boo.
keep precious things
blair.
It was the kind of morning where Blair was absolutely certain he wanted nothing more than to get home as quickly as possible and crash for the rest of the day. Last night was a blurโbar hopping, he could remember, and a handsy uber driverโno, wait, then there was that tall, dark, handsome stranger from the club. Suave and collected among everyone else, but secretly inexperienced within the confines of his own bedroom. That was something Blair could remember with a grin, a sense of power collected between greedy fingers as he taught the stranger what making love really meant.
But he'd smoked something he probably shouldn't have, and whatever he'd drunk before passing out had definitely not been plain water. There was a migraine crushing his temples and an ache enveloping his body with the discomfort of a wet shirt. He'd used the stranger's shower before leaving just because he couldn't bear feeling so gross for a second longer, and unfortunately the stranger had woken at the sound of running water and tried to convince him to stay longer.
Naive, Blair had called him. Cute, but not that cute. Have a nice life.
He took the subway home. Yesterday's clothes were wrinkled and looked slept in, although that clearly hadn't been the case. It had taken a full twenty minutes for Blair to track everything down in the stranger's apartment. I'll have to wear stripes more often, he mused, recalling how he'd nearly instantly caught the stranger's eye the moment he stepped foot in the club. His heeled boots had given him an extra inch or two but the other had still been taller and seemingly proud of the fact, leering over Blair, who simply flirted back and pressed against him on the dancefloor.
Ugh. Even the thought of music hurts. The harsh lights of the subway car weren't helping either. Blair slouched back and threw an arm listlessly over his eyes, a half-assed effort to relieve the pressure pounding at his skull. What if I can't get off at my stop, and I just keep going? It was a stupid thought he had almost every day, even after he got off at his stop and began the walk to his apartment. Three blocks right and two blocks straight... Heels clicked sulkily down the sidewalk, the gray light of midmorning and early April bringing with it a slight chill. He hadn't worn a jacket yesterday and was regretting it now; he just hoped that it wouldn't start raining before he got back.
It was an odd habit of his to crave anonymity, yet believe himself to be the kind of person that everyone paid attention to. He carried himself with a strange confidence, a strut that played with the flowing slack of his shirt and the cinched belt at his waist. His hair was still a little wet, clumps swinging lazily around a sharp-featured face that was washed clean of last night's makeup. Pursed lips felt unusually naked without their customary gloss, eyelashes lighter when they weren't weighted down with mascara. There was a chain dangling in a loop from his beltloop to his pocket, a sheen of silver that gave him a feeling of control.
Despite the airs that Blair was so used to putting on, his apartment was small and nearly worthless. After all, it didn't really matter where he called "home" when he spent most of his nights in the bedrooms of gullible businessmen. He had a collection of those tiny shampoo bottles that came from hotels, and he had a menagerie of stolen towels and washcloths from the same places.
A key was dug out with slender fingers that were tipped with chipped black polish, turning in a lock with a sluggishness that betrayed the intensity of last night's activities. His other hand rubbed absently against his hip as he turned the handle, and he wondered if his electric blanket still worked. He was so wrapped up in his own plans for a lazy afternoon that it took him a full ten seconds, after he'd already closed the door and locked it behind him, to notice the stranger standing in his kitchen. Soft brown eyes with lingering bloodshot traces widened, and he pressed himself back against the door, wondering for a split second if he'd accidentally wandered into the wrong apartment. But my key fit...
He was a tall stranger, and for a moment Blair's stomach lurched at the thought that it might be the same stranger from last night and earlier this morning. But this one was older, and his hair was darker, combed over with a particular edge that bordered on obsessiveness. In fact, everything about his appearance was flawless. He stared right back at Blair, although with less surprise and more like he'd been waiting. Boredom?
Blair wet his lips, silence lingering for a moment longer, before he could gather himself enough to speak. His voice was hoarse.
Really? Think he'll sympathize or something?
