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Lucas doesn't remember when it started. This back and forth tension between him and one infuriating Eliott Demaury , but he thinks it was probably in 4th grade when Lucas, not knowing why, pushed Eliott's girlfriend, who he'd been dating for only 3 hours at the time, into a puddle of mud during recess.
The image of the girl with blonde pigtails pursing her lips to get a tap kiss from Eliott behind the cubbies while a bunch of their classmates watched on in awe and surprise was better replaced with her crying face, he thought.
He was right. And in retaliation, Eliott shook him until his brain rattled, like a knight in shining armour, but truthfully dressed in a t shirt that donned his favorite superhero (spiderman), and ill fitting jean shorts, Eliott took his first swing and licked the side of Lucas's face with his knuckles. The move caused both boys to end up in the principal's office. A defense on both their tongues.
"He pushed Agatha, I had to defend my love!"
"Eliott kissed Agatha behind the cubbies! She's ugly!"
"You're ugly!"
"So what, you didn't kiss me?" Lucas had screamed back, the office chair dwarfing his small frame, cheek and something else throbbing and aching and eyes more than a little wet as he glared at Eliott who used to sit in his room with his blinds up doing his math homework on his bed and smiling at Lucas from across the way. Until his attention was stolen in the form of daydreams about a sweet little girl who played teacher's pet like it was her calling in life.
Eliott startled for a second like he wasn’t expecting that retort, but he recovers quickly and like a vicious 4th grader with infinite wisdom, he looks down his aquiline nose at Lucas.
"You can't push someone because you're jealous that they are prettier than you." And Eliott said this like it was a life lesson he was imparting on a friend, like he had already forgiven Lucas for such an indiscretion.
It hurt worse than the punch to his face so with a battle cry that neither parents nor principal was expecting Lucas launched himself at his once neighborly neighbor that he watched with too much adoration.
Lucas latched on and like he tugged at Eliott's hair, relishing in the way Eliott called out in frustration, Lucas also tugged at those odd phantom feelings that were inside him and threw it to the floor.
The blinds stayed shut. Forever it seemed. Such animosity between them festered and grew and spread through the student body like a plague. Lucas with his friends backing him as they moved through the grades. Eliott and his pack turned their noses up at the enemy. It was ridiculous. Only ever ending when classmates moved, when they disappeared throughout the years. But those that stayed felt the tension like it was yesterday.
Middle school. High school. The only difference was in the intensity of their arguments, their fights, their pranks, one of which left the locker room flooded and a threat of expulsion for Lucas, star of the cross country team and president of the school newspaper and Eliott, star quarterback of the football team and head of the yearbook club.
"I don't care how your asses are riding on the scholarships that you will no doubt get for your talents, but one more. Just one more mishap like that and I swear you two will have your things packed before the ink dries on your papers, do you understand?"
They echoed a lackluster, "yes sir" and then filed out of the office without so much as a glance in each others direction, despite walking towards the parking lot together.
And of course Lucas, who didn't have a car, looked up at the heady storm clouds with trepidation then over at the red camaro sitting in the parking lot. He caught Eliott with his mouth open and eyes unsure, like he wanted to offer a ride so Lucas wouldn't be caught in a storm, but he waited a moment too long, and the decision was a done deal. Lucas pulled up his wind breaker, a quick glance at his shoes to ensure laces were tied, he was off. The 5 miles from home was nothing in the grand scheme of things.
The red car that raced passed him in the first 2 minutes made his feet hit the ground a little harder. Like there was more weight suddenly.
It was the same weight he felt when he was asked to take Eliott's place in taking photos for prom. Demaury being too busy being prom king next to his date, a blonde boy named Isak, with cute blue eyes and a dimpled smile. Maybe he had been a little petty when he took up more than ten minutes of their time, stating the pics just didn't come out well so another, another, another.
"Gotta make sure I capture the beauty."
“Nope that one won’t do. I think there is a booger in your nose.”
“Shit, you both blinked.”
Eliott glared, unimpressed. Maybe Lucas's hands shook and he didn't know why.
But he let them go for the slow dance and stood in the corner toying with the camera, looking at the photos of the two. He flirted with the idea of accidentally erasing it all.
But they looked too perfect and pretty. Lucas shook that thought away much the same way he shook away the fact that they both ended up signing contracts to the same university. But those years passed by quickly and the tension waned.
The interactions were nothing more than silent stares so few and far between that occasional months into his school year, Lucas would be struck with the memory of a crying girl with blonde pigtails and he would smile secretly to himself.
They both made it through college on similar scholarships but Lucas knew Eliott would always go into photography, he knew beauty like he knew the air he breathed. And Eliott definitely knew how to capture it. Lucas had been more behind the scenes, the editing, compositions; all that sort. Writing the articles on the people who caught the attention of the public. And an up and coming star like Eliott in the photography world, well, to say he was surprised when he found himself in Demaury's orbit again, would be a lie.
Lie.
"Oh thank god you're here."
Lucas straightens out his little name tag that reads in comic sans, visitor , nose scrunching in anger when it turns lopsided again.
Futile.
He looks up at Imane who, in all the years that he's known her, looks beyond frazzled.
"Hey, what's up?" Lucas tries to be casual but he feels nothing of the sort because when Imane is taken out of her comfort zone, then shit had already hit the fan and Lucas honestly did not want to be there for that. Nope.
"I need help. Serious help."
Her caramel orbs, cute little brown eyes that have on more than one occasion glared hatred in his direction when things did not go her way during a group assignment in biology, their first year of uni, is near shining with trust and a little bit of manipulation.
Imane knows his weakness.
"Our model caught something, he was supposed to be here half an hour ago for make-up but it was a last minute cancellation— the photographer is about to walk and if walks I'm screwed, Lu. Up and coming in the industry, he's in high demand. And he's super sweet but he's a busy man."
She grabs Lucas by the front of his shirt and shakes him.
"I can not allow him to walk — is this clear Lucas?"
He huffs a laugh at her dramatics.
"Okay, gotcha, fancy big shot photographer can't walk. What do you need me for— oh and before I do anything, I need a promise I will have an opportunity to interview your hotshot photographer."
She nods.
"You're an exact fit for the model who called out and image wise—I did the measurements myself Lucas, and all I need is for you to let me throw you into my clothing, you hold a frame, and get some pics taken by the Eliott Demaury.
Lucas stops breathing for a minute as Imane drags him from the lobby to one of the elevators, all shiny and chrome.
"And you can just ask him for an interview. He's good like that, like I said, very sweet, and turns down very few requests."
She hits the top floor and Lucas suddenly thinks of just how small the elevator feels with the both of them there, riding it up and up.
"Once we arrive. We'll get you into makeup. The model had blonde hair but you'll be a great fit, I promise, Lu. And I owe you, I really do."
Lucas swallows his nerves, feels a phantom pressure of tiny knuckles and the brush of it against his cheeks as his skin swelled and purpled.
You can't push someone because you're jealous that they are prettier than you.
No you couldn't.
"'Mane, I'm not a model."
"Lucas, you sell yourself short. You always have." She shoots him a concerned look that he pretends he doesn't see.
"He's not going to want to photograph me."
And that's just the truth. Lucas knows Eliott. Even if they haven't had a civil conversation since they were nine.
"Shush, Lucas you're just his type."
He snorts. Because that is the funniest thing he's heard in the entirety of his living, breathing life. All twenty seven years of it. Even funnier when Yann proposed to him during his own wedding with his fuming bride standing to his left. The exasperation was real.
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
Lucas lets the whisper sit between them just as the elevator dings and Imane is pulling him out by the wrist. She works miracles as he remains docile.
Takes away his visitors pass to.which Lucas pouts at but a quick swat from her hand has him focusing as hands and brushes invade his space. His hair is wild yet tamed.
