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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"Okay..." he breathed out. "Okay."

He leaned back against Devin, snuggling a little into him. Just for the reassurance, and fuck the guilt. There wasn't anything wrong with what they were doing and he was tired, scared, a little pissed off at himself, and felt like he was going to cry again.

"Thanks..." he whispered.

Devin snuggled back, relieved this at least hadn't been taken away. He stroked Warren's hair gently.

"It'll be all right. We'll figure something out..."

Warren nodded a little, snuggling down into him, stretching back out on the bed and resting his head in the crook of Devin's neck.

"Okay," he murmured. And then, almost childlike. "Can we rewind the last hour to where we were tispy," He actually said tispy. "And just back from the theatre? I liked that a lot better."

Devin flinched, just a little. He didn't want to forget the taste and feel of Warren and it hurt a little that Warren wished he could erase it.

But he swallowed and tightened his arms around Warren. "Sure."

Warren had been happy then, and he would give anything to have that back.

His fingertips traced up and down Devin's arm, up along the line of a finger and down to his elbow and back again. He looked up and out for a moment, then back down, tucking his head back against Devin's shoulder.

"This..." he said, thinking out loud after a moment. "Right here. Other things aside, this feels..." he swallowed. Hoped Devin had some idea of what it cost to say it. He wondered if even he knew.

"Right. This is right."

Devin smiled, just a little and wrapped his arms around Warren tightly. He kissed his temple and snuggled down into the covers.

"Yeah...it really does."

Warren wriggled a little, working one arm around Devin's waist and keeping the other stroking along his forearm. Clinging, by now, was what it really was.

"I'm sorry..." he murmured after a moment. Tired, and dejected. "I shouldn't have done that. Not now."

"Don't..." Fingers to lips and not in anything sensual. Just to stop the words. "Please. I...I don't want to forget it. It was...perfect. And later..." He shrugged a little, looking down. "There might not be a later. Not for that." Because of her. "Just let it be what it was?"

Warren heard what he was saying but was kind of stuck on,

"... perfect?"

Devin flushed a little, but smiled shyly.

"Yeah."

Warren flushed, too, his eyes slightly wide. "Oh."

Then he smiled a little. "I defer to your much, much, much greater expertise," he teased, gently.

Devin chuckled. "Wise man..."

Warren smirked. "I aim to please."

Devin made a face at him, but let it go.

"What do you say we get ready for bed? The leather's starting to chafe..."

"Sure..." It took him a second to realize why that was an unfortunate choice of words, and then he made a face too. "Crap."

Someday he was going to stop saying the wrong thing at exactly the wrong time. Say all the right things at exactly the right time.

Hmm.

"Sure. Bed sounds good."

Devin unwound from around him with a soft smile, slipping off the bed and padding to his suitcase.

"I bought pajama pants."

This was said like it was the greatest concession.

Warren watched him for a moment, smiling a little, himself, before sliding off too and moving to his duffel bag.

"Thank you for catering to my delicate sensibilities," he chuckled, pulling out shorts and an old, sleeveless t-shirt. The shirt was black, of course, but the shorts were actually blue plaid.

He also grabbed the red leather notebook, a pen stuck between some of the pages.

Devin continued to cater to his delicate sensibilities, going to the bathroom to change and brush his teeth. He even closed the door.

Warren frowned a little at that. It hurt. In his throat, in his chest. He wasn't sure why, no, he knew why, but he wasn't going to ask. Or say anything.

He changed quickly, clambered into bed, stretched out under the blankets. There was more than enough rattling around in his head to fill a few pages. He was saving at least one verse for Devin getting out of the bathroom.

He didn't take that long, slipping into the loose pants, then folding his shirt and coming back out, tossing them in his bag.

He slipped under the covers, on his side facing Warren.

"What're you working on?"

And now that it was there his voice actually stuck trying to say it. He flushed slightly, and couldn't quite look at him.

He took a breath. Realigned things in his head. This wasn't strange, or scary, or new. This was just Devin. The words came out easier, then.

"I thought I'd write you a poem."

Devin blinked, surprised and touched, smiling slowly.

"You did?"

"Yeah," he glanced over at Devin, smiling a little shyly back before going back to concentrating on the page.

Several lines had been scratched out, a couple more moved. It actually looked like it was going to wind up being something free verse, or Ginsbergian.

Devin settled down, head on his pillow, watching Warren write with a small smile on his lips.

It wasn't the most obvious love poem. One would have to have been half the places they'd been to get any of the references; the park, the hotel, the old base, the clubs Devin had played at.

But there were little memories hidden between the lines. And moments, like Warren had mentioned, with thoughts that he'd written out in poetry form. It might have been something innocuous. It might have been expression of love for the world, for the spirit of humanity in general.

It wasn't.

Every little moment Warren had been standing, sitting, lying there so close and he could have just turned his head was there, covering two pages eventually. Every moment he had stopped to listen to Devin's breathing and wondered how it could make such a difference. Every impulse to touch further, deeper than he had, and had kept his hand to his side.

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