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Noah's studio sat along the river in the middle of a block of other reclaimed and renovated brick buildings. West parked in the lot around the side, checking the GPS again just to be sure it hadn't led him astray, before he stepped from the car. This had to be the place. It screamed art, almost literally since it had a mural splashed over the doorway in pinks and turquoise and paisley-like swirls of yellow. The building on the corner held a stationary shop with pastel flags fluttering beside the door, but the rest of the block was full of subdued shades of red, brown, and black. Loft spaces. Offices. That was more his speed. These carnival bright pops of color felt like a warning sign. Keep out. Do not enter. The same way poisonous plants signaled their intentions. Bright usually meant deadly.
His collar was choking him. Noah hadn't said anything about what to wear—or not wear—and it hadn't even occurred to West to make sure that this wasn't a naked thing before agreeing to come to this place. He had just agreed, swept up in Noah's infectious enthusiasm and the uncomfortable realization that West wanted Noah to continue smiling at him at any cost. Why he didn't know.
But he really hoped this wasn't a naked thing.
West was relatively fit. He hadn't heard any complaints from the few guys he'd hooked up with in the past and he liked the way he looked when he bothered to think about it at all. That didn't mean he would be comfortable baring his ass for a camera. For people to see and stare at for years to come. Immortalized like one of those bugs trapped in amber. Forever.
Oh, God, he was going to be sick.
West practiced his deep breathing for another minute while rooted to the spot. Terror tasted like rubber and burnt fast food coffee. He hadn't dared go to the coffee shop in case Noah was there. Which also made no sense when they were going to be seeing each other anyway. Sense and West used to be such good friends. He didn't know what had happened.
Finally, the cold drove him inside. It was either that or go home. He didn't want to go home. Yet. That might change once Noah started speaking again.
The interior of the building boasted a new kind of old aesthetic. Original hardwood floors stripped down and refinished, bowed by decades of feet, mismatched doors and bare brick walls with notices pinned up on a pink bulletin board. The floor popped like gunfire as he made his way to the paint speckled stairs leading up to Noah's third floor studio. The doors lining the halls—other studios, he assumed—were all painted flat black and numbered. Some had been decorated. Photos. Painted motifs. Little touches to mark ownership. West followed the numbers upwards until he found the right door. He flinched back from the Pride flags on instinct. It was possibly the first time he'd seen them out in the wild, a whole cluster stuck to the door in little groups like flowers. That was already bordering on more excitement than he could take. The door was already ajar and from within he heard the scratchy sound of music. It was loud after the stillness of the hallway.
West pushed the door open before he lost his nerve.
The studio was awash in blinding white light from a pair of windows. Noah lay on the floor with one knee bent and a camera over his face, looking up at the ceiling. West looked up too. There was nothing there but peeling paint and a spidery web of cracks. Potentially mold. This looked like the kind of place that harbored secret mold infestations. He doubted Noah was looking for anything like that though.
"What are you doing?"
Noah jumped and fumbled his camera. "Fuck, you scared me." He sat up. The camera hung around his neck by a strap.
Jesus. It even had a strap. West was in over his head.
"You're late."
"Am I?"
West had left early to avoid just that, but he couldn't remember how long he'd stood outside staring at the building while he casually panicked. It had felt like minutes. It could just as easily have been hours.
Noah shrugged, but his smile reappeared, crooked and as unexpectedly refreshing as a sudden spring shower. "I figured there was a decent chance you might stand me up so consider me pleasantly surprised. Oh, and before I forget." He pulled a folded paper out of his back pocket and held it out. "Your release form. We're very professional here. All the formalities observed."
"We?"
"Me. But it sounds better if I say we, don't you think? Makes it sound like a partnership."
West raised an eyebrow. He took the paper and unfolded it. There were only a few lines to read, but he hadn't expected any kind of paperwork and hadn't brought a pen. He couldn't sign without a pen.
Shit. Why had he thought he could sail in here without a care? Be anonymous. Be a model. As if that was something he would ever do. Noah had release forms and West didn't even have a pen.