And his clothing isn't uncomfortable, thank god for that.
At some points, through the gaps of bodies, through the reflection of mirrors, Lucas catches a glimpse of Eliott and the three sides inside him go to war. There is a burning hatred that he doesn't know how to label or control crashing into this ugly indifference that sways dangerously close to an unknown feeling. An unknown feeling that he could have sworn his sticky little nine year old fingers plucked out of himself that day in the principal's office.
But too busy looking down at his camera, Eliott doesn't catch sight of Lucas once.
He mulls over the benefit of getting the awkward meeting over and done with before the inevitable rejection as he steps in front of the camera or just letting it play out so he can tell Imane, I told you so, over a bottle of wine later that evening.
He doesn't get a choice. And instead has to wait. But Lucas thinks about how it was always odd how much their paths crossed after the four years at uni and though they hadn't actively attempted to speak with each other or continue their long standing feud, things remained just as intense.
"I'm so sorry, they canceled at the last minute but we do have a replacement— and Lu should be done in the next five."
There's laughter behind him. A familiar distant one that was never directed at him in recent years.
"It's fine. Normally I wouldn't mind waiting but I had another appointment after this one—but I called them and they understood."
Lucas hears Eliott reassure his friend with a foreign kindness. Soft tones, sweetness dripping. Had they remained friends, developed beyond that little fight in a completely different direction, would Eliott have ever spoken to him in such tongues.
He tries to shake away his thoughts but fingers gripping his chin tighten like they can read his thoughts.
"Pretty boy, stay still or I will skin you."
The threat is laced with humor. Accompanied by a soft smile, green eyes, and blonde hair. One more dust of his face and his artist looks at him with satisfaction.
"There. All set."
"Gabe—"
"Yes, princess, done."
Lucas is shoved unceremoniously in Imane's direction and she, bless her heart looks ready to pass out.
"Gabe, I owe you."
Gabe waves her away. "Just get me the negatives." He winks at Lucas and the move makes him feel flushed. Scrutinized in the best ways.
He moves towards that white screen, a stool, some props and then steadys his nerves, calms his pulse.
"Weird seeing you here." He calls out and Eliott looks up, startled. His hand holds his camera like a little intimate object.
Flecked blue eyes narrow at Lucas. "What are you doing here?"
He shrugs. "Saving a friend's ass. A one off."
He's not promising anything considering he can see that rejection in Eliott's eyes, watches how Eliott looks from him to Imane then back at him. Oh it was on the tip of his tongue.
"Not exactly the model you're looking for, I know, but I'm sure even you can work some magic with that camera."
Plus his make-up is flawless.
"You're supposed to be blonde."
Right. How could he forget Eliott's kink for all things blonde.
"Got time? We can color my hair—"
"No." And it's so forceful, paired with that frown that Lucas thought became such a permanent fixture on Eliott's face throughout highschool, that Lucas loses his words for a second.
"We can get started."
Lucas swallows thickly. He's not ugly, he just blends. And he was okay blending. It's what he did. This. This here. The quick make up work and the hair styling. The pulling and pushing and tightening of clothing on his body. This was not what Lucas did.
"Ready in 5....4..."
Lucas didn't stand in the spotlight. Especially in one where Eliott was looking right at him, pointing his camera to capture something that most definitely wasn't there. He didn't like to be so seen.
"...3...2..."
Lucas blinks at Imane who looks like she's questioning pushing him into this. Her eyes hooded with regret. Teeth worrying at her bottom lip.
He wants to say, it's okay , but he doesn't think it is.
"...1." Lucas turns immediately towards the camera and Demaury, who is watching him with a critical eye and a frown.
He catches the first flash of the camera with shock. Blinks away the spots and adjusts his body, like the way he's seen others do it. Plays with the lighting because he knows the exact angle where shadows fall and cut and how to hide what he doesn't want exposed.
He could do this. For today.
Only today.
"You didn't fucking tell me you knew him."
Lucas snorts into his glass of wine, fingers picking his way across the cheese board in front of him.
"I don't know him."
"Uh-huh, right, so those fuck me eyes you gave him while he was taking pictures, more than he normally does. You know there were like 300 photos and the shoot took like 20minutes right? Probably more, I didn't really count."
"I did not give Eliott Demaury, fuck me eyes. Imane, I don't even know what fuck me eyes are."
And he meant that. He's never given fuck me eyes to anyone before. The interest in other humans was practically non-existent and he was more than okay with this. Twenty seven and barely there hand jobs while drunk out of his mind his first year at uni was enough, thank you very much.
"Besides, he hates me."
It was Imane's turn to snort indelicately, the movement sloshing her tea over the rim of her mug.
"I don't think it's possible for Eliott Demaury to hate anyone. Plus I said what I said. He now has more photos of you than anyone on this planet, combined."
Lucas thinks about his lack of social media presence. The Five pics he posted 3 years ago at the incessant pressure from Basile. Emma's begging for him to post that one image of him, Yann, and her at their wedding.
He's not one to step in front of the camera. Not pretty.
"I grew up with him, Imane, I think I know when someone hates me." Lucas blinks and sees shuttered windows. White blinds, that stood still against the test of time and a child's stubbornness.
"Then why did he say yes?"
Lucas turns to look at her, feeling weary. He bites into a block of cheese and wrinkles his nose at the sharpness before cutting it with a sip of wine.
"Say yes to what?"
Lucas is afraid of the answer but Imane looks soft, her smile sure. All the moves to calm a cornered animal.
"I noticed you didn't ask him for an interview so I asked for you."
Lucas is up before he knows it, pacing. The glass of wine in his hands tipping dangerously.
"Imane." He whines. Voice pitched, eyes closing as he tries to calm his racing pulse through ineffective breathing techniques.
"Alright Mr. Want Me To Color My Hair—"
"—shut up, I was mocking his obsession with blondes, that was not me being nice or accommodating."
He wasn't really going to go blonde. Maybe. Very low possibility of him going through with it had Eliott agreed. Maybe.
"Well he said yes, and you're going and you will not keep him waiting because he was so gracious to clear an evening to fit you in."
"I don't need him to clear anything up."
Lucas hates himself a little bit when Imane cocks a brow.
"Really now… Freudian slip?"
Lucas curses the ceiling before fixing a glare at Imane.
"I don't. And I didn't ask for a reason, I might just kill him with my bare hands if I am left alone with him for longer than a two minute duration.
She rolls her eyes. "So dramatic."
Lucas scoffs. "It's part of my brand. Yes." He scarfs down another piece of cheese and finishes off his wine feeling a pleasant buzz.
"Whatever, you have till tomorrow to grow a uterus and face this unresolved sexual tension between you and the hottest photographer in the industry and meet him tomorrow at 5— I'll send you the address."
Lucas knows he is pouting. "I hate you."
Imane chuckles. "Based on this conversation, I think you forgot what the meaning of hate is."
He hasn't. He's felt it. He's witnessed it all. It's the blinds never opening. It's running in the rain. It's the car going past him without a second thought. It's not being pretty enough and still being forgiven.
Lucas finishes off this bottle of wine and sleeps on the couch. He wakes with a pounding headache and the taste of something stale in his mouth. Regretting all of his decisions from the previous day and night, Lucas slumps into a pile of nothing and blinks the sleep away.
The apartment is quiet, indicating that he's the only one there, Imane probably having left for work already without waking him.
One check at the blinking notifications on his phone informs him that he is correct in his assessment.
Imane
Don't forgt your date tonight.
@5 Lu
Dress to impress!!
