Hello everyone! Just a quick description of this oneshot and that's it; it's on the longer side, to start with, and it changes setting quite frequently. There isn't any real kissing and stuff until the end, for all of you who hate boy/boy love (seriously. It's 2016. There are gays and lesbians and bi's and pan's and asexual's in the world. Get used to it, cuz they ain't gonna leave for nobody, honey). It's a simple story, nothing outrageous going on, really something to read for a small kick.

Disclaimer: The song lyrics sung by Mitch are from La La Latch, which I do not own any part of!

Happy reading!


Mitch dove for the remote right as Avi was about to change the channel. The countertenor fought with the bass for the rectangular box for a grand total of five seconds, before the bearded man realized Mitch wasn't giving up anytime soon and let him have it. The smaller brunette pulled back with a winning smirk and returned to watching his favorite yellow sponge dance across the screen.

"Can't we watch something different for once, Mitch? You're always staring at that damned pineapple thing." Avi complained, sending his friend a cross look.

Mitch only rolled his eyes. "That damned pineapple thing, for your information, is where the greatest sponge ever lives. Therefore I will never stop watching it." The pink starfish from the TV made a dumb remark, and Mitch giggled at the screen. "Or Patrick. I will never stop watching Spongebob or Patrick."

Avi payed attention to the show for a moment, before announcing with a thoughtful tone, "I like the blue octopus thing. He's pretty cool."

The countertenor barked a laugh. "Are you kidding me? Squidward is like the grumpiest character next to Plankton!" Mitch gave Avi a sideways glance. "Makes sense though, because you're so grumpy all the time."

"I am not!" Avi exclaimed, offended and ripping his eyes from the television. He had to admit, the show was kinda addicting. Still, there were better things to watch.

"You are so, Avi!" Mitch said right as his phone rang. He made a move to answer it, but not without gesturing wildly at the screen and mouthing Best show ever! He tapped the button that would allow him to recieve the call and held the phone up to his ear. "Hello?"

"Mitch? Where the hell are you?" Kevin's voice was edged, nervous, and irritated. Above all, he didn't sound at all like his usual self. Mitch's face turned sour.

"At the house. Why?"

"Didn't you remember? We're supposed to be at the studio writing down song lyrics! Original ones for the boss."

"What?" Mitch's voice became alarmed, and he was suddenly deaf to anything else in the room besides Kevin's annoyed voice. "The session is in four hours! At like eight at night!" Avi muted and paused the show so Mitch wouldn't miss anything; and god, did the sponge just shoot mustard into its ears? Ew.

"We moved it up to three thirty. Which was half an hour ago." Kevin paused; Mitch heard Kirstie whispering frantically on the other end. "Because Kirstie has to leave at six to go to some special get-together thing or whatever. Anyway, you have to come now, we promised we'd have lyrics for everybody finished by the end of the session. Your part is still on hiatus, Avi came by yesterday and got his part done, and we've only got Kirstie and Scott halfway finished." Kirstie's voice got a bit louder and more urgent, and Kevin wrapped up the conversation with a rushed, "Hurry and get your ass over here in like less than twenty minutes. Go, Mitch!"

The line clicked off. Mitch stood there for a moment, confounded, as the worried bass questioned, "What's up? What's wrong?"

Spongebob Squarepants forgotten, the brunette answered, "T-They need me at the studio like right now." Mitch wrung his hands. "Shit! I need to-I don't even know what I need to do-"

"Put your piercing in, change into some better clothes, calm your ass down, and get to the studio?" Avi said with a single raised eyebrow. "Because it's fifteen minutes away and you only have five to get ready." Mitch flicked his sarcastic-ass friend the finger and proceeded to run upstairs to his giant bathroom that he shared with Scott. Avi merely unpaused the TV and secretly switched the channel to Mythbusters.

