Chapter Three
At first Cyanide wasn't sure what had woken him up, but as he lay trying to summon the will to open his eyes, the fog slowly cleared from his brain, and he realized that someone was singing. Singing softly, in a voice pitched neither too low nor too high, with just a hint of a husky growl in it.
"Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over Honest, let's make this night last forever Forever and ever, let's make this last forever Forever and ever, let's make this last forever."
He recognized the voice and the lyrics and smiled. Skids, belting out some Blink 182 at God only knew what time in the morning. With anyone else, it would be annoying, but this......this was just too adorable.
Cyanide cracked an eye, fully intending to act put out at having been awakened, but the sight that greeted him stopped him cold. His best friend, sitting up in the hospital bed, sans cap, coloring book pages and crayons scattered all over the sheet, beaming at a piece of paper in his hand. Oh yes, and singing in what was very possibly the sexiest voice he'd ever heard.
Cyanide was, against his will, enchanted, and he became even moreso when the hazel eyes focused so intently on the picture flicked up to meet his and stayed there, drawing him in.
"When you smile, I melt inside I'm not worthy for a minute of your time I really wish it was only me and you I'm jealous of everybody in the room Please don't look at me with those eyes Please don't hint that you're capable of lies I dread the thought of our very first kiss A target that I'm probably gonna miss."
Cyanide's breath caught in his throat, and he scowled inwardly. 'He isn't singing to *you*, idiot,' he told himself angrily. 'He's just singing and he happened to glance at you. There's a difference. Now stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.'
"Good morning, Cya!" Skids chirped, having finished the song while Cy was mentally reprimanding himself. "Did you get a lot of sleep last night on the Fold-Out From Hell?"
Cy grinned at his friend's all-too-accurate name for the tiny couch as he replied, "Are you kidding? I slept like a log. What about you?"
He was lying, of course. He'd barely gotten any sleep at all last night, only this time, it wasn't entirely because he felt like he was relaxing on a rock. Given how exhausted he had been and still was, he didn't think a little physical discomfort could have kept him awake. The truth of the matter was, he'd stayed up until dawn replaying the same scene over and over again in his mind. Himself, bending over the comatose body in the hospital bed, watching the chest rise and fall slowly. Being aware that Skids' eyelashes were fluttering, knowing that he should step back from the bed, but unable to tear himself away. Watching the eyes open completely and seeing the strangest gleam appear in them, one that Cy didn't understand at all. There was something almost.....feral in that look. And the next thing he knew, Skids was kissing him on the cheek. Just a touch, just a brush, just one instant of sizzling, sparking contact, and then nothing.
He'd been shocked. Sure, Skids had touched and hugged and even kissed him before, but this was different. He couldn't put his finger on how, exactly. He just knew that it was. And he had the nagging feeling that it was extremely important.
He'd stood there for what seemed like an enternity, gaping at Skids and trying to find a way to make, "You can't ever do that again because I know you don't really mean it and it's killing me," sound less desperate and pathetic. And then, just when he'd gathered up his courage and opened his mouth, Skids had to pull out the wide eyes and the innocent blush and the sweet, sexy voice and say, "I missed you lots, Cya."
There was no way he could be even mildly remonstrating after that. No one in history had ever prevailed against Skid's kicked-puppy look. So Cyanide gave in to the inevitable. He smiled, made a light, friendly joke, and just like that, things were back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be when you were in love with your best friend and he had no idea and you were supposed to be the straight one, dammit.
He couldn't claim that title anymore, though. His feelings made it null and void. What would he call himself now? "The straight one, but he'll make an exception for Skids?" Also, apparently he'd started sending off gay signals or something, because he wasn't the only one who'd picked up on his little crush.
Tybalt. Cy frowned, replaying another scene from yesterday that was responsible for his lack of sleep. The redhead come to visit Skids, as he'd promised. When he'd first walked in the door, Skids had shot Cya a fearful glance, probably wondering if his friend was going to blame the whole thing on Tybalt and possibly murder him with his bare hands. Cy couldn't really blame Skids. He had been acting kind of spastic lately. But witnesses had reported that the crash was in no way Tybalt's fault, so Cy couldn't be angry at him about that.
