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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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.

It was Devin's eyes that fluttered shut then, not able to look at those lips right now without touching them. He tried to steady his breathing. He should get up. Walk to the balcony for a smoke. But he couldn't seem to move.

This time it was Warren's fingertips that brushed over Devin's cheek, just out of simple curiosity. It was curiosity that had taken over now, not fear, not even lust. Everything was so new, and he wanted to know what would happen.

Devin shivered, lips parting on a sharply indrawn breath. He wasn't touching but Warren was shifting the game.

There was a noise. He brushed a touch over Devin's mouth, wondering what that would do. Another noise? A different noise?

He liked those little noises.

It was near a whimper at the touch to too sensitive skin. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips, catching the tip of a finger.

Warren chuckled, low and delighted. Traced his fingertip over Devin's lips, slowly. Pulling it down over his lower lip, and sliding his fingertips over his cheek again.

He couldn't help it. There was a kiss and an attempt to capture that finger. A soft sound of protest when it was taken away.

His head turned, following the fingers, lips finding Warren's wrist and pressing a kiss there with a soft sigh.

There was a sound kind of like a gasp and a sigh. His pulse leaped against Devin's lips.

His hand slid up, fingers tangling through Devin's hair and sliding back down his cheek.

That seemed like tacit permission. His tongue danced along Warren's pulse. A scrape of teeth over the edge of a flame. Light, teasing, and then another kiss, warm and lingering right over that leaping point in his vein.

Warren's breath hissed. His other hand moved to rest on Devin's knee, for a bit of an anchor as he leaned forward. Fingertips still skating through Devin's hair, he ducked his head at the open curve of his neck just to breathe him in. The ends of his hair brushed over his shoulders.

Something about Devin's scent made him laugh, softly.

Devin tilted his head, whimpering again, softly, at the brush of hair. That rush of warm breath. Goosebumps rose on his skin.

He moved his head just enough to breathe in Warren's hair, to nuzzle gently at his ear.

One hand finally moved, settling on Warren's knee in a mirroring gesture.

Warren's fingers curled into Devin's hair.

Warren's head turned, just a little, his eyes opening slightly and close enough that his lashes must have almost brushed Devin's cheek.

Looking at him. Intent. Smirking.

Devin opened his eyes which were pools of want and need, and looked back at him steadily.

He'd made a promise and that was the only thing that kept him from pinning Warren down. His hand moved back to Warren's hair though, fingers sliding through, then winding the red around again.

He swallowed, hard, lips parting just a bit in a silent invitation to taste, to explore.

Warren's eyes widened a little as things stopped moving and his mind caught up with all the intoxication that had been sliding through his veins that night, only some of it alcohol. He was there. Devin was right there.

And as much as the reality of what he was doing, all the cliches and the excuses and the shame (he swallowed hard on that one) of it crashed in on him, there was also the overwhelming want that pushed at him from places he'd never expected. Lust was fine, he was used to shifting around hard-ons in too-tight pants, but chest-clenching heartache? That was different. Especially staring into a man's eyes.

He wasn't sure what to do. His eyes were closing and he didn't know what to do. He could taste Devin's breath on his and then he could feel Devin's lips on his and he had no idea what he was doing. Or why it hurt so good.

Devin's eyes fluttered shut again as he leaned into Warren, into his kiss on what might have been a moan. His hand slid from one strand to cradling his head and he moved his lips slowly against Warren's. Over Warren's. His fingers stroked though waves and he shifted just a bit closer.

It hurt and there was a lump in his throat where he wanted to cry. His chest was too tight and he didn't think he remembered how to breathe and it really didn't seem to matter.

He parted his lips a little more, tongue flicking out to taste Warren's lower lip, whiskey and wine and Warren underneath.

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