At first, when Mitch examined himself in the huge bathroom mirror, he had no idea what Avi had meant by suggesting that he take some care with his appearance; however, after a minute's worth of investigating, Mitch realized the bass was right. His dark hair was everywhere, sticking up in the back and drifting in his face whenever Mitch tilted his head. His clothes were rumpled and made him look edgy but disheveled (he was wearing a thin, loose, dark long-sleeved shirt and tight skinny jeans with combat boots). And lastly was his face, oh god; stubble was spattered around Mitch's sharp jawline, his eyes looked puffy and koal-black, and his cheeks were painted with all sorts of pinks and reds. His usual olive tone disappeared and became a light pale under the strong vainity lights.

Mitch frowned openly at his reflection, dissatisfied. There was nothing he could do about how puffy and tired his eyes looked, and he knew he didn't have enough time to change into something less skin-tight, and he also didn't have time to shave. However, Mitch did take a minute to fix his hair (that one fucking strand was never perfect), straighten his shirt, practice singing to warm up his voice. His piercing! Where was his septum piercing?

"I can't find your silver lining, I don't mean to judge..." Mitch's clear voice bounced off of the mirror and slammed into his eardrums. "But when you read your speech, it's tiring. Enough is enough!"

Avi called from downstairs, "C'mon, Mitch! You can practice on the way. You've already been up there for five minutes!"

"DON'T RUSH ME!" Mitch screamed back, wiping some concealer underneath his eyes to make them less purple and continued searching for his piercing. Finally, he pinched the metal half-ring between his pointer finger and his thumb, grimaced at his mirrored self, and grabbed for the handle that lead out of the bathroom so that he could go downstairs.

"Why did you-what the hell are you watching?" The small brunette asked as he lept the final three steps in his hurry. Avi grinned unshamefully as Mitch ran around trying to find a jacket.

"I figured since you're not going to be here to fight for the remote, and neither is Scott, I'd take advantage of this rare time of peace and watch whatever I want."

"Lucky asshole." Mitch ripped through the coat closet. "Where is my hoodie? Ohmygod, I'm going to be so late!" He couldn't find anything he liked once another minute passed, so he slammed the closet closed with a frustrated huff. Ok, fine. He'd freeze his skinny boy ass off.

The countertenor finally finished his seven-or-eight-minute race with the jangle of car keys in his hand. "Spongebob is the best!" He yelled to Avi as he put one foot and then the other out the door. The brisk spring wind blew in his face and caused his hair (which he had been carefully arranging not moments before) to fly this way and that. Cursing, Mitch unlocked his car from the front step and wrapped his arms around his chest. He was on his godforsaken way.

"Go Squidward!" The bass returned right as the wind blew the door shut.


"Hey, Yolon-" Scott's face pulled into a smile, but the happy expression quckly dropped. "Oh my god, what happened?"

Mitch embraced the warmth of the room as he walked over to his friends. Blood was thinly coating the front of his nose and was half-dry on his lips, leaving a copperish taste in the brunette's mouth whenever he licked them. He had tried to put his piercing in while driving so he wouldn't waste any more time, but luck had not been on his side. When he noticed he was about to run a red light and slammed on the brakes, the piercing was already halfway in and...it got messy. And painful.

"Hey, Brianna." Mitch rubbed his hands together to get some warmth in them, and perched on the edge of one of the recording studio's chairs. "Does anyone have a tissue or something?" He lifted his eyebrows in what he knew was a regal look and molded his face into a mask of coolness. The brunette managed to hold it until his nose began to itch because of the blood and he let out a high-pitched sneeze. That sort of ruined the effect.

Scott and Kevin wore matching looks of confusion and shock. Mitch lazily held up the peace sign in their direction as Kirstie dug around her purse for a napkin.

"Here." She said, holding out the napkin to her best friend. Mitch took it with a glance that asked, Water for the queen, please?

The tall blonde threw a water bottle expertly at Mitch, whom caught it with equal expertise. He uncapped the plastic container, dampened the napkin, and dabbed his blood-covered nose and lips with it. "So, what are we working on? Ow, ow."

"Why are you bleeding out everywhere?" Kevin asked incrediously. Mitch shrugged at the beat boxer and took the napkin away from his nose to examine it; sure enough, it was now stained a dark red in several areas. At least it was off of his face.

