Work Text:
It was dawn. The sun was gently rising, washing the desert valley in a soft yellow light. Dew hung above the sand giving each drawn breath a lungful of cold crisp air. A small rickety shack stood, or rather leaned, in the middle of the empty desert where nothing but sand and rocks could be seen as far as one could look.
Wiley sighed, brushing his graphite covered hands together in a hopeless attempt to clear them. He wiped them on his corduroy jacket then picked up his completed work, smudging a thumbprint in the lower corner. The early morning rays beamed through the window and illuminated the dust particles before him.
He stared at the drawing. It lacked color, but it was so realistic he was practically staring into the endearing eyes of his muse. He blinked slowly. His gaze traced the lines of every curl, smoothing down to the sweet symmetrical face. Doe eyes. High cheekbones. Sharp jaw.
His head tilted to the side, entranced by the contents of his own artwork. It was a masterpiece. Not because he was a good artist, though he was. The subject. The subject matter was too intense for him to behold.
He had never drawn his muse’s face in its entirety before. He could never look at the man and take in all his beauty. He could remember small details, one at a time. One glance dedicated to the man’s curls, then his hands, but his eyes were the most intense. Hard to look at and hard to get right. But once those eyes were down on paper he could stare at them for hours.
Beau Beckett Rhodes was more than just a man. In person he was a brat that Wiley couldn’t stand. But at a distance? In photos and drawings? Wiley’s free hand reached up to touch the page but he paused.
The graphite staining his fingers would ruin the image. He pursed his lips in disappointment and pulled back. It wasn’t the real Beau anyway. The real Beau didn’t show this morning. For whatever reason, he had ditched his jogging routine on his invisible sand track around the shed. He probably found it too weird, knowing now that Wiley was always watching.
Wiley gently tucked his drawing under the beat up cover of his sketchbook. Maybe the man had an appointment or some other engagement. Or he overslept. Though that wasn’t something Beau ever did. He was too much of a freak of nature. That much energy was barely contained for a night’s rest, let alone a morning’s rest too.
Whatever. Though Wiley preferred sketching in the quiet upper floor of the bookshop, the shack was fine. He held his hands together and breathed a long puff of warmth against his stiff numb fingers. He had his own engagements too.
He gathered up his art supplies and tucked them into his bag, slung it over his shoulder and headed out into the bright desert sun. In a couple hours the sandy valley would be entirely too hot to stand.
His boots scuffed along the path he walked daily hoping to catch a glimpse of his annoying blue haired muse. It was a good thing that brat didn’t show. Running sucked, and he didn’t feel like pretending to be a fitness guy anyway.
As the town grew nearer, a strong savory aroma floated down the street, filling his nose. His stomach grumbled with a pang of intense hunger. He licked his lips. Mmm. Food. He forgot to eat before rushing out to the shack.
He picked up his speed to a brisk jog. The heels of his boots clunked the sidewalk noisily as he made his way through town to the smell which was a small cafe with maroon awnings over the windows. The front glass double doors were painted in large swooping white letters: Songbird Cafe.
Mmm. Now that he wouldn’t mind trying. He took a step forward but was immediately intercepted by a blond haired woman.
“Hey! I remember you!” She declared loudly. Wiley glanced around in confusion. “We met at that silly old bookshop the other day! I’m Amber, by the way. You left before I could tell you.”
Wiley’s brows furrowed. Oh. Her. He forced a smile and attempted to step around her. She caught his arm and turned him back.
“Take me for a walk, silly. I’m paying attention to you,” she said, pulling him down the sidewalk. Wiley threw a glance over his shoulder at the maroon awnings. His mouth watered as the front door grew further away.
He tugged his wrist out of her grip and planted his feet firmly on the pavement. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the woman.
“Oh, stop it. I’m not that boring. I just had a question for you and figured we could spend some time together too,” Amber said. He huffed, and followed her. The sooner he let her finish the sooner he could get back to ordering whatever that savory smell was.
Amber attempted to grab Wiley’s hand. Eww. He shook her away, wiping his fingers on his jacket again. She paused to watch him judgementally. Oh, she had thoughts about him now? He gestured ahead irritatedly. She rolled her eyes and continued forward.
“I saw your sketchbook and you’re really good,” she declared.
Wiley nodded, obviously he was good. He drew every day, anytime he could. In fact, if she weren’t bothering him that very moment, he would probably be at a small two person table sketching out the nicest pair of hands. What would the hands be doing though? He already drew Beau’s hands in nearly every pose he could think of.
