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“You’re not gonna wear that are you?” Rome asks evenly.
On the bed, Brian slumps his shoulders and rolls his eyes heavenward. In oversized jeans, t-shirt and Converse, he looks like a kid who’s been told that he has to do his homework before he can play.
“You go looking like that, we ain’t getting in.”
Brian mutters something that sounds like ‘yeah, fabulous’.
Rome’s been through this too many times to fuss or argue. Brian, brian, brian. He slides open the accordion doors of the closet with a quiet clack-clack-clack. Most of Brian’s clothes are in a mound on the floor. Okay, all of Brian’s clothes are in a mound on the floor. Roman sighs, kneels and starts throwing shit around. He picks up a pair of jeans that look non-Gap and asks, “These clean?”
Brian’s already swept his eyes back to this month’s Car Craft. He looks up and shrugs, “Dunno, smell ‘em.”
Rome feels a muscle work in his jaw. He throws the jeans at Brian’s head, muttering ‘*%@&? smell this! ’ Brian makes a small noise of protest when the magazine rips under the weight of the denim. Brian bats the jeans away and stays thoroughly engrossed in his article.
Rome yanks the mag out of his hand and thwaps him with it. Brian looks up at Rome blankly, then back down at his suddenly empty hands and Rome’s pissed off, but he can’t stop a little grin from streaking across his face.
By the time Brian looks up again, Rome’s got his glare firmly back in place and it’s Brian’s turn to sigh and shrug. Brian slides to the edge of the bed and hulas off his t-shirt. “Let’ s save some time. What do you want me to wear?”
Rome really wants to punch Brian or at least flick Brian’s nipple hard enough to sting, but if he does that Brian might completely rebel and refuse to go. And he needs Brian tonight, Brian will get his back better than anyone, so he restrains himself. Privately, he thinks Brian might have to go naked to get into Privé.
He roots around for the blue thing that Brian wore to Pearl, then gives it up. That won’t work. Brian would never have gotten into Pearl if they hadn’t been there with a personal invite from that psycho prick, Verone. Rome feels a vague shiver. But Pearl’s been closed for two months now and Verone’s getting his, so who cares?
Brian’s scratching his bare chest now, doing his best Ralph-Lauren-ad faraway look. Rome snorts and kicks at the pile of clothes. “Do you have anything without grease on it?”
Brian plucks at a pair of board shorts and holds them out for Rome’s approval. Rome slaps them out of his hands, snarling, “Anything without grease on it that doesn’t make you look twelve, smart ass?”
Brian rolls his eyes again, but refuses to be baited. The little smirk on his face tells Rome that Brian’s perfectly content with his sartorial status quo. Brian disappears into his miniscule bathroom, calling over his shoulder. “Keep looking.”
Rome blows out a long breath as the shower swooshes on. It’s already almost midnight. He scoops Brian’s laundry into a big pile on the bed and starts weeding through it. One pile for grease-stained, overlarge jeans and khakis. A rainbow of t-shirts, again slightly oversized. Board shorts crusted with blooms of dried salt, smelling of ocean brine. The occasional twist of crumpled underwear and sweaty socks that should really be thrown away…or better yet set on fire.
Rome catches a glance of himself in the mirror. Rome’s mirror-self is impeccably dressed while shaking his head and frowning. How did Brian get to be the wrong side of twenty-five without managing to own any clothes that fit him?
Whenever he broaches this topic with Brian, Brian always mutters something about the heat. Then he shrugs and grins in that teasing way that says clear as a bell, clothes, who needs ‘em as long as you look good naked?
Rome sets aside a pair of jeans that might work, and is weighing a plain black t-shirt against an almost-new Nitrous Express giveaway when he spots it. ‘It’ is a thin cotton shirt that actually has a collar and no nametag embroidered on it. It’s almost too good to be true.
He fishes it up out of the pile and looks at it appraisingly. It’s a good, light-weave, creamy-white linen thing with long sleeves still rolled halfway up. Rome wonders for half a second where Brian’s been hiding his style and then he catches a whiff of faint perfume. He notices that the last two buttons from the bottom are missing.
Rome grimaces wryly as the movie spools through his head. He imagines Brian picking up a woman on the beach or maybe in the finger of the bay behind the houseboat. She was probably wearing this over her bikini or tank dress. And she’d come home with Brian and been too blissed out the next morning to remember all her clothes.
Rome imagines Brian kissing her hungrily while tugging at her buttons. Brian sometimes (often) gets impatient with clothes. And then he’ll apologize later, smile at you to make you forgive him. Brian rips at clothes without any regard for their designer status or sentimental value.
Roman chews the side of his lip. Not that he (ahem) knows this from personal experience or anything. He’s just heard that that’s how it is.
Rome sifts through the rest of the junk on the floor, catching a belt on the toe of his shoe. He toes it toward him and examines it. Potential, potential. The belt is two inches wide, battered old leather thing that looks old enough to have done time in ‘Nam. Authentic ‘70s vintage, good, silvery buckle. Rome throws it down beside the other stuff and hey, this just might work. Now he just needs some shoes. Or, well. Brian needs shoes.
