sight-see i n g

Joined: 4:43 AM - Apr 23, 2009

6:46 PM - Sep 05, 2012 #1

Driven by boredom out of one of those anonymous, windowless bars with beige siding and deeply recessed doors, Aidan was then stopped outside on the sidewalk by uncertainty. There must have been some rain earlier, for though the ground wasn’t particularly wet, the black, grainy smell of pavement and its accompanying spilled car fluids was strong. He breathed it in. Streets this time of day—or night?—smelled the same just about anywhere, often with a splash of garbage and people but mostly cracked asphalt, concrete, dirt, and on the corners of streets, cigarette smoke. That was what he chose to smell, at least. He was in a selective mood. He glanced up and down the street, and started walking. It annoyed him to note how few people were out; it wasn’t that late. (The recent trends in the city news crossed his mind before another inhalation of exhaust and fallen leaves reminded him again of rain.)

His joints were well-oiled and he walked quickly, though he didn’t have anywhere to be. He had the disquieting sensation that he was out past his curfew—even more annoying. For the first time in more than a year of roommates and a parade of already occupied crash-couches, he had only an empty room waiting for him at home. And it would have to wait. First, he apparently had empty streets to attend to. No, it wasn’t late, though it was dark enough to be called dark. Sure, it was in that case too dark for sunglasses but that really wasn’t anyone’s business. It was dark enough, streetlights aside, that his loose strides blended into the shadows, dark enough that no one would think twice about him no matter how he walked, but early enough that he shouldn't be the only kid out kicking cans.

He walked, and then for a few blocks, he walked gradually slower, losing momentum. The air seemed to be the exact temperature of his skin, and it neither pushed nor pulled him anywhere. At a corner, watching a late bus roll through the intersection, he considered that boredom and drinking went together better than boredom and wandering, and that he might’ve been better served to stay longer at the Boring Bar, no matter how pan-faced and pea-brained the bartender had been. He walked, and he started to get pissed off, his shirt sticking to his back beneath his jacket. He’d been home for a few weeks now and in those weeks he had not been able to come up with a single reason for actually being here. In fact, he was starting to accrue negative reasons, non-reasons, anti-reasons, including that the only interesting thing that apparently ever happened was serial murder. In which case, he might as well go home if he was going to be here at all! Fucking pathetic.

He bitchily turned the corner in the opposite direction the bus had gone but soon was soothed by the sight of a few neon window signs. He hadn’t been down this way in a while—a long while. He lifted his head from its pouty slouch, his gait relaxing into a stroll, still slow and purposeless but more interested, now. However, it seemed he had missed boat once again as the neon of one storefront, then another, switched off. Inevitably, it was getting late enough to be called late. A shop door opened about as Aidan drew even with it. Out of pedestrian habit he looked up to see what business the door belonged to before he glanced at the person coming out of it, and when he did turn his eyes to the only other human being in the vicinity, their back was to him. Locking up, he guessed, not that he cared. No, suddenly he had better things to concern himself with, such as the height and build of the door-man, which served to draw Aidan’s eye directly to the guy’s well-dressed, well-sculpted backside. Perhaps there was a god—. Well. At the very least, the night had suddenly gained focus.

Nice one,” he sang as he lingered lasciviously from a legal distance of about three sidewalk cracks away, halfway between stopping and carrying on. He oscillated on one heel, his face opened up around an appreciative white grin, and he pushed his dumbfuck sunglasses up to the top of his head. He helped himself to an unobstructed eyeful, groping his chest for the camera that was curled inside its neckstrap, cat-like, beneath his bed halfway across town. Right about then, he understood how drunk he in fact was.

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Joined: 10:25 PM - Mar 05, 2010

12:00 AM - Sep 22, 2012 #2

Phoenix was bored. Bored and cold. It was a horrible combination. The shop was quiet, Cooper and Pax were otherwise occupied and he’d never quite figured out the timer system on the air conditioning. To compensate for at least one of those things he’d turned the radio up, hoping to drown out the silence, and with the silence he could drown out any thoughts which tried to sneak in. Wandering away from a half hearted reshuffling of the magazines, Phoenix hoped up onto the counter, kicking the heels of his silver hi-tops against the wooden surface which supported the table he was seated on. The rhythmic bang of his heels sounded a slightly irregular beat to the song which came onto the radio.

