busemox | (no subject)

Man, shut up.

[Travis rolls his eyes and holds tighter as the bike speeds off. (And his grip is just fine, thank you very much, Wade.)

In any case, they're on the freeway-- and out of Santa Destroy, thank God-- in not much time at all. The bar's a town or two over, which is much closer than Travis had been expecting. Everything's so enclosed back home: dealing with places and directions on the "outside" always makes him feel just a little bit out of his depth. Least he's got good company.

Travis is first to hop off the bike when Wade pulls up in front of the bar. It's... actually not so bad. Bits and pieces of the old architecture are there, but it's thoroughly modern. And popular, apparently.]

Huh. [Hands stuffed in pockets.] Here's hoping the inside's just as nice.

[Wade disembarks shortly after Travis does, taking in the decor. To be honest, he's slightly disappointed that it doesn't look more like a traditional 1920s speakeasy (not that he's ever seen a traditional 1920s speakeasy), but it still looks pretty snazzy. He supposes he was just hoping for a snazzier feel. Girls in flapper dresses and guys in pinstripe suits and fedoras. The classic look.

Ah, well. He didn't come here to admire the exterior, after all, and there does seem to be a certain appeal, if the crowd of people is anything to go by.]

I'm more concerned with getting a spot at the bar at this point. I'd rather take in the atmosphere once I've got a drink in front of me, wouldn't you?

[If Travis could hear Wade's interior complaints he'd tease him for his tackiness. (Not that he'd be against it if it WAS all period and shit. What can he say? Guy likes his cosplay.)]

Yeah, I could really go for... [Travis trails off. Damn, what a line. Craning his neck to get a better look at the crowd, he's decided that there is no way they're gonna wait around like a couple losers.] ....Hn. Let's not.

[He grabs Wade by the elbow and tugs, walking swiftly towards the side of the building.] C'mon. We're a couple of high class hitmen. We can do way better than waiting in some stupid line.

[Surprised, Wade takes a few double-steps in order to catch up with Travis's pace, but his complete disregard for authority makes him smile.]

You read my mind, Trav. Granted, I was thinking more along the lines of pushin' past the riffraff and bustin' on in Scarface-style, but we can do the incognito thing, sure.

Onward and upward, mon frere. I'll follow your lead tonight.

[Travis' hand reluctantly slips off Wade's arm as they circle to the side of the building.] Trust me. I've done this loads of times. [Even if he's... never really been good at it. And has gotten caught a lot. And sucks at anything espionage, ever. Failing is still experience, right?

And maybe all those failures finally pay off, or the sheer force of his will finally pulls through. Whichever one it is, they manage to dodge the bouncers well enough to get to the back door. Travis turns around to shoot Wade a triumphant grin... before he tries to turn the handle. It sticks-- locked-- and his face falls.]

Ahhh, shit...

Wade has to bite the insides of his lips to keep from laughing at Travis's failed attempt, valiant though it was. He steps forward, outstretching his arm as if to gently guide Travis away from the door.]

Here, I got it.

[He pulls his wallet out of his jeans, opening it up and searching through the main compartment (he rarely carries cash-- having thousands of dollars on his person at any given time would garner too many questions) until he finds the small metal object he's looking for. He holds it up so that Travis can see.]

Lockpick. Never know when the opportunity for a good old-fashioned B&E's gonna come your way.

O-oh. Right.

[After noticing the lockpick, Travis' eyes find a sudden intense interest in one of the bricks laid into the wall. Not that he's embarrassed at his terrible failure. O-or anything.]

Guess I'm more used to kicking the door down and fucking shit up the normal way, myself.

[With that, he moves aside, letting Wade have a go at the door himself.]

[Wade lays a comforting hand on Travis's shoulder as he makes his way over to the lock.] Aw, don't beat yourself up too hard there. Sometimes infiltration's the way to go, that's all. Not saying bustin' in isn't tons of fun, but these are civvies, man. No sense in causing massive carnage if you're not even gonna get paid for it, right?

[He tosses a grin over his shoulder.] Might get us kicked outta the bar too. Just a hunch. And I'd rather have that happen after I've gotten a few drinks in me, y'know? Tell ya what. Maybe we'll do a job together someday. Just the two of us. Then you can kick down all the doors you want.

