riptide_asylum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
riptide_asylum) wrote2012-07-10 10:25 pm
riptide_asylum) wrote2012-07-10 10:25 pm
Entry tags:
"To Grab and to Fold" (Other, 1984)
Title: To Grab and to Fold
Rating: PG
Summary: Cody's getting paranoid: he thinks Nick might be watching him.
Cody's starting to get paranoid. He's starting to think there's something wrong with him, or maybe just the back of him because -- and he knows how this sounds but, he keeps catching Nick staring at his ass.
Cody puts a leg up on the rail to tie his shoe, balancing neatly on one leg, but feeling all the while like someone's watching. A quick peek under his arm confirms it: Nick, staring intently in Cody's direction. Then blinking away, eyes turning to a bikini babe wiggling down the pier away from him. She giggles as she passes. "Hi Cody!"
Cody watches Cara -- or Sara maybe -- giggle down toward the Contessa and tells himself that's what Nick was staring at. Who could blame him?
Then the other day they were turfing the Jimmy out for burger-change, digging down the backs of the seats, feeling in the ashtray, under the seat for stray nickels and pennies. Cody felt that same funny feeling come over him. Craning his head around he caught sight of Nick in the wing mirror, head to one side, looking all kinda...dreamy maybe. Cody jerked his head up so hard he thunked it on the steering wheel.
Cody rolled up on one hip and rubbed his head thoughtfully, still sprawled halfway out of the driver’s seat. Well, maybe Nick just really wanted a burger?
But then this last time...
Thursday mornings are good for doing laundry, they have the whole laundromat to themselves, almost, except for this one old guy, wearing plaid golf shorts and a purple tube top, smoking a cigar. (LA: it takes all kinds). By the time the spin cycle starts, Murray and the old man are deep in conversation, and that leaves Cody time to enjoy having Nick to himself. Just the two of them, shoulder to shoulder in hard plastic chairs, not talking, just kind of...enjoying the morning. And Cody’s thinking he’s imagined the railing and the Jimmy thing. This is Nick, after all, his best friend in the world, and the last guy he’d ever want to get the wrong idea about.
The buzzer goes on the laundry, one washer, then the other two a couple seconds later. The two of them rise, roll a basket over from the end of the aisle and start dumping everything in for the dryer. Cody tries to catch Murray’s eye, but the little guy’s deep in conversation with his new friend, and besides, it’s just a couple loads.
Which is when Nick starts throwing socks.
They’re wet still, but he fishes ‘em out of his washer, balls them up and starts winging them at Cody: throwing behind his back, under one leg, overhand, pegging Cody hard in the chest, making him jump for the overhand shots. The two of them are giggling like maniacs and Cody’s catching the throws and dumping them all in the basket.
Except one time Cody misses, and the ball of socks drops neatly into the space between the two rows of washers.
Cody gives Nick a dour look. Nick shrugs and nods his head in the direction of the gap.
Cody sighs, then turns and tries to see down the gap. No dice. So he climbs awkwardly up on the washer and kind of drops an arm down to see if he can reach. But it’s still no good, and that’s how Cody winds up sprawled across a washer at The Washing Well on Maricopa, twisting to get his arm a little farther down, fingertips brushing damp thick cotton, nearly getting it. He turns his head to yell at Nick for being such a jerk and catches Nick staring at his ass full-on. Cody feels the look like a touch because he knows that look: that’s how he looks at Nick sometimes when he knows Nick won’t be looking back.
Nick meets Cody’s eyes and his expression changes. It melts somehow, like Nick’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and his eyes beg Cody not to be mad, not to tell.
Cody straightens up and struggles to a sitting position on the washer, not knowing how to respond. Not knowing where the words are that can make this right, because if that’s how it feels to be looked at by Nick -- really looked at -- he can’t imagine how it would feel to be touched. Even if it’s the thing he wants most in this world.
Cody looks at Nick and gets terrified. He lets his hair fall into his face as Nick crosses the linoleum to stand between Cody’s knees and look up at him, his expression one of naked need, no apology. Cody can feel the heat of Nick against the insides of his knees, through his jeans.
He wasn’t paranoid. Nick really was staring at his ass. And maybe he was just waiting to get caught. A series of lusty, hopeful pictures floods Cody’s brain and he nearly falls off the washer, but Nick catches him, one hand tight around his bicep. He smirks.
Jerk.
Cody grins and captures Nick with his legs, squashing him against the washer, just because he’s pretty sure now, he can.
