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Tangerine knows his mission. Has planned extensively. Marked the date and prepared appropriately. This is step one in this multi-stage plan. The location is well lit and easy to navigate. Except for the civilians that he has to work around. Get in. Get the package. Get out. Should be easy.
The plan falls apart immediately. The location of the package has moved. He walks around the aisles. Weaves between civilians. Avoids obstacles. Finally he sees it.
Navy blue. Softly knit. Off white buttons. Square pockets. On one of which is a fox stitched into the pattern.
It’s perfect.
He pages through the rack. It’s disorganized and out of order. After his second time through Tangerine groans in defeat. The size he is looking for isn’t here. Neither is the size one up. All these are too small. He already knows it’s low stock. He did his research. He just couldn’t get here any sooner.
The rack is marked down. Cardigans like this are going out of season. His partner can somehow wear them year round. Tangerine has no back up plan.
He starts toward the exit. Mission failure. He knows Ryland won’t care. It’s the principle of the thing. That’s when he spots it. An easy mark. Hanging off the side of an old woman’s trolley. An employee waves her over as she makes her way to cash out. The size looks right, possibly oversized. That's probably even better.
Tangerine has one shot at this.
He makes long strides to catch up to her. In one fluid motion he grabs the garment off the side of the trolley. The old woman starts making a fuss. He doesn’t have time to give her. He knows that if Ryland finds out he stole this he’ll be in the dog house. He quickly drops a few bills on the counter. That should cover it. He makes a hasty exit through the barely open sliding doors.
Step one successful.
The evidence has been mostly cleared. Ryland will likely suspect his plan, but he definitely won't be prepared. He turns off the tap as he finishes rinsing the sink. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows and shirt opened a few buttons. He hears Ryland’s keys jingle by the door, before he enters.
“Fran, I’m home,” Ryland calls from the entry way. He drops his keys on the table by the door. Toes off his shoes and hangs his bag.
Ryland is the one person that can get away with that nickname. Only in the privacy of this apartment. Tangerine refuses to call it home, yet. He only stuck around initially because he owed it to Ryland for not letting him bleed out in the alley four months ago.
He wipes his hands on his apron before he leans into the hall from the small kitchen, “Welcome home, love.” Ryland smiles, shoves his glasses back into place and approaches him.
“Smells good,” Ryland most certainly is talking about what he just wrapped up assembling in the kitchen, even if Tangerine also feels it might be directed at him. He is wearing a little bit of cologne in a scent he knows Ryland likes. “What did you make?”
“Go sit and maybe you'll find out,” Tangerine unties the apron from his waist, pulling the neck strap up over his head, before folding it in half lengthwise and draping it over his arm.
“Ooo mysterious,” Ryland brushes his knuckles against his own as he passes.
Tangerine goes to the fridge. He pulls his creation from the top shelf. He already has a lighter in his front pocket. All he needs is a knife. He grabs the large chef's knife from the block. Everything is almost ready.
Ryland is sitting at the small dining table looking at one of the many assignments he’s been working on grading this week. He must have changed quickly, now wearing one of his nerdy shirts. He’s chewing on the end of his pen. Purple this time. Last week it was green. Never red. Ryland thinks red is too harsh. Tangerine walks up behind him, leaning over his shoulder and carefully deposits the small tray in front of him. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his lighter. With a quick flick of his thumb it ignites. He touches the flame to the wick of the candle. He puts his lighter away, placing his left hand on the back of Ryland’s chair. His right still clutching the chef’s knife.
“Happy Birthday,” Tangerine says only slightly louder than a whisper right by his ear. He refuses to sing.
“Oh, um, wow. You made this? For me?” Ryland looks from the small cake in front of him to back at Tangerine in admiration. “Thank you. You’re amazing”
Tangerine doesn’t have time to let the praise wash over him before Ryland is pulling him in by his collar for a kiss on the jaw. Then to the cheek. Tangerine wants to let him keep going. Wants to pull him up out of this chair and take him into the bedroom. There’s just the problem of the active flame on the cake and the gift he’d like to give Ryland.
“Best blow that out if you don’t want to start a fire,” Tangerine redirects. He lets out an amused huff at the pout on Ryland’s face. “Go on.”
Ryland turns, taking a second to think, before blowing out the candle. Tangerine reaches off to the side and places a bag on the table in front of him. Ryland thanks him yet again both before and after unwrapping it. He examines the cardigan running a thumb over the fox on the pocket, reverently. He folds it back up and sets it down.
Ryland turns again as he scoots his chair out and stands. Tangerine lets him pull him into a hug. The chair is pushed to the side as Ryland pulls him closer and kisses him on the lips. No more fire hazards or gifts to worry about, Tangerine allows it this time. He crowds Ryland’s space pushing him back into the table. He reaches up with his left hand and places it on the nape of Ryland’s neck. Ryland pushes the cake aside to allow himself space to lean. Tangerine feels the grip on the knife in his right hand falter. He pulls away for just a second, long enough to check before stabbing the tip of it into the surface of the table. He returns Ryland’s raised eyebrow with a roguish grin before going back in for more. Ryland's eyes betray him. He likes a bit of danger. Tangerine has both hands free to wander now as he slots himself between Ryland’s legs.
He grips at Ryland’s left thigh as he feels Ryland open a couple more buttons on his shirt. Tangerine uses his other hand to wrap around and under Ryland’s shirt pulling him in closer while digging in a bit with his nails. Ryland gasps. Tangerine devours that sound. The positioning forces Ryland to relocate his hands. One hand lands on the table for balance while the other grips Tangerine's shoulder to hold himself up.
Tangerine slides his grip from Ryland’s thigh to his ass and rakes his nails down his spine. Ryland whines into his mouth. Tangerine takes advantage by tilting his head slightly. Deepening the kiss. Their tongues meet. Ryland just as eager for a taste it seems. Tangerine licks up every sound he can get from Ryland. Whimpers and gasps from his nails digging into him. Gripping hard on his side or leg, with the hope that he leaves a mark. He knows Ryland won't mind as long as it's not his neck baring anything obvious. Visible hickeys are frowned upon, apparently.
Just as Tangerine pulls away with the intent to bite into Ryland's shoulder, the door to the apartment opens. Tangerine doesn’t hesitate, instinct taking over. He grabs the knife from the table. Ryland’s grip is forced from his shoulder as he twists and throws it toward the door. It lodges itself in the frame at head height. Colt stands in the doorway in shock at the close call.
An all too awkward silence stretches between them all. No one moves.
Colt takes in their disheveled appearances and the positioning of the situation, “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll just go… wait in my truck.”
After the door shuts once more, Tangerine turns to Ryland. He is covering his face with both hands and shaking. Oh, fuck. Tangerine was not expecting tears today of all days. At least not tears of anger or anxiety. Ryland can’t be thrilled that he threw a knife at his brother.
“Love,” Tangerine reaches out to grab one of Ryland’s wrists. The moment he makes contact Ryland hunches over slightly and loses it.
His forehead lands on Tangerine’s shoulder and his hand that isn’t currently being held by Tangerine grabs his shoulder to steady himself as he bursts out laughing. Tangerine takes a moment to process the reaction, but finds himself joining in.
Crisis averted.
Mission accomplished.