[There's a loud click as the latch gives under Wade's careful ministrations, and he opens the door quietly and yet with no small measure of flourish.] After you, Mr. Touchdown. Just act like you've always been in there and we shouldn't have a problem.

Edited 2013-08-13 14:24 (UTC)

[It's probably telling that, instead of getting indignant like he usually would, Travis simply rubs his shoulder after Wade's hand leaves it, a sheepish smile on his face. These days, he's mellowed out quite a lot.]

Good point. No point in offing folks who haven't done anything to deserve it, yeah?

[He must be losing his edge. Although...] You can't seriously expect me to say no to an offer like that, can you? Ol' sword hand's getting itchy again. It'll be better for both of us, watching each others' backs.

[A low whistle.] You're an artist, Mr. Wilson.

[With a smirk, he slips through the doors (making sure not to leave Wade too far behind, of course), blending easily with the large crowd.]

Heh. That's me. Jack of all trades, master of... well, all of 'em, really. And I'm modest too, as a bonus.

[Wade flashes Travis a self-deprecating grin, following closely behind him into the bar. It's definitely a lot swankier than it is on the outside, and Wade's expectations are at least moderately appeased. Wade claps a hand on Travis's shoulder.]

C'mon, dude. Let's head to the bar. See what kind of drinks this place has to offer.

[He's almost hoping that they've got cutesy literary names. There'd better at least be a "Tequila Mockingbird" pun somewhere in there-- it's way too easy to pass up.]

[In a minute or two they make it over, Travis neatly taking up an empty barstool with another empty one beside it.]

Gotta be something decent here.

[Travis' experience with literature's a bit limited to wrestling things, sexy things, and things that read from right to left; he wouldn't properly appreciate cute names even if they did have 'em. But booze is booze, and if there happens to be a Gatsby cocktail you better believe he's going to be singing the praises of great American literature.] Hey, barkeep--

[And, as it turns out, they do have cute names! Travis chats up the bartender for a couple ideas, then turns to Wade.]

So? Anything sounding all right?

[Wade's been taking a peek at the booze selection-- they even have a literary-themed gauge for how alcoholic the drinks are, how geeky is that-- but he briefly looks up at Travis's question.]

Probably gonna go with a Catcher in the Rye to start with. That's whiskey, sherry and brandy-- oh, and [He looks up at the bartender] could you add a vanilla to that, pal?

[He flashes Travis a grin.]

How 'bout you, Trav? Need help pickin' something out? I dunno how much of a virgin you are at this type of thing, but... [He lets the sentence hang.]

[Poor choice of words, Wade. Travis eyes him with the slightest light of defiance in his face. (He can only be cooperative for so long, after all.)]

Virgin, my ass. You've seen me drink, right? [And get completely sloshed on comparatively little, but he's ignoring that for now, okay. Unfortunately for him, his taste in booze is about as sophisticated as a college freshman. Maybe a sophomore. After all, he's spent more time trying to get drunk than trying to appreciate whatever the hell it is he's pouring down his throat.]

Uh... [Fuck it. If he's going to keep up with Wade, he's going to keep up drinking the same thing he is.] The same for me.

[Wade offers Travis an apologetic grin, leaning over to whisper in his ear.]

Sorry, Trav. Didn't mean anything by it. I've seen enough of your prowess in the bedroom to know there's nothin' about you that's virginal.

[Okay, maybe he should go easy on the flirting there. This is a night for wingmanning, after all. Speaking of which...

He turns and faces the main floor, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room for a potential candidate. Most of the girls here tonight are with their dates, and he momentarily curses his rotten luck for not checking to see if it was Ladies' Night. Looks like it's pretty skimpy pickings for the single guys tonight.

Their drinks arrive a few moments later, and Wade takes his glass, taking a cautionary gulp. The drink goes down smooth, and the vanilla gives it a burst of flavor. Wade licks his lips, his mouth stretching in a delighted grin.]

Oh wow. Think I might've just found the new love of my life here. How's it treatin' you, Trav?

[Not that Travis doesn't appreciate the flirting. Like, really appreciate it. He chuckles lightly, knowingly, but doesn't answer. Wade'll get it.

