[ He wants to go home. He wants to go home right now and talk about the pause between "your" and "honey". He wants more of those kisses that taste like honey and something strong, Darius in liquor form. (Bourbon? Shit, that's why he's feeling it. He's got twelve percent body fat on a good day and he hasn't eaten anything, and the strongest he ever drinks, when he drinks, is beer.) (Daddy is bourbon. He likes that analogy. He feels Daddy the way he's feeling this drink, dizzy from a taste or two.) (Haha, a swallow or two -)
(Fuck, he'd like a taste of Daddy right now.) (He'll be a good boy. He'll be a good Puppy.) (He-)
Really wants to meet Darius's friends, and he might as well now, seeing as he and Darius are already dressed up and drinking bourbon and kind of making out on this sofa, which is a really nice shade of purple, actually, and feels good under his elbow. If they leave now to go talk about the pause and Daddy's tongue, they'll have to come back later, and he has no intention of getting dressed again, up or down, this weekend.
(Unless Daddy wants him in clothes.)
(He'd do anything Daddy asked.)
(He'll do anything for Darius, he amends, his eyes moving over the other man's face, committing his smirk to memory.)
He considers the glass in his hand and nods a little absently, yeah, okay. Darius is right about the drinks. Going to have to take that shit slow. He doesn't drink because he's a lightweight, because he doesn't particularly like being shitfaced, because drinking to the point of feeling no pain means there's a lot of pain in the morning. He likes the high he gets off Darius.
He definitely wants both his hands on Darius.
Just as careful in motion as he was a moment before, he eases away, reaching to set his drink down on one of the contempo-deco-something-table (also purple) (lots of purple in here), then solicitously takes the Manhattan, as well. (Here, a moment of perplexity because the drinks didn't come with napkins and he doesn't see one on the table, and somewhat inanely he thinks Anna would throw a fit if he put glasses on the table without coasters or napkins.) (Yes, even here at Null Set.)
(Well. No one's going to tell her, probably.)
Enri settles back, where 'back' is his arm resuming its protective, tender hold around Darius's shoulders, and his other hand caresses his jaw, his throat, settles warmly under his hair. With laughter in his eyes, he teases - ]
Miss me?
[ He doesn't wait to find out. He kisses Darius as though he has a right to do it - as though he's done it a thousand times before, sunken deep in the act of it. As though in kissing, he can convey his thoughts about the subject of that pause Darius let linger in the air as he bit the lip Enri bites now.
He doesn't care who sees; he doesn't care that they're in the middle of a club instead of their living room. (Daddy wants his (pause) honey, and Daddy gets whatever he wants.)
He doesn't notice the club anymore.
The club notices him.
Or rather, a moment or two into this interlude, an unfamiliar voice interrupts his cheerfully buzzed non-thought with -]
no subject
(Fuck, he'd like a taste of Daddy right now.) (He'll be a good boy. He'll be a good Puppy.) (He-)
Really wants to meet Darius's friends, and he might as well now, seeing as he and Darius are already dressed up and drinking bourbon and kind of making out on this sofa, which is a really nice shade of purple, actually, and feels good under his elbow. If they leave now to go talk about the pause and Daddy's tongue, they'll have to come back later, and he has no intention of getting dressed again, up or down, this weekend.
(Unless Daddy wants him in clothes.)
(He'd do anything Daddy asked.)
(He'll do anything for Darius, he amends, his eyes moving over the other man's face, committing his smirk to memory.)
He considers the glass in his hand and nods a little absently, yeah, okay. Darius is right about the drinks. Going to have to take that shit slow. He doesn't drink because he's a lightweight, because he doesn't particularly like being shitfaced, because drinking to the point of feeling no pain means there's a lot of pain in the morning. He likes the high he gets off Darius.
He definitely wants both his hands on Darius.
Just as careful in motion as he was a moment before, he eases away, reaching to set his drink down on one of the contempo-deco-something-table (also purple) (lots of purple in here), then solicitously takes the Manhattan, as well. (Here, a moment of perplexity because the drinks didn't come with napkins and he doesn't see one on the table, and somewhat inanely he thinks Anna would throw a fit if he put glasses on the table without coasters or napkins.) (Yes, even here at Null Set.)
(Well. No one's going to tell her, probably.)
Enri settles back, where 'back' is his arm resuming its protective, tender hold around Darius's shoulders, and his other hand caresses his jaw, his throat, settles warmly under his hair. With laughter in his eyes, he teases - ]
Miss me?
[ He doesn't wait to find out. He kisses Darius as though he has a right to do it - as though he's done it a thousand times before, sunken deep in the act of it. As though in kissing, he can convey his thoughts about the subject of that pause Darius let linger in the air as he bit the lip Enri bites now.
He doesn't care who sees; he doesn't care that they're in the middle of a club instead of their living room. (Daddy wants his (pause) honey, and Daddy gets whatever he wants.)
He doesn't notice the club anymore.
The club notices him.
Or rather, a moment or two into this interlude, an unfamiliar voice interrupts his cheerfully buzzed non-thought with -]
All right, break it up or I'll get the hose.