But he'd smoked something he probably shouldn't have, and whatever he'd drunk before passing out had definitely not been plain water. There was a migraine crushing his temples and an ache enveloping his body with the discomfort of a wet shirt. He'd used the stranger's shower before leaving just because he couldn't bear feeling so gross for a second longer, and unfortunately the stranger had woken at the sound of running water and tried to convince him to stay longer.
Naive, Blair had called him. Cute, but not that cute. Have a nice life.
He took the subway home. Yesterday's clothes were wrinkled and looked slept in, although that clearly hadn't been the case. It had taken a full twenty minutes for Blair to track everything down in the stranger's apartment. I'll have to wear stripes more often, he mused, recalling how he'd nearly instantly caught the stranger's eye the moment he stepped foot in the club. His heeled boots had given him an extra inch or two but the other had still been taller and seemingly proud of the fact, leering over Blair, who simply flirted back and pressed against him on the dancefloor.
Ugh. Even the thought of music hurts. The harsh lights of the subway car weren't helping either. Blair slouched back and threw an arm listlessly over his eyes, a half-assed effort to relieve the pressure pounding at his skull. What if I can't get off at my stop, and I just keep going? It was a stupid thought he had almost every day, even after he got off at his stop and began the walk to his apartment. Three blocks right and two blocks straight... Heels clicked sulkily down the sidewalk, the gray light of midmorning and early April bringing with it a slight chill. He hadn't worn a jacket yesterday and was regretting it now; he just hoped that it wouldn't start raining before he got back.
It was an odd habit of his to crave anonymity, yet believe himself to be the kind of person that everyone paid attention to. He carried himself with a strange confidence, a strut that played with the flowing slack of his shirt and the cinched belt at his waist. His hair was still a little wet, clumps swinging lazily around a sharp-featured face that was washed clean of last night's makeup. Pursed lips felt unusually naked without their customary gloss, eyelashes lighter when they weren't weighted down with mascara. There was a chain dangling in a loop from his beltloop to his pocket, a sheen of silver that gave him a feeling of control.
Despite the airs that Blair was so used to putting on, his apartment was small and nearly worthless. After all, it didn't really matter where he called "home" when he spent most of his nights in the bedrooms of gullible businessmen. He had a collection of those tiny shampoo bottles that came from hotels, and he had a menagerie of stolen towels and washcloths from the same places.
A key was dug out with slender fingers that were tipped with chipped black polish, turning in a lock with a sluggishness that betrayed the intensity of last night's activities. His other hand rubbed absently against his hip as he turned the handle, and he wondered if his electric blanket still worked. He was so wrapped up in his own plans for a lazy afternoon that it took him a full ten seconds, after he'd already closed the door and locked it behind him, to notice the stranger standing in his kitchen. Soft brown eyes with lingering bloodshot traces widened, and he pressed himself back against the door, wondering for a split second if he'd accidentally wandered into the wrong apartment. But my key fit...
He was a tall stranger, and for a moment Blair's stomach lurched at the thought that it might be the same stranger from last night and earlier this morning. But this one was older, and his hair was darker, combed over with a particular edge that bordered on obsessiveness. In fact, everything about his appearance was flawless. He stared right back at Blair, although with less surprise and more like he'd been waiting. Boredom?
Blair wet his lips, silence lingering for a moment longer, before he could gather himself enough to speak. His voice was hoarse.
"If you're here to rob me, you're wasting your time."
Eyes flicked past the man to the inner recesses of his apartment, then back again, confirming the fact that this was actually his apartment. That ratty blanket was still cast over the end of the couch, and the ashtray on the coffee table was full of yesterday's remains. "I've got a little cash in my wallet but not much."
He didn't move to retrieve it from his pocket. "I'd really love it if you took what you wanted and left. I'm tired."
Really? Think he'll sympathize or something?
bad to the bone
bbno$
โกcoded by uxieโก
