WHO: Ian (and “Lochan”). WHEN: A dream, a very long time ago [early August], because SC is the worst and has been very slow and XIII is far too patient with her. WHERE: Ian’s dreams, awkwardly enough. SUMMARY: Ian’s subconscious is trying to tell him things he doesn’t really want to hear. WARNINGS: Internalized homophobia, sexual tension, shiny shiny leggings.
Ian was home, on his sofa, and it was hot. Not crazy, but sticky enough he’d just sort of sprawled, fan going on medium, eyes lidded. The dogs weren’t in the room, which should have been weird but wasn’t, not really. Maybe they were outside. Maybe they were enjoying the weather.
The door cracked, and he’d shift his head to look. Lochan. “Yo.” Was at ease. Everything felt warm - syrupy and languid, edged with something hazy. Everything felt relaxed.
Silk fabrics draped Lochan's form, his pants a mix of traditional Indian clothing and yoga wrap pants. Neither of which should be made out of silk in hot weather. His layers of necklaces shined blindingly for a moment distracting the eye from his shirtless torso. “Your card for today is the Passion card, but here you are sprawled out instead,” Lochan threw the card at him and sat down.
“Like my card is ever actually the Passion card, I haven’t gotten laid in ages.” Ian joked back, although his eyes would flicker over Lochan. “Why’re you dressed up for a wedding? Did you pull a super fancy card for today? The King card, or something?”
A pause. “There is no King card, is there?”
“No, I’m never represented as a King anyway. Always the Star Man.” Lochan shrugged, Ian’s question of his attire ignored. “So is this what you intend to do all day? Lay here half-naked with me until the heat breaks? I’m not objecting, but you’re making my cards liars.”
“Okay now that is definitely David Bowie, and you are just fucking with me.” A slower smirk. “Maybe you are my Passion card, gonna blow my mind.” A tease, and a slower stretch, showing off almost casually.
Lochan sighed. “It’s a card in my deck, idiot. I’m not the one who made them.” A chuckle rumbled low in Lochan’s chest. Lips pressed together, he stood from his chair and moved to the couch to bend over Ian. “I don’t think you could handle me,” he said matter-of-factly, before pulling a beer from behind Ian’s couch.
Rumbly voice, rumbly laugh, Ian’s eyes slid mostly shut again. “You’d be surprised. Eli and Tony are taken, you sure you don’t want to be the next to pair off?” He never talked about this. He couldn’t really believe what was tripping off of his tongue.
“You want to pair off with me? Because you know for a psychic I’m oblivious to come-ons.” Lochan leaned back, perching at the edge of the couch beside Ian. The cold beer can dripping cool condensation over Ian’s torso.
Ian froze. Surprised, for an instant, before he stilled, slow heat rising all the way to his ears, blushing red. “Uh.” Was soft for a moment, brain stuttering out before he managed: “Yeah?” Slick as oil, Ian. Definitely.
Lochan chuckled again, his hand sliding from the can to Ian. “You know if you had said so.” Standing up, Lochan stood in front of the fan. “You mind if I take off my pants? It’s too hot in here. I don’t know how you can do it.” Before Ian could answer, Lochan began to undo the side ties, teasing skin underneath.
“Growing up without AC.” Was the answer to that, although Ian swallowed hard, head falling back. Think of old people. Think of calculus. Think of had he fed the dogs? His breath came a little tighter, and then he said: “Hey, I...don’t know if that is a good idea.” Uncomfortable. Great, now he just looked way less secure in his masculinity.
Another laugh. “What’s not a good idea about it?” Lochan continued the silky material falling to the ground revealing plain red boxer-briefs. “It’s not like you haven’t seen me in boxers, Ian. Plus if we’re pairing now, you’ll have to be able to handle this.” He gestured to himself.
Fuck it, Ian was definitely less secure in his masculinity. Cherry red boxer briefs, good. That mental image wasn’t going to be seared on his brain. It looked more natural, although it’d look a hell of a lot more natural without the shirt. He didn’t say that out loud. “Well I’d laugh at your tarot cards on the regular.” Groping for a moment. “And when was the last time I saw you in boxers?” Refocusing at least enough he caught his sense of humor at least, his thumb brushing his own lower lip, considering.
His eyes sliding over Lochan more thoughtfully.
Once out of the wrap pants, Lochan pulled off his traditional shirt, a short kurta with embellished embroidery around the split collar. His muscles glistened in the heat of the room, the fan doing nothing to cool down the area. “Last month when we went swimming.”
Glistening muscles, mostly naked, Ian’s brain had taken three left turns and ended up in a place that was going to be hard to shake off. “Last month.” Right. Fumbling for an instant with that memory, his eyes shutting for a moment before he said: “Who’re you dating now?” Think about arithmetic. Think about your mother. Think about the Queen of England naked.
His eyes lidded back open.
And he breathed out into the empty darkness of his trailer.
He dug the heels of both his hands into his eyes and then cursed low.