jam.
Clint
Jam? Seriously?
Ryder
Gooseberry and Elderflower. Booty call at my place?
Clint
Wow. A slutty ghetto Martha Stewart text.
Ryder
Did it work?
Clint
What’s your address?
Ryder
Yessss! 4267 Keppler Ave Apt 2C
The facade of the building was not encouraging. It was typical for the historic district by the college. It was a sagging, faded brick dump. Clint felt a little skeevy, pushing his way through a stream of sloppy twenty-somethings and ducking into the dingy entryway. The building leaned and Clint felt a little dizzy as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. He tried not to look too self conscious as he passed a goth couple and nearly turned back when he got to the box of kittens at Ryder’s door. He knocked and a loud voice sang Bump And Grind before the door swung open.
“Well, helloooooo,” Jared drawled as he leaned against the door frame and Clint waved stiffly as he looked over his shoulder nervously.
“Is Ryder there?” He asked and Jared snorted.
“Yes. Are you sure you want to settle for Mr. Vanilla? I mean, he’s making goddamned granola,” he said as he waved toward what was probably the kitchen and Clint’s eyes flared. Mr. Vanilla? There was a lot Jared didn’t know about Ryder.
“Jared!” Ryder yelled and Jared sighed as he stepped aside and waved Clint through.
“We could have a really good time…” Jared purred in Clint’s ear and Clint leaned away.
“I like vanilla,” he muttered as Ryder rushed into the living room.
“Get out,” he said as he tossed a coat at Jared. He caught it and rolled his eyes as he put it on.
“I’ll be back at 10:00, it’s a school night,” he said and Ryder held up a hand, signaling for Jared to wait before he ran into the kitchen. He reappeared a moment later with an opened can of cat food and handed it to Jared.
“Put that out for Miss Kitty,” he said and Jared’s nose wrinkled as he nodded.
“You give her meat,” he grumbled as he pulled the door open and Ryder grinned at Clint.
“Push a bunch of kittens out of your dick and I’ll cook you a steak,” he said loudly as the door slammed.
“Bitch!” Jared yelled and Clint winced as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he finally looked around he didn’t feel any better.
“Don’t they pay you?” He asked as he eyed a stack of pallets that served as a table and two mismatched stools. A ragged quilt covered what Clint could only assume was an even more ragged futon and a wooden cable spool acted as a coffee table. One wall was lined with books on mason block shelves and an ancient console TV and a lawn chair made his eye twitch.
“Sure. Why?” Ryder asked as he went into the kitchen and Clint frowned as he followed.
“Why don’t you have furniture? You’re living like a homeless college student,” he said and Ryder shook his head as he turned off the burner on what might have been the smallest oven Clint had ever seen.
“As we’re standing in an apartment I pay rent to inhabit, I would argue that I’m not homeless. And I have furniture,” he said as he grinned cockily over his shoulder before he bent over and pulled a pan out of the oven. At least whatever Ryder was working on smelled good. He gave the pan a shake and put it back in the oven and turned off the heat.
“You pay to live here?” Clint asked and Ryder shrugged as he stirred the contents of a large pot then raised the spoon. He nodded then pushed the pot off the burner and Clint stepped back as Ryder turned.
“I haven’t seen a spool used as a table since college,” Clint grumbled as he followed Ryder into the living room and he laughed as he pulled off his faded red hoodie then waved for Clint to follow as he went down a narrow hall.
“You had a spool table?” He asked over his shoulder and Clint frowned as he shook his head.
“Fuck, no. I did see one though,” he said and Ryder laughed
Clint
Jam? Seriously?
Ryder
Gooseberry and Elderflower. Booty call at my place?
Clint
Wow. A slutty ghetto Martha Stewart text.
Ryder
Did it work?
Clint
What’s your address?
Ryder
Yessss! 4267 Keppler Ave Apt 2C
The facade of the building was not encouraging. It was typical for the historic district by the college. It was a sagging, faded brick dump. Clint felt a little skeevy, pushing his way through a stream of sloppy twenty-somethings and ducking into the dingy entryway. The building leaned and Clint felt a little dizzy as he climbed the stairs to the second floor. He tried not to look too self conscious as he passed a goth couple and nearly turned back when he got to the box of kittens at Ryder’s door. He knocked and a loud voice sang Bump And Grind before the door swung open.
“Well, helloooooo,” Jared drawled as he leaned against the door frame and Clint waved stiffly as he looked over his shoulder nervously.
“Is Ryder there?” He asked and Jared snorted.
“Yes. Are you sure you want to settle for Mr. Vanilla? I mean, he’s making goddamned granola,” he said as he waved toward what was probably the kitchen and Clint’s eyes flared. Mr. Vanilla? There was a lot Jared didn’t know about Ryder.
“Jared!” Ryder yelled and Jared sighed as he stepped aside and waved Clint through.
“We could have a really good time…” Jared purred in Clint’s ear and Clint leaned away.
“I like vanilla,” he muttered as Ryder rushed into the living room.
“Get out,” he said as he tossed a coat at Jared. He caught it and rolled his eyes as he put it on.
“I’ll be back at 10:00, it’s a school night,” he said and Ryder held up a hand, signaling for Jared to wait before he ran into the kitchen. He reappeared a moment later with an opened can of cat food and handed it to Jared.
“Put that out for Miss Kitty,” he said and Jared’s nose wrinkled as he nodded.
“You give her meat,” he grumbled as he pulled the door open and Ryder grinned at Clint.
“Push a bunch of kittens out of your dick and I’ll cook you a steak,” he said loudly as the door slammed.
“Bitch!” Jared yelled and Clint winced as he pinched the bridge of his nose. When he finally looked around he didn’t feel any better.
“Don’t they pay you?” He asked as he eyed a stack of pallets that served as a table and two mismatched stools. A ragged quilt covered what Clint could only assume was an even more ragged futon and a wooden cable spool acted as a coffee table. One wall was lined with books on mason block shelves and an ancient console TV and a lawn chair made his eye twitch.
“Sure. Why?” Ryder asked as he went into the kitchen and Clint frowned as he followed.
“Why don’t you have furniture? You’re living like a homeless college student,” he said and Ryder shook his head as he turned off the burner on what might have been the smallest oven Clint had ever seen.
“As we’re standing in an apartment I pay rent to inhabit, I would argue that I’m not homeless. And I have furniture,” he said as he grinned cockily over his shoulder before he bent over and pulled a pan out of the oven. At least whatever Ryder was working on smelled good. He gave the pan a shake and put it back in the oven and turned off the heat.
“You pay to live here?” Clint asked and Ryder shrugged as he stirred the contents of a large pot then raised the spoon. He nodded then pushed the pot off the burner and Clint stepped back as Ryder turned.
“I haven’t seen a spool used as a table since college,” Clint grumbled as he followed Ryder into the living room and he laughed as he pulled off his faded red hoodie then waved for Clint to follow as he went down a narrow hall.
“You had a spool table?” He asked over his shoulder and Clint frowned as he shook his head.
“Fuck, no. I did see one though,” he said and Ryder laughed
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