Title: Love's Just A Four Letter Word - Romanised Greek
Lysander laughed, muttering something off to a waiter and having two glasses and an old looking bottle of wine brought over to them, which he studied as he spoke. "Romanised Greek. It’s owned by a Greek family, but they do Italian things too." Apparently happy with the wine they’d received, he poured them both glasses, explaining that it was a 12 year old vintage from a vineyard called ‘château des sept soeurs’, and it wasn’t a bad year at all. Which was damn true. It was an exceedingly good year, actually, and Lysander was certainly having to pay to lavish his guest with such a treat. But if it won him favour, then it was well worth it. He normally didn’t spend as much on all the food eat ate in a week as he was paying for this one bottle, but then again, he never treated beautiful men to dinner.
It had been Tyn that had got it wrong, then. He didn’t know how these things worked, and Eddy did, Eddy had made love to men before, and been… been made love to, so… so he would know. He knew what he was doing, but Tyn was just a whimpering, whining child, and had just ruined everything. Tyn knew all this as Var’s weight left him, although his body wanted to shout with relief. Using his arms, he forced himself to sit up, leaning against the opposite arm to the one Var was perching against, and then the blue-haired youth crawled slowly towards him, nestling himself between Var’s limbs. "Why did you stop?" he knew why, and of course, that made him feel terrible, but somehow, made it better too. Var had seen the pain in his young lover’s features, obviously, and stopped. Which proved he cared, and proved that perhaps he was… was the right guy, but then again, it also meant that Tyn had obviously not liked it. And that meant that Var must feel just as terrible as Tyn did.
"I’m going to have the ‘uovo della pasta e punte di pesce’. It’s basically pasta and seafood, salmon, lobster, crab, oyster, that sort of thing. Very nice. Or you could have… ‘verdure farcite formaggio’. That’s… red peppers and squash and egg-plant filled with a very rich, cheese and cream sauce…" he tipped his head to one side, and sipped at the scarlet wine that filled his glass. "or both. Or you could ask them to make you something, they’re very good with that sort of thing. They’ll even make you a pizza, if you really want. Trust me, Casper, this place is a godsend. Have whatever you want, the owners and me get along just fine. I’ve turned up here in shorts and a ripped shirt and they’ve served me. We’re dressed just fine."
Nuzzling and kissing at Var’s neck, his blue hair probably tickling the other male’s throat, Tyn whined, still needy. "Please Eddy… I… I want you to. I just… didn’t think it would be like that. I promise I’ll be better this time. I would make any noise at all, I swear it. Please Eddy, forgive me. I didn’t know… I’ll be better this time. I won’t make any mistakes…"
"A verdure, farce-uh... wha?" coming up for air from his menu, one eyebrow was quirked, the other nearly in his eyes. "I.. er... How about the stuff with seafood.... That sounds... ritzy." he grinned and chuckled, shrugging it off. His eyes had been on the wine, listening to the explanation and learning something, seeing as he not really ever known much about wine, or any alcohol, really. Casper didn't drink-when he could help it. The after-effects of such things made him feel small, helpless... out of control. He hated that feeling, not being able to make everything go as it was supposed to, that feeling that when he couldn't have a hand in whatever he was doing... Leaning back and folding the menu between his hands, he smoothed it onto the table surface, rubbing at the table cloth. Slowly, the fingers danced over to his wine glass, lifting it to his lips and taking a very small sip, eyes roving, taking in all the details. "So... I take it you come here often... do you usually bring guests?" the youth chewed on his lower lip, still feeling insanely out of place-like a mango among apples. "If I was guessing, not to sound rude or anything... I don't think you go many places with other people.. I mean, like with me right now?" Not certain if he was making sense, he replaced the glass onto the table, knotting his hands and folding in his lap, having seen a few of the higher-ups catch his looks and return them with curious, gawking stares.
Var shook his head, fingers stroking through the blue ocean of hair once, and then letting his hand drop shamefully. "You didn't do anything wrong... I did... I..." he shook his head, biting at his tongue. "It isn't suppose to hurt like that, Tyn. I promise. And I didn't... didn't mean for it to... to hurt you, I mean... I'm just, a... an..." heavy sighs released from his bleeding lips, he tried wriggling away from Tyn. "I don't think I... can right now." he uttered, feeling not just sympathetic, but empathetic. He knew damn good and well how that felt, having just endured it, more than once not thirty-two hours before. Monstrous. That's how he felt. Now, instead of loving vibes for his one-and-only, he felt the places where Dante had dug into him, cut and bruised him, begin to sting and ache as they had before. Tasting bile once more in the back of his throat from the unexpected remembrance of these shortly-forgotten thoughts, he swung himself off the couch. Arms wrapping around his sides, he walked towards the bedroom, headed for the shower; his head was hung, eyes shut with shame. Suddenly, he felt dirty once again.
