12-2-16
“Patrick.”
He didn’t move.
Spencer snaked an arm across the short distance between them on the bed and shoved the sleeping boy whose bed she had invaded the night before. “Patrick. Your alarm.”
But Patrick was a dark haired lump of teenage flesh that remained dead to the world. He snoozed on, peacefully oblivious to the raucous alarm clock screaming on the floor and the girl trying to wake him.
“Patrick!” She kicked him. This time he stirred.
“Hnn?” A groggy, incoherent noise half muffled by his face being pressed against a drool-stained pillow.
“Your alarm is going off,” she hissed from beneath the covers.
The boy rolled over and reached down off the side of the bed to smack blindly at the clock. Three tries before it was silenced. He heard Spencer sigh in relief beside him, then felt her shiver. It was so cold! In fact, there was frost on the windows. The temperature must have dipped below freezing. She inched closer to him, so he did the same.
It wasn’t like that between them. He wasn’t exactly sure why; it just wasn’t. They relied on one another too much to be so dumb as to get tangled up romantically. He shut his eyes and listened to the steady in-and-out of Spencer’s breathing.
“Don’t fall back asleep.”
“I’m not,” he promised quietly.
They laid in companionable silence for a few minutes, listening to the unmistakable sounds of the rest of the house stirring to life. Trick wasn’t the only one out of the ragtag collection of urchins to start the day before the sun came up.
“How’s your face?”
Patrick’s eyelids fluttered open as Spencer’s paint stained fingers smoothed across his cheek. Her touch drew attention to the fact that it was sore. The fight with the fae woman the night before came flooding to the front of his mind, but his memory didn’t stop there. It backtracked even further. A smiling boy lingering in the doorway, and before that, the same boy sticking his fingers in his coffee.
“I’m fine,” he muttered, brushing her hand away. Spencer eyed him skeptically, so he decided to get out of bed.
They lived in an old, abandoned Brownstone that was heated by Mallory’s spells on the fireplaces that were located in each room. The light from what was left of the fire in the grate threw the bruise on his face into relief.
Spencer drew the blankets up around her face. “That was really stupid.”
“Yeah, well…” Patrick trailed off, not bothering to finish his train of thought.
“She could have done a lot more than hit you, Patrick.”
“Turn around.” He didn’t want to talk about the fight. It wasn’t a big deal in his mind. Spencer huffed in frustration, but rolled over to face the wall. He dressed quickly in the near-dark, trading pajamas for his warmest clothes, followed by a pair of coveralls bearing the circular logo for Blue Water Shipping on the back.
“Are you done now?”
“Yeah.”
Spencer turned back around to face him. It looked like she wanted to argue, but after a long moment of staring hard at him, she sighed and pulled the heavy duty Maglite out from under his pillow. “Don’t forget this.”
“Thanks.” After pulling on his boots, Trick took the flashlight from her outstretched hand and stuffed it into his backpack. “I’ll ask about bringing some pallets home from work.” Dark eyes scanned the girl’s face as he swung the bag onto his shoulder. “If not, we can go find stuff to burn later, okay?” Lengthy fire-burning spells only worked when there was fuel!
“Don’t feel like sharing the bed again tonight?”
He exhaled something that almost sounded like a laugh. “You snore.”
Diamond in the Rough
Moderators: Patrick, Mallory, Eri Maeda
Diamond in the Rough
Last edited by Patrick on Thu Nov 01, 2018 5:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-2-16
"I'm not keeping you from anything, am I? Like dinner?"
Patrick watched Ed fumble a watch out of his pocket. The boy squinted at it, gave the glass a tap, held it to his ear. He tried to come up with something interesting to say besides a simple ‘no’.
“It’s dead,” Ed sighed. He slipped the broken watch back from where he’d gotten it.
“Er. You’re not exactly keeping me from anything. I--haven’t decided where I’m finding dinner tonight.” But it sounded like the other boy was trying to say goodbye. “You have to get going?”
When their eyes met, Ed’s widened. He went from fussing with the watch to tugging on his scarf. One hand after another from neck to fringed end, over and over like he was absentmindedly stroking a cat's tail. "Oh no," he said, drawing out the O a little. He gave a quick shake of his head without hardly blinking. "I don't have anywhere to be." He looked down at Trick's bag, then way up at the overcast night sky. All the while he continued to stroke his scarf. "We could, maybe, if you didn't already have plans with your other friends, maybe, go find some dinner ... together?"
He'd used up his reserve of fearlessness in meeting Ed's gaze. Now Patrick could scarcely breathe, let alone even look in the other boy's direction. Knuckles turned white for gripping the backpack so tightly in his hands. It felt like the silence yawned between them for ages, digging an impossible chasm the width of which he could never breach.
Teenage melodrama at its finest.
And then just like that, his brain shifted to auto-pilot. He grabbed Ed's sleeve to tug him back the way they came. "Okay. But I'm broke as hell, so we're gonna have to find someplace cheap. Or free." Adorably, Ed squeaked in surprise, but he did not stop Patrick from tugging him along.
"Free! I can do free!" He chirped. Emboldened by the acceptance of his offer, and after getting his feet under control, Ed turned his hand to actually catch hold of Trick's and took the lead. "I know where there's a soup kitchen."
Patrick’s heart stopped. He was dying. Dying! If he thought he couldn't breathe a second ago, then this was definitely the part where he died. Why, he wondered, was this simple gesture so much more traumatizing than, say, sharing a bed with a girl like he'd done that morning? He couldn't speak. It was a good thing Ed knew where they were going, because Trick had gone numb. Save the feeling of the warm hand curled around his own.
"I'm not keeping you from anything, am I? Like dinner?"
Patrick watched Ed fumble a watch out of his pocket. The boy squinted at it, gave the glass a tap, held it to his ear. He tried to come up with something interesting to say besides a simple ‘no’.
“It’s dead,” Ed sighed. He slipped the broken watch back from where he’d gotten it.
“Er. You’re not exactly keeping me from anything. I--haven’t decided where I’m finding dinner tonight.” But it sounded like the other boy was trying to say goodbye. “You have to get going?”
When their eyes met, Ed’s widened. He went from fussing with the watch to tugging on his scarf. One hand after another from neck to fringed end, over and over like he was absentmindedly stroking a cat's tail. "Oh no," he said, drawing out the O a little. He gave a quick shake of his head without hardly blinking. "I don't have anywhere to be." He looked down at Trick's bag, then way up at the overcast night sky. All the while he continued to stroke his scarf. "We could, maybe, if you didn't already have plans with your other friends, maybe, go find some dinner ... together?"
He'd used up his reserve of fearlessness in meeting Ed's gaze. Now Patrick could scarcely breathe, let alone even look in the other boy's direction. Knuckles turned white for gripping the backpack so tightly in his hands. It felt like the silence yawned between them for ages, digging an impossible chasm the width of which he could never breach.
Teenage melodrama at its finest.
And then just like that, his brain shifted to auto-pilot. He grabbed Ed's sleeve to tug him back the way they came. "Okay. But I'm broke as hell, so we're gonna have to find someplace cheap. Or free." Adorably, Ed squeaked in surprise, but he did not stop Patrick from tugging him along.
"Free! I can do free!" He chirped. Emboldened by the acceptance of his offer, and after getting his feet under control, Ed turned his hand to actually catch hold of Trick's and took the lead. "I know where there's a soup kitchen."
Patrick’s heart stopped. He was dying. Dying! If he thought he couldn't breathe a second ago, then this was definitely the part where he died. Why, he wondered, was this simple gesture so much more traumatizing than, say, sharing a bed with a girl like he'd done that morning? He couldn't speak. It was a good thing Ed knew where they were going, because Trick had gone numb. Save the feeling of the warm hand curled around his own.
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-3-16
Trick’s shift at the shipyard ended at noon.
He clocked out with the other guys and followed them down to That One Bar like he did every Saturday afternoon. Since he didn’t drink, they bought him lunch along the way for the sole purpose of keeping him at the food-less establishment long enough to show off his pool playing skills. These days, rather than try their best to beat the youth, the crew had taken a shine to setting up what they believed to be impossible shots which Patrick was happy to prove himself more than capable of solving. No one bet against him anymore.
Today, he only stayed long enough to finish his food and sink a couple of balls.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “But I’ve got to see a man about a girl.”
This seemed to pacify the mild protests about his leaving early. He left with a couple congratulatory pats to the back, some crude words of advice, and a brand new condom burning a hole in his back pocket. Patrick didn’t mind letting them think he was off to get laid. He’d never hear the end of it if they knew the truth.
That he’d never gotten any further than sticking a hand under Taryn’s shirt was a secret he kept close to the vest.
No, right now he was going to take care of a little problem. A problem named Jonah. Jonah was stupid.
--
"Sorry. People are stupid. That's all." Spencer’s elbows thumped into the table as she sat down in a hurry across from Trick and Ed. "Have you guys been here long?"
"We just got here," Trick blurted quickly. Then he added less frantically, "Walked around talking all afternoon." He dipped his finger in his bowl of stew and stuck it in his mouth, slanting a curious look across the table at Spencer who was acting weird. Instantly suspicious, he asked, "Who was being stupid?"
"This **** down by the docks." She tried to sound mad, to be tough, but at best it was just a nervous girl acting brave. "So after my last client I went to work on my piece down there. It's almost done. But when I got there this dick had started his in my space. It's my space. First come, first serve. Everyone knows that."
Trick's expression clouded briefly, but he tried to keep a level head about it until he got all the facts. Listening intently while spooning bite after bite of stew into his mouth.
Her shoulders lifted. "I confronted him. He was a prick and got in my face. Told me it was free game and free space. So I took the can he was holding and threw it across the lot. He pushed me and then he pulled out a knife. I mean what the hell, P?"
Swallowing what was in his mouth, he clenched his jaws together. He didn't say anything yet. Tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Now he was just playing with what was left of his food, holding relatively still next to Ed because he didn't want the boy to realize how upset he actually was over this news.
Spencer shifted a little on the bench and presented the both of them with the back of her right shoulder. The fabric of her shirt had been cut but what was beneath the dark cloth was unseen. "I think I might need stitches. I don't want it to get infected."
--
Patrick glowered just thinking about it. Ed had gotten him a first aid kit from the soup kitchen, which allowed him to patch Spencer up as best he could until she was able to find Mallory. They’d been invited along to get Spencer’s bag back from the guy, but he and Ed both had to get up for work a few hours later.
But Spencer hadn’t been able to rescue her bag after all. She’d only managed to get the guy’s name. Now it was up to him to set things right.
It only took Trick ten minutes to find the boat on the blocks Spencer mentioned the night before called Sally Shores. From there he was able to locate the stretch of wall that had become a source of contention between the street artists of Dockside.
He smoothed his fingers across Spence’s signature, defiled by Jonah's paint. Street artists have rules.
Jonah wasn’t following them and he’d hurt someone Patrick loved. He needed to be taught a lesson.
There’s always someone willing to give you up. All that was needed was a little patience and the right incentive. As it was, Jonah had more enemies than perhaps he realized. Even Patrick had been surprised how inexpensive it was to get the ******* address.
One of the perks of working such an early shift meant having the afternoon to himself. Jonah just happened to be a 9 to 5er. That left Trick over three hours to break into his place (which was comically easy) and find Spencer’s things if he could.
Her bag was waiting for him on Jonah's kitchen table. He filled it back up with the items he thought were hers, along with a few extras that looked nice. He crushed the pack of cigarettes he’d found on the coffee table. Ripped off all the guy’s bedding. Pet his cat until the thing started following him around. If only Lucifer was so nice, Patrick thought. Helped himself to the food in the fridge. Found some paper and a pen, scribbled a warning. After grabbing a knife from the kitchen, he paused to scribble out another short note--this one he stuffed into the milk carton handle. It read: I WAS HERE TOO BITCH.
The longer message got stabbed to the wall just inside the front door.
You don’t know me, but you were bad. Heard you don’t like to follow the rules, so I thought I’d spell them out for you. You can use a knife for lots of things, like hanging notes, and spreading peanut butter. You cannot stick them in the people I care about. It’s that easy. Retaliation is discouraged. Who knows what I’ll hang my note in next.
Patrick relocked the door, and with Spencer’s messenger bag looped securely around his shoulders, he left.
Trick’s shift at the shipyard ended at noon.
He clocked out with the other guys and followed them down to That One Bar like he did every Saturday afternoon. Since he didn’t drink, they bought him lunch along the way for the sole purpose of keeping him at the food-less establishment long enough to show off his pool playing skills. These days, rather than try their best to beat the youth, the crew had taken a shine to setting up what they believed to be impossible shots which Patrick was happy to prove himself more than capable of solving. No one bet against him anymore.
Today, he only stayed long enough to finish his food and sink a couple of balls.
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “But I’ve got to see a man about a girl.”
This seemed to pacify the mild protests about his leaving early. He left with a couple congratulatory pats to the back, some crude words of advice, and a brand new condom burning a hole in his back pocket. Patrick didn’t mind letting them think he was off to get laid. He’d never hear the end of it if they knew the truth.
That he’d never gotten any further than sticking a hand under Taryn’s shirt was a secret he kept close to the vest.
No, right now he was going to take care of a little problem. A problem named Jonah. Jonah was stupid.
--
"Sorry. People are stupid. That's all." Spencer’s elbows thumped into the table as she sat down in a hurry across from Trick and Ed. "Have you guys been here long?"
"We just got here," Trick blurted quickly. Then he added less frantically, "Walked around talking all afternoon." He dipped his finger in his bowl of stew and stuck it in his mouth, slanting a curious look across the table at Spencer who was acting weird. Instantly suspicious, he asked, "Who was being stupid?"
"This **** down by the docks." She tried to sound mad, to be tough, but at best it was just a nervous girl acting brave. "So after my last client I went to work on my piece down there. It's almost done. But when I got there this dick had started his in my space. It's my space. First come, first serve. Everyone knows that."
Trick's expression clouded briefly, but he tried to keep a level head about it until he got all the facts. Listening intently while spooning bite after bite of stew into his mouth.
Her shoulders lifted. "I confronted him. He was a prick and got in my face. Told me it was free game and free space. So I took the can he was holding and threw it across the lot. He pushed me and then he pulled out a knife. I mean what the hell, P?"
Swallowing what was in his mouth, he clenched his jaws together. He didn't say anything yet. Tried to keep his expression as neutral as possible. Now he was just playing with what was left of his food, holding relatively still next to Ed because he didn't want the boy to realize how upset he actually was over this news.
Spencer shifted a little on the bench and presented the both of them with the back of her right shoulder. The fabric of her shirt had been cut but what was beneath the dark cloth was unseen. "I think I might need stitches. I don't want it to get infected."
--
Patrick glowered just thinking about it. Ed had gotten him a first aid kit from the soup kitchen, which allowed him to patch Spencer up as best he could until she was able to find Mallory. They’d been invited along to get Spencer’s bag back from the guy, but he and Ed both had to get up for work a few hours later.
But Spencer hadn’t been able to rescue her bag after all. She’d only managed to get the guy’s name. Now it was up to him to set things right.
It only took Trick ten minutes to find the boat on the blocks Spencer mentioned the night before called Sally Shores. From there he was able to locate the stretch of wall that had become a source of contention between the street artists of Dockside.
He smoothed his fingers across Spence’s signature, defiled by Jonah's paint. Street artists have rules.
Jonah wasn’t following them and he’d hurt someone Patrick loved. He needed to be taught a lesson.
There’s always someone willing to give you up. All that was needed was a little patience and the right incentive. As it was, Jonah had more enemies than perhaps he realized. Even Patrick had been surprised how inexpensive it was to get the ******* address.
One of the perks of working such an early shift meant having the afternoon to himself. Jonah just happened to be a 9 to 5er. That left Trick over three hours to break into his place (which was comically easy) and find Spencer’s things if he could.
Her bag was waiting for him on Jonah's kitchen table. He filled it back up with the items he thought were hers, along with a few extras that looked nice. He crushed the pack of cigarettes he’d found on the coffee table. Ripped off all the guy’s bedding. Pet his cat until the thing started following him around. If only Lucifer was so nice, Patrick thought. Helped himself to the food in the fridge. Found some paper and a pen, scribbled a warning. After grabbing a knife from the kitchen, he paused to scribble out another short note--this one he stuffed into the milk carton handle. It read: I WAS HERE TOO BITCH.