And besides: he still really wants go home with somebody tonight. There's gotta be some girl around here who'll be interested. As satisfying as it is fucking a friend, it's not like they're exclusive, or anything, and with men, it's--]

Hey, thanks. [Thank God for drinks interrupting THAT train of thought. He takes a tentative sip of it, and immediately knows, the alcohol already warming his throat, that it was a good decision.]

Not bad. [He grins.] So, when do we get to the main event here?

Chill out, man-- I'm checking. You can't rush these things, y'know? Just keep your panties on and let me do my thing.

[Wade sips his drink, doing another cursory sweep of the place with his eyes. Nada. This is getting ridiculous. The fourth time in how many weeks, and they still can't get this whole wingmanning thing down pat. He turns to Travis to suggest that maybe they'd better pack it in and try again another night...

...And that's then she stands up and makes her way over to the bar. Wade wonders how in the hell he could have missed her. Her long black hair frames her face in waves; those smoky dark eyes immediately cause his heart to skip a beat. In an instant he knows almost instinctively that her name begins with an 'R'-- Roxanne, maybe, or Raquel. She shoulders her way between him and Travis, signaling the bartender with a wave of her hand.]

Hey. Can I get a Great Gatsby?

[Oh god, even her voice is smoky. Travis has definitely hit the jackpot with this one, damn him. Wade surreptitiously nudges his friend; tosses a "watch me" look over his shoulder. It's time to go to work.]

Fine, fine. I trust you, man.

[He just about drops his glass when that woman slinks over-- oh, shit, she actually is hot, and they didn't even have to go to her first. How the hell did not one, but BOTH of them miss her, much less actually get her attention? Travis returns Wade's glance with one of uncertainty-- the good kind, he hopes-- before settling back into his seat and playing it cool, sipping his drink and letting Wade, as promised, do his thing.

...Which is unfortunate, because Roxanne/Raquel/whatever her name is is a lot more perceptive than either of them have given her credit for. She's already made up her mind, regardless of whatever these two jokers have planned.

Meanwhile, Travis' playing it cool is... not as cool as he'd like it to be. (Is he really this rusty? Shit!) While he's obviously hindered by his own anxiousness, she still spares him, and his handsome friend, a smile. May as well let them get it over with.]

So... I take it you're a Fitzgerald fan?

[It's a shallow, innocuous comment, designed to break the ice. Wade is gratified when she flashes a sheepish smile his way-- it's quite adorable, actually.]

Not really. I always thought he was kinda... y'know. Pretentious. Makes for a good cocktail, though. [A chuckle at her own quip, which Wade joins in.] Zelda's better, I feel. She's--

[Wade interrupts her.] --his wife, I know. [He suddenly recites a couplet:]

"Why should all life be work, when we all can borrow.
Let's think only of today, and not worry about tomorrow."

[She joins him in speaking the second line, delighted that he should know it. Wade can see that she's quickly warming toward him. She suddenly ducks her head, showing off another one of those cute, self-conscious smiles.]

Uh... no offense, but I would've never taken you for the bookish type.

[Wade offers her a mischievous grin.] I like pickin' up little factoids in my spare time. You never know when they might come in handy. Like right now.

[She chuckles appreciatively, and he's encouraged by it.] The name's Wade. What's yours?

[Her reply is succinct.] Rosalyn.

[Called it, he thinks. To her he says:] I'm Wade. Nice to meet you, Rosalyn. So tell me-- apart from supporting the put-upon wives of pretentious alcoholic authors, what does a girl like you do in her spare time?

[Her smile seems like a challenge now.]

I ride motorcycles, mostly. I'm a bike nut. Probably too much woman for you to handle, pretty boy.

[Gotcha. He doesn't bother to hide the delighted smile that lights up his face.]

Actually, my friend here builds bikes in his spare time! Isn't that right, Trav?

[He half-turns to include Travis into the conversation, but not before he sees Miss Rosalyn eye the other man with a definite look of surprised appreciation. Wade can almost hear her thoughts-- wow, never expected him to be this cute-- and can't help but feel a little bit envious. Lucky bastard, that Travis.]

Huh? Oh, uh...

