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The tall sliding glass door closed behind Cater with a heavy, resounding click, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He sleepily kicked his slides into the neat line of perfectly arranged shoes in the hallway, and let out a celebratory yawn.
It had been his day to wear pink and feed the flamingos, and while normally that would be a job for his clones—Riddle had insisted that doing it by hand would build diligence—summarily banning him from using his old trick. Thus he had risen at this horrible hour, the sun barely up and some students only just stirring. He pulled on the rosey velour tracksuit reserved for this purpose with an exhausted whine, and headed out to the garden.
He loathed to admit it, but it hadn’t been the worst thing. The light of sunrise, and the warm tinge of the sky had made for some super ‘cammable pics of him and the flock of excited birds. Even as he scrolled now, walking through the halls, he had to admit he looked pretty cute in more than half of the shots he had gotten. They had a lot of dynamic vibes with all the feathers and flapping. Plus, his hair looked nice when it was windblown.
His mouth formed a pouty little line. He refused to thank Riddle for this, but he did need help picking the best image to post around noon for the algo. Trey should be up by now.
Actually, he was certain Trey had been awake long before him. The guy made breakfast every single morning, and the schedule—all before most of Heartslabyul’s alarms had gone off. It was a mystery to Cater how he managed.
Meanwhile, Cater patted around with purpose in his fuzzy pink socks that were silent on the chilly tile floor. Poking his head in every room to no avail, he still made sure to peppily greet those he recognized. Gosh, it was so time consuming to be popular. He checked his phone again. Everyone was probs up by now right? He shrugged, took a deep breath and belted, “Treeeey? Trey-Trey! Where are you?”
It was weird for his bestie to be missing. The kitchen was the only place left where he could be, and Cater continued singing Trey’s name as he approached. He should have checked here first anyway. What was he even doing?
Just as he was about to round the corner, the pantry door swung open with a clatter and big puff of flour. One strong hand yanked Cater by the hood of his jacket into the closet, another clumsily covering Cater’s mouth mid-yelp as the door slammed shut behind them.
“Cater, Cater! Cater—it’s me, shhh! Shh, please! You have to quiet down for me, okay?” A familiar voice rasped imploringly.
The slats of the pantry door let in just enough light to illuminate Trey’s face, once his eyes had adjusted. He was lightly dusted all over with flour, the particles forming a thin film on his glasses. His expression was a charming mix of mirth and anxiety. Who was Cater kidding? Trey was alwaysreally serious about all this.
“Of course! You can always trust me,” Cater smiled, throwing Trey one of his trademark winks. Thank god it was so dark, because his cheeks were totally burning. Cater was certain he would be visibly red in any other lighting.
“Good. Thanks,” Trey sighed with some tension visibly leaving his body. He continued, “Anyway, it was a mystery. At least it was, until I found a few jars of home-brewed wine fermenting behind the washers in the laundry.”
Trey rolled his eyes, exasperated as he revealed the big secret, but Cater’s keen gaze detected a hint of suppressed amusement. He really was an older brother at heart.
“Oh em gee, the freshies are making prison wine? No way! That’s too funny,” Cater laughed, slapping a hand to Trey’s pectoral. He had utterly forgotten volume control once again, until Trey’s hand clamped back over his mouth. Damn… his hands really were broad.
“It’s only funny if I can figure out who is doing it, and stop them before Riddle catches on! Even if Riddle has relaxed a little more, there would be an explosion. Collars all around. So, I’m waiting in here to see if anyone swipes anything during the chaotic morning hours.” Trey looked back through the gaps again, as if anything could have happened in the last 30 seconds. Cute.
Cater peeled Treys palm off again with a mischievous smile, fangs poking out of the corners of his lips.
“Sooooo, this is a steak out. I see. Say, how ‘bout I wait here with you? All the better if two upper classmen jump out to cuff em’ than just you. What do you say, inspector?” Cater hummed quietly, propping his chin on Trey’s chest and gazing up at him through his saffron lashes.
Trey glanced back his way, and did a double take that only Cater could have caught. He watched as the taller man swallowed, with a visible bob of his Adam’s apple.
“I guess it couldn’t hurt.”
Cater felt Trey’s hand move along his back. He was thumbing at the fabric of the pink tracksuit. The way Trey moved around his friend was often gentle, and always a little curious.
“Did you… feed the flamingos today?” He asked sheepishly, as if he too had been hit with their proximity, and was now floundering for something to redirect the attention.
“You noticed! I have tons of pics to show you later. Are you a fan of this look on me, Trey?” Cater teased, his hand sliding higher on Trey’s chest. “Next time come help me out, and you can see all this cake in the daylight.”
He could swear he felt Trey tremble a little under his touch, but that wasn’t exactly new.
“You just want me to take part of the workload,” Trey chuckled, his voice warmer than the atmosphere of the tiny space.
Cater puffed his cheeks and gave Trey’s shoulder a squeeze. He'd gotten more mass lately, however that was even possible. “And you would though too. Because that’s how you are. Look at you now, even. Being such a good guy, looking out for the silly babies of the dorm.”
