Ice Cold (bxb)

Chapter III - Target

Chapter 3 - Target

B E A U

I walk into his room, pleasantly surprised by its simple, organic aesthetic. There isn't much in terms of personal decoration though, which is expected, considering Axel probably hasn't lived here in ages. It's all contemporary wood furniture – a picturesque hotel room vibe, with a plush center rug, finished off by a neutral color scheme that accentuates the few green plants placed throughout the space. But, there are hints of his presence still lingering in the room. The 1975 posters next to the closet, for example, were the first to catch my attention, along with the extensive shelving unit of figure skating ribbons and trophies from past competitions.

My eyes wander to the queen bed pushed against the furthest point of the room, between the two large windows. The sheets are crisp, almost like a piece of paper had been lain over instead of fabric. And I wonder. . . did he used to sleep here alone? Or did another body join him?

"So. This is where all the magic happened?" I hum.

"Ha-ha," he deadpans, disappearing inside the walk-in closet, "No magic. At all. I abstain from. . . that." He peeks his head from the door, cheeks red, before slipping back inside.

I can't tell if he's being serious or not. I'm sure he has a lot of pursuers, both women and men.

Especially men.

But that's a thought that makes me frown. I'd say he doesn't seem like that type of guy, just by looking at him; and I'd even bet a million bucks that his chastity is still intact to this day, pure as the whiteness of his bedsheets.

Although. . . now that I think of it, it does seem unlikely. He's what, 21? A virgin, with a face and ass like that? I doubt he's chaste. Hell, I'd even love to find out myself.

No! Beau. Absolutely off limits. No touchy.

"Are you ready to go?" Axel asks, breaking my reverie. He's changed into Nike shoes, a University of Washington sweater, and he's removed his hat, revealing a dark mop of unruly hair fanning his forehead. He rakes a hand through the wavy tresses, probably a natural habit, and they style into a soft quiff with minimal effort.

I'm a little sad about him emerging fully clothed from the closet, but those 2XU compression pants remain a pleasant distraction. It turns out there's no better way to showcase the slim, firm legs of a male figure skater like skin-tight leggings. I mean, he certainly fits the type. Craig had mentioned his skating career over one drunken night a few months ago, when we were on the topic of his little sister Elena, who – oddly enough – is also a skater. But I'm not surprised at all. Axel definitely looks like someone that's born to skate, with the face of an angel, and a refined gracefulness exceeding that of any other twenty-something-year-old out there. And, I can confirm that he's definitely refined in all the right places. . .

"Beau!"

"Huh?" I ask, incredulous, peeling my eyes away from his nether regions.

"What are you staring at?" Axel raises a questioning brow. "My eyes are on my face, not my ass."

"Sorry?" I try lamely, grinning at him, "Has anybody ever told you've got some amazing legs?" The greatest legs I've ever seen on any man.

A red tint flushes his cheeks. "No," Axel says, looking away, "If that's an attempt at flattering me you've got to try harder. Anyway, let's just go and do what we have to do."

I follow after him through the door, but not before grabbing the lanyard he's forgotten on the bedroom dresser. Halfway down the staircase, he stops, feels around his body, then turns to me.