The longer message got stabbed to the wall just inside the front door.
You don’t know me, but you were bad. Heard you don’t like to follow the rules, so I thought I’d spell them out for you. You can use a knife for lots of things, like hanging notes, and spreading peanut butter. You cannot stick them in the people I care about. It’s that easy. Retaliation is discouraged. Who knows what I’ll hang my note in next.
Patrick relocked the door, and with Spencer’s messenger bag looped securely around his shoulders, he left.
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-3-16
"I should go..." Mallory tipped her head to Trick and Spencer. "You two should make your own way home."
"Wait!" Patrick flopped a hand toward her to get her attention. "I found someone who can fix the hot water heater." There was a pregnant pause, and then he asked, "Can I bring him to the house?"
Her gaze turned serious on him. "Give me his name, and swear he's trustworthy," extending a pinky to him. No magic here, just good old-fashioned children's oaths.
He sat up and linked pinkies with her. It was dumb and childish and he'd never refuse one. "Uh. Mm. Ed. He says he fixed his own, so maybe he can fix ours."
"Hot showers, Mal." An add-on from Spencer.
"Pff, Ed's fine," she gave his chest a shove. "Don't worry, I'll make sure the house doesn't eat him, because he's giving us hot showers. Also because he seems nice, but mostly the first thing."
One corner of Trick’s mouth twitched in a quarter smile. He sank back into the beanbag chair and shut his eyes.
"I should go..." Mallory tipped her head to Trick and Spencer. "You two should make your own way home."
"Wait!" Patrick flopped a hand toward her to get her attention. "I found someone who can fix the hot water heater." There was a pregnant pause, and then he asked, "Can I bring him to the house?"
Her gaze turned serious on him. "Give me his name, and swear he's trustworthy," extending a pinky to him. No magic here, just good old-fashioned children's oaths.
He sat up and linked pinkies with her. It was dumb and childish and he'd never refuse one. "Uh. Mm. Ed. He says he fixed his own, so maybe he can fix ours."
"Hot showers, Mal." An add-on from Spencer.
"Pff, Ed's fine," she gave his chest a shove. "Don't worry, I'll make sure the house doesn't eat him, because he's giving us hot showers. Also because he seems nice, but mostly the first thing."
One corner of Trick’s mouth twitched in a quarter smile. He sank back into the beanbag chair and shut his eyes.
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-4-16
The silence wasn't exactly awkward, but Patrick wanted to talk about something. Anything! He needed to know absolutely everything there was to know about this stranger because stranger was not a word he wanted to be able to use to describe Ed after today.
"So... what are some other things you've never done?"
"Oh gosh. Lots of things! It's probably an endless list." But he rattled off the first dozen or so things that came to mind and counted them off with a repeated extend and fold of at least three fingers against his cup. If he used any more than that he would've dropped his cocoa, so a back and forth would have to do.
"Tobogganing. Cow tipping. Skydiving. Horse racing. Parasailing. Skeet shooting. Scuba diving." Sharp inhale. "Ridden a unicycle. Juggled. Knocked down all the pins to win the biggest teddy bear at the county fair." That last one painted a very vivid picture that made him giggle at his own humor. After taking another drink of his cocoa, Ed looked aside at Trick with a grin and shake of his head. "Don't you remember me saying I don't get out much?"
He wouldn't have minded if Ed decided to list a couple dozen other things. In fact, Trick was pretty sure he wouldn't mind the guy talking without stopping for the rest of the night. "I haven't done any of that stuff either. Except the tobogganing, only it was more like hurtling toward a painful death if you didn't ditch at just the right time."
The image Trick's review of tobogganing painted in his head made him laugh, but he was polite enough not to do it right in the other boy's face; he turned his head to look forward and watch where they were going. "Sounds dangerous. Maybe I should cross that off my to-do list and save myself the trouble. No. Like I told you, I don't exactly lead an exciting life. I spent more time reading about adventures than actually going on any growing up. My skin is pitifully flawless for all the lack of doing anything I've got under my belt. Maybe I'll get my first skinned knee today! That'd be something."
Mention of his skin had the boy peeking furtively aside, as if to assess the flawlessness of Ed's skin for himself. Pitiful was not the word he'd use to describe it. Humming thoughtfully, Trick looked away and tucked the other boy's arm more tightly against his side. "Maybe! Esmund could always show up and trip you in an attempt to hit on you." The candy cane crunched in his mouth again, and with the swipe of his tongue, the hook-end disappeared into his mouth entirely.
For a brief moment, Ed’s smile brightened, onset by the feel of Trick's arm tightening its grip on his own. He squeezed back, like an arm hug, and might have passed it off for reflex instead of conscious effort, because he crushed the by now empty to-go cup in his hand and frowned at the mention of that other boy.
"Ugh! Esmund!" With exasperated feeling. The way he slam-dunked the crushed cup into the trash can they passed by just then was almost violent. Half twisting, he looked back over his shoulder, around, over Trick's head. Just to make sure that they didn't conjure the other boy by speaking his name aloud. He was relieved to not see him among the thin street crowds as they walked through one district and into the next. "He's so gross. Who just tells somebody they just met they'd like to bone them?" The recall made him shudder.
Trick’s mouth was full, but he didn’t care. "I can't... even imagine... saying--" He shook his head abruptly, shaking the very thought of it from his mind. Literally couldn't imagine it. "No. Nope!" A breathy sort of exhale came out around the peppermint.
"I think he was trying to steal my garland last night. He got way too close and I felt him touch it."
"He probably just wanted to touch you." This part was muttered, a dark little confession that Patrick regretted the instant it left his mouth. It was the perfect time to drown out his embarrassment by obliterating what was left of the candy. Crunchcrunchchew.
"Well, he's not allowed." Instantly. Ed made a face, nose all wrinkled up in disgust. It was perfectly clear that the thought of Esmund touching him made him incredibly uncomfortable. Made a little bile hit the back of his throat. Made him silently gag, that face, and shudder again. "He's a creep. I don't even want to think about what he was probably thinking when he dumped that sugar down the back of my shirt. I threw those clothes out." In a way.
Suddenly self-conscious, he pulled his arm out of Trick's and gave the other boy some space back with a half step aside. He played it off as having a craving and patted himself down for his cigarettes. When he found one, he pressed it between his lips and lit it with a match. That sweet inhale of nicotine was just what his nerves needed.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out into the exhale of smoke. "I didn't ask if I could touch you before I just did." With a turn of his hand to indicate, y'know, how they'd been walking arm in arm. His eyes were a little wide and his half smile certainly sheepish.
Patrick didn't say anything until after he swallowed. Then he licked his lips and pulled his hands out of his pockets now that he and Ed weren't linked up. A jumble of thoughts rolled around in his head, whirling by so fast that he couldn't latch on to any one in particular that properly expressed his opinion on the matter.
There was a sense of loss which he couldn't comprehend, and had no idea how to communicate that he wished Ed hadn't let him go. The hand furthest from the boy clutched a penlight tightly in a fist, thumb working the button in an almost manic fashion. But he smiled that quarter smile of his, grasping blindly for anything to jumpstart his mouth.
"I didn't mind." Well, it was start. "I've never--oh. Look. Is that where we're going?" He tried changing the subject by pointing out the enormous blue-lit ferris wheel that loomed at one end of the ice rink. Perfect timing. Smooth, Patrick. Smooth.
Luckily for Trick, Ed was easily distracted by bright and shiny things. He looked where the other boy pointed and his entire mood shifted gears. With childlike delight, he bounced up and down. "That's it!" On the second hop, he turned and made another thoughtless grab for Trick's arm. He got hold of his hand instead.
"Come on!" They were not very far, but now that Ed had seen it, he was in a hurry to get up close and personal with all the pretty lights.
The silence wasn't exactly awkward, but Patrick wanted to talk about something. Anything! He needed to know absolutely everything there was to know about this stranger because stranger was not a word he wanted to be able to use to describe Ed after today.
"So... what are some other things you've never done?"
"Oh gosh. Lots of things! It's probably an endless list." But he rattled off the first dozen or so things that came to mind and counted them off with a repeated extend and fold of at least three fingers against his cup. If he used any more than that he would've dropped his cocoa, so a back and forth would have to do.
"Tobogganing. Cow tipping. Skydiving. Horse racing. Parasailing. Skeet shooting. Scuba diving." Sharp inhale. "Ridden a unicycle. Juggled. Knocked down all the pins to win the biggest teddy bear at the county fair." That last one painted a very vivid picture that made him giggle at his own humor. After taking another drink of his cocoa, Ed looked aside at Trick with a grin and shake of his head. "Don't you remember me saying I don't get out much?"
He wouldn't have minded if Ed decided to list a couple dozen other things. In fact, Trick was pretty sure he wouldn't mind the guy talking without stopping for the rest of the night. "I haven't done any of that stuff either. Except the tobogganing, only it was more like hurtling toward a painful death if you didn't ditch at just the right time."
The image Trick's review of tobogganing painted in his head made him laugh, but he was polite enough not to do it right in the other boy's face; he turned his head to look forward and watch where they were going. "Sounds dangerous. Maybe I should cross that off my to-do list and save myself the trouble. No. Like I told you, I don't exactly lead an exciting life. I spent more time reading about adventures than actually going on any growing up. My skin is pitifully flawless for all the lack of doing anything I've got under my belt. Maybe I'll get my first skinned knee today! That'd be something."
Mention of his skin had the boy peeking furtively aside, as if to assess the flawlessness of Ed's skin for himself. Pitiful was not the word he'd use to describe it. Humming thoughtfully, Trick looked away and tucked the other boy's arm more tightly against his side. "Maybe! Esmund could always show up and trip you in an attempt to hit on you." The candy cane crunched in his mouth again, and with the swipe of his tongue, the hook-end disappeared into his mouth entirely.
For a brief moment, Ed’s smile brightened, onset by the feel of Trick's arm tightening its grip on his own. He squeezed back, like an arm hug, and might have passed it off for reflex instead of conscious effort, because he crushed the by now empty to-go cup in his hand and frowned at the mention of that other boy.
"Ugh! Esmund!" With exasperated feeling. The way he slam-dunked the crushed cup into the trash can they passed by just then was almost violent. Half twisting, he looked back over his shoulder, around, over Trick's head. Just to make sure that they didn't conjure the other boy by speaking his name aloud. He was relieved to not see him among the thin street crowds as they walked through one district and into the next. "He's so gross. Who just tells somebody they just met they'd like to bone them?" The recall made him shudder.
Trick’s mouth was full, but he didn’t care. "I can't... even imagine... saying--" He shook his head abruptly, shaking the very thought of it from his mind. Literally couldn't imagine it. "No. Nope!" A breathy sort of exhale came out around the peppermint.
"I think he was trying to steal my garland last night. He got way too close and I felt him touch it."
"He probably just wanted to touch you." This part was muttered, a dark little confession that Patrick regretted the instant it left his mouth. It was the perfect time to drown out his embarrassment by obliterating what was left of the candy. Crunchcrunchchew.
"Well, he's not allowed." Instantly. Ed made a face, nose all wrinkled up in disgust. It was perfectly clear that the thought of Esmund touching him made him incredibly uncomfortable. Made a little bile hit the back of his throat. Made him silently gag, that face, and shudder again. "He's a creep. I don't even want to think about what he was probably thinking when he dumped that sugar down the back of my shirt. I threw those clothes out." In a way.
Suddenly self-conscious, he pulled his arm out of Trick's and gave the other boy some space back with a half step aside. He played it off as having a craving and patted himself down for his cigarettes. When he found one, he pressed it between his lips and lit it with a match. That sweet inhale of nicotine was just what his nerves needed.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out into the exhale of smoke. "I didn't ask if I could touch you before I just did." With a turn of his hand to indicate, y'know, how they'd been walking arm in arm. His eyes were a little wide and his half smile certainly sheepish.
Patrick didn't say anything until after he swallowed. Then he licked his lips and pulled his hands out of his pockets now that he and Ed weren't linked up. A jumble of thoughts rolled around in his head, whirling by so fast that he couldn't latch on to any one in particular that properly expressed his opinion on the matter.
There was a sense of loss which he couldn't comprehend, and had no idea how to communicate that he wished Ed hadn't let him go. The hand furthest from the boy clutched a penlight tightly in a fist, thumb working the button in an almost manic fashion. But he smiled that quarter smile of his, grasping blindly for anything to jumpstart his mouth.
"I didn't mind." Well, it was start. "I've never--oh. Look. Is that where we're going?" He tried changing the subject by pointing out the enormous blue-lit ferris wheel that loomed at one end of the ice rink. Perfect timing. Smooth, Patrick. Smooth.
Luckily for Trick, Ed was easily distracted by bright and shiny things. He looked where the other boy pointed and his entire mood shifted gears. With childlike delight, he bounced up and down. "That's it!" On the second hop, he turned and made another thoughtless grab for Trick's arm. He got hold of his hand instead.
"Come on!" They were not very far, but now that Ed had seen it, he was in a hurry to get up close and personal with all the pretty lights.
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-5-16
Spencer trudged up the stairs, boot soles thunking quietly on the wood. The messenger bag she was never without beat against her hip with each step. Inside things shifted but there was no familiar song of tinkering metal spray paint cans. She’d missed feeding time for the sake of a late client at the parlor and a heavy tip they could use. When she reached the top, rather than veer around and continue up to her room she was drawn toward the living room.
Warmth flooded out in waves from the fire that crackled in the fireplace. Her fingers ached from tattooing all day evident from the way she flexed them constantly. Passing by the couch, heedless of the boy slumbering peacefully there, she abandoned her bag with a deep thump onto the floor. The others must have fled to their rooms after filling their empty bellies at dinner. Warm beds made for soundless sleep. The weather promised to be frigid that night.
The heavy thud of Spencer’s bag woke the boy from dreamland. He squirmed beneath the blanket Mallory had placed over him when he passed out from exhaustion well before dinner and rolled over, blinking blearily into the room for the source of the noise. Dark eyes eventually found the scarecrow of a girl he called his best friend. Looking past her to the darkened windows, Patrick sighed.
“****. Did you miss dinner, too?”
Not expecting the furniture to start speaking, Spencer jumped and reached for one of the severely ugly vases on the mantle. The chill of her fingers missed the tip of it when she fumbled to grab it. That too thudded against the floor and rolled beneath the side table. She slapped a hand against her chest, eyes wide before she frowned.
“Jesus ****, Patrick. What the hell are you doing in here? You scared the **** out of me!”
He flinched, expecting the vase to shatter. When it didn’t, the boy relaxed and unfolded himself from the comfortable curl to stretch and yawn.
“I live here,” he said indignantly.
She pointed a finger at him, shifting from her spot by the fireplace where she could just make out his shape traced in firelight. “You haven’t been home this early since last week.”
The accusation wrangled a pathetic, grumbling moan from Patrick which he tried to muffle by stuffing his face into the couch cushion. One of his arms slipped off the edge of the couch to hang, knuckles cracking against damaged wood floors.
“Don’t remind me.”
She hadn’t meant for her words to come out as sharp as they did. His reaction morphed her frown into a reflective squint. Somewhere during the change, she lowered herself into a crouch by the flames and reached out to catch their heat.
“What’re you doing every night anyway?”
Grateful for the low light to hide the flush that burned across his cheeks, Patrick turned his face out toward the fireplace to study Spencer’s silhouette. “I think I’ve been abducted by aliens, Spence’. I swear there’s someone else living in my body. Making me act like a ******* idiot.”
Spencer reached up and tugged the white, knit beanie off her head. The static pulled her shorter hairs up to stand on end. She looked aside at Patrick, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What did you do?” It was not accusatory, but more of a glean for information. If he was onto something hot, she wanted to be right there with him.
“No, it’s nothing--”
“Wait--” she stood using her knees as props where they stuck out from the holes in her jeans.
He groaned again. This time instead of hiding his face, he scrubbed a hand across it.
“If it’s that good, I’m getting something to drink.” Passing by the arm of the couch she paused by the corner and fingered the thick seam where it had started to unravel--no thanks to Lucifer. “You want anything?”
“A brain that works? I’d like that.”
She squinted at him, the corners of her eyes flaring out. “You’re acting so bizarre,” was all she said before she left him alone with his thoughts to drift down one level to the kitchen.
