"Yeah." John shifted on the balls of his feet and wiped his bottle across his forehead, cooling heated skin. "I'm looking." "Should be illegal to be that beautiful." John nodded, watching as Orlando brought his glass to his lips and took a long swallow. The late afternoon sun burst from behind a cloud, illuminating the back porch, highlighting golden skin and dark eyes as Orlando set his glass down on the table. Dom made some comment as he passed by, and Orlando grinned, delighted laughter ringing clear in the heavy summer breeze. Bruce couldn't contain his sigh. "Why can't I have that?" "Because Marton beat us to him," John replied, sighing himself as Orlando twisted, wrapping those tan arms around a laughing Marton, and giving him a smacking kiss. "Fucker." "Yeah." "We could tell Orlando about that mechanic Marton was mixed up with a few years back." "That's cheap," John said, frowning at Bruce. "What good would it do, anyway?" "Dunno. Bloody not fair, though," Bruce grumped, slumping against the wooden porch railing. "Just cause I'm not pretty like Marton doesn't mean I shouldn't get a shot at him. I mean, Marton's not nearly as entertaining as me." "True," John mused, nursing his beer. Too lazy to move from the railing to grab another one, but then, the day seemed to call for lazy. He watched as Elijah futilely chased a giggling child -- Astin's, maybe? --across the lawn, and admired anyone who had that kind of energy on a day like this. "And I'm a very good kisser." John blinked, certain he'd heard that wrong. Must be the heat. "You are?" "Yep." Bruce looked longingly at his empty glass, frowning. John wondered if he thought it would magically refill itself. "Bloody genius with my tongue. Or so I've been told." "Really?" John glanced at Bruce thoughtfully. "A genius?" "What I've been told." John crossed his arms, idly noting that Orlando and Marton were now at the grill, conversing with Peter. They were still wrapped in each others' arms. The scent of barbecued meat weighed heavy in the air. Too bad he didn't have much of an appetite. "So how come I've never heard of this genius skill, then?" "Dunno. Must be a well-kept secret." "Alright, you've got me curious," John said, pushing himself off the fence and setting his beer on the railing. "C'mon." "C'mon what?" Bruce asked, blinking owlishly. "Show me." "Show you?" John sighed in exasperation, and tugged on a lock of Bruce's hair. "Show me this wicked tongue skill." "You want me to kiss you?" And to think he'd thought of Bruce as an intelligent man. "Just said so, didn't I?" "John, you're my mate!" "And?" "And, I dunno," Bruce said, shrugging. "Bloke doesn't go around kissing his mates." "Orlando's a mate." "Orlando's different." "So, you're saying you're prejudiced 'cause I'm not pretty like Orlando?" John glanced once again at Orlando. He and Marton were now slow-dancing to some bluesy song wafting in from the house. They moved together surprisingly well. "No, 'course not." Bruce shifted uncomfortably, jerked when his hip brushed against John's. "Not sayin' that at all." "So, what're you saying?" "I have no idea anymore," Bruce sighed, glancing at John's profile. "Something about prettiness and prejudice and kissing, I think." "So, ya reckon?" "It'll look odd, now, won't it, if I'm trying to get Orlando and he sees me on another bloke?" "Bruce," John said, voice gentle as he cupped Bruce's cheek. "You're not getting Orlando." "Thanks for the reminder," Bruce said, but didn't pull away from John's hand. John stepped closer. "There are more important things than pretty." Bruce licked his lips, eyes narrowing as he focused his attention on John. "Yeah?" Now or never, John. Waited this long. He stepped forward, chest brushing against Bruce's. And had all the answer he needed in a sharp intake of breath. "Yeah."
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