Tyn watched, unable to really stand yet, his muscles still in remarkable pain, as Edvard stood, and let him alone, naked, in the living room, confused and now feeling even worse then he had before. He tried to call him back, but the bathroom door was already shut, and his voice not loud enough. With a soft sigh, he slipped down, slouching on the leather, curling into a foetal position, his face pressed into the cushioned back of the sofa, and his arms wrapped around himself as the cold seeped into him. It wasn’t even midnight yet, he knew, and yet, this was how he was going to spend tonight.
In contrast to the tears beginning to fall unnoticed in the apartment block several streets away, Lysander was laughing. "No, I don’t normally take people out to dinner, you guessed right. Is it that obvious?" he leant back in his chair, calling over one of the waiters and ordering something so quickly that it was hard to tell what language it was in. Greek, but what did that matter? The other reason, Zan mused, for the price of the restaurant was the speed of the service. Within 15 minutes of placing the order for the ‘stuff with seafood’, they were eating said dish, and Lysander was taking the break in conversation opportunity to fully study Casper. A young man, only a year or so younger then himself, perhaps. Tyn’s age, actually. Which that same flare for dress that the blue-haired youth had, although Tyn’s tastes took him more in the direction of rock and punk, Casper seemed to prefer a slightly smarter, less ragged look. It suited him. Even if it was a tad stereotypical. But effective. Lysander could certainly say that.
"Don’t you get taken out for meals often? I know you said you didn’t go on dates much but… I would have thought… a guy like yourself…" he paused, and then looked at his plate, up again, and then as a further distraction, swallowed some of his wine. "It’s kinda late. Perhaps… I should walk you home after dinner? Or something. I don’t like the idea of you walking back on your own, Casper."
"Hmm?" Casper replied, a fork-full of food lifting almost greedily to his mouth pausing in mid-air. "What? Me? Oh, nonono..." he grinned, poking the food into his mouth and looked to his glass of wine. Making sure he used better to utilise the table manners he had (yet rarely used), he sat the fork down onto his plate and dabbed at his mouth and chin with the white-cloth napkin /before/ bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long, thirsty swallow. It was rather good, he agreed, slowly letting his wine swirl in the small container. "No," he began, coy emerald eyes staring down the maroon liquid. "I don't go out on such... formal things... Never really had anyone... ask me to eat with them, especially in such a fancy little place as this." waiting a moment to see if the other was satisfied with this answer, he replaced the glass onto the table and began nibbling his meal once more, eyes darting upwards to meet Lysander's at the proposal. Not only was he /amazed/ but he was very cautious. "I... er... That's terribly thoughtful of you, but I can make it home." Casper nodded, the need for his hands to pull his black hair nagging him-something he did when he felt uncomfortable-or rather, paranoid.
Edvard shut his eyes, hands guiding him into the shower and turning the knob to where cool, clean water washed over him, soaking every bit of flesh and hair, washing away what was there, and yet unable to cleanse that feeling of disgust all over him. Whimpering piteously, he leaned his forehead against the wall, now hot water trailing down his back and over his behind and legs. With very little effort, he lifted a bar of soap from the caved hole in the wall and tried scrubbing himself with it, unable to get very far before his face contorted and tears streaked down his cheek. Foolish enough to think he could forget; stupid enough... Surely, surely now... but no. They kept coming back, making him sick, wrenching dryly once more as he shivered, leaning into the wall for support. The curls hung lank and dripping around his shoulders as he thought how his lover must be feeling; he hadn't reassured him enough, hadn't made it right... just walked out, hid himself. What sort of man was he? Var shook his head, questioning himself, every action and drawing a blank, memories shivering down his spine.
Although he was still upset, still fraught with sadness and guilt, Tyn was not awake for much longer. Sleep was the only escape to be had in the immortal life, and even if his dreams were filled with nightmares, then at least it wasn’t real, and he could escape that later, by waking. No, nightmares weren’t likely. He was emotionally exhausted, his body still physically not recovered from the excursion of the fight with Dante. But sleep was good, very good. And even if it didn’t keep him safe for long, then if he woke up while it was still light outside, his apartment was well light-proofed, the blacked-out windows were something any world war two air-raid warden would be proud of. He could wander around freely, smoke or drink himself stupid, and slump back onto the sofa and watch TV. Why the hell not? Wasn’t that what kids his ‘age’ normally did anyway?
And so, he fell asleep, the sound of the shower drifting through the apartment.
