[ What a lovely, evasive 'Yes'. Not that he entirely believed it. Ray looked like a man who was perpetually somewhere between coffee-jittering his way through the floor and passing out asleep on the nearest flat surface. Or maybe it was the fact that it was past three in the morning now, and Geoffrey had roused him from his slumber? He looked tired, but at the same time awake enough that he could be trusted to drive--which was fortunate, because Geoffrey felt like he'd be way past the legal limit for the next three weeks just on the fumes from tonight's spree. It really was fortunate that he wasn't a projectile vomit sort of drunk. Years of practice had helped him to hold his alcohol; afterparty after afterparty had drilled it into him. And sex--sex was a lot easier if you weren't fighting down the contents of your stomach throughout, too.
When they pulled up outside the apartment building, he almost resented having to get out of the car. The asphalt was cold against his toes, and the air was brisk after the toasty warmth of the GTO. It was like jumping into an ice cold shower, or under a waterfall, and he shivered and clung to his gown, scurrying to catch up with the other man. He crammed in behind Ray at his door, as though he could soak up his body heat by standing a half centimeter away from him while he hunted for his key, and he sprang into the room abruptly the moment it was possible for him to do so, going only two steps before falling still again.
Oh, interesting. This was...very interesting. The bike on the wall, the odd neon signs. Ray had big attractive windows, but they had blinds shuttered over them to keep the city out. The furniture was a jumble, a rolltop desk that looked too grown up and practical for an apartment that probably only served as a place to fuck and sleep. A utilitarian table that looked like it had been chosen for the fact that it was a table and little else; to serve a function. The neon lights were dreadful illumination, certainly not sufficient to work by, and in the middle of the night they gave the room a moody glow, more like a strip club than a home.
But that kitchen. The stereo, the mugs on the big hand-made shelving unit, the photoframes that were a reminder of some other life. It clashed with everything else. It had a homey warmth to it, a sort of feminine touch, and when he looked again there were odd out of place feminine touches around the entire room. A too-expensive rug, cushions, a throw on the couch; the kind of effects a bachelor would never pick up; fragments of a life shattered. Ray was a divorcee. ]
I suppose a beer would be out of the question?
[ The bathroom was the first door he found, and he'd stripped off the robe and half closed the door when he realised he probably ought to explain himself first. He ducked his torso back through, blinking after Ray where he'd disappeared into the bedroom. ]
I'm just going to wash the pond off. I'll be back out in a jif.
[ And then he vanished again, leaving the door to so that the bathroom didn't steam up too much. He was grateful for the hot water, the chance to at last scour off the smell of ducks and pondweed. It had the added effect of warming him through, getting the grubby Chicago street mud out from between his toes, and as it turned out Ray's shower lotion didn't smell half bad; it definitely did its part masking whatever silty city scents were left. He emerged from the bathroom feeling much better, a fresh towel around his hips, hair dripping, dabbing himself dry. ]
no subject
When they pulled up outside the apartment building, he almost resented having to get out of the car. The asphalt was cold against his toes, and the air was brisk after the toasty warmth of the GTO. It was like jumping into an ice cold shower, or under a waterfall, and he shivered and clung to his gown, scurrying to catch up with the other man. He crammed in behind Ray at his door, as though he could soak up his body heat by standing a half centimeter away from him while he hunted for his key, and he sprang into the room abruptly the moment it was possible for him to do so, going only two steps before falling still again.
Oh, interesting. This was...very interesting. The bike on the wall, the odd neon signs. Ray had big attractive windows, but they had blinds shuttered over them to keep the city out. The furniture was a jumble, a rolltop desk that looked too grown up and practical for an apartment that probably only served as a place to fuck and sleep. A utilitarian table that looked like it had been chosen for the fact that it was a table and little else; to serve a function. The neon lights were dreadful illumination, certainly not sufficient to work by, and in the middle of the night they gave the room a moody glow, more like a strip club than a home.
But that kitchen. The stereo, the mugs on the big hand-made shelving unit, the photoframes that were a reminder of some other life. It clashed with everything else. It had a homey warmth to it, a sort of feminine touch, and when he looked again there were odd out of place feminine touches around the entire room. A too-expensive rug, cushions, a throw on the couch; the kind of effects a bachelor would never pick up; fragments of a life shattered. Ray was a divorcee. ]
I suppose a beer would be out of the question?
[ The bathroom was the first door he found, and he'd stripped off the robe and half closed the door when he realised he probably ought to explain himself first. He ducked his torso back through, blinking after Ray where he'd disappeared into the bedroom. ]
I'm just going to wash the pond off. I'll be back out in a jif.
[ And then he vanished again, leaving the door to so that the bathroom didn't steam up too much. He was grateful for the hot water, the chance to at last scour off the smell of ducks and pondweed. It had the added effect of warming him through, getting the grubby Chicago street mud out from between his toes, and as it turned out Ray's shower lotion didn't smell half bad; it definitely did its part masking whatever silty city scents were left. He emerged from the bathroom feeling much better, a fresh towel around his hips, hair dripping, dabbing himself dry. ]
You said something about clothes?