah. Thanks, you’ve been amazing today.” She kissed his cheek when he leaned over to hug her.

“You’re welcome. Um, say hey to Ty when he gets in, okay?”

Kim snorted. “If he gets in tonight. He was out with this dolly grip from the set yesterday, said they might hit a bar tonight after work. I’m not expecting him back.”

Nick blinked. “Oh. Right. Uh. Well, when you see him.”

“Sure. I’ll see you soon, Nick.”

“Yeah. Right, yeah.”

He closed the front door behind him and walked to his car, feeling a little like he was sleepwalking. He drove home to find Robyn and Toad making out in the kitchen, despite it being three thirty and usually by that time they were heading over to Toad’s.

“Oh – uh, hi Nick,” Robyn said when she finally became aware of his presence. “We figured you were out, so –” She stopped, and looked at him properly. “Are … you okay?”

“Tyson, uh.” Not much sound was coming out, so Nick cleared his throat and tried again. “Tyson’s seeing this guy, the uh. The something grip, some crew thing on the movie I guess.”

“Are – do you want us to leave you alone, do you need –”

“Wafers,” he interrupted her. He said it quietly, but she stopped like he’d yelled. “Do we have wafers?”

Robyn turned to Toad. “Kevin, go get a Muppets DVD. Doesn’t matter which one – no wait, not Great Muppet Caper. Shit, not Muppet Movie either. Go with Treasure Island. Get it started up, I’ll deal with the ice cream.”

“I – okay.” Toad disappeared, and Robyn turned back to Nick.

“We have a full tub of double chocolate and most of the Rocky Road left. Spoon, scoops or sundae?”

Nick felt an immense but remote sense of relief. She always knew what to do. “Spoon. Please.”

She bustled around grabbing a few things from the cupboards, and pointed to the door. “Living room,” she said, decisive, and marched him in there and over to the couch. She arranged the ice cream, spoon, syrup, sprinkles, wafers and a bag of marshmallows on the coffee table next to a perplexed-looking Toad, who handed her the remote. She gave it to Nick.

“What’s, uh, what’s going on?” Toad asked her, glancing at Nick as he hit ‘enter’ and grasped for the tub and the syrup in the manner a drowning man might grasp a lifebelt.

Robyn led Toad away, but Nick could still hear them over the sound of the opening score. “We have this gauging system,” she explained, voice low. “If one of us is upset, the other provides ice cream and comfort viewing of varying degrees, depending on how bad the situation is. Something like feeling kinda crappy is, say, Doctor Who and a scoop of soya vanilla. D’you see?”

“Okay, yeah, I get it.”

Robyn paused. “We uh. Muppets is for the major league shit. And wafers …” She drew her breath in. “We haven’t had a wafers-and-Muppets crisis since Mike left him.”

“Wow. Shit.” There was another pause, and Toad continued, “And the marshmallows?”

“We just had some today, I figured he could use some more sugar.”

Nick had already dug out two spoonfuls of ice cream, and into the dent in the tub he poured syrup and sprinkles, one marshmallow sitting proudly in a heap of syrup. He stuck the corner of the wafer into the highest peak of the freezer-swirls in the ice cream and dug in for another spoonful.

“Hey, so Nick?” Toad called over, softly. Nick looked up. “We’re gonna be in Rob’s room if you need us, okay? If you do, just come and knock, alright?”

Nick nodded absently. The crocodile had started singing. He heard the living room door close and broke off a corner of the wafer to nibble when the lobsters came on the screen.

He made it through the next week mostly because of Robyn. Toad had obviously said something to the other guys, because not a one of them teased him about Tyson, and when he was teaching his classes, or guitar club, or band, or orchestra, he just lost himself in the music or the class itself. His favourite senior stayed behind after class to tell him she’d made it into a local band she’d auditioned for, and he had beamed at her with a rush of affection and pride, and told her he’d always known she could do it. When he got home from work, Robyn had already set the DVD player up, and she kept the freezer stocked. It was unspoken knowledge that Nick would do the same for her in a heartbeat, so he thanked her by buying her a huge box of chocolates and telling her to spend the weekend at Toad’s. She had made him promise to call if he needed anything, but he drove out to the beach and took some long walks, ignoring his cell phone.