However, he felt justified in being insanely jealous. After all, the guy DID seem to spend a lot of time with Skids. And he'd sent roses, which were a sign of eternal love, right? And, as much as Cy hated to admit it, Tyblat was very handsome in a arrogant, artistic kind of way, and obviously used to getting what he wanted.
All of these factors put together equaled trouble for Cyanide, which was the reason he'd spent the entirety of Tybalt's visit yesterday glaring and grunting and just generally being possessive. He couldn't seem to help it. When he tried to stifle the feelings, he only came across as more hostile. And he'd done a lot of stifling. In fact, he probably shouldn't have been surprised when Tybalt asked if they could talk outside for a few minutes, but he was. He hadn't expected to be called on his behavior. But he agreed anyway, because he didn't want to upset Skids by refusing.
"Look, you can cut the suspicious boyfriend crap," Tybalt had said in a low voice as soon as the door was closed behind them. "I get the picture. Skids is yours. I mess with him, I die. And so on and so forth."
"I--I don't know what you mean," Cy stammered. "I'm not Skids' boyfriend."
"Well, no, but you'd like to be, now wouldn't you?"
Cyanide clamped his lips shut firmly, determined not to say anything. There was no way he was discussing such a delicate matter with a practical stranger. It was none of this man's concern what his relationship with Skids was, and he could just mind his own damn business. Starting now.
"Fine, don't answer. You don't have to. Just look at how you act around him. Always laughing at his jokes and sympathizing when he's in pain and smiling at him in the sappiest way when you think no one's watching."
"We're friends," Cy grated out through clenched teeth. "Friends do stuff like that."
"Yeah?" Tybalt sneered. "Then what's with the jealous rage you fly into so easily? And what's with those looks you keep giving him?"
Cyanide shifted uneasily. "What do you mean? What looks?"
"Oh, you know," Tybalt drawled. "The ones where you stare at him lustily and it's perfectly obvious that you're dreaming of ripping all of his clothes off and ravishing him madly. Not that I can blame you," he continued thoughtfully, ignoring the blush that was spreading over Cya's face. "I mean, all he's wearing is that paper thin hospital gown, and he's got the greatest body, doesn't he? Hell, sometimes I'm tempted to jump him myself."
Before he even knew what he was doing, Cy had slammed Tybalt against the wall and was practically snarling in the artist's face. "YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!"
Tybalt had the grace to look startled for a split second, and then he smirked. "Ah yes, this definitely proves to me that you're nothing but the very best of friends. You're so convincing, Torres."
Realizing that he'd just been tricked into giving himself away, Cyanide slowly let go of the coat lapels, stepped away, and took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. "What do you want?" he asked quietly a few moments later, when he thought he had most of his emotions under control. "I'm assuming you didn't call me out here just to taunt me."
"No, which even I find rather surprising. Usually taunting people is my first order of business. That and seducing them. However, I have more important matters to see to this time."
"Like?"
"Like the fact that Skids is my friend, and I want him to be happy."
"Hey, look, I'm not going to do anything to upset him," Cy protested angrily. "I'm not stupid. I know better than to come on to him. Especially right now."
Tybalt smiled in a rather shark-like fashion. "Wrong again, I'm afraid. You see, I believe that not coming on to him is the worst thing you can do."
There had been a moment of shocked silence. Then Cy demanded, "What are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?"
"No, actually. I really think Skids would be happier if you *did* show a little interest in him. A lot happier."
"You can't be serious. What makes you think that he would want something like that?"
Tybalt shrugged, watching Cyanide's face flick from skeptical to angry to longing and back again. "You weren't there when the car crashed. I was."
"So?"
"So let's see if I can reconstruct the scene for you." Tybalt paused for a minute, gathering his thoughts, then continued. "Skids and I have just been in a major accident. A speeding automobile struck the passenger side of my car, knocking us to the side of the road. I'm shaken and a little scratched up, but when I finally orient myself enough to check, I can't find any broken bones, and nothing really hurts. So I turn to Skids, who, I notice, is slumped over in the seat, his shoulder twisted at an odd angle. I ask if he's all right, and he doesn't respond. I keep asking, praying he'll answer me, because I'm scared to touch him, to move him. I'm scared of what I might find. Finally, he stirs. I'm relieved until he sits up enough to look at me, and then I'm horrified. His eyes are glazed, unfocused, and his face is covered in blood. It's streaming from his lip, his nose, everywhere, and it's matted into his hair. I can tell he's trying to say something. His mouth is moving, but I can't hear a sound. Then he seems to gather his strength. He looks me and really sees me for the first time. And just guess what he says."