Here's the address—
not to ask but could you check if I have any sugar left? I want to bale tonight and need to kno if I need to to pick some up
Bake*
Lucas rolls his eyes and dutifully checks for sugar before letting her know she has enough to give an entire army of zombies diabetes if the apocalypse ever hit.
He does not appreciate the smile she sends his way.
Lucas uses her shower and steals all the hot water because he is petty and he knows this. His spare clothing that he keeps in her bureau is good enough for him. Sweats and a ratty tshirt.
He smiles. He has no one to impress.
One check of his phone tells him he's got half the day to waste before he has to make his way to this meeting that literally makes his skin crawl just thinking about it.
He wants to run away from it. Skip town. Change his name. Color his hair blonde and give a reason for Eliott to even look his way.
Scratch that. Lucas takes a nap. Sends a couple of emails on his off day, he drinks coffee when it's way too late in the day for it to be normal. He doesn't have breakfast or lunch and he blames the queasiness on the fact that he polished off a bottle and a half of wine last night. Feeling the need to drink enough for himself and for Imane, who, bless her heart, does not drink but will be the first to supply the headache inducing beverage because Lucas does not know the meaning of self control.
But soon enough, 4:30 rolls around and he's still in his sweats calling an Uber. He could be fashionably late.
It's Eliott. He could not show up and still that would be okay. Yes.
Yet he stands on the sidewalk, fiddling with his phone and waiting for his ride. Holding his breath and thinking about that time, he helped Yann draw all the tiny penises on the practice footballs with brown sharpie so it would blend enough that no one would notice till it was too late.
Sophomore year was wild.
He keeps that thought with him all through the ride. Every twist and turn and bump in the road only serves to rest his thoughts as he refocuses on where he's headed.
When the car stops, Lucas takes a breath and pays his driver even when he thinks the dude just dropped him off in front of the gates of hell.
"I really didn't — just got you to the address you gave me sir."
Lucas nods. Of course he has no control of his mouth.
The young college kid deserves a nice tip. If only to keep him quiet.
Lucas cocks his head to the side as he looks up at the high rise apartment building and he has to hit pause. Has to ask himself what the fuck he's doing at a housing complex for a meeting.
He checks his phone again, making sure he did not misread Imane's text.
But the little, top floor, reminder is there. Overlooked. He lets out a low whine in the back of his throat and fights the urge to call Yann in for back up. Because how was this going to go well at all?
He shoots off a text to Imane before heading to the elevator towards his fate.
Lucas
if you don't hear from me its cuz he threw me out the window. top floor and everything
He doesn't bother to wait for a reply, but his knees bounce all the way up and only when he knocks, knuckles firm on wood, does Lucas truly realize what kind of situation he was walking into.
"Door's open."
His hope that Eliott wasn't home was utterly squashed. The man couldn't even be bothered to open the door for him. Too lazy or too trustful.
Either trait has Lucas frowning.
But he is mildly impressed by the sight that greets him. An open floor plan looking well lived in. Strings of photos decorated the far wall, to one corner there's a small set assembled.
Doodles of people in poses, tacked to the wall. Cute cartoons of a racoon.
Eliott was always artistic. An eye for composition. Whatever fits in his frame.
Lucas bites his lips taking it all in. It wasn't quite dark out. Only 5 in the afternoon and it was obvious from the way the sunlight cut across the room in an orange glow. One entire wall made up of windows with curtains pulled aside to let the light filter in unhindered. The view was quite gorgeous, looking out over the city skyline.
The place must have cost a fortune.
"Uh, hey?"
Lucas nearly jumps out of his own skin, forgetting where he is currently standing.
Eliott stands, leaning against the wall, ankles crossed and arms loosely hugging himself in the front.
He's got that frown on his face, eyes sharp as ever as then run over Lucas's features.
Looking for flaws? Lucas has plenty. He doesn't hide from it.
"Could've been a serial killer, you know?"
He moves to sit at the kitchen counter uninvited but Lucas feels like he needs to do something, to sit, to get off his feet because for some reason, Eliott looking perfectly relaxed in his own home makes Lucas's knees feel weak.
He doesn't like that feeling. But Eliott joins him after a second, rolling his eyes, still frowning.
"I could've taken you."
And there was never any doubt about that. Lucas still remembers when the entire football team managed to lock the cross country and track team in the locker rooms after practice while everyone was showering and stole their towels.
No shame, no game Lucas walked out of the locker room bare assed and fuming. Lucky for him it was just his team and the coach. He would have loved to physically get back at Eliott but Eliott had height, strength and tackling abilities.
It wasn't fair.
"Right."
Eliott takes a seat across from him, fingers coming to thrum on the surface of his table. He has that look on his face again, the one like he wants to say something but he's struggling or he's working his way up to it.
Half of Lucas wants to pick his ass up and walk out but he'd like to think he's grown a bit since highschool. Matured, for the lack of a better term.
"Look, I'm really glad you told Imane yes, when she asked. I don't want to take up too much of your—"
"Be my model."
"—I'm sure you're super, wait... what?"
Lucas finds his words lodged in his throat. Like a dam, keeping the crashing waves at bay.
Eliott smirks but he's tracing patterns on the table, the only sign that his nerves were frayed.
"I want you to work on a spread with me. Be my model, please?"
Lucas is floored because of the things for Eliott to say, this was at the bottom of the list of things Lucas expected. At the way, way bottom. Matter of fact, it didn't even make the list.
This was in some other language, and he must still be dreaming, somewhere, on Imane's couch. Stomach full of wine and cheese.
His mouth opens and closes a couple of times. The feeling of being a fish out of water struggling to breathe is strong but Lucas tries to recenter himself, eyes trailing over all the differences in Eliott that he's missed. The new tattoo on his arm. The piercings in his ears. His hair has grown longer, his laughter lines deeper.
"Why?"
Perhaps Eliott wasn't expecting the question, or he was but he didn't think hard enough on how he'd answer it, but the taller brunette sighs and leans his full weight on his forearms.
Innocently resting on the table and making Luca sweat.
"I want to take more photos of you, you— honestly, just take a look."
Eliott makes a move to get up, to fetch something but Lucas scrambles to stop him. Fingers around his wrist. The tables turn and it’s Eliott who looks down at where their skin touches, then back at Lucas with his eyes wide.
Lucas drops his hold like Eliott is a hot potato.
"No, I just, listen Demaury—"
"Eliott."
"—right, Eliott," Lucas swallows. "I'm not a model. I'm not pretty or unique or interesting enough to be featured in a spread that you're photographing. I'm just here to interview you and figure out what this rise to stardom feels like for you."
He bites his lip, words done vomiting out of his mouth. Something flickers in those blue eyes, grey at this angle.
For a moment, Lucas wonders if he said something right or if he said something wrong but the silence is deafening.
"But you are. Lucas, I…" Eliott runs a shaking hand through his hair. "You are." He repeats.
It sounds so sincere, Lucas almost believes it. He wants to. Wants to forget whatever past that sits between them and say, thank you and ask Eliott, a whisper to his voice.
You really think so?
And he wants the answer to be,
Yes.
"Let me just show you."
This time Lucas doesn't stop Eliott from walking away, even moves over to the comfortable couch. Eliott brings with him a pile of photos.
Photos of Lucas dressed to the nines, his hair perfect and messy and just right for once in his life. His eyes impossibly blue the. His make-up is perfect.
Lucas thinks about the blonde and fingers that held him steady.
"This here— this is my best work."
Eliott shuffles closer till their knees bump and he huddles closed, fingers pointing to the images of Lucas. It looked impossible.
But the proof is there. Lucas holds each image between his fingers and somehow, Eliott Demuary, who hates his guts, took these photos of Lucas.
Like Lucas is something to be cherished. Impossible, his mind supplies. Because,
"You hate me."
It causes Eliott to snort, his smile more of a grimace.
