A hellaciously late night of studying last night had been followed by a brutal morning of classes, including a surprise paper due at the end of the week in his Analytical Geometry class, and a pop quiz in his Latin class for a section Chad didn't have a good handle on yet, and he had a grueling practice later with Coach Morgan, who'd promised the day before that he was going to push them all to their limits during today's involuntary-voluntary drills. And, somewhere between all of the schoolwork drama and gearing himself up for practice, Hilarie, his girlfriend of four years years, man, had he mentioned that? had decided she was bored. With Chad and with their relationship and the direction of her life. She wanted to expand her horizons and thought Chad should do the same. Without her. The kicker? She had the audacity to break up with him via text. For real, man, who did that outside of a crappy reality show on MTV2? What the ever living hell? Whoever it was that said college was the best time of your life had clearly never stepped foot on a real campus or taken any classes that were above remedial. Or had a morning like Chad's. "I'm going to blow off Geophysics today," he announced, feeling daring and reckless as he slid into the booth seat opposite Karl and Orlando at the Varsity. Seemed like half the student body wanted burgers for lunch. Place was totally packed wall to wall with people, and was unbelievably noisy, which was pretty much Chad's idea of hell. There was a reason he was studying geochemistry, y'know? Too many people and he started to retreat into a corner. But he had some time to kill before Professor Bean's Lit class, and he knew Karl and Orlando would be in their usual booth, scarfing down a nutritious lunch of onion rings, frosty oranges, and double chili cheese burgers. Everything a growing boy needed, as Orlando was fond of saying. "You are?" Orlando reached over the table to put his hand on Chad's forehead. "You never skip. You went to school the morning you broke your arm in the 9th grade because we had a quiz in algebra you didn't want to miss." Chad shrugged out of the hold. "Yeah, well, maybe I'm turning over a new leaf." "Don't you have a lab today?" Orlando shoved his extra serving of onion rings to the middle of the table so Chad could get at them. Reason #586 why Orlando was Chad's best friend, and had been since they were both eight years old the dude totally understood when a man needed to vent and that onion rings were the required food of choice for said venting. "It doesn't count for my final grade. I was just doing it for the extra credit," Chad shrugged. He ignored the pang in his chest at the thought of not being there, even if it was for a lab he didn't need. Granted, he was only taking the course because he had a great deal of respect for Professor Smith and her work in the field of environmental chemistry, and not because he actually needed it to graduate, but still. He took his studies seriously. Even the electives. Fuck it, maybe he would go to the class, anyway. Wasn't like he had anything better to do with his time. "Besides, I'm having kind of a bad day." Karl, Orlando's boyfriend (one day Chad would get completely used to saying that) and all around star athlete, student and great guy, pushed his ever-present glasses up his nose. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but a few strands had come loose and were falling across his forehead. Compared to Orlando, who was sporting jeans with more holes than fabric and a beat to hell t-shirt that read "Cougar Bait", Karl was positively demure in his neatly washed jeans and plain, bright blue tee. Then again, Karl and Orlando were pretty much polar opposites in every way. Probably explained why they were so well-suited. "Bad day meaning...?" Karl asked, furrowing his brows. He tended to take things even more seriously than Chad did himself at times. Which was, y'know, sort of saying something. "Hil broke up with me this morning." Best to get it out in the open. Sort of like cauterizing a wound. Besides, he guessed he needed to start getting used to it. She'd seemed pretty serious about it. "Do what?" Orlando blinked owlishly. Made those soulful eyes of his look even bigger. Chad was constantly teasing him that he had eyelashes longer than a woman's. Not surprisingly, Orlando didn't find this nearly as amusing. Chad nodded and finished swallowing his bite of onion ring. "No bullshit, man. I'm on my way to my Calc class and she fucking texts me, right, and is all, I think we should see other people because I'm bored with you and we should expand our horizons. Which, oh, speaking of Calc, you guys wouldn't happen to know a good tutor, would you? I'd really like to bump my grad to an A." "Hold on, back up. Seriously, Hilarie dumped you? Like, you're not fucking with me, dumped you?" At Chad's affirmative nod, Orlando let out a low whistle. "Like, for real, via text?" In answer, Chad dug his iPhone out of his jeans pocket and tossed it to Orlando. In silence, Orlando and Karl scrolled through the messages. "Ho-ly fuck," Orlando breathed, handing the phone back. "That's nuts. I mean, you two've been together since high school." "And you're the one that set me up with her, so thanks for that." "Setting you up with Hilarie was Kate's idea, not mine," Orlando said, speaking of his own high school sweetheart, who he split with right before college, "and I didn't tell her to break up with you via text. Even I have better manners than that." "I'm still hung up on Hilarie calling you boring," Karl added. "I mean, no offense, but that's my title, not yours." "I know, right?" Chad shook his head. At least Karl had a sense of humor about his anal tendencies. "I think that pissed me off more than her actually breaking up with me." Which probably said something about the state of their relationship, come to think on it. "Well, you aren't exactly the most exciting person on the planet," Orlando said, immediately ducking out of the way of Chad's swipe. "Your idea of sexy talk is the neutron/proton ratio of granite." "Isotopes, and it's a helluva lot more exciting than modern economic theory." It still freaked Chad out that his crazy-ass, animal-rights-activist, easy-going best friend was a total economic and financial protιgι. "Besides, everyone's boring compared to you and Drew, man," Karl pointed out. Orlando just smiled. Drew Karl's girlfriend before Karl had hooked up with Orlando was a theatre major and saw herself as some sort of reincarnation of the great screen sirens of the 1940s. All ballsy attitude and an adventurous spirit wrapped up in one delectable package. Chad loved Orlando like a brother, man, but he had no idea how Karl had let a dish like Drew get away. Girl had curves for days. "Alright, my boringness aside, seriously, I really do need a Calc tutor," he said, trying to steer the conversation back to more important topics. Always a hit or miss situation around Orlando. Karl took a noisy sip of his Frosty Orange. "Misha could probably help you out. He tutors from time to time." "Misha? Collins?" Chad blinked. "The crazy, poetry-spouting dude in our Art Studies class?" He knew who Misha was, of course. Professor Mortensen's favorite student, and with good reason, as he was off-the-charts talented. But seriously, that guy? Who showed up to their art class baked out of his mind most of the time, spouting theories about color and shade interspersed with random quotes from random antique texts? He was into Calculus? "He claims he's eccentric, not crazy." "And you believe him?" "It's hard to argue with a dude that's as calm as he is, y'know?" Karl said, pushing the wayward strands of dark hair from his face. "Uh, Karl, you're normally a smart dude, so what I'm going to say might be a shock. But that's seriously the worst idea ever." The thought of going to Misha Collins for help was just beyond bizarre. Clearly, Karl had a brain freeze from his drink or something. "Dude's a genius at this derivative math shit, no matter how nuts he is. Claims that's why he always kicks everyone's ass at pool," Karl replied. He didn't look too pissed that Chad had just insulted him. Then again, it took a lot to make Karl truly mad. He tended to save all of his anger or whatever it was for the baseball diamond or the football field. "If you're serious about upping your grade, he's your dude." "I think he's pretty cool," Orlando stated, popping a bite of chili burger into his mouth. "Hanging out with him is like hanging with my folks." Chad was so not surprised to hear that. "That's because you have hippies for parents." "You love my parents." "Which is totally beside the point, but whatever." "And you used to bang my sister." One day but not today, apparently Chad was going to live that down. Of course, one day, Orlando would stop bringing it up into conversation, but it would probably be when they were both 90 and had dementia. "I had sex with your sister once, and we were both drunk." And was one of the main reasons Chad decided he and alcohol weren't a good mix. "Still." "What the hell does that have to do with Misha friggin' Collins?" Chad asked, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you." "You started it," Orlando shrugged, looking about as unrepentant as a person could get. Chad jerked his thumb in Karl's direction. "I was talking about your boyfriend's terrible idea of asking Misha for Calc help, not ancient history with your sister. Although that was also a bad idea, too, so maybe it fits. I have no clue anymore." He had no clue about a lot of things. Today seemed to be the day for it. "I'm just saying that just because Misha's a hippie and is stoned a lot doesn't mean that he's not a cool dude or good at Calculus." "Orlando likes Misha because he thinks Misha keeps Professor Mortensen off my jock," Karl added, over Orlando's protest. Personally, Chad thought Orlando had a point. Professor Mortensen was totally the type to fuck his students. Preferably if they were stacked and had long legs, but he was an art professor. No way he could be totally straight. And, it was sort of the class joke that Professor Mortensen liked to get Karl naked as often as possible. "Well, the good professor does want your ass." "Told you so," Orlando said, in a sing-song voice. "Professor Mortensen has a smokin' hot babe that's, like, half his age," Karl argued. "He doesn't need me or my ass. Not that he'd be getting it, no matter what." Which was entirely beside the point, but Karl was a literal sort. "Doesn't mean he doesn't leer when you're posing for nude studies," Chad said, because a) it was true, and b) needling Orlando and Karl was probably going to wind up being the pathetic highlight of his day. Orlando turned to Karl and gave him an exaggerated once over. "I'm thinking for Professor Bean's next birthday, we should get Professor Mortensen to do a nude study of you to give to him. So he'll always remember what he missed." "A nude portrait would top the lube from this past year," Karl agreed, and grinned. "But still, he's got Professor Sinclair. I'm not sure I can compete with that." "No one could," Orlando agreed, and batted Chad's hand away when he went to snag Orlando's extra burger. "Get your own." "Spoilsport," Chad mumbled, over Karl's snort of amusement, and got up to get in line. Best friends, man. Couldn't count on them for anything. *** It turned out that Karl wasn't the only one who thought Misha was the perfect Calculus tutor. Everyone Chad asked about it had said that Misha might be crazy, but he was also a crazy