shadows_have_offended | (no subject)

Entry tags:

harry starks,
ig

(no subject)

He has work in the morning, but it's not stopping him from going out. Besides, this is hardly going out. One of his coworkers put him up on a blind date, and so he's out for that--but the other guy was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago, so Neil doesn't think he's showing up at all. So here's Neil, standing outside of a bar, smoking and feeling a bit like an idiot for being stood up.

He should probably just go. If the guy wasn't here twenty minutes ago, or even five minutes ago, it's reasonable to say that he's not coming and Neil should just give up. He pulls out his phone and checks the texts. There's the one from his coworker, describing the guy he's supposed to be meeting, and there's the one from the guy, confirming that he has Neil's number.

Maybe he'll go to a club. Maybe he'll just go home so he can smoke in a heated room rather than shivering outside. Maybe he'll get this fucking meal and send a picture to the guy; his loss. Neil's an entirely pleasant date.

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"We'll make it work," Harry promises. Yeah, well... It's not a job Harry's interest in giving Neil anyway, but it's nice and flirty to pretend it is.

Music is evidently a good subject, because Neil's face lights up. "Not like those, no. I ain't much of a dancer," he says, gesturing himself vaguely. It should be obvious to anyone that he isn't made for dancing. He thinks he'd like to watch Neil dance, but that's a different matter. "Not that I mind dancing in my club. As long as I don't have to participate."

Neil doesn't argue on if Harry is a dancer or not, but he does look him over as he gestures at him, sipping his wine. The dancing here in Darrow isn't exactly formal. It's more fucking with clothes on. He thinks Harry looks like a great dancer, in that regard.

"What about jazz?" He thinks of movies set in the twenties, the speakeasies and dance halls and all that. It's an awfully romantic idea, silly and young of him. But he'd go to a club like that. Not just because of the man across the table from him.

"I like jazz," Harry says. "I put on jazz acts whenever I could at the Stardust. I had Judy Garland perform at my club once." He speaks proudly. It had been a disastrous night for her, but Harry remembered the good bits. It was Judy. At his club.

Neil is, understandably, impressed by the name. He loves Judy Garland, and he can tell that it's a bright spot for Harry, too. There's no one like that here in Darrow, that sort of drawing star power, even if there are a couple up-start musical acts that do well.

"But you could do something awfully smart with a sort of Cabaret theme, I think, couldn't you? Good music and lots of acts and show tunes. People can dance and drink." Neil blushes a little, because he does imagine that all this has already occurred to Harry. "Sorry."

Harry smiles. It occurs to him he's been doing a lot of smiling tonight. More than he's done in a long while. Genuine and easy. And it's all thanks to the boy in front of him.

"Don't be. It's nice to know I'm not the only one who likes that sort of thing. It's a good idea." He's thought of it, but never thought it could work here.

He takes his glass and sips his wine. "And worth the investment if it gets you smiling like that."

Neil blushes again. It's hardly the shy, nervous blushing he got the first time that he'd flirted with Guy. No, he just feels rather charmed, the way Harry lays compliments toward him like he's worth that. He sips his wine as well, takes a moment to focus on his food while he continues to smile rather bashfully.

He lets the meal become quiet, but it's hardly uncomfortable, he feels. He hasn't got a reason to fill the silence, and he comes out the other side still smiling.

He drinks his scotch and soda quickly, and then considers topping off his wine. "Thank you," he says, "for having dinner with me. It would have been awfully boring to have to eat by myself."

"It's been my pleasure," Harry assures. In fact, it's been such a pleasure that Harry doesn't want to say goodbye yet. "Want to have a drink with me somewhere?" He says, forward words spoken just a little self-consciously.

Neil teases a little, because he can't help it. "Aren't we having a drink? We've still got a bit of wine left."

The note of self-consciousness warms Neil through, because he knows that feeling too well. There's a part of him that wants to be forward, bold--they've made the jokes, they've been flirting; it seems natural to see if there's an invitation in there, or just the gentle teasing.

"Somewhere a bit less formal," Harry clarifies, feeling a bit silly for being teased. Neil reminds him of Tommy, who also teased him, especially when they were out and pretending to be proper. It was a good memory of a good time in his life.

It’s the sort of inevitable outcome of the evening, but Neil likes that. He considers the bottle of wine on the table again, the fact that he has work in the morning—none of it really makes a difference, but he would like to be seen as not too enthusiastic (thirsty, a man had called him once; thirsty, his coworkers had teased).

Under the table, he stretches out a leg and catches his foot against Harry’s ankle. “I’d like that, yeah.”

It's not proper what that little nudge does to Harry. Hungry comes to mind. It's been a while since he's had this sort of attention. So, he can't be blame for the little wicked smile that touches the corners of his mouth. "Good," he says and nudges the feet by his ankle in response.

The promise in that smile sinks heat through Neil. He doesn't know if anything will really happen, but it could, having drinks somewhere more private, and he'd certainly be pleased for it to happen.

The waiter brings their check, looking briefly between them before setting it down closer to Harry. Neil feels a little guilty about that--the implication that he needs to pick up the check just because he's the older of them--and reaches for his wallet.

