Thread: Lose the Shirt, Keep the Pants (Machiavelli x ScifiNudist)

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, for her, Nicholas remembered clearly. After practice he had come home, finding the reck of his roommate on the couch, a sobbing mess, littered tissue and alcohol bottles around the living room. He knew her relationship had been a little rough lately, given the fact that they lived together, but the two of them had never been much more than friends. They weren't besties by and stretch of the imagination, and he had never really sat down and had a deep talk with her about her relationship, but it was easy enough to pick up the hints. Then he had come home, she was a wreck, and from what he could piece together, her girlfriend had dumped her, via text, from Las Vegas, where she was now pregnant and engaged to Roslyn's brother. That had taken a bit to process. It had sounded far too much like a bad soap opera to believe at first, but given her state, he kept the comment to himself. Roslyn was one of the better roommates he had ever had. The only pitfall was her nudism, and, admittedly, that wasn't too horrible a curse. She was certainly attractive, and the challenge was restraining himself and keeping from staring constantly. But compared to the noisy drummer, drunk and high playboy, and bitchy art student a sculptor - imagine the banging of chisels, she was an angel. Honestly, he had considered that she looked like one too. It only figured that she was also, as far as he knew, strictly a lesbian, and so there was a delightfully sexy girl walking around the apartment naked constantly, and he didn't have a metaphorical snowball's chance in a blazing inferno. At least, that was his resigned position on the matter until the night previous. As he held her in his arms, he was suddenly surprised as she pushed him down to the couch, her lips meeting his in a hot, if drunken kiss. That kiss was startling but enjoyable, as her naked body pressed to his clothed one, and then she had passed out in the definition of anticlimax. And, because he was a decent human being and had a healthy respect for women, despite his admittedly raging desire, he had slipped out from underneath her, covered her with a blanket, and moved to his bedroom, where he may or may not have resolved that desire in a different manner. The next morning she was still laying prone on the couch, and so he left her alone, departing for his classes. The tall, lean figure was a sophomore in college, pursuing a degree in computer technology, and on a swimming scholarship. Their season had just begun, and so he was in peak shape, all lean muscle, cleanly-shaven, hair cut short. That hair was a dark black, though it was harder to tell now that it was short, but in the off-season he grew it out in short curls of ebony locks. His face was sculpted much like a statue of the aforementioned art student, chiseled into handsome lines, framing bright, warm brown eyes. On this particular day he wore a white cotton t-shirt and pleasantly cut pants that fit his form nicely. The clothing clung to his body, earning him glances from a few interested individuals, but he had not the time to pursue a dedicated relationship, nor did many girls find the idea of dating a man living with a female nudist exactly appealing, and he had to admit he liked Roslyn's company. He attended his three classes for the day before walking back to the apartment, stopping at the gas station for a few items before heading upstairs. Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the door with a click, stepping inside. He caught her expression first, knowing she remembered enough of last night for it to be awkward, and he smiled ever so slightly, ruefully, tossing his keys into the ceramic bowl on a bookcase next to the door, letting it close behind him. Good morning. I'm glad to see you're alive. I figured if you were still out when I got back, perhaps a trip to the hospital would be in order. He teased lightly, attempting to break the ice as he moved to the armchair next to the couch. He set the bag down, fishing a large bottle of Gatorade out, as well as a bottle of Advil. I honestly cannot recall if you've ever seen me deal with a hangover, but this is my cure of choice. He said pushing them toward her and leaning back, deliberately avoiding looking anywhere but her face. Drink up. As much as I'd like to clear the awkwardness, it'll be better if you don't have seven dwarves hi-hoing around your brain.