killingsoftly (
killingsoftly) wrote2006-06-19 09:05 am
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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?"
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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"Upstairs. We brought the whiskey."
He tugged him to the elevator, pushing their button.
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He just about fell against the elevator wall, closing his eyes and sighing, a goofy smile on his face.
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"Home again, home again."
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Then fell backwards onto the bed.
"How do people live without this..."
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And he was glad he'd gotten to share it with Warren.
"Whiskey?"
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He handed Warren his, then sat on the floor by his feet, back against the bed.
"To the theatre?"
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"To the theatre," he said, with greater solemnity than he'd shown for the past half hour (not that that was much), clinking his glass against Devin's.
His smile was brilliant, and happy.
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"I'm glad I was able to take you."
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"Wow..."
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"And Rent on Sunday. I think you'll like it."
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Warren barely noticed Devin, or rather, barely noticed that it was unusual or dangerous. He played back, sliding his fingers along Devin's.
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He smiled a little. "Sounds like fun."
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He smiled, playing with Warren's class ring, fiddling with fingers.
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He moved to tracing his tattoo.
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Watched Devin's fingers moving over his wrist.
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Back down to his fingers, his ring.
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He finished his whiskey and watched him play, thinking.
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"I think you'll like it...."
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He thought about reaching out, touching Devin's hair, stretching out on the floor. Decided, for now, just to watch him play.
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