Cy couldn't guess. He had no idea. He was too busy feeling his gut wrench at the thought of Skids being in so much pain.
"He says, 'Call Cya. The number's in my phone. Tell him.....tell him....' and then he blacks out."
The hospital corridor had been deafeningly still. Tybalt had seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but he was unable to. The thought of Skids bleeding and broken and asking for *him* had rendered Cyanide temporarily speechless. "I wanted to do what Skids asked, but it was more important to get him help," Tybalt continued, his voice quieter now, more reflective. "So I called for an ambulance. When one arrived, they loaded Skids onto a stretcher, and let me ride in the back with him. He came to briefly on the way to the hospital and asked for you again." "What.....what did he say?" Cy had to force the words out past the lump in his throat. "Well, you must understand that he wasn't very coherent. He mumbled a few things that I couldn't make out at first. Slurred the same word over and over. To me, it sounded a lot like Cyanide. Then he said, quite clearly, 'He doesn't know. I never told him. I never realized....I want to see Cyan again.'" "But what could he have to tell me?" Cy mused to himself, dark eyes confused and pained. "And if it was so important, why hasn't he mentioned it yet?" Tybalt sighed noisily. "Oh come on, it's not that hard. Guy rambles on about wanting to tell you something when he thinks he's going to die, but won't bring it up when it turns out he's not? He's obviously in love with you and too insecure to do anything about it." Cy had rolled his eyes. "Oh, obviously. Only someone as arrogant as you would think that way, you know that?" "Hey, I only told you that stuff to help Skids," Tybalt had declared, holding up his hands defensively. "Believe me, I get no personal gratification out of it at all, which, by the way, might be a first. You should feel honored. And I'm not just matchmaking or inventing things to try to create a false utopia for Skids. I really do think there's something there, and I'm only calling it like I see it." Calling it like he saw it. The memory made Cyan sigh. If that was the way the artist saw things, Cy wanted to trade eyes with him. Because the way he saw things, Skids didn't love him. Not any more than he loved, for example, Harley or chocolate ice cream.
'Well, you can't really blame him, can you, Torres?' a little voice in his mind sneered nastily. 'After all, if you were Skids, would you be romantically interested in a guy like you?'
No, he admitted silently. No, of course not. If he were Skids, he'd want someone just as bright and beautiful as he was. Not some scrawny, angsty punk who didn't even have the balls to tell his best friend that he was in love with him.
His gloomy thoughts were intruded upon at that point by Skids himself, who had been describing a night that involved a lot of cartoons and crayons and very little actual sleep. Cy had been only half-listening, but he snapped back to the present when he heard his name. "Cya? Would you open the curtains, please? I think someone must have closed them during the night, and I want to see the sun." Then Skids smiled at him again, and, for a moment, he couldn't do anything but stare and wonder how he'd got lucky enough to have someone so gorgeous even as a friend.
When he didn't move or speak at all, Skids' brow creased. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly. "That couch didn't hurt your back or anything, did it?"
Coming to his senses, Cy hastily sat up and swung his feet off the Fold-Out From Hell. "No, I'm just kinda slow in the mornings. Delayed reactions and all that." He thought it was a pretty good excuse, considering, and hurriedly moved to do as Skids had asked, standing up and brushing off his white, woven blanket.
Too hurriedly. The loose weave in one corner snagged on his nipple ring as the rest of the quilt sagged heavily towards the ground,
and Cya inhaled sharply. It always hurt like hell when that happened, and Skid's presence only added insult to injury.
"Mierda, I hate it when I do that." He gathered the blanket off the floor with one hand and carefully removed the stray threads with the other. The painful yanking ceased, and he sighed in relief, tossing the coverlet into a chair. Then he turned to look at Skids, who hadn't made a sound since he'd stood up, which he found mildly disturbing.
What he discovered puzzled him. His friend seemed to have forgotten his immediate surroundings and was staring, transfixed, at Cya's chest. Cy let his own gaze travel downward, wondering if he had an alien bursting out of there and didn't know it, but he didn't see anything that would warrant such careful scrutiny. He was about to ask what was so absorbing when Skids spoke and answered the question for him.
