Wolfsbane: Troyler AU

Pancakes and War

Tyler's POV

Tyler Oakley, your mission, if you choose to accept it, I thought to myself in a authoritative voice, is codenamed 'Operation Don't Be the One to Blush.'

I nodded to myself sharply as I whisked the eggs in bowl. Whisk, whisk, whisk.

Successful completion of the mission, I continued, thinking sternly, would see you, at its end, calm and collected, with your face not red and you not embarrassed. Best method to execute said mission is –

“Tyler? Can I do anything to help?”

I turned my head towards Troye, leaning so casually in the doorway, and observed him. His dark hair was cut low on the sides but quite long on the top, shagging over his forehead in deep waves. The navy blue t-shirt he wore was a bit oversized, and the neck hole favored his right side, showing a good amount of a delicate, pale collarbone, while the grey sweatpants he wore seemed to fit perfectly, hanging just so at his narrow hips. He looked... well... I could feel my face begin to heat slightly.

BEST METHOD, I thought loudly to myself, continuing to stare at Troye, to execute said mission is diversion, you thirsty, thirsty ass!

Oh, yes, I knew exactly what I had to do. It was for my survival... well, at least my pride, which was tied quite closely to me not dying... of embarrassment.

Mission accepted.

I smiled at Troye, the biggest smile I could manage, making sure that lots of teeth were showing. This was not meant to be a pleasant smile, my friends, but an aggressive smile. A leer, and while I leered, I made sure to pointedly trail my eyes up and down his tall, lean, lithe –

Jesus, Tyler. A grip. Get one.

I made sure I never looked in his eyes, though – didn't want to be dazzled and struck mute – and as I kept my eyes constantly scanning, I said to him, “Help? Yes, you sure can. I'll fix breakfast. And you stand there looking edible. That's super helpful.”

I glanced quickly at Troye's face, and my smile grew a bit wider, even though I didn't know that was possible, because he was the loveliest shade of pink. And I was not. Score one for Tyler.

“Or you can set the table.” I turned away from him and continued to beat the eggs, giving him a moment to compose himself. “The plates are in the cabinet next to the fridge and the utensils are in the drawer right below it.”

Though I was facing away from him, working very intently on beating the eggs into utter submission as any good chef would do, I peeked at Troye through my lashes from the side of my eye. He hadn't moved, and his jaw was clenched tightly. Then, he exhaled softly, and moved to gather the plates and things and set the table.

I smiled to myself. Things were looking up.

* * *

I'm an okay cook, but I outdid myself on that breakfast: eggs, bacon, pancakes from scratch, and freshly squeezed orange juice. After we served ourselves from the stove, Troye and I sat at the kitchen table across from one another. There was a very comfortable silence as we ate.

Since we weren't talking, I figured I would take (yet another) opportunity to look at Troye, observe him to see if there was... anything... I should be concerned about. Purely research, you know?

The first thing I noticed was that, after he took a bite, as he was pulling the fork out of his mouth, he pulled his lips back a bit and allowed the fork tines to sing softly against his teeth as they exited his mouth.

Then, I noticed that he had a very manly chew. He seemed to be intent on macerating the pancakes in quick fashion, taking big bites, jaws pumping steadily.

Then, I noticed how his throat seemed to expand and stretch and bob as he swallowed.

And then –