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“Here’s to hopin’ I stick then.” soft burr of sound. If he felt any heat from that look? He basked in it; found the feel of Treys layered warnings akin to some endearing level of care.

Cause Waru knew better, and yet? How could he resist the occasional prod, just to see Trey flash his pretty teeth. All the times he wished he wasn’t greedy for that kinda display. A tick on a hound, leching what he needed in spite of knowing all the waters he splashed in noisily — *drew blood in* — along those pristine halls and personalized name plaques strobed in lights; were owned by one very big, sharp, shark of a man.

It was his nature to test the limits of his surroundings, he couldn’t’ve held off any easier than he could’ve stopped himself from admiring his own reflection — the walls of mirrors and the way Trey unpacked the necessities with an ease of familiarity.

“M’slowly keying in on that fact,” banked intrigue for how Trey managed himself practically on his own; a rich boy with a ‘do it yourself’ attitude. Seemed like if it was gonna be done right? Then it was gonna be done by him n him alone. A control thing, a flex of skill? Waru wondered, hummed some ascension and fingered fine lines of well tailored pieces he’d never afford - even at clearance prices. They were works of art on hangers, n him n Trey would be the pretty framing the pieces sat on soon enough. Couldn’t say he minded playing at being some high end piece in a suit for awhile.

Heh, being a Model.

“I can’t say I’ve ever done work like this before, all seems more in the realm of ‘putting clothes on’, than it does ‘taking ‘em off’, besides? You’re the expert here — I trust you to do me up right.” Making his way over to sit on the well padded stool Trey’d indicated before waving off any idea that he was gonna try having his rough way with whatever delicate brushwork he knew was involved. Waru had base ideas of his own favorite colors — things that sounded like seasons n worked with his tones. Coulda pulled his boy Aramis’s words outta some dustbin in his hindbrain n used them; things like sage or earthen or — fall n summer?

Whatever, it was nice being in Trey’s hands. Easier that way.

“M’sure we’ll make it work, one way or ‘nother. I’ll try n do your Mo--Mrs.Cameron's work justice, yeh?” he settled himself into scanning the pallets, with just his eyes, for all his urge to touch. Busied his ten thousand trailing thoughts with turning over the way Trey called his mother by her name at work? It was so professional - *all business* - no endearing Mazaa, or playful Maman. Though Waru knew himself to be a mama's boy at heart. The idea of calling his mother by her first name anywhere. She woulda snatched his scalp straight off his head even from eight-thousand miles away….

Just thinking about it made him wince!

He sat through it, the application of what he assumed was — toner? Was surprised Trey was considerate enough to bother warming it rather than just slapping it on — so, decidedly *not* an a*****e then. A question mark - Trey needed several promotions, deserved underlings, deserved to be in charge. Something about the way he worked, ever an expression of fairness and care - even when he didn’t have to bother. Not with him, not with this, and yet? Waru couldn’t have mustered a single complaint, only sighed praise and acquiesced to each new order.

Didn’t bother nodding, less he smudgrd, something? But he paid attention to Trey’s well experienced tips n tricks of the trade. *Knew*, body n soul, that the hardest part woulda been shoving a dimmer switch on his smile n making it something dainty or pretty or…whatever photographers liked on their quasi-marble-like dress up dolls; all too human and otherworldly mixed into one.

For that? He was extra happy Jollene’s clothing line was manageable - there hadn’t seemed to be anything too crazy tucked away into the racks and packed in plastic safety sheets. Though waru woulda killed to spy some yellow — an orange — maybe he could steal a well cut blazer that screamed couture just for the fun of it…

“Do you like it? The modeling thing, doing favors for your mom?” had the patience to wait to speak until he was sure there wasn’t anything coming at his lips — how many friends he’d had - lovers - who would’ve done far more than ‘tsk’ tersely at him if he ******** up their grooves. How he could’ve done it on himself, but knew beforehand it would’ve come out far too exaggerated for the au natural aesthetic Trey was seeking.

This was a whole a** fashion line, with photographers!! Not some neon painted, blacklight soaked, rave. Certainly not the sorta club where dim doubles the options for dramatic looks.

He had to ask the question though, curious if Trey was just a man doing his mother a favor, while following the undertones of how beneficial it all was when that man just happened to look exactly the way Trey did. Refined features, habits steeped in elegance, straight from the crèche. He could see it now - a little boy balancing books atop his head while practicing a walk, a pose, how that sorta thing showed in the same way Fafnir balanced his horns with such effortless grace; managed a full slit fuku, without ever letting a little too much leg slip free.

He wasn’t sure the guy had pants under all that….

He was jealous, too. Wanted those same options of — *well* — maybe it was best he wasn’t pant-less after all.

“You mean *your company*, yeh? N you’re allowed to like your job Trey.” soft smile as if he was stating some obvious thing. Waru tried to wrap his mind around it all. Trey’s family dynamic. Seemed like his mother thought he was pretty, or she thought he did good work, or — he owed her for all the time she’d put into ‘teaching him’ how to do the work? Some combination of all that and more? Waru’d never been someone’s centerpiece, nor had outfits designed specifically with him in mind by people who wanted him to look good.

