Micah's hope for Benny, over the course of that one dinner, had taken a nosedive. For the remainder of the week leading up to work, Micah was back on the apps and debating storing his clothes at Kennedy's place, showering at the gym, and sleeping in other peoples' beds.

But then Friday came.

He'd left his luggage at Alistair's, expecting to pick up on a booty call as an excuse to leave should Alistair return, but the apartment was dark and silent. The bed empty.

Micah roamed the apartment for a while in the dark, eyes on his phone. He'd already told a guy he'd be over in twenty, but if Alistair wasn't here...

Why am I being such a bitch about this? It's just a hookup, Micah thought, but what he really wanted was another night of rest. His feet ached from standing all night, throat sore from chatting over the music with customers.

He slapped his face to get himself back into motion. After a change of clothes, Micah left to spend the night several blocks over in a cramped apartment with a guy he'd never seen in person until then. It was an unremarkable affair that ended early, which Micah didn't mind. He was exhausted, even if he was still hard.

They slept in, though, which Micah appreciated. They were startled awake by the door banging open and a roommate strolling in with donuts.

Micah jerked upright, squinting against the light and cursing under his breath. His partner rolled over in bed, saying, "Fuck off... We aren't decent."

"But I have donuts," the guy said, and offered the box to Micah.

Micah took one, though he read the situation for what it was: Jealous roommate crushing on the noncommittal manwhore, coming to see what fresh meat he'd dragged around.

Micah took a bite of the donut and gave a closed-mouthed smile to the roommate, who glared at him as he set a glazed donut on the nightstand—right next to the lube and condom wrapper.

"Thanks," Micah said.

"That one isn't for you," he said, and shut the door behind him.

Micah licked his lips, grinning to himself. "Fucking noted. Alright."

"Sorry about that..." the guy moaned into his pillow. He brushed a hand over his forehead, pushing his bangs back.

Damn, Micah thought, he looks even better in daylight.

"I gotta go to work soon," he said.

"Say no more," Micah said, but continued eating his donut. "Once I'm done with this."

The guy laughed. "Yeah, take your time. Thanks for last night. I fucking needed that."

"Always a pleasure."

They laughed, and Micah was off to a great start that day.

He decided to avoid Alistair's place. He was twelve hours over their agreed-upon roommate timeframe and he wasn't inclined to push Alistair's buttons. Luckily, his day was packed: after a late lunch, working out and showering at the gym, Micah returned to Kennedy's apartment to be dolled up and waltzed around town like a show pony to a gallery event.

Dressed in a Kennedy original, Micah accompanied her through the white walls of an art gallery shrouded in glittery, hot-pink canvases.

"They look like vaginas," Micah said.

Kennedy sucked her bottom lip in to hold back a smile. She leant into him, arm hooked underneath his. "That's because they are vaginas, I'm pretty sure."

"Hot," he said, and she giggled into his shoulder.

They turned a corner and Kennedy accepted a glass of wine from a tray. The two of them shared it, passing it back and forth until Micah was fairly certain Kennedy's lipstick stains were now on his lips.

"Kennedy," someone said, drawing Micah's attention. A soft-spoken man, not much taller than Kennedy, was immediately enveloped in a hug. "Glad you could make it."

"You too! I love this artist, I couldn't miss it," she said.

Micah was fascinated, and it no doubt shone on his face as Kennedy did a double-take on him, a cunning smile growing. She cleared her throat as Micah stared at her pointedly for an introduction.

She gestured to Micah "This is my friend. I'm trying to get him into the art scene."

"I take it you aren't an artist," the man said. His lips barely moved when he spoke, which just meant Micah spent all the more time staring at them.

"I'm not," Micah said, Though you could say I am in other ways. He put a hand out. "Micah."

"Rory," the man said, a small smile on his lips. "What do you do?"

"Nothing. School. Bartending."

"You don't sugarcoat it."

Kennedy openly laughed. "No, he is, trust me. He's prolific at sex."

Micah discretely slapped her as he turned away to mask his horror. Luckily, Rory found her crude humor amusing enough to chuckle. Light, feathery, and smothered by a hand to hide it.

God, he's precious, Micah thought. I want to make him scream.

To Kennedy, Rory said, "Are we still on for brunch tomorrow?"

"Absolutely."

"Micah should join us," Rory said, like it was the most natural thing in the world after an introduction like that.

Micah returned from pretending to investigate the next canvas of someone's vulva. He rose his eyebrows at them, bemused by the blatant way Rory met his gaze.

"Micah would love that," Kennedy said.

"Don't say it like I'm a dog," Micah muttered. "'Micah loves his W-A-L-K.'"

"Whatever," Kennedy said. She polished off their shared wine and said, "I'm off to find another rosé. You two—keep chatting."

"Aye, aye," Micah said. Once she was gone, Micah leaned in to whisper, "How did you two meet?"

Rory's fascination had parted his lips into a slow, all-consuming smile. "I was still in school. Two years ago. I used to nude model at NYU to pay for rent."

"And for utilities?"

"Donating plasma."

"Ah, classic," Micah hummed. "Take it you were in one of her figure drawing classes."

"Yes. And she paid me extra on the weekends to model for her."

"With or without clothes?"

