milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

He's not bartending tonight, so Bartleby finds a booth and sprawls into it with a groan. He's been 'helping' a friend of his roommate's move into a new apartment. This 'helping' appeared to consist of him carrying boxes back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, while arty, thin, androgynous people stood around and whispered under their breaths "Do you think he's safe?", "Should be in jail," and "Tried to destroy the world".

He's always hated the lie of human forgiveness.

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"That was nice of you. Hope you at least got some beer in return."

His hands are strong and his fingers dexterous, and there's little mystery about Bartleby's body to him. It's a different kind of feeling good, but the gasp pleases him just the same.

"Relax. Let your body relax."

"I didn't. I got stares and mutters. Ow." He winces as Charlie digs into a particularly aching spot, then consciously begins to relax his muscles, swinging his feet up onto the seat.

"Stares and mutters? Wankers. And you doing them a favor.

"I can do this properly if you lie down on your stomach. Do you want to move to a couch?"

"Does it mean I have to actually get up?" He tips his head back and regards Charlie plaintively upside down. "And you can't - okay, no, I blame them. Bastards."

"No," Charlie says tenderly. "You don't have to get up. The effect won't be the same, though." He kisses Bartleby between his eyebrows. "Lean forward a bit. Gives me easier access."

Leaning forward, Bartleby can do. "I'm trying," he mutters. "But they don't care."

"Fear's a hard thing to overcome," Charlie says as his hands dig into Bartleby's lower back. "And trust is a hard thing to regain. And they're strangers to you--they only know what they saw on TV." He kisses the back of Bartleby's neck, which looks very vulnerable right now beneath his dark hair.

"I know. I know." Bartleby breathes out and twists around to kiss Charlie.

Charlie slings an arm around his neck and kisses him back. "Whatever you do I'll still love you," he whispers, and feeling a blush arise busies himself with massaging Bartleby's back again.

"You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me," Bartleby murmurs, and then, very quietly, "Don't go away."

Charlie feels his eyes sting and he leans his head on Bartleby's shoulder, sliding his arms around Bartleby's waist. "Come with me. Just for a day or two. Come walk the beaches with me, play in the surf. We'll tell everyone you've always been there, or something. We'll tell them something.

"I just need to know they're okay."

"I want to." Bartleby draws in a breath. "I want to.But..."

"But?" He kisses the back of Bartleby's neck again, holding him as close as he can. "I want to make love to you listening to the ocean," he whispers into his ear.

"But nothing," Bartleby murmurs back. "Okay."

Charlie does not squee. Grown men do not squee. But he squeezes Bartleby very tight and kisses him again and makes a very happy sound that could, if one were so inclined, be construed as squeeing.

"Good."

"Yeah." Bartleby is grinning, and he's so glad he came here instead of just crashing on his floor, because he feels a million times better. He can even ignore his back, and his stretched and tired arms and legs, and his sore feet.

"It won't be very comfortable," Charlie warns him, still kissing him. "It's hot and we have to lug water everywhere we go. But it's so beautiful, angel. The ocean and the jungle . . . it's beautiful.

"I haven't any idea how I'm going to explain you but I'll think of something. Or we could hide out and I'll pop in to check on everyone and then we can be alone the rest of the time."

"It sounds fantastic." Bartleby slides a hand into Charlie's hair. "You're fantastic."

Charlie would start, "No, you are," if he didn't think such exchanges were perfectly ridiculous.

As it is, there's just much kissing and grinning and he even stops worrying about Bartleby's back.

[ooc: bed needed. :D leave them there-ish?]

[ooc: perfect timing. g'night.]

[ooc: g'night. *mwah*]

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