ONE: Vanilla on My Hands

3: Shot Down By Oral Hygiene

And 'when' seemed like it was taking forever to come to fruition. Ryan stood in the middle of the kitchen, more than likely scrolling through the pictures of his food he had taken earlier, looking at the likes and comments.

"What?" Ryan looked up from his phone as he set it down on the counter, glancing once at the screen before he walked over to the fridge to stow his leftovers away. He closed the door and looked at Frank, "What?"

"You're taking forever..." Frank groaned unhappily as Ryan shrugged his jacket off and hung it over the back of one of the chairs- a habit when he was planning to wear the jacket the next day.

"'M not," Ryan muttered simply, walking past Frank and out of the living room, into the hallway. Frank stared after his boyfriend longingly, whimpering, his voice ringing in Frank's head, "You coming?"

"God, I hope so," Frank muttered under his breath as he trotted after Ryan to the bedroom, scampering in to see Ryan at the mirror in the en-suite bathroom. He was humming to himself, plying toothpaste onto his green toothbrush. Frank stifled a groan as Ryan began brushing, looking at himself in the reflection, a hand resting on the edge of the basin. Frank stood in the doorway, the bubbles of lust knotting his insides.

"You're doing this on purpose," Frank stated simply, folding his arms when Ryan glanced at him. A frown grew in his dark brows as he continued scrubbing his teeth leisurely, an arm resting behind his back. Ryan held up a finger, turning on the faucet before he bent down, spitting the foam into the basin before rinsing his mouth and wiping it on the nearby towel.

"What?"

"First, you tell me you want an early night and then you take your sweet-ass time getting there." Frank pouted and Ryan smiled slightly.

"Well, it wasn't intentional." Ryan walked into the bedroom and to their closet, turning to Frank, "But I haven't changed my mind, sweetheart."

"Thank God," Frank muttered as he kicked off his shoes and bent down, pulling off his socks to stuff them into his black sneakers. Frank unfastened his old white belt, leaving it in the loops of his jeans as he unfastened the faded charcoal denim and pushed them down, watching them pool to his ankles. He bent down, picking his jeans up when he looked up at Ryan, who was standing there, biting on his lip, "What?" Frank frowned and Ryan merely smiled again and bent down, pulling off his brown loafers and his socks with a small hum, "Babe? What?"

"Stop asking so many questions." Ryan straightened up and shrugged out of his flimsy white-linen shirt. He opened the closet and tossed the shirt into the laundry hamper. Frank muttered softly under his breath as he unbuttoned his black shirt, watching Ryan tug on his many necklaces and leather tags, pulling them up over his head to put them away in the small box he had on his bedside table. 

Frank tugged at the cuffs of his shirt, unrolling the sleeves roughly before he pulled the shirt off, bundling it up and chucking it into the basket. Ryan tugged his striped t-shirt off over his head and put it in the wash along with his burgundy jeans, his gaze now on Frank. Frank sucked in a breath as he pulled his white t-shirt off, dropping it on the ground before he walked up to Ryan, his hands on Ryan's hips, squeezing softly.

"Frank?"

"What?" Frank frowned and Ryan bit his lip, his eyes glancing between boyfriend and floor and Frank closed his eyes, realizing that Ryan was now eyeing the t-shirt he had cast on the ground and not in the basket, "Dude, you're not serious."

"Please?" Ryan eyed Frank uneasily and Frank sighed softly, nodding as he turned and walked back to his t-shirt, "And- And brush your teeth maybe?"

Frank put his shirt in the laundry and turned to look at Ryan, who was now walking to his side of the bed, "Is my breath bad? I grabbed a mint from the bowl."