He wanted to go back to anonymity and spur of the moment impulses. The more he thought about everything, the worse it felt. West refolded the paper and shoved it into his own back pocket. "Do I really have to sign?"
"Not right yet. But if we're going to work together, I would feel better about it if we did things the proper way. Today's no big deal though. This is just a trial to see how we work out."
There was that we again.
"Okay."
Noah hopped up and dusted himself off. One side of his shirt hiked up as he moved, baring a slip of skin over his hip and something that looked like a tattoo. West stared at it. He couldn't quite help himself. The tattoo disappeared as the shirt slipped back down but West kept watching. Just in case.
"We don't have to do this at all if you're too nervous. You know that, right?"
"I'm not nervous." He wasn't. He wasn't, he wasn't, not at all. That wasn't his heart racing in his chest. But he couldn't quite shake the feeling that someone would burst in and catch him in the act. What act and who would do the catching, he didn't know. It didn't matter. It didn't even matter that no one knew where he was right now. Not even Charlotte. She would have started crooning at him on the phone and asking invasive questions and he knew he would lose his nerve if that happened. He'd barely had enough nerve to get himself here and out of the car to begin with.
"Okay. Sure," Noah said indulgently. "I'm just saying."
"Well don't."
Noah's smile thinned to a stiff little line.
"Sorry." West flushed. "I might be a little nervous."
"No shame in that. So how about I just explain what we're doing today and maybe that'll help a little. I know I feel better when I know what's coming at me." His voice had taken on an almost singsong quality, light and soothing to match the small curve of his lips.
It should have been annoying.
West hated being handled. It made him feel manipulated. But coming from Noah, who he barely tolerated and who barely tolerated him in return, it didn't feel like that. Noah had no reason to be nice to him. He'd already made that perfectly clear. Some of the tension eased from West's shoulders. "The deal is pretty simple. I'm just going to take some photos." Here he held up his camera. West didn't know if it was a good one or not, but Noah handled it like it was precious. "A few simple poses. Nothing too strenuous or elaborate. Just enough so you can get a feel for how we do things. Learn each other a little. Then we'll check them over. If it goes well maybe we do more another time. Very business-like. Any questions? I'm used to working with established models so I don't know what sort of questions regular people have."
"What kind of pictures? Like... how do you..."
Noah's grin was knowing. "You were dying to ask that, weren't you?" He cackled. "Don't worry. It's clothes on except by mutual agreement. You don't have to do nudes unless you want to. If you're into it, we can make arrangements for that later too." He gave West an appraising up and down look. He wagged a finger at him. "But what's all this? What's up with the business casual? I mean, I can work around it but..."
West didn't see the issue with a button down and khaki slacks. They were perfectly normal clothes for a perfectly normal day, chosen when he'd caught himself agonizing over his wardrobe a little too long. He didn't want to look like he'd been trying too hard. So he'd put back the designer jeans and the sweater. This wasn't a date. And he didn't want to give Noah the impression that West cared what he thought of him.
"They're my clothes," West said, hackles rising. "What else was I supposed to wear? You didn't tell me to wear anything special."
"True. An oversight on my part. I wasn't expecting all the... loafers."
West followed Noah's gaze down to his feet. "They're shoes."
"Indeed they are, and very sensible ones too. They really set off the khaki of your pants." Noah dropped onto a stool, posing with his chin perched on one fist. "Can I just ask one thing though? Do you always dress like Steve from Blue's Clues or was this just for me? Call it my professional curiosity."
Rather than answering, West turned on his heel and started for the door.
"Wait. Wait, wait." Noah was off the stool and at his side, one hand clinging to his arm, in seconds. "I was only teasing, sweetheart. Come back and we can start over. No more comments about the clothes. Hand to God."
West had the ridiculous urge to bite the hand resting lightly on his forearm. Maybe it showed on his face because Noah snatched his hand away and hid it behind his back before West could do more than think about biting.
"You're an asshole."
"It's true." Noah nodded, still hovering at his side. "But I'm an asshole who's willing to prostrate himself before you if it means that you'll stay for a few photos. Hopefully more. I would like more. You've got the bone structure of a fucking fashion model and I want it any way I can get it. Even in loafers."