He just hoped that somewhere in there sat a nugget of — what? Care? Compassion? Something besides a business transaction that led to the takeover of a regime…

Maybe it was best that ‘business’ had never been his forte; nothing to inherit, no ladders he aspired to climb. His way was paved flat, anything he made of it had little to do with predestined desires, aside from Senshidom, but even with that? He’d strayed — because it was kinda like his job, right? And he didn’t have to like his job; except for how he absolutely did.

That realization, he couldn't have pretended for anything. Either he loved it, or he left it, access to money and power had been a pull when he was younger — silly, flash-pan quick, impulse desires that’d gotten him into trouble so deep he’d nearly drowned - so once, but not now, and never again.

All those thoughts flickered as he admired himself briefly, smiled for the quality of Trey’s blending and steadily worked himself free of his own clothing while moving on. Let it all become a neat heap, socks kicked into shoes, baggy pocketed pants weighed down by a belt into that same pile — the shirt took effort to off with all the care in the world.

“Once, got powdered blush on — it was kinda like a bodice, mhm, corset? Not mine this time, but I learned the hard way from Lina that A. If you spill it? You Don’t dare dab it with water; you blow it, and B. Don’t make a damn mess tah begin with!” and he’d never manage her accent right, heroin chic and a smoker's rasp all in one.

He’d thought it was funny at the time, her liquid mascara smeared at the corners; it looked like she’d been in a fight with a raccoon and lost. The neon pink highlighter just - dusted all over her black attire - he hadn’t realized how fine it was - how long it took things to dry when the product was cheap…

“That is to say, I’ll be careful!” tags with numbers and *oh*, ******** him, but tailored s**t was so nice to try on! “Now — does underwear go with this…” his inside thoughts on the outside again, but since he was going to dress himself top to bottom no matter what? Best to probably start withy her shirt and work his way down…

"Coulda had me not wearing any at all--" drawled off like warm syrup over a gentle clucking of the tongue, the tsking masked briefly by the smooth rustle of fabric and clink of chain. It looked like gold -- no - scratch that, these were four digit suits lined with satin and cut to fit a swimmers form? It was definitely gold. The quality of the encircling chain made him think of authentic Cuban links, and the tasseling was reminiscent of -- what -- something princely? Modern wealth honeycombed with high society drip.

"But maybe next time, yeah? Lingerie, private parties? I've been told I make a fine table -- real -- ah -- conversation piece? All that living art s**t finger-painted in some gold toned bronzer." the words came in bursts as the pieces were pulled carefully together, slow enough to admire, cool touch and quality crafting. To admire Trey. He was shamelessly open about it, auburn orbs tracking the practiced way he moved; like it was all second nature and a task as simple as pulling on a new skin, or shoving his hair into a ponytail.

The clothes didn't make the man though, ohno, those cheekbones were blessed by genetics and those muscles were trained, dieted, defined; hard work and dedication built the house that sharply icy mind lived in. So Waru ******** whistled for it. Short sharp little twit of pleasure, only because applauding seemed like too much of a tell for the way the heavyset centered sapphire drew his eyes low -- but godamn, a bit of praise was well deserved!

"If anything -- I should come back henshined up, n then? Man, the things you could do with it. I've got some ideas though," The pile of his casually thrifted threads got kicked further off out of the way, he played with the sprawl of locs, decided that with the drape of the gold - it'd look better to have them knotted up into a rough dangling nest atop his head, "been meaning to get 'em re-twisted at some point - s'been growin out." a shrug in tone, knowing Trey would get how time was sparse - even when one had an abundance of 'free time', it still seemed like there were ten-billion and one things to accomplish.

"S'fine though, there's something to be said for a hot mess, right?" tease spoken into his reflection, ever his own biggest fan, but also enjoying the way the lights from the counter hit everything just right - Himself - Trey.. "Not that you could ever be a mess. Maybe not even if you tried. Which is fine, cause I was thinking, even if this jobs just a job, you've gotta love the way you look in it all, yeah?"

Waru nearly argued about how kept in his pants it was, just soooo in his pants. There was room for nothing else save *that* - Hell! His underwear was lucky he’d kept it on at all! But that tone brooked no argument, begged him to try his antics twice and see if the cold-snap broke more than twigs with it’s harshness. <********, but he wanted to p r y —- to show Trey what genuine really looked like, stringless, dressed down, dirty. *On the daily*. In actions that *screamed* ‘you have my undivided attention’, long after coy looks lost their luster and words their heat.

Man deserved some proper action —-

He could’ve laughed, mostly at himself, the way his own thoughts ping-ponged between ‘<******** yes’ and ‘right now’ - only the bright sound would’ve fallen flat and hollow in the wake of Trey’s sweeping charm, exuded with ease.

A born natural.

“*Yessir*” and that felt like the right response. ********, the only response Trey deserved. A flash of blue calm, poised as any General leading a man into battle facing a well known adversary. Waru couldn’t emulate that - could only follow - dogged swagger and a focus that he shifted to the singular spot of color in the room for the sake of managing any semblance of focus at all.