He’s attempting to shove the smelly pile back into the tiny closet with the side of his foot when he almost trips on some leather lace-ups. He sweeps them up and examines them critically. Those faux-bowling-shoe thingies, man, that look is totally played. But, hey. They’re leather. They’re not Chucks. Rome reckons he should just count his blessings. He examines his own look in the mirror. He’s looking way too good to show up with some scruffy white boy.
Brian’s out of the shower now, looking damply resigned to his fate. Rivulets of water gleam on his neck. Rome frowns impatiently and dips his head at the clothes on the bed. Brian gives his wet head a half-hearted rub and asks, “We on the list for this place?”
Rome frowns, “That’s what she said.”
“What’s the cover…” Brian disappears under the towel for a second, his voice comes out muffled. “…on the off chance that we’re not?”
Rome rolls his lower lip under his teeth. “20 bucks,” he says reluctantly.
Brian emerges from the towel with his eyebrows raised. “Ouch.”
“God damn it, cuz, we’re on the list,” Rome almost stomps his foot with frustration. “This lady digzzzzz me. Just strap on now, ‘cause I wanna find her before it gets crowded.”
“All right, all right,” Brian sighs, so put upon like he had, like, a zillion other cool things to do that he had put on hold for Roman. Rome snorts to himself. Poseur.
Brian hooks his long legs into his jeans and jerks them on without commenting on the lack of undergarment. He jabs his feet into the shoes and laces them up with a double knot. He shimmies into the shirt, loops the belt indifferently and turns to Rome with a not-quite flourish.
“I’m ready, let’s go.”
Rome shakes his head long-sufferingly. “Jesus wept, do I have to do everything around here?”
Brian quirks an eyebrow at him, “What?”
“You are all wrong,” Roman grabs Brian’s waistband and pulls the belt out two holes. He tugs at the denim gently until Brian’s jeans rest on the sharp bones of his pelvis. He untucks Brian’s shirt and re-rolls the sleeves and unbuttons one more button at the collar.
The shirt…the shirt is perfect. Made to be oversized on a woman, it clings to Brian’s shoulders and highlights the taut plane of his stomach. The almost-white of it makes Brian’s tan glow. Roman pulls the collar looser and tousles Brian’s hair until it looks artistically mussed.
Brian lets him do all this with a bemused expression. He flinches a little when Rome’s thumb brushes his ticklish parts. The notches at the waist show tiny flashes of skin and leather belt. The jeans make his legs look even longer and the shirt shows just a little too much of his clavicle.
It’s a good look on Brian.
They both examine Rome’s handiwork in the mirror. Rome relaxes a little. He won’t have to go it alone. He knocks Brian on the shoulder gently.
“Well, that’ll get you in, at least. So you think you can work it?”
“I look…slutty,” Brian looks like he’s trying not to smirk.
Rome rolls his eyes heavenward. “Yeah, well, they got laws about truth in advertising, y’know?”
Brian tilts his chin down, “Hey, what are you trying to say?”
Roman raises one eyebrow at Brian’s almost-leer. “We don’t have time for this.”
Mirror-Brian looks at mirror-Rome with intent. “I think we should match, you know?”
Before Rome can even scoff, Brian reaches for him and snaps two buttons off his shirt with an expert jerk. Gaping down to where his designer shirt now gapes open to the middle of his sternum, Rome can’t form coherent thoughts outside of ‘Cocoa Beach’, ‘$110’ and ‘kill, kill, kill’!
“I am gonna kill you, white boy,” Rome’s jaw aches with the sudden clench. “You are going down.”
“Well which is it?” Brian teases, eluding Rome’s swing with a quick step backwards. “Are you gonna kill me or am I going down?”
Rome throws himself at Brian in a football tackle. His shoulder cannons into Brian’s chest and Brian’s not fast enough to duck that one. Brian teeters on one foot and then he’s down, half on and half off his bed. Roman rears back for another swing.
Brian rolls away before Rome can land another blow and he catches Rome’s wrist on the downstroke. Rome grits his teeth. He can hit harder than Brian but Brian’s got a longer reach and with those long fingers, when he grabs you, sometimes it’s hard to get him to let go.
Brian’s laughing still, snickering at Rome’s efforts to pry his hand free. Rome punches ineffectually at his shoulder and upper arm with his free hand. He pulls back as far as he can, but that’s a dangerous game. Brian might let go as soon as Rome gets off balance. Rome manages to pull himself back upright by a strenuous effort to get loose. Brian grabs for him and Rome tells himself that it’s only the desire not to have his shirt ripped any more that keeps him still. Brian’s got him, but good.
He can feel Brian’s breath on his chest. Brian already looks like he’s had an hour of foreplay, crouched like that on the edge of the bed…all tousled and flushed.
