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WD2 Oneshots/Shorts

Chapter Text

An odd fog rolled in off the bay, bringing salty sea air and distant memories. They were faint, though, as it was a heavy, soupy fog that couldn't reach the rooftop the pair occupied. For once, the busy street outside the hackerspace was empty. Every few minutes a lone car would zoom through and stir the mist, casting eddies in all directions like dark magic. It was very late. The world was stuck in that eternal city daylight from street lamps that were never off. It was surreal.

Josh couldn't feel his fingertips. He'd been gripping the cement on either side of his butt, leaning back against the brick wall. A dizzy, out-of-control feeling kept him from thinking clearly his body didn't want to respond to signals telling it to move. The piercing heat of sobs filled his throat but they were stuck like boiling tar. Not until the news had sunk in would he cry. Not until Josh truely understood the situation and let the gravity of it take over. So he avoided it. He avoided thinking about anything because it would all circle back to Horatio. And if he thought about Horatio he would have to acknowledge that the man was dead. That Josh would never see him again, save for the terrible corpse in a terrible casket at a terrible, untimely funeral.

So he let the tension build. And build. And build and build and build all afternoon until he was a volcano busting at the seams with pressure. Steaming in one thousand emotions left him empty. The only things that seemed to exist were the bite of the concrete and the hot, misty air that blew his hair around on his forehead. It was itchy but he couldn't seem to scratch it. He was going to explode soon; the impending meltdown loomed on the horizon like the rising sun would in another few hours. But with the way his heartrate spiked and how sweaty he was all of a sudden, it would be within minutes. Or was it already here?

Wrench, who had been sitting beside him, rested a gentle hand on Josh's shoulder. Not only did it startle the coder, but the sensation was so unpleasantly sharp on his sensitive nerves that he had to push the punk away. It left his palms burning. 

It was a curse to feel anything at all.

"Sorry," whispered the punk-- he sounded sad. Was he sad because of what Josh was doing? "Should have asked first. Can you feel a meltdown coming? We can go inside, find a dark room and get the headphones."

They were nice headphones. They blocked all the sounds that normally drove him up the wall. But they wouldn't help. Death can't be blocked out. Josh couldn't run from Horatio's death.

He didn't respond, chest rising and falling as he sat, somehow completely limp but unbelievably tense at the same time, against the wall. Wrench was afraid to touch him again, even to get him off the ground.

"Can I help you get up?"

Josh suddenly snapped, not angry at Wrench, just unable to control his tone as he finally burst. "I don't know! I don't know, I don't know, I don't know! I don't know." 

"Okay," Wrench said soothingly, "that's okay. It's okay not to know. I'll just sit here with you. Do you want me to shut up?"

The way Wrench repositioned himself blocked the wind from Josh's face. Josh took a deep breath.

"Keep saying things. Please. I don't want to think about it."

He didn't need to tell the punk what 'it' was. 

Wrench sighed. It was hard to support himself and the other man at the same time, but he knew his friend desperately needed it. "Sure. I'll keep talking. Everything is going to be alright. It might not feel like it now, but it will. I promise. What if we go get food after this? After you're feeling better? I haven't eaten since breakfast because of- well. Nevermind. I'm sure you haven't eaten either."

Food sounded nice. Food sounded really nice. The day had been so eventful that Josh had forgotten all about feeding himself. 

"We can get pizza or something. I'm sure there will be some place open. I think Dominoes is open all night..."

A deep breath brought a little reality back. It was the first normally-paced gasp in a few minutes. Wrench continued talking, his voice a calm backdrop of noise. Nothing said in particular was interesting, but soothing all the same. After timing his inhales and exhales, (in for six, out for six, in for six, out for six) Josh brought himself back to his senses.

"Pizza time?" He asked quietly. 

Wrench smiled under the mask. "Yeah, let's go. You tired? I can pick it up so you can chill in the dark if you want."

"I don't want to be alone. Can we get banana peppers on it?"

The punk grimaced. "Split it down the middle? Banana peppers on one, plain cheese on the other?"

A fine deal. Josh nodded, then took the hand offered to pull himself up.

"We'll be okay. I promise we'll be okay."

Chapter Text

After a long day, Marcus was dying to get home. The key to his apartment couldn’t open the door fast enough. He needed a long, hot shower; a cup of tea; and a warm bed. Thank God his bedding was washed this morning. His clothes hit the floor next to the neglected hamper, then he searched through his dresser for an acceptable pair of sweatpants. Usually full of neatly folded clothing, the drawers now hung open far enough to droop like mouths, fabric hanging out like tongues. A rough sigh left Marcus’ lungs. The bed squeaked as he collapsed onto it.