Harry, in turn, quite likes that the waiter puts the check near him without any sort of disdain on his face. There's no judgement and that's refreshing. He puts up his hand, stopping Neil. "On me."

They way he's spending money, he's going to need to get creative real soon, and if he can do it without resorting to picking pockets, he will.

Neil was gracious about the insistence; he doesn't try to push the issue. He knows that Harry is still new, and so there is a little bead of guilt involved with that, but he can always pick up a tab another time. Or pay him back in more pleasant ways.

A voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Nina Zenik points out that Neil shouldn't feel obligated to do something just because a man paid for his meal, but honestly? Neil was going to do it at any rate.

"So," he says with a breezy smile. "My place or yours?"

Harry has a hard time hiding his surprise at that. He meant a place less formal, somewhere they could sit without a table standing between them. He didn't mean either of their places.

But he quickly decides it's a good idea and he'd be an idiot to pass up on it. "Mine. If you don't mind it ain't that fancy."

There is a moment of surprise on Harry's face, one that almost makes Neil laugh and play it off, but then he ascents and Neil feels the nerves of it smooth out in his chest. He smiles and nods, and pushes back from the table so that he can get a taxi for them.

"I don't mind at all," he promises.

He offers his own flat, simply because that's what he's used to. Boys he's known in London didn't have much of a home so it never came up. He knows Neil isn't anything like them; he's educated and employed, but it still feels better to take him to his own flat.

The taxi arrives and Harry gallantly opens the door to let Neil step in first. He puts a hand on the boys shoulder as he gets in, a lingering touch. .

If there's another time after this--and Neil rather hopes there is--he might insist on his place. Not that he minds going over, but he has a perfectly good apartment, music, decent liquor. A dog to be concerned about these days, but he can't imagine Beau being a problem unless Harry dislikes dogs.

But for now, he focuses on this: the moment, the lingering touch, Harry's kind expression. He slides into the taxi and when Harry slides in as well, he sits rather close.

It’s probably not the bold move it would have been in London (although cabbies were used to all sorts stepping into the back of their cab), but Neil sitting close still brings a smile to Harry’s lips.

He resists putting an arm around Neil, or kissing him there and then, though the thought does cross his mind. He prefers keeping himself composed and discrete when there’s someone watching them through the rear-view mirror.

It’s a silent cab-ride until they reach the High Gate Terrace building. Harry doesn’t allow Neil to pay the fare either and makes sure the fare is paid before Neil can protest.

It’s not until they’re inside Harry’s flat – which still looks pretty much like it did when he first moved in, except for a stocked fridge and liquor cabinet – that Harry speaks. “I know I promised you a drink, but I kinda want to kiss you instead,” he confesses with a lopsided smile on his face. In the privacy of his flat he puts a hand through Neil’s hair, but he doesn’t pull him close yet. “Think you’d be ok with that?”

It’s a comfortable silence, and when they reach Harry’s apartment he isn’t nervous at all. Not that he was when they ran into each other, but Neil has had moments of nerves with other men, and it’s rather nice to not feel it.

It’s almost sweet to be asked. He tilts his head into the touch on his hair, starving for the touch a little, and he nods. Then he steps in, not quite flush but very near, and leans in to brush his lips against Harry’s.

Harry may have been dubbed the Torture Gang Boss, but he's gentle when it comes to boys and it's important to him that he has permission. He likes Neil and he doesn't want to impose on him.

But Neil is clearly alright with it all, as he leans into Harry's touch and steps forward. So Harry puts his hand in Neil's neck and kisses him properly.

The gentle surety of the kiss sinks through Neil and he practically melts into it. It’s been a minute since he was with someone, the whole of January so far seeming fuzz and melancholic with loss, and now that someone is holding him, interested and intent, he can feel everything narrowing comfortably to this moment.

He smooths his hands up Harry’s chest, then up into his hair. He deepens the kiss boldly, scraping his teeth just a little and sighing as he opens his mouth.

It feels good to feel Neil melt against his mouth, the content sigh filled with relief, the kiss eager. It feels good because he hasn't had much of this lately and he wasn't expecting much of it for the foreseeable future.

His eyes stray to Neil's neck but the bruise that was there before has faded.

The hand in his hair is bold, but Harry finds he likes that. He nudges against it, and then deepens the kiss.

Besides everything else, it just feels like ages since he’s kissed. Kissing has become so much a prelude to other things, something to be hurried through, and Neil finds himself pleasantly warmed through to just enjoy this kind of slow seduction.

He breaks away from the kiss a little, to breathe, and smiles a little, licking his lips. “Should we sit down, maybe?” he suggests. He doesn’t want to risk being weak in the knees.

Harry nods and lets go of Neil's neck. It might have been a kiss for a kiss' sake, but that doesn't mean the thought to strip the boy naked there and then hasn't crossed Harry's mind.

He smiles pleasantly instead and nodded to the couch where Neil was welcome to sit. "Let me get you that drink I promised, yeah? What'll you have?"