I'll get the drinks, then come find you and get you out of there. Your very own search and rescue Puppy. How's that?
It'll be okay, Sweetheart. For once in the world, someone's saying this and meaning it: they're just jealous. You've got me, I've got you, and they don't mean anything. They're just blips on the radar.
Remember: I'm always on your side.
[ He doesn't get far. He orders the drinks, and really, that was the problem: turning his back to the room. While he's waiting, trying not to think about how much it cost to have this fucking bar installed, he sees someone approach on his left. The hairs on the back of his neck raise; someone's behind him, too.
Languidly, he straightens, glances to his left, then looks at whoever's behind -
Oh.
Circus Act.
Cool.
He raises his brows, his gaze dropping down the other man's body as though to indicate he's just a little too close. To his credit, Joyce takes a step back, then to the side as though he meant to do that all along.
"You must be Enri," the other man drawls, his tone suggesting intrigue, amusement. Enri's used to this. He hears it a lot from his family's friends.
"Must be," he replies, shrugging, taking in this second man, who's now trading a look with Joyce. He's a little older, maybe late twenties, with sandy brown hair and pale eyes. Dark circles under those.
A thought slides into comprehension: he looked way healthier on the tape. Enri has to hide a smirk under the guise of looking to see what's happening with his drink.
"Well. Welcome to the kennel club," Joyce...jokes? Enri glances at him with brows raised.
"Just a joke," the second one contributes unhelpfully. "Between all the Puppies he's run through. You being the latest in his usual trend, of course. We've started betting on who the next one's going to be. Usually it's Simon. Safe bet; he's one of Daddy's favorites."
"He's really not," Enri answers lightly. This lack of concern seems to momentarily throw what's-his-nuts. (What is his name? Peter? Pike? Porter? Shit.) "I mean, just because shitty beer's what you grab doesn't mean it's your favorite. It's what's always available."
Joyce snorts, shakes his head pityingly. Oddly, Enri feels...unbothered by this. He sees what it is. He knows - trusts - Darius. These guys are trying very hard in the eleventh hour to - what? Hurt his feelings?
"You really think he's going to marry you? Maybe he told you that -"
"If he isn't, he spent a lot of money on a wedding cake for no reason. And a suit. And a -" He holds up his left hand. "Ring. That's a weird long con, right?"
"It's Darius," Joyce snaps, his pity and good humor ebbing. "He's going to make you all kinds of promises and then throw you out the minute you think he cares about you."
The bartender slides two Gold Rushes to him. Enri picks one up, tastes it, then returns his attention to the two not-Puppies. "Did you think he cared about you before or after he left you in that bed for thirteen hours? Maybe it was before you pissed yourself."
Joyce...doesn't answer. He stares in disbelief, like he's not sure he heard what he did.
Enri pulls a contemplative face. "'Care' is a weird word to use. You sure seemed to think he was going to fuck you, though. You know. When you called your fiancee and told her you weren't ever coming home?"
People around them are going quiet. Joyce's face is pale, his lips parted in shock, forming soundless words. He cuts a look at his companion.
So Enri looks that way, too, and then snaps his fingers. "Right! Preston! Man, took me a minute. You look way different."
Confused, Preston looks to Joyce and back again. "We've never met...?"
"Nah. I saw your film."
"My film?" he echoes tonelessly - the moment before dawning comprehension.
"Yeah." Enri smiles blithely, the picture of a Young, Dumb Puppy. As though realizing only just now that neither of them understands, he explains, "The one of you in the car with your pants around your ankles. He said half of Manhattan got a look."
"...He makes you watch what he did to us?" Preston seems to be covering his growing tension with a scoff.
"What, like said I had to?" Enri raises both brows then shakes his head. "Nah. I asked when I realized I really, really like hearing all the shit he's done to you. And that he'll never, ever do any of it to me. And he really, really likes telling me."
He takes another drink, then makes a sound of remembering suddenly - a little mm! - before adding, "You're the one that spanked your own cock like, what, forty times because you kept having to start over? Dude. Kennel club? You need PETA."
It's then that he spots Darius struggling to make a beeline this way, so, ignoring the looks on the faces of the two men penning him in, he calls out merrily, "Hey, Daddy! I found Evan and Preston! They have some kind of weird therapy group for guys you blue-balled."
There are some gasps and scandalized looks from nearby guests, but Enri's locking eyes with Preston, his smile growing sharp. "Had to tell them I can't join. I'm special." ]
no subject
I'll get the drinks, then come find you and get you out of there. Your very own search and rescue Puppy. How's that?