Nothing especially dangerous had taken place during the day, it was just too long. It began at four AM when the neighbors started stomping around (Marcus couldn’t fault them, though, because they consisted of a single mother working two jobs to support her gaggle of kids), giving him too much time to sit around and think about nothing. Nothing then turned into loneliness, missing his family, and the important moments in his baby sister's life that he was missing out on. Then traffic was wretched on the way to the hackerspace. Marcus had considered walking but the high temperatures killed that idea quickly. When he finally arrived, Sitara was in a bad mood, and that rubbed off on Josh, who was beginning to snap at Wrench for even only slight annoyances. Horatio brought coffee but dropped Marcus'; Wrench offered to share the pure sugar in his cup. The thought of something so sweet made Marcus’ empty stomach turn, so he ate a bagel dry.
Surprisingly, Wrench was never all that into sweets, but never really into coffee, either. He drank it so he wouldn’t feel left out at first, slowly becoming accustomed to the flavor as long as it was full of cream and sweetener. Apparently something similar had gotten him into smoking Marlboros, and he had only recently managed to quit. Thankfully, it had been before his teeth were ruined.

Marcus hummed to himself and stuffed a pillow under his head. To get even comfier, he spun around in the covers until he was wrapped up like a mummy. Within moments the world outside was muted by sleep.


The hipster found himself back at the garage. It was dark, though, and no one seemed to be there. Regardless, someone was calling out through the room.


There was a certain sort of tension in the air; perhaps from a sudden weight of heat, or perhaps from the pulse of the voice. It was synthesized and melodic, slightly teasing.

Cautiously, Marcus placed his hand on the guard rail as he peered up the stairs. Nothing but more darkness; however he had this sixth sense that there was a light on at the end of the hall. Was this a dream?

“Hey, is that you, Wrench?”

He was right. All the way at the end if the hall (which seemed way longer than usual) Wrench's apartment door was cracked. It was impossible to judge the time it took to walk there, as the door never seemed to be any closer.

“…Can I come in?” the hipster asked upon getting no response.

Wrench opened the door. His mask was off. He looked Marcus right in the eye. This was definitely a dream. Baggy, plaid pyjama pants hung loosely at his hips; a tight, light blue, long-sleeve t-shirt hugged his upper body. There was a gap between its lower seam and the waistband of the pants, exposing light fuzz, along with his navel. A smirk adorned the anarchist's face; it wasn’t obvious whether it was an invitation or a dare.

“Dare,” Marcus decided, stepping inside and grabbing the other man before he could move out of the way.
The smirk became a look of shock, then a sly, lidded gaze as their lips met. Wearing a mask 24/7 kept Wrench’s face rather pale, a calm backdrop for a wildly pink blush.

Fuck it. This was a dream, right? Marcus could relieve a lot of stress…

“Hey, M~” Wrench said, suddenly shy as he looked at Marcus' chest.

Marcus put two arms around the other’s neck, bumping their foreheads together. “Hey. Wanna have a little fun?”

“You mean a good ol' fashioned hotdog party?”

Marcus stifled some laughter. He received another kiss accepting his proposition, sloppier than the first. Wrench bit his lip and let their tongues meet once the hipster parted lips. Their hands roamed each other’s bodies, though Wrench's rough hands and long, square fingers favored the Marcus’ chest and throat. Their eyes locked, the punk’s seemingly lost in love. The eye contact was a sharp reminder that this was only a dream.

"Get on the bed, M."

"Oh, giving orders now, are we?"

Suddenly he was pushed down onto the mattress, which was in the far left corner of the room, across from the kitchenette at the entrance. Soft covers billowed out around him like clouds. The punk straddled him, holding him down by the shoulders. An ever-deeper blush turned the rest of his face pink. Marcus felt his own face flush as well, which worsened when Wrench began to unbutton the hipster’s pants, pulling out his cock and letting it stand freely.

"You ready?" Wrench asked.

He gave the hipster no time to respond before sliding back between the man’s legs, leaning forward, sticking his tongue out, and letting the tip rest against it. The heat from his mouth was almost too much. The hipster moaned as those thin lips closed around the head of his cock, tongue swirling before Wrench eased his head down. Through light brown eyelashes, the punk gazed up. His icy grey-blue eyes were intense with firey lust.

“Oh, my God,” Marcus moaned. His voice was breathless with anticipation. “Please. Fuck.”

