It was true, James seemed to have a way with people and Fisher most certainly didn't. "Uh huh," Fisher agreed, although sarcastically. "It could have nothing to do with you being a pretty boy and my looking like I just got kicked out of a My Chemical Romance video, right?" Guys like James had the world eating out of their hands because they were wealthy and attractive. Fisher knew this as a fact; he used to be the exact same way.
"Oh, please!" he groaned. "I am not checking you out that much. And even if I were, don't act like your ego isn't eating up every bit of it." It was all in good teasing, but there was a lot of truth to it. Yes, Fisher would have to begrudgingly admit that he had snuck a few glances and admired James' form. But that did not mean he was 'checking him out'. And James had even said he didn't mind. So was that meant to encourage Fisher to check him out? Ugh, too much drinking tonight! He'd have to figure it out another time when they weren't both mostly nude. "And how exactly do you make friends through torment?" Fisher demanded, as if that had anything to do with anything. "You make this poor guy eat a urnial cake, and he becomes a friend? What kind of crazy is that? If it were me, I'd never speak to you again. Hell, I might even set you on fire." Or ruin your life with information I get from your mother, he thought darkly. Thankfully Sloane had not told Fisher anything detrimental about her son, and thankfully James had never made him eat a urnial cake.
"I am not a pansy ass!" Fisher said defiantly. "If anything, my ass is the toughest part about me." He wasn't going to get into the details, but suffice it to say buttsex is no easy feat. Period. "But it's real sweet of you to offer to come to my rescue again on my deathbed. Even if you are being a sarcastic jackass." Fisher shook the water out of his hair as best he could to keep it from dripping down his back. "I actually have a plan, if you must know," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm not wearing my boxers back to the dorm." He turned his back to James and pulled them off. "Avert your eyes, if you'd be so kind. I'm relatively modest. That, and my butt is pale as the moon, you'll go blind." Fisher pulled on his jeans as quick as he could, adjusted his free range junk (it was not going to be fun to walk home with them dangling freely) and pulled on his sweatshirt. Plopping down in the sand, he used his wet boxers to scrub most of the sand off his feet, slipped on his socks and stepped into his shoes. "Fully clothed, mostly dry and nicely chilled," he said proudly.