He... wanted.
He wanted West. Or his face—his bone structure, as Noah had put it.
West had never been wanted before. Not in the way that Noah seemed to want him. Wholeheartedly and desperately. Funny. West used to think need was the greatest part of the hierarchy, but it really wasn't. He'd figured that out after years of being on call with his family. They needed him for plenty of things. For support. For company. They needed him because he was convenient and he was reliable. Their need for him was almost thoughtless after all these years. Instinctual. But want? Want was a choice.
Noah wanted him.
Those three words were going to be the end of him. He could already feel it. But they still worked.
"You said something about prostrating."
Noah flashed him a sly smile. "So I did. What did you have in mind?"
*****
"WHEN I PROMISED YOU anything, I didn't think you were going to be this easy," Noah said as he lined up the first shot. A coffee carrier from their coffee shop run sat on a spare stool beside the one that West perched on. There was only one cup left in it. They had walked over together, bracing against the wind, barely even talking but that could have been the wind. Or the awkwardness between them. Noah had finished his coffee on the way back to the studio, using it to fill the silence, but West had insisted on saving his, rationing it out in dainty sips. At this rate it would last him a week.
"I thought I would start off small. And I like coffee." He shifted on the stool, looking anywhere but at Noah.
"Fair enough. I wasn't really looking forward to groveling on all fours. At least not this early in our relationship." The camera shutter clicked. Like clockwork, West stiffened. "Relax. We're only talking. Pretend like the camera isn't even here."
"You say that like it's easy."
"It can be. If you let it."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." West would never win at cards. His face was expressive, each of his emotions playing out on it in real time. All those fluttering moments of uncertainty pulled at his brows and turned his lips down in a pout before he caught himself and went blank again. His extremely rare smiles shone with the power of the sun. Those tended to linger, like even he didn't want to relinquish them too quickly. Noah could get drunk on watching it. He also wondered what the hell weighed so heavy on West's mind that he'd shown up looking like he was about to burst into tears. It must be something serious.
But they weren't close enough to ask that kind of thing, were they?
In lieu of answers, he kept his voice pitched low. He knew anxiety when he saw it.
"There's no one here besides you and me. These are just test shots to get you used to being in front of the camera." He took another just to illustrate. This time West barely flinched. "No one even has to see them, including you, if that's what you want."
That got him unclenched. Just a bit. It was a start. "Really?"
Noah pressed buttons on the camera, navigating back through the handful of shots he'd already taken. They weren't the worst things he'd ever done. Rough, maybe. But it wouldn't take much to get them all to where they needed to be. Assuming West was willing. He wanted West to be willing. There was a part of Noah that would do just about anything to make sure that happened. He tried not to listen to that part. Too often it ended with Noah curled up on the floor feeling like he'd been punched in the balls by life.
He took another moment to scroll through the photos before he said, "It's all up to you. Though I gotta say, if you're worried about your modeling abilities you can probably stop. Your eyes are luminous and you have the most fuckable mouth I've ever seen and that's really saying something."
The mouth in question fell open. A flush spread up into his cheeks, mixing with the streaks the wind had left. "You—"
"It's a compliment. Trust me." Noah grinned. Then he lifted the camera and snapped another shot before West could tense up again. "It's a good mouth. I could build an entire show just around that if I put my mind to it." He circled to the side to get a different angle. West's eyes flicked to him and then away again. Something like suspicion lurked in their pretty brown depths. "So, tell me, why did you agree to do this? It's been driving me up the wall with curiosity. We both know you're not the art type. And you hate me."
"I don't hate you."
Noah's eyebrows lifted. "Could've fucking fooled me. But I'm not saying I'm not grateful. I wasn't lying about you saving me." He pressed a hand to his heart. "My hero."
West blushed again, just like he'd known he would. Really. He was too easy. Noah was starting to think no one had ever flirted with the poor boy, which was a tragedy all on its own. Something about his square shoulders and stiff mouth said he needed more sweetness in his life. He deserved roses and first kisses over candlelit picnics. The world was too full of nasty, terrible things. He deserved the dream. Yet another reason that Noah should keep himself to himself. He wasn't the one to be giving anyone any kind of dreams. It wasn't in him.
