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Wade sits on his front steps, Mr Shuggums' leash in hand and looking like a lost child when Nate pulls up to his house.
Nate notes that he is wearing his super short "whore shorts" but has leggings underneath. So, he half-listened to Nate about wearing warm clothes. Well, if he gets cold, Nate can rest easy knowing he told Wade better! His headstone will say, "I told you so," because he's taking this to his grave. Along with the thousand other times he's said, "I told you so".
A spring in his step, Wade walks to Nate's passenger side door and opens it. He urges completely uninterested Mr Shuggums to hop up into the truck.
The mutt licks Nate's face upon entering.
"Why is he damp?" Nate pulls his hand back mid-pet and grimaces at the texture. Few things are worse than petting a wet dog. Especially a wet dog that's in his dad's costly truck.
"You said he couldn't come if he stank, so I waterboarded him until he stopped smelling like the squirrel I watched him eat." Wade pushes the dog into the back seat with all the loving intention he can muster. He plops down in the passenger seat and--great. His ass is wet now.
"If he stains the seats, dad will make you clean it," Nate sighs with a slight curve of the mouth as Wade kisses him on the cheek. What can he say? His boyfriend can be cute. But he's mostly annoying.
"How's he going to tell the seats are stained?" Wade waves his hand in front of his eyes. Saying it, without saying it.
"How many times do I have to tell you that my dad is NOT blind?"
"I've never seen him without sunglasses on, riddle me that."
"He has very sensitive eyes. And why the hell would he have a car if he was BLIND?" Nate backs out of the Wilson's driveway. Wade's parents aren't home, but what's new? They probably don't even know he's leaving today. Nate huffs.
He can't wait to move out with Wade.
"Uh, I have a car and no license? They just give cars to anybody!"
"You had a license, but they usually don't let people who drive high keep those. Speaking of which, I appreciate the cologne, but I can still smell it."
Wade sniffs himself. There is a skunky smell under three layers of Old Spice and one layer of bubble bath. Wade tried to cover up his...activities, but damn Nate and his bloodhound nose.
"I took a bath, and y'know. Shit happens. Had my candles, my good smelling soaps and a little fizzy thingy for my water. And also like...two or three joints," Wade remarks fondly. Good times.
"Just pray it doesn't make dad's truck smell like weed." Nate clicks his turning signal on and turns onto a meandering road heading away from the centre of town. Hopefully, the tree farm wouldn't be too busy today. Not many people get their trees three days before Christmas. Psychopaths like Nate like to live off the adrenaline rush of doing things incredibly late. Psychopath is the word Wade uses. Time-efficient is Nate's preferred term.
"Aye aye. Speaking of which, why are you driving Scott's truck?"
"Stop calling my dad by his first name," Nate checks his mirrors before turning down the seasonal road, "And do you really trust my little electric car to transport a tree all the way home?"
Mr Shuggums paws pathetically at the window. Nate sighs and rolls it down for him. The mutt sticks his entire head out the window, letting his pink tongue flap in the wind.
"I hate your smart car. Some of us are more than 5 feet tall and have fat fucking asses. I'm always sitting with half my left asscheek hanging off your tiny dollhouse seats."
"And going into your house feels like walking into a Home Depot. The ceilings are so high…" Nate trails off, looking for the sign marking the entrance to the tree farm. He hasn't seen a house in the past five miles, and he's only mildly concerned they're going the wrong way. If worse comes to worst, they're in a forest anyway. Just pop one of the surrounding trees in the truck bed and call it good.
Then they'd at least get to iHop quicker.
"Nate, turn up here," Wade instructs.
"I am."
"Nate. Turn."
"I am!"
"NATE, TURN UP HERE. NATE OH MY G-"
"Shut up! Jesus Christ, I heard you the first time," Nate snaps and makes a sharp turn. The road leading to the tree farm is paved, a nice break for the truck's tires. The heavy traffic this time of year must have been the benefactor to get the road paved.
"Look at all those white people." Wade presses his face to his window and stares at the patrons milling between rows of evergreen trees.