"I know we weren't the best of friends in high school,"
Understandment of the century.
"But I don't hate you. I don't," he breathes deeply through his nose, eyes closing for a moment before they open, landing on Lucas, locking him into his gaze.
"I don't know why we fell apart the way we did, and I don't want to think about all the shit we pulled as stupid teenagers."
Wouldn't it be nice, Lucas thinks. To let it all go? What's stopping him?
Self-hate. Valid.
"I just know that, wherever it was that I fucked up, I can't go back to change that now," he shrugs, a slow movement of broad shoulders. A move not so blasé. "But I can change the way I do things now. And what I know I want to do, is continue to take photos of you."
Self hatred. And doubt. So much doubt.
"I…I have a job, Eliott."
Mentally, Lucas is shaking himself. Because now he's just pulling excuses from thin air. Making this impossible for himself.
Eliott looks down at the pictures, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. He's quiet and thinking and Lucas. Lucas feels panic in his bones. Because who was he, if not Eliott Demaury's mortal enemy.
Just a hurt little boy with a crush on his neighbor, sitting around feeling ugly and pathetic. Never good enough so he made it where he didn't have to be good enough. And Eliott made it easy for him.
"Then, whenever you're free. It doesn't have to be for a spread I'm doing. You could come here," he gestures with his chin at his private little photobooth. "Let me do it here, for my own sake. And all my interviews can be yours."
It's like Eliott is lying down his heart at Lucas's feet and Lucas doesn't know where to step because this playing field is completely new to him. But the thought of this proposition makes him feel flushed.
He smirks, hiding behind his own idiocy. No one ever said he was a smart boy.
"Are you suggesting I become your private model?"
He wants to bite back the words the moment the words are out of his mouth.
Something dark flickers in those eyes and it makes Lucas lose his breath, mouth dropping open, cheeks running hot.
"Mm, this is what we make of it. I won't slap guidelines on it."
Lucas wishes he would. Then it would be so much easier for him to navigate.
Be one Eliott Demaury's muse, get all the interviews. It sounds easy enough.
"Can I think about this?"
Eliott nods, smiling widely, he turns towards Lucas on the couch and he feels incredibly close.
"Oh course, there's no rush. And if you decide yes, we can talk terms if you want."
Lucas nods again, placing the photos down gently before standing.
"Right, yeah. I should, uh, probably head out."
"Okay, did you drive?"
Luxas shakes his head.
"I'll walk you down."
He wants to turn down that offer but Eliott is already slipping his jacket on and his shoes.
He expects the trek down the elevator to be awkward but Eliott makes it easy. Asking small questions here and there, distracting Lucas from thinking about his racing heart.
"Still no car?"
Lucas shakes his head negatively, chuckling. "I find other means to get around."
Eliott responds in light as they step off the elevator, out of the building and onto the streets.
"How do you plan on getting home?"
Lucas didn't think that far ahead. He shrugs. "Probably walk. It's not too far." Lie.
He looks up at how the sky has darkened. How their short conversation felt like it lasted only minutes and Eliott had thrown out his offer so quickly, but just seeing the way the street lamps flicker on as they stood there, Lucas realizes how time slipped away from them.
It always has. Eliott stands there watches him, eyes clouded and mouth open like he wants to say something. And the flash of rain hits Lucas, a memory.
The red car that zoomed through his past. He clears his throat, steps away and makes sure his shoes are laced before hitting the pavement.
This time though, Lucas turns, eyes catching Eliott's and he gives a little wave.
One that opens up a door. It's like he's pulled up the blinds and he's waiting for Eliott to do the same. The small relieved smile sent his way gives Lucas an inch. That's enough for now.
He turns back around and it's just the street of an unfamiliar street in front of him.
He's really not sure where he is going.
He has time to figure it out.
"Oh my sweet baby Jesus, Lucas he asked you to be his muse, his private model— he wants to take you to bed and take nakey nakey pictur— oww, fuck! Not cool!"
Lucas's open palm stings. Skin red where he slapped Yann on the arm. He glares at his friend and brings his hand up again threateningly, watching as he scrambles away to the opposite end of the couch, a pillow held in his grip protectively.
"That is not what he asked me to do." Lucas growls out and both Yann and Imane snigger at his expense.
Imane rolls onto her side head propped up by an arm.
"Lucas, hun, forget Yann for a second and come here." Imane coos at him, in that way where he feels like she is about to impart knowledge on him and drop the mic.
Her delicate hands slap the carpet next to her and Lucas, rolls his eyes and bites his lips. But he moves regardless. One pillow clutched to his chest, he scoots like a child on the floor. Half crawling and half doing some odd wiggly worm thing with his body, stopping only when she can casually reach up with her free hand to pat at his cheeks.
He tilts into the touch, maybe he's a little starved for it.
"What do you want to do?"
Gosh. What a loaded question; his heart hammers like the glock of an unloaded gun. Over and over, trying and failing to fire off his emotions because it isn't ever packaged nicely the way he wants it to be.
No tiny oblong shape to be pushed out against a singular target.
"That's the only thing that matters, Lucas—his offer aside."
From his corner of the coach Yann cups his hands around his mouth and harshly whispers, " choose the interview. Think about the revenue."
And Lucas flips him off with a smile that ticks at the corner of his mouth. He knows Yann is joking, never having been one to care about money.
But the thought of being around Eliott, all the time, when Lucas wants to. When Eliott wants him too. It makes Lucas want to melt into a puddle and seep into the carpet so he's never found again.
"I don't know what I want."
Not yet.
Imane nods her head like the guru that she is. "That's perfectly normal and okay."
"But," he swallows and its like Yann and Imane both lean in, waiting patiently for him to indicate that all those times he stated he hated Eliott Demaury was just code for— the bastard hurt Lucas irrevocably in the 4th grade and he held a grudge only because Eliott held a grudge and it was too satisfying whenever Eliott's car got egged on a friday evening during a home game (and no it was not secretly Lucas wasting all those eggs) for Lucas to give up the farce and admit feelings.
"But I don't think we can just go into this without clearing the air. We need to talk."
Definitely need to talk.
"You're not going to tell them about the blow up dolls and animal balloons are you?"
Yann asks wearily from his spot, and Imane raises a questioning brow.
Lucas waves her away.
"Long story. And no, not unless it comes up."
Yann chuckles, the sound deep like he's pulling something up and out that he's long since forgotten about.
"High school was wild."
"You boys sit there and tempt me with half stories. One day, I'll get you to spill your secrets."
Lucas smiles.
"A bottle of wine for a story. I think that’s a fair trade off."
"You're on Lallemant—but first, figure this out with Demaury and then story time."
Right, Mr. Demaury call me Eliott like no history sits between us. Him first.
"Gimme his number." He snags the phone that Imane throws at him and unlocks the device with her top secret passcode.
He sends the number to himself and asks,
"I saw him the last two days, is it too desperate to say let's meet on Saturday or Friday night?"
"Uh, what are you going for? Saturday and Friday nights are like, quintessential date days."
Lucas pulls a face at Yann.
"Don't be so normative, Yann."
He sticks his tongue out at his partner in crime and Yann rolls his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah fine. Nope," lips popping on the p. "Not desperate at all, Lucas . Just don't forget to bring some flowers and chocolate."
Lucas shrugs, "okay, why flowers and chocolate." He misses the glare that Imane shoots at Yann but can sense he's missing something when Yann smiles at him, wide and gleaming.
"Flowers because it's like a nice house gift, and chocolates as a peace offering."
"Yann, shut up."
Lucas looks over at Imane, brows furrowed and then back at Yann who is crackling and wheezing out the words normative like it was the joke of the century.
"What am I missing?" He growls out but Imane simply rolls her eyes, amused.
