Wicked Boy (37) (Patreon)

(A/N:  sorry for the wait! I got sick!)

—

I must fall asleep.

The quiet rumblings of Huxley fill the living room when I come to. Early spring rainwater is drizzling, loud against Ezra's roof, and the sound of wind rustles through the windchimes and the tree leaves outside.

The birds don't seem to mind, chirping and singing back and forth to one another, and the sun feels just as welcome, creeping through the window panes.

I'm disorientated by the noise — of the sensation of waking to an unfamiliar home, to sunlight soaking through rain droplets and spreading in lace patterns against the sofa. I stretch my legs, pressing my face into the warmth of another body. A strangled, sleepy noise leaves my throat.

I'm sore, as any adult could be, after sharing a couch with another fully grown man, and my ear aches from where it's pressed against Ez's...

Lap.

"Mmph?" I blink.

Ezra.

When did I fall asleep?

Shit —

My eyes snap up, wide open, to find Ez reclined lazily, scrolling through the phone that he holds above his head, unbothered by the absurdity of me commandeering his furniture or nuzzling into his thighs —

"Jesus," I sit up quickly, fast enough that the world spins with vertigo, and rub the ends of my sleeves over my face. I realize then that the folds of Ez's jeans have left angry, pink indents on my cheek.

"Nah, just me." Ez shrugs, coy. He tucks his phone into his pocket, reaching to trace a mark near my eye. I feel especially sensitive, gaze darting towards his hand and back towards him. He doesn't smile, but his head tilts in recognition of my allowance of his touch. "... Sorry to disappoint or whatever."

"Sorry about your..." It's the third thing that I say when it should've likely been the first. My words are sloppy, and my voice is sand-ridden from a long night's sleep. I don't usually have anyone to speak to first thing in the morning, and my head almost pangs with the suddenness of conversation. I wave towards where he's seated, "Lap."

Oh god.

Ez chuckles, deep in the way that suggests he's recently woke as well.  I don't know what else to do but ignore him.  It's too early to think of a clever retort to any of his teasings.  I glance back at the stove's time in wonder.

8:09

"I don't know when I fell asleep,"  I admit.  His thumb drags against my chin as he pulls away, too warm from shared body heat.

I avert my eyes, taking in the corners of his brightened living room.

"S'fine.  Didn't strike me as a cuddler." Ez says, finally, "or the type to moan over Jesus."

I inhale slowly, rubbing my palms over my eyes.

"I'm not a cuddler." I frown, and my teeth come together quick enough to click. I wince. "And I can hardly believe that I was moaning."

I didn't bring a toothbrush.

"Sure." Ezra hums. He stands, stretching as he rolls his shoulders, hand at the top of one like he aches. "Need the shower?"

His eyes slide to mine, and then there's the jarring sound of tires on gravel, interrupting.

"Oh — Are you expecting company?" I surely hope not. I know my hair is unkempt, as it often is after sleeping, and I brush my fingers through it, anxiously searching the couch for my missing glasses. "I'll go to the bedroom."

Ez strolls around me with another passive stretch.  He opens a closet near the bathroom and snatches a towel, curling it before he snaps it in my direction.  The sound of it catches my attention.

"Chill,"  he laughs, "I didn't invite anyone.  Could be the mail."

"Mail...?" I sound so stupid in the morning, so different from his nonchalance. I'm very glad for the amount of coffee I can consume on the commute to work. "Work.  I have work tomorrow!"

An engine stills outside.

"I've got work at eleven in McLaughlin.  I'll drop ya' off."  Ez shrugs, curious as I am, and he pulls the curtain to the front window aside with a wry smile. He whistles.  "Nice Lexus."

I freeze, before panicking,

"What color?"

"What?" Ez glances back, his brows gathered curiously, "Red.  You call a ride?"

"No.  And unless your mail provider drives a Lexus — that's Tamela." I flip the couch cushion over, scrambling for my glasses that are unscathed in the far right corner. "Shit."

