Skwisgaar wakes up in the morning convinced he's gone blind, pain throbbing in his head and his eyes crusted shut. It takes him a few minutes, but he rolls over onto his back and finds he's not blind, just a little hungover from the party despite the lack of alcohol he had consumed. He cracks his eyes open, vision swimming with syrupy memories from the night before. His ass burns, and he remembers bouncing on the lap of Leonard Rockstein, gripping the headboard for support. Oh, right. He grabs his phone from the nightstand and checks it to see three texts from Trindle, as well as the time. It's much earlier than he thought it was, and because he can't neglect her that much, he sends a good morning text Trindle's way.
He gets out of bed and pads straight into the shower of the adjacent bathroom. He's already naked from sleeping, so he just gets in and turns the water on, lets it massage all of the ills of the previous night out of him. He probably wouldn't have hooked up with that Leonard guy had it not been such a lame-ass party, but it was a lame-ass party, and it'd been a while since he'd had a good fucking. He's been thinking about asking Trindle to take him with a strap-on, but he still has some dignity, and he's really just waiting for her to dump him and go for Nathan. Her blowjobs are subpar, but effortless and reliable.
With his fingers massaging shampoo in his scalp he hears the door to his bedroom open and somebody walking in. He can just pick some whistling up over the thrum of the shower, and he has a feeling it's Toki, there to clean up. He rinses the shampoo from his hair and steps out of the shower, wraps a towel loosely around his waist. It occurs to him that he might be able to coax some sort of reaction out of Toki if he just walked out naked and dripping, but his head still sort of hurts and he's not supposed to be mean to the help, so he strides out somewhat decent.
"Aren'ts you supposeds to ask de permissions?" Skwisgaar asks, leaning against the doorway. Toki looks up from making Skwisgaar's bed and his eyes go so wide Skwisgaar can see the flesh around them. Skwisgaar fights back a smirk—there's shock and attraction written all over Toki's face. God, the kid makes it so easy. "You knows, before cleaningks de room." He makes a sweeping motion with the hand that has been holding his towel in place, allowing it to fall and expose the dip of his hips before he snatches it back up. He watches as Toki's eyes follow the movement.
Toki stammers out his reply: "I'm sorry, sir." The color of his skin seems to disallow blushing, but the way he's biting his bottom lip is good enough. "I'll ask next time. Um. I thought it might be nice if you came back to a clean room after your shower."
Skwisgaar taps his lip. "I supposes," he says, slowing the tapping down and hooking his finger. "Ams cleans enough for nows, doe. Scrams." He shoos Toki out with both hands and lets his towel fall as Toki turns around and leaves the room.
His phone buzzes, then, with a response from Trindle. He looks at it and sighs, not even bothering to check it. She'd wanted to come to Andromeda's Vineyard with Skwisgaar and Nathan, and Skwisgaar's mother was okay with that, as they'd been dating for about five months and therefore could be considered serious, but Skwisgaar couldn't even imagine having Trindle around to crimp him. He'll deal with her later, after the summer ends and when the leaves begin to fall, a good time for change and letting go of childish habits.
He dresses down for the day, khakis that cling to his ankles and a white polo with none of the buttons done up but the collar puffed. He goes downstairs for breakfast and finds a note on the refrigerator—Oscar and his mother have gone out for golf and, later, some sort of luncheon with the rest of the boring adults. Skwisgaar and Nathan have the house, the grounds, and the help to themselves, and Skwisgaar can't imagine a more perfect day. He pulls the refrigerator open and grabs a bottle of water, holding it to his forehead before drinking it. Even the water tastes better here, especially in contrast with the heat.
He summons Jean-Pierre and asks him to cook him a good breakfast; Jean-Pierre nods and goes about that. Skwisgaar exits the kitchen and takes up residence in the den, sprawling across an overstuffed leather couch and turning the television on. He watches the local news until Jean-Pierre comes to him with a tray containing a delightful assemble of scrambled eggs, sausage, juice and fruit. Skwisgaar feasts like a king, watching the weather channel, learning about the day's immense heat and the night's incoming storm. Nathan passes through and raises an eyebrow at Skwisgaar's plate; Skwisgaar gestures towards the kitchen and Nathan seems to catch on, because he walks that way, all in black like a ghost of a widow drifting through the house of her dead husband.
