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thethespacecoyote · 7 years ago

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"Beer and Brothers”

“So, what’s with the unicorn thing?” Rhys waved the opener as Tim rejoined him on the couch with his own beer and a plate of steaming hot stuffed mushrooms. Tim sat with a snicker, propping his feet up on the coffee table.

“That’s Jack’s. He’s got kind of a unicorn obsession.”

“Jack?”

“I…my brother? Jack? You didn’t forget, did you?” Tim popped the cap off his own beer with a hiss. Rhys’ brow twitched, taking a sip of the beer as if it’d help him remember.

“I….vaguely…but I don’t think I ever met him?” He recalled a fuzzy mention of Tim’s brother at some point, maybe a childhood picture or two. But nothing concrete. Obviously, not enough to help him even remember that Tim even had a sibling.

This is a meme ask that kind of got out of control, haha. Rhys comes back home from college for the summer and reconnects with Tim, who is now living with his older brother....no prizes if you guess what happens when Rhys finally meets him.

Despite sending out nearly a dozen applications, Rhys was ending his freshman year of college without an internship or even any concrete plans on what he was going to spend his summer doing. He’d been holding out on the hope that one of the places that hadn’t outright rejected him might get back to him at the eleventh hour, but as he’d finished his finals and started packing, he’d had to admit defeat.

Rhys had comforted himself with the knowledge that there were still two more summers before he graduated and got thrust out into the real world, leaving him with two more chances to land that sweet internship that would secure him a lucrative job and show up everyone who’d judged him by his pretty-boy looks rather than his intellect.

Though honestly? When he arrived home, he found it actually refreshing to be back to the suburbs after spending the last few months in the more urban environment of his college. Going back to his home base, in his own room and with all the stuff he hadn’t been able to bring with him, was nice, as was not having to worry about what he was going to eat without risking the freshman fifteen that had loomed every time he’d stepped foot in the school cafeterias. Dad was busy, and Mom worked part time, but the fridge and pantries were still stocked and more importantly, free, so Rhys was pretty happy.

A couple days after coming home he’d decided to take a walk around the neighborhood after a decent enough breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. He’d laced up the sneakers that had barely got any runtime during the semester and started on an easy jog, happy to feel the summer air on his skin.

The neighborhood had changed little since Rhys had seen it back around Christmas. Some of the houses that had been mid-remodel looked a little more complete, now, the portable toilets and chainlink fences now replaced with fresh new terra cotta porches and gardens full of sustainable succulents. A couple buildings boasted fresh new coats of paint, or new gutters, or any number of little things Rhys vaguely noted were different.

He puffed, slowing his pace as he rounded a corner, now more interested in observing the buildings lining the street than really pushing himself to exercise. Eventually he slowed to a walk, sticking his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

Most of the houses looked the same, aside from a slight change in foliage due to the nascent summer season. The very same bundle of olive trees flanked the far side of the Springs’ house, and as Rhys drew near the very familiar barking of Zoomy echoed from beyond the front gate as the fat little daschund scratched his paws up against the mesh.

He stopped for a moment to coo at the dog, chuckling as it yipped louder and hopped around in little circles. Rhys wondered if Janey had some dog-walking she needed done over the summer. Might be a good way to make money, and he liked dogs well enough, even one who thought they were still a puppy like Zoomy.

As he continued down the sidewalk, he expected to next pass the Lawrence house, resting in the shade of Janey and Athena’s huge, rustling olive trees. The house was a sight he’d gotten used to in his teenaged years, when he and Vaughn typically swung by to pick up Tim on their way down to the shoreline to hang out.

But as he walked beyond the trees, expecting to see the dumpy, pale yellow home with the sagging white crown molding and spare lawn, he found there was no longer anything there.

Later that night, at dinner, Rhys decided to bring it up to his parents.

“So,” Rhys piped up as soon as he swallowed a mouthful of cauliflower, “I was out walking today and uh, the place where the Lawrences lived isn’t like….there, anymore?”

“Oh. The Lawrence house was condemned during the spring….didn’t we tell you that?” his mother questioned.

Rhys figured they might have, but perhaps he’d forgotten due to over-focus on exams and projects and getting into the habit of doing his laundry once a week.