“Food!” Patrick yelled down to her. “Bring me food!”
Minutes passed with the crackle of the fire and silence his only companion. Spencer reappeared bringing with her the homey aroma of hot chocolate. Beneath one of her arms she juggled a stick of pepperoni and a block of cheese with a knife gunned through it. In one hand she had a steaming mug, the other a can of Coke. She padded around the side of the couch to the coffee table and stood there, staring down at him. He hadn’t moved an inch.
“Help.”
“Ugh.” The boy didn’t want to move, but figured that if he didn’t, the knife she’d brought with her might end up sticking out of him instead of the cheese.
He sat up and tugged the food out from under her arm, then sank down to sit, hunched over, with his back against the front of the couch. From this height, the coffee table made a perfect plate. He got to work on carving up thin slices of both pepperoni and cheese while Spencer hunkered down next to him.
“Remember that guy--the one from the inn last week--had on a military jacket?” Patrick’s heart began to flutter at the mere mention of the other boy. He pressed a breath of air through his nose, nostrils flaring. “Ed. I’ve been… hanging out with him.”
The couch had come with the house. Age had made it almost the most perfect thing. It smelled like smoke from the fire, meals, warm nights, and family. But there they were, sitting on the floor with their back to it as if it were the black sheep.
Spencer had her knees bent and pressed close to catch the warm mug of cocoa between them. “You mean the kid with the hair?” She reached behind her neck to tug her hair from the catch and pull of her lean.
“Yes,” Patrick sighed. “The kid with the hair.”
Stealing a piece of cheese from the pile, she looked aside at him. “Like, every night all night?”
He couldn’t look at her. Instead he stared and poked at the little pile of food he’d created. His mouth twisted into something that resembled a frown that quite possibly wanted to be a smile. “Every night. Not all night--I came home to sleep for a couple hours before work. But like…” The boy popped a piece of pepperoni into his mouth and chewed noisily. “...Yeah.”
Spencer took a small, careful sip from the mug, watching Patrick fumble with his words through the steam and avoid making eye contact with her. “Doing what?” Her voice dropped quietly beneath the noise of the fire that cast them both in the color of the flames. Beyond where they sat, their shadows wavered.
“Talking, mostly. Hanging out and having fun. He was here today, actually.” The spirit of angst momentarily lifted when he nudged her arm with his elbow. “The hot water heater’s working again. He figured out what part needed replacing and we went and found one at the junkyard.”
“Yessssssss……” she hissed with a smile and set the back of her head against a cushion. “Hot showers,” it was a delicate whisper. Reveling in the moment for a few more seconds, Spencer lifted her head and took a sip of cocoa. Her eyebrows slanted down and she tipped her face toward him.
“Let’s rewind for a minute. What’s with the idiot business?”
For a while, the only sounds in the room were their chewing and the faint crackle and pop of the fire. Lucifer hopped up on the other end of the coffee table to glare at them, tail flicking impatiently. Patrick tried to lure him in with a piece of cheese, but he didn’t take the bait. The black cat waited until the boy threw the snack onto the floor several feet away before pouncing.
“I’m an idiot because I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s pathetic. I don’t even know him and all I want to do is spend every waking second with the guy.”
It was rare and few and far in-between, Spencer made a noise that was quite girlish. It sounded like a breath that was sucked in too soon with a faint and delicate whistle. He made a face. Her knees fell toward Patrick, one skimming against his hip before she settled to face him. She had one arm resting on the couch, elbow bent, fingers clutching her mug. “Look at me.”
He did, grudgingly. This close now, there was no way for him to hide the way his cheeks had begun to grow warm.
Her expression was blank save for the slight slant of pale eyebrows. Her stare was not hard but thoughtful as she studied his features. The silence might have been slightly uncomfortable. “What’re you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know!” And then he looked away. He couldn’t stand anymore uncomfortable eye contact. He’d had enough of those with Ed. “Normal people don’t just… just sprout feelings for people they don’t know, do they?” He scratched a hand through his hair and stared at the cat.
“I think, maybe, he might like me, Spence’.”
Lucifer had sprawled on the floor, close to the edge of a throw rug he had claimed as his personal carpet. His fur was blacker than the coldest Winter night and gleamed beneath the glow of the fire. He spent many hours of the day cleaning himself as he was doing right then. It was a ritualistic activity for him and he certainly enjoyed being watched, until he was done being watched. He stilled after the last swipe of a paw over an ear. Yellow eyes unblinking, he reached out and extended sharp claws into the rug just enough to where the fabric tensed.
Spencer collected her mug into her lap, but remained facing Patrick. She looked across the surface of the coffee table at the cat as he reminded them of his space. “I’m sure it’s possible.”
“He held my hand,” Patrick confessed.
“That’s pretty serious,” she followed before giving him her attention once more.
“I liked it. I like the scarf he gave me, too.” He was staring across the room into the flames now. Voice low, almost toneless.
She tipped her head, mulling over thoughts with cocoa. “There’s nothing wrong with that. And I’m pretty sure there’s no time stamp on feelings.”
Patrick hand his hands in his lap, fingernails picking idly at a callous on the heel of his right palm. “I don’t know about that. I always thought you, like, you know… were friends with a person before all this **** started happening. I still barely know anything about him, but here I am fantasizing about the next time I’ll see him. Hoping he touches me again, because God knows I don’t know how to initiate anything.”
“He’s obviously into you,” she informed him. It was followed up with a flare of her fingers, amazing clean ones in his direction. “There aren’t any rules you have to follow. If you feel it, go for it.”
Spencer spoke as if she had experience. Wasn’t it true though that giving advice was so much more easier than taking it? Six months and seven days didn’t really give her enough room to play the age card as Patrick was chasing after eighteen right behind her.
“And what happens when I let myself get so deep that I don’t know how to get back out? What if I find out he’s… I dunno. A crazy person or something. I mean, he already smokes like a chimney.” Patrick swiped a piece of cheese and two pieces of pepperoni from the table, made a sandwich out of them, and stuffed it in his mouth. Didn’t bother to finish chewing before continuing. “But does that really stop me from wanting him to kiss me? No, of course not. I kept hoping he’d do it yesterday while we were skating in Old Temple.” He paused to swallow and tipped his head to look at Spencer in the eyes. “I’d judge the **** out of anyone else who went around kissing someone they just met the week before.”
She’d puckered her lips while listening to him, a trait that anyone close to her would know. Thoughts often consumed her at times bringing her to stretches of silence. However, her eyes were not blank as she was not lost. The blue was sharp with focus. “What the hell do you care about what anyone else thinks? I don’t think you need to worry about what he thinks. It’s a little obvious right now listening to you.”
His exhale sounded mildly amused. “You always say that.” She was always trying to get him to stop caring about what everyone else thought. But it was easier said than done. Patrick drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, letting his forehead drop to rest against a bony kneecap. “Ah, God. I don’t know what I’m doing. Even if I could get over that, I wouldn’t even know how to… do any of this.”
“Just kiss him.” She said it so matter-of-fact.
“No!” His head popped up so fast you’d think he’d had a cup of ice water poured down his back. “What if--what if I’ve been completely misreading everything and he’s just a super friendly person? And I kiss him and he freaks out.” He shook his head. “It would be the end of life as I know it.”
Her eyes narrowed dubiously. “You’ve kissed someone before, right?” It was a need-to-know slice of information.
He hesitated, turning his attention to the tear in his jeans. “I’m not sure I’d count 7 Minutes in Heaven with Taryn Matthews.” Patrick bit his lip. Sharing the embarrassing confession hadn’t been nearly as hard as he thought.
Despite his confession, Spencer still eyed him carefully. “I still think you should make the move.”
He ignored this. “Have you? Kissed someone…”
Trick’s question caught her slightly off guard. Her posture lost a bit of its pose when she shifted to finish what was left in her mug. It was discarded on the coffee table, traded for a piece of pepperoni and cheese which she caught between her teeth after, “Yeah.” After she swallowed, “But we’re talking about you.”
He knew how to take a hint. Skipping back a track, he addressed her opinion about making the first move. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Patrick, you’re being ridiculous.” It wasn’t a scolding, but more of a quiet statement of a fact.
“I know,” he sighed.
“If you’re worried about your lack of experience, go practice. Anyway, what if he’s in the same place you are?” Another hand flare. “Or just wait. Don’t force it.”
“I don’t want to force it,” he confirmed. “But I don’t want him to think… I don’t want him to get bored of waiting. You know?”
“If it feels right, just do it.”
“Feelings are bull****,” he pouted.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “They are. But if you don’t do something about them they’ll eat you alive. Then all you’ll be left with are what if’s.”
She plucked a piece of cheese up and pointed at him with it. “If you go for it and he’s a dick, I’ll stab him in the eye.” If Spencer was anything, she was loyal.
“I know I can always count on you.” Patrick smiled at her, a warm thing that was full of affection. The expression deflated, morphing into humor as he reached out to catch her wrist, holding her hand in place so he could bite the cheese from her fingers.
Hers was all teeth, a deviant and defiant spark in her eyes for the compliment, his obvious approval of her intended action. But then he caught her arm and bit most of the cheese trapped between her fingers away. She managed to pinch down at the last second to save herself the smallest piece.
Another rare smile lit his features upon letting her go. “But maybe you could stab him somewhere else. His face is too pretty to maim.”
She ate what she had before he decided on a second attack. Normally it would have earned him a scowl or a shove, but instead she reached over and tugged on a piece of his too long hair. “You, Patrick, are smitten.”
Spencer trudged up the stairs, boot soles thunking quietly on the wood. The messenger bag she was never without beat against her hip with each step. Inside things shifted but there was no familiar song of tinkering metal spray paint cans. She’d missed feeding time for the sake of a late client at the parlor and a heavy tip they could use. When she reached the top, rather than veer around and continue up to her room she was drawn toward the living room.
Warmth flooded out in waves from the fire that crackled in the fireplace. Her fingers ached from tattooing all day evident from the way she flexed them constantly. Passing by the couch, heedless of the boy slumbering peacefully there, she abandoned her bag with a deep thump onto the floor. The others must have fled to their rooms after filling their empty bellies at dinner. Warm beds made for soundless sleep. The weather promised to be frigid that night.
The heavy thud of Spencer’s bag woke the boy from dreamland. He squirmed beneath the blanket Mallory had placed over him when he passed out from exhaustion well before dinner and rolled over, blinking blearily into the room for the source of the noise. Dark eyes eventually found the scarecrow of a girl he called his best friend. Looking past her to the darkened windows, Patrick sighed.
“****. Did you miss dinner, too?”
Not expecting the furniture to start speaking, Spencer jumped and reached for one of the severely ugly vases on the mantle. The chill of her fingers missed the tip of it when she fumbled to grab it. That too thudded against the floor and rolled beneath the side table. She slapped a hand against her chest, eyes wide before she frowned.
“Jesus ****, Patrick. What the hell are you doing in here? You scared the **** out of me!”
He flinched, expecting the vase to shatter. When it didn’t, the boy relaxed and unfolded himself from the comfortable curl to stretch and yawn.
“I live here,” he said indignantly.
She pointed a finger at him, shifting from her spot by the fireplace where she could just make out his shape traced in firelight. “You haven’t been home this early since last week.”
The accusation wrangled a pathetic, grumbling moan from Patrick which he tried to muffle by stuffing his face into the couch cushion. One of his arms slipped off the edge of the couch to hang, knuckles cracking against damaged wood floors.
“Don’t remind me.”
She hadn’t meant for her words to come out as sharp as they did. His reaction morphed her frown into a reflective squint. Somewhere during the change, she lowered herself into a crouch by the flames and reached out to catch their heat.
“What’re you doing every night anyway?”
Grateful for the low light to hide the flush that burned across his cheeks, Patrick turned his face out toward the fireplace to study Spencer’s silhouette. “I think I’ve been abducted by aliens, Spence’. I swear there’s someone else living in my body. Making me act like a ******* idiot.”
Spencer reached up and tugged the white, knit beanie off her head. The static pulled her shorter hairs up to stand on end. She looked aside at Patrick, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What did you do?” It was not accusatory, but more of a glean for information. If he was onto something hot, she wanted to be right there with him.
“No, it’s nothing--”
“Wait--” she stood using her knees as props where they stuck out from the holes in her jeans.
He groaned again. This time instead of hiding his face, he scrubbed a hand across it.
“If it’s that good, I’m getting something to drink.” Passing by the arm of the couch she paused by the corner and fingered the thick seam where it had started to unravel--no thanks to Lucifer. “You want anything?”
“A brain that works? I’d like that.”
She squinted at him, the corners of her eyes flaring out. “You’re acting so bizarre,” was all she said before she left him alone with his thoughts to drift down one level to the kitchen.
“Food!” Patrick yelled down to her. “Bring me food!”
Minutes passed with the crackle of the fire and silence his only companion. Spencer reappeared bringing with her the homey aroma of hot chocolate. Beneath one of her arms she juggled a stick of pepperoni and a block of cheese with a knife gunned through it. In one hand she had a steaming mug, the other a can of Coke. She padded around the side of the couch to the coffee table and stood there, staring down at him. He hadn’t moved an inch.
“Help.”
“Ugh.” The boy didn’t want to move, but figured that if he didn’t, the knife she’d brought with her might end up sticking out of him instead of the cheese.
He sat up and tugged the food out from under her arm, then sank down to sit, hunched over, with his back against the front of the couch. From this height, the coffee table made a perfect plate. He got to work on carving up thin slices of both pepperoni and cheese while Spencer hunkered down next to him.
“Remember that guy--the one from the inn last week--had on a military jacket?” Patrick’s heart began to flutter at the mere mention of the other boy. He pressed a breath of air through his nose, nostrils flaring. “Ed. I’ve been… hanging out with him.”
The couch had come with the house. Age had made it almost the most perfect thing. It smelled like smoke from the fire, meals, warm nights, and family. But there they were, sitting on the floor with their back to it as if it were the black sheep.
Spencer had her knees bent and pressed close to catch the warm mug of cocoa between them. “You mean the kid with the hair?” She reached behind her neck to tug her hair from the catch and pull of her lean.
“Yes,” Patrick sighed. “The kid with the hair.”
Stealing a piece of cheese from the pile, she looked aside at him. “Like, every night all night?”
He couldn’t look at her. Instead he stared and poked at the little pile of food he’d created. His mouth twisted into something that resembled a frown that quite possibly wanted to be a smile. “Every night. Not all night--I came home to sleep for a couple hours before work. But like…” The boy popped a piece of pepperoni into his mouth and chewed noisily. “...Yeah.”
Spencer took a small, careful sip from the mug, watching Patrick fumble with his words through the steam and avoid making eye contact with her. “Doing what?” Her voice dropped quietly beneath the noise of the fire that cast them both in the color of the flames. Beyond where they sat, their shadows wavered.
“Talking, mostly. Hanging out and having fun. He was here today, actually.” The spirit of angst momentarily lifted when he nudged her arm with his elbow. “The hot water heater’s working again. He figured out what part needed replacing and we went and found one at the junkyard.”
“Yessssssss……” she hissed with a smile and set the back of her head against a cushion. “Hot showers,” it was a delicate whisper. Reveling in the moment for a few more seconds, Spencer lifted her head and took a sip of cocoa. Her eyebrows slanted down and she tipped her face toward him.
“Let’s rewind for a minute. What’s with the idiot business?”
For a while, the only sounds in the room were their chewing and the faint crackle and pop of the fire. Lucifer hopped up on the other end of the coffee table to glare at them, tail flicking impatiently. Patrick tried to lure him in with a piece of cheese, but he didn’t take the bait. The black cat waited until the boy threw the snack onto the floor several feet away before pouncing.
“I’m an idiot because I can’t stop thinking about him. It’s pathetic. I don’t even know him and all I want to do is spend every waking second with the guy.”
It was rare and few and far in-between, Spencer made a noise that was quite girlish. It sounded like a breath that was sucked in too soon with a faint and delicate whistle. He made a face. Her knees fell toward Patrick, one skimming against his hip before she settled to face him. She had one arm resting on the couch, elbow bent, fingers clutching her mug. “Look at me.”
He did, grudgingly. This close now, there was no way for him to hide the way his cheeks had begun to grow warm.
