flawless by design.

Beck had to blink several times to free himself from the trance of Rhett’s mouth. He’s a man with needs and an intoxicated man at that -- it isn’t Beckham’s fault he’s picturing all the things that mouth can do, the way pretty pink lips look when they’re stretched just so and... Everett clearly knew exactly what he was doing but instead of covering up his own actions, Beckham let himself be a little shameless. He was testing the waters, perhaps. “I think that I could wear anyone out to the point where they won’t be back at the bar for seconds anytime soon, yes. No matter how great your ass is.” He wasn’t about to deny Everett’s curvaceous figure -- it was one of the things that had initially attracted him from a visual standpoint, before he’d even so much as breathed a word of greeting to the boy -- but his own stamina and lean muscle could surely prove themselves in the bedroom. Beck’s gaze went steely as Rhett drawled out his request. It was nothing like he’d suggested and certainly nothing that Beckham was likely to oblige.  His ex must know as much, especially considering the suggestive way he’s bending over the bar to order his drink. Cut off, how cute. The pout that graced Rhett’s lips could be defined as such as well and Beck folded his arms with a slow, thoughtful grin. “You know, I didn’t make anyone leave. It’s not my fault they all gave up easily -- kind of sad, really. They were so threatened by me and I wasn’t even after the same thing as them.” He wasn’t lying; he didn’t come to the bar to fuck Rhett. Although... he couldn’t resist reaching out and cupping Everett’s face in one of his warm hands, brushing fingers affectionately along his cheek. “Poor thing wants another drink? You could have some of mine, if you’re good.” His own accent lilted playfully with the flirtation, despite the glare he’s been given by the bartender. 

Beckham was pleased, though not surprised when the other babies responded to his flirtatious looks. This was a bar meant for picking up and he radiated the confident aura of a daddy which surely drew their attention his way. He’d really done himself up for the night as well, despite his only real intentions being drinking himself into forgetting his and Rhett’s first encounter. Rhett really had his full attention and so it wasn’t lost on Beck that his grip tightened, knuckles white against the jar of his alcoholic tea. “I know they’re going to disappoint you by comparison,” he replied breezily, eyes glittering in the safety of his comments. “When you follow up perfection with mediocre, it seems abysmal by comparison.” Just take the few people Beckham had kissed since their breakup -- all of them seemed like wretched kissers when compared to Rhett. Of course, the thought had his gaze fluttering downwards to his ex’s lips but that was natural, right? “That’s not a half bad idea, baby,” he smirked, redirecting his attention to the daddies who had been vying for his former lover’s attention. “But I don’t know why you’re so willing to have them sleep with me -- you know how good I am. They may forget all about finding themselves a baby once they’ve had me.” He was being cocky and he couldn’t help but let himself notice the features on the daddy Everett selected had a slight resemblance to his own. Or maybe he was just a little tipsy himself and making connections where there weren’t any.  “Alright, him. What would you like me to do to him?” his brow rose in question and he took a step nearer to his ex, close enough now to smell the alcohol on his pretty, pink lips.

“You sure you aren’t mistaking them for me?” Beck hummed lowly, head tilting to the side as his smirk grew. “You know first hand how easily I can pick you up.” A flash of memories of Everett pinned up against the wall, feet dangling off the floor, crossed the inside of Beckham’s lids when he blinked and he had to fight down a shudder. They had quite a few good times amidst all the bad. He doesn’t deem Rhett’s question worth an answer -- the other should recall Beck’s speech turning a bit crass when he’s intoxicated. It’s nothing new. He busied himself perusing the bar, taking in each potential baby and comparing them to what he had beside him. Even if any of them were remotely pleasing to the eye, he doubted they’d have the same charm, intrigue, and passion that Rhett always inspired in Beck. Always. Rhett’s the reason Beck’s dreams came to life, after all. “Could you stop being so defensive and just relax for a hot minute?” Beck scolded in a voice that edged on a growl. It was close to the tone he used with Rhett when he was being especially dominant; there was probably a reason for the similarity. “Because, Rhett, whoever it is will be following after me and I think I owe it to you to make sure you aren’t too terribly disappointed.” The way he said it and the cocky smile on his lips told his ex that there wasn’t even a chance he wouldn’t be disappointed, no matter who he chose. 