“Probably…did something happen to Tim? Or um. You-know-who?”

“I would have thought Tim would have told you…she passed a little after the New Year.” Rhys’ eyes widened.

“Oh wow…”

“It might be a good idea to give him a call? I heard he had moved in with family, but I’m not sure what happened beyond that…”

“Y-Yeah.” Rhys nodded numbly. “That’s probably a good plan.”

As soon as dinner was over and his plate cleared, Rhys rushed to his room, yanking out his phone and scrolling to Tim’s contact info He dialed it and flicked it on speaker, praying that Tim hadn’t changed his number. He nervously tapped the side of his phone at the dial tone, heart leaping when it stopped with a click and a familiar voice echoed throughout his room.

“Hello?”

“Tim! It’s Rhys,” he chimed, giddy feeling in his belly. He hadn’t realized it’d been so long since he’d actually spoken to one of his closest friends.

“Oh my god, Rhys, it’s been forever.” Tim sounded pretty good, which was encouraging. At least that meant he probably wasn’t living on the streets.

“Right? You know how it is. College and stuff.”

“Oh yeah, I know Mr. Smart Guy.” Rhys could practically hear Tim’s smile. “So what’s up?”

“Dude, I saw your house, or uh. Where your house used to be,” Rhys corrected, his mouth open to give Tim his condolences when a happy little chuckle fed from the other end of the conversation.

“Yeah, right? Good riddance.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve got a new place now. Million times better than my old one. You wanna come by and see it?”

“I—wait, you have a new place? How? When? Who is—”

“Rhys,” Tim interrupted, “this’ll be easier to explain in person….how about you come by. Whenever you’re free?”

“I’m free all the time,” Rhys said a little too quickly, but to be honest, he was more than curious about what exactly Tim had been up to while he’d been away at college.

It sounded like they had a lot of catching up to do.

When Rhys had thought about the kind of apartment Tim might get, he’d imagined a smaller, quainter looking place—maybe a rented bungalow where part of the expense was waived on the agreement the tenant would care for the resident cats.

Not the large, fancy, beachside condo that the address Tim had given him had led him to.

But when he knocked on the door, it was definitely Tim who opened it—and scooped him up in a big hug, those familiar strong arms wrapping around Rhys’ waist and lifting him up on his tip-toes.

“Whew, you’re a lot stronger than you used to be, huh?” Rhys wheezed when Tim finally plunked him back down on his heels, grin still bright. His freckles were practically twinkling—jeez, when had he last seen Tim this happy?

“There’s a gym on the first floor, it’s great, fucking state-of-the-art, been spending a lot of time there.” Tim waved him into the apartment proper, shutting the door behind him with the beep of the electronic lock.

“Holy shit,” Rhys blurted as Tim lead him into the massive living room, leaving Rhys to seriously wonder about whether his friend had just decided to shack up in a set for a luxury home and garden magazine. Only the handful of touches—such as the video game system set into the oakwood entertainment center, as well as the lavish, full-color movie posters and vintage cheese and beefcake pictures alike framed on the walls—signified that something other than aesthetic and dust lived here.

“I mean….talk about an upgrade.”

Tim bobbed on his feet, blue kitten socks squeaking against the hardwood floors. Practically giddy.

“You’re telling me. So much better. I mean, when Grandma died there was no point in me staying there any longer anyway. The place was already a mess—you remember.” Tim shuddered. Honestly, Rhys hadn’t been over to the Lawrence place in quite some time, the last visit being long before he left for college. As much as he’d always liked Tim and enjoyed his company, his grandma was well….not to speak of the dead, but she’d been a stone-cold bitch. He wasn’t that broken up about it and thankfully neither was Tim.

“No more piles of ancient newspaper and hidden rusty buzz saws…you remember when I had to get a tetanus shot? God. I’m glad to be out of there and in here,” Tim grinned, throwing out his arms in the wide open space. “It’s soooo much nicer.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Rhys snickered. Tim’s lips quirked up secretively, leaning in and whispering though they were the only ones in the apartment.

“You know…if you want to…we totally can.”