genius with numbers and abstract theory. Which Chad had a hard time believing, but he figured there had to be some grain of truth in it. So, it looked like he'd be hooking up with an eccentric-not-crazy art student with weird social skills and illegal recreational activities to bump his grade. The things he did for his GPA, man. He hoped someone was keeping score. *** Misha was normally the first one in the studio for their Art Studies class, either sitting in one of the bean bag chairs strewn across the floor sketching in his art pad or already at an easel, doing unbelievable things with a pencil or brushes. Say what you wanted about Misha on a personal level, but there was no denying he had the most amazing eye. Chad was pretty much taking the class as another elective and to keep Karl company, but he still knew enough about technique and raw talent to know that Misha had something rare. Something that was going to get him into galleries and into magazines and above the mantels in a lot of homes if that was the route he wanted to take. With Misha, it was never a good idea to assume. It was just as likely he'd spend his life painting the sides of buildings like that Wyland dude did back in the day. Today, Misha was copying a drawing onto a canvas, one of his brushes firmly wedged between his teeth as he quickly traced an outline with sure strokes of his pencil. His wrist and fingers moved in a fluid ballet of movement, breathing life to its creation. The back of his neck was inexplicably flecked with bright blue paint. His hair was thick, light brown, and looked like excited hands had run through it one too many times. His t-shirt and jeans were also spattered with paint, and his feet were inexplicably bare. Then again, when the professor of the class thought shoes were optional, it wasn't like it was a stretch to imagine some of the students taking up the mantle, so to speak. Chad stopped to watch Misha work, eyes riveted to the canvas, as the woman took form right before his eyes, from her sexily debauched hair to the sexier arch of her feet. "She's beautiful," he commented, in a reverential voice. He felt like he should be in church or something. "Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death?" Misha replied, without turning. Case in point - In addition to being crazy talented, Misha tended to spout off esoteric quotes at random that made no real sense. Mostly from books or poems that Chad had never heard of. "I have no idea what that means," Chad finally replied, feeling a little lost. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence where Misha was concerned. Karl crossed the room and clapped Chad on the back. "Hey, man," he said in greeting, then let out a low whistle when he got a look at Misha's canvas. "That's fucking incredible. What'd you do to the reds to get them to shimmer like that?" Misha just pointed at the palette, once again without turning. "Silver grounding." He switched to the brush, filling in the shades of her dress with deft strokes of crimson. "Silver," Karl repeated, thoughtfully, then nodded. "That's fantastic." "Thanks." Karl nudged Chad, who glared at him. Ask him, Karl mouthed, then pointed at Misha before walking away. Chad sighed. He knew Karl would ask for him if he didn't. One of the many things Karl took seriously was good grades. "Hey, uh, Misha, um...Karl tells me you have a Calculus study group or something." "Sort of," Misha replied, and finally turned from the painting, wiping his hands on a cloth. His eyes were a vivid shade of blue, wide and expressive, and even prettier than Orlando's. Bright flecks of red paint dotted his forehead. "I've tutored people from time to time. Why?" "Looking to score an A. I've got a solid B+ right now, y'know, but the more A's I get, the better it'll look for UT, y'know?" Misha's smile was all teeth. Made him look like someone's wicked step-mother. "Come by mine later, we'll work out a schedule. Now, if you'll excuse me..." "Oh, uh, sure." Summarily dismissed just like that, Chad walked over to his and Karl's table. "Seriously, why the hell am I doing this again?" he asked, sinking into a chair. Misha had already turned back to his canvas like he and Chad had never spoken. "Because you want a better grade?" Karl tossed a wet chunk of clay onto Chad's lap. "And since you like good grades, and since clay is one of your specialties " "Clay mineralogy, dude, not the same thing " " I expect we should come up with something resembling a vaguely discernable shape by the end of class." "Provided Professor Mortensen even shows up today," Chad grumbled, but picked up the clay. Karl was right he was here, may as well try to figure out something to do with it. "Well, you know what he says about predictability..." "It's a wonder he gets paid, man. I mean, can you imagine not showing up for work?" "Professor Bean told me once he thinks that Professor Mortensen keeps the board of regents in pot, so they overlook a lot of his eccentricities." "He really told you that?" Karl nodded. "I mean, it makes as much sense as anything." Chad wet his hands in the nearby water dish and pressed his thumbs in the clay, smoothing the ragged edges. It still didn't look like much, and the clay certainly didn't resemble anything that he studied in his geology classes, but Professor Mortensen was big on the students "listening" to the canvas, whatever that canvas might happen to be. Chad thought he was probably doing it wrong or he was art-deaf or something, but he gamely kept trying. It helped that Karl was just about as bad as he was. He glanced around the room to see what everyone else was doing, and his gaze snagged on Misha yet again. His profile was serene, peaceful, as he mixed colors, layered them on the canvas. Chad wondered what it was like to have that sort of innate creative talent. That ability to coax shape and color and life from oil or chalk or pencils or whatever. Chad couldn't even draw stick figures. Fingers snapped in front of his face. "You still with us?" Karl asked, with a smirk. "Yeah." Chad tore his eyes away from Misha, and he bent back to work on his lump. Maybe if he concentrated, he could make an ashtray or vase or something. It wouldn't be sexy, but sexy was highly overrated. *** Chad found Misha easily enough later that night the sheer volume of the music coming from his dorm room was enough to rattle windows, yet no one else on his floor seemed to mind the noise. Above the din of clanging guitars and crashing symbols was a throaty-sounding dude screaming his hate at the world, mostly by using the word fuck in a variety of ways. Chad was pretty impressed with the inventiveness involved. He thought the guy might actually have used fuck as all seven parts of speech, including a pronoun. Misha, dressed in a pair of black pajama bottoms and nothing else, was sitting cross-legged on the floor in a classic Lotus position. His eyes were closed, hair a spiky, crazed mess. His chest expanded with each even breath, whipcord lean body completely relaxed, despite the earth-shattering noise. It was the trippiest thing. "You can turn it down if you want." Chad jumped about a foot in surprise, then looked at Misha. Who hadn't moved. 'Cause that wasn't creepy or weird at all. But, he turned the volume down to a level that was bearable to human ears and stood there, feeling a little ridiculous. Did Misha expect him to get on the floor and mimic his pose and try to mind meld with him or something? "So, uh." Chad shifted from foot to foot. He glanced around the room. The walls were painted a delicate shade of blue and were completely bare. The bed was a messy tangle of sheets, and clothes were strewn around the dresser in the corner. A battered laptop and a few textbooks sat on Misha's desk, but the space was dominated by sketch pads and brushes. "Didn't peg you for the wailing guitar type." "Why not?" Misha replied, radiating poise and calm. "A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret suffering." "Uh, poetry and heavy metal are two completely different things." Not that Chad could figure out why they were talking about either. This was exactly why he didn't normally try to make conversation with Misha the dude made no sense 90% of the time. Chad's dad was always joking that Chad understood tectonic plates better than people, which might be true, but Chad thought even his dad would be hard pressed to figure out what Misha was talking about on a regular basis. "Both are outlets." Misha's voice was soothing, low, almost hypnotic. "A means of expression. A passion and higher calling." Which, again, had nothing to do with, well, anything. Even if Chad did agree that music could be cathartic and poetic at times. Which was sort of what he thought Misha meant. Maybe. "You are one weird dude," Chad finally stated. He could just feel his brain starting to atrophy. He wondered if he could get a contact high from the scent of pot that still lingered in the air. Misha finally opened his eyes. The vivid blue of them slammed into Chad with the force of a freight train. "You should let me sketch you." Um, okay, non sequiter much? "Uh, I thought I was here to go over a tutoring schedule?" "I told you we'd negotiate something." "When did the word negotiate turn into some sort of weird gay sex metaphor?" Not that he'd heard any rumors about Misha batting for his own team, but one could never tell. Art student and all. "I'm serious." Misha's gaze raked over Chad from head to toe what felt like a very thorough, professional appraisal. Chad's breathing immediately tightened in response. He felt like a bug on display. Misha just smiled mysteriously. "Let me sketch you," he repeated, his voice a low, tempting slither of heat that curled Chad's toes and left him wondering just what the fuck was going on. "Don't you get enough of perving over Karl's naked ass?" he finally managed, in a croaked voice. Misha shrugged and rose gracefully to his feet, before bending over to stretch his calves. The muscles in his back rippled with the movement. "This isn't a competition," he replied, voice muffled. "You're nothing like Karl, except that you're both far too uptight." Well, no, of course they weren't... "Do what?" "And you're probably not as well-endowed as Karl, either," Misha continued, straightening up and acting as if Chad hadn't spoken. Chad frowned. He had a feeling Misha was totally fucking with him, but it still didn't stop him from feeling insulted. "Dude, did you just disparage my manhood?" "Not at all. I merely pointed out that Karl's rather impressively put together. Orlando's a lucky man." Seriously, what the hell was wrong with his life that he was debating Karl's cock size with a half-naked man in his room? This couldn't be normal. "Is this...I mean, do you make everyone who studies with you pose nude for you? Is this how you get off?" "There is no price," Misha replied, with that strange sort of Zen-like tranquility that seemed to define him. "Merely a desire on my part. Are you ready?" Chad thought Misha really ought to come with a whiplash warning. "To...?" "Study, of course. That is why you're here, yes?" Misha looked at him expectantly, and tapped the battered Calculus textbook on his desk. "Uh...right. Yeah." Calculus. Of course. Why he was here. Right. Chad scrubbed a hand over his face, and then snagged his own textbook out of his overstuffed backpack. "Yeah, let's get started." "In cold blood, he leapt into burning Etna." When Chad raised an eyebrow in question, Misha explained. "Relax. Try not to look like you're going to a funeral. It's calculus, not microbiology." "Microbiology I could probably handle," Chad ruefully stated, with a shrug, but forced his shoulders to relax. Misha gave him a thoughtful look. "I thought you were doing alright in Calc, anyway. Why are you here?" "Partial derivatives," Chad replied, simply. "Ah, well. Okay." Misha settled in his desk chair, and gestured for Chad to take the other. Even though he was still shirtless and barefoot, his voice was all business. "If you're familiar with linear transformations, then we can apply that to..."