It'll be okay, Sweetheart. For once in the world, someone's saying this and meaning it: they're just jealous. You've got me, I've got you, and they don't mean anything. They're just blips on the radar.
Remember: I'm always on your side.
[ He doesn't get far. He orders the drinks, and really, that was the problem: turning his back to the room. While he's waiting, trying not to think about how much it cost to have this fucking bar installed, he sees someone approach on his left. The hairs on the back of his neck raise; someone's behind him, too.
Languidly, he straightens, glances to his left, then looks at whoever's behind -
Oh.
Circus Act.
Cool.
He raises his brows, his gaze dropping down the other man's body as though to indicate he's just a little too close. To his credit, Joyce takes a step back, then to the side as though he meant to do that all along.
"You must be Enri," the other man drawls, his tone suggesting intrigue, amusement. Enri's used to this. He hears it a lot from his family's friends.
"Must be," he replies, shrugging, taking in this second man, who's now trading a look with Joyce. He's a little older, maybe late twenties, with sandy brown hair and pale eyes. Dark circles under those.
A thought slides into comprehension: he looked way healthier on the tape. Enri has to hide a smirk under the guise of looking to see what's happening with his drink.
"Well. Welcome to the kennel club," Joyce...jokes? Enri glances at him with brows raised.
"Just a joke," the second one contributes unhelpfully. "Between all the Puppies he's run through. You being the latest in his usual trend, of course. We've started betting on who the next one's going to be. Usually it's Simon. Safe bet; he's one of Daddy's favorites."
"He's really not," Enri answers lightly. This lack of concern seems to momentarily throw what's-his-nuts. (What is his name? Peter? Pike? Porter? Shit.) "I mean, just because shitty beer's what you grab doesn't mean it's your favorite. It's what's always available."
Joyce snorts, shakes his head pityingly. Oddly, Enri feels...unbothered by this. He sees what it is. He knows - trusts - Darius. These guys are trying very hard in the eleventh hour to - what? Hurt his feelings?
"You really think he's going to marry you? Maybe he told you that -"
"If he isn't, he spent a lot of money on a wedding cake for no reason. And a suit. And a -" He holds up his left hand. "Ring. That's a weird long con, right?"
"It's Darius," Joyce snaps, his pity and good humor ebbing. "He's going to make you all kinds of promises and then throw you out the minute you think he cares about you."
The bartender slides two Gold Rushes to him. Enri picks one up, tastes it, then returns his attention to the two not-Puppies. "Did you think he cared about you before or after he left you in that bed for thirteen hours? Maybe it was before you pissed yourself."
Joyce...doesn't answer. He stares in disbelief, like he's not sure he heard what he did.
Enri pulls a contemplative face. "'Care' is a weird word to use. You sure seemed to think he was going to fuck you, though. You know. When you called your fiancee and told her you weren't ever coming home?"
People around them are going quiet. Joyce's face is pale, his lips parted in shock, forming soundless words. He cuts a look at his companion.
So Enri looks that way, too, and then snaps his fingers. "Right! Preston! Man, took me a minute. You look way different."
Confused, Preston looks to Joyce and back again. "We've never met...?"
"Nah. I saw your film."
"My film?" he echoes tonelessly - the moment before dawning comprehension.
"Yeah." Enri smiles blithely, the picture of a Young, Dumb Puppy. As though realizing only just now that neither of them understands, he explains, "The one of you in the car with your pants around your ankles. He said half of Manhattan got a look."
"...He makes you watch what he did to us?" Preston seems to be covering his growing tension with a scoff.
"What, like said I had to?" Enri raises both brows then shakes his head. "Nah. I asked when I realized I really, really like hearing all the shit he's done to you. And that he'll never, ever do any of it to me. And he really, really likes telling me."
He takes another drink, then makes a sound of remembering suddenly - a little mm! - before adding, "You're the one that spanked your own cock like, what, forty times because you kept having to start over? Dude. Kennel club? You need PETA."
It's then that he spots Darius struggling to make a beeline this way, so, ignoring the looks on the faces of the two men penning him in, he calls out merrily, "Hey, Daddy! I found Evan and Preston! They have some kind of weird therapy group for guys you blue-balled."
There are some gasps and scandalized looks from nearby guests, but Enri's locking eyes with Preston, his smile growing sharp. "Had to tell them I can't join. I'm special." ]