Re: Billy K/Jamie M: the Mayers apartment
He was struck by the same shit as like, the comic-book store. Billy was nonchalant in a way that made Jamie think of the guys that leaned against the barre at the back of class, who didn't like, peacock or whatever for the attention but kinda knew they had it the second they turned a jump the fuck out, hanging effortless as feathers in the air the second they took off, the kind of effortless that was coiled muscle and tension held like wire suspended between their ribs and the concentration of landing soft. I mean yeah, he was fucking cute, the dimple that gritted deeper into his cheek wasn't like a check-box Jamie had known to tick to say yeah, it did it for him in a particular way. But it was also like, the style of the guy even sauntering through Jamie's living room like he knew it. Confidence was sexy as fuck, even if the guy was looser at the seams than maybe he would have been.
"Cute as shit," he confirmed, validation or no validation needed, because it was. He curled a couple strands around his finger, pastel twined close to his own fingernails, and tugged gently. "What made you think of doing it? It's not like there's a huge scene here." Which, also duh. But like, fuzzy cranberry red strands everywhere and yeah, Jamie without the sweater was cut the way he hadn't been a little while back. Class, man, class jammed in wherever he had space and Jamie's skin whiskered faintly of cigarette smoke, which was the other like, factor involved.
"You don't want to talk about yours," he said, as seriously as Jamie could fake, as he palmed across the guy's back, where the shoulder-blades winged sharply. "I mean, fair's fair, right? You want distraction." Which wasn't a guess. Like, he would have been cool if Billy had but he was cool that he didn't, and the guy's smile was less idk, sharp than the last time he'd stood in the guy's hallway and coaxed his hand out of Jamie's jeans. "Right?" Eyebrows lifted. It was like, way confirmation before Jamie like, did shit that assumed, even with like, practical experience working in his general favor.
"New York." Confidently. "Maybe Chicago? But winter's way cold there, I fucking hate the cold." Billy's fingers skimmed the edge of his hipbones and Jamie reacted unconsciously, sharp inhale and a shiver of goosebumps over his stomach. "Your hands are cold," Jamie's skin was blanket-on-the-couch warm, which was where he'd been, and he took the guy's wrist in a loose bracelet of finger and thumb and twisted out of his embrace. "Come on. If you don't want soda, or to like, talk about your shitty day." The smile was broad sunshine, confident af. Jamie moved down the hall toward the open door nearest the living room. "Where would you?"