Her expression was blank save for the slight slant of pale eyebrows. Her stare was not hard but thoughtful as she studied his features. The silence might have been slightly uncomfortable. “What’re you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know!” And then he looked away. He couldn’t stand anymore uncomfortable eye contact. He’d had enough of those with Ed. “Normal people don’t just… just sprout feelings for people they don’t know, do they?” He scratched a hand through his hair and stared at the cat.
“I think, maybe, he might like me, Spence’.”
Lucifer had sprawled on the floor, close to the edge of a throw rug he had claimed as his personal carpet. His fur was blacker than the coldest Winter night and gleamed beneath the glow of the fire. He spent many hours of the day cleaning himself as he was doing right then. It was a ritualistic activity for him and he certainly enjoyed being watched, until he was done being watched. He stilled after the last swipe of a paw over an ear. Yellow eyes unblinking, he reached out and extended sharp claws into the rug just enough to where the fabric tensed.
Spencer collected her mug into her lap, but remained facing Patrick. She looked across the surface of the coffee table at the cat as he reminded them of his space. “I’m sure it’s possible.”
“He held my hand,” Patrick confessed.
“That’s pretty serious,” she followed before giving him her attention once more.
“I liked it. I like the scarf he gave me, too.” He was staring across the room into the flames now. Voice low, almost toneless.
She tipped her head, mulling over thoughts with cocoa. “There’s nothing wrong with that. And I’m pretty sure there’s no time stamp on feelings.”
Patrick hand his hands in his lap, fingernails picking idly at a callous on the heel of his right palm. “I don’t know about that. I always thought you, like, you know… were friends with a person before all this **** started happening. I still barely know anything about him, but here I am fantasizing about the next time I’ll see him. Hoping he touches me again, because God knows I don’t know how to initiate anything.”
“He’s obviously into you,” she informed him. It was followed up with a flare of her fingers, amazing clean ones in his direction. “There aren’t any rules you have to follow. If you feel it, go for it.”
Spencer spoke as if she had experience. Wasn’t it true though that giving advice was so much more easier than taking it? Six months and seven days didn’t really give her enough room to play the age card as Patrick was chasing after eighteen right behind her.
“And what happens when I let myself get so deep that I don’t know how to get back out? What if I find out he’s… I dunno. A crazy person or something. I mean, he already smokes like a chimney.” Patrick swiped a piece of cheese and two pieces of pepperoni from the table, made a sandwich out of them, and stuffed it in his mouth. Didn’t bother to finish chewing before continuing. “But does that really stop me from wanting him to kiss me? No, of course not. I kept hoping he’d do it yesterday while we were skating in Old Temple.” He paused to swallow and tipped his head to look at Spencer in the eyes. “I’d judge the **** out of anyone else who went around kissing someone they just met the week before.”
She’d puckered her lips while listening to him, a trait that anyone close to her would know. Thoughts often consumed her at times bringing her to stretches of silence. However, her eyes were not blank as she was not lost. The blue was sharp with focus. “What the hell do you care about what anyone else thinks? I don’t think you need to worry about what he thinks. It’s a little obvious right now listening to you.”
His exhale sounded mildly amused. “You always say that.” She was always trying to get him to stop caring about what everyone else thought. But it was easier said than done. Patrick drew his legs up and wrapped his arms around them, letting his forehead drop to rest against a bony kneecap. “Ah, God. I don’t know what I’m doing. Even if I could get over that, I wouldn’t even know how to… do any of this.”
“Just kiss him.” She said it so matter-of-fact.
“No!” His head popped up so fast you’d think he’d had a cup of ice water poured down his back. “What if--what if I’ve been completely misreading everything and he’s just a super friendly person? And I kiss him and he freaks out.” He shook his head. “It would be the end of life as I know it.”
Her eyes narrowed dubiously. “You’ve kissed someone before, right?” It was a need-to-know slice of information.
He hesitated, turning his attention to the tear in his jeans. “I’m not sure I’d count 7 Minutes in Heaven with Taryn Matthews.” Patrick bit his lip. Sharing the embarrassing confession hadn’t been nearly as hard as he thought.
Despite his confession, Spencer still eyed him carefully. “I still think you should make the move.”
He ignored this. “Have you? Kissed someone…”
Trick’s question caught her slightly off guard. Her posture lost a bit of its pose when she shifted to finish what was left in her mug. It was discarded on the coffee table, traded for a piece of pepperoni and cheese which she caught between her teeth after, “Yeah.” After she swallowed, “But we’re talking about you.”
He knew how to take a hint. Skipping back a track, he addressed her opinion about making the first move. “I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Patrick, you’re being ridiculous.” It wasn’t a scolding, but more of a quiet statement of a fact.
“I know,” he sighed.
“If you’re worried about your lack of experience, go practice. Anyway, what if he’s in the same place you are?” Another hand flare. “Or just wait. Don’t force it.”
“I don’t want to force it,” he confirmed. “But I don’t want him to think… I don’t want him to get bored of waiting. You know?”
“If it feels right, just do it.”
“Feelings are bull****,” he pouted.
“Yeah,” she agreed. “They are. But if you don’t do something about them they’ll eat you alive. Then all you’ll be left with are what if’s.”
She plucked a piece of cheese up and pointed at him with it. “If you go for it and he’s a dick, I’ll stab him in the eye.” If Spencer was anything, she was loyal.
“I know I can always count on you.” Patrick smiled at her, a warm thing that was full of affection. The expression deflated, morphing into humor as he reached out to catch her wrist, holding her hand in place so he could bite the cheese from her fingers.
Hers was all teeth, a deviant and defiant spark in her eyes for the compliment, his obvious approval of her intended action. But then he caught her arm and bit most of the cheese trapped between her fingers away. She managed to pinch down at the last second to save herself the smallest piece.
Another rare smile lit his features upon letting her go. “But maybe you could stab him somewhere else. His face is too pretty to maim.”
She ate what she had before he decided on a second attack. Normally it would have earned him a scowl or a shove, but instead she reached over and tugged on a piece of his too long hair. “You, Patrick, are smitten.”
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-6-16
Esmund stood up and wandered over to Spencer, beer in his clutches, and took a lean next to her seat. "So, before I ask, yes, I know you're not her keeper but..any idea where she went?" He nodded in the wake of Mal's exit. "I wanted to ask her something, but she bolted."
One blink, just one. A skip of her attention to Esmund when he appeared at her side where she was propped against the arm of the couch. "Mallory? She went back to the house."
Patrick leaned more toward Spencer as Esmund wandered over. Dark eyes slanted up toward him as he sank into a lean beside her.
"Do either of you do the magic thing too, or is it just her? It's not like...a coven, right?" Or maybe it was, he didn't know. Esmund met eyes with Trick and his shoulders tensed only the slightest bit. The teen made him uncomfortable, maybe their personalities clashed or something, so he didn't give him more than a nod.
If the obvious show of tension bothered Trick, it didn't show in the least. He was oblivious to anything he might have done to warrant such a response. He merely shook his head and said, "It's just her."
"Mm." Esmund considered the two of them for another moment, stuck his finger into the loophole of the yo yo and yanked it out of his pocket, guiding it up and down on the rope with expertise. "Thanks," he said, yo yo in the right and beer in the left, he turned and strode back to the bar, walking the dog/walking the moon with the toy as he did.
Trick eyebrows rose by degrees as the guy strolled away. His gaze went from the back of the guy's head, to the yo-yo, and back again. After a short time, he blinked and turned to look at Spencer out of the corner of his eye.
She leaned further over the arm of the couch toward Patrick, catching her weight with her other arm. There was nothing for her to say really, a look could carry a thousand words. Her eyes settled in his lap where a scarf lay puddled and then dragged a slow draw up to his face.
"We should get home." Patrick's fingers flexed against the scarf's fringe. He ignored her expression and tipped his head back to finish the rest of his soda. Stuffed the bottle between the cushions so he didn't have to bother with throwing it away. Then he tugged the scarf up around his neck.
"Patrick." A pointed look at the bottle before she straightened, knee sliding off the arm of the couch.
He was terrible about remembering to recycle. Every penny counts when you're barely scraping by. The boy fished the bottle back out and pushed it into Spencer's hands as he got up. Stepped around her to get his jacket and pull it on.
She took the bottle after setting her abandoned ass tasting coffee on a side table. There was a smoker in a nearby booth that had been antagonistic throughout the evening that drew her attention and with it a slant of pale brows and narrowed eyes. She tucked the glass into her bag where it would home with several spray paint cans.
"I'm stopping to check my wall on the way." This was for Patrick to process.
Thanks to whatever drugs he'd taken and the booze that was keeping his head foggy, the smoker returned the look with a blank one of his own. A simple gesture, and just oh-so-friendly as his middle finger raised toward Spencer and twirled in a circle. A snide smile made as he didn't need to say anything for what that meant. The smile was smothered with another drag of his cigarette, however, causing it to cease.
"I'll be asleep when you get home." Patrick eyed the smoker over Spencer's shoulder and frowned. Why were people here so rude? He tried to ignore the guy, looking back toward Spence’. "I'll leave my door unlocked." It was an offer to share the bed if there ever was one. He headed for the door, tugging on his scarf along the way.
Spencer said nothing, did nothing for that matter. The muscles in her jaw tensed. She pulled the glass bottle out from her bag, paint stained fingers curling tight around the neck. The smoke collected in the booth had not hid the meaning nor the smile that followed.
When Trick realized Spencer wasn't following closely behind, he turned to look for her and sighed in exasperation.
Turning his eyes away and lowering the gesture, the smoker’s attention drifted instead to the tequila that quickly found his hand while the other tapped ash into the booth behind him. Though he was keeping an eye on Spencer in his peripheral, only to see the muscle tension in her jaw and he seemed pleased with it.
Her weight shifted when she swayed, rooted to the same spot she had been a minutes ago. The bottle was replaced, five coins saved and not wasted on the taste of her anger. The urge to return the favor was smothered when she turned, giving the tequila drinking smoker her back. The march for the door was ruthless.
The smoker’s eyes ticked over to Six on her way out the door, a low rise of a chuckle escaped as she marched her way on out. "Such a sweet girl," he toned sarcastically.
Patrick watched as Esmund abruptly dismounted his stool at the bar to make his way over to the smoker’s booth and sat down in the seat opposite him.
“Suh, dude? Come here often?” Esmund asked the smoker.
The smoker’s eyes narrowed. He had a persistent nature to come off as hateful. His tone was bland, but he answered. "Sup." Another swallow of tequila before he answered the second question. "No. Not usually," he admitted, shifting his weight in the booth to sit a bit higher. Only for the point to be moot as he slid right back down again.
Trick rolled his eyes, utterly unsurprised by the turn of events. He turned away and opened the door for Spencer, then followed the artist out into the night.
--
[Taken from live play. Edited for flow and spelling errors.]
Esmund stood up and wandered over to Spencer, beer in his clutches, and took a lean next to her seat. "So, before I ask, yes, I know you're not her keeper but..any idea where she went?" He nodded in the wake of Mal's exit. "I wanted to ask her something, but she bolted."
One blink, just one. A skip of her attention to Esmund when he appeared at her side where she was propped against the arm of the couch. "Mallory? She went back to the house."
Patrick leaned more toward Spencer as Esmund wandered over. Dark eyes slanted up toward him as he sank into a lean beside her.
"Do either of you do the magic thing too, or is it just her? It's not like...a coven, right?" Or maybe it was, he didn't know. Esmund met eyes with Trick and his shoulders tensed only the slightest bit. The teen made him uncomfortable, maybe their personalities clashed or something, so he didn't give him more than a nod.
If the obvious show of tension bothered Trick, it didn't show in the least. He was oblivious to anything he might have done to warrant such a response. He merely shook his head and said, "It's just her."
"Mm." Esmund considered the two of them for another moment, stuck his finger into the loophole of the yo yo and yanked it out of his pocket, guiding it up and down on the rope with expertise. "Thanks," he said, yo yo in the right and beer in the left, he turned and strode back to the bar, walking the dog/walking the moon with the toy as he did.
Trick eyebrows rose by degrees as the guy strolled away. His gaze went from the back of the guy's head, to the yo-yo, and back again. After a short time, he blinked and turned to look at Spencer out of the corner of his eye.
She leaned further over the arm of the couch toward Patrick, catching her weight with her other arm. There was nothing for her to say really, a look could carry a thousand words. Her eyes settled in his lap where a scarf lay puddled and then dragged a slow draw up to his face.
"We should get home." Patrick's fingers flexed against the scarf's fringe. He ignored her expression and tipped his head back to finish the rest of his soda. Stuffed the bottle between the cushions so he didn't have to bother with throwing it away. Then he tugged the scarf up around his neck.
"Patrick." A pointed look at the bottle before she straightened, knee sliding off the arm of the couch.
He was terrible about remembering to recycle. Every penny counts when you're barely scraping by. The boy fished the bottle back out and pushed it into Spencer's hands as he got up. Stepped around her to get his jacket and pull it on.
She took the bottle after setting her abandoned ass tasting coffee on a side table. There was a smoker in a nearby booth that had been antagonistic throughout the evening that drew her attention and with it a slant of pale brows and narrowed eyes. She tucked the glass into her bag where it would home with several spray paint cans.
"I'm stopping to check my wall on the way." This was for Patrick to process.
Thanks to whatever drugs he'd taken and the booze that was keeping his head foggy, the smoker returned the look with a blank one of his own. A simple gesture, and just oh-so-friendly as his middle finger raised toward Spencer and twirled in a circle. A snide smile made as he didn't need to say anything for what that meant. The smile was smothered with another drag of his cigarette, however, causing it to cease.
"I'll be asleep when you get home." Patrick eyed the smoker over Spencer's shoulder and frowned. Why were people here so rude? He tried to ignore the guy, looking back toward Spence’. "I'll leave my door unlocked." It was an offer to share the bed if there ever was one. He headed for the door, tugging on his scarf along the way.
Spencer said nothing, did nothing for that matter. The muscles in her jaw tensed. She pulled the glass bottle out from her bag, paint stained fingers curling tight around the neck. The smoke collected in the booth had not hid the meaning nor the smile that followed.
When Trick realized Spencer wasn't following closely behind, he turned to look for her and sighed in exasperation.
Turning his eyes away and lowering the gesture, the smoker’s attention drifted instead to the tequila that quickly found his hand while the other tapped ash into the booth behind him. Though he was keeping an eye on Spencer in his peripheral, only to see the muscle tension in her jaw and he seemed pleased with it.
Her weight shifted when she swayed, rooted to the same spot she had been a minutes ago. The bottle was replaced, five coins saved and not wasted on the taste of her anger. The urge to return the favor was smothered when she turned, giving the tequila drinking smoker her back. The march for the door was ruthless.
The smoker’s eyes ticked over to Six on her way out the door, a low rise of a chuckle escaped as she marched her way on out. "Such a sweet girl," he toned sarcastically.
Patrick watched as Esmund abruptly dismounted his stool at the bar to make his way over to the smoker’s booth and sat down in the seat opposite him.
“Suh, dude? Come here often?” Esmund asked the smoker.
The smoker’s eyes narrowed. He had a persistent nature to come off as hateful. His tone was bland, but he answered. "Sup." Another swallow of tequila before he answered the second question. "No. Not usually," he admitted, shifting his weight in the booth to sit a bit higher. Only for the point to be moot as he slid right back down again.
Trick rolled his eyes, utterly unsurprised by the turn of events. He turned away and opened the door for Spencer, then followed the artist out into the night.
--
[Taken from live play. Edited for flow and spelling errors.]
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-7-16
Ed grabbed up a handful of bean bag chair under his thighs and scooted his seat even closer to Trick's. He leaned into his elbows toward him. "Why Trick?" he asked. Y'know, as the chosen nickname. He'd gathered it was one, given how Spence called him P, that one time. Burning curiosity spilled free, but for reasons he wasn't going to directly ask what it was short for.
Patrick felt a little too vulnerable to be mostly lying down with Ed practically leaning over him like that, so Trick mirrored the other boy yet again by sitting up and sort of leaning closer. Their legs were most certainly touching now at the knees. The thermos lid of hot chocolate was cupped between two hands, held up to hover near his mouth like it could prevent any other sort of touching that could happen from this angle.
