Wolfsbane: Troyler AU

Conversations with the Queen

Tyler's POV

I've gotten quite a few flirtatious, shy smiles from some cuties in my day. I've gotten cat calls, and I've had hugs where some men were a bit too handsy all over my backside, blushed when I called them out on it, and claimed they were just “so excited.” Hell, I've had the pleasure of walking away from an interaction with a prospective future boo completely breathless and giddy and feeling like I was walking on cloud nine.

But never have I touched a man and he passed out cold from it. And I have never, and I mean nev-er, kissed a man and he was promptly knocked unconscious. I mean, I like to joke about having “lethal lips” but come the hell on, now!

Troye was lying under the kitchen sink, crumpled and curled into a lanky – though, somehow, decidedly attractive – heap on the floor. His breath was coming out slowly and evenly. He even had a very small smile on his face.

Though I tried to reign it in, I allowed my ego to take control for just a moment. I turned my head towards the refrigerator, stared at my blurry reflection in the stainless steel door, raised an eyebrow sharply at the barely distinguishable, blue-haired man and said, “I am the kissing god. Men are struck and fall down before me.” I held the pose and let my words hang in the air.

Then, I looked down quickly at Troye, who was literally on the ground at my feet, just to make sure he wasn't awake and watching me act ridiculous. He wasn't. Still knocked out. I shook my head at him and released a small breath.

Once again, I was faced with the decision of what to do with an unconscious hot boy. The same unconscious hot boy. This was becoming quite the little pattern, and I wasn't sure I felt up to all the lifting and carrying this pattern seemed to foreshadow. On the plus side, I mused to myself, you'll definitely be ripped soon if he keeps falling down and I keep lugging him to safety.

Safety! It had almost slipped my mind! Troye was perfectly safe on my kitchen floor and did not really need to be moved, now did he? Satisfied with my reasoning – and avoiding exercise so soon after breakfast – I nevertheless quickly squatted down to check on Troye's vitals, making sure his airway was unobstructed, that his head and neck were straightened to prevent him from getting a crick in his neck, that he wasn't lying on anything uncomfortable. Following the “comfortable” train of thought, I went to my bedroom and grabbed my flowered comforter off of the bed, a pillow, and my cell phone. After laying the phone on the table, I tucked the pillow under Troye's head, stretched his limbs out, and then laid the blanket over him. Satisfied, I dusted invisible dirt off of my hands, clapping them together in a “that's that!” motion, nodded firmly, and placed my hands on my hips. I held this pose for a moment.

Must be “Tyler is a Model” day in the Oakley apartment.

I laughed out loud at my own joke. Jesus, I'm such a nerd.

I picked my cell phone up off of the table and, as I got to the kitchen door, I glanced over my shoulder at Troye, sleeping peacefully on the floor, his mouth slightly open, palm now curled under his chin. I snickered. What a dainty little princess he is.

With that thought, I walked towards the living room, scrolling down the contents of my cell phone “recent calls” log looking for – there it is! Time to call “Queen Jackie.”

* * *

A Transcript of Tyler's Call to “Queen Jackie”

Preceding the call:

Tyler Oakley, of the electric blue hair, walked into the living room, did a slight jump, and then fell loose-limbed on his couch. He hummed a part of the chorus to “Latch” by Disclosure featuring Sam Smith. He slayed with his falsetto.