"Casper." The name was said gently, but something in the tone suggested that even if Casper would be perfectly fine seeing himself home, that was not what was going to happen. "I just want to make sure you get home alright, that’s all. Odd things happen around here sometimes. It’s a nice area but… still. I’d like to know you get home unmugged and unmolested." He bent his head back to his own meal, eating it with appreciation, although not wolfing it down as he might have liked. That wasn’t good manners, and even though he normally didn’t give two hoots, even when dining out, it was Casper’s company that changed that. "I wouldn’t like to see you hurt." He added softly.
The boy turned his head, eyes glittering up from his plate. Watching the way the other was eating, he tried slowing his own pace, finding it quite difficult, seeing as this was the first decent meal (or any, besides pretzels, spring water, and cheese) since... well, a while. Gnawing at his lower lip, he almost frowned, almost scowled, almost raised his voice and told Lysander that if he walked him home, he would be forced to shoot the rather decent guy in the foot. Then he lifted the glass to his lips once again, taking to swallows to try and steady himself, even though that careless look had never unhinged from his face. Trying to hide his soft sigh and rolling of eyes, the youth muttered, "Well, if you must..." even though this show of caring was rather touching.... but that didn't matter. Paranoia ruled in his world. He didn't want the other to know where his apartment was, didn't want to be tempted to ask him if he would like to come inside... sit down... make himself at home....
Soon, he killed the shower, unable to stand the ungodly heat and the blisters he could almost feel coming up on his raw, red skin. Stepping dejectedly from the shower, he sighed, grabbing at a towel on the towel rack and beginning to gingerly dry himself off. When he was finished, he tried wringing the water seeping from his curls and gave up a few moments into the job, rather having it just crinkle around his shoulders anyways. Towel hanging at his hips, he moved slowly into the bedroom and then on into the livingroom, unable to go past the door frame. Golden eyes turned, looking at Tyn all huddled up on the couch, shivering slightly in his sleep. Looking as though he could weep once more, he shook it away, going to the other and stooping, arms slipping under the youth's body and picking him up, walking back to the bedroom with such ease and tenderness as not to wake him; laying Tyn beneath the covers, Var turned back, going to the couch.
Finishing up unhurriedly, the young man finished off the entire dish, sipping his wine and using this unbothered time to look Lysander over. Shamelessly, he spoke up, "You know.. you're rather good looking... How come you don't have more people going out with you... to places like this?"
"What?!" Lysander heard the words, didn’t really comprehend them. He had been told he mildly good looking, but that was by an ex that had turned straight, and what could you do about that? "I… Thank you, but… I guess I’m just not attractive." He smiled somewhat embarassedly, and leant back in his chair, topping up both of their glasses. "I’m not really… that confident around very beautiful people" he added, the neck of the bottle trembling slightly against the lip of one glass, as if to prove this point.
Tyn purred, curling into Var as he was lifted, clinging like a child until he was laid down on the streets, and when he moulded his body into the bedclothes, nuzzling his cheek into a pillow and holding tightly to the corner of it, unaware of Var’s presence, and unaware that his lover had not climbed into bed with him. It would have saddened Tyn, and would do when he awoke, if Edvard was not there then. But what could the sleeping boy do? Nothing, nothing at all while he was still in the world of dreams.
Perhaps, if he did wake up, he’d find Var next to him, rather then sleeping on the sofa or not around at all. Maybe the tall, elegant vampire was only going to grab his clothes from the floor, or to lock the front door or some other domestic chore before he settled into bed with his lover, wrap the youth within his arms and protect him. Or Tyn would wake and spend frantic seconds searching until he found Var on the couch, or in the kitchen with dark rings around his eyes from lack of sleep. Perhaps Tyn would not find Var again at all, his three days over, the beautiful man having packed his belongings and left, like a thief in the night; leave the blue-haired youth with loneliness and feelings growing into resentment for the rest of his elongated life?
But then again, Tyn was not capable of thinking this, knowing this, safe in his dreamless sleep.
"And you are very beautiful. I’m not just saying that. If you don’t want me to walk you home, I understand. I’d just… like to spend more time with you. You can stay and eat something more if you want, you seemed to enjoy that…" Zan paused, and reached for his glass, although he didn’t pick it up, just turning it around on the cloth. "I mean… whatever suits you best, Casper…"
"Oh, now, Lysander.. don't be /coy/." Casper dragged out the word, perhaps trying to amuse himself with the other's little bobbles in speech and nervous movements. Leaning forwards onto the table slightly, he reached out, hand laying over the other's and taking the bottle of wine. "I do believe," he said, drawing the bottle away from his dinner host. "That they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder... isn't that correct?" he didn't wait for an answer, but instead went on. "I don't think I'm good looking at all, but people tell me it all the time... so, what can you do but believe it...? Maybe all you need is for someone to tell you that more often... What do you think?" he grinned, taking a draft of the wine that he should have sipped just so he could pour some more of it. Propping up his chin in one hand, he scooched closer to the table, sipping his wine placidly. "And if you feel the need to walk me home, you can... I suppose that I'm overreacting...." he gave that go-figure sort of grin once more, eyes floating from Lysander's face back to his glass twirling in his hand.