“Hello?” Amber called out, tilting her head to get a better view into the dazed eyes of Wiley. He snapped his attention back to her, narrowing his eyes and shaking his head in confusion. “I said, can you draw me too?”
Wiley’s nose scrunched and his lip curled up. Why in the world would she pull him aside to request he draw her? If he wanted to draw her he would have drawn her. He shook his head and turned back towards the cafe. She grabbed his upper arm.
“Wait! I don’t mean it like that,” She said. Wiley’s brow arched as he raised his jaw, asking for clarification. “I mean you can draw it however you like. And I can send you whatever kinds of reference pictures you need.”
Her cheeks were slightly pink as she batted her eyes. Why was she looking at him weird? He already had plenty of reference pictures. Her hands were too small. Her hair was too simple. She didn’t have an enticingly angular face. Why would he want to draw a soft round face? That wasn’t what an angel would look like. He shook his head.
“Come on,” she teased, grabbing his wrist again and pulling him towards a park bench. Wiley swatted away the long stem of a flower jutting out into his face. “I could give you my number and you could take as long as you needed. I just loved how good you drew those other people. I figured you’d love a woman model.”
Other people? She couldn’t tell all his pictures were of the same man? Of course she couldn’t. She wasn’t interested in the art. She was bothering him for attention. For whatever reason she wanted that attention, it was annoying. But if he gave her the sketch perhaps that would be enough to send her on her way. It was probably just vanity. Why else would somebody interrupt a man from a perfectly good meal?
He huffed and tugged his bag into his lap.
“So you’ll do it?” Amber asked gleefully. Wiley nodded, tugging open the zip. “EEE! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” Amber squealed and threw her arms around Wiley, squeezing him tightly.
Wiley’s nose scrunched again. Artificial cotton candy. Fragrances that tried to smell like edible things made him feel sick. He shrugged her off and opened his sketchbook to a blank page. She had better appreciate it because he was running out of paper and they were supposed to be specifically for Beau.
“Can you draw me like that one sketch you were working on the other day? The one with the intense innocent looking eyes. It was a close up, but you should do mine with my body and have me looking over my shoulder up at somebody tall and handsome.”
Wiley’s brows furrowed. He pursed his lips and shook his head. He wasn’t drawing her looking longingly up at Beau. That was weird. She got one drawing of just her and that was it. He grabbed his pencil and got to work sketching her petite frame on the park bench surrounded by the purple flowers.
“Okay, I guess you decide. You’re the artist after all,” she said with a giggle.
Wiley stubbornly scratched the details into the page with his whittled down pencil. The faster he finished the faster she went away. Simple blond hair with big curls? Check. Round not angelic face? Check. Doe eyes not nearly as cute as a doe? Check. Looking over her shoulder. Details in the flowers.
“Oh my god! It’s so good. I look so pretty!” Amber squealed.
“Pretty?” A man scoffed.
Beep. Beep.
Wiley gasped at the familiar sound of a fitness watch marking another quarter mile. He looked up at his favorite muse standing completely uncharacteristically still. Beau Beckett Rhodes. Dressed in a pair of navy blue trackpants and a white sleeveless tanktop. He was drenched in sweat having completed a long run of some sort. Portions of his shirt were transparent, revealing the skin beneath the clinging wet fabric. The muscles in his jaw were feathered in tension. His eyes were narrowed, locked on Amber intensely. Wiley scrambled to close his sketchbook and clutched it tightly to his chest.
“Yes! My friend is drawing me. He’s so good. Show him,” Amber commanded, tapping the back of her hand against Wiley’s shoulder.
Wiley forced a smile at Beau, feeling his cheeks rush with heat. Why was everybody always looking at his work? At this point he should know not to ever pull it out under any circumstances. He shook his head. His shaky hands struggled to find his bag with his eyes refusing to peel away from the man before him.
“I didn’t know you were his friend,” Beau said, forcing a smile that wasn’t quite believable. He glanced at Wiley. “What’s his name?”
Wiley shook his head, trying to convince Beau that he wasn’t with that woman. He wasn’t friends with her and he wished she would get lost expeditiously.
“He’s shy,” Amber said, dropping her hand onto Wiley’s thigh.
“Oh, really?” Beau asked, completely unamused.
Wiley’s lip curled. Why was she touching him? That’s weird. You don’t touch strangers. He grabbed her wrist with his thumb and middle finger, plucking it off his leg. Her hand rolled and suddenly their fingers were entwined together.
