Page 39 of Gunpowder

“Fuck,” Blair said to the ceiling.

Above him, the fan blades continued their lazy rotation with no sympathy for his dilemma.

The next day, Wren knocked on his door at four fifty-eight. Blair cursed under his breath and gave up on trying to get his hair in order. He had expected Wren to just be waiting in his car when he got down there at five, but even before he got to the door, he had no doubt of who was waiting for him on the other side. Excitement and embarrassment surged up in equal parts as he opened the door.

“This is the most formal thing I had,” he blurted out.

The dressiest articles of clothing he owned happened to be a pair of jeans and a polo shirt by a designer brand that Julian bought him last Christmas. It had seemed sufficient when he put it on. Now, looking at Wren, his confidence in his outfit and his ability to form sentences withered and died together.

“I told you I was going to get you something to wear,” Wren said, and somehow Blair’s brain had failed to compute the garment bag in his hand until he held it up.

In Blair’s defense, Wren was dressed in black slacks and a matching blazer open across a white button down and skinny black tie, and it all fit like it was painted on him. Blair could appreciate the irony of having their roles reversed; the only other time Wren had come to his apartment, Wren had been the one staring shamelessly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Blair said, taking the garment bag.

Wren followed him into the apartment and Blair glanced over his shoulder to measure Wren’s reaction to the place. “It’s a good thing I did.”

“I never have a reason to dress up,” he said defensively.

“A polo does your body no justice at all.”

Blair could only make an incoherent sound in response to that; he hadn’t expected a compliment to be wrapped up in Wren’s disdain for his outfit. He stopped at the bathroom doorway, which still lacked a door from Wren’s last visit. It hadn’t closed right since getting kicked open, so he had given up and taken it off the hinges. He decided not to respond to Wren, too incapacitated by how good the man looked to deal with his flirting on top of it all. “I’m gonna change, just make yourself at home. There’s, uh, coffee in the kitchen if you want some.”

Even though Wren had seen him both shirtless and in his underwear on separate occasions, he felt exposed as he stripped in the bathroom without a door to close. He relaxed a little once he heard footsteps retreat toward the front of the apartment. Clad only in his boxers, he hooked the garment bag on the towel bar and pulled the zipper down. He hadn’t even seen the clothes yet but the shiny logo on the bag made Blair think they were most likely expensive, a foreign splash of luxury against a white body towel that was yellowed around the edges from age.

It turned out to be a pair of charcoal slacks and a silk shirt that was a deep, rich burgundy. He ran a hand down the sleeve. He had never touched genuine silk, and he had no doubt this stuff was real. It was even softer than he imagined. It left a pleasant tingle on his skin when he slid his arms into it, and settled just right around his shoulders after it was buttoned. The slacks fit just as well, if not a little tighter than he usually preferred his pants. Even the black undershirt seemed a cut above his usual tank tops. A quick check in the mirror told him that his gun wasn’t visible as long as he left the shirt untucked.

He realized when he walked back out into the living room that Wren didn’t understand the whole “make yourself at home” thing. He stood in the middle of the room with his arms crossed, staring rather blankly out the window. Sure, he did look out of place with his expensive suit against the backdrop of a ratty couch and particle board end table that was starting to bow in the middle, but he didn’t look like new places were his thing at all. Blair sighed. Honestly, if it wasn’t for the fact Wren was already in his fourth year of medical school, Blair would wonder if Wren had interacted with people at all before interning at the hospital.

“I’m ready,” Blair said, shifting awkwardly when Wren looked at him. “Thanks for… these.”

Wren made a low sound of approval. “My pleasure.”

Blair made a beeline past him for the door, warmth prickling on his nape from Wren’s tone. “By the way, how did you know my measurements?”

Wren’s arm snagged his waist before he could get past him and Blair might have stopped breathing when he felt Wren’s lips against his ear. “I spend enough time looking at your body, I thought I could make a decent guess.”

“Oh,” Blair said, his throat going dry.

He didn’t bother resisting when that arm pulled him back against Wren’s chest, his head tilting back onto the taller man’s shoulder. Wren’s breath tickled his ear again and he was sure Wren could feel him shudder. Blair was suddenly hyper-aware of how very alone they were in his apartment.

“The reservation is for six-thirty,” Wren said, “but we could stay here if you want.”

Somehow Blair didn’t think staying there would consist of making popcorn and watching movies.

It took more willpower than he cared to admit to step away from Wren. “Let’s go, we don’t wanna be late. I can’t let these fancy clothes go to waste.”

Wren had started tracing the lines of Blair’s abs through his shirts, but he released him without protest to follow him out.

Wren took a folded heap of leather out of his pocket on the way downstairs that, once he shook it out, Blair could see was a pair of black driving gloves. He watched appreciatively as Wren slid them on. He never would have pegged Wren as someone who cared much about his appearance, but damn he cleaned up nice. As soon as they pushed through the front doors of the building, he saw the Audi waiting at the curb. It was really unfair that the car was just as gorgeous as its owner.

A medical podcast was playing when Wren started the car. Ignoring Blair’s insistence that he didn’t mind, Wren tapped the screen and turned it off. Blair wouldn’t have minded some white noise. People got mad at him all the time for not allowing what they called comfortable silences but Blair just wasn’t compatible with silence.

He decided on a question he was genuinely curious about. “No studying tonight?”

“I took the exam I was studying for this morning.” They had already hit evening traffic and Wren drummed his fingers on his leg, something Blair had started to notice was a habit.

His observation came to a screeching halt when Wren’s words registered, though. “You did what? Why didn’t you tell me?”

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