"Nothing. Yann thinks he's a real comedian— chocolates and flowers are just cliched date night gifts. You bring only what you want to bring and text Eliott, see what he says."
Lucas snarls at Yann, launching his pillow like a projectile, managing to hit his friend in the face with satisfaction.
So what if he didn't do dates and avoided everything about date culture. Fuck Yann and his views. He looks down at his phone, finger coming up to tap at the button of his nose. Working up courage and ignoring Imane and Yann.
Lucas
stole your number from Imane. Hope that's okay.
Does saturday work for meeting?
"Okay, I sent my little despa—" he looks down at his phone that gives three buzzes in succession.
His heart pounds in his ears as he looks at both Imane and Yann who have their mouths dropped open staring unbelieving at the phone.
"Is that him?"
Eliott
saturday is great i have a mornint appointment, can we make it around 3:30?
morning*
and you can stay for dinner?
"He said stay for dinner."
Imane scrambles to her knees, knocking her head against Lucas's.
Lucas
sure
"That's it?! Lucas, sure, that's it?"
Imane scrambles for his phone but Lucas holds it out of reach.
"Well, what am I supposed to say!"
He yells back at her as he attempts to crawl away. She grabs at his ankle and tugs and he grunts when his chin connects with the floor.
"Ask him if you should bring a ring."
"Not helpful, Yann!" He throws a glare at his cackling friend, kicking out at Imane and landing a hit on her shoulder.
"He unleashed an entire swarm of crickets and grasshoppers in my locker freshman year!"
"And?"
"He used fucking salt in the brownies for the cross country team bakesale, not once, but twice, Imane. We had to refund the money of every single student who bought something."
"Okay, so you all had some weird love hate thing going on. That's what I'm hearing."
She hugs his legs with her entire body and the angle is awkward, he stops looking back at her and flops boneless to the floor.
"I'm not even blonde." He mutters into the carpet getting a mouthful of fiber and dirt.
"Baby, that's a lot of shit to unpack."
She's lucky he doesn't bring up the blinds. How he timed leaving the house so he wouldn't be seen by Eliott when they were younger. Dug his feet in whenever his mother demanded he be on time for once in his life.
But Eliott hadn't wanted to see him, Lucas had every intention of granting him his wish.
"There's nothing to unpack."
It's more truth, than he wants to admit. Imane moves, siddles up next to him like a worm but far more graceful than he could ever be.
She plays with his hair, runs a finger through it until Lucas gives and burrows into the touch.
"We're joking, you know? You don't have to talk to him about anything you don't want to."
Lucas nods. He knows, but he also knows.
"Should I bring flowers?"
Yann snorts.
"What's his favorite?"
Lucas turns his head, regards Yann who is moving to join the puppy pile on the floor.
For a moment he is silent. Considering the implications if he answers. But Yann moves to rest his chin on the center of Lucas's back and Imane continues to pet his hair and Lucas feels like he's capable of facing down whatever truth this was that is gnawing at him.
"Sunflowers."
Lucas doesn't have nerves. He doesn't think about being anxious; not that rushing pulse and tunnel vision and inability to draw air into his lungs. He stands outside for longer than he should have considering the ominous clouds overhead. The distant clap of thunder.
Lucas makes his way up, taking the stairs just to give his legs something to do. By the time he makes it to the top floor, Lucas is out of breath and his chest is heaving. He's now 7 minutes late but he gets himself centered before knocking.
He doesn't expect Eliott to answer the door. But he does. Grey blue eyes giving him a once over. Eyes lingering on the sunflower that decorates the otherwise plain, black shirt.
"Sorry I'm late." He said, feeling a bit breathless. He hates stairs.
"All good, you're not late. I was just getting off a conference call anyways, so this works out."
But Eliott doesn't move out of the way and Lucas is left standing there in the hallway, sweating his ass off as his body attempts to cool down from the 45 flights. His calves burn.
He cocks a brow and catches Eliott's gaze before the other man startles out of his little reverie and moves to the side.
"Shit, come in, sorry I— can I get you something to drink?"
"Water is fine."
He is tempted to ask if Eliott has wine or liquor or something stronger that would get Lucas to stop overthinking the fact that he is wearing a shirt with a sunflower on it. Or how Eliott obviously likes it from the way he stared, or the way Yann threw his wedding band at Lucas earlier that day and told him not to forget to get down on one knee before proposing. He wasn't laughing so hard when Lucas threatened to throw the ring down the bathroom sink not a minute later.
The apologies that fell from those trembling lips almost made him drop the ring just to spite Yann. Make him regret his mocking and laughter.
But Lucas had places to be, people to see, so he tossed the ring back and straightened his sunflower shirt with the flat of his palm. Urbered his way over and now he's standing there considering the contents of Eliott's cabinet while he looks through the trophies that sit dust free on one of Eliott's shelf.
He hears more than sees Eliott sidle up next to him, taking the proffered glass with a quiet thanks. "You kept all these?"
He recognizes some, the years etched and gold plated. The games when Eliott was lifted on the shoulders of his teammates after a particularly difficult and close game. Always arrived late and left just a little early.
"Yeah, coach said I could keep some if I really wanted to. What about you? Did you keep any?"
Lucas shrugged. "Maybe, the medals are somewhere in storage." He knows for a fact Yann has a trophy from nationals sitting on top of his entertainment center. Lucas's name blazen across the front.
He acted like a proud father everytime the topic was mentioned.
"They are good reminders."
Lucas looked at Eliott. Really looked at him, standing relaxed in his own apartment in a loose fitting floral patterned shirt, fingers and knuckles decked out in tempting silver. Quarter sleeve, buttons undone and hard planes of his chest peaking through.
"Did you."
The question half formed like a statement is the last thing he thought his tongue would shape around. Although standing a full head taller, by far more than a couple of inches, Eliott looks at him through his lashes, eyes widened and lips in a frown, waiting for Lucas to elaborate. He looks small.
Lucas swallows, chin motioning towards the trophies, like it holds an answer.
"Did you ever come to the track meets?"
He's not sure really wants to know the answers but he asks anyway. For some sick sense satisfaction. Or closure.
Assurance.
He wants to close the door on this feeling. Maybe Eliott can lock it and throw away the key.
"I did."
Lucas thought that was what he wanted to hear. But his throat closes up and his stomach feels empty.
So he looks at Eliott and meets him one for one. Blunt and blankly states,
"If it didn't coincide with our meets then I went to every single football game." Home and away.
Always late and leaving early.
Why he tells Eliott this, he's not sure. But maybe he needs to feel like they are on the same playing field. Like he wants the deep feeling reflected in Eliott's eyes when he looks at Lucas after that confession to be the same feeling that Lucas seems to be battling with.
Regret.
He drowns himself in the water, and when he hands the cup back to Eliott their fingers touch. A smooth slide of skin on skin and it leaves Lucas parched.
He follows Eliott to the kitchen and maybe he's crazy, maybe it's the 45 flights of stairs and his burning calves and his soul-baring confession, but Lucas ducks under Eliott's arms and grabs for the bottle of fancy wine, sitting innocent and unopened on his open shelving.
"Saving this for someone special?"
He shakes the bottle at Eliott, hoping it would tempt the brunette to join him in indulging.
Loosening whatever tension that was sitting on their shoulders.
"I was."
Lucas deflates just the tiniest bit. Lips naturally pursing in a pout. He's about to set the bottle down when Eliott crowds his space and his brain short circuits embarrassingly.
The slow crawl of his gaze up that chest barely covered by that open floral print shirt, up to the jutting collar and long neck, a killer jaw. Beautiful blushing lips, glistening like Eliott just.
He definitely just licked his lips. That nose. Those eyes sparking with amusement.
