Fic, by way of apologizing for my slowness.
Title: So Particular
Author: airspaniel
Rating: G
Pairing: Quinn/Wainwright
Word Count: 649
Notes: I know I said I wasn't going on hiatus this weekend, and I'm not, but I feel bad that I'm not around more. So I'm sharing this little thing I wrote on the plane yesterday. I showed it to Mara last night and edited it a bit, and well, I like it. Title is from the song of the same name by Laura Freeman, which always makes me think of these two now for some reason. Here, as an additional apology, have the song - Laura Freeman - So Particular.
That man has been watching him all evening.
He's being sly about it, furtive glimpses over the rim of his glass, sidelong looks from the opposite end of the bar.
Quinn almost smiles, and takes another sip of his wine.
He isn't sure why he's encouraging this. It isn’t as if he makes a habit of flirting with strangers; with anyone actually. too much trouble for too little gain. But the man has nice eyes, and he feels like air, like leather and dark chocolate and the sky itself, and Quinn is interested.. He's learned to trust that impulse, if nothing else.
A drink appears in front of him, the same elderflower wine he'd been drinking, and he doesn't have to ask the bartender where it came from. He flicks his eyes across the bar and sure enough, the man is staring at him. Openly this time, with a small smile that gives the impression of brightness, sunshine, despite the lack of teeth. Quinn inclines his head just slightly, casting his eyes down before lifting them again; not exactly making eye contact through his lashes, but an invitation all the same.
Mere moments pass before the man comes over, leaning on the bar, his body turned towards Quinn, though there is still ample space between them. Enough space anyway. Quinn doesn’t feel threatened, not that he was concerned about that.
“Hi,” the man says.
“Hi,” Quinn returns, giving no more nor less than he was given. If this man wants to make moves, it is entirely up to him to do so.
“I saw you across the bar,” the man offers, and Quinn can’t help the slight lift of his eyebrow, because obviously. The man catches it, and he laughs, and the sound is so delicious; like sparkling rose wine, like music.
“I guess that was pretty lame,” the man says, chagrined; rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous, self-effacing gesture, and Quinn just smiles, slight but genuine. The expression feels odd on his face; unfamiliar. The sincerity of it. He doesn’t mind.
“We all have our moments,” he says offhandedly, and it was the right thing to say, the right move to make; to set the man more at ease by playing along. To make him laugh again.
“I’ll drink to that,” the man toasts, doing so. Quinn doesn’t drink; just watches his head tilt back, the shift of his throat as he swallows.
His face is impassive, Quinn is certain it is, but the man smiles regardless, and this one is different. Not as bright. A slow burn, like the alcohol down his throat.
“Name’s Wainwright,” said the man, offering his hand.
“Quinn,” he replies, simply, and doesn’t hesitate to take it.
shock like cold water, flash, heat, hot, too hot, long time since, wants him wants him wants him - metal in his hand - cold hard torque - adjusting the tension, the wire, the valve to control the gas if he can only get it to work get it to fly oh please, and he wants…
The handshake lasts only a moment, so brief; and while Quinn is sure his face is as unreadable as ever, Wainwright must see something in his eyes; for he pulls back, just a little, looks almost surprised.
Then he leans in again, closer this time. “Please,” he says, voice low and smoother than it had been. Chocolate again. “Call me Jay.”
Quinn’s lips curl up just at the corners, and he can’t entirely control it. He doesn’t try to, doesn’t back away. “I’m Kenneth.”
And then, a beat later. “Hi, Jay.”
Wainwright laughs once more, darker and richer. “Hi, Kenneth. You wanna get out of here?”
Quinn doesn’t know why he makes the choice that he does. It goes against the grain. But his eyes meet Wainwright’s - Jay’s, and he knows…
“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”
Author: airspaniel
Rating: G
Pairing: Quinn/Wainwright
Word Count: 649
Notes: I know I said I wasn't going on hiatus this weekend, and I'm not, but I feel bad that I'm not around more. So I'm sharing this little thing I wrote on the plane yesterday. I showed it to Mara last night and edited it a bit, and well, I like it. Title is from the song of the same name by Laura Freeman, which always makes me think of these two now for some reason. Here, as an additional apology, have the song - Laura Freeman - So Particular.
That man has been watching him all evening.
He's being sly about it, furtive glimpses over the rim of his glass, sidelong looks from the opposite end of the bar.
Quinn almost smiles, and takes another sip of his wine.
He isn't sure why he's encouraging this. It isn’t as if he makes a habit of flirting with strangers; with anyone actually. too much trouble for too little gain. But the man has nice eyes, and he feels like air, like leather and dark chocolate and the sky itself, and Quinn is interested.. He's learned to trust that impulse, if nothing else.
A drink appears in front of him, the same elderflower wine he'd been drinking, and he doesn't have to ask the bartender where it came from. He flicks his eyes across the bar and sure enough, the man is staring at him. Openly this time, with a small smile that gives the impression of brightness, sunshine, despite the lack of teeth. Quinn inclines his head just slightly, casting his eyes down before lifting them again; not exactly making eye contact through his lashes, but an invitation all the same.
Mere moments pass before the man comes over, leaning on the bar, his body turned towards Quinn, though there is still ample space between them. Enough space anyway. Quinn doesn’t feel threatened, not that he was concerned about that.
“Hi,” the man says.
“Hi,” Quinn returns, giving no more nor less than he was given. If this man wants to make moves, it is entirely up to him to do so.
“I saw you across the bar,” the man offers, and Quinn can’t help the slight lift of his eyebrow, because obviously. The man catches it, and he laughs, and the sound is so delicious; like sparkling rose wine, like music.
“I guess that was pretty lame,” the man says, chagrined; rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous, self-effacing gesture, and Quinn just smiles, slight but genuine. The expression feels odd on his face; unfamiliar. The sincerity of it. He doesn’t mind.
“We all have our moments,” he says offhandedly, and it was the right thing to say, the right move to make; to set the man more at ease by playing along. To make him laugh again.
“I’ll drink to that,” the man toasts, doing so. Quinn doesn’t drink; just watches his head tilt back, the shift of his throat as he swallows.
His face is impassive, Quinn is certain it is, but the man smiles regardless, and this one is different. Not as bright. A slow burn, like the alcohol down his throat.
“Name’s Wainwright,” said the man, offering his hand.
“Quinn,” he replies, simply, and doesn’t hesitate to take it.
shock like cold water, flash, heat, hot, too hot, long time since, wants him wants him wants him - metal in his hand - cold hard torque - adjusting the tension, the wire, the valve to control the gas if he can only get it to work get it to fly oh please, and he wants…
The handshake lasts only a moment, so brief; and while Quinn is sure his face is as unreadable as ever, Wainwright must see something in his eyes; for he pulls back, just a little, looks almost surprised.
Then he leans in again, closer this time. “Please,” he says, voice low and smoother than it had been. Chocolate again. “Call me Jay.”
Quinn’s lips curl up just at the corners, and he can’t entirely control it. He doesn’t try to, doesn’t back away. “I’m Kenneth.”
And then, a beat later. “Hi, Jay.”
Wainwright laughs once more, darker and richer. “Hi, Kenneth. You wanna get out of here?”
Quinn doesn’t know why he makes the choice that he does. It goes against the grain. But his eyes meet Wainwright’s - Jay’s, and he knows…
“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”