Chapter Text
This will be the eighteenth time, since Jade has begun keeping a record, that he’s flirted with, and been rejected by, Azul. He doesn’t even have to wait for Azul’s response, he can add it to his mental tally already. Oh, he’s going to flirt anyway, no matter how futile an endeavor it may be, but prior trials have already assured the outcome.
In the beginning, the first few times, Azul froze like startled prey, his eyes widening as Jade’s words registered, his gaze darting wildly from Jade’s face to the floor to his own hands, that little crease of confusion on his forehead. He shook it off quickly enough, huffed a dismissive laugh of sorts, and changed the subject, but he’d be clearly rattled, side-eyeing Jade for the rest of the day. Regretfully, Azul quickly adjusted. He’d begun to merely blush faintly and shift away, refusing to acknowledge Jade had spoken at all. Which, adorable, but boring.
Jade had been left with no other choice but to swim deeper, to try harder. Words clearly weren’t enough, were too easily ignored. So he’d started adding little touches along with his words. A hand on the shoulder here, a brushing of Azul’s hair out of his face there, swiping some imaginary sauce or crumb from the corner of Azul’s mouth, making sure to walk closer than necessary and accidentally snagging their hands together.
And yet, nothing. Or, well, not nothing, but not enough.
Case in point:
“Your morning tea,” Jade prompts, a gentle thud as he sets the teacup and saucer beside the stack of papers Azul’s staring intently at. So intently he spares but a tiny hum in response.
How dull.
Jade straightens his spine and contemplates the best way to snag Azul’s attention. The back of Azul’s chair is too high to casually offer a shoulder massage. And Azul gets testy if Jade hovers behind him for too long when he’s busy. Says he doesn’t trust Jade’s intentions; what possible reason could Jade harbor for standing out of his sight line, if not but for a nefarious ploy?
Jade must act quickly. A reason to touch Azul, no matter how flimsy of a excuse—oh. Perfect.
Azul reaches out for the teacup, slow and distracted, the perfect curves of his lips forming voiceless words in response to whatever he’s reading. His hand is a smidgen too far to the right, he’s not going to make contact with the drink. Jade takes the initiative. Guides Azul’s hand to the cup, curls his fingers around the ceramic handle. He can’t feel Azul’s skin through the layers of gloves, but he can feel a slight twitch of Azul’s fingers, cradled in his own, and the heat of the tea, warming their point of contact.
The teacup lifts, Azul letting Jade’s hand linger momentarily on his own as he presses the cup to his lips, as he swallows a sip. Jade’s hand slips away, hovering in the air between them. Over the rim of the teacup Azul is watching him. He’s swiveled his chair, half-turned towards Jade. His Adam’s apple bobs with a second swallow, drawing Jade’s gaze to his throat. What he wouldn’t give for the chance to sink his teeth in there. To remove Azul’s tie, unbutton the top of the shirt he insists must always be fully buttoned, and bite into the skin where his neck curves decadently into his shoulder.
Azul starts lowering the teacup so Jade leans in, bringing their faces close enough together that he can smell the hibiscus on Azul’s breath. He slips the cup from Azul’s grasp and sets it down.
Softly, as to not shatter the dazed sereneness about Azul, he says, “A new acquirement from the Scalding Sands. Your verdict?”
Azul’s gaze is fixated on Jade’s mouth. Jade dares to reach out, to stroke his thumb faintly across the corner of Azul’s lips. He’s rewarded with Azul’s lashes fluttering closed in a slow blink, his sweet, humid breath fanning across Jade’s face as he breathes, “Delicious.”
Is. Is this actually working? Is Azul actually going to permit them to finally kiss, to move on from this cycle of flirting and rejection? Jade can hardly believe it. He can’t seem to get enough air in his lungs and his skin is prickling, but he leans forward, so tantalizingly close to Azul’s lips, and he murmurs, “Yes, you are. May I sample a taste?”
A fatal error. Azul stiffens beneath his touch. He should have just gone for it, just kissed Azul and dealt with the consequences. Instead he had to open his mouth.
Another tally for the records.
Azul jerks back in his seat. He slaps Jade’s hand away. He physically shifts the chair closer to the desk, forcing Jade back so his foot isn’t crushed beneath the wheels of the chair, and looks down at his papers. He even goes as far to straighten the already impeccably-shaped stack and clear his throat, all the while not casting Jade one glance or even a side-eye. “I trust there is no fungi in this tea?”
Jade sighs. “There is not.”
This! This right here is what’s so frustrating about this entire endeavor. Jade hates to admit it, but he’s feeling a bit discouraged. He’s usually all about the long con, about laying down the groundwork and putting in the effort, watching his plans slowly come to fruition. But he’s been waiting! For months now!
Eighteen times!
Azul is clearly interested. He sometimes gets lost in the moment, his body swaying towards Jade and his eyelids fluttering half-closed before his (nonsensical, tediously overactive) thoughts seem to kick into gear and he jerks himself away. Exactly. Like. This. Time.
It was amusing in the beginning, sure. Jade loves to see an Azul in turmoil. The way the expressions flicker across his face as he argues internally with himself. The way his body gets so tightly wound up. The angry pout that graces his lips. It’s all a very charming look.
But Jade has grown weary of it. Instead of winding himself up so much he gives in (and why won’t he just give in to Jade already!), he has vacillated in the opposite direction. Jade’s flirting no longer merits a iota of lingering tension! He ‘comes to his senses’ and swipes it all away. Returns to normal. Like nothing has happened. Like Jade is nothing more than a clinging seaweed to pluck away and then promptly forget.
Eighteen times.
Eighteen days before his eighteenth birthday.
This…could be a sign.
Not that Jade believes in mystical signs from some unknowable force attempting to impart wisdom onto him. No. But he is choosing to have this be a sign anyway. Enough is enough. The next time he flirts Azul will respond accordingly.
He’s rapidly concocting a plan at this very moment, as Azul frowns at him—surely due to how he’s just standing there lost in thoughts and schemes instead of responding to whatever Azul is talking about, whatever he’s attempting to point out in the stack of papers.
Unless Azul is willing to lock lips, Jade hasn’t the time for his nonsense right now. This plan is more important than budgets or schedules or the Mostro Lounge menu changes.
On the day of Jade’s eighteenth birthday, Azul will be his. Azul will finally submit to Jade’s will, finally let go of the inane reservations he’s clinging so desperately to. On Jade’s eighteenth birthday, during the party his parents are hosting for him and Floyd, Azul will become his boyfriend.
This is his Four-Part Birthday Scheme. An infallible strategy for inducing such intense jealousy within Azul that he finally succumbs to Jade’s advances.
“This is a good idea,” Jade announces, both to himself, as encouragement, and to whatever Azul is still trying to show him. He pats Azul’s shoulder, quick and casual, then strides away, out of the VIP room.
He has only eighteen days to set this plan into motion. He must speak to his mother.