But flirting? There was no harm in that. Flirting was fun even without any expectations at the end. Too many people took it for granted when they should have been celebrating it instead. After all, what was better than making a willing party feel good? Watching the slow creep of pleasure come over them with no strings attached. It made him feel god-like.
Noah glanced between the camera display and West's face as he worked. "So?"
"So what?"
"You never answered my question. What brings you here today? Besides my invitation and possibly a touch of fatalism."
"I—"
"Turn your head towards the window. Just a bit. And lift your chin." West did as asked. "There. Perfect. Okay, go on. You were saying?"
West didn't move from the pose but that didn't keep him from glaring at the window instead. The furrow of his brow was even prettier at this angle. "Are you going to interrupt me the second I start talking again?"
Noah laughed, a throaty sound of pure amusement. "Possibly. You're cute when you're annoyed. The bridge of your nose does this perfect little crinkle. But I did want to know about the sudden change of heart."
"Then stop interrupting."
"Yes, sir."
West rearranged himself on the stool, arms folded over his chest. He didn't hunch, but the mood was right for it. All his openness had vanished in an instant. "I needed to get out. For a little while. Do something for myself."
"So you decided to sit for me. I'm flattered."
"It wasn't for you."
"That's okay. You could've gone anywhere and done anything and you came here to me." Another click. "And so, I'm flattered."
They passed the rest of the time in near silence. Noah calling out directions and West taking them without question, eyes always averted, until the timer on Noah's phone dinged to let him know the hour was up. "And you're done," he announced.
West blinked. He looked like he'd just woken up. "Already?"
"Yes. I promised only an hour." He kept his eyes on the series of thumbnails shown on his camera. "These are good. I think I can use them."
"Why do you sound so surprised?"
His answer was a crooked grin though Noah's attention never left the screen. "I wonder," he murmured in a quiet singsong voice. He set the camera aside on his supply trunk where it would be safe and spun around. "You coming again?"
West's face said no.
His mouth said, "Yes."
"Perfect. Let's set up a time."
*****
"YOU'RE NOT USED TO people looking at you, are you?" Noah asked, voice a low hum as he bent over the large sketchbook balanced in his lap. His pencil made a faint scritch over the paper as he drew another line, but his eyes stayed trained on West, beginning at his face and following some path West couldn't decipher.
Noah had posed him simply for their second attempt. Sitting on the floor, one leg extended and the other bent, an arm resting on his knee. Something easy to maintain for a long period, he had said. But it had been so long that West's everything was starting to fall asleep. His ass was going numb. And the need to fidget or turn away crawled on him like ants. He'd spent all week since their last sitting anticipating today and he wasn't sure why. He wasn't looking forward to seeing Noah. He wasn't looking forward to modeling. So far modeling was indistinguishable from torture.
Stay still. Stay still. Stay still.
So why the anticipation roiling in his stomach? And why the disappointment when Noah sat him down, as business-like as he'd promised, and got to work?
It didn't make sense.
"Why would I be?"
"Just an observation." Noah tipped his head in thought and then glanced down at the paper. Frowned.
Without Noah's eyes on him, West gave in to the urge to move. He was no longer the butterfly pinned to a tray. Tight muscles unwound. He flexed his hands. A smile touched Noah's mouth as he caught West in mid-stretch.
"You know, you can move around if you need to. These are just sketches, not mugshots. Heaven forbid you succumb to the agony of a leg falling asleep." His fingers walked across the floor in search of a different pencil from the box. There were stacks of pencils in there, most of them identical seeming to West. No one could possibly need that many pencils. "I've been where you are. It's easier if you relax. Just go with it."
Just go with it, he said. He kept saying that, but every muscle group in West's body wound itself even tighter under Noah's gaze. It was assessing yet blank. There was no indication of what was going on behind his eyes. He almost wished they could go back to the obvious flirting. Almost.