"Let's say I learned never to put in a septum piercing while driving ever again." He relented willingly, pointing a finger at his bloodied nose. A sympathetic noise escaped Scott's mouth.

"And why does your skin look so weird?" Kirstie was staring at the bloodied napkin Mitch held in one hand with her gaze yelling concern. The other singer narrowed his eyes at it, and noticed that not only had blood come off on it, but some concealer had as well. His skin was most likely two different colors in some areas. God, he must look worse than before he had known he had to leave. Folding the napkin and dabbing at his eyes (they were tearing up out of embarassment and shame), Mitch sniffed once and said nothing.

Scott could tell that his best friend felt horrible about being late, and their interrogations about his appearance wasn't helping the matter. He butt in, "Give him a break, guys. He didn't even know we were supposed to be here because we forgot to tell him earlier." The blonde heaved himself up from the cream-colored chaise lounge he had been laying on and worked his way across the room to sit next to Mitch. Bending his back so that he would be at least mildly comfortable (how did Mitch fit into such tiny chairs? There was no room for your butt), Scott wrapped his arms around the small brunette, tugging him closer. Mitch automatically leaned against the firm chest waiting for him, and lifted a hand to hold Scott's elbow in an unrelenting grip. A flare of attraction sparked between them, but nobody in the room acknowledged it.

Mitch let out a breath, relaxing and feeling a comforting sense of calm settle over him accompanied by the usual spark of excitement he got whenever Scott held him. He wiped at his bloody and concealer-y face again. "So what are we working on? Kirstie, girl, you look amazing with that eyeshadow."

The mezzo grinned, batting her shimmery mint-green eyes that were lined with a bold grey. "Thanks. I thought I'd go for something different." She nudged Kevin with her boot. "C'mon, Kev, tell them what we've got." Wordlessly, Kirstie sent Mitch a mental I'm sorry with her glowing eyes. A second later she got her mental reply; No problem. After all, a queen has to take critizism from her subjects sometimes, right?

For the next forty minutes or so, the group worked and pondered over lyrics and riffs and notes. Mitch learned that Scott had already decided he'd cover more bass so that Avi could sing more actively; Kevin threw a few new beats at them, some of which were good, some of which were bad, and one or two that were awesome enough to be songs themselves. Kirstie and Mitch tried switching dynamics on a song they'd been writing, only for fun, but it ended up sounding like nails on a chalkboard; the mezzo sounded like she was screeching when she attempted the high notes meant for Mitch, and the countertenor's singing was flatter than normal (most likely because he was trying to sing and get the blood off of his nose at the same time). They concluded that switching vocals wasn't too wise for the time being.

"You're giving me chills." Mitch whispered to Scott. Kirstie and Kevin were talking and comparing freshly-thought lyrics, so the brunette grabbed at the chance to converse with the blonde in a semi-private way, even if it was for a mere minute.

Scott didn't remove his nose from Mitch's silky smooth hair. It smelled of strawberries and because of this he had no intention of moving. "Hmm?"

"I can feel every time you breathe."

In response, the taller man pulled his face away from the back of Mitch's head and purposely blew a gust of air at his open neck. "I'm sorry, what were you saying? I was too busy breathing on you. Continue, please." He blew at the brunette's neck a couple more times.

"Stop!" Mitch protested, even though he smiled as he did so. "I hate it! Argh!" He swatted at his own neck with his free hand, feeling Scott dodge his swipes easily. Damn him.

The blonde let out a pleased laugh at Mitch's obvious struggle. "You look so cute, flailing around like that. I almost can't handle it."

At the jibe, Mitch suddenly stopped, not letting himself show how the comment affected him. "Shut up." He protested lightly, and twisted his head so he could get a good look at his friend's facial expression. Scott wiggled his eyebrows flirtily, and they both giggled, which turned into them both chuckling, which turned into them supressing snorts, which turned into both of them covering their faces with their hands as they cried laughing and their cheeks flushed red with hysteria.