Three quarters will buy them forty-five minutes in a dryer, and they brought enough quarters for two rounds of drying. But something tells Cody that they’ll be taking all their clothes home damp.
Rating: PG
Summary: Cody's getting paranoid: he thinks Nick might be watching him.
Cody's starting to get paranoid. He's starting to think there's something wrong with him, or maybe just the back of him because -- and he knows how this sounds but, he keeps catching Nick staring at his ass.
Cody puts a leg up on the rail to tie his shoe, balancing neatly on one leg, but feeling all the while like someone's watching. A quick peek under his arm confirms it: Nick, staring intently in Cody's direction. Then blinking away, eyes turning to a bikini babe wiggling down the pier away from him. She giggles as she passes. "Hi Cody!"
Cody watches Cara -- or Sara maybe -- giggle down toward the Contessa and tells himself that's what Nick was staring at. Who could blame him?
Then the other day they were turfing the Jimmy out for burger-change, digging down the backs of the seats, feeling in the ashtray, under the seat for stray nickels and pennies. Cody felt that same funny feeling come over him. Craning his head around he caught sight of Nick in the wing mirror, head to one side, looking all kinda...dreamy maybe. Cody jerked his head up so hard he thunked it on the steering wheel.
Cody rolled up on one hip and rubbed his head thoughtfully, still sprawled halfway out of the driver’s seat. Well, maybe Nick just really wanted a burger?
But then this last time...
Thursday mornings are good for doing laundry, they have the whole laundromat to themselves, almost, except for this one old guy, wearing plaid golf shorts and a purple tube top, smoking a cigar. (LA: it takes all kinds). By the time the spin cycle starts, Murray and the old man are deep in conversation, and that leaves Cody time to enjoy having Nick to himself. Just the two of them, shoulder to shoulder in hard plastic chairs, not talking, just kind of...enjoying the morning. And Cody’s thinking he’s imagined the railing and the Jimmy thing. This is Nick, after all, his best friend in the world, and the last guy he’d ever want to get the wrong idea about.
The buzzer goes on the laundry, one washer, then the other two a couple seconds later. The two of them rise, roll a basket over from the end of the aisle and start dumping everything in for the dryer. Cody tries to catch Murray’s eye, but the little guy’s deep in conversation with his new friend, and besides, it’s just a couple loads.
Which is when Nick starts throwing socks.
They’re wet still, but he fishes ‘em out of his washer, balls them up and starts winging them at Cody: throwing behind his back, under one leg, overhand, pegging Cody hard in the chest, making him jump for the overhand shots. The two of them are giggling like maniacs and Cody’s catching the throws and dumping them all in the basket.
Except one time Cody misses, and the ball of socks drops neatly into the space between the two rows of washers.
Cody gives Nick a dour look. Nick shrugs and nods his head in the direction of the gap.
Cody sighs, then turns and tries to see down the gap. No dice. So he climbs awkwardly up on the washer and kind of drops an arm down to see if he can reach. But it’s still no good, and that’s how Cody winds up sprawled across a washer at The Washing Well on Maricopa, twisting to get his arm a little farther down, fingertips brushing damp thick cotton, nearly getting it. He turns his head to yell at Nick for being such a jerk and catches Nick staring at his ass full-on. Cody feels the look like a touch because he knows that look: that’s how he looks at Nick sometimes when he knows Nick won’t be looking back.
Nick meets Cody’s eyes and his expression changes. It melts somehow, like Nick’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t, and his eyes beg Cody not to be mad, not to tell.
Cody straightens up and struggles to a sitting position on the washer, not knowing how to respond. Not knowing where the words are that can make this right, because if that’s how it feels to be looked at by Nick -- really looked at -- he can’t imagine how it would feel to be touched. Even if it’s the thing he wants most in this world.
Cody looks at Nick and gets terrified. He lets his hair fall into his face as Nick crosses the linoleum to stand between Cody’s knees and look up at him, his expression one of naked need, no apology. Cody can feel the heat of Nick against the insides of his knees, through his jeans.
He wasn’t paranoid. Nick really was staring at his ass. And maybe he was just waiting to get caught. A series of lusty, hopeful pictures floods Cody’s brain and he nearly falls off the washer, but Nick catches him, one hand tight around his bicep. He smirks.
Jerk.
Cody grins and captures Nick with his legs, squashing him against the washer, just because he’s pretty sure now, he can.
Three quarters will buy them forty-five minutes in a dryer, and they brought enough quarters for two rounds of drying. But something tells Cody that they’ll be taking all their clothes home damp.