Tyson left a message, but he didn’t listen to it. Kim called to ask if he was okay, but he just said he wasn’t feeling great and might be getting sick, so was avoiding people in case they caught something. She said she hoped he’d feel better soon, and he said the same to her. He asked her if she’d talked to Brittany yet, deliberately not asking after Tyson too, and she said she had, and that when her leg was mended she’d be starting some art classes.

The beach walks seemed to clear his head, and it felt less like sleepwalking to get through Monday. He found that he didn’t even need the wafers, and switched to eating cereal out of the box instead of having ice cream again. Though he did realise, when he went to bed, that he’d never switched his cell phone on after school.

He got a text from Kim the next day, asking if he felt any better, and suddenly he was hit with a wallop of guilt. He texted back with Yeah thanks. Want me to come over this afternoon? I could make lunch again. She replied with Yes please. It’d be good to see you.

Kim waited until they had eaten, talking about the art classes she’d signed up for and how great Brittany had been about the whole thing – “You were right, they were both really worried, so when I told them what was going on they just said is that all and I should do what makes me happy” – before settling back and saying, “Okay, Nick, spill it. What’s the hermit deal about?”

Nick shook his head. “I guess I just, felt shitty this week is all.”

She watched him closely as she said, “It wasn’t anything to do with what I said about Tyson last week, right? About him and the dolly grip?”

“Um.” Nick examined the surface of the coffee table, hoping he wasn’t going as red as it felt like he was.

“Oh shit, Nick – you should check your fucking messages more often.” He looked up at her, and she said, “Ty isn’t seeing that guy – I thought he was, but he said – oh for fuck’s sake, listen to your fucking messages. Okay?”

“You – he isn’t seeing that grip guy?”

“Messages.” She motioned to his pocket. “Phone. Wheeler.”

“Right, uh, okay.” He tugged his cell phone out of his pocket and thumbed through the menu until he found the ‘check voicemail’ option and hit the button.

The automated voice menu started up, and he pressed more buttons until it got him to his messages. There were three.

“Nick, hi,” Tyson started the first one. “I just uh, Kim said she thought, when I talked about that – uh, I guess I don’t know why I’m … calling to tell you that I’m not seeing anyone, because we’re just friends, right? But uh. Well, I just wanted to set the record straight, I guess – I’m not seeing that dude, I’m not seeing any dude. So. Just so we’re clear on that.”

The menu voice crashed in again, and Nick pressed the button for the next message. It was from Kim.

“Hey Nick, I just wanted to call and say I hope you’re feeling better. Ty’s got the night off tomorrow, I was thinking the four of us – I mean, us and Ty and Brit – if we could hang out, maybe I could somehow persuade you to cook, and we could watch a movie or something? We’d all love to see you.”

The menu voice came in once more, and Nick pressed the button for the last message.

“I don’t know what I did or why you’re mad at me,” Tyson said, sounding kind of upset, “but I don’t like it. So talk to me, okay? Come over tomorrow night, please? We’ve never really had a chance, I guess, and I’d – I’d like us to have one. And you can take that any way that you want, but I’m hoping you’ll take it the way that it’s meant. So. I’ll see you tomorrow, I hope.”

Nick hung up and stared at Kim. “I – what did he mean, the way it was meant?”

Kim leaned over and flicked him on the head. “Idiot. What do you think?”

“But I –”

“Look. Nick.” Kim looked him dead in the eyes and said, carefully and precisely, “Tyson is nuts about you. You, clearly, are nuts about Tyson. He hasn’t slept with anyone since the night he met you. I have never known that to happen in his life. Would you buy a fucking clue already and just give him a chance?”

“But he – he doesn’t date. And.”

“He hasn’t found anyone he wants to date before now. But he wants to date you, dumbass.”

“But,” Nick voiced his one last hurdle, “I don’t know him.”

Kim paused for a moment, until she was sure he was looking at her, and then she started to speak. “When he was five years old, his dad moved out to California and married his stepmom. He played football in school and he got good grades so his parents wanted him to go to college, but all he ever wanted was to be on stage. When he was a kid, he climbed trees and wrote words he found in books and liked all over his notebooks. I found one last year that had ‘effanineffable’ and ‘balderdash’ on the front page. His dad and stepmom moved to Oregon when he was eighteen, but he was already working as a model so he stayed here, and he moved in with me after a while. We met on a perfume commercial, and the first thing he ever said to me was ‘Do you think they really do put the essence of terracotta and sunsets into that Terracotta Sunset lipstick?’ He was seventeen. He’s waited tables, cleaned pools, blown casting directors and worked fucking hard to get where he is, and it means a lot to him. And last year, the lease on this apartment came up and the owner said he was selling it. Tyson had just been paid for a huge job, and he didn’t tell me until afterwards, but he bought this place for me. It’s just an apartment to him, a really nice one but nothing special, but to me it’s – this is my home. I love this apartment, so he bought it. If he loves you and he has a big enough net, he’ll get you the fucking moon if you want it. That is who Tyson is.”

