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ax_mainWarren and Jean-Paul drag Simon to the party, even though he's completely overdressed.
Jean-Paul accepted that this was probably his fault. If he'd been paying more attention, he'd have noticed that Simon was getting dressed for the party way earlier than was necessary. By the time he'd noticed that Simon intended to wear formals -- complete with waistcoat and tie -- to a summer party, it was too late.
And also, Jean-Paul had noticed that Simon looked damn good in formal clothes.
"You're going to be overdressed," Jean-Paul commented.
Simon frowned, glancing at himself in the mirror. His sleeves were stiffly rolled past the elbow and he was wearing loafers and his 'casual' slacks. "I'm not even wearing a jacket," he protested.
"Which is why I'm not testing you for heatstroke. Everyone else will probably be in jeans and sundresses." But still, "You look good, though. Tailored?"
"Of course," Simon told him, as though Jean-Paul were a moron for asking. Then he frowned and turned to look at him. "Do I really need to go to this thing?"
"Yes," Jean-Paul said firmly. "You do. Think of it as networking if it helps. You're here to make friends with the future mutant leaders of tomorrow." A sly little grin tugged at Jean-Paul's lips. "But we can look hot as fuck while doing it." He headed over to his closet and began examining what he had in the way of "look like a civilized young man for the investors" clothes.
"That's what Warren said," Simon replied, glancing back at the mirror to fix his hair. Then he paused, and clarified, "Not the hot as fuck part. That we needed to be prepared to be leaders."
"Warren has good ideas more often than not. When he stops to think. And I'm not just saying that because we're dating." Jean-Paul whipped off his shirt and pulled on a dark button-down. Did he actually have a waistcoat in here? Yep. Black on black, a little embroidery, no bling. Black jeans and boots sounded like a better idea than slacks and loafers, though.
Simon looked up, side-glancing at Jean-Paul. Dating? He'd known that Jean-Paul was gay, but Warren was news to him. Most especially that they were together. What was he supposed to say to that? 'Don't do anything on my couch'? Finally, he went back to tidying his appearance, and gave a wry, "Congratulations."
"He's been pretty great," Jean-Paul admitted. He finger-combed his hair into place, then mussed it a little. Perfect. "All right. I think we're ready to outclass everyone."
This time, Simon really did look over, and though yes, Jean-Paul was well-put-together, he was still frowning. "You uh. You're not fooling around on my things are you?"
For a split second, Jean-Paul didn't know whether to be offended or to laugh at the absurdity of the question. Laughter won out.
"Simon, do I use anything of yours? Ever?"
"Well, no," Simon admitted. "But the brain can become impaired during sexual activity, due to the flooding of hormones and dopamine, causing you to behave in contrary ways."
It was at this opportune moment that a knock came at the door, along with a familiar, laughing voice asking, "You guys decent in there?" On the other side of the door stood Warren: shoeless, shirtless, in his favorite pair of low-slung jeans with just the barest hint of his DIESEL boxer brief waistband poking out.
"Merde..." Jean-Paul looked Warren up and down, a slow, exaggerated pan from head to toe as a smile tugged his lips. "Well, we were aiming for overdressed. You're just going to help the look."
Even Simon couldn't help looking Warren over, his frown transforming into a helpless sort of 'Well fuck' kind of expression. "This only proves my point."
"Nom du nom..." Jean-Paul shook his head. "Warren, explain to my attractive-yet-paranoid roommate that we have not made out or fucked on any surface on his side of the room."
Warren was about to comment on the hotness factor in the room--which was remarkable from JP alone (as the look Warren was giving him was proving), but had rocketed even higher with Simon wearing that. "Not yet," Warren said cheerfully, treating Simon to a once-over as well. "But damn, dude, you look fine. Almost as fine as him." He looked back to JP. "Your roommate's kinda hot."
Okay more than kinda, but if Warren didn't make a joke out of it he'd be entirely serious, which was less funny and more 'oh shit'.
Simon rolled his eyes at both of them (because they were both clearly fucking with him), and turned to go retrieve his phone. "Alright. I get it. You are both very into each other. Feel free to go wild as long as my side of the room remains clean."
"My roommate is hot, but skeptical," Jean-Paul agreed. "But don't worry, Simon. If you come back to a sock on the door, be assured that we're only defiling my half of the room."
"Unless we ask permission," Warren amended, slinging an arm over Jean-Paul's shoulders. "Or for supervision."
Now Simon really knew they were teasing him and glanced toward his laptop longingly. He was still finishing up his pre-reading for next week's Cellular and Molecular Biology lecture. "If you don't want a third wheel-"
"Simon, this is a dance, not a date. Warren, snag him before he runs."
Warren slipped away from Jean-Paul, wings fluttering with slight urgency, and got his arm around Simon's shoulders--careful not to touch skin--instead. "Come on, I'm just being a pain in the ass. You know I got your back, man. It'll be fun." He attempted to steer Simon toward the door and Jean-Paul.
Simon begrudgingly went with him, making a small face. "You two are worse than my sister."
Jean-Paul lead the way down the stairs, three steps ahead of everyone else. "Yes, it's terrible that anyone would want to make sure you see sunlight more than three times a week. And look after your social well-being. And make sure you don't starve. We're regular bastards, aren't we, Warren?"
"The actual worst," Warren agreed, arm still slung over Simon's shoulders until they came to the stairs, wings ruffling gently then resettling behind him. "To actually want the pleasure of your company. And no, I'm not being ironic, that's your job." He smirked at JP's back. "Both of you."
