February 24, 2016
--conception
Nothing exciting was going on in the Teas'n Tomes whatsoever. Salvador was tucked into the corner of the couch with his legs drawn up and a notepad resting on his knees. He had on loose fit jeans, well worn with a few holes, and a the purple hoodie he liked to steal from Cane most frequently. In one hand he had a pencil, half chewed to death. Littering the floor were crumpled up pieces of unfinished prose. On the coffee table was a mug full of coffee that had cooled forever ago.
Cane was seated on the floor in front of Salvador with his back against the couch and had the coffee table pulled up close enough to use as a desk. In addition to the Spaniard's cold coffee was his own cup, though it had long since been drained, and a half-eaten beignet on a small ceramic plate. The majority of the table was covered in books and loose sheets of paper. The Cajun's pencil was considerably less chewed on than Sal's, and he used it along with a metal ruler to sketch out some ideas that were rolling around in his head.
The truth of the matter was that Salvador had started writing something, and the his brain wandered and the pencil wound up expanding letters into pictures. By this last one, he had given up on words and decided to just sketch some mindless whorls and patterns, exactly like bored teenagers due in class during an exceptionally non-engaging lecture. Forget taking notes, I'll just doodle random nonsense.
Cane's artistic abilities were reserved to the lines and curves of architecture. Portraits, like the ones Salvador could draw, would forever remain out of his grasp. In this moment, he was busy designing the entrance to a stadium. Lots of angles. Lots of windows. The people in his life liked big windows.
"What're you drawing?" He could hear the difference in the way Salvador?s pencil moved. Also, the man had been quiet for a long time. Now that he had given up on words, Cane sought to pull him out of his head. No getting lost, please.
"Nothing." Sal tossed the notepad to the coffee table, then the pencil, which rolled off the other side. Then he turned to sink down on the couch and stretch out his legs, on his back and using the armrest for a pillow. Staring at the ceiling was a better course of action, he decided
Canaan smiled faintly to himself, chin dipping in a slow and singular nod in response to that answer. He never looked up from his own work and continued to pull the graphite tip of his pencil across the page. "I am sketchin' an idea what's been in my mind fer a while now. Ya know dat gym we been talkin' 'bout? I wanna do more."
Salvador folded his hands together on his stomach and turned his head. The back of Cane's was much more interesting than the ceiling, so he stared at that. He silently argued with himself on whether or not to move so he could actually see what Cane was sketching, but in the end laziness won out and he stayed the way he was.
"Like what?"
"I've been wonderin' what I'd do when I eventually step back from de shop. An aerial gym would be fun ta have, but it ain't gonna line my pockets. So I got ta thinkin'... why not build de place fer de actual performance? A stadium or some'n."
That was intriguing enough to get him to roll onto his side. Salvador had a calculating mind. Even the few sketched lines allowed him to imagine up a dozen possibilities of where the sketch might go from there. He turned onto his stomach and scooted back to put his chin on Cane's shoulder so he could take a better look, but mostly just so he could stick his nose against the side of the Cajun's neck and get a whiff of him.
"That would probably make you more money, yes."
The sketch showed the place where two sides of a building came together to form a point, the walls of windows dissected with a diagonal lattice work pattern. The entrance itself was set off to one side. It was big, much bigger than the converted warehouse gym he?d been planning until now. Cane drew a few more lines and then tipped his head to touch his cheek to Sal's hair. The sketch was nudged over a little further so Sal could see properly.
"I'm gonna need it, since I'm pretty sure dis ****er is gonna cost a fortune ta build,? Cane said.
Sal pressed an amused smile to the skin of Cane's neck, an expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes and didn't last too terribly long, but it was an honest glimpse of a feeling all the same. Probably much better than the pit of sad misery he'd been wallowing in for days before. When he lifted his head, he kissed the Cajun's bearded jaw and then shifted back. Sliding his arms out from under his chest, he folded them under his head before setting it down on them.
"How can I help?" Because he knew Cane wouldn't let him just throw money at him.
Cane left the sketch to lay on the coffee table and twisted around to drape an arm over Sal's back. "Well, once I get everything in my head down on paper, I'll talk wit' a contractor. Get a rough estimate." He toyed with the edge of the Spaniard's shirt collar with a few fingers. "When I got all dat, I'll be lookin' fer investors." A crooked smile lit his features. "I'll wear a suit to de appointment I make wit'cha."