“Give me your phone and I’ll put my number in. You can text me later,” Amber said sweetly, smoothing her other hand over Wiley’s thigh to the opening of his pocket. Wiley gasped, writhing away from her touch and shaking her hand from his.
“What about my number?” Beau asked, worming his way between the pair and draping his arms over the back of the bench. Amber’s jaw dropped. She blinked several times, staring at Beau in disbelief, completely ignoring Wiley’s existence.
Wiley wiped the hand Amber had just been holding on his jacket while peering at Beau’s bare shoulder so close to him. Woah. Beau was normally fully clothed when he went for his jogs because it was cold in the morning. Wiley hadn’t realized Beau was so lean beneath his sleeves. His biceps looked delicious.
“Really?” She asked.
Wiley’s brain snapped back into focus. Seriously? He didn’t like her, but to swoop in and try to steal a girl from somebody else is absolutely rude. Leave it to that smug bastard to make everything about himself.
A smirk tugged at the corner of Beau’s lips. He shrugged, leaning against Wiley’s shoulder to face Amber more fully. She smiled bigly, then threw her arms over Beau’s lap and snatched Wiley’s sketchbook.
“You have to see the drawing of me that he did. It looks amazing. You’ll love it! You seem like a guy that really appreciates art and beauty," Amber declared.
Ugh! Now they were both being annoying. Wiley reached over Beau to grab his stuff back, but Beau caught his wrist and pushed him back. The man leaned forward to block Wiley’s view of Amber.
“Oh, I do,” Beau declared proudly. “His other muse is his best work.”
“You’ve seen his other stuff?” Amber asked, pausing in the middle of flipping through the pages. Beau reached forward and gently straightened the loose sketches that she had been letting slip out.
“Yeah. I don’t think he could top his other muse. He achieved perfection,” Beau said, tilting his head cockily. Amber giggled.
“Wait till you see the one he did of me then,” she declared, resuming flipping through the pages.
“Mmm,” Beau hummed lowly.
Electric tingles shot down Wiley’s spine. What was that? Was that a purr? Did Beau purr? That was a nice sound. It was smug and directed at somebody else, but damn. It was raspy and heavenly at the same time.
“See, look, like a renaissance painting,” Amber said dreamily. Beau arched his brow and nodded his head.
“Yeeeaahh, but it’s not a painting. It’s pretty sketchy too. He spends a lot more time on his other muse and those drawings come out perfect,” Beau declared. Amber glanced down at the page in her lap, studying it for a moment.
“I’m sure he can make it better. I can text him some pictures later tonight so he can make a new one with more time in it. He rushed through this one because he’s shy and empty-headed,” she said playfully.
“Mhmm,” Beau said.
God. Why is he humming and purring? Wiley’s eyes trailed across Beau’s arm to his damp torso where his chest rose and fell gently with each steady breath. That would be a divine drawing.
Wiley’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. Wasn’t it illegal to be out in public without one's clothes on? A transparent shirt should count as no shirt. The whole center of Beau’s chest was soaked. Wiley could see the defined mounds of pectoral muscle straight through the sheer fabric.
“What was your number again?” Amber asked, her voice distant in Wiley’s head.
“Huh?” Beau asked, cocking his head to the side in mock confusion.
“You said I could have your number,” Amber said, holding her phone in her hand with the screen displaying an empty contact.
“No, I didn’t. I asked my friend, about my number, on his phone,” Beau said smugly.
“What?” Amber asked, echoing Wiley’s thoughts perfectly. Beau dropped a hand onto Wiley’s thigh in the same manner Amber had done just moments before.
“He texts me. He doesn’t have time to message other people,” Beau declared.
What?! Wiley was stunned, staring at Beau’s stupid brat face. Why would he say that? They don’t text. They had each other’s numbers, sure, but the messages only went one way. Beau sent pictures and that was it. The “friendship” was entirely art based, references only.
The hand on Wiley’s thigh squeezed.
“Isn’t that right, Wiley? You’re preoccupied,” Beau said.
Wiley stared at the hand on his thigh. Oh, that was good. He hadn’t thought of a hand pose squeezing something before. The tendons popped perfectly. The fingers curled elegantly. He hadn’t even realized he could draw Beau alongside himself! His cheeks burned intensely.
Okay. That’s enough. He shoved Beau’s hand away.