Chad even managed to forget, until much, much later, that Misha had basically propositioned him. And that he hadn't absolutely turned Misha down. *** It wasn't that Chad was a prude. The whole idea was laughable what with Orlando being his best friend and all. From the day they'd first met as kids, Orlando had dragged Chad sometimes willingly, sometimes not along with him on the crazy ride that was his life. But Chad always considered himself more of an observer. He was content to hang on the fringes and watch the insanity unfold. He envied people like Orlando, though, people who could bend life to their will. But he didn't really get them. He thought maybe he'd have been more at home in Victorian England or something, spending his days in seclusion pottering around with his research and communicating via letters. There were a lot of days when he was sure he'd be happy if he just dropped off the grid and set up a lab on a mountainside somewhere. It'd be nice not to have to worry about saying or doing the wrong thing. To not worry that he wasn't funny enough or sociable enough or witty enough or even interesting enough for society or even his friends. He was pretty sure that Orlando would have taken Misha's proposal in stride and made some joke and that would have been that. He wouldn't have spent the night going over every word in his head, trying to figure out what the hell Misha had been thinking or whether Misha meant it or had just been fucking with him. He wouldn't have gotten all tongue-tied and defensive.
Karl glanced at Orlando, who shrugged in an 'I have no idea' sort of way, then looked back at Chad. "Uh, okay, I'll bite. What's my fault?" Chad checked his watch before replying. They had a few minutes before Professor Bean's class started. The last thing he wanted was to discuss this particular topic with the professor around man had hearing like a bat and wasn't afraid to let his students know it. "Misha Collins totally wants me to pose nude for him." "What, like, in class?" Chad sighed. Honestly, his friends were so obtuse. "Hell no, I'm not you. I mean, like, for him. Privately." "Is that some sort of euphemism for gay sex?" Orlando asked, and poked Karl in the ribs. "Can I ask to see your etchings now?" "I'm serious, dude," Chad said, over Karl's chuckle, "I went around to his room to set up some sort of tutoring schedule and first off, he was doing yoga to heavy metal, which was just weird, and then he was all, you should let me sketch you and totally eye-fucked me." He didn't feel the need to mention that Misha had been a great teacher. No need to muddy the waters. "How is this my fault?" Karl asked, studying Chad from behind his glasses like he thought Chad was a recalcitrant equation or something. "It just is. You told me to go to him for Calc help." "Oh, okay, sure, in that case, I accept full responsibility." Orlando reached around Karl to flick Chad's shoulder. "Are you gonna do it?" "Are you high?" Chad answered, horrified at the thought. What the hell, man, Orlando was supposed to be his best friend. It was like the dude didn't know him at all. "I could have told you that, Orlando," Karl snorted. "Chad won't even shower with the other guys after practice." "I like my privacy." Chad refused to see how that was a bad thing. Not everyone was open with displaying their bits for the world to see. That didn't make him weird. "And you're uptight," Orlando added, in a far too gleeful voice. Chad just shot him the finger. "I am not." "Well, you're not Cameron from Ferris Bueller uptight, but you could totally stand to loosen up some," Orlando amended, like that was supposed to help. "Thanks." Chad gave Orlando his best glower. Not that Orlando was remotely impressed. "Anytime, brother," Orlando replied, with a big, shit-eating grin, just before Professor Bean strolled into the room and instructed them all to open their books to Act II, Scene III and tell him if it was meant to be filler or if it was actually pertinent to Henry's journey. Honestly, was it any wonder he preferred his research and schoolwork to socializing? *** "So, I heard through the grapevine that you and Hilarie split." "Hi to you, too, Drew," Chad said, without looking up from his charts. This section of the library was pretty secluded, so he didn't bother to whisper. It was one of the many reasons why he studied here on Mondays and Wednesdays. "Who has time for niceties?" Drew made herself at home across from him. Today, her nails were a screamingly loud shade of fuck-me-red, which matched the tank top that was stretched tight across her rather magnificent breasts. Her hair was a perfect halo of blonde ringlets. Her boyfriend Jake was a lucky dude. Karl was clearly an idiot for giving that up. "Monica also says that Hilarie said you were boring in the sack, but I find that very hard to believe," Drew continued, raising an expertly waxed eyebrow. Boring? That back-stabbing, little... No. No way, man, he wasn't going to go there. Hilarie was entitled to her opinion, even if it was revisionist history. She'd certainly never indicated anything of the sort to him when they were going out. "I appreciate the vote of confidence in my sexual prowess." He was pretty proud of the even tone to his voice. "I mean, I think you're a little old-fashioned, and possibly vanilla, but that doesn't make you boring." Okay, so much for equanimity. "What's that supposed to mean?" He didn't think he was old-fashioned. Or vanilla, whatever that meant. In fact, he was all for all of the new technology springing up in his field and couldn't wait to get out there and start using it and come up with some innovative techniques of his own. Drew gave him a look that suggested he was short-bus slow. "You don't like to go out of your comfort zone." "I do, too," he protested, in what sounded suspiciously like a pout, even to his own ears. "I do different things." "You really want to go there?" Before Chad could reply, Drew started to speak. "You've had the same best friend pretty much your whole life. You have a regimen for your meals and your study breaks and doing your homework, including where you do it and when, that you never, ever change. You haven't played another sport except for baseball since your t-ball days, and you've played the same position the entire time. You're majoring in geochemistry because that's what your dad wanted " "I happen to love the science in it, thank you " " you wear the same four colors all the time because buying anything else would be weird your word, not mine and, you've had a grand total of three girlfriends your entire life, one of which was in elementary school, so I don't think that counts." Drew ticked off each point on her fingers, then waved them at Chad. "I mean, I get it, change is hard, but come on. A spade is still a spade." Drew made them sound like faults. Which they weren't. He was loyal, man, and there wasn't anything wrong with that. He was also a little weirded out that she remembered so much of his personal history. He'd have to do a better job of not drinking around her, because he clearly couldn't be relied on not to open his mouth. Not like he had the best head for alcohol as it was. "Just because I like what I like..." Her hand covered his. Her smile was sympathetic. "Look, I'm not slagging on you. I like you. You're a good guy and you're pretty funny when you relax. I'm just saying it might be a good idea for you to finally get out there and live a little before you're too old to care." "I like my life just fine," Chad replied. She made him sound like some stodgy curmudgeon or something, which couldn't be further from the truth. He did things. Hell, he'd just gotten back from a study abroad trip in Argentina, and that had to count for something. "You don't have to worry about me." "That's my point." Drew full-on beamed at him like he'd just solved world hunger. "I will be the happiest person on campus when you give me reason to worry about you." Chad was still trying to puzzle that one out long after she left. *** Weekends for Chad mostly consisted of practice, more practice, research and more research, and, when he'd been part of a couple, going out to dinner or the movies or sometimes taking in a play or heading to Greenville or Atlanta for the night. But Saturdays always began the exact same way, with a call home to his folks, who'd moved back to Wilmington when Chad had started college. He knew it was totally lame of him to admit that he got along with his parents, but he wasn't ashamed of it. Besides, his mom was the best person he knew. The phone rang just as he left Waffle House after a nutritious breakfast of double hashbrowns all the way and cheesy grits. His smile was already in place as he answered. "Hey, sexy mama, how's it going?" "Oh, stoppit." Chad's mother's voice was a mixture of fond exasperation and pleasure. "I haven't been sexy since the '70s." "I beg to differ, but that would be creepy and weird and Dad would probably kick my ass." Both laughed at the well-worn joke. "So, what can I do for the light of my life?" "Nothing, just checking in. How's school, how's baseball, are you keeping Orlando out of trouble?" Chad slowed his stride, enjoying the soft breeze and warm sunshine. He needed to get out more. "Good at the moment, fine, and hell no, that's Karl's job now." "Baby boy, Orlando is always going to be your job." "Thanks, Mom, that's very comforting." He had a sudden, terrifying vision of being in a nursing home with Orlando, keeping him away from hitting on all of the nurses and trying to start riots like Nicholson's character in that one film. "It should be. Lifelong friends are rare in this world. How're your classes?" "Great. Professor Smith is talking about another Caρon City trip this summer. I'm thinking about going along, beefing up my resume." "I thought you were going to go to Ibiza with Orlando and Karl after graduation for some R&R." "Well, we were talking about it, but..." "Go," his mother interrupted, in a clear, firm voice. "Go frolic naked on a beach and drink too much and have a string of one-night stands with dubious women and many crazy adventures that you'll be too ashamed to tell me about." "Mom..." Chad was certain he was blushing to the roots of his hair. "Don't Mom me. I count myself as the luckiest of all mothers that I had a hand in raising such a beautiful and responsible young man. But you're only going to be young and frivolous once. Enjoy it. The magma formations or whatever they are will still be there." "I'll think about it. Anyway, how's Dad? Still trying to convince you to let him expand the garage?" Goddamn, even his own mother had basically called him boring. What the hell was the world coming to? Had to be something in the water, man. Either that, or everyone had decided to conspire against him. *** There were a lot of reasons why Chad liked Thursdays only a half day of classes and no practice but mostly he liked Thursdays because that was his Starbucks night. He loved the library, no doubt, especially the