"I can't do that."
Noah lifted his eyebrows in question.
"'Just go with it.' I can't do that."
"Because you're thinking too much about me instead of yourself." His head bobbed. Not a nod so much as an extension of his previous shrug. "You wonder what I'm seeing. Or what I'm thinking about you." He set down his pencil and met West's eyes. "Right?"
"No." Nothing pissed him off as quickly or completely as Noah being right. West didn't want him to have insight. He wanted him to be hopelessly, hilariously, wrong whenever possible.
Noah exploded with laughter. "Okay."
"And what about you?" West accused.
"What about me?"
West stretched out his legs then, just out of spite to see what Noah would do now that he'd completely changed the pose. There was a flutter of paper as Noah turned the page in his sketchbook and got back to work. West frowned. That was an underwhelming response. "You said you'd been where I am."
"Modeling," he clarified. "I sat for people a few times. Classes even. Not like this." A crescent of toothy smile appeared. "You haven't been naked until you've dropped trou for two dozen people with charcoal on their fingers while they study your dick. It's quite the experience. Froze my ass off too. But the money was... well, not good, but it was money. I like money. And you look like I just kicked a puppy again. What did I say this time to offend you?" He delivered the whole speech in a tone of only mild interest and without his eyes losing their distracted vagueness. His hand moved over the paper in a series of serpentine squiggles.
"I'm not offended."
"Your natural state of being is offended."
West huffed. Okay, this time he was offended. "Screw you."
"Maybe later." The response came as quickly as if it had been preprogrammed. Another page turned. His pencil returned to the paper. "So what was it? For reference."
"What can you even draw in five seconds? You just turned the page."
"You'd be surprised." Noah flipped the pages back to where he'd begun and turned the pad around so West could see for himself.
The sheet was filled with a jumble of scribbles. Tangled lines. Black slashes and curves. But the longer he looked the more it coalesced into something that made sense. He could see himself there in all those lines and squiggles. Somehow. In messy brilliant movement. The spread of his fingers because he talked with his hands when he was agitated. The shadow on his face when he turned towards the window. Sketches danced their way across the page. West, the way he could never see himself. He could even see the moment when Noah had mentioned nude modeling. Noah was right. He did look offended. "They're... good."
"I'm impressed. You only sounded a little mad that time." Noah laughed. "These are just warm up sketches. The real deal takes longer. And I don't usually draw anyway so this is only practice while you get comfortable sitting and getting stared at."
West handed back the book with more care than when he'd taken it. Noah set it back in his lap.
"Why don't you?"
Noah spread his hands, palms up. The side of one was smeared grey from rubbing over the pencil lines and his fingertips were dirty. He looked down into his palms like he was reading his own fortune. "The paralysis of indecision," he said with finality. "Besides, I like having a camera in my hands. I can line up a shot and have five angles to choose from in seconds if I want. On paper, it's too easy to ruin things. And once that happens there's no going back." He mimed tearing off a sheet from the book and crumpling it up. West tensed in case he intended to do it for real, but all Noah did was throw the imaginary paper towards the corner and spread his hands again. "Just fuck it. Start over. Try again. I hate that feeling. It's a nightmare. So I generally leave the traditional media to the professionals. I'm just here to fuck shit up."
He twiddled the pencil between his fingers, staring into the distance. For a moment he was perfect again. Art. The long line of his neck and the burgeoning thought of a frown at the corner of his mouth. West felt, if he looked long enough, he'd be able to read the future in him like tea leaves. Then Noah shook himself and closed the sketchbook. He set it aside.
"You ready to try the camera again?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Ouch."
"I didn't mean it like that." West sighed. "Please just tell me what I'm supposed to do so I can stop talking?"
That earned another grin. "In that case, get your ass on the stool and I'll get my camera."
"That's it? Just... sit?"
"Losing the shirt would be a bonus, but it remains entirely up to your discretion. Popping a button works in a pinch. Not so tight around the neck that way."
West reached for the button and hesitated. It was only a shirt. What could it hurt?