The sunny weather and warmth inspires Skwisgaar to relax by the pool, something he's never done before. He returns to his room to fish out his bathing suit, something small, black and European, then heads downstairs to where the pool is off towards one side of the grounds. The pool itself is both long and wide, bordered by baroque tiles and lavish loungers, the water clear and blue. Skwisgaar toes it, finds the cold appealing even though it awakens his previously dormant headache, and moves to the deep end to dive in.
The water on his body, in his face, accosting his senses, is a religious experience. When he surfaces and throws his hair back, the imminent heat and air leaves his sputtering. The sun scorches the back of his head, but in a contrast that appeals to him, and there's a breeze that manages to leave goosebumps on his skin. He opens his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Toki, standing at the other end of the pool with a nervous expression and a net in his hands. Skwisgaar is overcome with—something, a feeling not like any he's ever experienced. He's drawn to Toki, like some sort of mythical water beast may be drawn to its prey. He wants to swim to him, open his mouth and enchant him with a song. Pull him under and kiss him until he drowns.
Instead, he wades water and says, "De fuck, Toki? Can'ts you stops stalkingks me for three seconds?"
"Sorry," Toki calls out. He walks around to talk to Skwisgaar better, and Skwisgaar swims towards him. They meet in the middle, at a place where the water is shallow enough for Skwisgaar to stand on his soles and be able to see and breathe. "It's just, I clean the pool at this time." He's clutching the handle of the net and pushing it against his face, leaning into it, looking down, and it's sort of endearing. Skwisgaar stuffs that thought down as far as it can go.
"You's a walkingks stereotype," Skwisgaar says. He moves his hand through the water, creating a small wave in its wake. Tries to make himself seem bored by the conversation. "Cleans de pool sometimes else."
"Well, you see, I have a very strict schedule." Toki is stuttering, but he's also made eye contact with Skwisgaar, a sort of fierceness lurking behind his guard. "And today, at noon, I clean the pool. I have to put chemicals in it, so you can't swim."
"Moves your schedule." Skwisgaar kicks off the floor of the pool and relaxes in the water, floating. Coldness on his back, heat on his chest, it's exquisite. "Go does somethingks else."
"No," Toki says, firm. He moves the net away from his face and scoops it into the water, trapping an errant leaf, as if to prove his point.
"Uh, ja," Skwisgaar say. He's at the other end of the pool now, resting his head up on the tile. "I ams de masters, you's ams de servants, you's does as I say."
"You are not the master and I am not the servant." Toki removes the net from the pool and stands with his fists balled on his hips. "Now get out of the fucking pool."
Something about Toki's stance and his use of the word fucking causes Skwisgaar to slip out of his languid position, his head sliding off the side of the pool and his limbs falling downwards so that he is temporarily submerged. He thrashes and fights to break to surface after a few seconds, and a glance at Toki reveals that he's trying hard to not laugh and retain his determination as Skwisgaar glares at him. Dignity lost, Skwisgaar swims to the steps of the pool at the shallow end and climbs out. He makes sure to do so in the most dramatic manner he can conjure, shaking his head to free it of water, stretching his arms and legs, arching his back.
"Thank you," Toki says as Skwisgaar walks past him, and Skwisgaar waves a hand. He takes his towel from where he'd left it on a lounger and dries off before climbing into the lounger itself, securing sunglasses on his face. He closes his eyes and relaxes, bathing in the sun, the warmth, the peace and quiet. His relaxation is interrupted only by the soft sounds of Toki tending to the pool, and eventually he slips his sunglasses down his nose to watch Toki working. He's tied his hair behind his head in a knot and he performs his chores just as perfunctorily. Skwisgaar catches him pausing, swirling the net around and stirring a slow whirlpool, staring off into space. Interesting. Skwisgaar slides the sunglasses back up his face, rests his head back on the lounger, and falls into an early afternoon nap.
