The end of his toes ached, begging to break free from the uncomfortable confines of his black dress shoes that were never meant for running. He had lost count of the times he stubbed his feet against a rock, but he didn't stop until he got out of El Cielo Lodges and hailed a taxi.
Yves closed the door to his apartment with a sigh. Dealing with the father and son Alonzo drained his energy. Richard was a suave flirt that made him feel funny inside, while Glenn was an asshole, period.
Dropping his keys on the coffee table, Yves plopped on the ivory couch. His apartment wasn't as eccentric as Timothy's house. There were no wooden statues, antique vases, or historical paintings. Since it's not his permanent residence, he didn't feel the need to make it looked like a cultural museum. As long as he had the essential stuff for everyday living, he's all set.
It made him wonder what would be their set up once he moved into a house with Timothy. They definitely needed a bigger once that could fit all his boyfriend's collections, while maintaining a space for him to breathe. Seriously, it would save him a lot of money if he moved in to Timothy's house, but all the bizarre stuff freaked him out. Just thinking about it made his left eyelid twitched involuntarily.
The doctors called it blepharospasm—a condition he had since childhood triggered by stress and fatigue. Add to his already poor eyesight, it would dim his left eye until the spasms of his eye muscles ceased.
His grandmother had a different interpretation about it, though, which was related again to the one-eyed goddess their family came from. But since he didn't believe in superstition, he only shrugged it off. It only happened on rare occasions, anyway.
As the power of sleep dust tranced him into getting the much needed rest, Yves removed his rounded eyeglasses and lay down sideways. He was too lethargic to even drag his ass to the bedroom. The couch was comfy enough. Although he would definitely get a stiff neck once he woke up.
To pass time, Yves reached a lazy hand under the coffee table and grabbed the nearest magazine he could grasp. They were from the time smartphones weren't much of a thing yet, so the edges had been folded and torn. He never read them anymore. He just kept it there for when he had visitors who needed his service, when he was still freelancing.
It was a good distraction.
Yves opened the magazine and instantly regretted it as torn pages fell on his face. Like he said, they were old. With a grunt, he picked up the pages, stared at a random one with narrowed eyes.
A photo of a younger Richard Alonzo, probably around his early thirties, stared at him. This was before he entered politics and still went around posing like a sex god in adult magazines. Richard had his tongue poking out to the side of his smirking lips in the most provocative manner while holding onto his bulging pectorals.
Yves would admit to jerking off to such sexy photographs when he was still a horny teenager. But he was no longer a teenager! The person he was five years ago no longer existed in the present. A silly celebrity crush was normal for everyone.
"I should get rid of this," he mumbled.
The edge of the magazine page creased under his fingertips, but he didn't rumple it like he oh-so-wanted. This photo was no longer available in public since the man became a congressman. His PR team had made sure to get rid of them to preserve the new and respectable image of Richard Alonzo. It would be a waste to throw it away.
He'll just keep it. The photo was a good blackmail material.
Yves threw the piece of paper that only landed back on his face. "Ugh! Stupid, perverted old man!"
"Baby?"
Yves shot up from his sprawled position on the couch and blinked at the silhouette of a man standing by the front door of his apartment. He was near-sighted, so he could only make out of his boyfriend's features from a good distance without his eyeglasses.
Fingers searching on the coffee table, Yves cursed, which made the man laughed before sliding the eyeglasses to his face. His vision cleared at once and met Timothy's smirk as he crouched in between his legs.
"Did I wake you?" Timothy asked. "Looks like you're fighting someone in your dreams again."
Yves flushed. "N-No, I wasn't."
"You're not? But you were screaming about some perverted old man. You didn't even hear me come in." Timothy narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "You're not having a secret sugar daddy, are you?"
"What? No!"
"You're getting defensive."
Yves cupped Timothy's face and pressed hard until his lips pursed like a puffer fish. He grinned at how funny Timothy looked between his palms. "Why would I want a sugar daddy when I have you? I'm not that desperate. You're more than enough for me."
"Wewey?"