A lengthy breath of amusement was pushed out Salvador's nose, and his mouth curved a wild smile that was longer lived than the one before it. He pulled the arm closer to Cane out from under his head and shoved it between them until he could hook it around the Cajun's torso. With a pull, twist, and scoot, he wound up on his side again, one hand free, which he used to brush his fingers over Cane's bearded chin and jaw. He just liked playing with it, how the coarse hairs felt on his fingers, which he then pulled down across the other man's throat before hooking them into the collar of his shirt, just below the Adam's apple, imagining a tie that wasn't there.
"I like you in a suit. Mmm. What do I get as an investor?" Because of course he would invest.
The growth of Cane?s smile was in direct correlation to the progression of Salvador's fingers. By the time the man's hand settled at the base of his throat, he looked positively dangerous. Just look at those teeth!
"So. Much. Head," the Cajun promised. And then he chuckled softly, pretending to be blase about the rest. "And either ownership shares or a liquid return when I start makin' a profit. Haven't quite ironed out all the details yet."
"Mmm." Sal squirmed in anticipation about the promise of things to come. Cane's smile made him smile, though he was watching the other man's throat more than his face. He dragged the back of his middle finger's nail along the skin under the Cajun's collarbones, sweeping up toward the tattoo. Then he gathered up a fistful of shirt and pulled himself up to press a lingering but chaste kiss on the warlock's mouth. He leaned back a little afterward. "Will you perform?"
The tattoo, the shirt grab, the kiss... Sal would have to forgive him for the seconds his brain translated 'perform' as something entirely different than intended. When Cane was done thinking about sex, again, he blinked a few times and said, "Oh. Uh." So smart.
The Cajun shifted a little restlessly, thinking back to a time when he performed in the cirque on a regular basis. "Maybe. I think if I did, I wouldn't let anyone know it was me." His eyes cut back over to Sal's face. "'Cept fer maybe you an' a couple others."
Salvador let go of the collar of the Cajun's shirt and sagged back even further, but his hand lifted to rub his fingers and palm over the other man's beard. His hand tipped away so he could prod him in the shoulder.
"You should. I like watching you." He tugged on the fabric of Cane's shirt then pulled his fingers down along his arm, to the elbow at least. "And you like it." That was the more important part, but his brow furrowed with uncertainty. "I think." The Cajun had looked like he'd enjoyed himself when he'd shown Sal a few tricks back in Paris, at least! He looked up at Cane's face for confirmation. "Do you?"
"Dere's times when I like showin' off. A trick on a skateboard, a back handspring, destroyin' someone on a dance floor. It's only ever been de t'ings I got a real passion for dat get me all nervous." That, and sex. It had taken Salvador quite a while to get Cane to indulge his exhibitionism. As it was, Cane still had mini panic attacks when he thought they would get caught. "Music, mostly. But I like you watchin' me. No matter what I'm doin'."
Not so secretly, Sal very much enjoyed causing those mini panic attacks. Added to the thrill of the experience, in his opinion. Plus he liked the sound of Cane's heart trying to explode out of his chest. He liked the sound of Cane's heart beating, period, though, no matter the tempo. Some of the wildness filtered out of his smile, but the expression stuck on despite morphing into something softer. He cut his eyes aside to watch his own fingers pull back up the Cajun's arm from elbow to shoulder.
"After hours, then," he suggested. "For me." They could add it to the investor agreement or something.
"Done." He could agreed to that easily. Happily, even. So said his smile. When the Spaniard's fingers retraced their path to his shoulder, Cane tipped his head to one or two of them with a kiss. Because he was, on occasion, disgustingly sweet. When no one was looking. "Plus all de trainin' you'll get ta watch. I'll make ya train wit' me!" Though he had meant it as a joke, it actually had some merit. He perked up a bit at the thought. "Actually, dere's quite a lot 'a de equipment in a gym like dat I think you'd enjoy usin'."
"I look forward to getting my hands on your equipment." Believe it or not, Salvador actually meant it to sound like what it did. He grinned wickedly and turned over onto his back, giving Cane a tug to invite the Cajun to lie with him on the couch, or sprawl on top of him. He wasn't exactly making much room, so it was probably the latter.
The silent invitation was enough reason to put a grin on his face. Canaan glanced back to the coffee table with all its architecture books and drawings strewn about its surface, then gave it a push so he had room to turn over on his knees. He peeked over at the glass bakery display for any sign of the girl who ran the counter, and when he didn't see any sign of her spying on them, made sure to stick his hands in all the right places while getting settled on top of Sal. Eventually, he brought them up to a more respectable height: one to trace the tattoo along Sal's collarbone and the other to use as a prop for his own head.
"So how much head do ya t?ink de other investors'll want?"
