milliways_bar | (no subject)

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((OOM: Things improve.))

There is a rather stunned looking man standing in the doorway of Milliways. He hasn't seen the place for almost a year and a half and it's ... exactly as he remembered it to be, even if he spent quite a bit of time insisting to himself that it could have been some elaborate hallucination.

At any rate, more about him. His hair is trimmed, though somewhat touseled, and he appears to be wearing a khaki uniform and heavy overcoat of the same colour. The sleeves are rolled up and he is dirty.

Dusty is perhaps a more accurate term. The thick goggles are a hint at what he's just come from - his motor bike is parked just outside in the background.

He is blinking. "Well, this certainly isn't the motor shop."

It's hard to tell if he's really bothered by this. The grin on his face suggests that it is in fact a smaller blessing than a curse.

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"In any relationship there's always something expected by one party of the other," Parker says. "You think it's any different with two people who've had sex?"

It's glossing over the confusion of what he and Lawrence have, the raw emotional undercurrents between them, the friendship, the trust. Still.

Lawrence is a man, so of course glossing is perfectly acceptable for as long as humanly possible. Even if he is a passionate man, he is still wary of such things as relationships.

"I think perhaps that there need not be expectations if one member of the situation decides against it. It would be most improper to assume such things, on my part."

It's his rather jumbled way of telling Parker that he doesn't plan to push. Perhaps because he's being cautious, but more likely because he respects Parker. Doesn't wish to .. complicate things.

Parker nods. "No assumptions."

He drums his fingers on the table. "Am I always welcome there?" Asks lightly, a little teasing, but underneath... He blinks and it's gone.

His hand comes up to brush absently over Parker's wrist while he listens.

"Yes, of course." There's no hesitation in his voice. They both seem to have that odd problem of having emotions surface for a split-second.

Parker nods. "Well." Shrugging, he says, "This isn't going to simplify anything." And then almost immediately, "Everyone here wears swords."

He grins. "They do? And here I've left my own back at my suite once again."

It's most disheartening. "The uniform does not lend itself to swords."

And really, it's untidy and misbuttoned. He's terrible with that sort of thing.

Parker laughs, turns his wrist so that Lawrence is touching the soft underside. "I thought that was the whole British thing. Swords and 'once more into the brink'."

"Guns work just as well, Parker, and they tend to be quicker for city life."

His fingers trail up across the soft smoothness of Parker's wrist and forearm, watching him a moment or two.

Nodding, Parker says, "In formal uniforms, the army still wear swords in America."

He sighs against the fingers, quiet, though. Satisfied.

"Formal uniforms, yes. This is not a formal one." He smiles a tad.

"Mal seems insistent that I make a change back to robes. Apparently this uniform is not warm enough for her." It's amusing.

His fingers continue their phantom movements.

"Maybe she thinks that robes are more representative of who you are." Parker glances up, observance hidden under eyelashes and a small smile. "Do you feel more yourself in robes?"

"I feel more myself in nothing at all, truthfully."

He looks to Parker similarly - his own eyelashes are far too long, we're sure - and notes the smile.

"I certainly have more luck appearing tidy in my robes." Hence the misbuttoned shirt.

"Ah, but the untidy look is so attractive," Parker says. "I'm sure you catch all the boys with that look."

"Well, if I do I am not much for looking back."

There's a grin. "Except perhaps a particular one, but I must say I would hesitate to call him a boy."

This is what happens when Lawrence becomes comfortable. He gets flirty.

Parker raises an eyebrow. "Do tell, Lawrence."

He raises one back. "Well, he's got gorgeous curly hair...but I'm sure you're not interested in him at all."

Parker leans in, grinning, "Oh, not at all, I'd be bored to tears." He mock sighs, "But since we've got nothing else to talk about."

"Well, I think him quite agreeable indeed, despite his odd choice of professions. You would like him well enough."

"Agreeable," Parker says. "Well, with a glowing recommendation like that, I'll have to meet 'im."

"It's quite a recommendation if you understand where I am from, Parker."

He leans in then, as Parker has already done so, and kisses him quite chastely.

"But I suppose you should make your own decisions about such things."

There's a weird thrum of something inside Parker's chest. He blinks and smiles half-way. Thinks, fuck and shit and grins, full out, blinding and only fake if you've known him long enough to tell.

"I think I promised Delia I'd meet her for something," and he's off, a walk that's not quite quick, but not his usual lazy saunter.

Well, bloody hell.

Lawrence knows enough to see that it's not Parker's usual pace and thinks quite easily that he's done something less-than intelligent.

It wouldn't be the first time. Now ... should he give Parker space, or pursue him? Lawrence has never been very good at patient.

So he tracks where Parker is headed and follows a few minutes later.

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