[He'd been so thoroughly distracted by listening into their conversation that finally being called on to speak catches him off-guard. And as silly as it sounds, Wade's easy chatter has almost gotten more of his attention than Rosalyn's: it's like it comes effortlessly to him. Travis is jealous of that ease, really. If he had a mind to, he could take this girl home just as easily. That thought... shouldn't bother him as much as it does.

But he can't keep the smile down when she turns to him, pretty face wearing an open, inviting expression.] Yeah, I do. Built my own from the ground up. It's Travis, by the way. [God. A girl into bikes. What a catch.]

Well, then, it's nice to meet you, too! [Rosalyn hums in genuine interest, running a finger along the rim of her glass.] You don't say. Wouldn't have pegged you for a bike type, either.

[He laughs, grinning. Wow. This is already going significantly better than he thought it would, and he visibly relaxes.] Guess I'm just full of surprises, huh?

You sure are. I like that; keeps me on my toes. [She props up her chin.] I've gotta see this bike of yours, though. Is it outside?

[Wait. It's... not.] Ah, shit, I... took a different one over today. It's back home, sorry.

[Rosalyn's smile is completely innocent. (Or is meant to be, anyway.)]

Doesn't mean I can't still see it.

[Travis nearly drops his glass.

Does she mean.

Uh. Holy shit?]

Anytime you want, babe.

[Well. That certainly went better than expected. Looks like Travis doesn't really need his help anymore. Wade flashes them both a grin.]

Well then! I'm gonna let you two kids get acquainted. Pretty sure there's a whole selection of beverages I haven't gotten to peruse yet. Oh, and here-- [He sets the keys to his bike down on the bar next to Travis.] Just take good care of it, okay? Might not be the sweetest ride, but it's mine. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do, now.

[With a wink in their direction, Wade takes his leave of them, taking a seat at the far corner of the bar. He grins as he watches Travis work-- the guy's a little on the awkward side as far as flirtation goes, but Rosalyn seems to be receptive to his dorky charms. Looks like his foray into wingmanning was a big success tonight.

Now if he can just get rid of the urge to go over there and interrupt them, everything would be hunky-dory.

It had snuck up on him without warning, the jealousy. He supposes it's only natural-- after all, once she'd caught sight of Travis she'd barely paid any attention to Wade at all. And although it was his job to get Travis a date... well. He can't help but be a little burned by it; a little resentful of her.

But why shouldn't she pick Travis over him? After all, he's known the guy long enough to get a good indication of all of his good points. He's clever-- when he needs to be, anyway-- it takes a special type of person to keep up with Wade's banter. He can be quite funny, and very easy to get along with when you've got something in common with him. He's interesting, intriguing, a blast to hang out with, not to mention he can be surprisingly sweet and thoughtful if you just give him a chance and--]

Edited 2013-09-25 11:44 (UTC)

[--oh. Oh shit.

The realization hits Wade like a ton of bricks; causes his heart to drop sickeningly in the pit of his stomach.

I'm jealous of her.

He can't deny it any longer, that ugly insidious feeling that had started its slow buildup inside him from the moment she'd approached them. It wasn't Travis he was jealous of, but Rosalyn. Travis must have said something funny to her just then, because she tilts her head back and rewards him with an infectious, bell-like laugh. That sound cuts into Wade; cuts into him as deeply as any blade.

He tears his eyes away from the couple and catches the bartender's attention.]

Hey. Get me a Faulkner.

[The man blinks in surprise; asks if he's sure-- Faulkners aren't really for the faint of heart--]

Could tell that just by the name, champ. Kinda my plan to be that incoherent, y'know? Get me a Sound and the Fury, on the rocks.

[As the bartender sets about mixing his drink, Wade turns his attention once again to Travis and Rosalyn. He's unable to look away, suddenly overcome with a certainty that he's screwed everything up. Why had he suggested this, anyway? Because he thought it was what Travis wanted? For some adventure?

Or is it because you thought you were getting too close?

Wade blinks in surprise; presses his lips tightly together. The biting, acidic voice seems to have come out of nowhere.

Admit it. That's what this is all about. This is what happens all the time whenever you get too attached-- you get scared and start working to sabotage yourself. Is it any wonder that you're always alone? Any wonder that you're always unwanted?