"Language," Ez chides.  He doesn't look too troubled, and I brush down the front of my shirt, tugging it to discourage the wrinkles that have creased the sleeves with sleep.

"Language?  She's going to kill us." I reach for my phone as the car door slams with a wave of echoing anger and as Tamela's heels clack on Ezra's concrete steps. "How did she get your address?"

"Kill me?" Ez laughs, loud and genuinely humored. I peek through the window alongside him, ignoring the proximity it forces between us. "Nah.  I'm gonna shower."

Tamela doesn't mind the locked screen door attached to the enclosed front porch and instead pummels it with the side of her fist,

"Open up, you son of a bitch!"

"Do you remember Abram?" I say quickly, and Ezra's brows raise like he has no idea what I'm talking about,

"Are we still on about the Bible here?"

"No.  Abram," I grab Ezra's shirt, pulling his front towards mine, and his grin grows larger.  "Abram from the coffee shop?"

"Yeah?" Ez presses into me, unnecessarily close, and I swallow back a sound of surprise.  "Abram from the coffee shop?"

"We're boyfriends." I nod towards Ez, whose eyebrows raise.  He doesn't take a step back, but his nose wrinkles in distaste.  "Serious boyfriends.  We're taking the next step.  I'm moving in."

"I'm real fuckin' lost here."  Ez scowls, his hands covering mine. He presses his thumbs into my palms until they release the grip they have on his shirt.  I fluster at the gesture, as distracted as I am, but let him hold my hands in his.  "Horny barista boy, is your boyfriend?"

"Hello?  Milan Minett!  I know how to pick a goddamn lock, so you better open up before I get in there myself!"

"No!  You and I,"  I nod, flustered.  "Boyfriends?  Remember? You said the best way to avoid, Ah," — I wave towards Tamela's tantrum.  "These situations... Was to?"

Ez contemplates this with a taunting smirk, his eyes narrowing at the premise of it.

"She knows I'm an escort."  He tilts his head closer, and I inhale.  "Yeah?  So what're you on about?"

"Yes, but.  Now — you're not my escort, and I'm moving in all of a sudden and,"  I swallow, glancing back towards another slam to Ezra's door.  "That's too long of an explanation."

"Is it?"

"Yes,"  I bite my lip, releasing it slowly, "I say I'm...  That I want to date you.  I'm not lonely anymore.  Over time I'll tell her that I've moved?  Two birds, one stone?"

"Mm?"  Ez hums again, like he doesn't quite understand — but he does.  "Explain."

He's just a menace.

"We're boyfriends.  Anyone who asks — from now on."  I squeeze his hands, trying to convey the importance of my nonsensical explanation.  "We tried the escort thing.  We — we fell heads over heels or something.  Okay?  You desperately want me to move in so I can be closer.  That's what we are.  Okay?"

"Does that make me less shady in her eyes?"

"No."  I chew the inside of my cheek.  "Tamela doesn't understand.  She doesn't get — hiring an escort.  But she loves to rebel when it comes to relationships."  I glance towards the door.  "She hates dating men that come from money, or that her parents like.  So she'll at least understand it — if I put it this way."

Ezra doesn't say anything, but I know he wants to.  I can see it in the way he tongues the inside of his right cheek, eyeing me like I'm the funniest creature alive,

"'Kay."  Ez winks.  I release his hands and turn, reaching for the lock, but Ez stops me, tugging the back of my collar until I spin back to face him.  I blame my attraction to him on the adrenaline.  "But the least ya' could say is please."

The front screen door unlatches without us.  I decide that I don't have time for his teasing — and I grab Ez by the shoulders, pulling him down to me.  He inhales.  In his ear, I beg,

"Please, Ezra."

—

(A/N: imagine working as an escort for ten years and it’s a bespectacled Italian insurance actuary who wears KHAKIS that does you in.  Ezra’s sex drive is looking at him like 👀🤔🤔🤔)

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