Where the Wild Things Are
WHO: The Trans-Tasmanian Devils
WHAT: A visit, a feeling, a foolish pride, a man with heels broken.
WHEN: July 14th, Late afternoon- early evening
WHERE: Room 403 Centralia Apartment Complex
RATING: R. Really.
( Read more... )
WHAT: A visit, a feeling, a foolish pride, a man with heels broken.
WHEN: July 14th, Late afternoon- early evening
WHERE: Room 403 Centralia Apartment Complex
RATING: R. Really.
( Read more... )
Theoretically, he should have felt guilt. Some remorse. Maybe a twinge of regret rather than the snap of hope that sparked at his already massive reserve of enthusiasm. But he'd seen that hint of blood rush in those ruddy cheeks and Logan's chances for surviving this particular encounter intact dropped to roughly none because of it. Full to brimming with anticipation, John stood cradling the offering for as long as it took to blink before he determinedly plopped himself down on the protesting upholstery and tossed his arm about hunched broad shoulders. Nice and smooth. Casual to match the exaggerated removal of the box's lid.
"Well blow me down, who knew y'had such a sweet-as sense of style." He plucked at a strap reflexively, guffawing while he thumped a palm against Logan's back. "They'll look brilliant. Didn't think y'd remember something so trite like m'shoe size."
A wink, for a start. A grin and a folding forward to work one of the shoes onto his foot for added effect. John uncurled his leg, slowly stretched it out and looked to the Aussie bastard with unspoken challenge. "They're a bit of alright, mate. Where the devil did y'get them?"
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He jumped out of the couch, failing horrible at trying to stay casual, and scurried across the room to lean against the arm chair placed conveniently close to the balcony. And the balcony happened to be next to the fire escape which would prove to be great way of escape. An escape Logan might be in need of if things got too uncomfortable or hot.
"Got 'em at this store near work. It wasn't exy so it wasn't a problem..."he paused and cleared his throat as he rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Ya got the stilts or whatever doovalackey they're called so d-don't ya have a place to be?"
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John chuckled when he stopped, strategically blockading Logan's optional escape route F with a bodily lean against the opened sliding glass door. "Nah," He offered at last, grinning out at the pea plants placed just on the verge of falling. "The lads 'sent me home' on account of some really brilliant fuckups at the studio. Got all the time in the world now! Least until tomorrow morning. Heh."
There was a thoughtful pause, during which Logan could see the man consider him in his peripheral view. "Are y'really that spooked by me, mate?"
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And fuck, was her really about to admit to himself he had feelings for John? His best mate? The man whom, despite being a sheepshagger, was able to stand his ground against Logan?
They had a truly epic friendship going for them and John had to fuck it up-
They both fucked it up by falling for each other.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, just above the bandage he was never seen without. When was the last time he replaced it? He couldn't remember...
"I'm not spooked by ya," Logan said after a long silence, "I'm just-I don't wanna fuck up...You're my best mate and-I don't know where m'goin' with this." Logan chuckled, from the nerves, as he ran a hand through his hair and sunk further into the cushioned chair. The chuckle then turned into a rather loud groan of frustration as he sunk completely off the chair, his head resting against the seat. "Fuck me dead."
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A rough hand with a rough grip dipped in from above and curled around Logan's jaw, tilting it upward, forcing him to look at the exasperation written into his companion's features. The worry lines over thick brows usually overshadowed by a dimpling smile, the kind but narrowed eyes. "Don't be thinkin' you're the only one who doesn't want to slaughter this. And don't go assuming 'this' will go away if we do muck it up every once n' a while. I left your arse bleeding and unconscious in the Outback, didn't I? But here we are, best mates the two of us."
Laughing wryly, John glided around the edge of the arm chair turning Logan's head with the movement, never breaking contact as he slowly knelt down with both knees around the prone form on the floor. "Maybe a bit closer than that. If y'want it, and I'm guessing-" He murmured, leaning in, "That y'do."
It was a surprisingly subdued kiss in contrast to John's usual way of taking things a step too far and it lasted only as long as it took for Logan to make a sharp inhale before the Kiwi was clattering to his feet. "I'd say 'stew on that for a bit', but then, thinking's never been your forte, aye, Logan?"
That wasn't a name.
That was a throaty growl.
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It was so long ago he barely remembered her face (or was it a he? Ah, he couldn't even remember that. Maybe he'd always been a poofter and just forgot about it).
Logan never knew there could be a feeling more exhilarating than a good tussle in the woods but then John said, no growled, his name like that and had Logan thinking a good roll in sheets would provide an even more addicting sensation.
In contrast, the way Logan said "John" came out more like a dreamy sigh. It was odd enough he called the kiwi by his first name (not "John fucking Paul", "Johnno", or any variation of) but to actually sigh it like some lovestruck school girl. Logan needed to come back from his senses.
He just needed a moment for his stomach to stop doing flips.
When he finally stood, Logan looked John straight in the eye and poked him harshly on the chest before stating "S'that all? I'd think Iorangi John Paul Key could do better than that. But I guess that's what you'd except from a man who practices mackin' on sheeps."
By the end of it Logan was grinning like a dag and holding back chuckles as a rough hand came up and cupped John's cheek.
"I wonder what's so special about yer mug, s'not that great lookin' and it looks like a drunk koala got to it with a crayola marker." Of course, even after admitting to himself that yes, he liked the sheepshagging bastard, he was not about to admit John is one of the best looking blokes he has had the pleasure of meeting.
Best keep the missus modest.
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Though if that shoulder shifted a fraction of an angle lower-
"This," John annunciated haughtily, doing just that, "Is art you miserable sod. Bein' that y'don't know Jack about it, I'm not surprised y'can't see the brilliance."
Oh, but John could. Didn't give a damn what he looked like himself but that stare automatically following all the crisply inked line-work down his bare torso made him feel like the sexiest bloke alive. He angled his head to the palm warm on his skin, nudging his fallen shirt away with his heel as he muttered just shy of dry lips. "Come on then, Bastard."
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Logan retracted his hand from John's face and coughed nervously into it as he took a step back. "Ya seemed to have dropped your shirt there, mate," he said a tad bit nervously as he pointed at the shirt.
...There was still the fire escape. He wasn't sure but he suddenly felt like running again. Whether it was becuase he didn't know what to do with his hands (he wanted to grab a hold of John, feel the muscles beneath his palms) or maybe it was the way his friend was looking at him. All Logan knew is he wanted to run, to stall the issue longer, and avoid these fuzzy feelings as long as possible.
If only he could break eye contact with John long enough to actually turn away. And since that seemed like an impossibility, Logan hung his head in defeat and finally admitted:
"M'scared mate. Bloody terrified actually. Wish I wasn't bein' such a girl 'bout it but...there ya have it. Go ahead, laugh. I would."
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