killingsoftly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
killingsoftly) wrote2006-06-19 09:05 am
killingsoftly) wrote2006-06-19 09:05 am
Entry tags:
Glass -- New York, Friday Night
They'd given them a park facing room, which was more than Devin had hoped for. He brushed his fingers over the cool glass of the doors, then stepped outside on the balcony, letting the sounds of the city wash over him. He took a sip of whiskey, smiling to himself as he watched the warm early evening light warm the buildings and the tops of the trees. It was warm and the air conditioner in the room kicked on in protest of the open door, but he just let it run, listening to the sounds of Warren in the room behind him.
Even now, the heat from their little game still lingered, flushing his cheeks. The whiskey in the glass was cool, but not cool enough. He was cursing himself that they only had one bed, but when he'd booked the gig, and the room, he hadn't expected Warren to be coming. He figured he'd be pursuing his other gig while here, but then the invitation spilled out and here they were. He wasn't coming down off a high. He'd slept a lot the last few days. He'd been eating. He wasn't fragile and out of it, and sharing that bed was likely to test his resolve to the limit, especially after the teasing.
He wasn't likely to sleep much.
But he didn't want to push Warren. The flirtation was delightful. The game moreso, but he was the one who wanted it to be more than just a game, not Warren. He had to remember that part and not push, no matter if that "later" teased at his memory. He slid fingers over glass and imagined briefly it was skin, then pushed those thoughts away. He could behave.
"Our reservation's at six." He called back over his shoulder, straightening even as he kept his gaze fixed on the people scurrying below, drinking in the life of the City. "We should probably leave by 530. It's just around the corner, less than half a mile. Walk or cab?"
Even now, the heat from their little game still lingered, flushing his cheeks. The whiskey in the glass was cool, but not cool enough. He was cursing himself that they only had one bed, but when he'd booked the gig, and the room, he hadn't expected Warren to be coming. He figured he'd be pursuing his other gig while here, but then the invitation spilled out and here they were. He wasn't coming down off a high. He'd slept a lot the last few days. He'd been eating. He wasn't fragile and out of it, and sharing that bed was likely to test his resolve to the limit, especially after the teasing.
He wasn't likely to sleep much.
But he didn't want to push Warren. The flirtation was delightful. The game moreso, but he was the one who wanted it to be more than just a game, not Warren. He had to remember that part and not push, no matter if that "later" teased at his memory. He slid fingers over glass and imagined briefly it was skin, then pushed those thoughts away. He could behave.
"Our reservation's at six." He called back over his shoulder, straightening even as he kept his gaze fixed on the people scurrying below, drinking in the life of the City. "We should probably leave by 530. It's just around the corner, less than half a mile. Walk or cab?"
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He looked up at Warren when he finished.
"It's beautiful," he said, voice husky with awe.
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"Thank you."
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So he leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss over his mouth.
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"No one's ever written me a poem before."
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He slipped back into the covers, then blinked at Devin. "Really?"
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That didn't seem right, for some reason. Not as many artistic types as Devin hung around with.
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