As another song began, he looked towards the clock and noticed that it was moving with a particular kind of slowness towards the end of the day, when he could cash up for the day, lock up and head out. Where he was going to go, he had no idea. Going home seemed like an awful idea. He didn’t know if Charlee would be home and as much as he loved Puck, he was more in the mood for human company. Leaning backwards, he freed up a bit of room so that he could get his hand into the pocket of his jeans, tugging out of his phone and checking it for messages, as though he wouldn’t have felt it vibrating against his thigh if someone had sent him a text. There was always hope though. A friend or a client, wanting a last minute meet up. Sadly for him there was nothing, and Phoenix was left to pout and decide that he would start getting ready for the end of the day, even if it was a bit earlier than usual.

With practised movements he tidied up the shop, and cashed up the takings for the day, relying completely on the calculator and checking it three times to make sure. No doubt Pax or Cooper, whoever was in the following day, would check over it for him. They both knew maths wasn’t his forte and he didn’t mind getting help from them. With the money counter, and transported to the safe, there was little more to do but collect his belongings and make sure everything was locked up. With the keys for the shop in hand, Phoenix retrieved his bag from the store room and slung it over his shoulder, and then moved through to the front of the shop, locking any doors that needed locking as he went. Finally he was able to step out into the cool evening air, gaze flitting briefly around the street before he turned around to lock the door, pondering as he did so the dilemma of where to go next if he had deemed home unacceptable.

Focused on that particular problem as he was, Phoenix was only vaguely aware of there being someone on the street with him, and it didn’t really occur to him to look and find out who it was. Someone walking past while he was locking up the shop was hardly a noteworthy or rare experience. What was slightly more unusual was the words which followed, spoken with a certain inflection Phoenix recognised. Glancing rapidly from side to side, he realised that there was no one else in the vicinity who that comment could be directed at and so he straightened and turned his head to look at his potential admirer. Eyes narrowing slightly, he noticed first the person’s gaze was focused on a particular part of his body, and secondly, that he knew that gaze, and the person behind it. It took him a moment to place the man, but only a moment, a broad smile curving his lips.

“Photographer-man.” Phoenix greeted him, satisfaction evident in those words, though he opted to play it cool, to some extent, toning down his usual exuberance. He was aware of what the photographer’s name was, but having enjoyed been called ‘shopboy’ by him before, he opted to return the favour. “I did wonder when you might appear back in my life, and here you are, a little later than I imagined.” He commented, and then glanced over his shoulder, as though trying to see his own ass, before looking up at Aidan, smiling brightly, playfully. “Did you get a good enough look? Want me to pose some more? Or wait while you get your camera?”
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Joined: 4:43 AM - Apr 23, 2009

7:12 PM - Dec 08, 2012 #3


Whether or not Aidan was drunk—or crass—enough to actually photograph a stranger’s ass as it walked down the street, tonight was not the night for it. He swiped his fingers across his empty chest once more and frowned, annoyed for two or three dozen reasons too specific to coalesce into true irritation. His top annoyance had to be whatever social conventions that existed that might make him hesitate over any potential photograph, supposing he actually had his camera on him, followed closely by the injustice of the rare disinterest that had kept him from bringing his instrument out with him tonight. But there was no heat behind either thing, only lukewarm itching. Flattening both feet against the pavement, he tensed to move on, having half-forgotten that he'd called out to the object of his interest. Though his gaze began to drift up and across the form that had drawn his attention, he had no way to capture his vision and so his mind was already trudging off into the boring, dirty dark.

“Photographer-man.”