Wade closes his eyes tight; shakes his head to ward off the words that he knows deep down are right.

Shut up shut up shut up]

[It is by some merciful, miracle chance that the bartender sets down his drink just then. Wade picks up the glass, raises it above his head in a toast (either to Travis's imminent conquest or his own stupidity, he isn't sure which) and downs the drink in one gulp. He winces as the whiskey burns his throat, and his eyes water at the strength of it. Suddenly the sound of chatter in the bar is way too loud, the amount of people too overpowering. Wade finds himself becoming increasingly claustrophobic, suddenly filled with a rapidly-growing urge to just take out a gun and mow everyone down.

Clearly, it's time for him to leave now.

He tosses a 20-dollar bill on the bar, getting up and maneuvering his way through the crowd. He doubts if Travis has even looked his way as he passes. The air outside is crisp and cool, perfect for soothing his hot face. His eyes are still burning-- a lingering side effect from that last drink, he supposes-- and there's a tightness in his chest that he can't quite get rid of. Ending the night with William Faulkner might not have been the best idea, in hindsight.

He leans against the wall of the bar with a sigh, closing his eyes for a moment. There will be time to hail a taxi later. Right now he just wants to cool down a little and not think for a while.]

Hey, Wade, why're you leaving so soon? [He starts to move, stretching a hand out, as if to grab him by the arm--] Wa-- [but Wade's already dropped his keys and slipped away to the opposite end of the bar. It doesn't seem like he heard Travis either. Well, of course he didn't, Travis thinks to himself; he's supposed to be setting him up, not sticking around for moral support or anything dumb like that. His voice trails off as he stares after Wade, hand falling limply back to the bar.]

[Rosalyn's eyes follow Wade as he leaves. She smiles pleasantly, leaning her cheek into her hand.] You're lucky, you know. He's a good friend.

Huh? [Travis straightens up and turns-- a little too quickly-- back to her.] Yeah. Wade's great.

Must be. [Delicately, she sips her drink.] Any friend who'd pull the whole wingman routine-- like, actually do it-- is a keeper.

[Travis starts to agree, then stops short:] Hang on a sec, you--

[Rosalyn's laugh is warm.] C'mon. Do I look like I was born yesterday to you, Travis? I've done it for girlfriends before. It's a tough job. Don't worry, though. I still definitely like you.

[The smile on his face is more than a little bit sheepish. Well, damn.

[The conversation goes so smoothly and naturally he's worried that she's putting him on. It inevitably returns to bikes, shifts to work (he "freelances", what he freelances for, she never asks), returns finally to the task of the night. Which is going to go well, obviously. Rosalyn is pretty, and fun to talk to, and into him, and

and Wade

and Wade's sitting alone over there

and Travis keeps stealing glances over at the man nursing his drink by himself, which is dumb. Wade'll be fine. She's probably not going to come home with him anyway. And when she throws her drink in his face, he'll go back to Wade, and it'll be over and done with until the next time. And in whatever idiot way his brain has been making sense of things lately, the idea that he's going to fail is somehow something he feels more comfortable with. His focus on Rosalyn falters. He's not looking at her.

Suddenly, a voice breaks him from his thoughts--] Hey, are you listening?

Edited (I AM REARRANGING THESE I'M SORRY FOR YOUR INBOX IN THE MORNING) 2013-09-27 08:57 (UTC)

Huh? [This is the third time tonight that he hasn't been fully paying attention to a girl who actually wants to fuck him. It's almost funny enough for him to laugh at.] Yeah, of course I am. I'm ready whenever you are. [He's not. Across the bar, Wade's fingers wrap around the glass. Wade's arm holds it aloft in a toast-- he's heard we're leaving-- and Wade's lips touch the rim as he swallows the drink down. (does he knock the glass with his teeth? he's almost, almost paying enough attention to know but he can't tell for sure, so far away.) Wade makes a face at the alcohol creeping down his throat (god his nose wrinkled that's fucking cute), and then he

simply leaves.