It felt amazingly vivid for a dream. Finding himself carding his hand through the punk's light blond locks, he tightened his grip to apply a light downward force. Wrench bobbed his head faster while focusing on the top third of the shaft, humming, then let his mouth sink further down into Marcus’ lap. His forehead pressed against Marcus’ abdomen. The hipster’s dick reached the back of his throat and then some, but only by a manageable amount, and it lacked enough girth to make him choke. However; it was still a nice size, even though Marcus was salty that his dick couldn’t even be bigger in his dreams. Wrench closed his eyes softly. The hipster began to apply a rougher force and buck his hips up as he fucked Wrench’s mouth. It was obvious Marcus was unafraid of letting himself be heard, as his loud gasps and moans filled the space.

Wrench pulled his mouth off Marcus’ cock with a loud pop. “You’re so noisy,” He said. He sounded amused.

“Is that a problem?”


There was a moment of comfortable silence as Wrench undressed himself, the hipster watching like a hungry dog. The top was peeled off first. It clung to the side of his ribs attractively, as he lifted his arms and leaned to the side. His tattoos were ambiguous because Marcus couldn't quite remember what they were, or where. The exposed skin was erotic.

“Faster,” Marcus commanded.

The real Wrench would have given him a hard time about that, talked back, or teased. But the dream Wrench was more than willing to quickly strip his pants. The difference in skin tone was pleasing to the eye, a cool rose against warm umber.

“You’re so handsome, M~”

The hipster hadn’t been getting enough attention lately. It was nice to be appreciated, even if this was technically just his mind appealing to his own needs. A hot blush crept back onto his cheeks.

He let his hands rest on Wrench's hips, thumbs landing in the crevice of sharp hip bones. The punk had the potential to be a brick-shithouse if he ate more and regularly lifted weights. However; the man was a nerd at heart, so his muscles, though strong, were not very large. This meant that his clavicle was well defined across his broad chest and shoulders.
“I love you,” the punk sighed, leaning down to kiss him.

Marcus let his hands wander upward, gently cupping the punk’s ribs. His large fingers spread out and hid thick stripes of the pale skin. “I… love you, too.”

Waking up wouldn’t be fun. To say goodbye to such pure intimacy would be like a shot to the heart.

With a sweet moan and parted lips, one of Wrench’s hands closed into a loose fist, pressing their cocks together. Marcus ground up against him. The leftover spit from the blowjob made it easier. They ground themselves together loosely for a while, soft, pleasured sounds emanating from one another, along with the creaking bed.

Marcus was getting close. Apparently, so was Wrench. The punk sunk into Marcus as time went on like a rubber band twisting while rolled between two fingers. Soon he would be unwound, releasing that tension, cumming all because of Marcus.

“Fuck,” the punk breathed, “oh, fuck, M. It’s so good.”

Marcus didn’t respond. As he neared his own climax his vocalizations thinned. Wrench became louder, and their voices switched roles. Now the punk's voice filled the apartment with needy moans.

At the last second, Marcus captured Wrench's lips in a tender kiss. Their mouths met, and Marcus released onto his hand. Upon feeling the hipster tense beneath him, Wrench followed suit, then collapsed onto the man's broad chest.


Suddenly, light was pouring in through the window. It filtered through the blinds onto the far wall in thick lines of orange on the white paint. Aside from having to clean himself up, Marcus was at the start of a regular day, alone in bed rather than underneath his sweetheart.

Chapter Text

Something light hung in the air like misty fog that distracted Marcus from his work. It was a bubbly atmosphere that everyone seemed to feel, letting butterflies and happy words build inside then while they tried to focus. The high of a successful hack carried over from yesterday. A large search engine, akin to Noodl, had been storing user data and using it to tailor search results to push conservative agendas.
DedSec was in and out like a light, wiping the data banks and sending a crew inside to destroy offline hard copies. In the morning, only a few hours before, the engine released a brief statement on the issue, the FBI vowing justice. However; the crew was supremely careful to leave out any evidence. No code left behind, no fingerprints, no security footage. No witnesses. To say it was successful was an understatement.

“We should have a party,” Horatio suggested. It was a good idea, but Marcus and his pet punk were wiped from breaking and entering.

“I’m so fuckin' sore,” the hipster complained, “can we do it later this week?”