"It's... well, it's short for Patrick. Everyone in the home kept calling me Pat and I hated that. But I was really good at doing tricks and stuff, so eventually I started telling people to call me Trick instead."
Fascinating. The word might as well have been written on Ed’s teeth. There were a couple of things Trick revealed there that he wanted to know more about. "Home, huh? Like a group home? Were you-- Are you an orphan?" His tone was full of interest and curiosity. "Abandoned? Given up? Did you know your parents at all?" He wrung his hands together. "Sorry. I lived in a home, too." He thought maybe that would make Trick more comfortable about sharing, by revealing the whys of his intense need to know. "Sort of." His eyes wandered everywhere, then tilted back to study the other boy's knees, how they were touching his own. Allowing his fingers to brush over one of Trick's was a thoughtless, irresistible gesture. "What kind of tricks and stuff?" The other part he wanted to know about thrown in haphazardly.
The only thing Trick could think of as Ed's fingers feathered a soft touch against his was about Edgar Allen Poe. Inside his chest, his heart clanged obnoxiously against his ribs, threatening to explode from his chest and give him away. Pulse thudding in his ears, he almost didn't hear the follow-up question.
First thing's first: Ed was touching his hand because he must want a drink, right? Right. Trick tried like hell to act normal--to breathe normal--and extended the cup toward him. Next, he tried to answer all of Ed's questions without sounding like he was about to have a heart attack and die.
"My parents were Rhydin transplants. From Earth, I think. I don't know much about them--they're dead. But with no other family here, I got put in the system. And..." The boy trailed off, looking past Ed to the large picture window at the front of the building. "Um. Tricks like.... like handstands and card tossing--the counting came later. I'm really good at pool. Sleight of hand stuff with coins. Stuff like that." He shrugged, gaze drifting back to Ed's face. "How'd you end up in the system?"
Ed’s smile turned sly as he took the little cup from Trick's grasp. He let his fingers slide against the other boy's a bit more slowly and intentionally in the trade-off. Gathering the cup in close to his chin, he looked blankly down and bit his lower lip in an effort to tame the mischief that was driving him. Before answering, he straightened up and chugged down what was left of the cocoa in the cup.
He gave Trick a bit of a reprieve by twisting at the waist and leaning backward to refill it from the thermos. "I'm what they call a foundling. Literally found, in a box, left on the stoop without a note or anything." He shrugged as he straightened back up, trying to pass it off as no big deal. The cup was full and he passed it back to Trick.
It was becoming a thing now to prolong their skin to skin contact with each pass of the cup. This time was no different. Except, when the passing was finished, Patrick dropped his free hand into the space between their legs and sort of plucked at a fold in Ed's jeans.
"My only family was the orphanage,” said Ed. “And unlike Peter Pan I had to grow up. Can't stay in Neverland when you're all grown up, you know?" He exhaled a mirthless laugh and patted himself down for his cigarettes.
There was a difference between them here. Where Ed had needed to act as though it wasn't a big deal, Patrick had had no trouble in sharing that his parents were dead. So often people expected him to be hiding his feelings about the matter, but the truth was... it had happened so early in life that the murders didn't have any lasting affect on him. He missed the idea of parents more than his actual flesh and blood.
"They were all I had, too,” replied Patrick. “For, like... eight years. But this one family they sent me to..." He didn't finish; he only pulled a face and faintly shook his head. "I left after that. Met Mal a year later. The rest is history." One shoulder lifted in a shrug, and then he took a drink.
Feeling the other boy pluck at his jeans had a smile tugging up one side of his mouth. Ed bowed his head to look down and crept his fingers closer until they were touching again, boldly got in Trick's way. It was like playing footsie, but with their fingers instead. He stroked the other boy's life line with his middle finger and traced the lines of his wrist. Little light touches just to make his nerves tingle, quite purposely.
"I never got sent to any families." A sad sort of confession. "I got really sick once when I was thirteen. Mysterious illness. Fever. Night sweats. Hallucinations. The doctor who looked at me couldn't figure it out. They thought I was gonna die. Then--" He withdrew his hand from Trick's to snap his fingers. "Whatever it was just poofed. Gone. And I was one hundred percent fine." He shrugged again, scratched his cheek and looked somewhat shyly away. "I was the weirdo before then. Got overlooked all the time. Mostly because I hid whenever searching families came by." He laughed a little.
Trick tried to play along in their agonizing game of feather-light touching of hands but it was hard when all he wanted was to hold still and let Ed do as he pleased. His eyes never left their hands, not until the other boy snapped his fingers, and then he looked up into his face. He kept looking, even after Ed looked away.
"I was gonna say," he told Ed, "I don't know how anyone couldn't have wanted you." So the hiding explained it all.
Hearing Trick forced him to look over his shoulder out the picture windows, which did nothing to hide his blush really. He tucked his head as he swiveled back into place of more or less facing Trick. "I heard stories from older boys about weirdos and creeps who'd adopt kids and do bad things to them. 'Especially the cute ones,' they'd say. It was dumb, but I was little and of course I believed them. I always looked at grown-ups like they were monsters. Until I hit puberty. Then I just turned rebellious." He laughed, stroking his fingers back across Trick's palm and wrist again directly before reaching for the cup of cocoa. He straightened up and chanced looking the other boy in the eyes once more, his smile crooked.
He was getting braver. Did Ed notice? Trick met the boy's eyes again, but bit his lip to keep from smiling. Baby steps, alright? This time Trick didn't give up the cup immediately. In fact, he tugged it away and upended it into his mouth, head tipping back.
Ed definitely noticed, and it made his smile grow into a wildly, utterly charmed thing. Laughing, he made a grab for Trick's wrist with one hand to hold on and make sure he could get his hands on the cup for sure. Once it was surrendered, he let go of the other boy.
Trick's curiosity had gotten the best of him. "Rebellious. Sounds like there're some stories there." It went without saying that Ed should tell him one.
"Nothing book worthy or anything. I hid less. Started smoking, openly, in front of prospective parents. Dressed as outrageously as I could. Make-up sometimes. Paint my nails." He inspected said nails in pause, laughed a breath and tilted back at a twist to refill the cup from the thermos again.
For some reason this made him a little sad for the other boy. Miraculously, Trick was able to keep it from showing--if only he could do that with the rest of what Ed made him feel!
The rebellious acts must not have fazed him, because all Trick could say was, "Do you have anyone at all? Or are you still hiding?"
There was some hesitation in his answer. Not wanting to sound too forward or desperate, Ed rolled around what came to mind immediately in his head and shoved it way, way back in his head. The sly curl to his smile returned. He remembered to continue on with the motion of refilling the cup with cocoa and sat back up, pausing to take a cautious sip.
"I'm not hiding anymore." An answer non-answer, definitely flirtatious. He looked Trick dead in the eyes and pushed the cup back into his hands.
Ed grabbed up a handful of bean bag chair under his thighs and scooted his seat even closer to Trick's. He leaned into his elbows toward him. "Why Trick?" he asked. Y'know, as the chosen nickname. He'd gathered it was one, given how Spence called him P, that one time. Burning curiosity spilled free, but for reasons he wasn't going to directly ask what it was short for.
Patrick felt a little too vulnerable to be mostly lying down with Ed practically leaning over him like that, so Trick mirrored the other boy yet again by sitting up and sort of leaning closer. Their legs were most certainly touching now at the knees. The thermos lid of hot chocolate was cupped between two hands, held up to hover near his mouth like it could prevent any other sort of touching that could happen from this angle.
"It's... well, it's short for Patrick. Everyone in the home kept calling me Pat and I hated that. But I was really good at doing tricks and stuff, so eventually I started telling people to call me Trick instead."
Fascinating. The word might as well have been written on Ed’s teeth. There were a couple of things Trick revealed there that he wanted to know more about. "Home, huh? Like a group home? Were you-- Are you an orphan?" His tone was full of interest and curiosity. "Abandoned? Given up? Did you know your parents at all?" He wrung his hands together. "Sorry. I lived in a home, too." He thought maybe that would make Trick more comfortable about sharing, by revealing the whys of his intense need to know. "Sort of." His eyes wandered everywhere, then tilted back to study the other boy's knees, how they were touching his own. Allowing his fingers to brush over one of Trick's was a thoughtless, irresistible gesture. "What kind of tricks and stuff?" The other part he wanted to know about thrown in haphazardly.
The only thing Trick could think of as Ed's fingers feathered a soft touch against his was about Edgar Allen Poe. Inside his chest, his heart clanged obnoxiously against his ribs, threatening to explode from his chest and give him away. Pulse thudding in his ears, he almost didn't hear the follow-up question.
First thing's first: Ed was touching his hand because he must want a drink, right? Right. Trick tried like hell to act normal--to breathe normal--and extended the cup toward him. Next, he tried to answer all of Ed's questions without sounding like he was about to have a heart attack and die.
"My parents were Rhydin transplants. From Earth, I think. I don't know much about them--they're dead. But with no other family here, I got put in the system. And..." The boy trailed off, looking past Ed to the large picture window at the front of the building. "Um. Tricks like.... like handstands and card tossing--the counting came later. I'm really good at pool. Sleight of hand stuff with coins. Stuff like that." He shrugged, gaze drifting back to Ed's face. "How'd you end up in the system?"
Ed’s smile turned sly as he took the little cup from Trick's grasp. He let his fingers slide against the other boy's a bit more slowly and intentionally in the trade-off. Gathering the cup in close to his chin, he looked blankly down and bit his lower lip in an effort to tame the mischief that was driving him. Before answering, he straightened up and chugged down what was left of the cocoa in the cup.
He gave Trick a bit of a reprieve by twisting at the waist and leaning backward to refill it from the thermos. "I'm what they call a foundling. Literally found, in a box, left on the stoop without a note or anything." He shrugged as he straightened back up, trying to pass it off as no big deal. The cup was full and he passed it back to Trick.
It was becoming a thing now to prolong their skin to skin contact with each pass of the cup. This time was no different. Except, when the passing was finished, Patrick dropped his free hand into the space between their legs and sort of plucked at a fold in Ed's jeans.
"My only family was the orphanage,” said Ed. “And unlike Peter Pan I had to grow up. Can't stay in Neverland when you're all grown up, you know?" He exhaled a mirthless laugh and patted himself down for his cigarettes.
There was a difference between them here. Where Ed had needed to act as though it wasn't a big deal, Patrick had had no trouble in sharing that his parents were dead. So often people expected him to be hiding his feelings about the matter, but the truth was... it had happened so early in life that the murders didn't have any lasting affect on him. He missed the idea of parents more than his actual flesh and blood.
"They were all I had, too,” replied Patrick. “For, like... eight years. But this one family they sent me to..." He didn't finish; he only pulled a face and faintly shook his head. "I left after that. Met Mal a year later. The rest is history." One shoulder lifted in a shrug, and then he took a drink.
Feeling the other boy pluck at his jeans had a smile tugging up one side of his mouth. Ed bowed his head to look down and crept his fingers closer until they were touching again, boldly got in Trick's way. It was like playing footsie, but with their fingers instead. He stroked the other boy's life line with his middle finger and traced the lines of his wrist. Little light touches just to make his nerves tingle, quite purposely.
"I never got sent to any families." A sad sort of confession. "I got really sick once when I was thirteen. Mysterious illness. Fever. Night sweats. Hallucinations. The doctor who looked at me couldn't figure it out. They thought I was gonna die. Then--" He withdrew his hand from Trick's to snap his fingers. "Whatever it was just poofed. Gone. And I was one hundred percent fine." He shrugged again, scratched his cheek and looked somewhat shyly away. "I was the weirdo before then. Got overlooked all the time. Mostly because I hid whenever searching families came by." He laughed a little.
Trick tried to play along in their agonizing game of feather-light touching of hands but it was hard when all he wanted was to hold still and let Ed do as he pleased. His eyes never left their hands, not until the other boy snapped his fingers, and then he looked up into his face. He kept looking, even after Ed looked away.
"I was gonna say," he told Ed, "I don't know how anyone couldn't have wanted you." So the hiding explained it all.
Hearing Trick forced him to look over his shoulder out the picture windows, which did nothing to hide his blush really. He tucked his head as he swiveled back into place of more or less facing Trick. "I heard stories from older boys about weirdos and creeps who'd adopt kids and do bad things to them. 'Especially the cute ones,' they'd say. It was dumb, but I was little and of course I believed them. I always looked at grown-ups like they were monsters. Until I hit puberty. Then I just turned rebellious." He laughed, stroking his fingers back across Trick's palm and wrist again directly before reaching for the cup of cocoa. He straightened up and chanced looking the other boy in the eyes once more, his smile crooked.
He was getting braver. Did Ed notice? Trick met the boy's eyes again, but bit his lip to keep from smiling. Baby steps, alright? This time Trick didn't give up the cup immediately. In fact, he tugged it away and upended it into his mouth, head tipping back.
Ed definitely noticed, and it made his smile grow into a wildly, utterly charmed thing. Laughing, he made a grab for Trick's wrist with one hand to hold on and make sure he could get his hands on the cup for sure. Once it was surrendered, he let go of the other boy.
Trick's curiosity had gotten the best of him. "Rebellious. Sounds like there're some stories there." It went without saying that Ed should tell him one.
"Nothing book worthy or anything. I hid less. Started smoking, openly, in front of prospective parents. Dressed as outrageously as I could. Make-up sometimes. Paint my nails." He inspected said nails in pause, laughed a breath and tilted back at a twist to refill the cup from the thermos again.
For some reason this made him a little sad for the other boy. Miraculously, Trick was able to keep it from showing--if only he could do that with the rest of what Ed made him feel!
The rebellious acts must not have fazed him, because all Trick could say was, "Do you have anyone at all? Or are you still hiding?"
There was some hesitation in his answer. Not wanting to sound too forward or desperate, Ed rolled around what came to mind immediately in his head and shoved it way, way back in his head. The sly curl to his smile returned. He remembered to continue on with the motion of refilling the cup with cocoa and sat back up, pausing to take a cautious sip.
"I'm not hiding anymore." An answer non-answer, definitely flirtatious. He looked Trick dead in the eyes and pushed the cup back into his hands.
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-8-16
“I’m pretty sure yesterday was the best day of my life. Which, I guess… says something.” Patrick chuckled at his own expense, took a sip of the cocoa, and lifted the arm the TRASH girls had signed the night before. They’d actually gotten to meet, talk to, and share pizza with famous band members! Misery had even scrawled her phone number across his arm. “I don’t think too many people can say the first number they got was from someone famous.”
Oozing into a deeper slouch beside Trick, Ed set the thermos full of cocoa he’d brought with him to share on the floor by the foot of the couch. Once it was settled, he squirmed in closer to Trick’s side so he could have a better look at the indicated arm. Since yesterday’s light and testing touches had not earned him a slug in the face, he felt pretty positive that tugging Trick’s elbow down to rest on his chest wouldn’t be a problem either. He shifted over super close, so that his arm was pressed against the other boy’s side.
“I’ve got an idea for this. A way of keeping it without having to let your arm get all gross and stinky.” He cradled Trick’s wrist in the palm of one hand and tapped the air just a hair’s breadth shy of touching the signatures with the finger of his other hand.
“Oh?” Trick asked a little breathlessly.
“It’d require precision work, and the right materials. We’d neeeeeeeeeed some powder like--” He eyed the fireplace. “Soot would work actually.” Then he looked around Trick’s living room. “But clear tape. Like packing tape. You got any of that laying around where you work?” He looked aside at Trick’s face and pulled the boy’s arm down to rest across the divide between their legs.
Patrick kept the trusty thermos lid/cup propped against his lips the whole time. Frankly, he didn’t trust himself not to make an absolute idiot out of himself. He both hated and loved Icer for interrupting yesterday--he’d been about to kiss the other boy when she dropped a plate of sandwiches practically in their laps. “Hmm. Probably.” Another sip, then settling the edge of the cup against his lips once more. “I can find some regardless. I was gonna ask Mal if she could write a spell that would take it off my arm and put it on something else, but knowing her, I’d probably lose more than the ink.” He snickered softly, peeking aside at Ed’s face. Finally, he offered the cup to share.
