Work Text:
Penthouse 5 is on the 27th floor of Circus Circus’s West Tower. Accessible only by keycard to the elevators and it’s one of six on the 27th floor.
The Penthouse features a kitchenette to the right of its entrance hallway. A hallway to the left of the front door leads to two separate bedrooms with en suite bathrooms. The kitchenette is adorned with honey oak cabinets, dark chocolate brown countertops, and simple vinyl floors. The generous lounging area runs up to the kitchenette via bar seating and creating a casual open floor layout.
The living space of the room is taken up by a warm orange couch with two matching arm chairs and a low glass coffee table. Opposite the couch is a 42inch wall mounted TV - the newest and latest in entertainment technology in the current year of 2001.
A sliding glass door at the end of the living space reveals a dark night sky painted not by the lights of stars but those of Paradise and its many attractions.
Knowing the room was called a “penthouse” didn’t make it being at the Las Vegas Circus Circus any better. The ceilings are low, the carpet is rough, and the walls seem to be stained with secrets one could only glimpse out of the corner of the eye.
The current occupants of Penthouse 5 seemed determined to utilize every horizontal space of the suite. The kitchen bar is littered with bags of old takeout and styrofoam containers that have been pushed toward the wall to make space for used coffee mugs placed atop napkins. The coffee table proudly boasts two state of the art Dell Inspiron 8100s that necessitate power cables and ethernet lines to be drug across the back of the couch, which has conspicuously missing cushions. The laptops sit closed, their power lights blinking orange as they charge from a long day of work away from the suite. The floor is a basecamp for various piles of organized chaos; a box of lanyards, one of the business utilities room printers and hole punch, another box of cables, and a haphazard pile of raffle tickets from a game long over.
The dark wooden door to the suite clatters open as a burly man, over burdened with white McDonald’s take out bags and a full cardboard drink tray, maneuvers over the threshold. He kicks backward to shut the door and nearly trips over a pair of bright pink Nike’s that have been left at the entrance. He toes off his own formal black work shoes before continuing to the kitchen. He sets the bags down on the counter with a low sigh.
Brad Best is on the taller side but not overly muscular. His frame is large by nature of being a large man, and not necessarily by any additional effort on his part. He wears a formal white button up shirt tucked into black slacks. His hair is shaved along the sides and styled neatly on top. The perfect image of a Japanese salary man except for his simple pierced ears. He wears a gold hoop in his right ear and a green stud in his left.
Brad wipes sweat off from under his chin and pulls off his black tie. His shoulders ease with the relief of the day finally being over.
He folds up his tie in his hands and tosses it onto one of the few empty spaces on the counter top. It’s shortly joined by his brown belt.
Brad then bends down to open one of the kitchen cabinets by the dishwasher and pulls out a swirling yellow and purple bong that he’d stashed a few days before.
The thing had traveled the world with him over the past two years as he went country to country for Beyblade tournaments, safely stored away in DJ Jazzman’s many trunks full of costumes.
He places the glass piece on the counter and then reaches for one of the four “Super-Sized” cups in the takeout holder. He pops a lid and pulls out a bag of marijuanna. He wasn’t stupid enough to smuggle drugs in and out of countries. He’d learned enough of most languages to get what he wanted when he got there- that and how to ask for a restroom.
He fills the chamber with water and stuffs the bowl with dried leaves with practiced ease. He knows exactly how much to pinch in his fingers to not waste anything.
Brad glances around the kitchen bar for a lighter and frowns not seeing one. He turns over a few pieces of trash before finally calling out into the suite, “AJ?”
“Yeah Brad?” A scratchy voice calls back to him from the balcony. He hadn’t noticed that the door was ajar earlier.
“You got a lighter bud?”
There was a moment of silence during which Brad assumes his counterpart is checking his person. AJ soon voices an affirmative and Brad sets down the coffee mug he’d lifted to investigate behind.
Brad pops the lid of another one of the cups and pours ice cubes into the mouth of the bong. He swirls it lazily as he gathers the white bags back up in his other hand and pinches the drink tray between two of his fingers, taking everything outside onto the balcony.
He pushes open the sliding glass door with his foot and steps out to observe one AJ Topper.
Unlike Brad, AJ looks like he belongs in the Beyblading scene. His thin frame sits adorned with an overly large sports jersey and purple baggy cargo pants. His head is shaved bald and his goatee is bleached red, white, and blue for the tournament. AJ’s ears are full of gold piercings, except for one green stud in his right ear.
The smaller man relaxes cross legged on one of the missing couch cushions as he reviews a printed binder full of colored sticky notes. The other missing cushion is to his left, open for Brad.
“Take this.” Brad interrupts AJ’s reading as he extends the bong to his friend.
AJ reaches up without looking and does a double take when the cold object hits his hand. “Ice cubes?! What a gentleman.”
“It’s selfish. I don’t want you to throw up again.”
Neither of them have their “work voice” on. True disconnect from work.
“It was the altitude! That China venue messed with me.”