long tables and wealth of research materials close by, but he also looked forward to getting out once a week and having a coffee while catching up on his other homework. It made for a nice change of pace. And the chairs at Starbucks were way more comfortable. The second Chad stepped through the door and up to the counter, Shelly, the cute, blonde barista who normally worked nights, pushed a large cup towards him. "Right on time, as always," she said, in greeting. Her voice was as effervescent as her personality. "And here's your venti breve vanilla latte, easy vanilla, just the way you like it." "Thanks, Shelly." Chad returned the easy smile as he took a sip and nodded his approval. "You always get the temperature just right." Her smile was mega-watt bright, lighting up pretty blue eyes, and positively coquettish. "For my favorite scientist, of course." "Uh..." Chad ducked his head, and cleared his throat loudly. Every time, man, pretty much like clockwork... "I'm not exactly a scientist." Shelly waved him off. "Not yet. But you will be. I bet they name a building after you here one day." Chad slid over a five for the drink, then dropped a couple of bucks in the tip jar. He was under no illusions about why his drink was always perfect and on time. "Nah, they only name buildings after people who cure cancer or donate a million bucks or something. My field's not very sexy." "It's sexy enough when you talk about it." "Uh...thanks." It seemed a safe enough reply. He never had any idea what to say when she started complimenting him on anything. "Anytime." Shelly flashed him another toothy smile, then pointed at the array of brightly-colored rocks lining the top of the register. "And next time you come in, I expect another addition to our collection." "Yeah, okay. I should, uh...yeah." Chad pointed at his usual corner table. "Y'know?" "Sure thing. I'll come by later with your coffee cake." "Thanks." Chad berated himself the entire time he was setting up his laptop and charts. He could hear Orlando laughing at him in his head. One day, he'd learn the fine art of flirting. Or, at the very least, he'd learn to not sound like an idiot every time a pretty girl talked to him. Not that he'd had much practice the past four years, what with being in a relationship and... No. He wasn't going to go there, he wasn't going to dwell on it. It was time to move on. Onward and upwards. Something. Then again, Hilarie would probably just mutter something about a downgrade if she knew Chad was contemplating asking out the barista at his local coffee shop. But it would be different. A change. Still, it didn't remotely surprise him when he went home without Shelly's number. *** Chad knocked on the door and got a muffled response to come in. Karl and Orlando were holed up on Orlando's bed. Books and papers were scattered everywhere, as usual, with an open pizza box, contents half-demolished, beside them. Karl's half of the room, by contrast, was almost military in its neatness. Chad helped himself to a slice and sat cross-legged on the floor. "Finished my paper for Professor Bean, thought I'd see if you guys wanted to set up a Rock Band battle downstairs." Orlando blinked in surprise. "The one on Henry V? I thought we were going to work on it together." "I got in a groove, decided to give it a whirl." "You got into a groove on reading Shakespeare?" Chad rolled his eyes as he swallowed his last bite of pizza. "Just because I don't get iambic pentameter or however the hell they talked back then doesn't mean I hate the story. Plus, it helps if you read it aloud." Karl chuckled, and nudged Orlando's shoulder with his own. "There's hope for one of you, at least." Orlando pushed back. "I don't have a problem reading Shakespeare, thank you." "That's because Sinclair's not teaching it." "We're not talking about it." Chad made a time out motion with his hands. "Wait, hold on, what happened in Sinclair's class?" "Orlando froze up again when the good professor called on him," Karl replied in a gleeful voice, while Orlando dropped his head in his hands and groaned. It was pretty common knowledge that Orlando had a total crush Professor Sinclair. "Sort of like shooting fish in a barrel," Chad observed, not bothering to hide his amusement at Orlando's mortification. "You've never been able to say anything to him." "I managed an entire sentence last week, thank you." Karl grabbed Orlando's hand and made a show of kissing his fingers. "And I was so proud of you, honey." "Okay, seriously, I didn't come over to watch you two lovebirds coo at each other." Not that they were prone to PDAs for the most part, but still, appearances had to be maintained. Orlando just waved him off. "Yada, yada, get over your jealous snit." "So not jealous." "Alright, kids, don't make me separate you." Orlando put his head on Karl's shoulder and batted his eyelashes in an outrageous manner. "Sorry, Mom." Chad got to his feet. Once they got like this, he knew it was time to bail. "I'll be downstairs, man." "Give me twenty to finish this worksheet and we'll come down and get our jam on," Orlando said. Karl nodded his agreement to Chad, so Chad knew they'd be downstairs on time. He didn't always get Karl, but he admired anyone that forced Orlando into punctuality. God knew, he'd been trying for years and years. When Chad walked into the mostly empty commons room, he saw Misha camped out in one of the over-sized chairs, reading some book that looked like it was written in Italian. He looked content and relaxed, as always. Chad wondered what it must be like to have that sort of inner calm all the time. He wondered if the pot had anything to do with it or if it was just a natural part of Misha's personality. "Light reading?" he asked, tapping the cover. Misha glanced up, and blinked in confusion before he seemed to process Chad's question. His hair seemed even messier than normal, and his pajama pants and t-shirt were dotted in paint. "Military account of Fifth Battle of the Isonzo." He held up the cover, like that was supposed to help. Chad rocked back on his heels. "Oookay." "In 1916. In Slovenia," Misha added, in a helpful voice. "Yeah, I got that. I know where the Isonzo River is. What I don't know is why you're reading about it." "I like military books." Misha said it like it should have been perfectly obvious. "In Italian?" "I like learning new languages, too." "Of course you do," Chad murmured, mostly to himself. Because everyone learned new languages by reading books on battles from WWI, apparently. He would never figure this guy out, not if he had all the time in the world. He was turning away to give Misha his space when he saw Jared Padalecki, who played with Karl and Orlando on the football team, bound down the steps and into the room. "Hey man." Jared was all smiles and the laconic sense of good-naturedness that never left him, at least, off the field. Once he had the football in his hand, though, forget it, he was a fucking pit bull. It helped that he easily topped 6'5" and weighed about 250 on a good day. Puppy-like enthusiasm, but about as moveable as a Mack truck when motivated. Chad lifted a hand. He and Jared were friendly enough, but didn't have too much in common aside from being friends with Karl and Orlando. Who were, as far as Chad could tell, friends with everyone on campus. "What's up?" "Not much." Jared didn't spare Misha a glance. "Me and Genny and Jensen and Danneel're headed to the ATL this weekend for some R&R. You and Hilarie wanna join us? We've got a couple of rooms at the Renaissance downtown." "Uh, yeah. About that." Apparently word hadn't gotten completely out yet. Then again, Jared wasn't big into Twitter or Facebook, so he probably missed all the good gossip. Chad wasn't sure if that was a bad thing. "Hil and I sort of split up a couple of weeks ago." "Oh." Jared's forehead wrinkled in sympathy. "Sorry, dude." Out of the corner of Chad's eye, he saw Misha straighten up. Just what he needed. Misha curious about his love life. Or incredibly pathetic lack thereof. "It's cool, don't sweat it," he shrugged. "We've been together since high school, y'know. Time to get out and see what else is out there." He wondered how many times he'd have to repeat it before he started to believe it. "Still, man, that's gotta...I thought you two looked good together." Yeah, well, welcome to the club, Chad thought, but forced what he hoped was a nonchalant smile on his face. "It's cool. Now I don't have to worry about not getting into trouble when I'm surrounded by hot women in bikinis this summer." Not that he'd ever been surrounded by hot women in bikinis in his entire life, let alone gotten in trouble with one, but it sounded good. He must've said the right thing, because Jared's return grin was wide, knowing, total man to man. "I hear ya. You guys're gonna tear some shit up in Ibiza." "That's the plan." Not that Chad had any idea about how to go about doing that, either, but he hoped Orlando would lead the way like he always did. Most days, he wondered why the hell Orlando bothered being friends with him. "Uh, anyway, speaking of plans..." Jared cocked his head at the door. Unkempt bangs fell into his eyes with the movement. "I better get a shake on and pick up Genny before she heads out without me. Catch you at practice tomorrow?" Jared sometimes worked out with Coach Morgan and the baseball team to keep up with his strength training regimen. Not that Chad thought he really needed it, but he admired the dedication. "You bet." Chad accepted the fist bump that Jared leveled his way, then sank onto the sofa once he left the room. He turned to Misha, gave a what-can-you-do shrug, and let out a large sigh. "Sorry about you and your girlfriend," Misha said. Even the crinkles around his eyes looked sympathetic. "Yeah, me too. Sort of." Chad wasn't sure how he felt about it these days. "Although, honestly, I think I miss the idea of her more than the actual her." Misha nodded. "I had a girlfriend like that once. She left me for her best friend." "Wait, like, she left you for a girl?" Damn, he thought shit like that only happened in bad movies. "I offered to be the filling in their sandwich, but they seemed strangely uninterested in taking me up on my offer." Misha said it with such a straight face that Chad couldn't be certain he was joking. "Bummer," he replied. It seemed safe enough. "Ah, well, they're stuck with double-pronged dildos, and I get to draw naked men in art class. I'm sure there's a balance in the universe somewhere." That time, Chad couldn't help the grin. He felt like maybe he'd turned a corner when Misha winked back at him. He appreciated the gesture, and the intention behind it. Like maybe Misha understood him in some weird way. "Did you mean it?" he asked, surprising himself. Misha shook his head, brows crinkling in puzzlement. "I mean a lot of things. Perhaps you could be more specific." "About wanting to sketch me." He had no idea why this was suddenly so important or why he was even thinking about it, but he found himself wanting to know the answer. "I never joke about art. Unless there are Velvet Elvises involved," Misha amended, with a nod. He opened his mouth to ask what the hell Misha was talking about, but then decided he didn't want to know. Especially if it involved Velvet Elvis paintings. "If this thing gets out anywhere on the 'net or on campus, I will totally drop-kick your ass in the marshes." Misha didn't look particularly impressed with the threat. "Would it help if we swore an oath in blood or danced around naked by a bonfire and