When he awakes, his skin is too warm for his tastes. He hisses and sits up, pushes the sunglasses into his hair. The pool looks alluring with the sunlight dancing in waves, and he's craving it, but he doesn't know if it's safe to swim or whatever after Toki had performed his chores. He's not about to seek Toki out, so he's left crouching in a lounger, considering his options. He's cut short by the reappearance of exactly who he needs to see, carrying a shovel over one shoulder and whistling, looking dirtier and more haggard than he had been while cleaning the pool.
"Tokis!" Skwisgaar calls. Toki stops, startles, and looks in Skwisgaar's direction. Something passes over his face, a sort of skepticism, maybe, and Toki approaches him.
"What?" he asks. Deprived of whistling, he's beating his hand against his thigh.
"Ams de pools safe?"
"Yeah," Toki says. He moves a stray strand of hair away from his face.
"I thought—de chemicals?" Skwisgaar pops an eyebrow.
"Oh, I didn't actually use any chemicals," Toki says. He's trying to be cool, but there's a nervous tone leaking between his teeth, tainting his words. "I only said that to get you out of the pool."
"You—idiots!" Skwisgaar climbs out of the lounger and once more dives into the pool. The relief he expected is there, water soothing the warmth on his skin, and when he comes up for air he sees Toki still standing by where Skwisgaar has set up base, the shovel lowered so that it's standing. Skwisgaar kicks his way towards that side of the pool, rests his arms on the tile. "Thoughts yous has a schedule," he says to Toki.
"Not really." Toki shrugs. "Again—I kind of, um, said that to get you out of the pool." Skwisgaar doesn't know if it's from the heat or embarrassment (probably the heat), but Toki's skin is looking waxy and red underneath the soil smeared across his nose and cheeks.
"Wells," Skwisgaar says. "Does you wants to joins me? You looks likes you coulds use a bath."
The skepticism Skwisgaar thought he saw on Toki's face returns with a vengeance, and Toki moves the shovel in a confused circle that creates an unpleasant grating sound. Skwisgaar twitches, about to retract his offer, when Toki says, "You just called me your servant. Servants don't swim with their masters."
Skwisgaar scoffs. "Don'ts wants you here anysway."
Toki gives him a strange look. He bends and puts the shovel on the ground, then walks to a lounger, sitting in it. "I need a break," he says, and he does sound tired, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Something about his neck makes Skwisgaar feel like a vampire.
"You's de worst servants ever," Skwisgaar mumbles, and he kicks off on the wall of the pool, doing a backflip into the water.
While under the surface, eyes squeezed shut, he hears and feel the submergence of another body. When he reemerges he once more sees Toki, this time wading water in the deepest part of the pool, his hair fanning out around him and face wet with sweat and relief. Skwisgaar raises his eyebrows; Toki swims to him, surprisingly eloquent, all rippling sinew of muscles and speed. He stops when he's on Skwisgaar's other side, able to stand, and puts his hands on his hips.
"Better?" Toki asks, cocking his head to the side.
"Ja, sure." Skwisgaar runs both his palms through the water, sending a tidal wave towards Toki, and then it's on.
They chase each other around the pool, splashing and laughter and shouting taunts. Skwisgaar chalks it up to boredom—it's only his second day here, he doesn't know anybody yet, you can't resist a good swim, Nathan would never want to do this, and the servant boy makes a quick and easy friend—and not to the way that Toki's eyes glimmer with mischief, his mouth quirks with quips, his body generally glistens. Skwisgaar won't admit it, but he's having fun. There's this carefree sort of air that he's never felt before, some hidden box of childhood glee deep inside him unlocking and releasing its contents into his bloodstream.
