milliways_bar | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Minimalist attempt at entry.

Man. Suit. New York Times. Booth. J&B, rocks.

Humming.

(I’ve got a lovely bunch of coconuts
There they are all standing in a row
Big ones, small ones, some as big as your head
Give them a twist a flick of the wrist
That’s what the showman said )

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Okay.

*Also, he doesn't have extra!*

Which is a shame, because he really likes (wants) them. "I could ask, if it would matter to you." He leans in a bit, watching him with more intensity.

If you like.

"If you are already dead, can you die again?"

I don't think so.

I haven't tried.

"Ah."

He tilts his head, "Can you even feel?"

*Thom half-smiles.* Yes.

He crooks his finger at him, and gestures him closer.

"Let me see."

*Thom blinks but, obediently, gets up and goes around to the other side of the booth.*

A look at the eyes that belonged to this fine-boned face, natural blandness of his features taking on the slightest stunned quality. His hand lifts, hovers at the back of Thom's neck, fingers brushing the fine hair at the nape of his neck.

"This?"

*quietly, Thom says*

Yes.

*and does not move*

Another twitch, another soft brush of movement, fingertips lowered against his neck. Feeling out veterbrae, he pressed, pinched the place where shoulder neck joined to shoulder.

"And this?"

*tensing slightly, slightly; perceptibly*

Yes.

Thumb traced over Thom's brow, down his nose, over his mouth before he caught his lower lip between his fingers.

The slightest tug, and he released it.

"You have a very soft mouth, Thom."

*and he flushes*

I've heard that before.

His lips twitch, but he does not smile.

"I'm sure that you have. Probably quite a few times, but repeating it doesn't make it less true. If you wanted a novel compliment, I could say that I want to cut it off."

He smiles now.

"But it would ruin the rest of you."

*Briefly, Thom meets Patrick's eyes.*

Usually I take compliments as they're intended.

*and there it is again: that white twist of a sudden smile*

He laughs, low and empty. "It was less of a compliment, more of a statment."

Then that's how I'll take it.

"Good."

In place of a fingertip tracing the outline of Thom's mouth, lips. Lips and teeth, roughly.

*Thom hesitates for a moment, pale and worried-looking, before those dark eyes flutter shut and he presses forward, kissing Patrick just as roughly back.

One slender hand flits up to rest smoothly on Patrick's shoulder, as if to brace himself.*

About three seconds worth of a that kiss, sucking on his lips until they are almost raw before his hands splay against Thom's chest, well-manicured and smooth. Giving him a hard shove backwards, and his voice is hoarse and barely recognizable to his own ears.

"Now, go away."

*Graceless, he falls and doesn't rise.

Thom draws a finger along the line of his own bottom lip. Once. His eyes are wide and he says, softly*

Sure.

*and disappears*

He shudders, finishes what's left of the whisky, and leaves. Quickly.

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