This was their way. Flirtatious and almost unbearably intimate. Unspoken words churning below every joke, and playful brush of hands over bodies. Bodies that were always clothed, no matter how badly Cater wanted them all ripped off. He’d do just about anything if it meant he could really sink his nails into all the muscle that his friend was hiding.
“You’re such a flatterer, Cater,” Trey said, voice vibrating his chest. His smile was gone, and Cater loved when it was. That serious face was all for him. Only in the comfort of his non-judgmental presence could Trey comfortably show a neutral expression. It was all Cater could manage to keep himself from shoving a thumb into that handsome, pensive mouth.
“Meanie. You think I’m not sincere? You’re the only guy I don’t lie to,” Cater cooed. Neither of them were paying attention to the kitchen now. Trey’s hand twitched against his back, before pulling Cater impossibly closer.
“I didn’t say that. I only meant you know just what to say to me,” Trey responded. His mouth was ghosting against Cater’s throat now, and the other man could feel the sandy stubble of exactly one night’s worth of hair growth. He foggily noted Trey hadn’t shaved yet that morning. Just how long had he been in here?
What an exhausting dance, and Cater knew Trey loved it just as much as he did. What even were they? Friends? Lovers? Something else entirely? All Cater knew is that he’d never let someone in like this before. He let Trey manhandle his narrow waist, without a coquettish need to react in a cute or practiced way. How far would they go this time? It was as fun to pick where to stop as it was to grab, rub and bite.
The unspoken agreement about whatever this was—it was simple really. They just wanted to take their time, and savor the stages. Even if those moments were molasses slow and deliciously painful. Cater, at least, thought things were so much more fun when they hurt.
Cater let his head fall back, biting his lip with a decidedly un-adorable growl, as Trey sealed his mouth around tender skin and sucked. His slim hand, with its calloused thumbs, curled into unbrushed green hair.
“Mnnf… Trey. You bad boy… gettin’ distracted.”
“S’ your fault. And you know it.” The other man mumbled between kisses and the experimental sinking of teeth.
Cater giggled, light headed and giddy, pulling on his short grassy mop to guide Trey around. His free hand found a place on the other’s muscular chest,
kneading greedily. “Nuh uh, you’re the one who pulled me into your lair. You wanted me and you—“
Cater was silenced with Trey’s lips. His silver tongue pulled into his friend’s mouth with ease, as shelves rattled behind them. The two desperately made out, aroused and giddy as if they had been the ones drinking jars of sweet wine.
There was always a point where Trey stopped being gentle. When his hand would yank Cater by the ponytail, or fasten around his wrists hard enough to bruise. Cater was more certain about something than his magicam password—and it was that he was the only person to ever see Trey act like this, and he loved it.
Trey’s sweet, controlled demeanor was laboriously maintained. The effort to appear professional, gentle, and above all normal—was actually more repression than anything else. Trey was not someone who would traditionally be suspected of eyes that lit up when Cater would moan in pleasure and pain. Not a person whose pupils would be slated to dilate at the sight of blood, drawn from a particularly excited nip at his friend’s lip. Cater took a private joy in knowing exactly how obsessively Trey would lap the back of his teeth, and sigh shakily through his nose at the feeling of his sharp little canines.
Cater also knew all about maintaining an image, and knew just how good it felt to have someone to let it all fall away with. He could make an ugly face if it was with him. He could gurgle and whine, and scrunch his nose in the least photogenic ways if he wanted. He was allowed this, when the lights were off and everything tasted like Trey Clover.
Their hips were twitching against each other now. Cater’s velour did nothing to hide his cravings, and Trey’s white uniform did arguably less. They were lightheaded from the lack of oxygen in the compact space, and the fact that their mouths hadn’t separated for who knows how long.
Suddenly, there was a shocking blast of cold, and a flood of bright light—causing both men to let out their own surprised and embarrassed shouts. They immediately lost balance, toppling to the kitchen floor. Trey’s back had somehow ended up pressed against the exit in their frenzy.
“Woah!! Trey? Cater? What are you doing in here? You guys almost gave me a heart attack!!” Ace shouted, pointing down accusatorily.
He proceeded to cross his arms, like he was the disappointed upper classman about to give the scolding.
“You guys are so weird. I’m not even gonna ask. Anyway, now that I found you, I need some yeast for potions class today. Bread… magic or whatever. Did we move where we keep it?”
A dizzy Cater’s gaze swung to Trey, who against all odds was wearing his usual smile. He hated how hot it was to him that the other man was already so composed, especially after what they were just doing.
Trey’s deep voice hummed. Soft and measured. “Ahh. Is that so?”
Cater couldn’t help but choke on a giggle, fingers flying to cover his mouth. Halfway to conceal that this was absolutely hilarious, but mostly to wipe away the trickle of blood on his chin.
They had kept their clothes on again this time. But next time, who knows? He could wait. Probably.
He straightened and grinned, the Cay-Cay way—licking the last of the red away demurely before slyly chiming in.
“Say Acey, why don’t you come with me an’ Trey? We wanna ask you something.”