Afterwards they climb out of the pool, rambunctiousness still gripping them and causing them to swing their hips towards the other, push off against each other's shoulders. Skwisgaar has a single towel that he uses to dry himself, tousling it through his hair, now more curly than wavy; Toki spreads himself over a lounger, damp cargo shorts sticking around his thighs, and blocks the sun from his eyes with the back of his hands. Skwisgaar had noticed long, thin scars marking Toki's back while they were swimming, but he's not about to say anything about that, so he sits on the lounger beside Toki's and pokes him in the side.
"Ams hungry," Skwisgaar complains. He balls the towel and puts it in his lap.
"I'm not Jean-Pierre." Toki rolls his head, cracks an eye open, ad even in that small window of an expression he can convey annoyance. Skwisgaar is impressed.
"I knows dat, idiot." Skwisgaar scoffs, but he was sort of hoping that Toki would summon Jean-Pierre telepathically or something. "Just sayin's, I's been out here a whiles, am hungries."
"Sounds like a personal problem." Toki rolls his head back, closing his eyes again.
Skwisgaar lays down in his respective lounger, one leg bent and one leg straight, finds his sunglasses from the floor and puts them on his face. "Ams everybody at Andromeda's a dick, evens de servants?"
"Everybody at Andromeda's is sort of a dick, yeah. Even the servants." Toki's voice is tired, and he's speaking slower, an accent more evident. "I've lived here my whole life. Everybody is rich, and rich people suck, and the people that aren't rich suck, too, but a little less, I guess. I never get to see them because I'm too busy taking care of these sucky rich people."
"Uh," Skwisgaar says, because he is a sucky rich person and is taking offense.
"You suck less, maybe. I haven't decided yet."
"You amns't so great yousself." Skwisgaar snorts, but he looks at Toki right after he says this and Toki happens to be looking right back at him, and a smile fights its way to his face without his permission. He suppresses it as fast as he can. "Anysways. I hasn't been rich all my life, you knows. Useds to be poor."
"Really?" Toki sounds skeptical. "I think our definitions of poor are most likely different."
Skwisgaar shakes his head. "Noes, I was poor poors. We comes from Sweden when I was real littles and then we liveds in New York for a long times. Just me and my moms. She was a maid in de hospital dat Oscar's wife, Rose, was in when she had de cancer." He doesn't mention the years he spent wishing he was wealthy, working weekends, nights and summers to afford nice guitars and good clothes, how secretly ecstatic he'd been when his mother started dating a millionaire desperate for his approval.
"Oh. I remember when she first started getting sick. They stopped coming down here and started renting the house out. I've met a lot of rich people." Skwisgaar hears movement and peeks to see Toki rolling on his stomach, the scars on his back visible and unabashed. Skwisgaar wants to reach out and touch them, beg their story, but something's keeping him from doing that. Pride, or lack of a sticking interest, perhaps.
Skwisgaar mirrors Toki's actions, but once his thighs hits the lounger he yelps and leaps back, off of it. He glances down at his skin, noticing how warm it feels, and sees how red it is, bright and pastel as the stains a cheap cherry popsicle will leave.
"You're sunburned!" Toki sits up, laughs. "That's really funny. You look kind of like a tomato in a cheap wig."
Skwisgaar glares at him, wants to mouth off to him, but can't. "Never beens sunburned before," he grumbles, pressing his fingers into his forearm, feeling the sting and watching the skin turn from red to white to red again. "De hells do I does?"
"How should I know? I don't burn. I tan." Toki gestures to himself, and Skwisgaar deepens his glare, because even in this short amount of time Toki's skin seems to have soaked in the sunlight and turned an even better bronze. "Sorry. Um. You sort of stay inside and you can put aloe gel on it? I think I've seen ice baths on TV, but that's only for really bad sunburns. Is yours really bad?"
"I don'ts know," Skwisgaar says through gritted teeth. "Never has one before."
Toki sighs. "Let's go inside. You can just, like, Google it."