"Mitch, are you okay?"

The brunette tried to nod, tears racing down his cheeks as his grin split his face and answered, "I'm-I'm okaawn!" Scott laughed harder when Mitch failed to pronounce the word due to his uncontrolled giggles. Plus he loved how hard Mitch laughed, making him blush once he realized he was thinking this (but it went unnoticed due to the fact that his face was currently beet red).

Kevin (always the professional) lifted an eyebrow in the general direction of the laughing pair, his eyes sliding to them for a moment before rolling and returning back to the lyric sheet. Kirstie was accostumed to Mitch and Scott's tendancy to lose their minds over next to nothing and ignored them (even though she was secretly giggling with them).

After ten more minutes passed, the session ended without anything else exciting happening. The team was pleased with the progress that had commenced, agreeing to meet up the following afternoon at five.

"Five in the afternoon, Mitch." Kirstie teased, knowing her friend would be there on time without her nagging him. Mitch stuck his tongue out at her, taking the chance to untangle himself from Scott's arms. He watched the mezzo and the beat boxer leave ("Be here tomorrow on time!" Kevin whispered, half-serious and half-joking; Mitch stuck his tongue out at him as well), and then tugged at the blonde's hands so he would get up.

Scott did as silently requested, pulling out his phone. "Where do you want to go for dinner?"

"Oh, nuh-uh, queen." Mitch moved a hand back and forth in front of his own face, and then gestured to the length of his body. "I am so not dressed right."

Scott's eyes skimmed over the brunette's outfit. Everything clung to his skin except for his shirt; he looked sexy in Scott's opinion. "You look fine, Mitch. Dinner. Where?" He picked up the napkin his best friend had discarded, lifted it to Mitch's face, and wiped away the last of the blood that had been previously missed.

"Hmmmm." Mitch hummed, the motion making Scott's fingers vibrate. He smiled subconsiously. "For some reason, I want Chinese food. Chow mein and fried rice. Eggrolls." The brunette winked. "Yeah?"

That sounded good to Scott. "Sure. At that really nice place on the corner?"

It was as if Scott was reading his mind (Mitch wouldn't be shocked if he actually could). "Yes!" Waiting until Scott was finished, Mitch grabbed his hand and held it, linking their fingers together. "Is it still open?"

Biting his lip, the baritone checked his phone. Wasn't Google Maps ever so useful? "If you hadn't been late-" Scott said the word slowly, emphasizing. Mitch hit his shoulder. "-it'd still be open for another hour. The app says it's going to close in thirty minutes. So we'll have to get our food and go."

It was decided, then. Without another word, Mitch yanked Scott towards the door, into the elevator, out of the lobby, and to his car.


"You look like a chipmunk!" Scott grinned at Mitch, whose face was stuffed with tofu. The countertenor swallowed hungrily, and dug around the plastic container for more. He hadn't eaten since noon, and it was eight at night. Who could blame him?

"The food keeps me warm." Mitch claimed, still rooting for tofu with his chopsticks. He found a piece within seconds and popped it in his mouth. "And it tastes so good."

Scott sifted through his own food with less enthusiasim. They were sitting on a bench outside right by Mitch's car; the Chinese place closed five minutes after the singers had gotten their order and wouldn't let them sit inside ("You would have been able to if we were open!" The woman had directed them towards the door. "So sorry! Thank you for coming!"). It was less windy than before, but the air still carried a cold bite and Scott could see Mitch shivering under his shirt. It was so loose that it billowed and revealed his pale stomach, inviting cool air to dance around the area. Not that Scott was more interested in Mitch's smooth-looking skin over food. Nope. Not even a little bit. And he wasn't staring at the exposed place at all. No, sir. No he wasn't. Absolutely, positively-

"You okay, babe?" Mitch asked, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he chewed. Scott's eyes shot up to meet his, striking blue on dark brown. The light haze that had been enveloping his mind lifted, and Scott came back into proper focus and out of his thoughts.