“Really?” It wouldn’t be Rhys first time drinking alcohol. His uncle had given him a sip of Southern Comfort when he was twelve and he’d been to a couple frat parties over the course of the semesters whenever he’d had a break. But drinking and chilling in Timothy’s fancy new house sounded a lot more appealing than either of those experiences had been.

“My brother’s super chill. He lets me borrow his beer as long as it stays in the apartment and I promise not to go out while I’m wasted.” Tim led Rhys towards the sleek kitchen, opening the huge steel fridge and pulling two beers out of the clanking drawer.

“Hold on, I’m gonna heat us up some stuffed mushrooms from last night. Bro’s a fucking amazing cook.” Tim waved Rhys back off to the living room as he grabbed a glass tupperware from the fridge and kicked the door shut.

Rhys was still a year shy of the drinking age, but in the privacy of the apartment and with Tim’s insistence he accepted the beer from his friend and took a seat on the couch. He peered at the label as Tim buzzed the leftovers in the microwave, snorting at the almost pointlessly ornate design of a unicorn dabbed in gold leaf and surrounded by diamonds and twirling Celtic branches one might find reproduced in a history book.

“Here, catch,” Tim called as he appeared in the doorway, tossing something weighty and metallic in Rhys’ direction. He caught it deftly, raising an eyebrow at the design. Unicorn themed, like the label, with the opener proper sticking out of the horse’s head where the horn would normally be. Rhys stuck tongue out between his lips as he nudged the bottle opener underneath the cap, carefully popping it open.

“That’s Jack’s. He’s got kind of a unicorn obsession.”

“Jack?”

“I…my brother? Jack? You didn’t forget, did you?” Tim popped the cap off his own beer with a hiss. Rhys’ brow twitched, taking a sip of the beer as if it’d help him remember.

“You wouldn’t have. Jack’s lived abroad for years, mostly doing business and things like that…” Tim scratched the back of his head. “For awhile now he’s been moving up the ranks of…well…he recently got promoted to head of programming at Hyperion.”

“Hyperion? Are you serious?” Rhys balked. He had no idea that Tim’s older brother worked for one of the biggest defense contractors on the entire planet. Hyperion was the kind of group so big and with its fingers in so many pots that even mentioning its name was cause for controversy back on his campus. Rhys liked to think he had a more nuanced view of the company now than he had as a teenager, but its power and unusual flashiness for such a serious business still had a hold on him.

Not to mention, Hyperion internships were some of the most sought after for programmers and engineers. Rhys had tried for one earlier in the year as a lark, and the little hope he’d had at getting it had been dashed fairly quickly. Hyperion was very efficient in its rejection.

Tim gulped down a mouthful of beer, scrubbing the foam from his lips.

“Yeah, like I said…he’s pretty far up there now…so that’s why we have such a nice place. Jack put up the money for it. Bought it outright.”

“H-he bought it?” Rhys was lucky he’d already swallowed his beer, otherwise he might’ve choked. He’d never heard of anyone just…buying an apartment. Was that even legal?

“Yeah, so no worries about rent. Jack still wants me to get a job to help with food, but well…it’s not exactly crucial you know?”

“Oh my god. How rich is he?”

“He works for Hyperion, Rhys. So….gonna say….pretty damn rich. Rich enough that I don’t have to worry about ever living in a place like the old house ever again.”

Tim turned a little sideways on the couch, leaning in like he was about to tell a secret.

“You know…Grandma was pretty old, but it wasn’t like she was dying or anything.” Tim hummed, smacking his lips in between sips of beer. “I kind of wonder sometimes if like…Jack somehow had her killed.”

Rhys snorted, shoving his shoulder.

“You’re not serious.”

“Mmmm. Maybe not,” Tim’s throat bobbed as he drained his beer, letting the empty bottle dangle from his fingers. “But if anyone could do it and make it look like an accident…”

“Please, Tim, he’s not fucking James Bond,” Rhys snickered, closing one eye and peering into the depths of his own bottle. An inch or so of liquid sloshed at the bottom, and Tim had already finished his first beer—he really needed to catch up.

He leaned his head against the back of the couch, dramatically tipping the beer up like he was trying to balance it on his lips as he chugged, Tim’s giggly chanting nearly making him snort it up his nose before he finished it with a gasp.