Edvard was now in the kitchen, having made a detour from the couch. One hand bracing him as he leaned down to look into the fridge; he sighed, eyes roving the very bare contents. With the slow, dull elegance of a beaten man, fingers laced around the neck of what looked to be a bottle of vodka-whatever it was, the Victorian flash-back didn't really care. Lifting it and peeling away the label, twisting open the top, curls clung to his still damp back making him frown when he tilted back his head, lips pressed hard to the bottle. It was then that the vampire envied humans for perhaps the first time in years. How was it fair that they could forget all their troubles with consuming just a few different sorts of things? Drugs, liquor, inhalants... Kill their brain cells, loosen their tongue, rattle their conscious.... Ungodly, and yet amazing what people could do anymore to just /get away/ from the things that bothered them, irked them, or even ashamed them. With the painful cries of his lover still playing in his mind, he took the bottle, walking back into the bedroom silently. Setting the glass container onto the top of the dresser, hands dipping to open up one of the drawers in search of clothes.
Tyn made a soft noise, turning over in his sleep as the fridge opened, as if in some sort of second sense told him that someone was pilfering his, HIS, own personal, private supply of booze. He turned, his front now facing Var as he went through the draws, and the draw that Tyn had stowed all his little special individual artefacts in. Photographs of his human parents; tiny portraits the woman who he refereed to as his mother, small enough to have kept in a locket or other horribly feminine things like that; black leather-bound books he had seemed to be reading, several pages marked with torn bits of paper, and another book, more of a note book, filled with his own doodles and snatches of writing. And then there was the little wooden, mahogany, actually, jewellery box, the lock and hinges made of tarnished broken. Private things.
But Tyn didn't wake up, didn't jump out of bed and snatch the things away, slam the draw shut with his wide, hurt eyes. Why should he wake? His dreamless state was, if neither happy nor sad, an equal mix of both which seemed to balance the world well enough.
"Coy? Me?" The words were repeated with disbelief, but it was hard not to smile in Casper's presence. "No, no, Casper. You are beautiful. You just don't realise it…" he could still feel the warm weight of the singer's hand pressed against his, addictive and soft. And Casper was leaning into their conversation, and the restaurant was pleasantly warn, and the wine was damn good… Quickly, impulsively, Zan leant in too, and pressed his lips to Casper's cheek, and pulled away, slightly breathless. "I'm not coy at all, you see. I'm actually being very forward." He laughed, taking another mouthful of wine, letting the flavour seep into his tongue before swallowing. "You just thought too well of me." He leant back, letting the waiter who had served them clear away the plates, then with the table void of anything but the cloth, the bottle and their wine glasses, he leant forwards again. "Now, would you like some dessert?"
Against everything he was, every shred of him that had been trained, every part that had rehearsed countless times to not show one inkling of embarrassment or surprise was denied, Casper's cheeks tinting pink; yet, this only kept up for a moment or two, when the boy looked down at the tablecloth, smothering a small smile. Wanting to argue that he wasn't beautiful, that he wasn't special, talented, any of those things but merely just trash someone had cleaned off the street and primped into a false sense of security, he bit his tongue, eyes fluttering slowly back up to Lysander's, unable to contain that small little twist of lips anymore. "If you say you aren't..." he muttered, shifting back and then forwards again, liking the way he was hanging so close to his companion without touching him. "Dessert?" he asked, blinking dazedly, feeling the skin where the other's lips had touched it seem to pulse faintly. He hadn't been kissed on the cheek in... ages. It was always somewhere else, somewhere... more lewd, more passionate, private even. Lips to his cheek? That was just endearing as it could be; sickeningly sweet, Casper thought, taking another slow sip of the wine, trying to mirror Zan's movements. "Oh, I suppose.... what do they have?" and then he grinned. "If they have cheesecake, I'll take that. I just /adore/ cheesecake. Especially the kind with syrup. Chocolate syrup." Casper gave a resolute nod, staring almost fondly across the table, hand lifting his glass, other taking the wine bottle by the neck.
