Room 101 - Fallout (NWS)

[traiteur]

 Goddammit, is mostly what Gene's thinking as he comes home. It's late, a dark, cold, and unpleasant night that mirrors his mood. He'd not seen Babe since Babe had walked out of the conference room the day before - since everything had gotten fucked up. Since the whole situation had fallen down around their ears. Part of him had been expecting it.

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[southphillyboy]

The night before he'd gotten drunk. Gotten drunk alone, in a bar, thinking about Gene the whole time. He'd almost considered trying to pick someone up, his eyes drawn to the self-possessed blond man everything that Gene wasn't. He'd even almost kissedhim by the end of the night. But Babe couldn't and he'd gone home, slept in his own bed, alone. First time since he'd come to this place.

He felt it the next morning, getting up and pushing through his run anyway. He'd gone to work and then just stayed out. Stayed out til he couldn't stay away anymore, hoping the place would be empty when he got back.

It wasn't.

Babe froze in the door of the kitchen, hands shoved into his pockets. He didn't know what to say.

[traiteur]

Gene's not saying anything, sitting at the small table. The bottle's open in front of him, and he's made something of a dent in it already. His dark eyes are darker than usual, and he doesn't look up.

[southphillyboy]

He's still frustrated with the other man. With his inability to just say something plain. To tell Babe what he wants or that he doesn't want anything at all.

Though, Babe guesses that Gene's silence says enough.

"Though you didn't like drinking," he said, belligerent. Not giving the other man an inch.

[traiteur]

"I don,'" he says, and pours himself another drink. He still hasn't looked at him, and he's not planning on it.

[southphillyboy]

"Looks like you're doing enough of it for two," his response is short and the words bitter. He notices the way that Gene isn't looking at him. It just frustrates him more.

[traiteur]

Gene's trying not to give a damn, and knocks back the whisky. If Babe wants to stand there and snipe at him, well, then, let him.

[southphillyboy]

Babe doesn't precisely want to. Want he wants to do is punch Gene, or kiss him, or- Damn. "You gonna look at me, or talk to me, or you just gonna go on like normal?"

Alright, yeah, he's pissed off. Pissed off enough that when he leans forward, his fingers curl hard around the back of the kitchen chair in front of him. "Never saying anything and letting me make a fool of myself over you?"

[traiteur]

"You ain't a fool," he says, voice low and hollow. "This look like normal, t'you?"

[southphillyboy]

"You sure make me feel like one," he's not being generous at all. "I don't know. Guess I don't know what's normal with you, do I?"

[traiteur]

"Dunno." He rubs a hand over the back of his head, looking blearily downward. "Do you?"

[southphillyboy]

"Would you look at me?" He's very nearly begging, leaning over to grab the bottle and yank it away. "Look at me and tell me I'm wrong, or I'm right."

[traiteur]

He does, now. He looks at him. "Remind me a'the question."

[southphillyboy]

Meeting Gene's eyes almost breaks something in him. He doesn't want to walk away from this, he never has, except when he's angry. "I don't know," truth is he's forgotten what the question was, "Tell me what you want from me, would you?"

[traiteur]

Thing is, Gene's not a man of words. That's what Babe doesn't seem to get. So he pushes out of his chair, likely sending the glass flying to the linoleum floor, and he kisses Babe like he hasn't let himself, pushing them both to the counter.

[southphillyboy]

Babe's from a family of talkers. In fact, he's always been the quiet one, and he sure as heck ain't quiet. When people were angry, or upset, they spoke about it. And here, with Gene, it leaves him feeling more bereft than he was already.

That kiss, though, that kiss said lots that Gene never did. Babe scrambles to set the bottle down on the counter, not caring when it tumbled over and spilled. It pulled a sharp sound out of him, hands going to Gene's neck, fingers twisting in his hair.

He doesn't want to ever let go.

[traiteur]

Gene's not planning on letting go anytime soon, hands clenched tight around Babe's upper arms. He's drunk, and mad as all hell, and looking to do something stupid. He's got Babe's hips pinned against the counter and the kiss likely has more tooth to it than's necessary. It's how he wants it.