With a slow reach, Eliott pulls open the drawer and takes both cork screw and bottle from Lucas.
Okay.
Eliott 1. Lucas -3.
That wasn't fair. Yet.
He still takes the stemless wine glass and without shame takes his first gulp like his glass holds grape juice.
When Eliott steps away with his own glass, Lucas hates to admit it but he feels a bit chilled. A little bit not so warm like he was when Eliott was in his space.
Eliott leads and Lucas trails after him. Sitting a respectable distance away from Eliott. Far enough that there is a gap between their knees.
A distance.
"Did you draw those?"
Lucas points at the small racoon comics pinned to the wall that he caught sight of the first time he was here.
"Yeah, just a little hobby of mine."
Eliott moves to pluck one off the wall. He's back on the couch in a matter of seconds stealing Lucas's air again. Without knowing it. Why Lucas is allowing it, is beyond him.
Lucas takes the offered paper and holds it delicate between his fingers, sipping away at his wine.
Maybe it hits him a little fast. Empty stupid and odd nerves. Lucas keeps sipping.
"Why racoons?"
He hands it back to Eliott, finishes off his wine and doesn't quite say no when Eliott gives him his second glass, while Eliott is only halfway done with his first.
"They're cute."
Lucas snorts.
"Trash pandas."
"Yes, trash pandas, Lucas." Eliott scoots closer and Lucas doesn't even notice. Not the way their knees bump and Eliott is only a few paces away. Far enough that Lucas can effectively call it his space, but close enough that Lucas wants to hold his breath lest he breathe all of Eliott in.
"They have masks," Eliott mimes it on his own face, the silliness of it has Lucas laughing, his belly warm.
"Oh, so a racoon, with a fancy mask and cute as fuck— that's how you see yourself."
His head tilts precariously as he tries to marry the image of Eliott and a racoon in his mind's eye.
And maybe Lucas sees it. If he squints. Especially when Eliott laughs out loud and his laughter lines become pronounced and his eyes are like half moons, controlling a tide. Pulling out the thump thumps in Lucas' heart.
"Shut up, it's my spirit animal— and yes, how I see myself." He finishes off his first glass just as Lucas downs his second. A pleasant buzz flushing his face and making his cheeks tingle as he leans back more into the couch.
Sinking.
"Mm, and how do you see me?"
It's supposed to be innocent. The question but when he looks over at Eliott, the photographer is looking at Lucas like he is fresh meat.
The thought makes Lucas shiver. He wouldn't mind a third glass of wine. There's something brave and stupid in being wine drunk while in the company of others.
"Wait—I'll show you."
Eliott stands on steady legs, where Lucas is sure he would be a puddle on the floor if he attempted to stand. So he waits patiently for Eliott to come back. He carries with him a camera. One that looks like those fancy polaroids that are making a comeback.
Lucas scrunches his nose at the thought of being the center of attention, even for a picture. Even though he knows this is the arrangement. That's why he's here.
Yep.
Eliott plays around with some kind of setting on the camera before he's looking up at Lucas with an unsure smile.
"Is that a polaroid?"
Eliott nods, smiles like he is geeking out as he holds it up for Lucas to see.
"Yeah, but it's modernized— still have to shake the film to get the image to develop though." He shrugs, looking back down at the heavyweight in his hands.
At least. It looks heavy to Lucas.
"So what, I just pose for you and you snap pictures?"
He strikes a dumb pose with his mouth pursed like that of a duck and his hands up framing his face. Back arched and ass pushed out on the couch.
He breaks character a second after he hears a snap and blinks away a blinding light.
He turns wide eyes at Eliott, mouth dropped open in disbelief.
"You did not just take a picture of that?"
There's a quiet clicking as a white film is regurgitated. Eliott's wide smile and dancing eyes tell Lucas, yes.
There's physical proof that he struck a pose in drunken stupor. Nothing is sacred anymore.
"Give me that."
Lucas dives for it. Arms extended, fingers curling, but his limbs are shorter than Eliott's and the other brunette is too busy laughing and enjoying Lucas's attempts, futile attempts he must add, at getting the picture back.
Somehow he's straddling Eliott's lap, completely unaware of their closeness, one track mind.
Another flash and Lucas is blinking away the light as Eliott laughs under him.
"You've got to be kidding me!"
Another film slips out and like the first, despite being held under Lucas's weight, Eliott manages to buck his hips, dislodging Lucas for a split second, so that he could hold the second image equally out of reach.
"You're not playing fair."
Lucas scowls down at Eliott just as the other man flips their position. Pinned underneath Eliott, arms above his head, Lucas is two pictures short of what he wanted, and his wasted efforts leave his chest heaving from exertion.
"You're not supposed to take unsuspecting photos that make me look stupid." He says this all, breathless.
Breathless because of the struggle. The hands. Eliott beneath him. Eliott on top of him. He realizes just exactly how they sit. Hips aligned. His legs were trapped. One of Eliott's hands on his chest, fingers curled in his shirt.
Eliott isn't quite smiling anymore. More serious than anything as his eyes, darkened with something, the lighting perhaps, looks at Lucas up and down.
"You never look stupid."
It’s a quiet admission. Like a confession in a locker room. Like an offer for a ride during a storm that came just a little too late.
Lucas swallows, feeling heat race through him at every point of contact he has with Eliott.
"You look beautiful, this shirt, you— I love sunflowers." Eliott grows quite. Fingers tracing the yellow petals with feather soft touches.
"I know." He admits, softly.
Lucas licks his lips, willing himself to focus. To blink. And breathe.
"Can I?" Eliott shakes the camera and all Lucas could do is nod. Give that smallest bit of permission.
And without struggling, Eliott rises to his knees, looms over Lucas, the camera steadied with itself target in the center.
The flash is quick and blinding and he holds his breath as the camera spits out the film.
He doesn't try to grab it. Lucas looks at Eliott and waits patiently as the image is shaken to life. Eliott looks at it first, eyes growing hooded, lips dropping open. The smallest breath escaping him.
"See, beautiful."
Suddenly Lucas is staring at a face so familiar yet different. Lips spit shined and eyes hooded, cheeks flushed. He looks properly ravished. His shirt is rumpled but it adds to the look.
He shakes his head. Because it's unbelievable.
Eliott leans forward again. Hand back on his shirt but near the hem, fingers peeking underneath and lighting a fire on his skin.
"Can I?"
Lucas closes his eyes, tilts his head away and nods, releases a breath he's holding as he tries not to think about the fingers on his skin.
He hears the snap of the camera, feels cool air on his stomach.
Bites his lips. Another snap of the camera. Lucas throws an arm across his face, blocking out the light. He doesn't want to know what he looks like. Doesn't want to think about the way Eliott shifts above him or why it feels so good.
Another snap of the camera and Elliot's closer and Lucas is sure his shirt is half way off his body. He shivers.
Lucas feels the touch of air on his lips and he moves his arms. Peeks out from behind his lashes and finds Eliott to be impossibly close. Sharing his air, eyes locked on Lucas's lips, like it is his vision. His calling.
They lock gazes.
"Can I?"
Lucas nods.
All sounds and air and feeling is sucked out of him the moment Eliott kisses him. Presses down until their lips slot together perfectly. Lucas groans at the pressure. The weight.
Eliott kisses him and Lucas forgets he exists. It's just that simple. Fingers move to grasp at his chin, tilting his head, angling it just right.
He's not expecting the soft swipe of a tongue on his lips and gasps, opens up to it. He loves the way Eliott explores almost tentatively. Licks into his mouth and curls around Lucas, coaxing him out to play.