"Dude....your nip ring is very.....shiny."
Cyanide couldn't help laughing. The way he said it, coupled with the mesmerized glaze in his eyes, was simply priceless. "You want to touch it?" he invited, then mentally kicked himself. The absolute last thing he needed was the secret object of his lust touching his nipples.
But when mesmerized became awed and Skids asked, "Could I really?" Cy didn't have the heart to deny him. So he stepped closer and submitted his ring for inspection, cursing himself silently and thinking that he should start sleeping in a shirt.
At least until Skids touched his chest. Then he didn't do much thinking at all. About anything. He was too busy feeling as his ring was first flicked playfully, then tugged on, just a bit, then rubbed gently. That last made him bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.
"Shibby," Skids breathed finally, releasing the little bit of metal. "That's so shibby. Thank you for letting me play with it, Cy. Now will you open the curtains for me? Please?"
"Huh?" Cy had completely forgotten about the curtains. What curtains? There were curtains around here?
"To let the sun in," Skids explained patiently. "We need some light."
"Oh. Yeah, sure." Cya backed away from the bed quickly, before he did something crazy, like leap into it and kiss Skids senseless. "No problem. Curtains." He crossed to the window in two long strides and pulled back the light drape hanging there to reveal black, stormy skies that promised about a zero percent chance of any sun that day.
"Oh." Skids sounded disappointed for about a fraction of a second, then cheered up again. "That's okay, though. We don't have to have sunshine to color! Here, you color this picture, and I'll finish this one that I've been working on."
Cy glanced down at the paper that was being held out to him, then up at Skids. The page featured two men in tights. They were smiling warmly at each other.
Hmm. If he didn't know better, he'd say Skids was *trying* to drive him utterly insane.
"It's Robin Hood and Little John. They're good friends," Skids explained seriously. "Just like you and me. Except....." a slight frown puckered the perfect brow for a moment, "Except I don't think Robin Hood had a nip ring for Little John to play with. But you can draw one on."
Definitely trying to drive him insane, Cy decided, accepting the paper and some crayons wordlessly. And doing a damn fine job of it, too.
At first Cyanide wasn't sure what had woken him up, but as he lay trying to summon the will to open his eyes, the fog slowly cleared from his brain, and he realized that someone was singing. Singing softly, in a voice pitched neither too low nor too high, with just a hint of a husky growl in it.
"Let's go, don't wait, this night's almost over Honest, let's make this night last forever Forever and ever, let's make this last forever Forever and ever, let's make this last forever."
He recognized the voice and the lyrics and smiled. Skids, belting out some Blink 182 at God only knew what time in the morning. With anyone else, it would be annoying, but this......this was just too adorable.
Cyanide cracked an eye, fully intending to act put out at having been awakened, but the sight that greeted him stopped him cold. His best friend, sitting up in the hospital bed, sans cap, coloring book pages and crayons scattered all over the sheet, beaming at a piece of paper in his hand. Oh yes, and singing in what was very possibly the sexiest voice he'd ever heard.
Cyanide was, against his will, enchanted, and he became even moreso when the hazel eyes focused so intently on the picture flicked up to meet his and stayed there, drawing him in.
"When you smile, I melt inside I'm not worthy for a minute of your time I really wish it was only me and you I'm jealous of everybody in the room Please don't look at me with those eyes Please don't hint that you're capable of lies I dread the thought of our very first kiss A target that I'm probably gonna miss."
Cyanide's breath caught in his throat, and he scowled inwardly. 'He isn't singing to *you*, idiot,' he told himself angrily. 'He's just singing and he happened to glance at you. There's a difference. Now stop acting like a schoolgirl with a crush.'
"Good morning, Cya!" Skids chirped, having finished the song while Cy was mentally reprimanding himself. "Did you get a lot of sleep last night on the Fold-Out From Hell?"
Cy grinned at his friend's all-too-accurate name for the tiny couch as he replied, "Are you kidding? I slept like a log. What about you?"