Edvard's fingertips ran over the objects he saw scattered helter-skelter in the drawer, rich golden orbs rolling over each piece, his desire to pick them up, leaf through the books, stare at the pictures... that was all muffled by this awful sinking feeling inside. His curiosity was muffled, squashed; not to mention, these weren't his to see anyways. With a shamed turn of his head and a dull slip of his curls back over his shoulder and out of his eyes, Var shut that drawer and went onto the next. This one was filled with clothes-thankfully. Rummaging silently throughout, he unfolded a over-large white button-up shirt, fingers moving almost lovingly over the neck and cuffs, prying at the buttons along the way. Sighing gently, he started putting it on, leaving the shirt unbuttoned and dropping his towel. On his way back to the bedroom he had snatched up his underwear; now, he put them on, following them up with a pair of slacks. A neglected thought of, 'where did he get these? they're so large...' ran through his mind and vanished back into the darkness gathering there. Socks followed, and then when he was done getting dressed, shirt still undone, he turned, leaning back onto the chest of drawers and lifting the bottle of booze to his lips, taking another swig. With a pitying pair of eyes blocked slightly with lank ebony tendrils, Edvard looked over at Tyn, wondering what he was dreaming-if he was at all.
"Do you like cheesecake too?" letting his chin fall into both of his hands that were propped up with elbows on the edge of the table, Casper grinned goofily. "I haven't had any in /agessss/."
He laughed, gently. "If they don't, I'm sure they won't mind making one for you." Lysander breathed softly, and then removed Casper's hand from the bottle. "Come here, look…" supporting the bottle with one hand, and holding onto Casper's hand with the other, he adjusted the other man's grip to around the middle of the glass. Making sure Casper wasn't about to drop the bottle, he let go, almost reluctantly, looking sheepish. "It's less likely you'll drop it if you hold it that way." he explained, "and if you pour too fast the sediment mixes with the liquid and that isn't very nice." His eyes were fixed on Casper's all the time he spoke, but as soon as he finished they darted away, calling over a waiter by name and then rushing off the order in fast and almost nervous Greek.
After a moment the waiter left, then returned, although he didn't look happy when he reported back to Zan, who in-turn looked back to his guest. "They'll do it, but it'll take a little while… do you mind waiting? I mean, there are other places that'll get you your cheesecake…" Lysander smiled, "that is, unless you'd rather stay here. It's up to you, Casper."
Being asleep didn't really enable to defend himself. Not that it would strictly necessary to, Var wouldn't actually hurt him, not physically and on purpose, but still, Tyn had always felt the need to defend himself against any attack, whether real or imaginary, verbal or physical. But the words, had they been spoke when he was able to hear, would have sent him into a angry outburst. The implication (for sure that was what Tyn would take it as) that he had slept with other men, or something along those lines, would have made him doubt Var, or at least, Var's trust in him. Tyn had told him, had said that…. That Var had been the only man, hadn't he? He had said he had gone through that stage, of wearing baggy clothes, as most modern teens had. Wasn't that explanation enough?
"There's… a little diner-slash-café place on the way back to my apartment, we can go get you cheesecake there." He offered, and then blushed, realising that what he had said could be interpreted as an invitation to… to stay the night. He stumbled on his next few words, fingers clenched into the tablecloth. "I… I-I mean, and then I could walk you back to you… to your place, then. Afterwards. If you'd like. I mean, you don't… we can stay here." Lysander reached for his glass, taking a long swallow and draining it. He was really messing this up, wasn't he? Casper would think he was some sort of bumbling, socially inept idiot, more then likely, and not the suave, sophisticated man Lysander had hoped to come across as.
Sighing faintly, Var sat down the bottle and picked up his fallen towel, padding softly across the carpet back to the bathroom where he hung the damp thing over the towel rack to dry. Lips pursed in almost childish indignation that he couldn't even clear his own cluttered mind, he moved back to the bedroom, staring down at Tyn's back from the opposite side of the bed.
Reluctantly, almost, the elder immortal bent down, putting one knee onto the bed and letting the rest of him follow, moving fraction by fraction as not to upset the mattress and wake the other. Body tensing as he leaned onto one elbow, scooting closer towards Tyn, he let one arm carefully settle over the blue-haired man's side, fingers splaying over the hip and snaking to rest back on Tyn's forearm.
Edvard pressed his body against Tyn's, sheets folding up between them along with the buffer of the eldest's slightly wrinkled garments. Maybe... maybe the next evening, when they both awoke Tyn would be able to forgive him... maybe then, maybe Var could properly say he was sorry, he was stupid.... that he wouldn't... Slowly, beatenly, the vampire shut his eyes, a frown creasing his features unpleasantly. He would worry with that tomorrow; he would worry on a new night, with new possibilities, new views.... then he drifted into troubled, stilled sleep.