Nick was silent for a minute when she’d finished speaking. “I, um.” He cleared his throat. “When did you leave that message?”

“Last night.”

“So Tyson … has tonight off?” He looked at the clock.

“Yeah. He should be here in a few hours.”

Nick stood up. “I,” he said, “will be back.”

The apartment was empty when he got home, but then school had only been over for a half hour. He flung himself at his wardrobe, grinning at the picture of Socks McGee, and started pulling shirts and pants out at random.

Robyn got home fifteen minutes later, and called out, “Nick? You in?”

“Yeah, come in here a second,” he called back, standing with two pairs of pants in his hands. He turned to her when she appeared in the doorway and said, “Do you think lace-up pants would be a bit much, or are they just convenient?”

“I – what?” Robyn blinked at him, confused. Toad appeared in the doorway behind her.

“Toad – you’re about to get laid. Do you wear lace-up pants and no underwear for convenience, or is it too much assumption? There’ll be dinner first.”

“You could never assume too much with Tyson. Wear them.” He grinned. “I take it you two made up?”

“He’s not seeing that guy, he’s not seeing anyone, he wants to see me,” Nick informed them, stepping forward and grabbing Robyn into a gleeful spin. She giggled and ended the spin in a hug. “I’m going over to cook for them, and Ty will be there, and he wants to date me, and you two can totally have the apartment tonight. I won’t be home.” He felt as if he could pretty much vibrate off the face of the earth. “Shit, I should take a toothbrush. Oh shit, I gotta shower.”

“How about we leave you to get ready,” Toad said. “Rob, we could go for a drive or something?”

“There’s a really nice place I haven’t been in a while, you can see the sea,” she replied. “Come on, I’ll take you.” She hugged Nick again and whispered, “Good luck.”

A shower, three clothes-decision changes and a stop for ingredients later, Nick rang Kim’s doorbell again. It was answered by Brittany, who ushered him inside.

“Ty’s not here yet,” she said, “he called to say he’d be working late. He won’t miss dinner,” she added quickly, “and he doesn’t know you’re here. We figured you could surprise him.”

“Okay.” Nick could not keep still. “Okay. I’m gonna go get started, this’ll take me a little while.”

Brittany handed him a glass of wine. “We’re watching a movie, come join us when you can.”

Nick got to work slicing, measuring, mixing and rolling. He greased a baking tin, pre-heated the oven, stirred ingredients together, laid them in layers carefully, and finally shut the oven door and started the timer. He diced vegetables and checked the progress of the baking, and then he grabbed his glass of wine and headed to the living room.

Fifteen minutes after he had settled into the cushions next to Brittany, the front door opened and Tyson walked in, saying, “Something smells g-” He stopped when he saw Nick. “Um.”

Nick unfolded himself, put down his wine, stood up, crossed the room, stopped in front of Tyson, and breathed, “Hi.” Then he leaned in and kissed him.

It took Tyson a split second to react, during which he let out a tiny sound, but then he started kissing Nick back. He had kissed him before like it was a victory, and like he could devour him; but this time, Tyson kissed him like he wanted to savour it. He gently held Nick’s face between his palms, the pad of one thumb stroking the skin just under Nick’s ear, and Nick felt like he was melting, his entire body turning to tingles as though his skin were waking up.

He was dimly aware of cheering coming from the couch, but he was so wrapped up in the smell and feel and taste of Tyson that he took no notice. There was stale coffee on Tyson’s breath, stubble on his chin, and some kind of greasy residue from product in his hair, but Nick didn’t care because it was the most perfect kiss he had had in a long, long time.

The timer in his hand went off, and he broke away. “I have to, uh,” he started, voice hoarse, “I have to go cook now.”

“Okay,” Tyson breathed. “Okay.”

[cont.]