“That’s good stuff right there…I think…” Rhys burped as he wedged the empty bottle between the couch cushions, choosing to sit and rub the fuzzy suede of the couch while Tim got up and grabbed them another pair of beers.

By the time the front door clicked open he and Tim had already drunk half of their bottles respectively, giggling like children as they reminisced about their high school days. Rhys perked up at the sound of footsteps echoing against the wooden floors, followed by the jangle of the trash can and a smooth, masculine voice.

“Are you getting into the IPA again Timmy? I swear if you keep this up I’m gonna make you pay for i—oh.”

Oh.

Rhys pulled the lip of the bottle away from his mouth, momentarily frozen by the man that had suddenly walked through the doorway into the living room.

For a moment, he wondered if maybe he had been right all along and Tim was shacking up somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, and this was the realtor stripped from the billboards and sent to kick them out.

But then Tim snorted, rolling his eyes as he tipped the beer all the way back down his throat.

“Eat me, Jack, you wanna keep me out so bad you can put a lock on the drawer.” He smacked his lips with a satisfied gasp as Rhys stared, recognition dawning on his face.

So this was Jack.

Globe-trotter Jack. Wealthy beyond his wildest dreams Jack. Programming head at Hyperion Jack.

Handsome Jack.

Oh God. He was handsome.

It was as if Tim was the base model for one of those video game where you could customize your own character and someone had pulled and pinched and yanked him out until he was taller, broader, and more angular. Rhys could still see the similarities in their face and eyes—honestly, they looked more alike than most siblings Rhys had encountered did—but Jack was sharper, his chin more prominent and shoulders broader and cheeks wiped clean of the charming little freckles that dotted Tim’s face.

Rhys knew he must have seen a picture of Jack somewhere in the five years that he’s known Tim, but he doesn’t remember being this struck by his appearance before. Maybe he was the kind of guy more suited to real life than photography, with a kind of magnetism accenting an already aesthetically pleasing picture. Though Rhys can’t imagine that, if he were to be a creep and snap a picture right now, that Jack would look bad. It seemed as impossible as perpetual motion.

Maybe he was exaggerating. Rhys had heard of “beer goggles” before, but even if he was drunkenly inflating Jack’s handsomeness to godly proportions, well, that still meant that he had to be pretty damn hot. He felt on the verge of a heart attack right now, so even if sober-vision Jack ended up popped down a few pegs, he would definitely still send Rhys’ affection aflutter.

What was it Rhys had said earlier? That Jack was no James Bond? He took it back. He had the look, the international intrigue, the fancy clothes and commanding presence. He could very well be a super spy. At the very least he should be on TV. If Jack appeared on a commercial trying to sell him as expensive as cologne or as mundane as dish soap his bank account would drop just as fast as his boxers.

“Your little friend okay there?” Jack grunted, jabbing a finger in Rhys’ direction. Though he’d been addressing Tim instead of him, Rhys still nodded, flighty little smiles fighting with his need to appear cool as he did so.

“Oh, he’s just a little drunk is all.” Tim waved off, gathering up the empty beers laying around the couch and coffee table.

“What, is it his first time? Kid looks like a hamster staring down a rabid dog.”

Jack cocked his head, narrowing his eyes at Rhys. God, the way his tanned skin crinkled around eyes piercing as the tropic waters Rhys envisioned him lounging around on, his shirt off and hopefully broad pecs and strong, lifting arms on display and maybe even glistening with coconut oil coating Rhys’ hands—

“Hah, holy crap, I think you broke him,” Jack snickered, suddenly really close to Rhys with a palm as big as his head waving right in front of his eyes. As Rhys blinked, he caught the glimpse of a couple details he’d somehow missed from gawking at Jack earlier—a sliver of a ring banded with amber and set with some kind of pretty blue stone, and a slightly faded azure tattoo encircling his wrist. He was starting to count the hairs on Jack’s forearm and note how they glinted with a sliver of the afternoon sun filtering from the windows when Jack’s hand moved and instead planted atop his head.

