Disguise, part 2b/?
anonymous
March 27 2011, 20:12:39 UTC
~*~
After taking over four washers, John sits and pulls out a couple of journals that he's been wanting to read for ages. He opens the most recent issue of The Lancet and thumbs through it, waiting for something to catch his eye.
He's halfway through a world report on Healing the mental scars of combat when he feels someone watching him.
The lad across the way eyes him and John smiles back, embarrassed. Sure, he gets the odd look, but rarely from men, and fewer, if he were completely honest, than he might like.
He has an interesting look to him: pale but with clearly bleached hair. It should make him look washed out, but instead invites double takes.
John glances at the washer then goes back to his article. He has another twenty-four minutes or so, and he can't decide if he'd like to finish the article or not. After a few moments he glances up and makes eye contact with the bloke across the way. Still looking.
His face heats. John can't remember the last time someone looked at him with such hunger in their (dark, beautiful) eyes. So, he sets down the journal and walks over.
"I'm John," he says. Which is a perfectly logical opener.
"Brian," the bloke says.
"Oh. American, then?"
"Yeah. Chicago. But I heard the men in London were worth checking out."
John laughs and sits down. "Well, I don't know where you got your information, Brian, but there are far better places to meet men than in a laundromat in the middle of central London."
Brian puts his hand on John's knee. "You're far too modest."
"You have no idea."
"So, do you come here often?"
John tilts his head, amused. "Does that work in America?"
"Not even once. Guess it doesn't work in the UK, either."
"Didn't say it wasn't working."
Brian's smile goes all the way through his eyes. "Then, by all means, answer the question."
"Don't come here often, no. This is my first time."
"Lucky for me."
John's a little breathless by the entire exchange. He rarely has such good fortune flirting with anyone and can't believe his inane chatter is working. Brian's hand is slowly sliding up his leg.
Brian mutters something rather suggestive and John's mind skips.
"I'm sorry... what was that?"
Brian leans over slowly, pushes his lips just under John's ear. His breath tickles John's neck when he speaks.
After taking over four washers, John sits and pulls out a couple of journals that he's been wanting to read for ages. He opens the most recent issue of The Lancet and thumbs through it, waiting for something to catch his eye.
He's halfway through a world report on Healing the mental scars of combat when he feels someone watching him.
The lad across the way eyes him and John smiles back, embarrassed. Sure, he gets the odd look, but rarely from men, and fewer, if he were completely honest, than he might like.
He has an interesting look to him: pale but with clearly bleached hair. It should make him look washed out, but instead invites double takes.
John glances at the washer then goes back to his article. He has another twenty-four minutes or so, and he can't decide if he'd like to finish the article or not. After a few moments he glances up and makes eye contact with the bloke across the way. Still looking.
His face heats. John can't remember the last time someone looked at him with such hunger in their (dark, beautiful) eyes. So, he sets down the journal and walks over.
"I'm John," he says. Which is a perfectly logical opener.
"Brian," the bloke says.
"Oh. American, then?"
"Yeah. Chicago. But I heard the men in London were worth checking out."
John laughs and sits down. "Well, I don't know where you got your information, Brian, but there are far better places to meet men than in a laundromat in the middle of central London."
Brian puts his hand on John's knee. "You're far too modest."
"You have no idea."
"So, do you come here often?"
John tilts his head, amused. "Does that work in America?"
"Not even once. Guess it doesn't work in the UK, either."
"Didn't say it wasn't working."
Brian's smile goes all the way through his eyes. "Then, by all means, answer the question."
"Don't come here often, no. This is my first time."
"Lucky for me."
John's a little breathless by the entire exchange. He rarely has such good fortune flirting with anyone and can't believe his inane chatter is working. Brian's hand is slowly sliding up his leg.
Brian mutters something rather suggestive and John's mind skips.
"I'm sorry... what was that?"
Brian leans over slowly, pushes his lips just under John's ear. His breath tickles John's neck when he speaks.
"Would you care. To meet me. In the gents?"
Reply
Leave a comment