Yves giggled at how cute that sounded and kissed Timothy's pursed mouth. "Yes. Absolutely."
Timothy pulled away from his hold, looked around his living room, then picked up the slightly crumpled magazine page with Richard's sexy photo. He pointed at it with his index finger. "Even if a rich motherfucker like this courted you? You'd still choose me?"
The slight hint of accusation in Timothy's voice surprised Yves, creating a significant pause between them that made it seemed like the answer was something he should ponder about. But it gave the impression that Timothy knew what transpired in the wedding reception even if he wasn't there. Yves squeaked when Timothy suddenly pulled his legs forward until his groin pressed against his chest.
"Did you just think about it?"
"W-What? No! I was just surprised at your question. Why would you compare yourself to a politician celebrity?"
"You still haven't answered, Baby. I'm hurt. You'd choose him over me if given the opportunity, would you?"
Yves laughed, shaking his head. "No. Of course not. Why would I want to date someone almost twice my age? That's just weird. He'd be like my daddy or something."
"You just called him daddy."
"I meant a father, okay! An old fart! What is wrong with you?" Yves laughed harder at the childish pout he received. To pacify his lover, he reached out to nibble at the soft flesh of Timothy's jutted lower lip.
Timothy hummed in satisfaction and kissed back. When he pulled away, he gave him an expectant stare. "So, what happened? I thought you're spending the night with friends at the wedding party."
Yves fell in a contemplative silence. While he was in a taxi, he messaged Timothy that he's leaving early to go home so his boyfriend won't have to fetch him at the reception by tomorrow. He didn't give an explanation, but he didn't expect Timothy to show up in his apartment either.
"Um..." Yves removed his eyeglasses to wipe the cloudy patch of fingerprint. He put it back again and smiled. "Nothing. I just got envious watching Nico and Patrick... you know, being married and stuff. You know I want that too, but I know you're not really into it, so..."
He let his voice drifted into the unspoken realm of words, not wanting to start another argument this late in the evening. While it was not far from the truth, that wasn't the actual reason he left, but there's no need to mention it as it's not that important.
Timothy only bobbed his head in understanding. He looked as though he was considering it, filling Yves with hopeful anticipation, but then he asked, "So, do Pat and Nico like my gift?"
Yves groaned in annoyance and a playful smack on Timothy's cheek. "You—! Did you know that fucking wooden shit you insisted I bring caused me so much embarrassment like—argh!"
"Like?" Timothy sniggered.
Yves reached for Timothy's top knot and yanked it backwards, earning him a mixture of a yelp and a laugh. "I can't even begin how to describe it! People looked at me like I'm some kind of a pervert!"
"So I've heard." Timothy laughed harder, holding on to his hip before he lost his balance as Yves continued pulling at his hair. "Patrick castigated my inbox earlier. He knew it was from me. It was so funny!"
"Funny? I was the one who suffered! It was thanks to--!" Yves paused as Richard's face appeared in his memory, but reminded himself it was Alexandra who swooped in for him. "It was thanks to Alex I escaped that embarrassing situation."
"What's so embarrassing about it? It's a wood art. And it's not like you've never seen and touched a real dick—ow!"
"That's different!"
"Ouch! Ouch! My hair!"
Yves let go of Timothy's man bun before he ripped it off of his scalp. With a grunt, he let his body fell back on the couch's recliner and watched his boyfriend rearranged his top knot. Something about the way Timothy raked his fingers through his hair while holding the elastic band with his lips pacified his irritation.
"You're drooling, Baby."
"Ha! You wish."
Timothy leaned forward and pecked his lips. Followed by another. And another. Until the tip of his tongue caressed Yves' parted lips. He pried his mouth wider, sucking his tongue, inviting him to an erotic dance while rubbing his inner thigh.
Yves shuddered at the icy fingers that slid inside his shirt, pinching his heated skin. "T-Tim."
"Sorry," Timothy said, pulling away. "That wasn't the intention of my gift. Let me make it up to you, okay?"
Eyes glazed with desire, Yves cupped Timothy's face and pulled him back in. "You better."