He reached up between Trick’s arm and ribs to take the cup and passed it over to his other hand with a smile. The between arm he let fall to rest in a position that hook-caged the other boy’s arm in place. Before taking a drink, he looked down at the ink on Trick’s arm, giving it further consideration and study. “And some paper or something to stick it to after we get the imprint. A frame to put it in.” He was making a grocery list in his head and nodding. Once he stopped bobbing his head, he took his drink.
“Thanks.” For offering to help preserve the signatures, of course.
Patrick squirmed around; the nearness was driving him senseless and the drive to do more than simply sit there was making his skin crawl. Being around this boy turned him into someone with which he wasn’t familiar. He sat up a bit so he could get his legs tucked under him criss-cross style. He didn’t pull his arm out from where Ed had it caged, but he did lean more heavily against his shoulder.
--
“You really do have a great smile, you know. I like it. When you smile.”
Hearing Ed talk about his smile was a thousand times nicer than when Cici tried to compliment him. Perhaps it was all about delivery. When the woman encouraged him to smile, Trick hadn’t wanted to do so in the least. But this… this made it impossible to keep from smiling shyly. The hand resting between them turned so he could scrape his finger along the side of Ed’s hand.
“You kind of make it hard not to,” Patrick confessed. The response didn’t exactly make sense, but he’d gone far out on a limb to even force the words out of his mouth, so there was no hope of him finding the courage to clarify. Not now.
That bold little scrape of finger somehow plastered an even bigger smile on Ed’s mouth. Rather suddenly he bent forward and sideways, just so he could put the thermos cup on the floor too. Then he flopped back into his nice and cozy tucked in against Trick’s side position. Now that he had both hands free, he encased the other boy’s one between his two.
“I like that I can make you smile.”
“I’m pretty sure yesterday was the best day of my life. Which, I guess… says something.” Patrick chuckled at his own expense, took a sip of the cocoa, and lifted the arm the TRASH girls had signed the night before. They’d actually gotten to meet, talk to, and share pizza with famous band members! Misery had even scrawled her phone number across his arm. “I don’t think too many people can say the first number they got was from someone famous.”
Oozing into a deeper slouch beside Trick, Ed set the thermos full of cocoa he’d brought with him to share on the floor by the foot of the couch. Once it was settled, he squirmed in closer to Trick’s side so he could have a better look at the indicated arm. Since yesterday’s light and testing touches had not earned him a slug in the face, he felt pretty positive that tugging Trick’s elbow down to rest on his chest wouldn’t be a problem either. He shifted over super close, so that his arm was pressed against the other boy’s side.
“I’ve got an idea for this. A way of keeping it without having to let your arm get all gross and stinky.” He cradled Trick’s wrist in the palm of one hand and tapped the air just a hair’s breadth shy of touching the signatures with the finger of his other hand.
“Oh?” Trick asked a little breathlessly.
“It’d require precision work, and the right materials. We’d neeeeeeeeeed some powder like--” He eyed the fireplace. “Soot would work actually.” Then he looked around Trick’s living room. “But clear tape. Like packing tape. You got any of that laying around where you work?” He looked aside at Trick’s face and pulled the boy’s arm down to rest across the divide between their legs.
Patrick kept the trusty thermos lid/cup propped against his lips the whole time. Frankly, he didn’t trust himself not to make an absolute idiot out of himself. He both hated and loved Icer for interrupting yesterday--he’d been about to kiss the other boy when she dropped a plate of sandwiches practically in their laps. “Hmm. Probably.” Another sip, then settling the edge of the cup against his lips once more. “I can find some regardless. I was gonna ask Mal if she could write a spell that would take it off my arm and put it on something else, but knowing her, I’d probably lose more than the ink.” He snickered softly, peeking aside at Ed’s face. Finally, he offered the cup to share.
He reached up between Trick’s arm and ribs to take the cup and passed it over to his other hand with a smile. The between arm he let fall to rest in a position that hook-caged the other boy’s arm in place. Before taking a drink, he looked down at the ink on Trick’s arm, giving it further consideration and study. “And some paper or something to stick it to after we get the imprint. A frame to put it in.” He was making a grocery list in his head and nodding. Once he stopped bobbing his head, he took his drink.
“Thanks.” For offering to help preserve the signatures, of course.
Patrick squirmed around; the nearness was driving him senseless and the drive to do more than simply sit there was making his skin crawl. Being around this boy turned him into someone with which he wasn’t familiar. He sat up a bit so he could get his legs tucked under him criss-cross style. He didn’t pull his arm out from where Ed had it caged, but he did lean more heavily against his shoulder.
--
“You really do have a great smile, you know. I like it. When you smile.”
Hearing Ed talk about his smile was a thousand times nicer than when Cici tried to compliment him. Perhaps it was all about delivery. When the woman encouraged him to smile, Trick hadn’t wanted to do so in the least. But this… this made it impossible to keep from smiling shyly. The hand resting between them turned so he could scrape his finger along the side of Ed’s hand.
“You kind of make it hard not to,” Patrick confessed. The response didn’t exactly make sense, but he’d gone far out on a limb to even force the words out of his mouth, so there was no hope of him finding the courage to clarify. Not now.
That bold little scrape of finger somehow plastered an even bigger smile on Ed’s mouth. Rather suddenly he bent forward and sideways, just so he could put the thermos cup on the floor too. Then he flopped back into his nice and cozy tucked in against Trick’s side position. Now that he had both hands free, he encased the other boy’s one between his two.
“I like that I can make you smile.”
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-8-16
Taneth stared at Trick unblinkingly. "We have not hugged yet, Paul." Catastrophe!
Ed gasped. No hugging! A tragedy!
She pointed at Ed. See? He knew.
"Oh. Um. Okay, I can do that." The boy left his mug on the counter, and he made his way out from behind the bar to join Taneth and Ed on the other side. Arms wide, ready for pouncing.
Ed leaned slightly more toward Taneth and said hushly to her, "He hasn't hugged me yet either." Double catastrophe!
Taneth gasped shortly before climbing onto the bar to then leap from it and onto Trick!
Patrick was hugging Taneth, but his eyes were on Ed now. Challenging. He quirked a brow at the boy.
Ed swiveled on his stool to watch and broke into a fit of giggles. Now was a good time to tug off his beanie and gloves and shove them into his pockets. His cheeks were red from the lingering cold. Yeah, that's it.
Taneth stared at Trick unblinkingly. "We have not hugged yet, Paul." Catastrophe!
Ed gasped. No hugging! A tragedy!
She pointed at Ed. See? He knew.
"Oh. Um. Okay, I can do that." The boy left his mug on the counter, and he made his way out from behind the bar to join Taneth and Ed on the other side. Arms wide, ready for pouncing.
Ed leaned slightly more toward Taneth and said hushly to her, "He hasn't hugged me yet either." Double catastrophe!
Taneth gasped shortly before climbing onto the bar to then leap from it and onto Trick!
Patrick was hugging Taneth, but his eyes were on Ed now. Challenging. He quirked a brow at the boy.
Ed swiveled on his stool to watch and broke into a fit of giggles. Now was a good time to tug off his beanie and gloves and shove them into his pockets. His cheeks were red from the lingering cold. Yeah, that's it.
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-9-16
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
It actually took Trick a handful of seconds to realize Esmund had been talking to him. He glanced up from where he'd come to a stop in front of the coffee pot to stare at the guy in mild confusion.
Esmund had spoken evenly, some sort of sincere and maybe a little nervous something in his voice.
A quick glance around his immediate vicinity told Trick there was no one else the older guy could be addressing, so he shrugged and went about sliding a paper to-go cup from a plastic sleeve on a shelf.
"Sure."
First fiddling with his champagne glass for a moment with a sullen look, watching the bubbles swirl and rise lazily to the top, he then sucked in air and swung around on his stool to face Trick, yeah he'd been talking to him. Then he sighed, because speaking up for himself in earnest was always hard, always much easier than the bull***. So he rubbed his temples and then looked up at him.
"I've said and done some stupid **** around you and your friends, I was high and stupid, and I'm sorry. Not asking for anything, just wanted to say that." His ears were burning and his heart was thumping a little, but he got it out. That had been on his mind lately. "Coming back from a few really bad places, not handling it so hot. Yeah." Then he went back to sipping from the glass.
The boy gave Esmund his full attention, inscrutable and silent, but receptive. When the apology was finished, he pursed his lips and angled himself toward the coffee maker. He didn't know good coffee from bad, so he didn't bother to check it before pouring it into the cup.
"You want some advice?" Dark eyes drifted back toward Esmund. While waiting for an answer, he dumped far too much creamer and sugar into his cup.
"No, not really," he said, raising up off the stool to rinse the glass out in the sink, even though he didn't have to, it was busy work for his hands. “I'm not looking for any more trouble, I said what I wanted to, let's just leave it at that, okay?"
It probably didn't come as a shock to Esmund that Patrick didn't listen.
"I'm not giving you trouble. Next time you give an apology, just stop after the part where you admit to being an ass. Everyone's going through ****, man. But not everyone is an *******." He placed a lid on his cup, turning a quarter step toward the door, thought better of it, and lifted his face toward Esmund's again. "And don't be a jackass to Ed anymore." The boy jerked his chin down in a curt nod. That was all.
Esmund dried his hands off and turned around to watch Trick, silently amused but also somewhat appreciative of the youth's candor. Bracing himself for the moment with the heels of his hand on the edge of the bar, he then pushed off and snagged a bottle of water to fight the headache that had suddenly come ah knockin'. "Over and out," was all, the window of peace saying was over, and he sipped on the water and let his gaze wander off to the tree tops out the front windows.
Patrick blew softly into the opening of the lid to cool the liquid inside, all the while eyeing Esmund. It only lasted four or five seconds at most before the front door started calling his name. Figuratively, not literally. Moreso it was the far-away call of his bed. Don't think he couldn't still snag a couple hours of sleep with the coffee in his system! Out he went, graciously keeping the rest of his obnoxious 17-year-old know-it-all thoughts to himself.
--
[Taken from live play. Edited for flow and spelling errors.]
"Can I talk to you for a second?"
It actually took Trick a handful of seconds to realize Esmund had been talking to him. He glanced up from where he'd come to a stop in front of the coffee pot to stare at the guy in mild confusion.
Esmund had spoken evenly, some sort of sincere and maybe a little nervous something in his voice.
A quick glance around his immediate vicinity told Trick there was no one else the older guy could be addressing, so he shrugged and went about sliding a paper to-go cup from a plastic sleeve on a shelf.
"Sure."
First fiddling with his champagne glass for a moment with a sullen look, watching the bubbles swirl and rise lazily to the top, he then sucked in air and swung around on his stool to face Trick, yeah he'd been talking to him. Then he sighed, because speaking up for himself in earnest was always hard, always much easier than the bull***. So he rubbed his temples and then looked up at him.
"I've said and done some stupid **** around you and your friends, I was high and stupid, and I'm sorry. Not asking for anything, just wanted to say that." His ears were burning and his heart was thumping a little, but he got it out. That had been on his mind lately. "Coming back from a few really bad places, not handling it so hot. Yeah." Then he went back to sipping from the glass.
The boy gave Esmund his full attention, inscrutable and silent, but receptive. When the apology was finished, he pursed his lips and angled himself toward the coffee maker. He didn't know good coffee from bad, so he didn't bother to check it before pouring it into the cup.
"You want some advice?" Dark eyes drifted back toward Esmund. While waiting for an answer, he dumped far too much creamer and sugar into his cup.
"No, not really," he said, raising up off the stool to rinse the glass out in the sink, even though he didn't have to, it was busy work for his hands. “I'm not looking for any more trouble, I said what I wanted to, let's just leave it at that, okay?"
It probably didn't come as a shock to Esmund that Patrick didn't listen.
"I'm not giving you trouble. Next time you give an apology, just stop after the part where you admit to being an ass. Everyone's going through ****, man. But not everyone is an *******." He placed a lid on his cup, turning a quarter step toward the door, thought better of it, and lifted his face toward Esmund's again. "And don't be a jackass to Ed anymore." The boy jerked his chin down in a curt nod. That was all.
Esmund dried his hands off and turned around to watch Trick, silently amused but also somewhat appreciative of the youth's candor. Bracing himself for the moment with the heels of his hand on the edge of the bar, he then pushed off and snagged a bottle of water to fight the headache that had suddenly come ah knockin'. "Over and out," was all, the window of peace saying was over, and he sipped on the water and let his gaze wander off to the tree tops out the front windows.
Patrick blew softly into the opening of the lid to cool the liquid inside, all the while eyeing Esmund. It only lasted four or five seconds at most before the front door started calling his name. Figuratively, not literally. Moreso it was the far-away call of his bed. Don't think he couldn't still snag a couple hours of sleep with the coffee in his system! Out he went, graciously keeping the rest of his obnoxious 17-year-old know-it-all thoughts to himself.
--
[Taken from live play. Edited for flow and spelling errors.]
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-11-16
"It's fine. It's nothing."
Patrick caught up to Ed after leaving the inn, falling quickly into step beside him in silence. What the other boy said had gotten under his skin. He knew Ed hadn’t meant it that way, but he needed some things laid out on the table.
“Is it?” He asked, finally looking up from the ground and his feet. “Nothing, I mean. This…” So much for laying it out on the table. Trick couldn’t even get all the words out of his mouth.
While they walked, Ed had pulled on his hat and his gloves. He was blowing hot hair from his mouth across his exposed fingers while they walked. He managed to tame down his long-legged, loping stride so that he didn’t lose his company. Fumbling words had him slowing his steps even further until he just simply stopped.
Before answering, Ed had a good look around, up and down the length of the street, aside at the nearby buildings. He found a good spot at the mouth of an alley with a steaming sewer grate that looked warmer than the empty street, grabbed Trick by the sleeve of his coat, and hauled him to the side there. He turned the other boy to face him and waited for their eyes to meet, holding him by the sleeves of his coat.
“It’s not nothing. If you don’t want it to be. I really like you, Trick.” Ed paused to smile and let himself taste the flavor of the full length of the boy’s name as he said it, amending. “Patrick.” There was maybe more to say, but he was thinking it over, which left a gap for response.
Oh yes, there was so much more to say. Patrick didn’t even know where to begin. It was difficult to concentrate, what with his pulse beating so wildly he could scarcely breathe. He wanted to turn his wrists to take Ed’s hands, but couldn’t make his body work at all. So he stood there, staring stupidly at Ed, looking both pleased and terrified all at once.
“I don’t want it to be nothing. It--it doesn’t have to be something right now if this is too fast or whatever, but I just needed to know.”
Letting go of Trick’s coat sleeves, Ed’s hands slipped down to catch hold of the other boy’s hands. He tucked his fingers into Trick’s palms and gave a reassuring squeeze. He refused to break eye contact and continued to smile, though softly, encouragingly. Go on.
The steaming vent was warmer than the middle of the street, sure, but it was still freezing. And snowing, too. Patrick sort of bobbed in place, holding on to Ed’s hands tightly, protecting the ungloved tips of the other boy’s fingers from the cold.
“I’m not… I’ve never done this before,” Trick admitted.
That statement broke a nervous giggle free from Ed’s teeth. He shook his head, smiling like some maddened fool, and said, “Neither have I!” It was so absurd. The way his stomach did cartwheels made him giggle some more. Nerves, man.
“Really?” Trick’s eyes widened. The thought had never occurred to him.
“Really.” Ed confirmed with a series of nods. The other boy sighed in relief. He squeezed Trick’s hands, pulling just slightly as he shuffled in a step even closer, studying his face, particularly the other boy’s mouth. “May I--” The rest of the sentence, the thought, hung in the air. Ed rolled his lower lip between his teeth and looked down, exhaling sharply with a little shake of his head. Too soon for that!
Redirecting his train of thought, Ed looked back up and smiled as he met the other boy’s eyes. “I’d like to take you on a date. A real date. Not just a sit in a coffee shop or bar and drink cocoa hanging out thing. But… Dinner, maybe. Something dumb like a movie. Though I don’t know how I’m going to top ice skating and taking you to the top of the world on a ferris wheel.” There was a playful curl to his smile there, as if secretly he might have considered that a date too.
Patrick must have as well, because he cracked a smile and said, “A second date, you mean.” He wasn’t going to press Ed about the unfinished question. He knew what the boy had intended to ask. As much as he wanted it to happen, there was just no way he could initiate.