chanted incantations?" He wasn't going to ask, he wasn't going to ask. "Fine, I'll do it." The second the words were out of his mouth, he longed to call them back. What the hell was he thinking? Misha chuckled, the sound low and amused. "Try not to look like you're being asked to suck someone's cock. It's just a sketch." "I really never need to think about you saying the words sucking cock again." Even if Misha really did have the lips for it. Holy fuck, he did not just think that. "They're just words until there's action behind them." Misha's leer was friendly, but Chad still found himself inexplicably nervous. For the millionth time, he wished he was the sort of person that gave as good as they got in the witty repartee department. "Okay, this conversation has just drifted totally off the reservation," he said, hoping Misha wouldn't notice his voice was slightly shaky. Misha cocked his head, studying him like maybe he was a bug or a flower or something he was trying to figure out. "That's not always a bad thing," he said, quietly. Chad's breath caught in his throat. Even the air between them seemed to be waiting for Chad's reply. Karl and Orlando chose that moment to walk into the room. "What's not always a bad thing?" Orlando asked, looking around. "What's Chad done now?" "Nothing yet," Misha replied, acting like nothing had just happened. Which, yeah, nothing had happened. At least, Chad was pretty sure nothing had happened. Which didn't explain why the hairs on his arms were standing on end, but life was full of mysteries. "We ready to get some Rock Band in?" Karl asked, rubbing his hands together. "Misha, you wanna join us?" "Sure." Misha closed his book. "But I'll warn you, I'm only good at the bass guitar." "Well, I've heard you sing, so I'd have to agree," Orlando grinned. "Besides, you can't be any worse than Chad." Misha raised an eyebrow at Chad. "Oh?" "One would think he'd be better at Rock Band, considering his major," Orlando replied, sadly. Chad groaned. "Okay, that was officially the worst joke ever." Misha looked around the small group. "I don't get it." "I'm majoring in isotope geochemistry," Chad explained. "Which is?" "I study the concentrations of the elements and their isotopes in the Earth's rock formations." Misha glanced at Orlando. "And you all claim I'm esoteric. What the hell does that even mean?" "Means he studies the ages of rocks," Orlando replied with a grin. "Sounds exciting, huh?" "It's a lot more than studying the ages of rocks," Chad sighed. This was such an old argument. "We're talking about the origin of the planet's surface, how it relates to the air, how it affects the chemical process of water "The point is," Karl said, interrupting Chad mid-tirade, "is that it was a horrible joke. And we're here to play and hang out, not talk shop." "Fine with me." Orlando rubbed his hands together. "Who's ready for some Metallica?" *** Chad didn't consider himself to be a coward. He might not be the scrapper that Orlando was, but he held his own and always had Orlando's back in a fight. But this, man... He let out a deep breath as he hovered at the entrance to one of the small art studios, gaze snaring on the massive red sofa that took up most of the space. "Pretty sweet, huh?" Chad jumped about a mile high, hand clutched to his chest. "Jesus!" he exclaimed, whirling around to see Misha beside him, blue eyes dancing with mirth. "Scared the fuck out of me, man." "You know," Misha observed, "if you were wound any tighter, I could probably tell time by you." "Very funny." Chad looked at the sofa again. If anything, it looked even bigger. "You know, we don't have to do this." "No, man." It was difficult to meet Misha's gaze, but he did it anyway. It helped that Misha's expression was friendly, rather than judgmental. "Said I'd do it, so I'll do it." Misha's touch was warm, friendly, on his back. "Try not to act like I'm asking you to go down on your sister. It's just nudity." "I don't have a sister," Chad mumbled. He didn't think Orlando's sister counted, especially since, as Orlando kept pointing out, they'd done the dirty once. "Pretend I'm Orlando, then." Another pat to Chad's back, and Misha moved into the room. Chad stared after Misha. Aside from his wardrobe, which consisted of a very-Orlando like pair of ripped jeans and a form-fitting bright orange tank top that showed off surprisingly muscled arms, Misha and Orlando were nothing alike. Orlando was all nervous energy and boundless enthusiasm, and Misha was...well. Misha. Chad was running out of contradictory adjectives to describe him. He was beginning to think that Misha just defied description altogether.
What the hell had he been thinking last night when he'd said he was going to do this? He'd have blamed it on being drunk, except for the small fact that he'd been stone-cold sober at the time. Misha didn't look up from his sketch pad. His hair was its usual crazed spiky mess. His fingers were long and elegant as they gripped his pencil. "I had no idea you were such a prude." Chad's eyes narrowed. "Screw you." "I prefer my partners to be a little less uptight. Now stop twitching." Chad gave what he hoped was a meaningful glare not that Misha was in a position to appreciate it, since he still hadn't bothered to look up and got back into position. He still couldn't believe he was doing this. Seriously, he was a great student and a ball player on a state championship team. Wasn't he supposed to be too busy getting wasted at frat parties and debauching coeds? Not that he ever got wasted or went to frat parties or had ever debauched anyone, for that matter, but really, it was the principle of the thing. "So is it true you grow weed in your room?" he asked, just to break the silence. He hadn't seen a hydroponic setup or whatever in Misha's room during their tutoring sessions, but it wasn't like he'd ever had a chance to snoop around, either. "Of course not. That would be illegal." Misha paused, and flashed Chad a quick wink. "I get it from Viggo." Of course. Professor Mortensen probably supplied half of the campus, Chad thought. "Isn't that corruption of the students? I mean, if your teacher's supplying you with weed." "Viggo's not too crazy about rules." "Tenure must be nice, man." "He's a very good teacher." "Still a little clichιd." "We're all clichιd," Misha replied, in a serious, soft voice. "But as the saying goes, live your own life, for you will die your own death." Reason #1465 Misha drove Chad nuts sometimes, in between all of the Zen bullshit and bizarre quotes, the guy made total sense. Chad made a small hmph noise and went back to studying Misha, from his bare feet, curled beneath him, to the hunch of his shoulders as he bent over the pad. "You're frowning, stop." "Sorry." Chad had no idea how Misha knew he was frowning, since he was busy with what looked like shading, but he figured artists were like mothers and had eyes in the back of their heads. Or top of their heads, in Misha's case. "Why did you want to sketch me, anyway?" he asked, after a beat of silence. Misha's shrug was minute. "I like the look of you. You've got this great fluidity, even when you're still." What that meant exactly, Chad had no idea. But he wasn't about to ask. Still, it sounded like a compliment. "Thanks." "You're better in motion, though. I like watching you play." "You go to our games?" Somehow, Chad couldn't picture Misha at a baseball game. Or any professional sports game, for that matter. Then again, he couldn't exactly picture Misha at a stuffy art opening, either. "Football's more my sport, but I like baseball just fine. Especially if there's beer and hot dogs involved and a really good pitching duel." "Football?" The sweaty, bloody, hard-hitting sport of rednecks? Now Chad had heard everything. "Seriously?" Misha's lips quirked into a grin. Made him look like a mischievous Shakespearean sprite. "I also like beer and war films and porn and pro wrestling. Now stop moving before I tie you up and turn this into a Kinbaku exhibit." Chad had no idea what Kinbaku was, but he decided he didn't want to chance it. With Misha, there was no telling. *** "So, how'd it go?" Karl asked, the next day in art class. Today, they were finishing up the touches on their clay sculptures not that Professor Mortensen believed in grades. Only in concept meeting execution in a creative manner. Which, really, whatever the hell that meant. "It went," Chad replied. "He had me there for about two hours, and that was that." "And?" Karl gave him a questioning look. "How'd it look?" "He wouldn't let me see it." Which was sort of irritating, especially coupled with the fact that Misha was completely avoiding him today in class. Chad felt a little like a frustrated date or one-night stand. "Well, maybe he's not finished with it yet," Karl shrugged. "Maybe." Chad cast another glance towards Misha, who was holed up in a bean bag chair in the corner, frown of concentration on his face as his hand flew across his pad. He looked like he was in a Zone, with a capital Z. Chad thought maybe he'd wait to ask about the sketch. But he still couldn't help the knot of disappointment in his belly when Misha wouldn't look up to meet his eyes. *** The next week flew by in a flurry of papers and research and practice, and by the time it was over, Chad had completely forgotten that he hadn't even seen Misha since that day in art class, let alone bugged him about getting a glimpse of the sketch. So when Misha showed up after his Geophysics class with a large envelope stuffed under his arm, Chad had no idea why he was there. "Hey, man." Misha's smile was bright and friendly. Like it had been hours instead of days since they'd seen each other. He waved the envelope at Chad. "Thought you might want to see this." Chad dragged his brain away from the chart he'd been studying, and gave Misha a blank look. "See what?" Misha's chuckle was low and throaty. He slid the envelope across the table. "How quickly they forget. Just open it." Chad flicked the clasp and pulled out the heavy piece of paper. "Oh, man," he breathed, then let out a high-pitched laugh. "Dude, this is fucking kick-ass." Misha looked over Chad's shoulder at the drawing. "Oh, good, I was afraid you were going to perish of embarrassment or something when you saw it." "No, no, it's..." Chad trailed off as he traced the lines of the sketch with a delicate touch. Misha had drawn him asleep, with one hand flung behind his head and his body in full repose, sort of open and vulnerable, but also managed to make him look a little like an ancient Greek Olympian, with fluidly defined muscles and an intrinsic sort of grace that Chad knew he totally didn't have. "It's great," he finally said, cursing his inadequacy with words. "You're really fucking talented." "Cool. Thanks." Misha looked pleased with himself. For the first time, Chad noticed that Misha had twin dimples on the corners of his mouth when he smiled. "That one's yours." "Oh, um, wow. Wow, thanks. I should..." Chad scrambled to think of something to give Misha that would be an adequate thank you gift, and his gaze snared on a box in the corner. "I have a thank you gift for you." Misha rocked back on his heels, hands stuffed in his pockets. "Is it bigger than a breadbox?" Chad dug around in the box for a minute until he found what he'd wanted. "Um, no?" he said, getting to his feet. "Is it shiny? I like shiny things." "No?" Then Chad got a look at Misha's face and the amusement shining out of those expressive eyes. "Dude, it's not a ring. I don't deal in that sort of rock." Misha's