The words were spoken with such unexpected familiarity that they stopped Aidan before he even got going, snatched his head up and sent his eyes bouncing across these delicious lips and phenomenal cheekbones that were now pointed in his direction. He raised both eyebrows, mouth hooking sideways into a curious half-return of the smile offered him, and he blinked. He recognized the face and all its heart-stoppingly handsome features right away, because who could forget a face like that, but true remembrance was further off, particles of the past slowly sifting down to build up behind his eyes as the beautiful man spoke.

“I did wonder when you might appear back in my life, and here you are, a little later than I imagined. Did you get a good enough look? Want me to pose some more? Or wait while you get your camera?”

Aidan’s eyebrows lowered and the other side of his mouth got with the program as something finally pulled together in his bottled brain. It was more the delivery than the words themselves, or perhaps simply that flirty little look that fused fuzzy bits of memory into a smooth and attractive whole. The name that had escaped his grasping for a handful of slippery seconds now escaped from his mouth without any input from him, but was nevertheless pronounced with true pleasure: “Phoenix.” The sound of the name, which Aidan might not have said if he was sober and prepared to play games, was as delicious as the man himself. Mm. The soft Phh, the edgy Ksss. The sensation left by the syllables lingered in Aidan’s mouth; it was impossible not to smile. If it was anyone else twinkling their eyes at him, catching him all off-guard and stuff, he’d feel kind of stupid and definitely annoyed. Instead he was pleased, surprised and pleased and surprised at how pleased he was.

“Well, look at you.” He smiled wider, eying Phoenix's hair, his mouth, his silver shoes. Aidan took his sunglasses down from his head and folded them into the neck of his shirt, running a hand back through his own hair. He took another step closer. “I meant to call.” Like, two years ago. Though to be frank, Aidan hadn’t really planned on or expected to see Phoenix again, despite how enjoyable and productive their last encounter had been. One thing had led to another, you know—lawyers had driven him to distraction, town was skipped, phones were lost, that kind of thing. It was unfortunate that this attractive and accommodating model had fallen through the cracks, but a lot of things had. Here they were now, though. Aidan had no regrets.

“Phoenix,” he repeated. “Of course I don’t have my camera, of course not. That would be too perfect, wouldn’t it?” He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “You headed home? Maybe I should walk you.” Walk behind him, maybe. Or Jesus, follow him from any angle.

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Joined: 10:25 PM - Mar 05, 2010

11:38 PM - Dec 08, 2012 #4

Phoenix vividly recalled the last meeting with Aidan, despite the time that had passed between then and now. It had been one of those events in life that stayed with him, for good reasons rather than bad. The taste of cheap wine on his lips, the concentration on Aidan’s face as he framed the shot, and later, competent hands exploring his body. Phoenix rarely forgot the people he fucked, and those that he wasn’t required to take money from lingered longer than those who pressed wads of cash into his hand before the act. He could feel something stirring within him just looking at the man, something welcome and warm that made him want to reach out. Questions, catching up, that could wait. Words lost their importance to him sometimes. Some vague sense of decency stopped him attempting to press himself against the photographer, and instead had him smiling as his name was correctly identified. He particularly liked the way it sounded, coming from Aidan’s mouth. “Aidan.” Phoenix returned, unable to help the ever-so-slightly sultry edge that crept into his tone. He was shameless, really.

He followed the movements of Aidan’s hands as they shifted the sunglasses from atop his head, moving them to his shirt - and for a moment he became fixated on the exposed skin, before he watched that same hand moving through dark hair. Involved in such intense scrutiny, Phoenix mirrored the step which brought his new companion closer, furthering narrowing the distance as he did so. A mild shrug was his main reaction to the statement that Aidan had meant to call. He had hoped for that call, but he hadn’t dwelt on it. Phoenix knew the calling type, and Aidan was certainly not one of them. Angling his head to one side, Phoenix smiled, slowly. “I wasn’t holding my breath. I put out far too easily. Left you with no sense of mystery at all.” His reply was lilting, playful and free of any bitterness. Bitter had never been an emotion he entertained, even when he tried to. Anyway, his decision to leave things alone had clearly paid off, eventually.