Travis' stomach feels like it's tumbled out of his body. Rosalyn's noticed. She's gotten up already and is now staring at him with an eyebrow raised and a mouth turned down. Rosalyn says something about getting up, mentions directions, and he nods, lamely, only half-there, mechanically leaving the barstool and getting back on his feet. Her hand moves to take his arm.

Travis takes a step back and it's like he's looking right through her. It takes all he's got to bury the urge to just sprint out the door and after Wade, right then and there.

She's puzzled, even a little bit hurt; no fucking shit Sherlock, you were supposed to screw her and now you won't even touch her. He hastily grabs Wade's keys and stuffs them in his pocket, where they briefly jingle against one another.] Sorry.

[His tone's low, reserved. He looks so damn pathetic that Rosalyn can't slap him across the face like she wants to.] Are you okay? [He mildly responds with an 'I'm fine', and she continues--] Are we going or not? Because if you aren't doing this, that's fine. But you really need to tell me and stop spacing out like this.

[Finally, he shifts his full attention back to her. He absolutely cannot believe anything that is coming out of his mouth right now.] ...No. It's not you, you're awesome, I swear. I just... can't right now.

[Still not comfortable with this non-resulution, Rosalyn glances from Travis' face to what his eyes are directed at. What the hell has this guy changing his mind so suddenly? He isn't even looking at anything, either, just $20 and the empty glass on the b-- Oh. Oh. The gears click neatly into place.]

Huh. [She takes a quick look over her shoulder-- at the vacant doorway-- and sighs wearily.] Okay. I understand. [Although she's disappointed, there's still a mark of that earlier warmth left.] Listen, Travis, I'm going to do you a favor. I'm going home-- and I'm not going to give you my number. Okay? Think about what that is supposed to mean for you.

[He nods.]

Good boy. [He barely moves when Rosalyn kisses him on the cheek.] It was nice to meet you, Travis. I had fun. [She smiles for him one last time and disappears in the crowd.]

[It's already gotten cold by the time that he finds his way outside. Travis pulls his jacket tighter around his body and stuffs his hands in his pockets, bracing himself for the quick drop in temperature. It only takes a second for him to spot Wade, who has miraculously not left yet. (On second thought, how was he planning to get home? They'd only taken one bike. The thought of Wade alone in a cab tugs at him. A pang of guilt runs right through his chest.)]

Wade.

[He looks only a little embarrassed.]

I fucked up.

[And really, here's Wade at his most pathetic-- standing outside a bar in the cold and staring at nothing like some kind of lovelorn sap in a Shakespeare play. It's almost embarrassing how disgustingly pitiful he is, so much so that it's almost comical.

He's screwed everything up, he knows that much now. Travis will end up going home with this woman tonight. The next time they speak, he'll talk about possibly doing this again-- or worse, ask him for advice on calling Rosalyn again. She and Travis'll eventually want to spend more and more time together, and--

Wade closes his eyes tightly to stop that train of thought; to keep from following that sequence of events to its inevitable conclusion. It doesn't make any sense. They're just friends, after all... right? Friends with benefits; no commitments. Why, then, is he acting like a stereotypical jilted girlfriend in a romantic comedy?

God, he's an idiot. Why the hell did he think this was a good idea?

He's just about to hail a taxi and take a long, lonely ride home back to his apartment when a sudden familiar voice stops him; makes his heart turn a sick little somersault in his chest. Travis is standing next to him, looking sheepish, and it's then that his words register in Wade's mind.]

Whoa, what? Whaddya mean you fucked up? She was all over you, man! [His annoyance shows in his voice, and he somehow musters the energy to shoot him a sardonic smile.] What, did you start talking about your doll collection too soon or something?

[Humor as a deflection. He's played this song and dance so long that it's practically become second nature.]

They're figures.

[Travis chuckles shamefully.] But I dunno, man. You know how it is with chicks-- you don't ever really know what ends up rubbing them the wrong way.

[Is it his imagination that Wade looks a little disappointed? It's gotta be. Apart from having to go home alone bit, this is what friends do for each other. There's nothing between them that'd commit them to each other.

...why is he skipping out on Rosalyn, then? This is what he'd wanted all along, right? And he's cut it all off because he doesn't want Wade to feel bad? That doesn't make an ounce of sense, even for him. Wade'll be fine if you'd left with her, he repeats to himself, and you sure as hell would've been too.