shoulders slumped in exaggerated disappointment. "And here I was hoping we could make it official." "Sorry." He dropped a rough-edged rock into Misha's open palm. "But it is a rock, if that helps." "I can see that." Misha held it up, turned it so the light reflected off the edges, creating a prism of silver. "It's, um, it's diorite. Sort of a quartz, but mostly biotite and hornblende...and I'll stop, sorry, I'm getting geeky," Chad apologized. He felt like the world's biggest dork. "Anyway, ancient civilizations used it for pavement. Think of that that must've been like, man. All of these roads in Mesopotamia just glittering all black and silver, leading to the old cities..." Misha clutched the rock in his fist. His smile was indecipherable, but filled with warmth. "And you claim you have no art in your soul." Chad blinked. Immediately, he could feel the blush suffuse his cheeks with warmth. "Uh...well..." "It's gorgeous. Even if it's not an engagement ring," Misha added, with a wink. Chad's shoulders relaxed as he returned the joke. "I figured I'd save that for our year anniversary." "A man who plans, I like it. Will we spend our honeymoon someplace in the mountains, doing rock-like things?" Chad chuckled, shaking his head. Rock-like things, man. Classic. "Nah, working on your honeymoon's just bad manners." "And good that you realize that. So many people don't." Misha pointed at the table, gesturing at the charts and high-powered microscope. "Tell me more about what you do. What is all of this stuff?" "Research, mostly." "Into?" Misha prompted, with a wave of his hand. "Environmental chemistry. We use stable isotopes to trace and study biological or environmental processes." When Misha just looked on in interest, Chad continued, warming to his subject. Most of his friends had no idea what he did and, when he tried to explain, their eyes glazed over like Chad was speaking Greek. "See, all elements have isotopes, right, which means the atoms of any given element can have different forms that contain different numbers of neutrons in their nucleus. The number of electrons and protons stays the same - that's what defines which element it is. The isotopes are named by something called the mass number, which is the number of protons plus the number of neutrons." Misha nodded in understanding. "The total number of particles in the nucleus of the atom, got it." Chad grinned at him, pleased that he was so quick to catch on. Definitely way more to him than just a stoned art student. "Exactly. And, well, some of these isotopes are stable. Like, they don't change, even after billions of years. And we can use those to assess climate change in the past. Because O-18 is heavier than O-16 that's, uh, that's oxygen, by the way that means that any water molecule containing O-18 will be heavier than one containing O-16, which also means that when water vapor cools down and precipitates, O-18 will form the liquid or solid first." Chad pointed to one of the charts. "And that's really cool, because we can measure the ratio of oxygen isotopes in ice cores from Greenland or Antarctica, and the relative amount of O-18 to O-16 in ancient ice can be correlated to the mean global temperature." "Cool." Misha peered at the chart, then looked at Chad expectantly. "But, you said only some of the isotopes were stable, though." "Oh, right." No one had ever asked Chad to keep talking about his field outside of his professors. "Uh, well, there are also radiogenic isotopes. And those undergo radioactive decay over time, which means they shed energy and particles until they eventually reach a stable form. And this is how we date the age of rocks. If you can make a good enough guess on how much of the initial radiogenic isotope was present when the rock was formed, you can measure how much of the decayed product is present now and use that to calculate the amount of time the rock has existed. I mean, it's a lot more complicated than that, but the theory's the same." Once again, Misha nodded. "So, it's like carbon dating?" "Sort of," Chad answered, with another quick grin. He couldn't believe Misha had managed to not only follow along with what he was saying, but also got the core of it. "And then there are cosmogenic isotopes, which measures how long a surface has been exposed to the sun, but that's not exactly my area. Astronomers use it to tell about cosmic energy hitting the earth...and now I've totally lost you," he said, noting Misha's slight frown. "Somewhat, sorry," Misha shrugged, and Chad could tell he genuinely meant it. "But it's nice to see you animated about something." "Most people get bored to tears when I start talking about it."' Misha bumped Chad's shoulder, the touch fraternal, familiar. "Fuck 'em, man. Creativity comes from many different avenues and takes many shapes. You've definitely found your calling." And, yeah, Chad thought, returning Misha's smile, maybe Misha really did get it. *** "Coach Morgan's a fucking sadist," Chad panted, then flopped on the grass in a heap. He didn't think he could move if his life depended on it. Orlando and Karl dropped beside him, both of them looking just as exhausted and drenched in sweat. Had to be a billion degrees out today and fucking Coach was out there making them run wind sprints and relay drills to improve their hand-eye coordination. "I'm done, man," Orlando groaned. "Fuck this fucking game." "He's better than Coach Bana. Least we don't have to gear up like in football practice," Karl argued, but there wasn't any conviction behind it. Thankfully, the sun had disappeared behind a wall of clouds. Chad almost wished it would start raining, just to cool him off a little bit. "Drew thinks I need to get out of my comfort zone," he said, surprising even himself with the statement. Where the hell had that come from?" Karl twisted his head, squinting as he looked at Chad like maybe Chad had lost his mind. "What?" "She said something about it a few weeks ago." Fuck, Chad would have cheerfully killed someone for just a sip of water. "I have no clue what she means, though." "Means she thinks you need to step outside the box, do something a little dangerous and fun," Orlando stated, all splayed out on the grass like he was trying to make snow angels or something. Chad frowned. "I do fun things." Well, his version of fun, which maybe didn't exactly conform to anyone else's. "If you say so." When Chad just glared at him, Orlando sighed. "Look, all I'm saying is that Karl is more adventurous than you." "Thanks for that." Karl lazily batted at Orlando's hand. "If I were a chick, I'd totally tell you the sleep on the couch tonight." "We don't have a couch." "And you say I'm literal." Chad groaned in protest, then in pain when he felt the pull in sorely used muscles. "Seriously, could you two cut it with the cute domesticity for just a second? I'm too tired to beat you both down." "You didn't used to mind when you had someone to be cute and domestic with," Orlando pointed out. "Yeah, well. Things change." "You just hate that I have a totally hot guy now and not a totally hot chick." Sometimes Orlando was way too retarded for his own good, Chad thought. "Man, you could be dating a tranny midget hooker and I wouldn't care if you were happy." Karl scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "Okay, I've got this vision of midgets giving blowjobs now. You officially suck." "Tranny midget hooker?" Orlando grinned, clearly delighted. "I gotta remember that. Hey, you wanna tag along with Samantha and me to the shelter drive on Sunday?" Samantha was Orlando's sister. "Yeah, sure. Provided I can move again after today." Chad liked going with Orlando to the shelters. The animals were totally awesome and full of love, and the people that ran the events had purpose and true passion for their cause. It was cool, and made Chad feel like he was making an immediate difference. Plus, it gave him something to do that wasn't completely school-related. "And take Drew's advice," Orlando added, sounding totally serious, and not at all like himself. "College is supposed to be about doing new shit and experimenting, y'know?" Which was great for some people, but not everyone wanted to go the whole party all the time route and fuck up their chances for grad school or a job. "You're the third person to tell me that." Orlando didn't return the smile. "Then maybe it's time you listened." *** Misha looked up with a smile when Chad knocked on his open door, and snagged his Calculus textbook from his desk, as well as a pair of sunglasses. "Thought we'd head outside to study, if that's cool with you," Misha said, and stood. "I've been cooped up inside all day." Sounded fine to Chad. "Sure." As they walked out of the room, Chad noticed the piece of diorite he'd given Misha was sitting in a prominent position on his desk, just in front of a framed picture of what Chad assumed were Misha's parents. Misha led Chad to one of the sun-warmed benches on the quad, and they both settled in, enjoying the breeze. "Days like this make me happy to be here, y'know?" Misha asked, tilting his face up to the sun and closing his eyes with a small sound of approval. He reminded Chad of a cat. "Yeah." Chad took a deep breath, slowly let it out. He could practically feel the tension between his shoulders dissolve. "It's not often I'm outside just for the hell of it." "You should work on that." Misha pushed his sunglasses up his nose. "Life's about more than study and practice." "So I've been told." Chad was still trying to work his way around that balance. He nudged Misha's shoulder with his own. "What about you? What's next for you after graduation?" "I have no idea. Hopefully some travel. Be nice to get out, get some different inspiration, learn new techniques." Chad could totally picture Misha someplace exotic and wild, barefoot and shirtless, sporting a great tan, hair growing like a weed and maybe a Picasso beard, with his sketch pad in hand and finding beauty in the most unlikely of places. "Did you always know?" he asked, curious. "That you wanted to be an artist, I mean?" "I guess." Misha tapped his temple. "I can't remember not having the images in my head, y'know?" "Yeah. Yeah, I do." Chad gave a self-deprecating smile. "I mean, it's not sexy like what you see, but I think I'd be lost without all of the equations in my head." "Did you always want to study rocks?" From anyone else, Chad would have been insulted at the question. But he knew Misha was genuinely interested. "Stupid as it sounds, yeah, I did. I was always fascinated with them, what makes them the same and different and what they can tell us about the history of our planet, y'know? It's totally wild shit. I mean, it's not glamorous, but glamour's overrated." "Definitely," Misha agreed, then gave Chad a sly smile. "Maybe I'll come with you on one of your field trips and draw you in action. The intrepid researcher in the field. It'd make a great study." Funnily enough, Chad thought Misha would fit in with his fellow scientists just fine. Most of them were even more eccentric than Misha, if that was possible. "If you like bugs and sleeping in tiny tents in freezing weather, sure, come along. You could keep us from going full-bore geek." Chad could have sworn that Misha's eyes dropped briefly to his lips. "I think I could find a way to warm up." Yeah, Chad thought to himself, breath catching in his throat. Misha probably knew all sorts of tricks to stay warm. He wondered why the idea wasn't as frightening or weird as it should have been. *** The alarm clock went off far too early the next morning. 