"There. All done." Orlando says as he screws on the top of the black nail polish. Johnny was with him when he bought several bottles of the brand. He gave the younger man a strange look in the store, but Orlando simply told him it was the best around.
Johnny takes a look at his painted fingernails and raises an eyebrow in true 'What was I thinking?' fashion. Looking ahead at the bottle, he smirks at the one-word label.
Morbid.
He can hear Orlando snort, and loves it that there's someone else who shares (and appreciates) his warped sense of humor.
Orlando then reaches for both of Johnny's hands, looking over them. Before Johnny can say that they look fine to him, the other man blows on his fingertips.
With a parted mouth, Johnny watches Orlando through heavy-lidded eyes. Cool air trails over his fingers, and warm hands are holding his. Johnny can feel the goosebumps develop on his arms. He wants to shrug it off and blame it on the air conditioner, but he knows better.
Dark eyes are looking into his, typically full of mischief.
Smirking, Orlando lets go. He reaches for the bottle again and instructs Johnny to lay back. Johnny obeys, feeling the small brush over his toes.
When cool air hits his toe nails, Johnny once again feels the goosebumps rise on his skin. But when warm hands touch his feet, he can hear himself sigh.
Maybe Orlando will let him have a bottle of this stuff sometime.