--conception
Nothing exciting was going on in the Teas'n Tomes whatsoever. Salvador was tucked into the corner of the couch with his legs drawn up and a notepad resting on his knees. He had on loose fit jeans, well worn with a few holes, and a the purple hoodie he liked to steal from Cane most frequently. In one hand he had a pencil, half chewed to death. Littering the floor were crumpled up pieces of unfinished prose. On the coffee table was a mug full of coffee that had cooled forever ago.
Cane was seated on the floor in front of Salvador with his back against the couch and had the coffee table pulled up close enough to use as a desk. In addition to the Spaniard's cold coffee was his own cup, though it had long since been drained, and a half-eaten beignet on a small ceramic plate. The majority of the table was covered in books and loose sheets of paper. The Cajun's pencil was considerably less chewed on than Sal's, and he used it along with a metal ruler to sketch out some ideas that were rolling around in his head.
The truth of the matter was that Salvador had started writing something, and the his brain wandered and the pencil wound up expanding letters into pictures. By this last one, he had given up on words and decided to just sketch some mindless whorls and patterns, exactly like bored teenagers due in class during an exceptionally non-engaging lecture. Forget taking notes, I'll just doodle random nonsense.
Cane's artistic abilities were reserved to the lines and curves of architecture. Portraits, like the ones Salvador could draw, would forever remain out of his grasp. In this moment, he was busy designing the entrance to a stadium. Lots of angles. Lots of windows. The people in his life liked big windows.
"What're you drawing?" He could hear the difference in the way Salvador?s pencil moved. Also, the man had been quiet for a long time. Now that he had given up on words, Cane sought to pull him out of his head. No getting lost, please.
"Nothing." Sal tossed the notepad to the coffee table, then the pencil, which rolled off the other side. Then he turned to sink down on the couch and stretch out his legs, on his back and using the armrest for a pillow. Staring at the ceiling was a better course of action, he decided
Canaan smiled faintly to himself, chin dipping in a slow and singular nod in response to that answer. He never looked up from his own work and continued to pull the graphite tip of his pencil across the page. "I am sketchin' an idea what's been in my mind fer a while now. Ya know dat gym we been talkin' 'bout? I wanna do more."
Salvador folded his hands together on his stomach and turned his head. The back of Cane's was much more interesting than the ceiling, so he stared at that. He silently argued with himself on whether or not to move so he could actually see what Cane was sketching, but in the end laziness won out and he stayed the way he was.
"Like what?"
"I've been wonderin' what I'd do when I eventually step back from de shop. An aerial gym would be fun ta have, but it ain't gonna line my pockets. So I got ta thinkin'... why not build de place fer de actual performance? A stadium or some'n."
That was intriguing enough to get him to roll onto his side. Salvador had a calculating mind. Even the few sketched lines allowed him to imagine up a dozen possibilities of where the sketch might go from there. He turned onto his stomach and scooted back to put his chin on Cane's shoulder so he could take a better look, but mostly just so he could stick his nose against the side of the Cajun's neck and get a whiff of him.
"That would probably make you more money, yes."
The sketch showed the place where two sides of a building came together to form a point, the walls of windows dissected with a diagonal lattice work pattern. The entrance itself was set off to one side. It was big, much bigger than the converted warehouse gym he?d been planning until now. Cane drew a few more lines and then tipped his head to touch his cheek to Sal's hair. The sketch was nudged over a little further so Sal could see properly.
"I'm gonna need it, since I'm pretty sure dis ****er is gonna cost a fortune ta build,? Cane said.
Sal pressed an amused smile to the skin of Cane's neck, an expression that crinkled the corners of his eyes and didn't last too terribly long, but it was an honest glimpse of a feeling all the same. Probably much better than the pit of sad misery he'd been wallowing in for days before. When he lifted his head, he kissed the Cajun's bearded jaw and then shifted back. Sliding his arms out from under his chest, he folded them under his head before setting it down on them.
"How can I help?" Because he knew Cane wouldn't let him just throw money at him.
Cane left the sketch to lay on the coffee table and twisted around to drape an arm over Sal's back. "Well, once I get everything in my head down on paper, I'll talk wit' a contractor. Get a rough estimate." He toyed with the edge of the Spaniard's shirt collar with a few fingers. "When I got all dat, I'll be lookin' fer investors." A crooked smile lit his features. "I'll wear a suit to de appointment I make wit'cha."