Maybe putting off the party would prolong the good vibes.
Back cracking from leaning over a project for so long, Wrench stood up straight and said, “Me too. What about Saturday? Then, 'Ratio, you won’t have to worry about work the next day.”
Marcus, who had himself draped luxuriously over the couch, kept close watch on Wrench as they all spoke. Uncomfortably craning his neck was a small price to pay for the view. The punk was broad and thin, a triangle with the base across his shoulders and the tapered point at his hips. The hipster followed his frame with curious eyes until he could draw the man’s silhouette from memory, dreaming about what it would feel like to hug him tightly and be enveloped by lavender detergent. Shaggy blond hair cascaded like ivy to the tips of Wrench’s ears, then almost to the base of his neck. Any longer and it would approach mullet territory, but the strands looked so soft to tug and twirl that length didn’t matter. As if to accentuate this streamlined body, the hood of his jacket piled bulkily on his back.

“Saturday works for me,” Marcus finally said.

Wrench turned sharply so their eyes met. Well, Marcus could only see the LED X's that shielded the punk’s face from the unforgiving public. What color were his eyes? Were his cheeks as sharp as the rest of him? His chin?

Horatio nodded in agreement. “I’ll text the group chat to let everyone know,” he said, then after patting himself down, left the room to find his phone.

Wrench knelt in front of the couch. It’s grey fabric was old and rough and itchy beneath his elbows. Like a teenage girl, he stacked his hands under his chin and leaned on them.
It was now or never, Marcus figured. The confidence (or rather, apathy) he got from being tired and sore meant that asking Wrench out had to happen now.

“So…” he started, cringing inwardly at how cliché he was about to sound, “Wanna get coffee? I’ll buy.”

“Oh, Marcus, you’re my savior. My hero. You sweet, sweet, beautiful man, you have no idea how much this means to me!”
Half of the punk’s words were mumbled into Marcus’ ribs, as he dropped his forehead against the hipster's ribs. He was pleasantly warm.

Marcus blushed. At first, he worried that his invitation would go over Wrench’s head as a friend-thing, though the physical contact reassured him otherwise. His heart skipped a beat at the touch. “Ahahaa, alright, alright. Let’s go; I’ll tell 'Ratio we stepped out for a bit.”

Silently, Wrench wondered why they didn’t invite the other.
The café was small, sitting in a nook towards the end of the boardwalk. It had dim lighting and pastel colors and a wonderful smell. Definitely an upgrade from 10 Donut, mostly because Naomi had broken things off with Wrench and the old coffee shop became awkward. Seaside, the new one was called.

“Can I get a plain coffee and a chai latte, please?”

The teenager behind the counter began to tap away at the order screen while dancing absentmindedly. “What sizes?”

Marcus, choosing to ignore the kid's voice crack and save the kid some embarrassment, looked at Wrench for a preference. The punk simply shrugged.

“I’ll take the coffee medium, please. Give my toddler a small,” the hipster smiled, “He can’t handle that much caffeine.”
From the corner of his eye, he could see a dissatisfied emoji light up on Wrench’s mask.

“Four dollars and nine-ty six cents,” the teen said.

Marcus slid his card, grabbed the receipt, then followed Wrench to a window booth near the pick-up counter. The seats were comfortable and plush, minty pastel green to fit the rest of the blue, green, and white interior. The glass window stretched floor to ceiling and offered a breathtaking view of the cement wall outside. Brown liquid leached down in streaks from years of rain and salt. On top of that, the sun was at just the right angle for its light to bounce off the wall and into the pair's eyes. Marcus kept his gaze on Wrench, who was happy to be the object of attention, even if it made him feel self centered to need affection. Though, the hipster watched him differently this time. Softly. With a slight smile upturning the corners of his lips. A warmth filled Marcus’ gaze that gave Wrench the same hot-cold gradient as if he’d been facing a fireplace. The tips of the punk’s ears turned red— thank god for his hood. Marcus enjoyed watching the other blush and squirm.

“Are you still sore?” Wrench asked, to dull the intimacy to a manageable level.

The shift in moods left the hipster disappointed. Did Wrench regret coming on the date?


“Then we should go sit in the water or something. Maybe a nap,” the punk suggested, “I want to sleep in the sun up on the roof, too. Sunset is the best time for it, the light hits everything to warm it up but you don’t get baked.”

“You’re like a cat.”

“Ehhh, I would say more of a lizard. Give me a heat rock and I’m set. Look, even got scales!” He gestured to his studded jacket.
Marcus laughed. “Do you eat bugs?”

“Oh, I eat a lot of things, M.” His words were accompanied by a sly wink.

“Oh, do you now?”