“What’s your name, pumpkin? If you’re that wasted, I can always make something up, buuuut Timmy will tell you not everyone is a fan of that.” Jack ruffled Rhys’ hair, his head moving with the force behind his hand. Rhys blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze of both the beer and the sudden rush of cologne wafting from Jack’s neck from his brain so he could respond without tripping over his tongue.

Jack leaned back away from Rhys as Tim returned, bringing Jack a beer of his own as well as a glass of water. The older man grinned brightly, taking the beer from his brother’s hands and clapping him on the shoulder.

“Aw, there’s a good boy, Timmy-Tams.”

Tim rolled his eyes.

“Don’t,” he sighed, taking a sip of water, “you better not be giving him a terrible nickname too.”

Jack rubbed his chin, a fiendish, thinking grin crawling over his face.

“Give me a sec, and I’m sure I can think of something appropriate for your little friend.”

Rhys’ heart fluttered, hoping he could pass of the blush as baby’s-first gin blossoms. He tipped his chin towards his chest, shyly hiding his face into his hoodie like a turtle.

“Here Rhys, have some water,” Tim sat down besides him, passing the glass of water.

“Don’t do it, kiddo, didn’t he tell ya? He totally backwashes.” Rhys spluttered slightly as Tim shot Jack an annoyed look.

“I do not. And stop, you’re gonna make him choke.”

“Hate to break it to you, Tim-Tums, with a face like that he’s probably used to it.”

“Oh fuck off, Jack,” Tim growled as he took the glass from Rhys’ lips, earning him a cuff on the head from his brother.

“Language, kiddo, jeez.” Tim flipped him off as Jack plunked down on the other side of Rhys, arm slinging over the back of the couch.

“You staying for dinner, Rhysie-pie?” Rhys could feel Jack’s breath against his ear.

“Uh, um, can I…?”

“I dunno, can you?” Tim swatted Jack’s leg.

“You’re welcome to if you want. I’m sure Jack won’t be able to resist showing off his cooking skills to someone new.”

“College boy isn’t a vegetarian or something, is he? You know how those places can get. Cause I’m making filet and I ain’t going out to buy you a salad if you’re gonna whine.”

“N-No! Um, meat is great.”

“Heh. Ain’t that the truth.”

Rhys perked and nodded.

“Yeah. I love meat!”

“Shout it to the heavens, kiddo, amen,” Jack winked, patting Rhys’ knee before rising to stand. His fist clenched at the contact, feeling sweaty underneath his layers of clothes. Rhys’ heart leapt for a moment as Jack reached down, only to grab Tim by the wrist and tug him to his feet.

“Upsy-daisy, Timmy, I ain’t cooking while you too laze around getting wasted on my beer.”

“Ugh, fine,” Tim moaned, “lemme take a leak first though, ‘kay?”

“You’re gonna break the seal, pumpkin!” Jack called after him, smirking as he turned back to look at Rhys, who still sat, swaying slightly.

“You got enough mental faculty to help me out with dinner, kiddo, or should we just let you marinate for a bit longer? I can put on the TV if you need help zoning out.”

“N-No! I’d love to help!” Rhys blurted, stumbling up to his feet and willing his bones not to turn to jelly. Literally going weak-kneed around Jack would be embarrassing.

He followed the man into the kitchen, awkwardly supporting himself against the granite countertop as he dumbly watched Jack flit about, pulling ingredients and scattering them out in a pattern of composed chaos. Though he’d offered, he wasn’t sure what exactly to do to help and his voice was kind of stuck in his throat as he watched the fabric of Jack’s blazer pull and crinkle with each of his movements. God, it looked expensive and he really wanted to touch it. Run his hand up Jack’s back until he got to the sculpted whirlwind of hair twirling up his head in a style that was either meticulously crafted or simply sprayed into place right after waking. If Jack used any product, Rhys wanted to know.

The toilet flushed somewhere in the distance of the apartment. Rhys wasn’t sure if he wanted Tim to hurry up, or take his time washing his hands.

Rhys’ attention snapped away as Jack slapped three ruby-red, glistening cuts of meat against a rosewood cutting board, humming to himself as he raided the steel rack of spices and dashed them together in a small steel bowl. He tossed them with deft fingers, shaking the seasoning out on each flank of the meat, massaging it into the raw flesh.

