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Robert isn’t sure what makes him notice it, but sometimes Beau smells like strawberries. It isn’t all of the time, just sometimes, and the first time was definitely on the plane. Beau’s scent very well could be an unsettling thing in and of itself, but Robert thinks that maybe the fact that he’s noticing it at all is even more of a problem. He digs Beau, he really does, but delving into what the dude smells like only half of the time is a little bit of a mindfuck.
The fact that Robert gets used to it is more of a mindfuck and he’s not sly at all about checking out Beau’s shower stash to see if the strawberries have something to do with the guy’s shampoo or some girly-type shower gel he only uses on game days since that seems to be when the smell is most prevalent.
“You know you could just ask me if you need to borrow something,” Beau tells him, leaning a hip against the doorframe leading to the bathroom. He’s stripped out of his suit and looking comfortable in his boxers and undershirt.
Usually Robert hates the close confines of hotel rooms, at least after games for which he doesn’t even dress, but dammit if Beau isn’t radiating the idea of fucking strawberries. Robert knows he sounds like a complete buffoon when he finally says, “You smell like strawberries.”
Beau does something with his mouth sometimes that throws Robert off balance. He’s told it’s called a smile but Robert doubts the validity of that if only for how inadequate a word it is when it comes to Beau’s display of teeth and mirth. It’s especially true in this instance because the way Beau smiles now isn’t some simple expression of cheer. No, it’s quizzical and mischievous and Robert doesn’t quite know how to manage that or how there’s a sudden and completely uncomfortable fluttering in his belly. It makes covering up the way he’s starting to flush of utmost importance.
“I thought maybe you used some kind of shampoo or something. You know, I was gonna,” pull a prank. Chirp the fuck out of you. Something other than just find out why the strawberries override everything else in my head. Robert can’t say any of that, though. He just stares dumbly at Beau as if that very act can save him.
Robert digs Beau, he really does, and part of the reason is because the guy does absolutely everything fluidly. He’s got some childlike quality that makes every move and every word the kind of earnest that would be annoying on anyone else. It’s just so natural to Beau and with anyone else, Robert would worry that this moment right here would come back to bite him in the ass in some way. He doesn’t with Beau and it’s the first time he realizes he worries about very little when he’s around the guy.
Beau’s brow lifts and Robert can see the amusement in every millimeter of its ascent. “Do I smell like them now?” He steps into the bathroom and right into Robert’s space.
And oh. Robert doesn’t quite expect the somersault that happens in his gut but he manages to keep his cool and inhale and no. He shakes his head, no, and looks at Beau as he retreats. “No, you don’t.”
Beau does the beyond smiling thing again. “I dropped jam on my jacket.”
It takes a full minute for Robert to realize what Beau is saying and his own face twists a little in confusion. “Come again?”
“I dropped strawberry jam on my jacket. A couple weeks ago at breakfast. I haven’t gotten it cleaned.” Beau is unapologetic and unembarrassed even as Robert’s nose is twitching.
“Dude, that’s gross,” Robert says and thank fucking god whatever spell he was under is broken and he no longer feels like his stomach is going to drop out from under him.
Beau shrugs and the smile is only slightly muted. “It’s the only suit I have. I can’t really clean it until the season ends anyway.”
So okay, Robert can get behind that for a second and it really is so Beau to only have one suit. One suit that’s been christened by strawberry jam.
“When we get back, we’re going to get you another suit,” Robert still says, if only so he won’t constantly be turned around by strawberry jam.
*
Robert believes that once he’s armed with the knowledge that Beau’s fruity fragrance comes from the guy’s clumsiness with toast, he’ll become more or less immune to it. Strawberry jam flubbed onto a jacket lapel isn’t sexy. It isn’t even cute and yet somehow when Beau brushes past him to take the window on the bus, Robert’s nostrils flare and his pulse picks up. He’s reminded of the easy way Beau moved into his space and presented himself for olfactory inspection and that’s vaguely more uncomfortable than any of the butterflies and somersaults. Those he can hide. Boners he can’t.
And what? Really?
He knows he’s not above popping a woody at inopportune times for very inappropriate people. He’s not above those kinds of dreams where those very inappropriate people become stars of his unconscious theater. He’s just usually good about brushing it all aside because those people aren’t on the way to becoming one of his best friends nor are they sunny, blonde teammates. Robert can’t help thinking that Beau’s got some kind of radar that draws him into the same space where everything is confined and it isn’t just his sense of smell that’s full. Especially when Beau smiles at him or feeds him some line about being unable to get his tie right and really, he doesn’t make enough to be fined for his fucking tie.
It’s completely unfair but Robert’s begun to see that he’s a sucker for proximity, at least when Beau’s suit is involved and he tries really hard to keep his eyes on his fingers and the knot he’s pushing up against Beau’s throat. The thanks he gets are still all earnest and heartfelt and he reasons with himself later that it’s exactly why he doesn’t say no after the first time and allows it to become a thing.
