#killer crow

If you’d never been close to an alligator, it was unlikely that you’d ever gotten a very good look at their squarish scales before.  Jon had never been very close to a real alligator, but he figured the near seven-foot-tall man feigning sleep under him was a good reference.  He likely kept his scales in much better condition than a wild gator, but whether or not that was true was irrelevant.  They were fun to trace, and as far as Jon was concerned, that was the important part.

A large arm snaked around Jon’s waist and he glanced up at the man, whose toothy mouth was twisted into a grin in his feigned sleep.  Jon smirked and returned to tracing the scales in front of him, resting his chin on his other arm.  Under his breath, he began singing an old church hymn, and he felt the grip around his waist tighten.

“Do you not like that one Waylon?” Jon asked.

“Don’t much like church hymns in general,” Waylon replied, “didn’t think you did either.”

“Depends on the hymn,” Jon edged forward so he was closer to Waylon’s face, “I just particularly like that one.”

Waylon let out a soft grunt and shifted.

“Alright, off.”

“That insulted?”

“No, I’m sitting up, move.”

Jon laughed and rolled off Waylon, nearly tumbling off the bed before being caught.

“Don’t kill yourself there beanpole.”

Waylon set Jon down on the side of the bed and sat up, stretching and yawning wide.

“You’re staring,” Waylon commented, standing up.

“I know.”

Waylon scoffed and lifted Jon into the air, placing him on his shoulder and turning to carry him through one of the large doorways that connected the modified barn they’d taken up residence in.  The doorways were big enough that Jon didn’t have to duck under them while on Waylon’s shoulder.

“So,” Waylon dropped Jon on the couch gracelessly, “are you actually going to eat today or is it spiked coffee as always beanpole?”

“Ah, I dunno,” Jon leaned on the armrest, “we got crawdads?”

The fridge opened behind Jon and Waylon gave his definitive response.

“Nope, sorry Atlanta.”

“Chicken?”

“When do we not have chicken?  Half the fridge is chicken.”

“Yeah because you like chicken too much.”

“Would you prefer I eat people?”

“Touche.”

“Do you want any chicken or not?”

“Yes I want chicken,” Jon smirked and added under his breath, “rather have gator.”

“Jon I will eat you.”

“Mmhm yes that is the point.”

Waylon shut the fridge and shot Jon a look, to which he grinned.

“You love me.”

“I don’t love your jokes.”

“Yes you do.”

“Jon.”

Jon burst into a fit of laughter and turned to Waylon, still grinning.  Waylon looked less than amused and shook his head slowly.

“What?” Jon asked.

“Sometimes I wonder what you see in me.”

Jon paused and got to his feet, stepping up to Waylon and standing on his toes to peck the man’s cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” Jon replied, “why don’t we start with that?”

“I’m not though.”

“You are, because I think you are.  You’re funny too, and I can talk to you.”

Waylon sighed and lifted Jon up to eye level.

“Well I think you’re beautiful too.”

Jon leaned on Waylon’s shoulder and exhaled slowly.

“You wanna go out for lunch?”

“I’d have to put a shirt on.”

“I think that’s a small price to pay.”

“Alright, just a minute.”

Waylon set Jon down and he headed over to their room, but stopped at the door.

“Hey Waylon?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”