Jean-Paul accepted that this was probably his fault. If he'd been paying more attention, he'd have noticed that Simon was getting dressed for the party way earlier than was necessary. By the time he'd noticed that Simon intended to wear formals -- complete with waistcoat and tie -- to a summer party, it was too late.
And also, Jean-Paul had noticed that Simon looked damn good in formal clothes.
"You're going to be overdressed," Jean-Paul commented.
Simon frowned, glancing at himself in the mirror. His sleeves were stiffly rolled past the elbow and he was wearing loafers and his 'casual' slacks. "I'm not even wearing a jacket," he protested.
"Which is why I'm not testing you for heatstroke. Everyone else will probably be in jeans and sundresses." But still, "You look good, though. Tailored?"
"Of course," Simon told him, as though Jean-Paul were a moron for asking. Then he frowned and turned to look at him. "Do I really need to go to this thing?"
"Yes," Jean-Paul said firmly. "You do. Think of it as networking if it helps. You're here to make friends with the future mutant leaders of tomorrow." A sly little grin tugged at Jean-Paul's lips. "But we can look hot as fuck while doing it." He headed over to his closet and began examining what he had in the way of "look like a civilized young man for the investors" clothes.
"That's what Warren said," Simon replied, glancing back at the mirror to fix his hair. Then he paused, and clarified, "Not the hot as fuck part. That we needed to be prepared to be leaders."
"Warren has good ideas more often than not. When he stops to think. And I'm not just saying that because we're dating." Jean-Paul whipped off his shirt and pulled on a dark button-down. Did he actually have a waistcoat in here? Yep. Black on black, a little embroidery, no bling. Black jeans and boots sounded like a better idea than slacks and loafers, though.
Simon looked up, side-glancing at Jean-Paul. Dating? He'd known that Jean-Paul was gay, but Warren was news to him. Most especially that they were together. What was he supposed to say to that? 'Don't do anything on my couch'? Finally, he went back to tidying his appearance, and gave a wry, "Congratulations."
"He's been pretty great," Jean-Paul admitted. He finger-combed his hair into place, then mussed it a little. Perfect. "All right. I think we're ready to outclass everyone."
This time, Simon really did look over, and though yes, Jean-Paul was well-put-together, he was still frowning. "You uh. You're not fooling around on my things are you?"
For a split second, Jean-Paul didn't know whether to be offended or to laugh at the absurdity of the question. Laughter won out.
"Simon, do I use anything of yours? Ever?"
"Well, no," Simon admitted. "But the brain can become impaired during sexual activity, due to the flooding of hormones and dopamine, causing you to behave in contrary ways."
It was at this opportune moment that a knock came at the door, along with a familiar, laughing voice asking, "You guys decent in there?" On the other side of the door stood Warren: shoeless, shirtless, in his favorite pair of low-slung jeans with just the barest hint of his DIESEL boxer brief waistband poking out.
"Merde..." Jean-Paul looked Warren up and down, a slow, exaggerated pan from head to toe as a smile tugged his lips. "Well, we were aiming for overdressed. You're just going to help the look."
Even Simon couldn't help looking Warren over, his frown transforming into a helpless sort of 'Well fuck' kind of expression. "This only proves my point."
"Nom du nom..." Jean-Paul shook his head. "Warren, explain to my attractive-yet-paranoid roommate that we have not made out or fucked on any surface on his side of the room."
Warren was about to comment on the hotness factor in the room--which was remarkable from JP alone (as the look Warren was giving him was proving), but had rocketed even higher with Simon wearing that. "Not yet," Warren said cheerfully, treating Simon to a once-over as well. "But damn, dude, you look fine. Almost as fine as him." He looked back to JP. "Your roommate's kinda hot."
Okay more than kinda, but if Warren didn't make a joke out of it he'd be entirely serious, which was less funny and more 'oh shit'.
Simon rolled his eyes at both of them (because they were both clearly fucking with him), and turned to go retrieve his phone. "Alright. I get it. You are both very into each other. Feel free to go wild as long as my side of the room remains clean."
"My roommate is hot, but skeptical," Jean-Paul agreed. "But don't worry, Simon. If you come back to a sock on the door, be assured that we're only defiling my half of the room."
"Unless we ask permission," Warren amended, slinging an arm over Jean-Paul's shoulders. "Or for supervision."
Now Simon really knew they were teasing him and glanced toward his laptop longingly. He was still finishing up his pre-reading for next week's Cellular and Molecular Biology lecture. "If you don't want a third wheel-"
"Simon, this is a dance, not a date. Warren, snag him before he runs."
Warren slipped away from Jean-Paul, wings fluttering with slight urgency, and got his arm around Simon's shoulders--careful not to touch skin--instead. "Come on, I'm just being a pain in the ass. You know I got your back, man. It'll be fun." He attempted to steer Simon toward the door and Jean-Paul.
Simon begrudgingly went with him, making a small face. "You two are worse than my sister."
Jean-Paul lead the way down the stairs, three steps ahead of everyone else. "Yes, it's terrible that anyone would want to make sure you see sunlight more than three times a week. And look after your social well-being. And make sure you don't starve. We're regular bastards, aren't we, Warren?"
"The actual worst," Warren agreed, arm still slung over Simon's shoulders until they came to the stairs, wings ruffling gently then resettling behind him. "To actually want the pleasure of your company. And no, I'm not being ironic, that's your job." He smirked at JP's back. "Both of you."