He was lying, of course. He'd barely gotten any sleep at all last night, only this time, it wasn't entirely because he felt like he was relaxing on a rock. Given how exhausted he had been and still was, he didn't think a little physical discomfort could have kept him awake. The truth of the matter was, he'd stayed up until dawn replaying the same scene over and over again in his mind. Himself, bending over the comatose body in the hospital bed, watching the chest rise and fall slowly. Being aware that Skids' eyelashes were fluttering, knowing that he should step back from the bed, but unable to tear himself away. Watching the eyes open completely and seeing the strangest gleam appear in them, one that Cy didn't understand at all. There was something almost.....feral in that look. And the next thing he knew, Skids was kissing him on the cheek. Just a touch, just a brush, just one instant of sizzling, sparking contact, and then nothing.
He'd been shocked. Sure, Skids had touched and hugged and even kissed him before, but this was different. He couldn't put his finger on how, exactly. He just knew that it was. And he had the nagging feeling that it was extremely important.
He'd stood there for what seemed like an enternity, gaping at Skids and trying to find a way to make, "You can't ever do that again because I know you don't really mean it and it's killing me," sound less desperate and pathetic. And then, just when he'd gathered up his courage and opened his mouth, Skids had to pull out the wide eyes and the innocent blush and the sweet, sexy voice and say, "I missed you lots, Cya."
There was no way he could be even mildly remonstrating after that. No one in history had ever prevailed against Skid's kicked-puppy look. So Cyanide gave in to the inevitable. He smiled, made a light, friendly joke, and just like that, things were back to normal. Well, as normal as they could be when you were in love with your best friend and he had no idea and you were supposed to be the straight one, dammit.
He couldn't claim that title anymore, though. His feelings made it null and void. What would he call himself now? "The straight one, but he'll make an exception for Skids?" Also, apparently he'd started sending off gay signals or something, because he wasn't the only one who'd picked up on his little crush.
Tybalt. Cy frowned, replaying another scene from yesterday that was responsible for his lack of sleep. The redhead come to visit Skids, as he'd promised. When he'd first walked in the door, Skids had shot Cya a fearful glance, probably wondering if his friend was going to blame the whole thing on Tybalt and possibly murder him with his bare hands. Cy couldn't really blame Skids. He had been acting kind of spastic lately. But witnesses had reported that the crash was in no way Tybalt's fault, so Cy couldn't be angry at him about that.
However, he felt justified in being insanely jealous. After all, the guy DID seem to spend a lot of time with Skids. And he'd sent roses, which were a sign of eternal love, right? And, as much as Cy hated to admit it, Tyblat was very handsome in a arrogant, artistic kind of way, and obviously used to getting what he wanted.
All of these factors put together equaled trouble for Cyanide, which was the reason he'd spent the entirety of Tybalt's visit yesterday glaring and grunting and just generally being possessive. He couldn't seem to help it. When he tried to stifle the feelings, he only came across as more hostile. And he'd done a lot of stifling. In fact, he probably shouldn't have been surprised when Tybalt asked if they could talk outside for a few minutes, but he was. He hadn't expected to be called on his behavior. But he agreed anyway, because he didn't want to upset Skids by refusing.
"Look, you can cut the suspicious boyfriend crap," Tybalt had said in a low voice as soon as the door was closed behind them. "I get the picture. Skids is yours. I mess with him, I die. And so on and so forth."
"I--I don't know what you mean," Cy stammered. "I'm not Skids' boyfriend."
"Well, no, but you'd like to be, now wouldn't you?"
Cyanide clamped his lips shut firmly, determined not to say anything. There was no way he was discussing such a delicate matter with a practical stranger. It was none of this man's concern what his relationship with Skids was, and he could just mind his own damn business. Starting now.
"Fine, don't answer. You don't have to. Just look at how you act around him. Always laughing at his jokes and sympathizing when he's in pain and smiling at him in the sappiest way when you think no one's watching."
"We're friends," Cy grated out through clenched teeth. "Friends do stuff like that."
"Yeah?" Tybalt sneered. "Then what's with the jealous rage you fly into so easily? And what's with those looks you keep giving him?"
Cyanide shifted uneasily. "What do you mean? What looks?"
"Oh, you know," Tybalt drawled. "The ones where you stare at him lustily and it's perfectly obvious that you're dreaming of ripping all of his clothes off and ravishing him madly. Not that I can blame you," he continued thoughtfully, ignoring the blush that was spreading over Cya's face. "I mean, all he's wearing is that paper thin hospital gown, and he's got the greatest body, doesn't he? Hell, sometimes I'm tempted to jump him myself."