Watching the hand catch his and then the bottle, Casper let his fingers go limp, being readjusted to the more proper position; smiling back faintly to Lysander. Pouring himself another glass of wine, this one slower and with a less drastic angle to the bottle, he noticed the feverish rush to the unknown language, glass lifting lazily to his lips as he took another drink, really appreciating it more than he had before. As the bad news of the cheesecake delay came, Casper didn't seem to catch the underlying meaning in the words, and if he had, he wouldn't have said anything anyways. "I uhmm... I do need to sort of get home soon... so... I mean, it wouldn't be a big deal if we just... skipped it from here?" he looked towards the waiter and then back to his wine, taking another gulp. "Where's this place you say we can get cheesecake?" he asked, seeing the waiter back off a bit, eyes following him warily away and then landing back on Lysander.
He smiled. "It’s about 4 minutes from here. It’s a nice little place, much less… upper class." He gave Casper a wink, and then poured the last dregs of the wine bottle equally between their glasses. "We won’t be long, if you need to get back… I guess I’ve kept you too long as it is. You must have… other priorities. I’m sorry. I was only meant to be getting you a coffee, and I ended up…" Lysander sighed, and drained his glass, pulling out his wallet and taking several bills from it, folding them and setting them down by the now empty wine bottle, before he got to his feet. "Or I could just… walk you straight home. I really am sorry I kept you so long, Casper."
He stood there, looking nervous still, he waited for his guest to drain his own glass and stand, fingers playing, fidgeting by his sides before his thumbs hooked into his pockets. He didn’t know what else to say, what else to do, his face turned to study the rich, thick carpet, and his trainers, which had certainly seen better days. The soles were hanging onto the rest of the shoes by several loose threads, and the laces had been untied and stepped on so often that they had frayed and turned from white to muddy grey. Still looked good though. Kinda. Luckily his jeans hid most of them, anyway.
"So, erm… you wanna get cheesecake, or go straight home? It’s…" he glanced at his watch. "Getting on for one thirty. I really didn’t mean to take up so much of your time, but… I really enjoyed you. It. The whole thing. "
Shuffling back from the table, he gave Casper room to stand up, before he shoved his hands into the pockets of his blazer jacket, and then looked at the pink-shirted male as they walked towards the door and into the ice-cold air. Slipping it off his own shoulders, he passed it over, and held it out, fingers like a hook in the collar. "Your fans would have a fit if I let you catch a cold." He said softly, his powder-blue eyes looking in the deep wells of turquoise, and then back down at the sidewalk, side-stepping a crack in one of the stones.
"One thirty? Really?" he had drained his wine, wiped his mouth once again almost out of the habit of keeping that mug of his clean more than anything else, and then gotten to his feet, following Lysander out like a puppy. Striding slowly, but stretching his legs farther to match the other's gait, he smiled at the ground, obviously not caring what time it was. "Oh, I don't really have anything pressing to do, besides sleep... Anything can wait, the now's what's important, you know?" he said, looking over and seeing the jacket offered before catching the other's eye and hearing 'let you catch a cold'. Lips pulling further apart to reveal that perfectly-white smile, he took it, fingers brushing over Lysander's like an accident before he threw it around his shoulders, arms snaking into the somewhat-too-big blazer as he hugged himself. "Thanks.."
Nuzzling into the warm fabric, he couldn't help but smirk to himself, nose sniffing appreciatively at the scent of it, eyes stuck on his boots, the cracked, weed-bearing sidewalk and the step of the run-down trainers at his right side. "I... hmm. Thanks a bunch for supper... it was... terribly nice of you. And that wine..." Casper couldn't help but look over at Lysander once more, wondering if his eyes showed what he was thinking. "It was great. Been a while since anyone's treated me decent... How about we just skip the cheesecake and let me buy us a cup of coffee for the walk? Goodness knows that's the least I can do..." With the traffic all but dead, Casper stepped off the sidewalk, into a crosswalk without waiting for the other. There couldn't be many places open this late with coffee... but he knew one. "There's this little place around the corner.... Go there sometimes, pretty good brew when it's cold out like this.." Making it to the other side, he regained himself on the concrete walkway, turning the nearest corner and nodding to a well-lit hole-in-the-wall cafe across the other side of the street. "Ever been there?" he asked, eyes flickering over to the other's and hoping that he hadn't disappointed Lysander with his little detour.