They laughed as they finished their drinks. Eventually, a hot sunbeam overtook the whole booth. The uncomfortable warmth was enough to cause nausea. It was decided that they'd hit the beach next; Wrench knew about a secluded spot on some rich guy's land who was never there because it was a summer house. After that, the roof would be their destination to dry and sunbathe.

Hot sand. Hot hot hot. The hipster tiptoed to the water's edge as quickly as he could, letting the chilly tide roll over his feet and cover them with white foam that sizzled.

“What, can’t handle the heat?”

Marcus turned to look the punk in the eye. Marcus’ apartment was on the way there, so they had stopped for swim shorts. Because the hipster was a little thicker around the waist (and a lot thicker in the butt), Wrench had the string tied tightly. This made the pant legs billow out like bells as if he were wearing a pleated skirt. He stood proudly, locks of hair winding in the wind like snakes, facing the water, Marcus, and the sun. Its fleeting orange light cast upon him, a coating of paint. On the ground lay piles of seaweed, salty and sopping wet. He avoided them with disgust, preferring the warm sand over green slop.

“Baby,” mocked Wrench as he sat, butt barely in the tiny waves that made it to the end of the surf.

By then, Marcus was waist deep. “Oh? Me? I dunno 'bout that. I'm not the one afraid of water.”

“What? No, I’m not afraid! I just… I just have the mask, you know? Can’t get it wet.”

“Mhm. So you’re not even in ankle deep water.”

“I like the shallow water! It’s nice to sit here and see what washes up! Dig around in the wet sand. All that. Look,” Wrench held up a shell, “look at this cute little shell I found!”

“Precious. How- how do you feel about the deeper stuff? Not even neck deep. How about coming out up to your waist?”

“M, I’ve already come out completely.” The punk winked, though Marcus couldn’t see from the glare of the sun.

“You know what I meant!”

Wrench paused. Emotional intimacy wasn’t his strong point. Not at all. “…I don’t like not having control? The water feels nice, but the currents are… uh. Scary. What if we get taken by a riptide and smashed into bits by the rocks down shore?”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “We won't. If you get in a riptide, swim diagonally until you aren’t being dragged anymore. Come out here, just this far. Riptides won’t get you; I’ll keep you safe.”

Slowly, Wrench gathered his confidence. The mask was somewhat waterproof, it would be okay if he turned it off to prevent a short. It would need a good scrub with 99% rubbing alcohol and cotton swabs to rid it of salt. Marcus waited for the punk patiently.

“Okay,” he said when he finally made it, “okay. I’m here.”

The currents threatened to pull him into the depths like a light breeze taking leaves. He could feel water in his lungs already, too thick and viscous and heavy to be coughed up. Marcus seemed to sense his discomfort and slipped an arm around him. Skin on skin, almost unbearably hot compared to the cool ocean. The hipster's hand held his ribs, large enough, with fingers spread, to obscure a tattoo. Wrench shivered at the feeling, definitely not one a friend should be causing. They were about the same height. Marcus looked him in the eye, only having to look down slightly. Despite the mask, despite knowing Marcus so well, the punk had to look away and blush to himself, which the hipster found gut-wrenchingly cute.

“How is it?”

“Strong.” Wrench didn’t know if he was describing the waves or the hipster.

“See?” Marcus laughed, “Strong, but not too bad. Do you wanna compromise and sit in the foot-deep stuff?”

Wrench nodded and raced Marcus closer to shore, where he plopped his ass down like an anchor and let his fingers sink into the gravelly sand.

“I’m also scared of fish,” Wrench admitted.

“Color me surprised.”

He enjoyed the punk's natural voice, which was much deeper and soft like clouds.

“They’re fucking slimy! Yuck!”

The hipster rolled his eyes. “Are there any animals you do like? I just assume that if it moves you probably hate it.”

“Ladybugs are okay, I guess. And bees, 'cause they pollinate all our food. Did you know, once all the bees die we’re gonna die, too? Within, like, four years.”

Marcus grinned. “That’s nice. Didn’t pin you as a bug person.”

“Oh, you’re trying to pin me,” Wrench winked.

The heat of a blush filled Marcus’ face. “I mean, I would, but you'd drown right now.”

Wrench cackled, assuming the other was play-flirting along. “Maybe later, then~”

A wave smacked the hipster in the face, which saved him from staring for too long.