His name sounded just as good the second time, and his grin grew as Aidan lamented the absence of his camera. Phoenix missed it too. It had after all been the excuse for him to ascend the stairs to Aidan’s studio, and he saw it as vital part of the man. “Far too perfect. But we don’t need your camera, we can make our own fun without it.” Phoenix replied, shuffling a little closer, though he moved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and bent his head to watch the tip of one of his silver hi-tops drift out to nudge at the outside of Aidan’s calf. Assuming a two footed stance once again, Phoenix lifted his head and nodded it once, twice.

“The plan was to head home. I live in the North, so it would involve walking and a taxi. If you want to. I don’t know if your chivalrous urges to take me home will extend to a taxi ride.” His smile reappeared, almost as quickly as it had faded, to allow for easier speech. “Or we could go somewhere else. Pick up your camera. Visit your studio. I have some good memories from the last time.” Phoenix suggested, lightly, and then shrugged again. “Your choice, though. I’m not picky.” The only thing that he was really bothered about currently was whether he scared the photographer away or bored him. His evening was looking up, and he wanted it to continue in that vein.
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Joined: 4:43 AM - Apr 23, 2009

3:54 AM - Mar 28, 2016 #5

Neon light caught in Phoenix’s silver-blue eyes and sparked through the air between them, flashing off the toe of his shoe. That small touch on Aidan’s leg sent warmth rippling up through his body, raising goosebumps on his skin. It wasn’t often that he encountered good memories in this city, which wasn’t technically the city’s fault per se, though Aidan was willing to place the blame upon it. Phoenix, though—well, the only thing wrong with the memories of him was that Aidan remembered his photographs with greater clarity than the sex or any conversation that might’ve taken place. That wasn’t Phoenix’s fault, either; Aidan chose to blame the city once again. He couldn’t even recall if he’d sent copies of said pictures to his lovely model. He wasn’t always great about that. His studio work had always been for himself first, himself second, and anyone else after that.

But he remembered the photographs themselves like he’d taken them yesterday, and other details trickled back into his brain alongside them. They’d started with sips of wine, then shirt off, sultry lighting, Phoenix smiling over a bare shoulder, unselfconscious, eyes glowing. They’d talked while he worked, passing the $8.99 bottle of wine back and forth, skin flushing, the air warming in the clean, open spaces of the studio. That sexy accent was a real treat, as was the casual way Phoenix eventually removed the rest of his clothes, without Aidan really having to suggest it. The camera itself was suggestive enough, at least in Aidan’s hands. At some point, Aidan’s shirt disappeared along with the wine, then Phoenix had stretched out on the couch for a final shot.

Aidan took a deep breath. Holding those gorgeous images—black and white, shadow sculpting smooth skin, pinpricks of light as beads of sweat—in his mind (otherwise stored safely on the cloud) brought spectral sensations, a scent, a taste, a satisfaction, to him. His face mellowed, the curve of his lips and the sheen of his eyes becoming more appreciative than predatory, almost fond. It’d been some good work, if he did say so himself. But at the moment he had no desire to try to recreate it. Part of him felt like all that, whoever and whatever he'd been last time they'd met, was permanently in the past. He shook his head.

A rare thing like you has no business in my neck of the woods.” And fuck that stupid camera, to be honest. In the time between then and now that fucking thing had let him down more often than not, in ways that certainly had less to do with the device and more to do with something else, of course, in ways he wouldn't accept the responsibility for. Aidan slid forward to close the last of the distance between them, then turned aside slightly and gave the handsome memory his arm.

I’d be more than happy to see you home, though. Let’s find you a cab, shopboy.” Given an alternative, there was no way he’d crawl back to his hidey-hole. He’d much rather creep into this pretty bird’s cage, but be damned if he’d commit to such a plan in so many words. Unconsciously he transferred some of his weight towards Phoenix, inhaling slow and deep, breathing in smoke, air conditioning, and whatever cologne or deodorant he wore that mixed so well with the city's fragrance, transfiguring it into one less reason to resent being here.

Lead the way.

. bio . etc. .
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