It’s a thing every time Beau suits up and it’s fine, really it is, right until the moment Robert unconsciously smoothes his hand over the tie against Beau’s chest and the beaming smile slides into something darker. There’s a tongue across lips and a rush of air that seems to hollow Beau’s chest. Robert is very careful not to look anywhere other than at his own retreating hands. He’s even careful not to say much more than, “There, all set,” so his stupid voice doesn’t betray him. He doesn’t breathe and he doesn’t wait for Beau’s sincerity in gratitude. It’s a difficult thing not to actually bolt, but he knows that would just be as stupidly obvious as his inability to look Beau in the face. So he just backs away and waves himself off.
He makes the decision then that something has to give. Even though it probably isn’t the strawberries, the first thing Robert does once they’re home is find a same-day dry cleaner. He steals Beau’s suit, all while under the clever guise of having their own Sandlot viewing party, and takes care of the strawberry jam once and for all. If Beau doesn’t smell like strawberries, then all of Robert’s problems will be solved.
And they are, mostly. Beau’s surprised by his clean suit but there’s a similar gratitude and he doesn’t stop with the tie business. Beau isn’t as distracting when there’s no fruity smell and Robert doesn’t cop any feels, thank God. The world seems to right itself, at least in his waking hours, and that is as big of an improvement as Robert can ask for.
*
The thing about Beau is nobody really questions any of the weird things he does. It’s almost like they’ve seen it all with Sid and how does anything really compare to that? Besides, Beau is a tried and true California boy which basically translates into alien life form anyway. It doesn’t do any good to chirp over things like Beau’s sometimes hippie vocabulary or the fact that flip-flops are his life staple and the Pittsburgh winter fucks with that a little more than he would prefer. Robert believes it’s a good thing that nothing really gets to Beau. Even when they’re watching from the press box, he’s looking and learning and being the kind of optimistic befitting his nickname and fuck Remember the Titans. There’s a point where that has fuck all to do with it, especially when Beau is smiling.
It goes unnoticed by everybody else, though, when Beau starts smelling fruity again. When he starts smelling like strawberries. Robert hadn’t noticed any further breakfast catastrophes and he inspects Beau’s suit for evidence of the kid’s clumsiness just to make sure. It looks as good as it had the day he picked it up from the cleaners so that gives him no answers.
And Beau, well, he just smiles extra wide when Robert’s working his tie and trying like fuck to hold his breath. Robert swears he can hear Beau giggle after he’s backed himself away and pushed the air out of his lungs once his back is turned. It rings some bells but Robert’s never been a bell sort of guy and more than that, he isn’t sure he wants to hear them. It’s the kind of scary territory that ranks right up there with post-apocalyptic zombie brain-eating death because Daryl Dixon he’s not.
He’s very purposeful in how careful he is when he’s helping keep Beau up to the dress code. He’s determined not to swoon, even if Beau actually has to catch him once and bolting is the necessary course of action. He treads carefully on those nights when they manage to get out for their favorite Italian and he’s constantly reminding himself that man-dates are totally normal and Beau definitely isn’t smiling at him in any way that suggests he’s picturing Robert with his clothes off.
There’s a final straw, though. There’s the point where it isn’t funny that Beau’s taken to using Strawberries and Cream shampoo and some kind of strawberry hand lotion when their confines are close. There’s a point where Beau smiles and every flip going on in Robert’s gut is unavoidable and powerful. They spend too much time together for Beau not to know it and Robert can’t continue in his own world of denial that the guy is trying for this reaction. When Beau tops everything off with Strawberry Chapstick, Robert actually can’t breathe or refuse either of them.
Beau is fluid about everything but he’s clumsy when he kisses. He fumbles with his hands and breathes in jagged huffs, which makes Robert feel vaguely vindicated for this cat and mouse thing that’s been going on. Beau mumbles against Robert’s tongue, finds words that resemble can’t believe it took you so fucking long but Robert loses that cognizance with the warmth that comes from sunshine and Cali and being an alien life form. It takes no time at all to fuck up Beau’s suit and wrinkle his shirt and stop only to decide that they’ll risk a dress code fine if getting off is the reason why.
*
Beau laughs at his own dishevelment and the scandalized look on Robert’s face when they sit down to breakfast. They’re late but no one really notices and as long as there’re eggs and toast, neither of them complain. Robert can see the little differences now, how there’s more teeth and some brighter tint to Beau’s eyes. He feels a little like an idiot for taking so fucking long, but then the smarter, more realistic parts of him still think this might be a little bit of a fool’s errand.
He isn’t sure how it’s possible, but Beau reads that part of him. He supposes that maybe a couple dozen man-dates, Friday Night Lights marathons, and the beginning talk of getting a place together is some kind of garnered proof. It’s almost like he has no choice to take that and run with it because he’s almost in the middle of a Katy Perry song and he likes it.
He likes it even more when he feels something sharp bounce off his temple and then drop to the table. It’s a packet of strawberry jam and from two chairs down, Beau’s grinning.