"Fine." Scott dug through the white rice, seeking a sweet pepper to crunch on. The blonde hated most veggies, yet he didn't consider peppers too awful. Grateful for the change in his way of thinking, he focused on eating and not on the slight man dressed in tight clothes next to him. Mitch swallowed, suspicious, but returned to his food.

The past sixty minutes had been interesting to say the least, not counting the fact that Scott couldn't take his mind off of Mitch. Several men (and women) had approached the brunette in the hope that they would be able to woo him. Mitch turned down all of the women politely (though some were not willing to give up easily), but he showed interest in a few of the men. So far, though, Mitch hadn't accepted anyone's number, and for a certian reason he didn't try to hide from himself, Scott was pleased.

A man walking on the other side of the street randomly looked their way, and his gaze locked on Mitch. He looked both ways and began crossing the street. He held a sketchpad.

Great. Scott thought bitterly. Another one. Maybe we should finish eating in the car.

A minute went by before the man finally reached them. He seemed to be in his early twenties, and had dirty blonde hair and pale green eyes. Lean and thin, with a narrow face and straight nose. Even Scott had to admit that he was attractive.

"Hi." The man said breathlessly. "My name is Darin." Darin's eyes were locked onto Mitch like a magnet, and he acted as if Scott wasn't there. The blonde tried not to glare.

Mitch glanced up from his meal, holding a noodle in his chopsticks. He lifted an eyebrow (a move that always made him look regal) and sat up properly. His shyness battled with his vocal chords, threatening to close them off, but Mitch internally sassed them right back. "Hi, Darin. Can I help you?"

"Um, yeah." Darin blushed. "I was wondering...I'm an art major, and I was just wondering if you'd let me draw you."

Scott saw how dark the sky was getting, and realized that there wasn't enough light for Darin to sketch Mitch while outside. Darin was going to invite the small brunette to his place. All it took was Mitch's surprised moment of hesitation and a causious lift of his other eyebrow for Scott to stand up abruptly. Darin unwillingly tore his eyes from Mitch to look up at the blonde (who towered over him by a good four inches).

The baritone smirked at the height difference and tried his best to seem intimidating. It wasn't hard. "Thanks for your offer, but my boyfriend and I were just leaving." Scott leaned down and took Mitch's hand, grabbing his food with his avalible fingers. A startled Mitch followed the movements without question.

"I-um, yeah, sorry." Mitch said apoligetically to Darin, who wore a pathetically sad expression. "We need to go now. Sorry?" The last word ended weirdly. Scott sent the dirty blonde a tight smile and began leading Mitch away and towards the car.

Silently, Scott took out Mitch's keys from the countertenors butt pocket (which made the smaller man yelp at the unexpected contact), thankful that his jeans were so tight. The man with blue eyes knew that Darin was watching, and smiled wickedly at him from above Mitch's head. Not knowing what the hell was going on (and still reeling that Scott had taken out his keys for him; from his ass pocket!), Mitch awkwardly climbed into the passanger seat as soon as Scott unlocked the car, watching with wide eyes as the blonde got into the car to take the wheel. The brunette was still clutching his Chinese food, but he set it against the dashboard and forgot it.

Scott started up the engine, peeling off from the curb they had parked on and swerving into evening traffic easily: there was close to nobody on the road.

Mitch was unbelieveing. "What the fuck was that?"

Scott did not know what to say, so he didn't say anything and instead focused on the road and headlights and stop signs and not on Mitch not on Mitch not on Mitch and how the small brunette probably hated him now. Okay, he most likely didn't hate him, but Mitch was probably pissed. His best friend proved his point by hitting the taller man's arm.

"Hello? Scott! Why would you pull that shit?" Mitch said, exasperated and expecting an answer.

The blonde licked his lips uneasily. Mitch found his eyes following the gesture unconsiously, and almost laughed: even when he was angry with the baritone, he still found him attractive. Just his damned luck, right? "Scott. Tell me. Please."

"Didn't you want him off of your back?" Scott answered Mitch's question with a question. His teeth gritted together, his jaw locking in place after a few more seconds.