A lengthy breath of amusement was pushed out Salvador's nose, and his mouth curved a wild smile that was longer lived than the one before it. He pulled the arm closer to Cane out from under his head and shoved it between them until he could hook it around the Cajun's torso. With a pull, twist, and scoot, he wound up on his side again, one hand free, which he used to brush his fingers over Cane's bearded chin and jaw. He just liked playing with it, how the coarse hairs felt on his fingers, which he then pulled down across the other man's throat before hooking them into the collar of his shirt, just below the Adam's apple, imagining a tie that wasn't there.
"I like you in a suit. Mmm. What do I get as an investor?" Because of course he would invest.
The growth of Cane?s smile was in direct correlation to the progression of Salvador's fingers. By the time the man's hand settled at the base of his throat, he looked positively dangerous. Just look at those teeth!
"So. Much. Head," the Cajun promised. And then he chuckled softly, pretending to be blase about the rest. "And either ownership shares or a liquid return when I start makin' a profit. Haven't quite ironed out all the details yet."
"Mmm." Sal squirmed in anticipation about the promise of things to come. Cane's smile made him smile, though he was watching the other man's throat more than his face. He dragged the back of his middle finger's nail along the skin under the Cajun's collarbones, sweeping up toward the tattoo. Then he gathered up a fistful of shirt and pulled himself up to press a lingering but chaste kiss on the warlock's mouth. He leaned back a little afterward. "Will you perform?"
The tattoo, the shirt grab, the kiss... Sal would have to forgive him for the seconds his brain translated 'perform' as something entirely different than intended. When Cane was done thinking about sex, again, he blinked a few times and said, "Oh. Uh." So smart.
The Cajun shifted a little restlessly, thinking back to a time when he performed in the cirque on a regular basis. "Maybe. I think if I did, I wouldn't let anyone know it was me." His eyes cut back over to Sal's face. "'Cept fer maybe you an' a couple others."
Salvador let go of the collar of the Cajun's shirt and sagged back even further, but his hand lifted to rub his fingers and palm over the other man's beard. His hand tipped away so he could prod him in the shoulder.
"You should. I like watching you." He tugged on the fabric of Cane's shirt then pulled his fingers down along his arm, to the elbow at least. "And you like it." That was the more important part, but his brow furrowed with uncertainty. "I think." The Cajun had looked like he'd enjoyed himself when he'd shown Sal a few tricks back in Paris, at least! He looked up at Cane's face for confirmation. "Do you?"
"Dere's times when I like showin' off. A trick on a skateboard, a back handspring, destroyin' someone on a dance floor. It's only ever been de t'ings I got a real passion for dat get me all nervous." That, and sex. It had taken Salvador quite a while to get Cane to indulge his exhibitionism. As it was, Cane still had mini panic attacks when he thought they would get caught. "Music, mostly. But I like you watchin' me. No matter what I'm doin'."
Not so secretly, Sal very much enjoyed causing those mini panic attacks. Added to the thrill of the experience, in his opinion. Plus he liked the sound of Cane's heart trying to explode out of his chest. He liked the sound of Cane's heart beating, period, though, no matter the tempo. Some of the wildness filtered out of his smile, but the expression stuck on despite morphing into something softer. He cut his eyes aside to watch his own fingers pull back up the Cajun's arm from elbow to shoulder.
"After hours, then," he suggested. "For me." They could add it to the investor agreement or something.
"Done." He could agreed to that easily. Happily, even. So said his smile. When the Spaniard's fingers retraced their path to his shoulder, Cane tipped his head to one or two of them with a kiss. Because he was, on occasion, disgustingly sweet. When no one was looking. "Plus all de trainin' you'll get ta watch. I'll make ya train wit' me!" Though he had meant it as a joke, it actually had some merit. He perked up a bit at the thought. "Actually, dere's quite a lot 'a de equipment in a gym like dat I think you'd enjoy usin'."
"I look forward to getting my hands on your equipment." Believe it or not, Salvador actually meant it to sound like what it did. He grinned wickedly and turned over onto his back, giving Cane a tug to invite the Cajun to lie with him on the couch, or sprawl on top of him. He wasn't exactly making much room, so it was probably the latter.
The silent invitation was enough reason to put a grin on his face. Canaan glanced back to the coffee table with all its architecture books and drawings strewn about its surface, then gave it a push so he had room to turn over on his knees. He peeked over at the glass bakery display for any sign of the girl who ran the counter, and when he didn't see any sign of her spying on them, made sure to stick his hands in all the right places while getting settled on top of Sal. Eventually, he brought them up to a more respectable height: one to trace the tattoo along Sal's collarbone and the other to use as a prop for his own head.
"So how much head do ya t?ink de other investors'll want?"