Looking up, almost waking from the comfortable trance-like state he’d fallen into (it wasn’t hard, Casper’s voice was lulling, gorgeous, as was the man himself, someone it was almost impossible to feel ill-at-ease around.) and looked back at the other man, eyes moving to the little coffee stall. "I’ve wandered past… but not stopped before" he said softly, eyes moving back to Casper’s. He didn’t know what the other had been thinking, he wasn’t empathic, but he could guess from what people normally thought of him. Normally they didn’t like him, which, in his opinion was fair enough, he didn’t like most people, either. Especially, if, like most, they thought he was a poor, down-and-out homo. Which was pretty much what he was, but it was their attitude that annoyed him. People no better then him judged, and judged him to their own standards. It was a human thing to do, a forgivable thing to do, but still. To be rated up against everyone else, when he was not everyone else, seemed unfair.
Not that he thought life was fair.
But Casper… well, at least the homo bit wouldn’t, wouldn’t effect the singer’s perception, probably. Lysander hasn’t asked outright, but you didn’t need to, surely. Surely, you didn’t. Zan had always tried to keep his appearance neutral, neither one way, nor the other, but Casper’s was so rainbow that Lysander had half expected little pots of gold to spring out from the ground the singer walked on.
Now, perhaps that was unfair…
Casper thought he was broke and destitute, didn’t he? That Lysander couldn’t afford to pay out for more, and to treat this man… well, he probably couldn’t. But it was an investment, almost. You put a little money in, and maybe, one day, you’ll get something out, even if it was bought friendship, it was still friendship. And something about Casper told Lysander that… he sighed, and stopped thinking. He was just going to enjoy the rest of the night. It was probably the best thing to do in the circumstances.
"I’ll just have a plain coffee, with milk, that’s it. You don’t have to pay, Casper. I’d… I’d rather you didn’t." I can pay for my own coffee some silent voice in his head muttered darkly, but Zan ignored it. "And… you don’t have to skip the cheesecake. I can… I don’t mind." He said, quietly, and then turned his head, looking away down the empty street, down towards the pubs and clubs that were beginning to close, the drunks and the junkies and the dancers and the whores all heading home, whether it was to their own or someone else’s, it didn’t matter.
"You never did say what your day job is…" Zan muttered absently.
"Did I not?" Casper said innocently, turning lamp-like eyes 'round on Lysander, knowing good and well he hadn't mentioned his day job. Thing was, none of the many was that flattering, so, best to avoid that conversation. Licking his lips slightly, he turned his attention back to the door, fingers latching ice-cold around the metallic handle and pulling it open, holding it for Lysander.
The small bell above the door tinkled, making the lazy-eyed waiter at the counter look around from her magazine, blood-hound baggy eyes and a broad, make-up caked face made her look very much like a toad, but she smiled; at least that made her look like a friendly amphibian. Following Lysander inside, he brushed passed him towards the counter, saying as he went. "I know you can afford it, Lysander, but I just feel icky not buying you at least a cup of coffee when you've been so nice. Go find us a booth, won't you?" and he slipped to the front, smiling sweetly and leaning on the counter with his hips held out in the aisle like he didn't care. "Can I get two coffees? Milk in both, please and thanks." The lady grinned and nodded, scuttling off to get the order, looking as though she was the only one around. Digging out a small leather billfold, Casper drug out a crumpled five-dollar bill, smoothing it out on the counter as he waited. The little coffee shop was desolate, only the pair of men and the waitress occupying it.
Soon, she had returned, carrying two little Styrofoam cups and little stirrers with them. Casper smiled and passed her the note, waiting for his change as he pulled open the plastic top of his drink, sipping it carefully. When his change was returned, he took his purchase back towards Lysander and their booth, placing himself opposite the other with an air of gracefulness that was broken when the young man folded his feet beneath him onto the red vinyl of the seat, hands busying to rearrange the napkin-holders. "Uhm.. Right... So.. I hope it isn't too bad?" he began pulling out one, two, three, four, five, /six/ sugar packets and dumping four of them into his coffee, eyes stuck on Lysander, waiting for approval. As though he had done this and practised many times, the boy popped off the lid and discarded it, dumping four sugars into the creamy-tan liquid spouting steam; he crumpled the packets one at a time, saving the last two to wet his finger and then dip into the crystals, following it to his mouth.
Lysander watched, watched as every little grain of sweetness was enveloped in that hot, pink mouth, his plastic cup raised halfway to his lips, before he choked into it, his mind stopping the trail of thought it had embarked upon; what it would feel like to be one of those sugar crystals, to dissolve slowly on that tongue, to be swallowed down. God, that would be heavenly, he thought, leaning forwards and beginning to play with the rim of his coffee cup, eyes locked on Casper, on the sugar-encrusted lips, still damp and rich red from the wine and looking more luscious and delectable then the meal they had shared…
He dispelled that thought in a short coughing fit, shaking his head to signify he was fine, swallowing a few mouthfuls of coffee to clear his throat, before setting the cup down, not darling to meet Casper’s eyes, his cheeks ready to burst into flames as it was. He searched his mind, desperately, trying to find some safe topic of conversation, but all his brain would supply him with was the image of Casper’s backside as he lent over the counter to get their coffee, which Zan had quiet happily watched for a few seconds, leaving before he thought that Casper would notice him.
