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Dylan laughed and stroked the back of Derek’s arm. “They’re all pretty nerdy.”
“I had no doubt. If I was scared off by your dorkiness, I wouldn’t have let you suck me off that first time.”
Dylan snorted. “Hey, cool guy. Tell me again about your verbal dissertation about Christina Aguilera’s character arc in Burlesque and how you feel like it’s a modern retelling of the hero’s journey—”
“I was half-drunk, and Olive baited me into it that night.”
“Olive’s a good egg.”
“This one.” Derek touched a tattoo near Dylan’s shoulder.
“It’s ‘Gallagher’ in old Irish in some fancy script my sister picked with the number six. All six of us got it on vacation the year Felicity turned eighteen.”
“This one.” Derek’s hand dragged over Dylan’s chest.
Dylan grinned. “Elvish. ‘Not all who wander are lost.’ Somewhat cliché, but I was in college.”
Derek’s fingers paused to play with the metallic ball. “Does it hurt if I do this?”
“Nope… had that since college too. Weird phase.”
“This one looks familiar.” Derek traced the symbol on Dylan’s lower left ribs. “Oh, and what’s the jagged line on your forearm?”
“That’s the Star Wars rebel symbol. Also, a cliché, but oh well. I like it. On my forearm, it’s the crack in Amy Pond’s wall. An incredibly niche Doctor Who thing. Niche even in geekdom.”
“Even niche for a dork? Impressive.” Derek touched along the elastic of Dylan’s tight gray boxer briefs, letting his fingers tease a few millimeters beneath the seam. Dylan’s breathing hitched. “This?”
“Oh…” Dylan pulled the elastic down low, so the entire tattoo was visible. “Bridge Four symbol. Stormlight Archive. One of my favorite series of all time, actually.”
“The big one on your back? All those lines and circles?”
“Ah… That one is probably the dorkiest. It’s a line art rendering of a schematic of an Alan Turing design.” He turned on his side, giving Derek a better look at the delicate ink streaking across it and over the lean muscles. Dylan’s stomach growled.
“Have you eaten anything yet?”
“Uh…”
Derek pushed him over to the edge of the bed. “Go get your shit. We’re going to get dinner.”
Dylan just grinned at him.
“Go.” Derek pointed to the door. “You’re driving because my car’s being weird.”
“Kay.”
Derek’s face spread wide on reflex. “Kay.”
Derek handed his menu to the server. Dylan hadn’t even looked before ordering. “You’ve been to Sumittra a lot before?”
“Yeah, love Thai food.” Dylan leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “And feminist prose… and angry-girl music of the indie rock—”
“How many times have you watched that movie?” Derek chuckled.
“It chills Gus out when the noise from downstairs makes him anxious. And Heath Ledger is a snack…”
“Agreed.” Derek grinned. “I was asking because you didn’t actually read the menu.”
Dylan’s ears went pink, and he rubbed his hand over the now shorter areas of his hair, pausing for a second as if he didn’t immediately remember why there was less hair. “I’m the sort of person who orders the same thing over and over. Decisions are stressful for me.” He coughed. “It’s—uh—not that I don’t try new things, I just find something I love and then… it’s weird, I know it’s weird. It’s why I like watching movies over and over again when I fixate on one, come to think about it.”