iwasmore | (no subject)

Noah was beginning to regret having not actually just ducked into a bathroom stall with Freddie. The offer to peek had been spontaneous, something he meant to be super casual and not the request he'd made at the mall that had caused another rift between them. But now the reception was over and Noah had driven Donna home, and that meant driving to Freddie's apartment and knocking on his apartment door - not to come over to hang out, but to show off what the city had done to him.

No matter what way he turned it around in his head, coming over to Freddie's apartment like this felt anything but casual. Even though that's all it could be.

He was over-thinking it.

Of course they could just hang out. They'd done it before a ton of times, it would be fine. Maybe he could even forget the boobs thing altogether, maybe it was a bad idea to begin with.

So Noah parked at Freddie's apartment building and knocked on his door, still in the dress he'd worn to the wedding, his hair pulled from its braid and lipstick reapplied. He told himself it was so he wouldn't look like a wreck on his last day as a girl, was all.

Threaded | Flat

Noah hadn't given him any indication as to when he might be leaving the wedding. In truth, part of him suspected Noah may reconsider or may decide to go home with Donna instead. Or with someone else entirely. Or no one at all. Apart from the awkward invitation in the mall, Noah'd held fast to his rule of no fooling about any longer and, despite the ongoing tension between them, Freddie had honoured it.

But Freddie can't say he's much of a fan of this position. The waiting. Usually, he's the one to decide this sort of thing. He's not the one left waiting up, unsure of whether or not the other person will even show.

He's not the one who's supposed to care.

But there's no denying the itch under his skin regardless of how fiercely he tries to do just that. He wastes no time in peeling himself out of his suit once he's home, exchanging it for his usual lounge shorts and tank before grabbing the sketch pad he'd purchased a few weeks ago. Settled on his sofa, Freddie refuses to let the quiet of his phone bother him as his pencil scrapes across paper, scribbling faceless figures and trees and pointless shapes until the knock at his door pulls him from his thoughts.

Something like relief rolls over him and he answers the door with a faint smirk, taking in the fall of Noah's dress once more. "Why the formality?" he asks, his voice teasing. Because Noah has no real use for doors, has popped into Freddie's flat more times than he can count, his arrival always heralded by a text or phone call.

The again, everything about this meeting is a little different.

Freddie hasn't a clue what time they both fall asleep, but his muscles are pleasantly sore, his bed sheets damp with sweat and come. Noah's hair tickles his arm and the last thing he sees before he passes out completely are the impossible blue of his eyes.

It's sunlight that wakes him some time later and he squints blearily against the harsh rays. His legs are tangled in sheets and his left arm is nearly entirely numb, prickling when he tries to free it from the weight of--

Ah.

Freddie can't say he's exactly disappointed by the sight of Noah's more familiar broad shoulders and lean back, the tiny cinch of his waist. He can't say he's surprised either; they both knew there would be a bit of an expiration date to this. That'd been entirely the point, after all.

Still, there's no denying the sink in Freddie's stomach as he gently eases his arm free and clenches his fingers in and out of a fist to get the blood pumping. For once, he's not the least bit hungover, but he rubs at his eyes with his other hand all the same, remember bits of pieces of the night before, the fall of fabric over Noah's breasts, the shape and feel of him under Freddie's hands, the wet, tight clench of his body and the sounds...

Frowning, Freddie shoves the thoughts aside and slips out of the bed. He needs a piss.