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 watched their hands moving over each other, swallowed slightly at the way they touched.

No, maybe it was safer up here on the bed for now.

He turned his hand back over, palm up. Not quite sure what he was asking or inviting.

Devin turned a bit, onto his hip, ignoring how close that put Warren's thigh. He traced his finger over the lines of Warren's palm.

"Now I'm wishing I'd paid more attention to the gypsies I traveled with for a while."

Warren looked amused. "You really had a lot of adventures, didn't you."

"Could always make something up."

"A few..." Devin said with a small smile.

"Hmm..." He traced the longest line with the tip of his finger. "I see a very long, healthy life. A career that's a calling more than just a job. And a home with someone you love."

"Huh."

Though he leaned back a little, not pulling away, but his face fell into the shadow of his hair again.

It was enough of a withdrawal that Devin winced a little.

He tried a small smile, not wanting to ruin the mood. "But then, what do I know?"

"I dunno, you tell me," Warren said, looking at him with a sudden intensity that was at the same time pleading and demanding.

And then he sighed, curled his fingers around Devin's. This wasn't the way he wanted things to go. "Anyway, I'm not ready to settle down that soon, although it's nice to know it's waiting for me." Back to a lighter tone, a small smile.

Devin's breath caught under that intensity, and he opened his lips to answer, though what he had no idea.

His fingers held tight back to Warren's. "I'm hardly the one to speak about settling down. A rolling stone and all that." He smiled a bit. "But I'm sure you could have anything out of life you wanted."

Warren smiled slightly. "If you say so."

It was a foolishly romantic gesture and had he not been drinking he wouldn't have done it. But he had been and it had been one of those nights.

He pressed a kiss to Warren's palm. "I know so."

Warren slid off the bed to sit next to him.

"I don't want..." he started, then stopped. "I don't want things from life like my Dad does. I don't want anything. I just want to be able to live my life." It wasn't even an argument against Devin. Just, it brought up thoughts in his head that whirled around too often, and had for years.

"I just want to be able to do... whatever I end up doing. That's it."

Devin wound his fingers back through Warren's. "Just being able to live your life is a good goal. But your music? You've got real talent..." He smiled a little.

He smiled back. "Well, I guess that's what I'll end up doing."

Devin flushed, unaccountably pleased by that. "You'll do wonderfully at it."

Warren ducked slightly, gave him a rueful, shy grin. "I hope so."

Devin reached to run his fingers down the red streak in Warren's hair. "Trust me. Music? That's something I know about."

"I know." Warren half closed his eyes. Pretend it was the whiskey. "I do."

His fingers curled around the strand, then uncurled, watching it.

"You've got an amazing natural talent. Just need to learn the mechanics now."

Warren finally let his eyes close all the way just to feel it. And to keep still.

"You'll have to teach me," he murmured.

"I can do that," Devin said, voice low. A throbbing promise in it that had more than music in it, though the music was wrapped up and around it all.

Warren's breath rasped in, then sighed out. His lashes fluttered but his eyes didn't open, his breath still caught in his throat. He didn't know what to do, or say, to that.

His fingers slid from hair to skin, stroking down Warren's cheek before retreating, dropping back to his lap.

Another little catch of a sigh, and for a moment all he could do was sit there with his eyes closed and wait till the sensation had passed.

Then he did open his eyes, look up and into Devin's.

Devin was watching him intently, though he'd pulled back in a bit. Too much temptation and the feeling that it would be so...easy. There was energy in the air again, and for all his flirting all night, he hadn't really meant...

His fingers clasped each other tight enough his knuckles were white, and he could feel the trembling, but he didn't look away.

Warren wasn't sure what was going on. His head tilted slightly, curiously at Devin's, lips parted as though they wanted to form words but he didn't have words for this, the words had all gone away. But there was something going on. He could feel it. Burning.

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