“Yeah.” The word was an exhale that had a laugh caught up in it. Somehow Ed’s smile grew.
Squeezing Ed’s fingers again, Trick tempted fate by shuffling a little closer. Listen, in order to stay warm, they needed to share body heat. Or something. It was a shame they had all those layers of winter clothing between them, but it was enough to make the boy’s heart skip a beat or two. “I have a feeling I’ll like dinner and something dumb like a movie just as much as skating and the ferris wheel.”
Their combined hot breath clouded the cold night air. Ed’s gaze kept darting between the other boy’s eyes and his mouth. He wanted to… Oh, he wanted to. His heart was doing backflips and rebounding off his rib cage. They were so close.
The younger boy shivered, but it wasn’t because of the cold. Not entirely, anyway. He drew in a deep breath and licked his lips because all that staring at his mouth was starting to make him self-conscious, not to mention nervous.
“I like you, too, Ed.”
"It's fine. It's nothing."
Patrick caught up to Ed after leaving the inn, falling quickly into step beside him in silence. What the other boy said had gotten under his skin. He knew Ed hadn’t meant it that way, but he needed some things laid out on the table.
“Is it?” He asked, finally looking up from the ground and his feet. “Nothing, I mean. This…” So much for laying it out on the table. Trick couldn’t even get all the words out of his mouth.
While they walked, Ed had pulled on his hat and his gloves. He was blowing hot hair from his mouth across his exposed fingers while they walked. He managed to tame down his long-legged, loping stride so that he didn’t lose his company. Fumbling words had him slowing his steps even further until he just simply stopped.
Before answering, Ed had a good look around, up and down the length of the street, aside at the nearby buildings. He found a good spot at the mouth of an alley with a steaming sewer grate that looked warmer than the empty street, grabbed Trick by the sleeve of his coat, and hauled him to the side there. He turned the other boy to face him and waited for their eyes to meet, holding him by the sleeves of his coat.
“It’s not nothing. If you don’t want it to be. I really like you, Trick.” Ed paused to smile and let himself taste the flavor of the full length of the boy’s name as he said it, amending. “Patrick.” There was maybe more to say, but he was thinking it over, which left a gap for response.
Oh yes, there was so much more to say. Patrick didn’t even know where to begin. It was difficult to concentrate, what with his pulse beating so wildly he could scarcely breathe. He wanted to turn his wrists to take Ed’s hands, but couldn’t make his body work at all. So he stood there, staring stupidly at Ed, looking both pleased and terrified all at once.
“I don’t want it to be nothing. It--it doesn’t have to be something right now if this is too fast or whatever, but I just needed to know.”
Letting go of Trick’s coat sleeves, Ed’s hands slipped down to catch hold of the other boy’s hands. He tucked his fingers into Trick’s palms and gave a reassuring squeeze. He refused to break eye contact and continued to smile, though softly, encouragingly. Go on.
The steaming vent was warmer than the middle of the street, sure, but it was still freezing. And snowing, too. Patrick sort of bobbed in place, holding on to Ed’s hands tightly, protecting the ungloved tips of the other boy’s fingers from the cold.
“I’m not… I’ve never done this before,” Trick admitted.
That statement broke a nervous giggle free from Ed’s teeth. He shook his head, smiling like some maddened fool, and said, “Neither have I!” It was so absurd. The way his stomach did cartwheels made him giggle some more. Nerves, man.
“Really?” Trick’s eyes widened. The thought had never occurred to him.
“Really.” Ed confirmed with a series of nods. The other boy sighed in relief. He squeezed Trick’s hands, pulling just slightly as he shuffled in a step even closer, studying his face, particularly the other boy’s mouth. “May I--” The rest of the sentence, the thought, hung in the air. Ed rolled his lower lip between his teeth and looked down, exhaling sharply with a little shake of his head. Too soon for that!
Redirecting his train of thought, Ed looked back up and smiled as he met the other boy’s eyes. “I’d like to take you on a date. A real date. Not just a sit in a coffee shop or bar and drink cocoa hanging out thing. But… Dinner, maybe. Something dumb like a movie. Though I don’t know how I’m going to top ice skating and taking you to the top of the world on a ferris wheel.” There was a playful curl to his smile there, as if secretly he might have considered that a date too.
Patrick must have as well, because he cracked a smile and said, “A second date, you mean.” He wasn’t going to press Ed about the unfinished question. He knew what the boy had intended to ask. As much as he wanted it to happen, there was just no way he could initiate.
“Yeah.” The word was an exhale that had a laugh caught up in it. Somehow Ed’s smile grew.
Squeezing Ed’s fingers again, Trick tempted fate by shuffling a little closer. Listen, in order to stay warm, they needed to share body heat. Or something. It was a shame they had all those layers of winter clothing between them, but it was enough to make the boy’s heart skip a beat or two. “I have a feeling I’ll like dinner and something dumb like a movie just as much as skating and the ferris wheel.”
Their combined hot breath clouded the cold night air. Ed’s gaze kept darting between the other boy’s eyes and his mouth. He wanted to… Oh, he wanted to. His heart was doing backflips and rebounding off his rib cage. They were so close.
The younger boy shivered, but it wasn’t because of the cold. Not entirely, anyway. He drew in a deep breath and licked his lips because all that staring at his mouth was starting to make him self-conscious, not to mention nervous.
“I like you, too, Ed.”
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-13-16
"Someone put a brick through my window," said the man sitting with the redhead. "The Market was full of a mob today."
"Seen 'em here and there," the redhead admitted. "Some anti-anything-not-human crap. I figured that'd all stop after the elections. Why'd your window get smashed?"
"I assume because there was a nonhuman in the shop at the time." He shrugged and looked down. "No one got hurt."
"It's so damn stupid," the redhead muttered. "RhyDin is RhyDin. It's never been a safe place. It's always been laws of the jungle. You come here and you're human, you gotta expect the danger, you gotta accept you're not gonna be sitting at the top of any totem poles hierarchy wise. It's like deciding to make a home in the middle of a pack of lions and then expecting not to get eaten. The protesters are just gonna draw attention to themselves if they start harassing the non-humans that don't cause 'em trouble. S'like painting themselves with a target and saying 'come get me, I'm an idiot' to anything with an appetite for man-flesh and a grudge."
The redhead's unleashed opinion had the other man forming a super pleased, toothy grin. A dark chuckle slipped into his single word response, "Exactamente."
Another person butted in. His growl wasn't so subtle. "Buncha bull if ya ask me. But s'politics as usual. What's tha easiest way ta get people ta support yer cause? Let a rabid lion loose in the streets. And trick them inta believin' yer tha only one who can protect them from it."
Andu Kirost blinked and shook his head. "Protests. Yeah, a bunch of silly humans blaming others for the results of their own laziness."
"It won't last," the redhead drawled, confidently. "Politics never lasts here - it's **** laughable to think anything can ever really govern."
Patrick frowned, looking over at the men gathered near the bar, but especially Andu.
"Forget it not lasting boss," said the third man. "Tha whole deal is, if yer afraid of someone else's or something else's bite, the way ya deal with it ain't policy or bureaucracy. It's ta get yerself a much more impressive, much more threatening set a teeth. Humans calling fer this ain't tha type a humans ya gotta worry about. Soon as they realize it ain't never gonna happen they're gonna tuck tail and run. S'tha more impressive set a teeth that worries me." Dark irises, almost matching their pupils, examined the glowing tip of his cigarette. "That's when **** is really gonna hit tha fan."
Beside Patrick, Spencer curled her lip at the topic of conversation being shared.
"That guy over there--the minotaur--told me and Ed that he was going to get us arrested." Trick muttered aside to Spencer. His ears were tuned in to the conversations happening at the bar now. The frowned remained in place.
She frowned, swinging her attention back to Patrick. "For what?"
"The little blonde girl. Taneth. She asked us if she needed to use money at the thrift shop. We told her 'not exactly'. Then he started saying he knows people in charge and we better watch ourselves or else." Patrick shrugged, eyeing the liquid left in his cup.
Spencer caught the tip of her thumb nail between her teeth. She did not chew, just simply held it there as her stare drifted curious to the minotaur and then the Taneth in context. "Well that's dumb."
"When they get their new gnashers, they belong. They've toughened up enough to survive the streets and it's a fair fight. Of course, if that fight ends up making the city warzone.." The redheaded man eased up off his stool, bottle still caught about the neck, movements fluid, organic. "Well it wouldn't be the first time." He was callous, no doubt about it.
"Mm," the first man agreed, nodding. He got up from his seat, too.
Andu spoke up again. "There are enough helping hands and opportunities around "this" town, that no one should go hungry. The main reasons they do are actually other humans. The yakuza and other gangs extending their reach from various Earths are the main problem for many."
The third guy shook his head. "Never seen tha human race deal with it that way. They ain't gonna come calling fer my services and find a bunch more like me. I'd be more worried about their delusions of a final solution. Once those angry protesters go underground I hope tha nons will make sure they get every cough and fever checked out."
Patrick's eyes landed on this third contributor a moment. Then he huffed quietly, forcing himself to look away and stop listening. "Hey," he focused on Spencer instead. "We should get Mal to make us some temp magic stuff. Just until things die down around here. People around here talkin' about us like we're garbage lately..."
"Whatever." It was more of a muttering beneath her breath to the idea of riots and what not. Spencer rolled her eyes back to the boy on the couch as she finished the last bit of her coffee in one tip back of her head. "Magic? You know what that costs. Don't you carry anything?"
"What's a ******* knife gonna do against a vampire, Spence'?"
--
[Taken from live play. Edited for flow and spelling errors.]
"Someone put a brick through my window," said the man sitting with the redhead. "The Market was full of a mob today."
"Seen 'em here and there," the redhead admitted. "Some anti-anything-not-human crap. I figured that'd all stop after the elections. Why'd your window get smashed?"
"I assume because there was a nonhuman in the shop at the time." He shrugged and looked down. "No one got hurt."
"It's so damn stupid," the redhead muttered. "RhyDin is RhyDin. It's never been a safe place. It's always been laws of the jungle. You come here and you're human, you gotta expect the danger, you gotta accept you're not gonna be sitting at the top of any totem poles hierarchy wise. It's like deciding to make a home in the middle of a pack of lions and then expecting not to get eaten. The protesters are just gonna draw attention to themselves if they start harassing the non-humans that don't cause 'em trouble. S'like painting themselves with a target and saying 'come get me, I'm an idiot' to anything with an appetite for man-flesh and a grudge."
The redhead's unleashed opinion had the other man forming a super pleased, toothy grin. A dark chuckle slipped into his single word response, "Exactamente."
Another person butted in. His growl wasn't so subtle. "Buncha bull if ya ask me. But s'politics as usual. What's tha easiest way ta get people ta support yer cause? Let a rabid lion loose in the streets. And trick them inta believin' yer tha only one who can protect them from it."
Andu Kirost blinked and shook his head. "Protests. Yeah, a bunch of silly humans blaming others for the results of their own laziness."
"It won't last," the redhead drawled, confidently. "Politics never lasts here - it's **** laughable to think anything can ever really govern."
Patrick frowned, looking over at the men gathered near the bar, but especially Andu.
"Forget it not lasting boss," said the third man. "Tha whole deal is, if yer afraid of someone else's or something else's bite, the way ya deal with it ain't policy or bureaucracy. It's ta get yerself a much more impressive, much more threatening set a teeth. Humans calling fer this ain't tha type a humans ya gotta worry about. Soon as they realize it ain't never gonna happen they're gonna tuck tail and run. S'tha more impressive set a teeth that worries me." Dark irises, almost matching their pupils, examined the glowing tip of his cigarette. "That's when **** is really gonna hit tha fan."
Beside Patrick, Spencer curled her lip at the topic of conversation being shared.
"That guy over there--the minotaur--told me and Ed that he was going to get us arrested." Trick muttered aside to Spencer. His ears were tuned in to the conversations happening at the bar now. The frowned remained in place.
She frowned, swinging her attention back to Patrick. "For what?"
"The little blonde girl. Taneth. She asked us if she needed to use money at the thrift shop. We told her 'not exactly'. Then he started saying he knows people in charge and we better watch ourselves or else." Patrick shrugged, eyeing the liquid left in his cup.
Spencer caught the tip of her thumb nail between her teeth. She did not chew, just simply held it there as her stare drifted curious to the minotaur and then the Taneth in context. "Well that's dumb."
"When they get their new gnashers, they belong. They've toughened up enough to survive the streets and it's a fair fight. Of course, if that fight ends up making the city warzone.." The redheaded man eased up off his stool, bottle still caught about the neck, movements fluid, organic. "Well it wouldn't be the first time." He was callous, no doubt about it.
"Mm," the first man agreed, nodding. He got up from his seat, too.
Andu spoke up again. "There are enough helping hands and opportunities around "this" town, that no one should go hungry. The main reasons they do are actually other humans. The yakuza and other gangs extending their reach from various Earths are the main problem for many."
The third guy shook his head. "Never seen tha human race deal with it that way. They ain't gonna come calling fer my services and find a bunch more like me. I'd be more worried about their delusions of a final solution. Once those angry protesters go underground I hope tha nons will make sure they get every cough and fever checked out."
Patrick's eyes landed on this third contributor a moment. Then he huffed quietly, forcing himself to look away and stop listening. "Hey," he focused on Spencer instead. "We should get Mal to make us some temp magic stuff. Just until things die down around here. People around here talkin' about us like we're garbage lately..."
"Whatever." It was more of a muttering beneath her breath to the idea of riots and what not. Spencer rolled her eyes back to the boy on the couch as she finished the last bit of her coffee in one tip back of her head. "Magic? You know what that costs. Don't you carry anything?"
"What's a ******* knife gonna do against a vampire, Spence'?"
--
[Taken from live play. Edited for flow and spelling errors.]
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-14-16
Mallory St. Martin moved into what may have been the largest bedroom in the house, a massive space on the fourth floor that gave her a fireplace and a nearly unobstructed view of two cathedrals, sticking out from a sea of gabled roofs to tower over the Old Temple district. They were gorgeous in most weather, and perfect for sitting on her bed and brooding at when her thoughts needed time to digest.
That was likely not what she was doing at this moment. A death growl rattled from her old purple boombox's speakers, and the unmistakable thud of death metal sounded through the door, which usually meant she was doing magic. She'd been mostly shut in there since Monday, casting her spells and leaving to scratch reinforcing wards around the house and for little else. Rob ran her two final papers over to the community college. Protecting the house was more important than anything outside of it.
When Mallory was busy with her spellwork, Trick tried not to interrupt. However, tonight was one night he couldn't wait for the boombox to cease its thudding. After he got home with Ed in tow, the younger boy put his things away in his room and then padded across the hall to knock on Mal's door. Never mind she couldn't hear anything over the music, it was only polite of him.
He waited a handful of seconds before trying the handle. "Mal?"
The first sign he got of her presence was pressure stopping the door handle from the other side; the other was her face suddenly meeting his through the gap, stopping six inches short. Her piercings weren't in, her dyed hair was a tousled mess, and she looked like she hadn't slept since waking up on Monday. The music blasted and screamed away behind her, but she blocked the sight of most of her room with her body.
Barely visible, over her shoulder, was a collection of tiny antlers dangling from her light fixture by a length of twine. Whatever light was in her room (probably her big ugly lamp in the corner) was filtered through a red gauze, giving everything a hellish air. She licked at her dry lips and asked, "What is it?"
The boy backed up from the door immediately, giving himself a good foot of space from her room. He couldn't help but look her over speculatively, worryingly. It was in his nature to worry after Mal's well being since she tended to neglect herself while looking after everyone else. He knew better than to say anything, though. Not yet, anyway.
He stood in the darkened hallway, tugging the cuffs of a thick knit sweater down over his hands. "Um. I was wondering if Ed could crash on the couch? Those protests are turning into riots, and they're in Old Temple tonight." There was a short pause, during which he bit his lip. "That's where he lives. We couldn't even get over there to get him clothes for tomorrow."
She seemed to process this from over a great distance, or on a several-second delay, staring at an imaginary stain just to the left of Trick's collarbone. "You've brought a houseguest," she said, finally, and pulled away from him.
"A houseguest," he repeated, nodding. He tilted a little to one side to peer through the crack in her door as she padded away. He caught a sliver of several books open on her bed, piled on a thick furl in her black duvet, next to the tattered remains of a teen fashion magazine -- possibly sliced to ribbons with the steel scissors open on top of the jagged cover.