All the things he couldn’t go touch n prod for answers on — White boxes that seemed to glow, black backdrops, silver shades, grayer shadows and people with names he wouldn’t remember - except Marie, he totally remembered Marie; but camera dude, makeup girl, the cameraman’s-man?!

Nawp.

And the thoughts of that - of them - they blinked out under the first flash, seared into white and then nothing at all as he got tugged into one pose, stumbled into the next; was guided with words that faded static beyond rapid click-flare-zips of sound and softly hushed steps.

There was the heat of it all. Unexpected, but not unpleasant. The way things weighed, the way sapphire drew a shine and eye-line, the heft of gold and soft way it scraped over exposed skin.

There was the heat of Trey. All his perfect lines, like crisp calm water edging rocks and waves crashing over a rough shore. It was easier to fall into line behind him, beside him, to be a little messy in the right ways only to catch himself breathing off the gentle edges of a growing smile for how fun it was to find the beats with a partner who knew what they were doing. Like the inverse of a rave; except for the part where whoever he was dancing with became the only other body in the room.

All tunnel vision and high blinders.

Waru wondered, greens backing blues, finding better things to do with his hands - how many people told Trey they liked him for his personality, and meant it?

Waru was having a good time!

Even as the strain wore with hours spent and the lights baked him hot enough over time that he found himself missing Faustite; something about the appealing difference between a real fire and evil flashing fluorescents. He realized belatedly how much work this job really was. Far more work than he’d thought it’d be, and his absolute surprise for how much effort Trey put in - managing him - managing the whole of the scene - yet not looking a hair out of place or single line of agitated until there was a solidly locked door between them and the world beyond the dressing room.

Waru felt that telltale urge to prod at things, was stripping shoes and socks and unclipping belts even as he paced; leaving it all scattered astray. Not his s**t to care for. So when the avant-garde made city-sheik shirt, jacket, combo hit the floor with *force*; leaving him bare chested and heaving a sigh of relief? Well, he wasn’t in a hurry to orderly pick a bit of it up —— especially not as his gaze veered back to Trey.

The tightly capped water bottle that’d somehow found the ground in his carelessness got snagged back up and opened. He drank his own fill like an afterthought, autopilot and without pause. Focus all sorts of elsewhere, back of his head kinda thoughts.

Cause Trey was next in line to run the place, he called the shots, he was the show!

And yet?

He never got loud, or snippy, didn’t glare n make demands as Waru woulda thought his due; if not his damned birthright. Let them all linger on and usher him in and out at their pace. Only to end up looking strained for all the effort, and ******** alone where he sat. Working an ache off with his own hands.

Warus fingers itched - he sucked new air while crushing the empty plastic until he could twist it absently.

“You look like you’re one hairs breath away from walking back in there and committing a crime,” nothing in his tone suggested that would be something frowned upon, if anything? There was easy approval and a ******** nod towards considering it — “I’d help you, by the way, but…” he would’ve made Trey ask nicely.

The one sided shrug tagged at the end of the comment became a stretch that put him on his toes, had him rolling that shoulder till it felt warm instead of stiff beneath his hand. “Whatever, sit-up for me?” and the motion was more for forewards than it was for up, as he made his way round Trey til he could lean against the couch while reaching for — shoulders, neck, back, something….

“Wouldn’t do to end the day all pretzeled up, yeah? At least, not without some salt and cheese…”

Waru inclined his head for the brief comments, his eyes saying ‘I know’, and his mouth running on like a professional marathoner that’d gotten a second wind. He wanted to be doing something, anything, and that Trey seemed to be letting him? Well, he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.

“Yanno, whenever I hear ‘fine’ too much? I itch. It’s like one of those flag words; like saying ‘it’s a quiet night’ midway into a shift, or….” huff of air and the slide of fabric gave away his movement as he leaned forwards, careful with how he caught the sleekly done strands of deep-sea blues in hand, and combed the length of it over Treys shoulder, “not to disparage the masseuse any, m’sure they’re good looking as anyone else.”

Waru was also sure they were a polite, well paid professional, and nearly said so himself. Would’ve, save the fact that he could interpret fine one of any ten-thousand ways; ‘fubar, okay, hot as hell’, and with that buffet of options laid out? He’d rather have picked the most fun of them….

Especially since, for him, he’d found it advantageous to drone on about nothing and no one of consequence when dealing with close proximities. When he had to focus, and not on the fact that Trey’s skin was soft and warm, but on everything beneath that; thin lines and small knots of tension that existed under the surface of well used muscles held on point for far too long.

“You remind me of those marble statues, yanno? Carved things, all pretty, but then you touch it —-“ casually light with how he mapped the length of vertebrae beneath his thumbs, pale swan neck to sleek wiry shoulders, found a line on either side and pressed up into where it met the back of his head, that notch where spine disappeared into fine baby hairs and skull, “and, actually? The ******** David might carry less tension here then you do Trey, seriously.“

Made him think of those kinds of headaches that only went away with dim lights, ice packs and a solid four hour nap. Which might’ve just been sleeping at that point, instead of an actual nap, but? He wasn’t a nap specialist of any kind.