(Untitled)

[elijah_would]

thursday mid-morning, directly after the audition.There are showers in the DBY bathroom. Two of them, out of sight when you walk in but clearly visible when standing at the sink, peering into the mirror at the room behind you. The sight of the twin squares of tile with their matching shower heads shouldn’t be all that much of a surprise given the

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[billboyd]

For a handful of seconds, Elijah stares at Bill, water dripping off the point of his chin and nose and onto his t-shirt (which is inside out, Bill notes). His eyes are enormous and half-wild, and Bill doubts that the color in his cheeks is due to the water

[elijah_would]

"What?"

Elijah blinks four times while Bill turns on the faucet and lifts his chin to examine his jaw in the mirror.

"Take your time, love, it'll come to you eventually."

Elijah's fingers are dripping onto the tops of his sneakers.

"Oh."

He's pretty sure he should be irritated, but he's too busy trying to fathom the mechanics of the paper towel dispenser. He grabs onto one, looks down, sees the seams of his wrinkled tshirt sticking out along his sides.

"Shit."

He pulls the shirt up and over his head. His wet hands leave splotchy marks across the front when he shrugs back into it, right-side out. The top two buttons of his fly are undone, and the outline of his dick is still clear and heavy under the soft denim.

"Um."

He yanks his tshirt down over the swell and rubs his damp fingers through his hair and across his face.

"Jesus," he whispers.

[billboyd]

"Or you could just use your shirt," Bill says straight faced, and moves to take some paper towels for himself. Elijah steps to one side, his dark brows contracting into a scowl, then relaxing before they complete the expression, so that he looks faintly surprised. He's still sporting some fairly fucking impressive color in his face, too, and Bill bites at the inside of his cheek.

"So, I take it things went well?" he asks, and somehow doesn't laugh.

[elijah_would]

He's pretty sure now he's being made fun of, but he's too frazzled to think up a reply. The tile is cold on his back as he slumps and reaches automatically for his cigs, only to realize he left them back in the studio. Fucknuggets.

"It went... I think he... I guess so," he says, before he realizes the question was as much rhetorical as it was sarcastic.