Ameliorate.
@evilgsanchez
Rocker couldn’t stop thinking about Evil Rick. Okay, not exactly a huge sway from the norm for him, but now it was with a huge grin on his face and frequent daydreams about their parking lot rendezvous. He had leather burns on his throat, busted knuckles and a very sore ass. All the signs of a good time. It was taking a great deal of willpower not to text the old man constantly, he was dying to see him again, now that it had been established that they would be seeing each other again.
A couple of slices of cheesecake, some tears and coffee had reunited him with his best friend and the musician definitely had a renewed spring to his step because of it. All he needed now was a similar conversation with his husband and hopefully it would go as well. Once again he couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep and couldn’t sit still, but excited butterflies were a welcome change of disruption.
He was still nervous, of course he was. He had little idea what to expect, even less idea what would actually happen after they had this discussion. Talks with the old man didn’t always go well, but he was happy and it had been a long time since he’d felt this way. So he was choosing to enjoy it and ignore everything else. Rocker wanted to go to the bar he’d mentioned in the text message the very next night, but of course that would have been ridiculous. The old man does everything in his own time and the musician knew even if Evil Rick wanted to see him as badly, he would be a stinker about it and force himself to wait like some sort of test of endurance or ‘well deserved punishment.’
Rocker shook his head, and Rick called him dramatic.
It was now nearly a week later and the rock star could bare it no longer. He missed him. Missed the lines of his face, the way his lips thinned when he was pretending not to be amused by Rockers antics, the way his hair parted to one side after sleeping on it, the way he grumbled under his breath when Rocker led him to bed after falling asleep in his lab. He missed the cold stone walls and dark corridors, pancakes in the kitchen, he missed his flock. He was ready to go home.
If Rick would have him.
Freshly showered, beard trimmed, teeth brushed and feeling as nervous as a teenager on his first date, Rocker flipped through the clothes in his closet and found a shirt with buttons rather than holes and pulled on a tidy pair of jeans before slipping on his favorite boots. He smirked at his reflection, choosing to leave his hair floofy since he knew the old man liked it and flung his leather jacket over his shoulder before heading downstairs and grabbing his standard portal gun. Rick may not show up, he reminded himself as he dialed in the bar. He may have unpleasant things to say, he prepared himself, shooting open a void. “I don’t care, I just want to see him.” He shut himself up and stepped into the dimly lit bar.
He ordered two whiskeys, as he’d done more than a dozen times in the past months, took them to a familiar booth, sat facing the room and waited.