Perhaps it was a good thing Casper had seated himself so oddly in their booth, as otherwise they would be knocking knees, or playing footsie. Lysander wouldn’t complain, as such, but he certainly would need to keep himself under control, much stricter control than he had up to now. He had given in once, had kissed Casper rather chastely on the cheek, but that had, in hindsight, turned out to be a mistake, only giving him a small sample of a man who, increasingly, he wanted to devour. To lean forwards now, kiss him fully, and taste the sugar on his painted lips and on his tongue, that desire was too much, and Zan found his eyes resting on that beautiful mouth, unable to draw his eyes away.
Oh, to hell with it. He liked the guy, and it that wasn’t already clear… besides, in the restaurant, Casper had as sure as hell flirted back with him…
He leant forwards, careful of the coffee and careful of the table, he threaded his fingers in the hair at the back of Casper’s neck, his blue eyes locked, unblinking, as he stood from his seat and pressed his lips against his fellow’s, fingers tightening on the edge of the table rather then in Casper’s midnight hair. His lips slowly parted so he could brush his tongue over the full lower lip, and then he moved away, blushing horribly as his eyes lost their lust-darkened shadow and went again to semi-clear blue, like summer fog. Lysander sat down, and folding his fingers together, he stuttered his apologies.
Turning his head sharply at the small coughing fit Lysander had encountered, the pink tongue ran over his lips, licking away the sugar that had bobbled on the way to Casper's mouth. Raising one eyebrow, he let his hand fall back onto the table, resting nervously beside his little white packet of tiny crystals. "Are you okay?" he asked, being greeted with the shaking of Lysander's head and the gulping of more coffee. Blinking slowly, he went back to the job at hand, taking one sip of his still too-hot coffee and dipping one wet fingertip into the packet. Finger sparkly-coated, he licked it away, eyes boredly flickering out the window and seeing the now mid-early morning stream of people trying to get back home. He saw a cab or two, and maybe even someone he'd met, for he returned his attention to Lysander, being greeted with a stare at his lower face, undoubtedly, his lips. Saying nothing, but giving the unseeing man a odd little look, he almost smiled, instead just lifting the remaining contents of the minute package to his lips and tipping them into his mouth, roguishly letting it gather at the corners of his mouth. Yet, in spite of his own teasing, he was taken aback as the man across from him gained his feet and leaned across the table, fingertips white on the polished table, the other hand slipping over the skin of Casper's neck, making the hairs that were next to be touched lift in cautious surprise. Mouth forming into a little 'oh' of awe, lips pressing soundly to his own, trembling slightly as a breath was expelled across his Cupid's bow which was followed up by the swishing of that warm, wet tongue, clearing up the sugar he had intentionally left there to begin with.
Staring at Lysander like a bewildered child, he saw the man dazedly fall back into the booth, Casper's eyes still bright and cool, just like sea-water. Without a word, Casper let his hand travel the void between them, one lithe finger laying over Lysander's lips, quieting, stilling them as the other hand picked up his coffee and took a sip. "Not so coy now, are we?" he asked, voice thicker than he had meant, trying quickly to cough it away. His hand dropped from Lysander's lips and slid across the table, picking up another sugar packet and stowing it into the pocket of the coat. Looking almost ashamed, he curled both hands around his coffee-cup and lifted it to his mouth again, tongue still trying to lick off the taste of the other, bitter-sweet coffee, not near as sweet as his own. Lifting his eyes warily, he didn't meet the other man's eyes, but went on observing him, sea-green orbs flickering uncertainly over the man's lips, and jaw, and throat, trying to take in every bit of him except his eyes. Eyes made everything too personal, too....
He couldn't come up for a word about eyes. Nothing quite seemed to explain them... but that little kiss, that had turned him into a silent, simmering youth, waiting patiently for the other to come back, try and make conversation.... somehow. Casper couldn't find the words to say, and didn't know how to react in such a situation. Had it been anyone else, anyone just half-as nice as Lysander had been, he would have quickly kissed back, thinking nothing of it, no thought into it. Somehow, he almost dreaded being asked what was wrong, if Lysander decided to ask that at all. Most people would, seeing the comatose state he went into, like some sort of sedated cat.