Teeth nip and bite down softly on his lips, a tongue soothes the ache. They kiss until his lips feel numb but he doesn't quite want Eliott to pull away so when Eliott shifts, Lucas follows. Hands coming up to hold onto broad shoulders.
He's practically manhandled, and yes his brain just about explodes with how hot that thought makes him, into sitting on Eliott's lap.
Sitting above him, kissing and kissing and kissing until he feels full. Only pulling away when he needs to breathe because he's feeling dizzy.
Lucas pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against Eliott's their noses brushing. He loves the way Eliott continues to reach up, strain and lick at Lucas's lips, licks into his mouth and flicking under the top lip, again and again like he's toying with Lucas.
Lucas giggles, because it tickles. Makes him want to bite down on his bottom lip just to stop from begging for more.
He has some dignity. But when he pulls away, Eliott's fingers are there. On his lips rubbing at the wetness, pulling his bottom lip down and letting it go just to watch it bounce back.
"Fuck."
Lucas smiles. He's definitely feeling it.
And yet. Today of all days, after being kissed senseless, Lucas tries to practice some restraint.
"I recall someone promising me dinner."
It's easy. So easy to break that mood because soon Eliott is leaning his head back against the couch, eyes closed as he laughs.
"I did. We should definitely order food."
Half of Lucas wants to know how Eliott would react if he simply said, eat me , but restraint. Right.
That.
They settle on chinese and in the matter of 30 minutes the food is ordered and paid for and in front of them, and Lucas is drinking his third glass laughing so hard as Eliott recalls the disaster that was the glitter bomb that was loaded in his locker every so often.
"You know I made a freshman open my locker for three weeks straight after the second time that blew up in my face."
Lucas cackled, feeling high. "You deserved it. You're going to tell me you had nothing to do with turning all my track jerseys pink?"
Eliott shrugs, looking mischievous. He steals a noodle off Lucas's plate, slurping it up without breaking eye contact.
That shouldn't have been so hot. But it was and Eliott knew it.
"Pink looks good on you."
"Shut up." Lucas grumbles into his lo mein. Companionable silence was his lowest expectation, if Lucas was to be honest with himself. But Eliott fills the silence with side smirks and gentle laughter. Recalling their god awful pranks with a different kind of eye. Like he has embraced hindsight and Lucas is left in the dust clinging onto something. Because without all of it: the anger, the hate, the carefully plotted and destructive pranks, the hurt; who is he?
Just a man in a sunflower tee shirt eating Chinese food on the living room floor of the up and coming new hotshot photographer, Eliott Demaury.
Exciting. Because he can be anything now. A blank slate to splatter paint on. To shape into whatever.
“I’m glad you decided to come.”
Lucas clears his plate and his glass and it’s just enough of a tipsy feeling for him to not care how honest he’s being.
“Almost didn’t. Yann thinks you want to take naked pictures of me.” He cocks a brow at Eliott.
“And after today’s session? I’m inclined to believe he is on to something.”
The smirk that Eliott sends his way makes him feel that thing in his toes and the soles of his feet and all through his fingers. He wrinkles his nose.
“Cazas was always smart from what I can remember.”
God, he needed to leave. Before he did something stupid like shed his clothing and tackle Eliott to show him he wasn’t just a track boy who liked to run away from his problems.
Lucas clears his throat and runs a finger around the ring of his empty class, just to keep his fingers on something solid.
His eyes flicker over past Eliott, out towards the bare windows and sees the heavy pregnant clouds hanging overhead and he’s brought back to running in the rain and checking for his laces being tied so he didn’t slip. Didn’t fall and trip over himself in his haste to seek safety while running away.
“I should go.” He whispers and to his own ears it sounds like he’s begging Eliott to ask him to stay.
But Eliott nods, cleans up their mess and instead of leaving Lucas at his door, he takes the elevator down with him, standing close, crowding his space the way he does.
Looming.
They hit the pavement just as a roll of thunder makes itself known.
“How are you getting home?” Eliott looks up at the sky while Lucas looks at him. And maybe Eliott is just a flashback. A Constant memory playing over and over but always appearing in front of him differently. One Lucas hasn’t been able to let go of ever since he was a child and consumed with rage and uncertainty.
But his eyes are locked on the cut out of Eliott plastered to the backdrop of a city and promise of rain. Neck a long line and eyes a pretty grey in this light.
“It’s not that far away. I was going to run.”
Eliott looks at him, another crack of thunder. Lucas takes that as a sign and looks down at his shoes, makes sure they’re laced and he turns the opposite direction, shoes hitting the pavement while his heart pounds and the sky is about to break. He makes it half a step before he stumbles back against a sturdy chest. There are fingers burning a ring around his wrist.
He looks up at Eliott, and that roaring in his ears must be the howling wind. But that face is tipped down towards him and if he presses, turns his head just the slightest he could catch just how fast Eliott’s heart is beating.
For him.
“Let me drive you home.”
It feels odd hearing those words. Words that has echoed around in his brain for so long now, his head acting like a sounding board, a constant. And now it’s out in the air and Lucas is weak to do anything but nod.
He allows Eliott to walk him to his fancy car, waits while Eliott opens the door for him like a gentleman. For a moment, it’s everything Lucas imagined. Some trash that sits at his foot in the passenger seat. Photo films in the middle console where there should be a water bottle. An empty coffee cup from one of those fancy shops in the middle of downtown.
The car purrs to life just as the rain comes down harder, faster, blurring everything. Eliott waits for a split second before peeling out and Lucas.
Lucas looks out the window at everything passing by, breath fogging up the glass each time he breathes in and out. He sees people run for cover, soaked clothing, and laughter from the odd teens here and there. Posters plastered to walls,
Torrential rain meant torrential feelings. Feelings that don’t quite resolve themselves when Eliott parks not twenty minutes later at the curb. Rain is still steadily flooding the world as Lucas knows it.
“I’m not blonde.” He says.
And he’s not sure why that is the first thing out of his mouth as he waits for the rain to let up but Eliott startles like a frightened animal. And Lucas is reminded of matching suits in a hall, a blonde with cute curls, blue eyes and a strong arm around his waist.
A blonde cheerleader, her ponytail, fingers in her hair, mouth on Eliott’s as he wins a game.
“I don’t know what is going on here,” he gestures between the two of them without looking at Eliott, eyes glued to the dashboard. “But I don’t want it if it’s some weird game to you.”
A gotcha. Pull the rug out from under you. Some elaborate prank that Eliott’s been planning since Agatha had to be picked up from school because she was inconsolable.
He doesn’t think Eliott could be so cruel. But he’s been wrong before.
He hears a thunk and his head turns. Eliott is watching him from the wheel, eyes hooded and lips pulled down in a frown. The rhythmic pounding of rain is their orchestra. He is either going to be rejected, Eliott is about to call him an idiot and kick him out of his car or Eliott would scoff and say, “ see you next week for another session”. Which, wait—both would be a rejection but one would let him pretend. Enough at least.
“Lucas, look at me.”
He wasn’t aware he had looked away.
“I won’t color my hair.”
Eliott runs a hand down his face, laughs quietly, shoulders shaking. Lucas rolls his eyes.
Eliott reaches out for him, fingers gripping at the back of his neck and pulling him closer. So close their nose touches and he can feel the cool touch of lips on his skin.
“C’mere.”
But he’s already there. So close there’s no air left to spare but Lucas shifts and he ignores the dig of a gear shift in his thighs when Eliott kisses him. Kisses him like he is everything. Lucas wanted words, answers, but he will accept it for now. He draws Eliott closer to him. Scrambles for purchase as Eliott surges, pushes him back, back, back until his head hits the cool glass of a window, till something is digging into his back but he’s too busy noticing everything about Eliott to care.
