The first of my Second Class Shifter stories.
SCS1: Impossible You
The first time Tyrell saw Jamie Ingrams, the pretty blond’s shining golden hair was artfully tousled around his face, silver and bluey-green flecks of glitter dusted across his cheeks—and the other man had bits of fake sea-weed draped strategically about his body as he rose from a pond of silver and blue confetti. A big sparkling green pendant dangled against Jamie’s chest that night as well. The entire effect made Jamie look like some fully lickable bit of man-sushi complete with wasabi.
The entire time the sultry mer-twink was dancing on stage Tyrell imagined what he might say to an ethereal creature of the sea such as the one undulating before him. Tyrell's choppy breath stopped altogether at the end of the song, only restarting after his sweetly pudgy face turned an unbecoming shade of puce.
When the mc came back on stage, Tyrell sucked in a double lungful of air with a wet gasp that made him sound diseased. Tyrell bounced on his toes as he prayed for the campy old queen to just spit out the delectable dancer’s name. He waited with bated breath, and zealously devout fervor he usually reserved for bogof’s in the bakery department of his customary grocery store.
The name Jaime Ingrams rolled off the mc’s tongue. Tyrell squeaked like a two hundred and ten pound mouse. The noise fell out of his wide open mouth right as the mc stopped speaking, but before the buff and dreadlocked d.j. managed to crank the music back up to ear shattering levels.
Heads turned toward him. Tyrell blushed and hoped his dark complexion would hide the hot tide flooding his face. Cheeks burning, Tyrell fixed his gaze on the melting ice cubes in his drink. People glanced around him. No one’s eyes met his when he shot mortified glances around.
Tyrell firmed his jaw. He was determined. Tonight, right now, he would gather his courage up in both hands and actually say it to a guy he fancied.
The word came out too squeaky. Tyrell cleared his throat.
A little breathy, but better.
The big brunette next to Tyrell turned his head, one thick eyebrow raised.
“Hello. Do I know you?”
Tyrell choked on the word half out of his mouth.
Choking and coughing, Tyrell gazed wildly around. Somehow he’d lost sight of Jamie behind an enormous pair of shoulders. Tyrell lurched backward, his heel catching on something behind him. The world began to spin. The large man who had said hello turned, thick brows drawing together above the crooked bridge of his nose. A hard hand closed around Tyrell’s upper arm, heat seeping through the thin cotton material of his shirt sleeve. He eased Tyrell back to a fully upright position, nodding at someone over Tyrell’s shoulder before he turned his intent gaze back to pin the bashful man in place.
“You okay little man?”
His voice rolled over Tyrell in a hot raspy wash of sound. Little hairs on Tyrell’s forearms and the back of his neck stood to attention, for all the world like an army of tiny happy soldiers crying out for action. Tyrell nodded, still coughing.
“F-fine. I’m fine.”
The big man used his hold on Tyrell’s arm to pull the smaller man close. His other hand slid around Tyrell’s waist and closed around the belt Tyrells’s friend Gwyneth had insisted he buy for his first foray into “ass chasing”. The man lifted Tyrell up until his feet were dangling inches above the floor, and his rather sweaty ear was pressed against the man’s mouth.
“He’s not worth it.”
He set Tyrell back down, turned, and strode away into the crowd. Tyrell swallowed around an immense dryness which suddenly invaded his mouth. His lips fell open, and the only word he could form tumbled out.