Rhys looked away, staring pointedly at his fuzzy reflection in the toaster as Jack suddenly turned to look over his shoulder, flicking excess seasoning off his fingers with a faint splat.

“Aw crud. Tim-Tums!” Jack called over the distant sound of the faucet running.

“What?”

“I forgot the frikkin’ veggies in the Porsche, can you grab ‘em for me?”

Rhys heard the bathroom door creak open, Tim’s voice a lot less muffled.

“You can’t get them yourself? Really?”

“I got meat juice all over my hands, kiddo! You want me to stain the suede?”

“Ugh. Fine!” Tim called, appearing briefly through the kitchen doorway as he crossed the hallway from the bathroom to the front door. Jack tossed his keys expertly as Tim passed by, the man skillfully catching it. The click of the unlocked door swinging shut behind him left Rhys consciously aware of the reality that he was now alone in the apartment with Jack.

His fingers gripped the edge of the countertop, eyes hoping to return back to the toaster or one of the many other shiny appliances in the kitchen, but as he sought out a mundane distraction suddenly a crisp white shirt and undone collar and hint of bronze chest filled his view, and oh no, he was a goner.

“So this is the kid Timmy’s always been telling me about…lemme get a good proper look at you, pumpkin.”

Suddenly, Jack’s finger was on his jawline, tilting Rhys’ head up. His skin was a little greasy, a little wet from where he’d been handling the meat. It left a little trail over Rhys’ own skin as Jack started to stroke down to his chin, eyes searching Rhys’ face—for what, the young man didn’t know, but Jack must have found it quickly, because his sharp grin soon spread from cheekbone to cheekbone.

“Hah. Whoops. Sorry about that.” Jack lifted his fingers from Rhys’ jawline, rubbing the oily tips together so close to Rhys’ lips he cold nearly taste the fat. “Ah well. What’s a little meat juice between friends?” Jack’s eyes glimmered, showing off the slightly different hues that might just be a trick of the kitchen lighting.

“And we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Y-Yes?”

“Bet you’ve made a lot of new friends in college, huh Rhysiekins?”

Rhys nodded, voice sticking again.

Jack moved in closer, hands bracing on either side of Rhys, fingers close to the young man’s own on the granite of the counter’s edge. He could feel Jack’s ring brushing up against the side of his palm—it was warm, like his hand.

“You like ‘Rhysiekins,’ pumpkin? Or should I keep trying to find the perfect little nickname for you?” Jack’s voice was definitely slumming into a throaty purr that had the hair on the back of Rhys’ neck standing up. His voice managed to claw out of his throat but stumbled into his mouth, his eyelids fluttering like a hummingbird gorged on nectar.

“You have any plans for the summer, cupcake? Internships, jobs, volunteer work, partying?”

Rhys felt hypnotized, just barely able to eke out a response because he felt like Jack wanted it.

“Uh…n-not really…just gonna kind of hang out, you know?”

Jack’s hand lifted, pinning one of Rhys’ against the counter. He tapped it softly, sending blood pumping in time up to Rhys’ already full cheeks.

“Mm. Then I expect to see a lotta you around this place, ‘kay?”

“Y-Yes sir.” It slipped out before Rhys could stop it. Jack threw back his head and laughed, body swaying away from Rhys’.

“Sir! Oh, I like you kiddo.”

Jack liked him. He liked him. Rhys couldn’t stop the grin that split across his face even if he wanted to.

By the time Tim returned from the car, arm slung with reusable bags full of vegetables, Jack had moved away from Rhys to preheat the oven and grab another beer from the fridge. Rhys nodded at Tim’s silent question as he set the bags of produce on the counter, sure to stifle any lingering blush lest his best friend get a hint of what had happened between him and Jack. As hot as the man was, Rhys had just re-connected with Tim. He didn’t want to risk that.

But as he finished washing and handing the silky vegetables over to Jack—who deftly grasped them in his huge hands and sunk his blade into their juicy, yielding flesh—Rhys couldn’t help but feel like he’d finally found something he really wanted to do this summer.

#spacetext #fanfic #long post #rhack #modern AU #jack is like 27 in this #tftbl

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