treat."
August released the handle and rolled his eyes. "On one condition."
"You name it."
"Stop calling me Auggie."
Grinning, Doren raised one hand in a boy-scout salute and crossed his heart with the other one. "I promise!" He stepped aside so August could walk past him. He even managed to wait until August stepped through the door to Doren's room and kicked off soaking shoes before he added the, "Aug."
Other than a sharp look, August offered no rebuke. He seemed to be too busy staring wide-eyed at the room. Anton's company had spared no expense: a massive king-sized bed draped in dark silk and nestled in its own little room to the back, a marble bathroom with hot tub, kitchenette, bar, and an impressive desk and sitting area. Doren was more than aware that they'd spoiled him. He also knew it was a far cry from August's staple provisions next door.
"You have all your notes?"
"Yes," August said, running a single fingertip along the brocade of the couch as Doren stepped past him. "But I really should change first."
Doren returned with an armload of towels and dropped them on the couch. He picked one up and tossed it. "Un unh, no way. You won't come back. I know you too well already."
August snagged the towel but rolled his eyes. "I can't very well sit here in wet clothes." He caught Doren's look and his own fell into a frown. "Nor will I sit here wrapped in a towel."
"Actually," Doren yanked the towel from August's grip and rubbed August's hair with it, granting himself a derisive snort, "I was thinking more along the line of you sitting there naked." He laughed at August's annoyance when August clucked his tongue and pulled away. "I'm kidding! Wait here. I'll be right back." He was back in seconds with August's pyjama pants, now dry, and a t-shirt. "Ta-da! Like it was meant to be, no?" With another laugh Doren lifted his voice to shout after August as August made his way to the bathroom to change, "And don't think you can keep that t-shirt, either."
He was still chuckling, albeit mostly silently, as he let himself fall on the bed while August changed, imagining August in the bathroom: the squeaks of wet skin on tile echoing as he peeled off wet clothes, the occasional cymbal-like drip of water on to a hard surface, the shuffle of thick towel on firm skin. With a deep breath Doren reached towards it, searching, seeking, and finally finding August's music. It floated through his mind and he let himself drift with it. Sweet chords of … innocence? He listened harder—yes, definitely innocence. But it was spiced with experimental desire, curiosity and confusion. It was soft, yet hard … playful but demure. It filled Doren's senses with a sentiment that he didn't quite understand, but that left him reaching to hear it again and again—a pleasant rush that brought with it a fierce sense of need.
The breath that Doren sucked in as he bolted upright almost made his head spin. Without another pause he reached for the pen and the pad of paper he always kept beside the bed, regardless of where it was he was sleeping. He was scratching out lyrics when August walked out of the bathroom.
"What are you doing?" August leaned over Doren to peek at the paper. He smelled like rain and fabric softener, fresh and sweet. And the desire to slip his arm around August's waist and pull August on to the bed was almost painful. Instead, Doren lowered his head and licked his lips, steadying his breath. "I'm writing. The rain has inspired me."
"Good. I can get some work done."
It didn't take long for the words to morph from mind to paper. They never did when they hit him like those ones had. Then Doren just sat back and watched August make his calls. He was good—professional and goal-oriented; he was glad August was on his team. August made him comfortable, for whatever reason that might be.
When boredom got the better of him, Doren let the rain draw him to the balcony. He shoved aside the curtains to stare as it rushed to the earth
August released the handle and rolled his eyes. "On one condition."
"You name it."
"Stop calling me Auggie."
Grinning, Doren raised one hand in a boy-scout salute and crossed his heart with the other one. "I promise!" He stepped aside so August could walk past him. He even managed to wait until August stepped through the door to Doren's room and kicked off soaking shoes before he added the, "Aug."
Other than a sharp look, August offered no rebuke. He seemed to be too busy staring wide-eyed at the room. Anton's company had spared no expense: a massive king-sized bed draped in dark silk and nestled in its own little room to the back, a marble bathroom with hot tub, kitchenette, bar, and an impressive desk and sitting area. Doren was more than aware that they'd spoiled him. He also knew it was a far cry from August's staple provisions next door.
"You have all your notes?"
"Yes," August said, running a single fingertip along the brocade of the couch as Doren stepped past him. "But I really should change first."
Doren returned with an armload of towels and dropped them on the couch. He picked one up and tossed it. "Un unh, no way. You won't come back. I know you too well already."
August snagged the towel but rolled his eyes. "I can't very well sit here in wet clothes." He caught Doren's look and his own fell into a frown. "Nor will I sit here wrapped in a towel."
"Actually," Doren yanked the towel from August's grip and rubbed August's hair with it, granting himself a derisive snort, "I was thinking more along the line of you sitting there naked." He laughed at August's annoyance when August clucked his tongue and pulled away. "I'm kidding! Wait here. I'll be right back." He was back in seconds with August's pyjama pants, now dry, and a t-shirt. "Ta-da! Like it was meant to be, no?" With another laugh Doren lifted his voice to shout after August as August made his way to the bathroom to change, "And don't think you can keep that t-shirt, either."
He was still chuckling, albeit mostly silently, as he let himself fall on the bed while August changed, imagining August in the bathroom: the squeaks of wet skin on tile echoing as he peeled off wet clothes, the occasional cymbal-like drip of water on to a hard surface, the shuffle of thick towel on firm skin. With a deep breath Doren reached towards it, searching, seeking, and finally finding August's music. It floated through his mind and he let himself drift with it. Sweet chords of … innocence? He listened harder—yes, definitely innocence. But it was spiced with experimental desire, curiosity and confusion. It was soft, yet hard … playful but demure. It filled Doren's senses with a sentiment that he didn't quite understand, but that left him reaching to hear it again and again—a pleasant rush that brought with it a fierce sense of need.
The breath that Doren sucked in as he bolted upright almost made his head spin. Without another pause he reached for the pen and the pad of paper he always kept beside the bed, regardless of where it was he was sleeping. He was scratching out lyrics when August walked out of the bathroom.
"What are you doing?" August leaned over Doren to peek at the paper. He smelled like rain and fabric softener, fresh and sweet. And the desire to slip his arm around August's waist and pull August on to the bed was almost painful. Instead, Doren lowered his head and licked his lips, steadying his breath. "I'm writing. The rain has inspired me."
"Good. I can get some work done."
It didn't take long for the words to morph from mind to paper. They never did when they hit him like those ones had. Then Doren just sat back and watched August make his calls. He was good—professional and goal-oriented; he was glad August was on his team. August made him comfortable, for whatever reason that might be.
When boredom got the better of him, Doren let the rain draw him to the balcony. He shoved aside the curtains to stare as it rushed to the earth
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