“C’mon now.” Brian murmurs…it’s almost a purr, but for the hint of sarcasm. “You’re wound up way too tight. You need to loosen up before you start trying to rock your hot mamacita.”
Brian’s fingers trace the hard curve of his pectoral.
“We don’t have…” Rome’s protest is lost when Brian bites him in the hard curve that still tingles from Brian’s stroking. Not hard, not hard enough to leave a mark…but solid enough to make the muscles in his back twinge and shiver.
When Rome pulls back, Brian hooks a hard fist over Rome’s waistband and saws it back and forth a little. Rome’s pants tighten and drag over the skin of his dick and it shouldn’t feel hot, but it does.
Brian’s eyes are glittering at him; Brian’s lips are tight in a not-quite smile. Brian tilts his chin down and wrinkles his nose a little, looking so devilish, Rome practically expects to see horns sticking out of his curly hair.
Rome wants to shake his head, wants to pull away, but Brian’s too good at this. The way Brian acts, you’d think he never heard the word no.
Brian touches his tongue to the bottom edge of his teeth and then licks the thumb of his free hand and runs it under Rome’s shirt along Rome’s collarbone. Brian leans in and blows on the stripe of wet, drops his hand to circle his thumb around Rome’s belly button.
Rome feels his chest swell, his shoulders tighten, he gets hard all over.
“Don’t mess me up,” Rome warns grudgingly, hand moving to his buttons. He gives Brian a little shove, Brian smirks and sort of…slides…his tongue down Rome’s washboard stomach.
Brian’s got Rome’s fly half-open when he pauses to look up, “Define ‘messed up’.”
“I’m serious…” Rome starts but can’t quite finish when Brian pulls him into his mouth.
Rome has an insult prepped and ready, but he loses it when Brian draws his tongue the length of Rome’s cock. That heat, that fast is so unexpected that Rome almost recoils, jerks his hips back.
Brian tilts his head slightly, one hand tightens not quite painfully around Rome’s cock, the other cups a starfish of fingers over Rome’s hip, fingernails digging into his ass. Rome eases into Brian’s mouth like it was a hot bath. Brian looks up at him and his eyes gleam. The slick wet spread over his lips shines.
Rome finds himself panting through tight lips and not daring to look down. Maybe Brian can’t dress himself, but he can sure do this. Rome’s tempted to grab his hair but that would spoil the view.
Brian pulls his anchoring hand away and impatiently jerks at Rome’s pants to give his mouth more room to roam or something. Rome winces and pulls them down a few inches himself, holding his knees taut so they don’t bunch at his ankles. This is Brian all over. Better with skin than clothes.
He can feel Brian’s fingers digging in hard to the hard muscle in his thigh, Brian’s thumb tugging against the tightening skin of Rome’s balls. Brian’s mouth is so damn hot. Rome curves a hand around Brian’s jaw and Brian’s mouth is pretty busy but he’s still got a corner of lip to twitch upward.
It’s not fair that Brian can do this; that Brian can manipulate him into doing all these things that he doesn’t do. Rome wonders sometimes if there’s anything that Brian won’t do, but Rome’s also halfway convinced that attempting to find out might get him killed. Rome wishes sometimes that he could figure out just what about Brian makes Rome do all this crazy shit.
Brian’s just like that.
Rome dares a look down. Where Brian’s hand is spread over his hip, the contrast is so absolute that it looks see-through, like a hand shape has been cut out of his skin. Brian tilts his head up, his eyes on Rome’s face while his tongue works devilish magic. Rome tries not to close his eyes as he comes, but it’s hard. Brian tightens down over him, pulls him in tight and his throat works convulsively. Rome can touch Brian’s hair then, for a second. His own mouth is almost dry.
Rome’s fighting the last tremors in his calves when he notices Brian is standing again; feels Brian’s breath in his ear. Brian bites Rome under the jaw again and guides his hand down to Brian’s button fly. Rome pulls himself away with an effort.
“Uh-uh. You can wait for it. I just spent all that time getting you dressed, you think I’m gonna let it go to waste?” Rome can tease a little now. “’Sides, you look good when you’ve got an edge on you.”
He and Brian are gonna hit this club with sex appeal like a loaded gun. Men will duck, women will scream. The face Brian makes tells Roman he’s gonna be paying for the lack of reciprocation later. Paying hard. Rome grins. It’s worth it.
“We’re gonna be late.”
Rome turns on his heel and is on the gangplank before he hears Brian move to follow him. They’d already decided that the Nissan would make the best ‘statement’…plus Rome kind of likes Brian chauffeuring him around.
“We look good, huh?” Brian asks coyly, gently pulling through second gear. He cuts his eyes sideways at Roman. Rome cuts his eyes back. Brian’s eyes glitter in the streetlight. Rome knows that Brian knows exactly what he looks like, but every once in a while, he’d rather hear it from Rome.
“We are g-ed up from the feet up, brah” Rome sighs. “Let’s do this.”