“He’ll be busy drawing,” Amber said with a laugh. She tore the drawing of herself out of the journal and shifted the rest carelessly onto the bench. Wiley winced, reaching over Beau’s lap to collect his stuff. “Do you want to get lunch with me? We can talk about art and—”
“Sorry, I’ve got other engagements,” Beau interrupted, helping Wiley straighten his papers then picked up the dropped pencil from the pavement below them.
“Right,” Amber said, laughing nervously. “What about you, Wiley? I saw this nice new cafe up the street. It smelled delicious! You could totally buy me lunch if you wanted.”
“He’s not interested,” Beau responded quickly.
Wiley gave Beau a look. Obviously he wasn’t interested, but he didn’t need some blue haired brat saying it for him. Especially not one that seemed to think he had a stake on his time. Wiley pouted with a loud huff.
“I know you don’t, but he likes me. He wants to draw me and—” Amber began.
“No, he doesn’t,” Beau said coldly.
Wiley stuffed his art supplies into his bag. The conversation was none of his business anymore. Annoying snobs arguing? Entirely out of his range of socialization. He watched Beau run and eat his stupid birdfood bars. He was exclusively a muse. Nothing else.
“You don’t know that. You barely even know the guy,” Amber sneered.
“Pft! You didn’t even know his name,” Beau scoffed, jumping up and finally resuming his jogging in place. Wiley sighed with relief. He had almost started to feel the man’s pent up energy radiating off him about to implode with nowhere else to go. “I have other engagements. Sort of in the middle of a marathon right now.”
That’s right! The marathon! That’s why Beau wasn’t in the valley that morning! Wiley had completely forgotten that was coming up. Beau hadn’t just ditched him after all. Well, not him. Beau didn’t— He meant ditched their routine. Not their routine. Their parallel routines. Beau’s running schedule. He ditched his usual schedule.
“Oh. Good luck, Beau,” Amber said.
“It’s Rhodes,” Beau replied. Amber forced a smile and turned back to Wiley.
“So, Wiley,” she began, holding up the image. “Do you think you could top this? I want to see me as your best work like your little friend claims you do for your other muse. What’s her name?”
“Beau,” Beau interjected.
Beep. Beep.
Wiley dropped his eyes to the pavement, suddenly very interested in the way the flowers casted shadows onto the ground, feeling overwhelmed by Beau and the sound of his fitness watch. Nobody needed to know who his muse was. Beau wasn’t even supposed to know that. Wiley swallowed hard, stuffing his bag over his hip. Time to leave.
“You?” Amber asked, dumbfounded.
Beau pursed his lips and shrugged his shoulder.
“Me,” he declared.
Suddenly a hand was pushing against Wiley’s cheek, bringing his face to the warm mouth of Beau Beckett Rhodes. Lips pressed into his skin for only a second, but time slowed down. There was a ringing in his ears, drowning out every sound around him. Amber was stunned. But that warmth against his cheek was radiating an addicting sensation that could only be compared to when he gazed into the drawings of his muse turned up to the intensity of the sun.
“See ya, slowpoke,” Beau teased, pulling away with a playful smirk plastered across his face. Wiley’s mouth hung agape with his eyes wide.
He– Wet shirt. Biceps. Pretty mouth. Bouncing blue curls. Pretty mouth. Pecs. Wet skin. Beau. Muse. Friends. Mouth. Wiley’s brain couldn’t find thoughts. He shook his head, clutched the strap of his bag, and exited the situation as quickly as possible.
He was hungry. That’s all that was. His brain turned to mush because he needed to get some calories. Yeah. Bratty Beau was just being himself. Totally normal stupid behavior for him.
“Wiley, wait,” Amber called out, but Wiley didn’t stop.
He was done with conversation for the rest of his life. The heels of his boots thunked heavy and fast along the pavement. None of that happened. He was— Well, whatever it was called when hunger made you not yourself. He imagined all that.
He brought his hand to his cheek, feeling the ghost of his muse still there. Could he draw that? He would have to keep it hidden. Not just in his sketchbook. Under lock and key.
His pocket buzzed. He froze in place. That could have been a weather notification. Right? Maybe there was a sudden sandstorm coming. Or, something. He fished his phone out of his pocket and clicked the notification open.
Stop drawing other people, Wiley. I don’t like it.
Wiley glanced around the quiet street. Beau was nowhere to be seen, but neither was Amber. No worries. He didn’t like drawing other people either. He stuffed his phone back into his pocket. Time to get some food and cleanse his palette with some more of his favorite muse.