"He wanted to draw me!" The brunette wasn't upset at not being someone's muse, he was upset that Scott pulled a rude move like that, touched his ass, and then didn't even try to justify his actions in any way shape or form. "And you yanked me up, rejected him, and dug your hand into my ASS POCKET!"

Unexpectedly, Scott started giggling. When Mitch sent him a strange look, he said, "I thought you were going to say dug your hand into my ass." He snorted loudly. "For your information, I did not dig my hand into your ass pocket; I was searching for your keys, they just so happened to be in your back pocket, and you just so happened to be wearing really tight jeans. Tada."

There was silence in the car for several minutes. By the time Scott reached the house he shared with Mitch, it was nearing eight thirty and the sky was pitch black. Clouds were invisible and the sun was asleep. The pair sat in the car, soaking in the blankness.

Nothing but nothing. Then-

"Did you like it?" Scott asked out of the blue, because there was nothing he wouldn't ask Mitch Grassi.

"Like what?"

"Me touching your butt?"

Mitch swallowed, reliving the moment; the tingles that blossemed in his bones, the spark of lust he had felt, and for the time being he had craved the chance to say that the blonde was actually his boyfriend. Since there was nothing he wouldn't tell Scott Hoying, the brunette let out a shy, "Yes." He hid his face by glaring through the window. Shit, he shouldn't have said that.

In response, Scott opened the car door and exited. Sighing in resignation, Mitch copied him and followed the baritone to the front steps of thier house. The house keys tinkled in Scott's hands as he chose the correct key on his first try and unlocked the front door. Without a sound, he held the door so that Mitch could enter first. Usually the smaller man would teasingly thank him, but tonight he could feel a blanket of solitude wrap aorund him. He didn't like the feeling at all. Mitch began to walk up the stairs.

"Mitch." Scott called. The countertenor glanced back warily.

The blonde closed the door behind him, locked it, and turned to Mitch, whom had decided to make his way to his friend instead of putting distance between them. Distance wasn't good. Distance was never good. Anyway, the brunette felt warmer around Scott; maybe the house was really cold...maybe he should crank up the heat or something.

"I wanted to say..." Scott ran a hand through his hair. Mitch recognized the nervous gesture and was instantly curious. "I-I...um..."

Right when Mitch was about to make fun of Scott for his inability to say two simple words, the blonde huffed in frustration, grabbed both sides of a surprised Mitch's face, and pulled their faces together.

The kiss wasn't like in the books or in the movies; it didn't make Mitch feel as if he would die of happiness in the next second, it wasn't absolute utter perfection, and it didn't feel like the thing or the moment that the brunette had been waiting for all of his life. Kissing Scott was weird, but so so good; his lips tasted like sweet peppers and the cold night air, sending a zap of lightning through Mitch's bones and leaving him craving more. Mitch always craved more whenever he kissed somebody, more of that letting-go, forgetting feeling, but Scott made Mitch feel stronger and more alive. Happier. Even when they weren't kissing.

The brunette pressed his thin body into Scott's, working his lips expertly against the blonde's. His partner responded in the like, wrapping an arm around Mitch's waist and burying one hand in his hair. Oh, but Mitch had lied before about this feeling good, because it started to feel really good once Scott moaned into the smaller man's mouth and his hands turned clammy with desire and wow, Mitch had no idea that the baritone could do that amazing thing with his tongue-

They pulled away for air, still hovering in their embrace and staring at the each other. After a moment, Mitch licked his lips to get the remnants of the sweet pepper taste and gave a smirk.

"I didn't give you permission to kiss me." He said.

Scott tilted his head to the side, his eyes lighting up. Or had they always been that bright around Mitch? "That must be because I didn't ask."

"You should've."

"Yeah?"

Mitch smiled. "Never ask to kiss me. Just do it."

"Are you sure? That means you're giving me free rein." Scott leaned down and brushed their lips together softly. "I get be pretty creative when I have free rein."

"I know." The countertenor giggled. "Trust me, I know."