“Describe them then, if you remember them so vividly. I couldn’t place a single remarkable characteristic,” his tone was tending towards playful teasing now. If Beck didn’t watch himself, it might even gravitate towards fondness -- a very odd combination considering the lewd things his ex was presently describing. He knocked back a sharp gulp of his own drink as Rhett grew more confident in his depictions -- as though he knew the fiery feeling of distaste and jealousy that would spark up in Beckham’s chest. “Would you really? I didn’t know you were gagging for it so badly you’d have settled for a semi-decent kisser who was packing maybe 5 on a good day.” Truthfully, he didn’t get a good look at their faces let alone what they were hiding in  their pants but that was just details. Wholly unimportant details. “But hey, I’m not judging. It’s not exactly like I came out to a bar to find intellectually stimulatin’ conversation or for financial advice.” Even though it was for nothing more than show, he let his gaze tear away from Rhett to sweep the bar patrons, as though seeking out his own partner for the night. None of them could ever hold a candle to the brilliance sitting next to him but nobody needed to know besides himself. “At least promise me you’ll have higher standards when it comes to your daddy, hm?” He shifted a bit closer, eyes dancing with mischief and the undercurrent of a challenge. Or maybe it was just the alcohol.

Memories of how fucking adorable Rhett could be while drunk were quick to flood his mind as his ex’s lower lip jutted out in a pretty pout. Childish and demanding, even the way he ordered his next drink made Beckham’s lips curl up in a smirk and some of the tension of seeing the boy he’d wronged once again slipped away. “Put him on my tab, then -- whatever he likes, yeah?” he nodded to the bartender. Beck had every intention of racking up his own bill to drown out his regrets, why not add a few more to them while he’s at it? The specific drink that Rhett ordered spoke wonders. Beckham knew him well enough to understand that they weren’t going to be fighting just yet; a good sign, really. “They weren’t all that interesting looking,” he insisted, nodding for a refill of his own (rather strong) beverage, “and I bet they weren’t interesting conversationally either. What would you have done after you let them buy you a few drinks?” He was baiting Rhett, in a sense. Some part of him wants to up the ante, to ask his former lover to show him just what he’d have done. But that’s too forward for his current state of intoxication, anyways. 

Beckham wanted to point out that of course he made Everett’s apparent suitors go away. They weren’t worthy of his attention. But he was wary of seeming jealous or possessive over his ex when he was certainly no longer his to feel either way about. It might scare Rhett off again and Beck didn’t want to risk it when he hadn’t even thought he’d see the smaller male again so soon. “They clearly aren’t persistent enough,” he shrugged nonchalantly instead. The force of Beckham’s steely green eyes would have been enough to turn anyone away but he didn’t bother to consider that small detail. “I can buy you drinks?” It helped that he knew Rhett’s favourites. Which ones that made him giggly, which ones got him drunk the quickest. Which ones made him horny. He wanted to read the situation first, though, to see where their talk would lead tonight, especially since the kiss of liquor was fresh on both their lips already. Last thing he needed was to make the wrong choice and get Everett too far gone to spend any time together. “I don’t think his hair was as nice as mine.” added Beckham confidently with a twirl of a glossy curl around one of his long fingers. Alcohol made him confident, even despite the entire situation. “Just let me buy you a drink, please?”

Drinking seemed like the obvious solution to the onslaught of unexpected sadness and guilt burdening his shoulders. He’d done little more than pace his caregiver’s suite the night prior, fingers raking through his hair until it practically stood upright on its own. He ran over every thing he said, every expression he’d seen on his ex’s face. Beckham wanted to right them all -- to assure Rhett that things were not his fault. It might involve more explaining that he’s willing to provide but the look he’d gotten right before pushing Rhett away, once again, was enough to make him reconsider things. Of course, that line of thinking had been dangerous and it took the sting of alcohol to wash away the impulse to spill his guts. So he found himself at the bar the day after their angsty parting, hoping both to never see his ex again and to run into him at the earliest convenience. It turns out the latter is what fate has in store, the sight of Everett knocking back drinks greeting his slightly alcohol tinted vision. He’s a lightweight, Beckham recalls fuzzily, feet carrying him towards the familiar figure instead of away. He shouldn’t be drinking so fast. It’s not his place to take care of Rhett, he has to remind himself. It’s not his place. But he’s drunk and Rhett is beautiful, all glossy eyes and flushed cheeks. Why isn’t anyone appreciating the small vision daintily perched at the bar? Why isn’t every man trying to take him home? Sure, there are people -- men -- talking to him but none of them are really trying or else Rhett wouldn’t still be there. Beck never had a problem getting Everett to come home with him. “Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out alone in a place like this,” he hums in a voice that’s low but intense, cutting off some stranger mid-sentence. He pushes in front of the other male so that he’s front and center in Everett’s field of vision, everything in his body language screaming at his ex not to leave right away, not this time, not again.