They frolicked in the water until the tide began to return. Then, the pair headed back to the hackerspace. It was a nice walk; there was a traffic jam somewhere else in the city that kept the chaos away from them. Waves crashed on the shore a few streets away and the sound carried in the wind. It brought the smell of salt and food being served at beach-side bars. Although it was hot and humid, the water made Wrench cold. His hair was soaked, as were his trunks, leaving him dreaming of a steaming shower and cozy bed.

“Rooooof,” he said as they neared the building, “race me?”

“Sure. On three?”

Wrench was already gone.

Marcus gave half-hearted chase. He was too hungry to run like that. “Hey! Get back here, that’s unfair!”

Sitara sat on the couch with a sketch pad in her lap. The television was on, though she had been so caught up in coloring some creature that her program of choice had long ended, and a show advertising cheap jewelry had taken its place.
The hipster snuck up behind her, taking great care to startle her. However, Ray walked through the room and warned her about the creep behind her.

“Heeeey,” Marcus said, swaying awkwardly after being caught, “just- ah, just wondering if you’d seen Wrench.”

She set down a paint pen to cross her arms. “You’re an asshole. Why should I help you?”

“Do you really want him unsupervised?”

Her lips made a thin line. “…Roof.”

Oh, yeah. The place they had not only planned on going originally, but discussed on the way home. But you couldn’t blame Marcus when the punk was so volatile. He thanked her, even though she had already returned to her work. No matter how often the hipster saw her paint, the steadiness with which she worked always amazed him.

“You could be a surgeon.”

She didn’t hear.

Wrench had already sprawled out on a towel at the edge of a ledge. On one side, it dropped off to the second floor fire escape, and then the street below. He really was cat-like, no matter how much he denied it. If only he had cute little ears like neko-girls from anime stuff.


For a little wave, the punk raised one arm before letting it curl back over his chest.

“You good?”

“I weaken. Vision… fading. Starvation… immanent. I’m also very tired.”

Marcus leaned over him. “Why didn’t you get food on your way in?”

“Bold of you to assume I’m smart enough,” he said, unhappy that the hipster now blocked his sunlight.

“You just wanted to win the race.”


There was a comfortable silence. To Wrench’s delight, Marcus hopped onto the ledge beside him. Not only was Marcus now close enough to lean on, but the sunshine was back as well. Boldly, desperately wishing for the hipster to not question it, the Wrench scooted close enough to lay his head on his lap. Friends definitely shouldn’t do this… The mask was still off so he, despite better judgement, kept his eyes open in order to watch the man over him.

Imagine the punk’s surprise, then, when the man bent his head down and began carding fingers through his blonde hair. The locks were long enough to fall in whatever way pulled, straw-like from the salt and sun but damper near the roots. Marcus smiled— a very slight tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Sit up for a second.”


“Sit up.”

Wrench did. His back faced out over the street; Marcus grabbed his leg incase he fell.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to weird you out.”

“No, no,” the hipster cooed, “not at all. I promise.”

“Okay… well, what do you want?” The anarchist seemed out of his element.

Gently, Marcus reached out for his face. Warning bells went off in Wrench’s head, telling him to run, to hide. But he couldn’t.
The hipster seemed to sense this. “Don’t worry. I’m not taking it off.”

He hooked his thumbs under the mouth piece and folded it up over Wrench’s mouth. Cool, fresh air brought the scent of traffic and street vendors.

“Then what are you doing, M?”

An umber hand cupped his face, hot from being on sunlit concrete and burning with emotion. The way he had said Marcus’ nickname drove the hipster’s heart wild. The hipster loved seeing him, his thin lips and odd jawline.

“Kiss me?”

At a loss for words, Wrench simply shadowed Marcus’ hand over his cheek, holding it close. A blush took over his face. “Was this a… date?"

“Uh, yeah,” said Marcus, dumbfounded, “you didn’t know?”

“I didn’t realize.” He couldn’t hide a slight smile.

The other man’s sudden, elated laughter startled the punk with a wave of self-consciousness. A huge grin stretched on Marcus’ face from ear to ear, exposing pearly teeth. The corners of his eyes wrinkled.

“Yo, that’s the cutest shit.”

Wrench stared into his lap, leaning into the warm, safe hand cupping his cheek. “M… shut up.”

Marcus laughed again and coaxed his head up again, but didn’t force him. “So… kiss me?”

Wrench leaned forward to press their lips together. Dry from the heat, the punk’s lips were chapped and cracking like peeling paint. By tilting his head, he dared to intensify the kiss, however; he kept it mild since they'd never kissed before. Marcus was relieved to have a sweet kiss because he had expected Wrench to be a bit more forward, considering the man's incessant flirting and dirty jokes.