Their foreheads touched as they laughed, both knowing that the other's head was swimming with memories and kissing and whether or not they'd wish it happened at all.

"This would have never happened if I was late." Mitch realized, blinking up at his best friend/boyfriend. It was true; if Mitch hadn't been late, then the session would have ended on time. Scott and Mitch not only most likely would have picked a different place to eat, but even if they had picked the same place they would have been allowed to eat inside because the place wasn't closed. And even if all that had happened without Mitch being late, Scott would've never been provoked to reach for Mitch's back-pocket keys because he would've had no reason to. So the two shouldn't be making out downstairs, tangled in a mish-mash of arms and hips and legs, kissing for the first time. They should be upstairs, laughing and singing together about something or nothing but certianly not doing...other things.

Mitch had an image of studded collars, a leash, a whip, and a bed. He blinked again and suddenly wondered if the taller man was into that kind of stuff. Inwardly snorting, he shoved the picture from his brain. He needn't scar himself.

Scott's expression didn't change. "Then I'm glad you were late. It led to this-" He tugged Mitch's hair so his head angled and exposed his neck. The blonde bent and licked the pulse point that was throbbing beneath his mouth. The brunette gripped the front of Scott's shirt and sighed breathily at the action. "-and I'm pretty okay with doing that. Many more times."

Mitch broke through the haze enveloping his mind and smacked Scott's chest once he recognized the taunting edge to the blonde's words. "I am going to hurt you."

Scott lifted an eyebrow. "I wouldn't mind. Just depends on where and how."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Chains. Handcuffs. Rope.

"If you're hurting me like this..." The baritone bit Mitch's soft skin, forcing the other man to shudder. "Then I won't mind."

"Makes sense." Mitch nodded, his heart swelling and skipping beats. He laughed once. "Dear god, Scott...what did you give me to make my heart beat out of my chest?"

Scott smiled at the song reference and thought it fit the current siduation quite well. A few select songs always did. "I'm happy you were late." He claimed again, listening to the smaller man's unsteady breathing. "Be late more often, okay?"

Mitch disagreed, which was rare when the person he disagreed with was Scott. "Oh, no. The queen has already promised to be on time for the session tomorrow. At five in the afternoon."

"Hmm..." Scott hummed, his hands starting to trail paths along Mitch's back, already thinking of certain things he wanted to do before then. "Maybe we should call ahead and change that."


"Where is Mitch?" Kirstie exploded, sending one last searching look at the room they had met in yesterday and coming up with nothing. Irritated, she turned on Kevin.

The beat boxer was checking his phone. "I don't know. He should be-" Abruptly, the screen changed colors and the tiny device began belting out the lyrics to Taylor Swift's Bad Blood. A muffled laugh escaped from behind Kirstie's hand, her annoyance momentarily forgotten, and Kevin glared with no real venom in his gaze. He pressed the accept call button.

"Mitch?"

"We're running late, sor-HEY! WATCH OUT FOR THAT DUCK!" Mitch screamed through the phone. Kevin held it a decent distance from his ear; Mitch's high voice mixed with the sharpness of the phone mixed with the screeching of car tires was causing his ears to become inside-out. "CAN YOU NOT DRIVE A CAR SCOTT? GOD! YOU ALMOST KILLED IT!"

The baritone's deeper voice sounded, calmer but indignant. "Mitch, would you calm the fuck down? It was in the middle of the damn road and I didn't see it."

Over the phone, Mitch huffed. "Well, at least you didn't run it over. Thank you."

"Hello? Crazy maniacs? Where are you?" Kevin broke in. Kirstie swiftly made her way to his side, listening intently.

"About fifteen minutes away." Scott said, his tone crackling. "We had a late start."

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Late start? It's five thirty in the p.m.! How can you have a late start?"

"We were up until nine in the morning and Scott forgot to set the alarm."

"Why were you guys up until nine in the morning?"

Mitch paused before answering. "Scott and I were busy."

"Doing what?"

Neither singer made a noise for an instance. Then-

"Being late." Scott said. "What else would we be doing?"