Noah's smile widened as West pulled the tucked in tails free of his waistband and hung the shirt on the hook beside the door. The other hook was already taken up by a battered leather coat covered in hearts, obviously his.
"My my. You really were hiding something good under that shirt." Teeth raked his lower lip, flushing it red, as he looked West up and down. "You just get better and better."
West crossed and uncrossed his arms. The room was chilly without his shirt, but it didn't bother him as much as he'd expected it to. And the longer Noah stared at him with that wolfish smile, the warmer he felt. He was kindling. Noah was the match ready to set him alight.
Noah nudged the stool towards West with one foot. "Set yourself down right there. Get comfortable. Or as comfortable as possible, we're not expecting miracles. We'll get started in a second."
West sat. He didn't know where to put his arms or where to look. He hooked a heel on the rung of the stool. "How?"
"Let's try chin up. Hands on your knees. Something comfortable to stay in while we finish warming you up."
West did as instructed. Or tried. After the fifth "no, your other left", Noah set down the camera he'd been fiddling with and strolled over. He leaned down until he was level with West. In this light, his eyes were chips of jade, made brighter and paler by the glittery black eyeliner ringing them. Noah took him by the shoulders and turned him towards the window then nudged his head up with two fingers beneath his chin.
"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make sure you look pretty."
That was easier said than done.
Sitting while Noah sketched him earlier had helped to make being stared at less strange and uncomfortable, but when the camera turned on him, he still flinched. He couldn't help it. Each click of the shutter felt like a bite out of his flesh. After the first few shots he was back to being just as stiff as he'd started. His muscles were cramping from trying to hold still.
Noah slapped a hand over his face and fell back on the floor. "I can see you doing that," he said from between his fingers. "You look like I'm about to go Big Bad Wolf on you." A pause. "Which might not be a bad look but it doesn't work for this set of photos. I need..." His free hand waved in the air. It didn't look much different from his sketching earlier except this time it was for his eyes alone. West couldn't see whatever he was shaping. Noah's fist closed around the words he was searching for. He stared at West like he was both the answer to the universe and the cause of every evil. "Well forget about that. I'll know it when I see it. Just work on looking less terrified for next time. Please."
"You wouldn't understand," West muttered.
Not Noah with his glittery eyeliner and pink and blue floral shirt. Eye catching wasn't even the half of it. When he was in the room people stared. Hell, he made it worthwhile to stare. Slept in hair and a lazy smile, taking up space like it was his right. West wanted to strangle him for jealousy.
They tried a few more angles, but Noah's responses kept getting more and more surly and West had lost hope long before Noah ever set aside his camera and called the session to an end. West left feeling defeated.
He didn't know why. He didn't even want to be a model. But for some reason he didn't want to disappoint Noah either. Disappointing him felt like a personal failing, a tragedy in the making. There was no logic or explanation other than the way the sight of Noah's smile fluttered in West's chest. He craved it. Even if he didn't want to.
West trudged down to his car. His phone lit up with an incoming text as he slid into the driver's seat. He'd left it in the cup holder while he was at the studio. It was easier to be who he needed to be for Noah if he didn't have his real life interrupting.
The text was from Charlotte. You on your way? it said.
Shit. He'd forgotten that he had promised to stop by for dinner tonight. To visit. With Reese.
West drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he stared down at the message. It would be so easy to say no. Something unexpected could have come up. Charlotte would believe him. She always did. But that felt cowardly. Not for the first time, West wished he could disappear. How easy it would be if he didn't have to exist. Just for a little while.
He'd had a taste of that the first time he sat for Noah. He didn't have to think or feel. Only do. He wasn't West then. He was moldable clay. Willing flesh waiting to be transformed. He wanted that feeling back, to let himself vanish into it for just a little while. To rest.
But it hadn't worked today. He couldn't forget himself like he'd wanted because he was too busy remembering the camera. He liked it best when he couldn't see it. That way he didn't have to think about what it could see or what it would let other people see about him. He could be anonymous. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, maybe without them he was soulless. Empty. A vessel waiting to be filled. Not West. Anyone else.
His hand tightened on his phone as an idea bloomed.