6AM was ungodly in the best of times, but on a Saturday, it was like the worst sort of cruelty. Seriously, Coach Morgan was the most sadistic person on the planet. It took four failed attempts before Chad was able to force himself out of bed and stumble to the shower. The cold water woke him up just enough so that he felt marginally more human, but didn't really help. Orlando looked just as rough when he and Karl came by to collect him before setting off towards the field. "Why can't I have coffee again?" Orlando asked, burying a loud yawn behind his hand. "Because it dries your system out," Karl replied. He was the only one of them that looked remotely awake. Chad was pretty sure the dude wasn't human. "If he starts us off with sprints, you'll be fucked." "I hate Coach Morgan." "Ditto." "You both get up early on school days," Karl pointed out. "Different," Chad said. The sun was barely creeping up over the horizon of trees. Totally made of so much fail. "This is Saturday." "Which means sleeping in," Orlando continued. "Mmmm...sleep..." "Pussy," Karl replied affectionately, and rubbed the top of Orlando's head. "I'll meet you guys there." Chad watched him take off at a jog towards the field. "Where's he headed off to?" "Captains' meeting with the Coach," Orlando replied, smothering another yawn. "I swear, if I didn't love him so much, I'd hate his fucking guts." "I hear ya," Chad replied, even though he didn't really get it. Yeah, sure, he'd loved Hilarie at least, he thought it was love but what they'd had was nothing compared to what Karl and Orlando had together. "Hey, um. How did you know? I mean, that you...that you were attracted to Karl? I mean, you never even hinted before him that you swung that way." "Because I didn't until Karl." Orlando buried his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, slowed his pace. "I dunno, it wasn't like I took one look at him and thought, man, I gotta tap that. But there was something there. I noticed him, y'know? Like, the curve of his neck or the way his hands curled around a football or that his smile made me all fluttery like some girl and shit. But it wasn't until Drew said something that I put it together. Why?" Unbidden, Chad's thoughts drifted to Misha and the elegant taper of his hands. To how seeing his wide, dimpled smile was always enough to have him smiling in return. "I...uh. I dunno." Orlando nudged him. "Out with it. You'll feel better." Chad wasn't so sure about that, but he knew Orlando wouldn't judge him for the thoughts in his head. It was one of Orlando's best qualities. "I think I might be. Um, attracted. To a dude," he clarified. He was certain his face had to be ten shades of crimson. Orlando stopped dead in his tracks and gave Chad a wide-eyed stare. "You're kidding me." Chad shook his head. Christ, this was embarrassing. Even if it was confiding to his best friend. "I think I've got a thing for Misha Collins." Just saying it out loud felt weird. "No shit??" Orlando's laugh was booming, full of good-natured mirth. "That's fucking hilarious, dude. Have you guys hooked up?" "Fuck no, shit...this isn't. I mean." Chad inwardly cursed his flustered thoughts, tried to get them into some semblance of balance before opening his mouth again. "I'm not like that. Jesus. I still...I mean, I still get a woody thinking about Drew in a tight shirt, y'know?" "Well, fuck, who doesn't?" At Chad's blank look, Orlando sighed. "Look, I still love women. I mean, love women. And, not to be too TMI about it, but Karl and I have shared a girl a couple of times." "Wait, you have? You've fucking done a threesome and didn't tell me?!" It was Chad's turn to stare. He wasn't sure if he should be pissed that Orlando hadn't told him or to congratulate him on a job well done. He couldn't imagine ever having the coordination or concentration to please two lovers. Hell, he had a hard enough time with one. "Didn't think you'd care if it wasn't two girls." "Okay, point. Still...how, um, how was it?" "Pretty hot," Orlando grinned. "So, yeah, definitely still into the ladies. But Karl..." He stared off in the distance, small smile turning up the corners of his lips. "I love him. I can't be any plainer than that. I don't care what sort of plumbing he's got." Plumbing. Sounded so clinical when Orlando said it. And hell, maybe it was all just science, when it came down to it. But science didn't normally make his skin clammy or his heart flutter. "Yeah, I guess." Orlando turned back to Chad. His hand was warm and friendly on Chad's shoulder. "And if you're attracted to Misha, it wouldn't be the worst thing ever to see where maybe that takes you." "Maybe," Chad echoed, unwilling to carry it further than that. *** The room was teeming with people, music, noise. Not exactly Chad's idea of a fun night, but he'd promised Drew he'd show up and be sociable, so here he was, trying to pretend he was a typical college student on a Saturday night. He thought maybe the entire theatre department was here, as well as the entire football team. Jake, Drew's latest boytoy (her phrase, not Chad's), was a running back, and had most likely invited all of his friends to counteract all of Drew's. Jake was nice enough, but not remotely what one would call intellectual, and was, most of the time, no match for Drew. When Chad mentioned once that Drew was totally out of Jake's league, she'd told him that Jake was talented enough for what she wanted from him. Chad couldn't rightly argue with it, although he was envious of the fact that she was so open and free about sex. Chad still couldn't get past flirting most days. He waited in line for the head, then made his way back to the kitchen for another beer. If he was going to be social, he figured he may as well try to get a small buzz on. Liquid courage and all. Somehow, he wasn't remotely surprised to see Misha hanging out right by the cooler. "Hey, man." Misha had a joint in one hand, a beer in the other. His smile was wide, welcoming, had Chad smiling in return. "What can I do for you tonight?" "If you're tending bar, a Bud Light'll do me." Misha bent to fish a bottle out of the cooler, and handed it to Chad. "Slumming it with piss water, I see." "Every night." Chad leaned in like he was sharing a secret. The sweetness of the smoke from the pot filled his lungs. "I've got a pretty light head for the hard stuff so I normally stick to beer." "In that case, knock yourself out." Chad gestured at the cooler. "Is this what you do for fun at parties? Pass out beer to wayward folks passing by?" "Sometimes. Not sure I'd count you as wayward, though," Misha shrugged, then started swaying to the beat pouring through the speakers. "I really love this song. Dance with me?" Chad paused with the bottle to his lips. "What?" In answer, Misha just set down his bottle and tugged Chad to the center of the kitchen. A second later, Chad found himself gently swaying along to the tune some slow, jazzy number with Misha in his arms. It felt weird, but surprisingly good. Misha was all hard angles and muscle, but not in a bad way. He was sure he should be far more freaked out about this than he was, especially considering he wasn't remotely drunk yet. "You truly don't give a fuck what other people think, do you?" he asked, after a moment. "No," Misha answered, seriously. His lips were full and red, eyes half-lidded, like he'd already been totally debauched and loved the hell out of it. "And neither should you. This is all we have, man. May as well enjoy it." "Yeah. I guess," Chad replied softly. He couldn't stop staring at Misha's lips. Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in. The kiss if it could be called that was over as quickly as it had begun. Misha just stared back at him, not moving. "Satisfied?" he asked, in a barely audible voice. "Not really," Chad answered, honestly. He leaned in again, this time allowing himself to linger. Misha's lips were rough, chapped, hint of stubble rasping across his chin. It felt a little weird, but the kiss was soft and light. Misha's face was flushed, eyes fluttering open, when Chad lifted his head the second time. It was a damn good look for him. "Much better." "I've been curious," Chad admitted, his voice as soft as Misha's. He couldn't quite believe he was doing this. This was bold, wild. He felt like a completely different person. Like Orlando, maybe, someone who just went with instinct and did what felt natural at the time. It felt good. Liberating. "I know. Me too." Misha toyed with the hairs along Chad's nape. Chad shivered at the touch. "So. Now that we've established we're both curious, how far do you want to take this?" "I um " Chad's brain was still buzzing from the kiss. Or maybe it was the lingering taste of secondhand pot on his tongue. Or possibly from the fact that Misha was still plastered against him. "I've never..." Misha's smile was friendly, but held more than a hint of mischief. "It's okay. No one's expecting you to be an expert on the first try. But I'm cool with this if you are." "Let me guess," Chad said, ruefully. "You have done something like this before." "Without going into too much detail, yes," Misha replied, and brought the joint up to his lips for a long drag. "Not surprised," Chad laughed, and leaned in, this time stealing the smoke from Misha's mouth with the next kiss. The taste was sweet, but with a sharp bite to it, addictive and hot as hell. This was totally crazy. But he couldn't seem to care. "I'm not sure how far," he admitted, finally, the next time he lifted his head. "I mean..." "There's no blueprint for pleasure, man." Misha dragged his thumb across Chad's lower lip, the touch a blatant invitation. Chad's breath caught, held. "Let's just wing it, see what happens next." A burst of heat raced through Chad's body, obliterating all doubt. "Winging it sounds good." Hell, Chad couldn't think of anything better he'd like to do. He wasn't backing out of this. No matter how much it scared him. He wanted this. Or, he thought he did. Which was the same thing, when it came down to it. He cocked his head towards the door. "Feel like bailing?" Misha pulled back with a small, private smile. "Graze on my lips; and if those hills be dry, stray lower, where the pleasant fountains lie." Chad narrowed his eyes. Misha just stood there, not moving. Waiting. If this was a test, Chad was determined to ace it. "I know that one," he finally said. "That's Shakespeare. Which means yes." At least, he hoped like hell it meant yes. He couldn't stop the smile when Misha simply winked. *** The entire walk back to Chad's dorm, he kept waiting for the nerves to hit. Or for Misha to change his mind. Or for him to change his mind. Something. This was crazy, wasn't it? Let alone that Misha was a dude, which was all kinds of odd all on its own, Chad had never, not once, left a party with someone he didn't know with the intention of having sex. Not that Misha was really a stranger. Or that they were really having sex. But, well, the principle was the same. He thought. At this rate, he was going to talk himself in circles before anyone even got naked. Oh God, naked... "So, uh..." Chad closed the door behind them, and stood in the middle of his slightly messy room. Had he washed the sheets lately? Would Misha care? Would they even need the bed? What the hell was he doing? He rubbed his hands on his jeans, and hoped Misha wouldn't notice they were shaking. "How, um..." "Christ, relax, would you?" Misha stepped right into Chad's personal space like Chad had invited him (which, Chad thought, he sort of