"Breeze!"
Long legs didn't hesitate in their proud catwalk, even as they accommodated the sudden address by stopping and swerving around in one cool turn as though that was their original intention. The owner likewise did not falter in his self-centered attentions. His mouth twisted in a purse of lips, and his chin lifted proudly as the mobile suspended above snapped shot after shot.
"Fandango," greeted the photographer in his usual clipped tone. However Fandango had conversed enough with the blond man to know he wasn't being cold. He was being Tyler Breeze.
Jogging wasn't impressive, to either his body or his target, though it was the most effective commute method to reach his destination without seeming too desperate or leisurely. Fandango's brown eyes surveyed the other with appreciation as he came near. Although he was tired and sweaty and mussed just ten minutes before, Tyler had managed to pull himself back into a 'Breeze-licious' state already whereas Fandango had merely wiped his face and enjoyed a cool drink while he waited for his partner.
Most grand of his partner's appearance was the fact that, as usual after a match, Tyler had allowed his blond locks to fall in a freely swept tumble rather than tying them back in another small manbun. Fandango always thought his hair down was a more endearing look, not that the Canadian had asked his advice.
"Hey, Breeze. Good match we had out there, wasn't it?" His hips were already dancing without his noticing, only a small side-to-side sway that was about the equivalent of a dog's tail wagging.
"Of course it was!" Tyler agreed as he finally lowered his selfie stick and met brown eyes with his own smoky grey. "What else could you expect from the most gorgeous tag team to ever grace this hovel of an establishment?" But before Fandango could agree, the blond whipped around to grant another look at his back. His stick rose again in the air, a "Here, let's take a post-match selfie and send it to The Garbage Truth" cutting off the words Fandango was prepared to blurt in an attempt to stall Tyler's leaving.
He never had been too interested in taking pictures of himself. He had always had other people to do it for him, even though with his long arms any selfies would have been able to be flattering if he had desired them to be. But Fandango never denied Tyler's request for them. He stepped closer to the blond man, pressing his chest against the his side and trying to mimic the professional curl of Tyler's lips as the camera went off for three quick shots. They repositioned, Fandango's hand grasping his partner's arm to guide the stick to his preference.
Not that he had a particular one.
"Yes, that's a good one," Tyler praised without taking his eyes from the screen. "Do that exact expression for this next one." The brunet didn't move as the Canadian cocked his head several centimeters to the side for an improved angle and selfie. "Perfect. Who else should I send these to? Zayn never replied to the ones before, but then again, he never checks his Snapchats unless he's out with that uggo Neville."
Fandango nodded along to the model's seemingly pointless rant. He knew Tyler had a genuine habit of sending his various selfies to their co-workers, having of become a recent recipient of them himself. Sometimes they came in group messages, which could be annoying when somebody like Ambrose or Rollins complained about either receiving them or being in the same message group as one another.
Or when the compliments came in.
"Send them to the Usos. Maybe they'll take a hint about the right makeup to wear to the ring," he tossed in, earning a wicked laugh from Tyler.
"The Usos, perfect!" he cackled as he tapped them to the somewhat extensive list of recipients. Fandango looked over the Canadian's shoulder to see Zayn, Woods, Kingston, the Usos, Ziggler, Lynch, himself, and..
"Who's Kev?"
Tyler glanced from his partner to the screen in momentary surprise. "You know who 'Kev' is. Kevin Owens? I usually don't do nicknames, but he's the one who put it in. Along with that awful contact photo. I never went to delete or change it."
As the blond returned to his messaging, tagging on a caption or whatever it is Tyler did with all of that tapping, Fandango stewed over the implications of his words. Tyler's phone was his baby. Everybody knew this. He was fiercely protective of things that were his, his phone being the basis of many an argument when somebody came within five feet of the precious device. Yet Kevin Owens had been permitted to touch it? To type in it? To take a picture in it?
"Let's get a drink," Fandango suggested smoothly, resting his hand on Tyler's shoulder just to revel in the fact he could. Tyler loathed to be touched. Only a very, very select few could boast of the fact they were freely permitted to express affection over the man's flesh. He remembered the vulgar spank that had caused Breeze to explode in the locker room until he received one for his own use. "To celebrate our match and partnership."
"Sure," Tyler agreed in a tone so casual that it seemed obscene how Fandango's heart jumped. "I was already going out tonight, but I wasn't sure if there would be anybody I could actually stand to talk to. You can be my plus-one."
Even drinking in the company of others was fine if he could drink with Tyler Breeze. Fandango's lips curled into a smile as he led them out of the corridor and toward their locker room.
"All I have to do is shower, change and we can leave early," he told the blond, who nodded in acknowledgement.
"Let's use the far stalls," he suggested. "I don't want anybody undeserving to walk in on anything more gorgeous than they deserve."
Tyler reached to open the door to their dressing room, but it was pulled wide before he could give any pressure. Fandango moved to peek in on who could be invading their private quarters when a sour taste started in his mouth.
Kevin Owens looked at them with his usual apathetic expression.
Scratch that.
Kevin Owens looked at Tyler with his usual apathetic expression.
"Hey, Breezy," the bear of a man said as though he weren't trespassing on reserved property. "You take a long time to get back. It's been half an hour since your match, and you haven't even showered yet. Where were you?"
Tyler pushed past the man to begin collecting his things from the vanity. He stopped periodically to inspect his reflection in the mirror looming before it.
"I had to clean up first. Did you see my hair? It looked awful! I don't do awful, Kevin. And then Fandango and I had some pressing matters to attend to."
Fandango looked up from stuffing his bag at the mention of his name, just in time to catch Owen's unimpressed look over.
"Are your matters attended to yet? I wanted to leave early, before I have to see Jericho's smug face anywhere again." Owens fell into the chair beside Tyler, the blue one with the distinct name 'Fandango' scripted on a sign across it's back. He ignored it just as much as he ignored the actual Fandango.
"We still have to take our showers and change. Not everybody is comfortable walking around like some plain dirty uggo."
The last word was spat with such venom, Fandango had to look up again. He was prepared to dash to the rescue of his partner, sure Owen's next responce would be to powerbomb the blond model right through his vanity. But instead the large man laughed and thumbed through a magazine.
"Whatever, Breezy. You know there's something about waiting a few hours for a shower that secretly turns you on about me. And last I was in, Slater is in the shower." Tyler groaned. "Exactly. I don't want to get caught in another headache because he likes to sing. I'd rather wait."
Fandango's chest grew hollow as he listened to the easy banter between the two Canadians. He knew he wasn't being purposefully excluded on Tyler's part; the man was surprisingly adaptable to any track of conversation so long as he approved of those involved. Though he didn't know Owens very well, wasn't even aware he and Tyler were apparently such good friends. Not like Tyler and Xavier.
"Have you ever heard Dallas in there? Those two could start a band instead of a team. Call them the 'Can't Carry a Tune Clowns'," Fandango quipped, and he was rewarded by another round of Tyler's mocking laughter.
"Yeah!" he agreed. "Or the 'Shouldn't Sing Swines'!"
"'Lyrics Lost Losers'!"
"'Untalented Uggos'!"
The partners dissolved into taunting laughter at the expense of their co-workers. They didn't notice Owens until he had his hand on Tyler's chest to get his attention.
"I'm going to be downstairs," he said to Tyler. "Our usual table. Don't take too long in the shower with the Musical Morons, Breezy. We might need the night later."
Then he left without looking at Fandango, an act that made the dancer's blood boil and his fists clench.
Or maybe that was because of the way Tyler was rubbing at the spot on his chest where he had been touched, Fandango sure his cheeks were more pink than they had been a second beforehand.