Skwisgaar shakes his head. "Ams you's fault," he says. "Ams goingks in by myself and will takes care of it by myself." He collects his things and stars his trek back to the house; Toki does not call after him and Skwisgaar does not look over his shoulder.
He feels insurmountably stupid as he retreats to his bedroom. He fishes his new laptop out from his suitcase and sits on the ugly floral chaise against one wall of his bedroom, and even the tiny amount of warmth from the bottom of his laptop on his thighs sets him on fire. He Googles what to do, finds a list that says exactly what Toki did. He strips out of his bathing suit and dresses in the lightest, loosest clothes he owns, then roots through his bathroom for aloe or the like. He finds none, and is stumped, because he doesn't feel much like parading around the house and showcasing his stupidity, nor going through every single bathroom in the place. In the end, he decides to go to the kitchen and get lunch, his stomach growling.
He's eating an Italian vegetable soup with crackers on the side and thinking about how much this whole sunburn thing sucks when he sees Toki again, walking into the kitchen wearing gloves and holding a thing of bleach. He stops short when he says Skwisgaar, his lips and chest twitching with an obvious effort to hold laughter in.
"What's you want?" Skwisgaar snaps, glowering over the spoon of soup he's blowing on to cool down.
Toki laughs, then, and immediately straightens himself up. He shakes his head. "Nothing, sir."
"Fucks you. Finds me some aloe." Skwisgaar sniffs, turns away from Toki and stuffs the spoon in his mouth. Toki nods once, gives a sort of military salute, and heads off.
Skwisgaar doesn't expect Toki to actually come through, so he's unsurprised when he finishes his lunch without seeing him again. He goes back to the den he'd been in at the beginning of the day and finds Nathan sitting in there with his back against the couch, Pickles at his side. There's the obvious stench of weed clinging to the air in the room, and Nathan and Pickles are laughing their asses off at the traffic report, not even noticing when Skwisgaar comes into the room. Something inside of him boils and he passes through the room, decides to just retreat to his bedroom. Maybe he'll call Trindle.
He doesn't call Trindle, but he does read the ten texts he's sent him over the course of the day (three of them inquire about Nathan) and sends her back a short paragraph: wents swimming ams board sort of sux here lol. He would normally attach a selfie, but he doesn't want her to see his sunburn, so instead he puts his phone back and gathers his guitar in his lap, fucks around on it for a while. Blisses out.
His door opens and Toki walks in, holding a clear bottle with something thick, green and slimy inside of it. Skwisgaar doesn't stop playing, but does say, "Ams you still stalkingks me?"
"Um. You asked me to get this for you." Toki rolls his eyes, comes to Skwisgaar's bedside and puts the container down. Lotion. Aloe. Skwisgaar nods, making a dismissing motion with his hand, but Toki doesn't leave. "You play the guitar?"
"Obviouskly." Skwisgaar's turn to roll his eyes, but he segues into something faster, showier, than what he'd been playing, the short solo to one of his favorite songs and one of the first things he's learned. He stills his hand after playing that, waits for Toki's praise.
"That's cool," Toki says. "I, uh—since my dad dies—" he coughs—"I've been learning to play the piano. But I've always liked the guitar."
"Wow, Toki, dat ams just so interestingks." Skwisgaar says it out of reflex, but realizes that it is sort of interesting, and stammers out a retreat. "I means. Piano ams just lames. Ams nothingks in comparisons to the guitar."
"Yeah, I know that."
There's a pause, pregnant and awkward. Toki's looking down at the bedcovers and Skwisgaar at the aloe gel beside him. Skwisgaar drags his pick down the strings, and the noise reminds them of who and where they are, as Toki clears his throat and says, "Hope the aloe helps," before leaving from the room in a hurry.
Skwisgaar puts his guitar back on its stand and unplugs it. He grabs the aloe gel and goes to the bathroom, undresses and lathers it all over his body. It hurts at first, and then it soothes him, relaxes him. It occurs to him as he drags his hands over his thighs that he could probably jack off with this, and the idea sticks in his mind. It's vaguely perverse, because Toki brought him the gel and it's Toki he's trying not to think of as he fists the base of his dick and tugs. In ten minutes he's gripping the sink and coming into a tissue, very much warding away any thoughts about any particularly annoying servants.