Before he even knew what he was doing, Cy had slammed Tybalt against the wall and was practically snarling in the artist's face. "YOU STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM!"
Tybalt had the grace to look startled for a split second, and then he smirked. "Ah yes, this definitely proves to me that you're nothing but the very best of friends. You're so convincing, Torres."
Realizing that he'd just been tricked into giving himself away, Cyanide slowly let go of the coat lapels, stepped away, and took a few deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. "What do you want?" he asked quietly a few moments later, when he thought he had most of his emotions under control. "I'm assuming you didn't call me out here just to taunt me."
"No, which even I find rather surprising. Usually taunting people is my first order of business. That and seducing them. However, I have more important matters to see to this time."
"Like?"
"Like the fact that Skids is my friend, and I want him to be happy."
"Hey, look, I'm not going to do anything to upset him," Cy protested angrily. "I'm not stupid. I know better than to come on to him. Especially right now."
Tybalt smiled in a rather shark-like fashion. "Wrong again, I'm afraid. You see, I believe that not coming on to him is the worst thing you can do."
There had been a moment of shocked silence. Then Cy demanded, "What are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?"
"No, actually. I really think Skids would be happier if you *did* show a little interest in him. A lot happier."
"You can't be serious. What makes you think that he would want something like that?"
Tybalt shrugged, watching Cyanide's face flick from skeptical to angry to longing and back again. "You weren't there when the car crashed. I was."
"So?"
"So let's see if I can reconstruct the scene for you." Tybalt paused for a minute, gathering his thoughts, then continued. "Skids and I have just been in a major accident. A speeding automobile struck the passenger side of my car, knocking us to the side of the road. I'm shaken and a little scratched up, but when I finally orient myself enough to check, I can't find any broken bones, and nothing really hurts. So I turn to Skids, who, I notice, is slumped over in the seat, his shoulder twisted at an odd angle. I ask if he's all right, and he doesn't respond. I keep asking, praying he'll answer me, because I'm scared to touch him, to move him. I'm scared of what I might find. Finally, he stirs. I'm relieved until he sits up enough to look at me, and then I'm horrified. His eyes are glazed, unfocused, and his face is covered in blood. It's streaming from his lip, his nose, everywhere, and it's matted into his hair. I can tell he's trying to say something. His mouth is moving, but I can't hear a sound. Then he seems to gather his strength. He looks me and really sees me for the first time. And just guess what he says."
Cy couldn't guess. He had no idea. He was too busy feeling his gut wrench at the thought of Skids being in so much pain.
"He says, 'Call Cya. The number's in my phone. Tell him.....tell him....' and then he blacks out."
The hospital corridor had been deafeningly still. Tybalt had seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but he was unable to. The thought of Skids bleeding and broken and asking for *him* had rendered Cyanide temporarily speechless. "I wanted to do what Skids asked, but it was more important to get him help," Tybalt continued, his voice quieter now, more reflective. "So I called for an ambulance. When one arrived, they loaded Skids onto a stretcher, and let me ride in the back with him. He came to briefly on the way to the hospital and asked for you again." "What.....what did he say?" Cy had to force the words out past the lump in his throat. "Well, you must understand that he wasn't very coherent. He mumbled a few things that I couldn't make out at first. Slurred the same word over and over. To me, it sounded a lot like Cyanide. Then he said, quite clearly, 'He doesn't know. I never told him. I never realized....I want to see Cyan again.'" "But what could he have to tell me?" Cy mused to himself, dark eyes confused and pained. "And if it was so important, why hasn't he mentioned it yet?" Tybalt sighed noisily. "Oh come on, it's not that hard. Guy rambles on about wanting to tell you something when he thinks he's going to die, but won't bring it up when it turns out he's not? He's obviously in love with you and too insecure to do anything about it." Cy had rolled his eyes. "Oh, obviously. Only someone as arrogant as you would think that way, you know that?" "Hey, I only told you that stuff to help Skids," Tybalt had declared, holding up his hands defensively. "Believe me, I get no personal gratification out of it at all, which, by the way, might be a first. You should feel honored. And I'm not just matchmaking or inventing things to try to create a false utopia for Skids. I really do think there's something there, and I'm only calling it like I see it." Calling it like he saw it. The memory made Cyan sigh. If that was the way the artist saw things, Cy wanted to trade eyes with him. Because the way he saw things, Skids didn't love him. Not any more than he loved, for example, Harley or chocolate ice cream.