It crashes down on him so staggeringly that he feels like he'll fall to his knees right there.

No, he wouldn't have been fine.]

Wade. [fuck, he loves the way that his name sounds, he wants to say it over and over again.] We should probably get back soon, yeah? It's getting cold out here.

Oh. Uh... okay.

[Relief. Relief so potent that he actually feels the tension completely leave his body-- tension he didn't realize had built up inside him. Guilt follows quickly after-- what kind of person is he to actually feel good about his friend's failure? It's not fair to Travis.]

You sure we should leave? I mean, the night's still young and everything-- you might get a second chance if we stay.

[The words come out automatically, without thought. Wade's merely being polite-- the thought of going through the same rigamarole is excruciating, and that concept brings about such a wave of self-loathing that he can actually taste it in the back of his throat. Selfish. Greedy. Asshole.]

[A second chance? Hell no, Travis almost exclaims; having said 'no' to her was a relief for him, too, and he can't handle a second go. Does that make everything Wade did useless? Does it make this whole night useless? He feels like he's wasted his time, and Wade's time, and hates that he'd gone along with it. Because of course it'd turn to this in the end. Of course.

Travis doesn't have any answers. He doesn't have a name for whatever this has become-- because they have really, really, really fucked up the friends-with-benefits thing-- and he's not entirely sure he wants it all to... go somewhere, or whatever you would say about it. He doesn't plan ahead nearly enough to know any of those things, and in this moment, he doesn't care in the slightest.

All Travis wants right now is Wade.

One hand curls around Wade's forearm, and the other slides to the back of his neck, palm brushing the skin of Wade's cheek as it goes. Raising himself up on the balls of his feet (four inches shouldn't be this much trouble) and gently tipping Wade's head downward, Travis kisses him on the lips: slowly, tenderly, like it's been years since the last time and he's savoring it. Wade still tastes like whiskey. Travis can't find it in him to care.

Fuck.

He's got it bad for this guy, doesn't he.]

Edited 2013-09-29 12:28 (UTC)

[Travis breaks the kiss after a time, but doesn't release his hold on Wade's arm. He's probably wrinkling it. Well, fuck the wrinkles. Fuck 'em. Fuck you, too, Wade Wilson. Fuck you and your shirts, and your neck, and the small of your back, and the space between your collarbones; fuck you and your eyes and your hands and your lips and your smile.

He licks the taste of Wade, and the taste of alcohol, from his lips. He doesn't say a word. He shakes his head, feeling rather petulant.

Hell no.]

But--

[He can feel the protest still on his lips before it's pinned there, trapped between his mouth and Travis's. It changes into a helpless sound halfway through, a sound of surprise and maybe a little bit of disbelief. Travis's lips are soft, so soft he can hardly stand it, and he feels the world tilt; feels it slide back into place a little. Wade holds Travis's face in his hands-- it could be said that he clutches, so lost in the warmth and sweetness of the other man's kiss. It feels like he's drowning, his heart and his lungs and his entire body filling with a sensation that he doesn't want to be rid of. When Travis parts from him, it's too soon. The universe could've undergone heat death and it still would've been too soon. His words are a sigh.]

Um. Wow. Ahahaha. Wow.

[That's really all he has the capacity to say right now. Please hold while the synapses you are trying to reach are located.]

[Oh, God. He broke Wade.]

So, uh.

[Wade looks so absolutely dumbfounded-- in a good way-- that Travis can't help the stupid sly grin that sneaks its way onto his face. ~~Keep being cute, man. Keep being cute.~~ Besides, he's pretty proud that he was the one to accomplish it in the first place.]

Hope that cleared things up. [Right. The sleeve. Travis releases his hold on Wade's arm, leaving, as predicted, some nasty wrinkles on an otherwise very nice shirt. Whatever: it's gonna end up in a pile on the ground no matter what.] But seriously. Let's get the hell out of here. This place is cramping my style.

[And the only reason why this seems like normal Travis behavior is because Wade can't hear the way his heart's threatening to completely burst out of his ribcage.]

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1/idk help (this time in the right place)

2/3 oh my god this turned out massive im' so sorry

3/3 so ends the text wall

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