had), and cupped his cheek with a soft touch. "I bet you weren't this nervous when you were with a girl the first time." "Well, no," Chad admitted, relaxing slightly at the touch. Misha had really nice hands sort of masculine, but really smooth. "But I'd had a lot of practice doing other things with girls first." "And that's all this is. Practice. No one's saying we have to go full anal on the first try." While Chad was still trying to wrap his head around full anal with Misha (hell, with anyone), warm lips brushed the corner of his mouth, the touch butterfly-light. Chad turned into it, seeking more. He forced himself to relax, to go with it. Whatever happened, he was on board. Well, maybe not so much with the full anal part, but he wanted this. His hands still trembled slightly when he slid them up Misha's chest to cup his jaw, the kiss still a slow, voluptuous slide of lips on lips. The trembling turned into outright shaking when Misha moved his hands under Chad's shirt to map warm skin. Every touch sent electric shocks along sensitized nerves. "Relax," Misha murmured, breath soft against Chad's lips. "I've already seen you naked, remember." Chad huffed out a small, anxious laugh. "That was different. Y'know, it was more...in a professional context." "Not entirely." Misha slid his hands lower to cup Chad's ass, pulled Chad flush against him. Chad could feel how hard he was, and it sent another shock of pleasure through him. "I spent a good deal of time appreciating this." Which, when Chad thought about it, wasn't surprising in the least. In fact, he felt like an idiot for not copping a clue sooner. "I knew you were perving over me." "Well, you are a smart man," Misha murmured, then, before Chad could react, pushed Chad back and onto the bed, then crawled on top of him to straddle his lap. "And bossy," Chad amended, curling his hands around Misha's hips to hold him in place. Already, he thought he could get used to Misha's weight on top of him. Misha stared down at him, eyes bright with lust and amusement. "I know what I want," he said, then lowered his head, the kiss teasing and light. Chad relaxed into it, slid his tongue along Misha's, learning him by taste and touch. This was so completely out of his area of expertise. But, he reminded himself, he was an excellent student, and he didn't mind research. He ran an experimental hand along Misha's back, tested firm muscle, coarse skin. It was different, but not in a bad way. They broke apart just long enough for to remove each other's shirts, then Misha's lips were back on his, and this kiss was completely different, no longer easy and undemanding. Now, Misha ground against him, pushed Chad's lips apart with his tongue, and took. Chad felt like he was suffocating, drowning in heat and need and want. He clutched at Misha's shoulders, arched into the kiss, bare chests rubbing together as a low moan caught in his throat. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so desperate, so completely not in control. "More," Misha growled, and bit at Chad's lower lip, the pain sending a shock of desire zinging through Chad's body. He raked his nails along Misha's back, hips flexing as he sought friction, movement, something. Misha shoved him flat on his back, lips sliding lower, tongue rasping along Chad's jaw and throat. He fumbled with Chad's belt, then his zipper, and Chad's moan died in his throat when Misha snaked a hand under his briefs to curl around his cock. "Oh, dear God..." He could feel, rather than see, Misha's smile. "Much better," he murmured, and started a slow, deliberate slide with his tongue along Chad's sternum. Forget drowning, man, Chad's entire body was completely on fire, like maybe he'd incinerate on the spot. He bit down on his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood, gurgling groans spilling from a locked throat, as he pushed up, hips flexing in time with each sure twist of Misha's fingers around him. Misha continued to make his way down Chad's body, each brush of his lips a brand on Chad's needy skin. When Chad felt a soft huff of air across the head of his cock, his eyes snapped open in surprise. Misha was kneeling between his legs, lips tantalizing close, fingers still wrapped snug around him. "Misha..." He didn't think he could get another word out if his life depended on it. Jesus, there was no way Misha was going to... "It's cool," Misha replied, giving him a small, knowing smile. "I just want to know what you taste like." What you... OhGodohGod... Before the thought could fully form, Chad felt Misha's lips stretch around him, tongue fluttering lightly as he started to bob his head. Chad lifted his hands to push Misha away, to push him down, he wasn't sure then lowered them, fisting the sheets in a tight grip. There was no way he had the strength to say no to this. He was so close already, and Misha'd barely touched him. It wasn't the best blowjob Chad had ever gotten Misha was uncoordinated, raw, without any sort of real technique but he didn't care. There was a lot to be said for unbridled enthusiasm, which Misha had in spades. Technique was definitely overrated, Chad decided, then stopped thinking altogether as Misha did something with his tongue that was probably illegal somewhere and had stars bursting behind Chad's eyelids. Between the tight suction around his cock and Misha's low hums of pleasure that reverberated through him with every slide of his lips, Chad wasn't sure how Misha could possibly get any better. When Misha finally lifted his head, lips shiny-wet and sticky with come, something in Chad's heart lurched. "C'mere," he said, weakly tugging until Misha was sprawled back on top of him. This time, he initiated the kiss. Tasting himself on another person still wasn't the most pleasant thing ever, but it was worth it for the way that Misha seemed to melt against him. "I, uh, I wasn't, y'know..." His brain still wasn't quite functioning at %100. Misha shushed him with another kiss. "I didn't do it expecting reciprocation. I just...wanted to know what it felt like." Chad's brows furrowed. "Wait, I thought you said you'd done this before." "Fooled around with a guy," Misha explained, and raked his teeth along Chad's chin. "He gave a great handjob, but it didn't go further than that." "Oh." Chad shivered as Misha's lips slid along the pulsepoint on his neck. "And, um, you..." Misha's reply was soft, but distinct. "I wanted to know what you tasted like." "And?" Chad asked, genuinely curious as he stroked lazy fingers along Misha's spine. He felt oddly humbled by the admission that Misha'd wanted him like that. Misha's return smile was all mischief. "I dunno, I might need to do it a few more times to form a real opinion on it." "Oh, well." Chad nodded solemnly. He hoped like hell that meant what he thought it meant. "In that case, I totally volunteer my body. For science." Once again, Misha lowered his lips to Chad's neck. "I admire your sacrifice in the name of research." Chad was pretty sure he'd be fine with whatever research Misha needed from him. "But now, I think I need to do a little research of my own," he said, sliding a hand between them to start pulling at Misha's zipper and pushing his jeans off. Fair was only fair, after all. Misha's heartfelt groan was music to Chad's ears. "I like your idea of research." "I thought you might," Chad replied, before closing the small space between them. It felt really weird, but oddly familiar, to have someone else's cock in his hand, but there was no denying that it also felt pretty good. Then again, he'd enjoyed the hell out of having a guy's mouth on his own cock, so this probably wasn't the weirdest experience he'd had today. He took his time finding his tempo what made Misha make those sexy, deep-throated growls, what made him clutch at Chad's shoulders like Chad was the only thing holding him in place and studied every flicker of emotion on Misha's expressive face like he was going to be graded later. Judging by Misha's reaction, it seemed pretty safe to bet he was passing the class with flying colors. "How's that feel?" he asked, surprised at how husky his voice sounded, and twisted his wrist in a way that he knew from personal experience was fucking fantastic. "Great, Jesus..." Misha managed, then slanted his mouth over Chad's, messy and heated, as he pumped his hips in a disjointed rhythm. He was still kissing Chad like his life depended on it when he came, sticky and hot, over Chad's fingers. Chad slowed the kiss, brought his free hand to cup the back of Misha's neck, toying with soft hair. He knew he had to have the biggest shit-eating grin on his face when they finally parted for air, but he really couldn't find it in himself to stop. "Well, that was fun." Misha huffed out a laugh and dropped his forehead to Chad's. "Definitely didn't suck." "And totally beats out what I was planning on doing tonight," Chad continued. He leaned over the side of the bed to grab a towel, and half-heartedly tossed it in the laundry basket when he was done cleaning his hand. "What were you planning on doing tonight?" Misha asked, rolling to Chad's side and throwing one leg over Chad's like he was afraid Chad would leave or something equally crazy. "Hanging out at the party until I'd satisfied Drew's weird sense of being social, then booking it to the lab to work on a few things." Misha shook his head. "We have really got to work on getting you out more." Chad scooted over so he and Misha were practically plastered together. "We do, huh?" He couldn't stop smiling. "Yeah," Misha answered softly, then dropped his head for a softer kiss. He really did have the most fantastic lips. "Unless that really is your idea of a good time on a Saturday night." "Sometimes it is," Chad admitted, with a shrug. "Is that gonna get me kicked out of your club?" Misha's smile was dimpled, mischievous. "Nah, I'll just show up with my sketch pad and keep you company." "Really?" "Yeah, why not? Inspiration comes from everywhere." "Wow." Chad had no idea why he was so touched, but he was. He was totally turning into a sap in his old age. "That's cool. I mean, that you'd do that." "You ever had sex in one of the labs?" Chad's eyes widened. He was certain his entire body was blushing. "Um..." "I'll take that as a no," Misha laughed, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Dude, um, that would be..." He tried to wrap his brain around actually having sex in a classroom and couldn't. "Hot? Exciting? Fun?" "Different," Chad finished. He wasn't sure if he should be scandalized or turned on or both. With Misha, anything was possible. Which was pretty cool, when he thought about it. Light fingers raced along his chest. "Well, different's good. Right?" Chad thought about the last hour, and how he hadn't been so relaxed or smiled so much in a very long time. "So far, it hasn't disappointed." "Well, there you go, then," Misha said, and brushed his lips in a teasing caress against Chad's. "We'll work up to everything else." Chad cocked an eyebrow, but wrapped an arm around Misha's back to pull him even closer. "Everything else?" he asked, half-nervous, half-excited. He wasn't entirely sure a fling (an actual fling, man, this was totally off the map) with an eccentric-not-crazy art student was precisely what his mother or Hiliarie'd had in mind when they'd told him to get out of his rut, but he thought that Drew and Orlando would definitely approve. "How about we go in baby steps and see what happens from there?" Misha just smiled. Onto Puppy Love
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