- apologies (via with-alllmy-heart)

He was right, is the thing. Beckham did push Rhett away when things got to be too much. It was a nasty habit but one that he’d adopted for Rhett’s own good. He was protecting him but when he couldn’t explain from what he needed protecting, Beck could see where Rhett would interpret it as a bad thing. Now, standing alone in the store with the gaping hole where his heart ought to be, Beck, too, saw it as a bad thing. His vision grew foggy, unshed tears gathering in the corners of his eyes and misting over his sight. What right did Beckham have to cry? He’d been the one to break such a good, pure and beautiful boy. He couldn’t give him all the answers; he’d shielded him from the truth and for what? So the both of them could be miserable. “Fuck!” his outburst rang throughout the store and, even if it hadn’t, the violent swing of his hands to knock down the entire clothing rack next to him would have attracted notice. He didn’t stop there, turning on a heel to throw a punch at a neatly stacked pyramid of shoe boxes. As they clattered to the ground he took off to leave the store, feet moving to the beat of his jackhammer pulse.  He didn’t know where he was going but wherever it was, it’d be far enough away from everyone so that no one would see him cry.

“I loved you too. Fuck, Rhett, I wouldn’t have done half the shit I did if I didn’t love you. I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me if I didn’t love you. But if you needed time, if you wanted to complete school or get an education or I don’t fucking know -- I would have waited for you. I loved you enough to wait for you, yeah? “ His throat felt constricted, tight with emotion that had crept up on him without consent. He hated feeling guilt, sadness, heartbreak. Especially since he’d already worked through those feelings immediately following their split only to have them all returning full force now -- in a fucking shopping center of all places. Everett seemed so...sad. Sad and hurt and all of the feelings he’d been trying to avoid by splitting up with him when he did. Rhett was supposed to move on, find someone else, realize the druggie he’d been living with wasn’t even half the man Everett deserved. “I know you worked hard and I know you tried. It was never your fault though -- us not having what we needed, God, that was never your fault.” He couldn’t bear to hear his former lover beating himself up over this. He couldn’t set the record entirely straight but he needed to say something. Rhett was steeling himself up and Beck couldn’t blame him -- he’d spun the phrase that way on purpose, to obscure his own blame in it all to deflect Rhett from detecting his hurt. But seeing the anger burning in pretty blues was too much. He shook his head adamantly, hissing in a breath. “I won’t fuck up with them like I did with you, Rhett. I fucked up.” Whatever splintering shards he had left of his heart pinpricked at Everett’s determined statements. “You deserve someone fantastic. I’ve always told you that.” He said as much when he broke it off though, then, he’d been high and trying desperately to hide it. “Can you just --” he pushed his fingers through his hair, tousling it to let long locks fall in front of his face; it’s a sign of his own impending breakdown and his desire not to let Rhett see, “can you go?”

"I’m sorry, but no one forced you to run away with me -- you could’ve said no if you wanted to go to school so badly!” Any mask of playful teasing had entirely evaporated from Beck’s expression. He hadn’t known his ex had felt that way; he wouldn’t have thought back so fondly on their cohabitation had he been made aware that he was the only one who enjoyed it. “Jesus Christ, Rhett, you think I don’t know you were young? I just thought it was what you wanted too but fuck me for assuming being together would make up for the rest.” Teeth gritted, he pulled back. He was hurt, the feeling surprising him more than anything. The way his expression turned stony and closed off would likely tell Rhett as much. “I have no reason to leave them,” he spat out the truth though probably not in the way his ex would take it. The reasons weren’t to be put on Rhett -- nothing his ex had done had driven him away. The reason he left was none other than his own fault. “Right, well then you shouldn’t have any need to be shopping for new clothes if you’re just going to peel them off at the first glimpse of a pretty face.” He took another step back, jaw set and gaze still icy, as though inviting Everett to leave. He’d had enough reminiscing on the past for one day.