killingsoftly | Glass -- New York, Friday Night

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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?"

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Warren nodded, following. Smiling a little back, regaining his equilibrium.

Devin was more than a little shaken himself, not used to being that open when playing. He was quiet the rest of the way, though his fingers held on to Warren's.

He sauntered up to will call when they got to the theatre and picked up their tickets with a smile.

Warren chuckled a little, watching him prance and perform, even as much less as he was doing it now, compared to a few minutes ago. Devin was so... Devin.

As they went in he started humming the 'Knights of the Round table' song. Just because.

It was a good evening.

Devin grinned, echoing the feeling and headed to the bar first.

"Wine? Beer?"

"Wine," Warren smiled shyly. "But you pick. I haven't had wine on a regular basis since..."

He shook his head a little.

"Since I was a kid, anyway. I'm out of practice."

"I'll be right back, then." He brushed a kiss over Warren's cheek. "Just in case they're checking I.D."

He extricated his hand with regret, moving to the bartender.

He did that so easily, Warren thought. As though they were really here.

He shied away from what 'really here' meant.

Devin came back smiling about five minutes later with two glasses of red wine.

"I'm afraid they didn't have quite the selection the restaurant did, but I've had this Shiraz before and it's good."

He handed Warren his.

Warren's eyebrows lifted, a smile on his face as he tasted it.

"Mm.." It was. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Devin looked around the lobby, watching people, then leaned against the wall, sipping his wine.

Warren watched him more than the crowd. Wondering why, why him, why either of them. Why here and now.

Why Devin.

He took another sip, then another. Closed his eyes on that one, letting the flavor seep into his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked around the room, letting his gaze drift. Beautiful blonde in a shimmering white dress. Another blonde, pale blue. A pretty brunette in the little black dress women were always supposed to have, a red-head in a pink number that did nothing for her coloring but everything for her curves. The men were barely blips on his radar.

But Devin, standing next to him, could set his skin on fire probably literally with a look. With a touch and a whispered word. Like he'd only experienced, maybe, once before.

It wasn't that he was expecting it to suddenly make sense. He was getting past that part. And it wasn't that he wanted it to stop, because he'd given up the idea that it would. The question, really, by now, was, what was he going to do about it.

Devin looked at all the pretty surrounding them, but none of them could outshine Warren. He slid his fingers up his spine, just a light touch, connection. He was there, with him, if only for this weekend.

But not just this weekend. For the tour. Months on the road, with him. And even if it wasn't in the way he wanted it to be, it was still with him. Which wasn't anything he'd ever wanted before. Not this badly.

Even touring with Byron hadn't made him this excited. He sipped his wine, fingers resting on Warren's waist.

Warren shivered at his touch, feeling the prickle of hot and cold, first cold, then hot, along his skin. Like that. And just like that he could feel how much he wanted more of it, had to keep from reaching for it.

Had to be in some kind of control. There were lines that couldn't be crossed. Boundaries. He had some integrity. No matter what he might feel, he was going to keep that.

And while he was thinking that, he started to put together what was happening. What was going to happen. It was heartbreaking, confusing. He leaned a little into Devin without meaning to, just to try and make it go away.

Devin slid an arm around his waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.

"I somehow expected it to be a younger crowd. I mean, I know the movies have been out a long time, but the silliness is something you don't see appealing to people as much as they get older."

"Maybe it's people who grew up with the movies," he ventured after a moment, pushing it away. Pushing all the thoughts away. He wanted to enjoy the evening, dammit. He hoped he didn't sound as down as he had started to feel.

Then he smiled a little. "Or, just, people who believe in the propriety of Broadway who don't know what they're in for."

Devin chuckled. "That would be amusing. The first is probably more correct, sadly. Though I bet there's a share of them who are here just because of the reviews and feeling like they're supposed to see it because it's a hit."

Warren snorted. "That's a stupid reason to see anything," he said.

But he was smiling when he said it.

"Well, yeah. But that's what those with more money than sense do." He considered. "Or tourists."

Warren snorted, laughing. "Which, we're neither. We're just rock stars enjoying an evening out."

"That we are," Devin said with a smirk. He didn't quite nuzzle Warren's jaw, quite, but half a bottle of wine followed by this glass had made things warm. Happy-glowy.

Or maybe it was just Warren.

Warren laughed again, softly, resting his cheek against Devin's. Even if he wasn't nuzzling it had roughly the same effect.

Devin pulled him just a little closer, settling. The lights flickered just then.

"Five minute warning. We should go find our seats."

"Right."

Warren was not bouncing. Would not bounce. He wasn't sure he could be still, either. But he wouldn't bounce like a child.

Really.

Devin grinned and fished the tickets out. He shifted, taking Warren's hand again and heading toward the orchestra doors, handing their tickets to the attendant who walked them down to their seats.

Third row. Center.

Warren's eyes widened slightly as he looked around. He had no idea what tickets actually cost, but he had some idea of how the scale went. Cheap seats were up in the rafters.

Expensive seats were down up front.

He waited till they were seated to lean against Devin and whisper, incredulous. "Devin... how...?" The words came out strangled.

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