"A naked houseguest," she called over the thump of her music.
Trick’s eyebrows crashed together when she said the word naked. "He's--no. He's not naked. He just--"
"Here," she said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. Held out to Patrick was a pair of ribbon-tied boxers she sometimes slept in, a frayed green hoodie with a giant fluorescent mushroom emblazoned on the chest, and a belt of 'Family Focus'-brand condoms, six in total.
"If you boys need any more..." Mallory looked over her shoulder at something, possibly the source of a sudden whining, hissing noise... shrugged, and looked back at him. Patrick shook his sleeves back where they belongs so he could take the proffered items. "...knock. I have plenty. Safe sex thing at RCC." She sniffed.
It wasn't until the boy’s fingers touched down on the crinkle of plastic did he realize what exactly Mallory meant by needing any more. His eyes widened and he whipped the sleeve of condoms apart from the clothing, holding them back out to her like they were diseased.
"Oh my god!" He hissed. "We don't--we're not... ****, Mal." Patrick glanced over his shoulder as if paranoid the other boy might suddenly appear and catch him with the sex things. "I haven't even kissed him yet. God."
She blinked, his outburst shaking her several degrees out of her black magic reverie. "You... haven't kissed?" as she took hold of the condoms, wrapping them around her forearm distractedly, crinkling against a pair of bright green band-aids there. "Oh. Well..." She thought for a moment. Her brain was fuzzy, swimming in the numbness of self-inflicted pain and inverted visions of the many ley lines that criss-crossed their house.
"Mallory?" His embarrassment ebbed away to make room for the resurgence of concern.
"Can you make dinner?"
Shouldering the clothes, he reached out to take the girl's hand; he didn't pull, but took a half step to one side, directing her gaze to his room at the other end of the hall. Where her room gave off a hellish glow, his was everything bright and cheerful thanks to the christmas lights that adorned the walls and ceiling.
"Mal, why don't you go take a nap on my bed? I'll handle dinner and come get you when it's ready.”
"I..." Mallory blinked at his hand, blinked too at his Christmas lights, and craned her neck to squint at her room. "I need to close the door," she said, and rather than grasp her door, made a slow vertical slice through the air with her middle finger, pointer and ring fingers curled on top of it. The hissing stopped. Then she shut the physical door and slouched away from him, treading on the hem of her sweatpants as she padded across the hall to his room.
The boy sighed quietly, turning to watch her go. He smeared a hand across his mouth, then glanced back toward Mallory's now closed bedroom door. He eyed a couple of the markings etched around the frame, shook his head, and finally headed for the stairs. She spent so much of herself in keeping them all safe; there was no way he could ask her for anything more. He and Spencer would just need to ride things out like everyone else.
The stairs creaked softly as he descended, leaving Mallory to the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of his room.
Mallory St. Martin moved into what may have been the largest bedroom in the house, a massive space on the fourth floor that gave her a fireplace and a nearly unobstructed view of two cathedrals, sticking out from a sea of gabled roofs to tower over the Old Temple district. They were gorgeous in most weather, and perfect for sitting on her bed and brooding at when her thoughts needed time to digest.
That was likely not what she was doing at this moment. A death growl rattled from her old purple boombox's speakers, and the unmistakable thud of death metal sounded through the door, which usually meant she was doing magic. She'd been mostly shut in there since Monday, casting her spells and leaving to scratch reinforcing wards around the house and for little else. Rob ran her two final papers over to the community college. Protecting the house was more important than anything outside of it.
When Mallory was busy with her spellwork, Trick tried not to interrupt. However, tonight was one night he couldn't wait for the boombox to cease its thudding. After he got home with Ed in tow, the younger boy put his things away in his room and then padded across the hall to knock on Mal's door. Never mind she couldn't hear anything over the music, it was only polite of him.
He waited a handful of seconds before trying the handle. "Mal?"
The first sign he got of her presence was pressure stopping the door handle from the other side; the other was her face suddenly meeting his through the gap, stopping six inches short. Her piercings weren't in, her dyed hair was a tousled mess, and she looked like she hadn't slept since waking up on Monday. The music blasted and screamed away behind her, but she blocked the sight of most of her room with her body.
Barely visible, over her shoulder, was a collection of tiny antlers dangling from her light fixture by a length of twine. Whatever light was in her room (probably her big ugly lamp in the corner) was filtered through a red gauze, giving everything a hellish air. She licked at her dry lips and asked, "What is it?"
The boy backed up from the door immediately, giving himself a good foot of space from her room. He couldn't help but look her over speculatively, worryingly. It was in his nature to worry after Mal's well being since she tended to neglect herself while looking after everyone else. He knew better than to say anything, though. Not yet, anyway.
He stood in the darkened hallway, tugging the cuffs of a thick knit sweater down over his hands. "Um. I was wondering if Ed could crash on the couch? Those protests are turning into riots, and they're in Old Temple tonight." There was a short pause, during which he bit his lip. "That's where he lives. We couldn't even get over there to get him clothes for tomorrow."
She seemed to process this from over a great distance, or on a several-second delay, staring at an imaginary stain just to the left of Trick's collarbone. "You've brought a houseguest," she said, finally, and pulled away from him.
"A houseguest," he repeated, nodding. He tilted a little to one side to peer through the crack in her door as she padded away. He caught a sliver of several books open on her bed, piled on a thick furl in her black duvet, next to the tattered remains of a teen fashion magazine -- possibly sliced to ribbons with the steel scissors open on top of the jagged cover.
"A naked houseguest," she called over the thump of her music.
Trick’s eyebrows crashed together when she said the word naked. "He's--no. He's not naked. He just--"
"Here," she said, suddenly appearing in the doorway. Held out to Patrick was a pair of ribbon-tied boxers she sometimes slept in, a frayed green hoodie with a giant fluorescent mushroom emblazoned on the chest, and a belt of 'Family Focus'-brand condoms, six in total.
"If you boys need any more..." Mallory looked over her shoulder at something, possibly the source of a sudden whining, hissing noise... shrugged, and looked back at him. Patrick shook his sleeves back where they belongs so he could take the proffered items. "...knock. I have plenty. Safe sex thing at RCC." She sniffed.
It wasn't until the boy’s fingers touched down on the crinkle of plastic did he realize what exactly Mallory meant by needing any more. His eyes widened and he whipped the sleeve of condoms apart from the clothing, holding them back out to her like they were diseased.
"Oh my god!" He hissed. "We don't--we're not... ****, Mal." Patrick glanced over his shoulder as if paranoid the other boy might suddenly appear and catch him with the sex things. "I haven't even kissed him yet. God."
She blinked, his outburst shaking her several degrees out of her black magic reverie. "You... haven't kissed?" as she took hold of the condoms, wrapping them around her forearm distractedly, crinkling against a pair of bright green band-aids there. "Oh. Well..." She thought for a moment. Her brain was fuzzy, swimming in the numbness of self-inflicted pain and inverted visions of the many ley lines that criss-crossed their house.
"Mallory?" His embarrassment ebbed away to make room for the resurgence of concern.
"Can you make dinner?"
Shouldering the clothes, he reached out to take the girl's hand; he didn't pull, but took a half step to one side, directing her gaze to his room at the other end of the hall. Where her room gave off a hellish glow, his was everything bright and cheerful thanks to the christmas lights that adorned the walls and ceiling.
"Mal, why don't you go take a nap on my bed? I'll handle dinner and come get you when it's ready.”
"I..." Mallory blinked at his hand, blinked too at his Christmas lights, and craned her neck to squint at her room. "I need to close the door," she said, and rather than grasp her door, made a slow vertical slice through the air with her middle finger, pointer and ring fingers curled on top of it. The hissing stopped. Then she shut the physical door and slouched away from him, treading on the hem of her sweatpants as she padded across the hall to his room.
The boy sighed quietly, turning to watch her go. He smeared a hand across his mouth, then glanced back toward Mallory's now closed bedroom door. He eyed a couple of the markings etched around the frame, shook his head, and finally headed for the stairs. She spent so much of herself in keeping them all safe; there was no way he could ask her for anything more. He and Spencer would just need to ride things out like everyone else.
The stairs creaked softly as he descended, leaving Mallory to the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of his room.
Re: Diamond in the Rough
12-14-16
Ed kept looking at the side of Trick’s face, fascinated by the way the firelight danced across his skin, made him glow. He also thought the other boy was just absolutely adorable and worthy of admiring. He slipped his hand into Trick’s and gave a squeeze.
“Thanks for letting me stay the night.”
Patrick’s smile softened from bashful to flattered. The younger boy squeezed back in response. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you came.” He fell silent for a few moments, gaze locked onto their hands and the way he brushed his thumb back and forth against the side of Ed’s hand. “It’s… nice.”
Baby steps, Ed had to tell himself. Don’t rush things. He had amazing powers of self control, because what he really wanted to do was lunge at the other boy and kiss him passionately. Fantasy upon fantasy flitted through his mind for a moment there. He snapped out of it with a shake of his head, couple of blinks, and dopey smile.
“It is,” he agreed, scootching even closer to press his side to Trick’s. He brought one knee up a bit so that it was resting on Trick’s thigh. There was no way he could, actually, get any closer, short of sprawling all over the other boy. As tempting as that was, too, Ed maintained their cozy huddle as it was.
This was the awkward moment, though. Neither of them wanted to break apart to sleep even though they needed it. Conversation was hard to come by, likely on account of being tired and refusing to admit it. They had only known each other for a couple weeks.
Tonight it was Patrick who decided to bite the bullet. The boy sucked in a deep breath and twisted at the waist so he could throw his free arm around Ed’s far shoulder. He pressed his forehead to the other boy’s temple, and was so quick about the hug that he didn’t leave Ed any time to react before he was unwinding himself and slithering away.
“I’d probably stay down here all night if I don’t go to bed right now.” His excuse for breaking up a very cozy cuddle-fest.
“Oh.” There was disappointment in that monosyllabic squeak, also surprise. Too right. Ed hadn’t had any time to react, which left him hanging in the hug department. He could have done with that lasting a little longer.
“You have to get up early,” Trick replied lamely.
“Yeah,” Ed agreed. “Yeah right. So do you.” Nodding, he looked down at the blanket on his lap and picked at either a real or imagined fuzz.
“Yeah,” Trick echoed, still lamely.
There was just enough waffling going on to kick Ed’s limbs into motion. He tossed the blanket aside and leaped to his feet. It was his turn to throw his arms around the other boy and give him a good hard squeeze. Patrick’s arms wound around him without hesitation. He took a deep breath while they hugged, pulling in as much Trick scent as he could manage. It wasn’t anything more than soap and the sea, but it was Trick, and Ed liked it. He held on tight, willing time to stand still.
During that suspended moment, Ed had to will himself to not press any further. Just a hug. One good, long, super tight goodnight hug. Nothing more, as much as he really, really wanted there to be. Nothing less. Then he took another breath, grabbed Trick by the arms, stepped back, smiled stupendously, looked him in the eyes, and said, “Goodnight, Patrick.” A firm nod, and he let him go.
If asked in that moment, Trick would have given just about anything in the world to linger there with Ed for a while longer. In fact, he was kicking himself for getting up at all. Maybe they could have fallen asleep on the couch ‘accidentally’ and never would have had to let go of one another. He couldn’t make sense of it, no matter how much he obsessed… his feelings for Ed were out of control.
Patrick’s smile was unguarded for a brief moment, the span of time in which Ed spoke his name. There was nothing left for him but to respond in kind.
“Goodnight, Edgar.” Some good and decent part of his subconscious had him backing away, ignoring the rebellious half of him that was kicking and screaming to stay. “See you in the morning.”
It was the way the other boy said his name that had his heart doing backflips and bouncing off his ribcage the way it was. Ed watched him go with a nearly ravenous intensity, sucked down a staggering breath, and smiled like a dope. He sank slowly back toward the couch, forcing himself to sit, but did not stop staring until he could no longer even see Patrick’s feet.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement and that’s what forced him to look away. Lucifer was right there on the rug, glaring at him menacingly with a swish of his tail. Ed sank sideways onto the couch, tucked into a protective ball, and pulled the blanket up over him. He held a staring contest with the cat until the beast hypnotized him to sleep.
Ed kept looking at the side of Trick’s face, fascinated by the way the firelight danced across his skin, made him glow. He also thought the other boy was just absolutely adorable and worthy of admiring. He slipped his hand into Trick’s and gave a squeeze.
“Thanks for letting me stay the night.”
Patrick’s smile softened from bashful to flattered. The younger boy squeezed back in response. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you came.” He fell silent for a few moments, gaze locked onto their hands and the way he brushed his thumb back and forth against the side of Ed’s hand. “It’s… nice.”
Baby steps, Ed had to tell himself. Don’t rush things. He had amazing powers of self control, because what he really wanted to do was lunge at the other boy and kiss him passionately. Fantasy upon fantasy flitted through his mind for a moment there. He snapped out of it with a shake of his head, couple of blinks, and dopey smile.
“It is,” he agreed, scootching even closer to press his side to Trick’s. He brought one knee up a bit so that it was resting on Trick’s thigh. There was no way he could, actually, get any closer, short of sprawling all over the other boy. As tempting as that was, too, Ed maintained their cozy huddle as it was.
This was the awkward moment, though. Neither of them wanted to break apart to sleep even though they needed it. Conversation was hard to come by, likely on account of being tired and refusing to admit it. They had only known each other for a couple weeks.
Tonight it was Patrick who decided to bite the bullet. The boy sucked in a deep breath and twisted at the waist so he could throw his free arm around Ed’s far shoulder. He pressed his forehead to the other boy’s temple, and was so quick about the hug that he didn’t leave Ed any time to react before he was unwinding himself and slithering away.
“I’d probably stay down here all night if I don’t go to bed right now.” His excuse for breaking up a very cozy cuddle-fest.
“Oh.” There was disappointment in that monosyllabic squeak, also surprise. Too right. Ed hadn’t had any time to react, which left him hanging in the hug department. He could have done with that lasting a little longer.
“You have to get up early,” Trick replied lamely.
“Yeah,” Ed agreed. “Yeah right. So do you.” Nodding, he looked down at the blanket on his lap and picked at either a real or imagined fuzz.
“Yeah,” Trick echoed, still lamely.
There was just enough waffling going on to kick Ed’s limbs into motion. He tossed the blanket aside and leaped to his feet. It was his turn to throw his arms around the other boy and give him a good hard squeeze. Patrick’s arms wound around him without hesitation. He took a deep breath while they hugged, pulling in as much Trick scent as he could manage. It wasn’t anything more than soap and the sea, but it was Trick, and Ed liked it. He held on tight, willing time to stand still.
During that suspended moment, Ed had to will himself to not press any further. Just a hug. One good, long, super tight goodnight hug. Nothing more, as much as he really, really wanted there to be. Nothing less. Then he took another breath, grabbed Trick by the arms, stepped back, smiled stupendously, looked him in the eyes, and said, “Goodnight, Patrick.” A firm nod, and he let him go.
If asked in that moment, Trick would have given just about anything in the world to linger there with Ed for a while longer. In fact, he was kicking himself for getting up at all. Maybe they could have fallen asleep on the couch ‘accidentally’ and never would have had to let go of one another. He couldn’t make sense of it, no matter how much he obsessed… his feelings for Ed were out of control.
Patrick’s smile was unguarded for a brief moment, the span of time in which Ed spoke his name. There was nothing left for him but to respond in kind.
“Goodnight, Edgar.” Some good and decent part of his subconscious had him backing away, ignoring the rebellious half of him that was kicking and screaming to stay. “See you in the morning.”
It was the way the other boy said his name that had his heart doing backflips and bouncing off his ribcage the way it was. Ed watched him go with a nearly ravenous intensity, sucked down a staggering breath, and smiled like a dope. He sank slowly back toward the couch, forcing himself to sit, but did not stop staring until he could no longer even see Patrick’s feet.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement and that’s what forced him to look away. Lucifer was right there on the rug, glaring at him menacingly with a swish of his tail. Ed sank sideways onto the couch, tucked into a protective ball, and pulled the blanket up over him. He held a staring contest with the cat until the beast hypnotized him to sleep.
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