Rory glanced away, smile smothering impishly. "Both," he said, slowly. "How did you two meet?"

"Oh, you know." Rory rose an eyebrow. "Had a threesome. You tend to get to know people pretty well doing that."

Rory sounded like he was choking. "Do you really?"

"Yes."

"I get the impression Kennedy set us up."

Micah grinned through a wince. Kennedy was nowhere to be seen. "I think so too... Are you interested in being set up?"

The man's eyelashes were stunning as he blinked, slowly, and took his time deciding. "I think so. Would you like to go back to my place?"

"Do you read minds for a living, or is this just a side-gig?"

Rory laughed and led the way to the exit. "Side-gig. Follow me—I'm not far."

Cocky as fuck and flaunting it, Micah scoped out the gallery for a view of Kennedy. She was peering around a wall just out of view, giving him a thumbs up.

Micah rolled his eyes and proceeded down the path of least resistance: this hot artist's bed in an equally attractive artist's loft apartment down 9th in Chelsea.

Micah spent the better part of an hour trying to coax a scream louder than a breathy moan or gasp from Rory. In the end, satisfied and sporting only a mild itch of frustration on his brow, Rory sat beside him and reached for the window over their heads. It was mild enough out that he opened it and inch to air the heady smell of sex out of the room.

Micah brushed his thumb over Rory's brow. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Rory settled back on his elbows, studying Micah. And then studying his dick. He slapped his hands down on the sheets and said, "I've never not made a guy come. Usually it's so easy."

"It's kind of an on-demand thing at this point."

Rory gave him the stare of a man not to be gaslit. "That isn't a thing."

"Fine. You want me to come?" Micah said, pushing up to hover on top of him. Rory's eyes sparkled in the streetlights as Micah drew close, lips on his. "I wanna hear you this time. Really hear you. And I think it'd be so hot if you screamed."

If it were any brighter in the room, Micah was certain he'd see Rory's ears go pink. "I don't want to disturb my neighbors," he confessed.

"Just this once," Micah insisted, rolling on a fresh condom. "They'll forgive you. Hell, they might even cheer—"

"As if—! Ah!" Rory gasped as they began again.

Micah slept soundly that night swathed in Rory's sheets that he hadn't noticed at all that Rory had replaced himself with a pillow in Micah's arms around eight in the morning. And by six in the morning, most of Micah's bare ass had already been sketched in great, hyperrealistic detail.

Micah turned onto his back with a deep inhale. He scrubbed a hand over the side of his face and, once his vision cleared, he processed that he was being watched from the couch across the studio. Rory had obtained a sketchpad the size of Micah's entire torso.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist," Rory confessed.

"No, it's fine," Micah said, sighing. He stretched his arms up. "How 'bout now?"

Rory raised an eyebrow.

"This pose. Does it work?" Micah said.

"I—" Rory's blush was so much clearer in the light. Pink on porcelain skin. Even from far away, he spoke softly. "Yes. If you don't mind."

"Not at all. I might sleep a bit longer."

Rory seemed pleased with this, and so Micah slept for two more hours with his legs tangled in the sheets, dick out.

He didn't wake up again until Rory's sketch was done and food was sizzling in the kitchen. A delectable aroma sent Micah's mouth watering in his sleep. He caught himself drooling and woke up to chase after the smell.

His eyes caught on the sketchpad first, though. Sitting on the coffee table was a rendition of Micah in the bed looking like Michelangelo himself had returned and chosen Micah as his muse.

"Food's almost done," Rory said.

"You did not just draw this," Micah said, pointing to the sketch. "That's so fucking good."

"Thanks."

"I'm serious. You're gonna be famous one day."

Rory grinned. "I signed up to be an assistant at a studio in Italy this summer. I'll learn a lot more, probably."

"Learn? You could teach," Micah said.

Only then could he sweep the studio and discover that he was in a museum. Stacks of canvases lined the walls. Piles of sketchbooks littered the tables. He wanted to spend all day sifting through Rory's artistic history.

"Are you doing anything today?" Micah asked.

"I asked to push our brunch to lunch," Rory said.

Oh, right, with Kennedy. "Can I come back here after? I just want to look at your sketchbooks. I won't even bother you."

Rory grinned down at the pan. He split the food between two bowls and said, "Sure."

And so, after brunch-lunch with Kennedy, Micah returned to Rory's studio to become a scholar in his work and be sketched once more. By evening, Rory was due at the gallery again. He worked there, and Micah needed to get to his own job.

"Would you like to come back tonight?" Rory asked. "I'm not done until midnight."

"I'm not done until two," Micah said.

Rory winced. "Maybe tomorrow?"

Micah considered going back to Alistair's place and being labeled a mooch for not having moved out yet. "Do you have a spare key? I swear I won't do anything nefarious with it. You know Kennedy, and you can arrest me if I steal anything. I'm easy to find—she has my location."

Rory stifled a laugh. "Fine. Just don't lose it."

Key acquired, Micah made a point to attach it to his key ring to assure Rory he would not lose it.

And he didn't. That early, early morning, Micah returned to Rory's flat with a purpose. The loft made him feel like he was one with the sky and with the radiators on blast and with no temperature control, Micah basked in winter chill still permeating through the windowpanes overhead. It made burrowing into Rory's comforter a magical experience.