Camera Doesn't Lie. (boyxboy)

Chapter VIII.

Nathan woke up with his stomach cold. With a groan, he rolled his head to one side.

He opened his eyes and saw that he was in the White Room. A zip lock bag full of ice was sitting on his stomach. Nathan lifted his hand to push the stupid thing off when another hand grabbed his wrist.

"Ah, ah, ah," came Zane’s voice. "Leave it on. You don't wanna bruise, do you?"

He redhead was standing and there was hardly any water in the bag which lead Nathan to assume that Zane had just brought him in. Nathan grimaced as he propped himself up by his elbows.

"That was a cheap shot," he muttered. Suddenly he sat up, his stomach protested sharply against the movement but the blonde ignored it. "Where's Nick?!" he asked.

"He's fine."

"He's not fine!" Nathan insisted. "He's with Mck—" the blonde paused. "Did you take off my shirt?"

"Yup!" Zane said contently. "Had to. Else ways your shirt would get wet. You have beautiful washboard abs by the way."

Nathan made a noise of aggravation swinging his legs off the side of the bed. Zane’s hand gripped his shoulder and forced him back down.

"Lie down, or I'll make you. I'll beat you again if I have to," the photographer said, smirking.

"You didn't beat me!" the blonde said a little vehemently. "You cheated!"

"Did not!" Zane said, appalled.

"You hit me when I wasn't paying attention!"

"Why in the world were you not paying attention in the middle of an informal kickboxing match?"

"Nick was—"

"Too bad!" Zane cut him off quickly as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"But—" Nathan began.

"You should have paid more attention!"

"But McKee—"

"Excuses, excuses!" the photographer singsonged.

"Wait, a second—"

Zane blew a raspberry at him. "I win! Zane: two; Nathan: zero!"

"Ugh!" Nathan flopped back onto the bed (his stomach smarting a little.) "This is like arguing with a child!"

"Says the one in the room below eighteen," Zane countered.

"You…!" the model pulled the pillow over his face and sighed. He made no further actions. Zane probably wasn't going to let him leave, and with his stomach hurting he couldn't fight his way out.

"You knocked me out so McKee could be alone with Nick, didn't you?" Nathan asked, muffled underneath the pillow.

"Perceptive," Zane replied. The photographer dragged one of the chairs from the long table to Nathan’s bedside. "Why do you worry so much about your brother? He's older than you, isn't he? He can take care of himself."

"NO, he can't," Nathan said adamantly as he lifted the pillow a little. "Nick—Nick’s… He's—"

"A fluffy, little bubble that sees the world through gay, rose-tinted glasses?" the older man ventured. "And by 'gay' I mean 'happy,' not 'homosexual.' Well, I suppose you can go both ways in Nick’s case."

"Exactly." Nathan agreed.

"Yeah, I like a play on words too…"

"No, I mean about the fluffy bubble-glasses part." Nathan scowled at the redhead. "He takes things too easily. And he's always so impulsive… Do you know why Nick wanted to become a model?"