Some are short and fat, probably need just one more year before chopping. Others are tall and soft-needled and smell like citrus instead of pine. Those are the kind the Wilson family buys. Pine smells bother Wade's dad, and of course, he is the most annoying person, so now their Christmas trees don't even smell like Christmas trees. Bullshit.
"Don't leave face prints on the windows. C'mon," Nates sighs and manoeuvres the truck into a parking spot. He clicks the engine off and shoves the keys into his jacket pocket.
"Can I leave a face print on you?" Wade whines pleadingly. He opens the side door and grabs hold of Mr Shuggums leash. The dog accesses the situation and decides to forgo jumping down. Seems like too much work. He's a lap dog, not a hiking buddy.
Wade reluctantly picks him up and sets him on the cold ground.
"Just say you wanna kiss. And you don't have to ask to kiss me. I'm never gonna say no to that," Nate rambles while retrieving the saw from the bed of the truck. They charge extra to provide a saw, but Nate's fourteen steps ahead.
Wade claps his gloved hands and waddles over to Nate's side with the dog trailing behind. He leaves a lovely wet kiss on his boyfriend's warm cheek and ends it off with a bite. Lightly enough on the meaty part of Nate's cheek. Nate has observed that Wade has a proclivity for biting people he loves for some reason. Almost like a teething baby. Wade will oftentimes pick up Nate's arm like he's going to intertwine their fingers sweetly but instead chomps on his forearm. And he's been spotted biting his friend...what's his name? Ferret? Mongoose? Whatever.
"I love you, pookie bear,” Wade gushes nonsensically, adding a genuinely disgusting pet name.
"I don't particularly enjoy your company," Nate responds and starts towards the trees. Pet names aren't their thing. The boys usually just call each other by name, and pet names get really old really fast. Wade calls everyone but Nate pet names. Being friends with Wade means you will get called "babe" or "honey" at some point. It's just a fact of life.
Wade's slutty nature keeps their relationship interesting. He's all talk. He parades around in tiny shorts and those strong arms, flirting with anyone who gives him a second glance. But as soon as a compliment leaves Nate's mouth, he's a stuttering, blushing pile of goo.
And so nervous about being intimate with Nate. It takes him ten minutes to work up the courage to take Nate's hand, even when his boyfriend enthusiastically holds him back. Or asking every time he wants a kiss when Nate will never deny him one. Some want to be asked, but he's made it pretty clear he would never say no to Wade.
Nate frowns, thinking about why Wade is the way he is. Whoever punished his affection deserves a swift kick to the teeth. He needs to be wrapped up in a blanket and given a kiss every time someone makes him feel guilty. And like a fifty-minute hug.
Nate makes a mental note to let Wade be the small spoon and give him about a hundred kisses. The soft and slow ones that say everything without saying a single word. Just the two of them laying together and enjoying the warmth of each other.
Oh, that's what Nate looks forward to most. He wants to create a home so warm and full of love that it's almost stifling. He wants an environment built upon a foundation of affection and maintained with care and attention.
Affection isn't a foreign concept to Nate. His parents love him, they're just a bit cool. Neglectful? No. But, particularly affectionate? Not usually. That's just not how they love each other. Scott is more of "pat on the back" and "calls you buddy" type of dad.
And Wade…
Nate doesn't linger on it. He will never let Wade feel unloved as long as he lives.
"Can we get a Charlie Brown tree?" Wade drags his boyfriend to the section of young trees. Mr. Shuggums chugs along.
The saplings, not trees really, barely reach Nate's hip. Some only have a few branches, and look like they'd snap in a breeze. Next generation's Christmas trees, then. Someday they'll be scraping ceilings and draped in lights and garland and precious ornaments detailing some family's entire life. Someday, but not this year.
"No, our ceiling is about eleven feet. We need one that's at most ten feet tall. Our topper is seven inches, so we have to account for that," Nate says and peers toward the middle size evergreens. The far end of the farm has massive trees. Twenty feet tall and wider than Nate's bedroom. Just in case any billionaires need a Christmas tree, he guesses.
"You measured your tree topper? That's so fuckin lame."
"How else would I know how big of a tree to get? Come on, let's look at those."