“Uh huh.”
Brad plops down onto the cushion with a sigh and leans backward onto his hands to stretch out his lower back. He inhales slowly as he lets the dry air settle back onto his skin. The cooling desert had picked up a gentle wind that ruffled his hair and kept the air from suffocating him in the same way it had down on the ground.
The silence between the men was disrupted only by the sound of a lighter quickly followed by a long rip from the bong.
AJ tenses as he inhales the smoke and lets fall through his nose after a beat. He leans away from Brad to cough, extending his arm back to his friend in offering.
Brad watches AJ pointedly to make sure it stops at coughing before lighting the bowl again for himself. Unlike AJ, he doesn’t cough. But he’s also been smoking many more years than the other man.
AJ leans forward to grab the drinks and easily identifies his Hi-C by the orange color through the lid. “Why did you get the super size? I can barely hold it.” He mumbles as he fiddles with a straw, eyes still watering.
“Cheaper.” Brad shrugs and opens the bags of food. He immediately changes the subject, “Any interesting competitors coming up in the European leg?”
AJ sips his orange soda and flips through the binder in his lap. “No more interesting than last year. The Majestics are competing again and so far there doesn’t seem to be anyone near their league. The real interest is going to be runner ups. I guess a new club was spun up locally that’s looking for talent.”
“You’re not interested in the Bladebreakers making waves across the Atlantic?”
AJ sighs and closes the binder. “Of course I am. But there’s more to the sport than the powerhouses. Lots of these kids are just starting their careers, and all their stories are interesting. Even if they lose.”
“Cause you can cheer when they win next time.” Brad completes for him.
“Yeah.” AJ nods and reaches up to run his hands over his bald head.
They’re quiet as they pull food toward themselves, letting the ease of a new high settle behind their eyes. Brad is halfway through his first burger when he really starts to feel the tug on his brain, pulling him backwards behind his eyes, and creating distance between reality and his thoughts.
So it’s going to be one of those trips…
“No Jazzy?”
“I saw him hanging out with Elvis at a Craps Table.” Brad reports.
AJ runs his hands up and down his thighs between bites of chicken nuggets and nods. “Gambling away my money.”
“He won that bet fair and square.” Brad’s smooth voice is taunting, “Not his fault you always bet for the home team.”
AJ rolls his eyes and props his arm on his knee. He leans his chin onto his palm and surveys Brad fully then.
“Didn’t get enough of a look at me in the booth?”
“Nah.”
Every sentence AJ lets pass his thin lips feels like it hangs in space for an eternity. Every sentence Brad replies with is a mystery to him as he speaks. The words appear on his tongue as if placed there by the universe and not any effort of his own mind.
Channeling meaning.
Brad takes in AJ’s eyes. His pupils are dilated and nearly cover his rich green irises completely.
Brad had noticed AJ’s eyes first when they were introduced to each other. They had run up and down his body so forwardly that first meeting. Brad had been intimidated immediately. He didn’t know if he could beat the punk looking man in a first fight. But AJ only fought in the dish (to Brad’s luck) and AJ was more of a lover in any case (to Brad’s delight).
AJ’s gaze moves over him lazily now. That same full body drag he likes to take in his coworker with. “I’m getting the Brad-Best experience. Don’t worry about it.”
Finally AJ sits up and boldly undoes Brad’s first shirt button with his left hand. “Nerd.” The feeling of the backs of AJ’s fingers leave bright white imprints on Brad’s chest. He can feel them even when the other pulls away.
“I’m a working man and should look it.” Brad protests. He laughs as AJ mouths the words along with him silently, knowing what he’d say.
Brad opens up his second burger and is aware that AJ’s eyes are still on him. Brad reaches up nonchalantly to undo a few more of his shirt buttons and winks playfully at the other man. He isn’t wearing an undershirt today- the heat would have killed him if he had.
“Ah!” AJ swats at him. “We have a staff meeting at 10PM with the Europe crew. Don’t even tempt me.”
“You know what they say. Temptation is the sweet nectar of fascination.”
“Do they say that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
AJ snickers and gets up. He gathers his trash and balls it up in his fists. “Thanks for dinner.”
“It’s what working men do.” Brad lifts some fries up toward AJ. “Feed their spouses.”
AJ bends over to eat them out of Brad’s hand. The larger man gets a full view of AJ’s bare chest and flat stomach in the process as the oversized jersey sags. “We are in Vegas. We could get married.” AJ says thoughtfully, hands on his thighs as he chews. He opens his mouth expectantly for more food.
Brad leans away with eyebrows raised instead. “Two years seems a little quick, don’t ya think?”
“You just called me your spouse.”
“Yeah but I meant it in a metaphorical sense.”
AJ shakes his head and finally swipes the rest of Brad’s fries. “Hurry up so we can metaphorically take a shower together before the meeting.”
“... You mean literally right?”
“Literally what?”
They stare at each other in a new confusion, brains lagging over even that small of a misunderstanding. AJ breaks into giggles first and then Brad.