Like the way Eliott climbs over the middle console and he’s pressed close, one knee between Lucas’s leg, his hand tugging and tugging on Lucas’s shirt. Lucas whines at the chilled fingers on his stomach, but he shakes his head when Eliott tries to pull away, grabs at those hands and puts them back on his body, he swallows down Eliott’s quiet “sorry”.
“More.” His please, is drowned out by the pouring rain, drowned out by Eliott’s harsh breathing, their open mouth kisses. He arches, hips pushing up as deft fingers expertly unbuckle his jeans and before he could allow his brain to think that they are out in the public, any sad soul running past could totally see Eliott with his hands down Lucas’s pants, Lucas’s mind blanks out the moment those fingers wrap around his length.
Squeezing and pumping in the confined space. Lucas spreads his legs as best as he could, lifts his chin and keens when Eliott sucks harshly on his neck, most likely leaving a bruise all pretty and purple.
Lucas drags his fingers up, tangles it in Eliott’s hair and loves the feel of locks brushing his knuckles. He tugs harshly when Eliott thumbs at his slit, fingers slick with precum and makes the slide of his fingers electric.
Lucas feels embarrassed. Or angered. Elated? Lit inside with a fire of unknown feelings that he is not quite used to but it builds and builds inside him and he doesn’t want it to stop.
“ Eliott.”
Eyes closing, Lucas swallows against the onslaught of nips and kisses to his jaw, the flutter of his lashes.
“Lucas, baby, c’mon. C’mon.”
And it’s like he’s urging him on with syrup dripping off every word of encouragement. So sweet and endearing Lucas is lost in the feel of Eliott and the sound of him. He’s a mess of nonsense, babbling anything and everything when intense pleasure strikes him at the core. Toes curling and he’s biting his lips, or Eliott’s he’s unsure. But it feels good. So good. He doesn’t want it to stop.
But it does and it’s just their harsh breathing and the press of their foreheads, a brush of noses. Eliott slips his hands out and grips Lucas at the waist, palms warm. Comforting.
Lucas breathes in deeply through his nose trying hard to calm the rapid beating of his heart. When he feels steady, like the leather seats of Eliott’s car could act as an anchor for his soul so that he doesn’t ascend, Lucas opens his eyes and he’s staring directly into Eliott’s counting the flecks and the impossibly long lashes. It’s unfair really. How gorgeous he is.
Eliott’s biting his lips but a smile peaks through and Lucas. Lucas wants to kiss it off his face and push him back and straddle those thighs. Take those fingers in his mouth and lick at those annoying temptations that Eliott calls rings.
But Eliott pulls back slowly, body bent so he doesn’t hit the roof of his car. His chest heaving and a wet spot forming in his jeans.
There is no embarrassment in his gaze. Simply desire and it makes Lucas flush as he twitches in his jeans.
“Eliott, I—”
“Sometimes it is easier to have what you don’t want than to chase after what you do.”
Eliott flicks his gaze up at Lucas’s hair. Runs his hand through it gently, fingers straightening out a strand, then flattening it with a gentle press of his fingers. Lucas stares at him. Trying to consider whether he should read into it or leave it as it is. He’s half the mind to tell Eliott to go suck a dick, not his, and stop speaking in tongues. But something ugly and jealous rears it’s head inside him just at the thought of saying something like that.
“What does that mean?”
Eliott shrugs.
“Take that however you want, but—”
He leans down and with a question in his eyes that Lucas is quick to answer, Eliott is given permission to kiss him again. Soft this time, gentle in his lapping.
“—It means I want you.”
He tilts Lucas’ s head, kisses the sensitive skin behind his ears.
“—It means I never preferred blondes.”
God he is stupid. He wants to cry. Lucas reaches behind him and pulls at the handle, and the door cracks open just the slightest.
He looks at Eliott, cheeks flushed and cherry red if the heat he feels is anything to go by.
Eliott looks at him with understanding and that’s even worse.
“I…I should go. Up. I should go up and,” Lucas gestures to his dirty jeans. “Get clean.” His voice breaks off, swallows harshly as Eliott acquiesces and moves back to his seat. Casually in his way and it infuriates Lucas. But Lucas stumbles out of the car on jellied legs with the storm raging on all around him. He stands there for another minute, the car still there in front of him.
He could make out the figure of Eliott, sitting with his head back on the steering wheel like he is also trying to center himself.
Lucas turns before he says something like, please stay forever . He leaves a trail of water, jeans uncomfortable stuck on his skin and shirt plastered to his chest as he barrels his way through the door to his apartment.
Lucas runs for the shower, not bothering to clean up after himself, or turn on the lights. He stays under the spray of hot water, warming his limbs and clutching at his hair as he has a mental breakdown thinking about that look of desire in Eliott’s face. The confession. The confession that came two decades after he wanted to actually hear it.
He hates how it is everything. And what does he have to show for it? Numb lips and an unforgettable hand job in Eliott’s car.
Fuck. Lucas shuts off the shower and dries off as quickly as possible. He grabs his oversized grey sweater and throws it on. Barely takes the time to stop himself from dripping everywhere before he’s pulling out his phone and dialing Eliott. His legs bounce and he bites at his lips. It’s seconds but it feels like days and the anticipation of reaching voicemail feels like a nightmare.
“ Lucas.”
Lucas swallows.
“Come back.”
There’s silence on the other before he here’s a throat clearing.
“Lucas I—”
Lucas scrambles with his phone and without even thinking about it Lucas angles it, snapping a quick photo, hands on his thighs playing with the hem of his sweater, lifting it dangerously high. Satisfied that he managed to get his face, teeth biting his bottom lips, eyes pretty fucking blue. He presses send.
“Please. Come back.”
Yes. He’s not above sounding desperate. He’s feeling it so.
Makes sense.
“ Lucas, did you ju—fuck….you’re trying to kill me. I’ll be there in 5. ”
Oh. He doesn’t squeal. No. But it’s close, a sound in the back of his throat. “…okay.”
And before Eliott could answer, Lucas hangs up the phone and stands there, stares at his door, unbelieving of what he just did. But five minutes feels like five hours until he hears the shuffle outside his door and before Eliott could even knock, Lucas is throwing it open and dragging him, dripping wet into his apartment by the collar of his shirt.
He has his lips on him before he knows it, pours everything he’s been holding onto in that one kiss and whether Eliott is ready or not, Lucas uses the momentum to hop up, wrapping his bare legs around Eliott’s waist, uncaring of the way his sweater hikes up, revealing.
“Take me to bed. Now.”
Eliott kisses him as Lucas makes work on Eliott’s shirt, feeling near feral and wanting to tear it off his body. Unkindly.
“Jesus, I’ve been waiting so long for this.”
Lucas shakes his head. Not as long as he has. No. Lucas has been wanting this the moment it was taken away from him. He never realized he’s been trying to get it back in the most fucked up way. But now here, with Eliott within reach, more than one could say, Lucas lets himself go.
“Can I take pictures?”
Lucas snorts. Kisses down the long line of Eliott’s neck and laughs as Eliott throws him onto his bed.
He brings his knees up, feet flat on the bed, hands pulling the sweater down between his legs, he smiles.
“Take as many as you want.”
As many, as many. And never stop.
Eliott pounces.
By the time the day breaks, the storm that raged all night is a steady pitter patter, and the sun shower is calming. Almost blinding. Behind him Eliott shifts, sleep clinging to his limbs.
Lucas curls into the embrace, loving the weight across his waist, fingers brushing his stomach. He blinks again and has to turn aware from the glare at the window.
“…mmm, want me to close it?”
He giggles at the breath that touches the nape of his neck, squirms a bit and loves the way he feels that smile between his shoulder blades.
He shakes his head, blinking blurrily at the window, the rain and the sun.
“No… leave it open.”