Outings with Nate are Wade's favorite pastime. He doesn't have many hobbies that aren't illegal, but something about Nate is so intoxicating. Well, no, he's so good. He's a good kind of intoxicating. He makes Wade wanna...volunteer at a soup kitchen or something. He doesn't really know how to describe being with Nate.
He makes Wade want to be better.
Yeah, that sounds right.
But, sometimes it rains when the sun's out. Wade is well-aware of the way he looks. The scars of fights past and drunken shenanigans mar his face. His hair isn't that nice, mostly dead. And he has a stupid tattoo he doesn't remember getting. A few of them. And he walks weird from a sprained ankle that never really got the attention it needed. His arms have scars, his nails are never painted evenly, his teeth are crooked, and-- yes. He knows what he looks like.
Kids staring at him hurts the most. He quite likes kids, actually. They're easier to get along with. Most kids don't have preconceived notions about people who look like him. They think his scars are cool, especially when he makes up stories about them.
Oh, that one above his right eye? Tiger attack. The one across his nose? Lightsaber battle. The one going over the left side of his lips? (That one, Wade kinda likes) He got it from his work as a super spy.
He likes kids, which is why it hurts so much when they glare at him with fear.
And apparently, it never rests.
A girl runs towards the boys without looking where she's going. Her eyes are focused on her brother, who follows close behind her. The brother manages to get out a, "Look out!" before the little girl smacks into Wade. Sent sprawling to the snow, her eyes go wide and well with tears.
"Oh my God! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" Wade reaches down to help her up. She sniffles, but lets him pull her up.
Until she gets a clear look at the guy she ran into.
She squirms in Wade's hold and rips herself from his grasp.
"Get away from me!" She rushes to her brother's side and hides behind him. He doesn't say much, but they way his eyes widen when he gets a good look at Wade's face is telling enough. He herds the trembling girl away and back to their parents.
And that…
That really fucking stings.
"Nate...I'm ready to head out," Wade says into his chest.
"Don't let it get to y-"
"Easy to say when you're fucking perfect. I'm taking Mister back to the truck," he mumbles and swats Nate's consoling touch away.
Wade saunters away with his hands tucked deep into his pockets and his face to the snowy ground. Mr. Shuggums gives Nate a "What did you do " look and turns to follow. The dog is capable of a myriad of disappointed expressions. Definitely too many for a dog. A very expressive dog owned by a very expressive man, mind you.
Nate picks some generic tree. He doesn't really care about picking one out anymore. He just wants something green and pine-y to appease Wade and call it a day.
The attendant doesn't even wish him a happy holiday. Or offer him candy canes like the kids get. Unfair that kids get candy, really. Everyone likes candy, even people who's teeth are permanent. Especially people who have to console their boyfriends when they know nothing they say will change a damn thing.
"I wanna go home," Wade says when Nate gets back in the truck.
"What about going to lunch together? IHop?"
"Don't want you to be seen with such a freak." Wade buries his face in Mr. Shuggums sandy blonde fur. Mutts. Both of 'em. Mutts that no one can stand to look at.
"Wade, I have never thought that and you know that. I don't give a shit what some toothless child thinks about you," Nate retorts.
"I think you're the hottest piece I've ever laid eyes on. And I want to spend my life with you. If that means I have to punch a few little kids, then I'll punch some kids." Nate twines his fingers in Wade's hair. Sandy blonde.
"But you're-"
"But nothing. I know this is something we'll work on together for a long time, and I'll gladly do it. We have the rest of our lives for me to make you feel how much I love you," Wade gushes in a way that only Wade can make him gush. A nervous mess despite being together for a year. Telling Wade "I love you" is always fresh and new and feels electric each time. Because, shit, he just loves him so much.
And he means it. He will spend the rest of his days on Earth loving Wade. He could die tomorrow or live forever and nothing would change.
"I'm too much of a freak to have a dopey boyfriend like you," Wade chuckles and leans his head into Nate's hand.
"Guess you're just lucky, hm? So, pancakes?" Nate starts the truck. The cold finally became too frigid. It'll take about ten minutes for his fingertips to thaw out now.
"Hell yeah pancakes. I love you."
"Love you too, freak."
"Love you more, dope."