'Well, you can't really blame him, can you, Torres?' a little voice in his mind sneered nastily. 'After all, if you were Skids, would you be romantically interested in a guy like you?'
No, he admitted silently. No, of course not. If he were Skids, he'd want someone just as bright and beautiful as he was. Not some scrawny, angsty punk who didn't even have the balls to tell his best friend that he was in love with him.
His gloomy thoughts were intruded upon at that point by Skids himself, who had been describing a night that involved a lot of cartoons and crayons and very little actual sleep. Cy had been only half-listening, but he snapped back to the present when he heard his name. "Cya? Would you open the curtains, please? I think someone must have closed them during the night, and I want to see the sun." Then Skids smiled at him again, and, for a moment, he couldn't do anything but stare and wonder how he'd got lucky enough to have someone so gorgeous even as a friend.
When he didn't move or speak at all, Skids' brow creased. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly. "That couch didn't hurt your back or anything, did it?"
Coming to his senses, Cy hastily sat up and swung his feet off the Fold-Out From Hell. "No, I'm just kinda slow in the mornings. Delayed reactions and all that." He thought it was a pretty good excuse, considering, and hurriedly moved to do as Skids had asked, standing up and brushing off his white, woven blanket.
Too hurriedly. The loose weave in one corner snagged on his nipple ring as the rest of the quilt sagged heavily towards the ground,
and Cya inhaled sharply. It always hurt like hell when that happened, and Skid's presence only added insult to injury.
"Mierda, I hate it when I do that." He gathered the blanket off the floor with one hand and carefully removed the stray threads with the other. The painful yanking ceased, and he sighed in relief, tossing the coverlet into a chair. Then he turned to look at Skids, who hadn't made a sound since he'd stood up, which he found mildly disturbing.
What he discovered puzzled him. His friend seemed to have forgotten his immediate surroundings and was staring, transfixed, at Cya's chest. Cy let his own gaze travel downward, wondering if he had an alien bursting out of there and didn't know it, but he didn't see anything that would warrant such careful scrutiny. He was about to ask what was so absorbing when Skids spoke and answered the question for him.
"Dude....your nip ring is very.....shiny."
Cyanide couldn't help laughing. The way he said it, coupled with the mesmerized glaze in his eyes, was simply priceless. "You want to touch it?" he invited, then mentally kicked himself. The absolute last thing he needed was the secret object of his lust touching his nipples.
But when mesmerized became awed and Skids asked, "Could I really?" Cy didn't have the heart to deny him. So he stepped closer and submitted his ring for inspection, cursing himself silently and thinking that he should start sleeping in a shirt.
At least until Skids touched his chest. Then he didn't do much thinking at all. About anything. He was too busy feeling as his ring was first flicked playfully, then tugged on, just a bit, then rubbed gently. That last made him bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood.
"Shibby," Skids breathed finally, releasing the little bit of metal. "That's so shibby. Thank you for letting me play with it, Cy. Now will you open the curtains for me? Please?"
"Huh?" Cy had completely forgotten about the curtains. What curtains? There were curtains around here?
"To let the sun in," Skids explained patiently. "We need some light."
"Oh. Yeah, sure." Cya backed away from the bed quickly, before he did something crazy, like leap into it and kiss Skids senseless. "No problem. Curtains." He crossed to the window in two long strides and pulled back the light drape hanging there to reveal black, stormy skies that promised about a zero percent chance of any sun that day.
"Oh." Skids sounded disappointed for about a fraction of a second, then cheered up again. "That's okay, though. We don't have to have sunshine to color! Here, you color this picture, and I'll finish this one that I've been working on."
Cy glanced down at the paper that was being held out to him, then up at Skids. The page featured two men in tights. They were smiling warmly at each other.
Hmm. If he didn't know better, he'd say Skids was *trying* to drive him utterly insane.
"It's Robin Hood and Little John. They're good friends," Skids explained seriously. "Just like you and me. Except....." a slight frown puckered the perfect brow for a moment, "Except I don't think Robin Hood had a nip ring for Little John to play with. But you can draw one on."
Definitely trying to drive him insane, Cy decided, accepting the paper and some crayons wordlessly. And doing a damn fine job of it, too.