He takes a nap afterwards, turning on the ceiling fan and sleeping underneath a single thin sheet, trying to cool his body down. When he wakes it's time for dinner and he's still feeling the sunburn and pissed at the sunburn, but the thought of Jean-Pierre's delicious food is enough to drag him out of bed, into his clothes and down the stairs. They're eating on the patio out back tonight, grilled salmon and scalloped potatoes, tangy lemonade on the side to drink. When his mother sees him as he takes his seat, she laughs.
"You burnt yourself!" she exclaims after the fit of giggles, pointing at him. She nudges Oscar, sitting to her right "Oscar, look, it's Skwisgaar's first sunburn."
Oscar chuckles, and Skwisgaar slinks down in his seat. "Did you go swimming or something today?" he asks, and the interest is so forced Skwisgaar's face arranges itself into a sour expression. He nods, nonetheless. "That's good. I love the pool here. Nathan learned to swim there, didn't he? I bet you don't even remember." Oscar points his fork at Nathan, who makes some sort of guttural noise and hand motion.
"We'll have to try it tomorrow," Skwisgaar's mother says, and Skwisgaar crinkles his nose at the way she manages to thread implications into the sentence. "I'm so tired from the luncheon today. These people can be so…well, tiring."
Oscar laughs. "I'm sure they say the same of us, dear." Skwisgaar nearly chokes on the fish he's trying to swallow.
"None of the kids—young ones, I mean, came to the luncheon," Skwisgaar's mother pouts. "They were all 'home sick.' Everybody thinks there's something going around, but I think it must have been some party you all were having behind our backs." She's not helping Skwisgaar's choking situation, and he takes a long swig of lemonade, the sourness clinging to his tongue and esophagus on its way down.
"That was strange," Oscar muses. Nathan snorts.
Oscar and Serveta catch Nathan and Skwisgaar up on the gossip in the Vineyard as if they were interested: Dick Knubbler is paying for one of the boys that work at his house, William Murderface, to receive therapy and get over him so that he may continue to indulge in a secret relationship. The therapist's name is John Twinkletits, and he was at the luncheon, holding a finger to his lip in a shushing gesture anytime somebody tried to acquire knowledge about the situation through him. Oscar and Serveta come to the conclusion that he was doing this to draw attention to himself and get people to ask him about Knubbler and Murderface so that he may hold some superiority over them. Skwisgaar refrains from feeding them the information he'd gotten from Pickles the night before, instead picks at his dinner, apathetic.
The summer storm that the news had told Skwisgaar of earlier rolls in on the heels of their dinner. They retreat into the safety of their house, and Skwisgaar sits by a huge window in the formal living room, watching the rain come down, listening to the thunder and looking for lightning. He thinks of Toki—he hasn't seen him since the aloe incident, and he's probably in his little house on the grounds with his mother. Skwisgaar doesn't know what he does in his off time; maybe he's playing the piano, or maybe he's watching the storm, too. It lessens as time goes on, but continues to rain and thunder. Skwisgaar grows bored of it eventually, going back to the den (now without Pickles) to watch television late into the night.
Around one in the morning he goes to bed. It's still raining, enough for him to be able to hear it as he lays in bed. He applied more aloe, but heat still manages to trap itself inside of his blankets, every inch of his body feeling like the sun itself is rolling around on it. He tosses and turns, unable to get comfortable or cool off, rage boiling inside of him in equal amounts as the heat itself. His mind wanders as if in a fever dream as sleep comes and go like a wave at a shore—wanders to Toki, envisions him in the same situation in a poorly air-conditioned groundskeeper's cottage, thinking of Skwisgaar in a sort of a strange, sick symmetry. Thunder claps overhead, startles Skwisgaar out of that fantasy, and in five minutes he's asleep for the night.