| You've got to start small | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 19 2017, 12:56 PM (44 Views) | |
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 12:56 PM Post #1 |
|
Sometimes Peyton thought things would have been a lot easier if he had been horribly injured. It was probably a terrible and awful thing to wish on himself, but there was...something about it. At least with an injury, he could tell himself he had done all he could for the army and the army had done all it could for him. An injury that was so damaged that he would never be right again was a sign of how dedicated to his country he was and that he was willing to lay down everything for it. More than that, he would have felt almost satisfied with it; he would have felt okay with it, he would have told himself that there was nothing to be done anymore. Logically, he knew he had made the right choice that he needed to end his tour. He had been an army man for almost twenty years, entering the services before things had gone bad because it had been all he had ever wanted to do. His mother had been in the army, it was what had killed her eventually. She had been serving her country and given her all for it, he didn't begrudge her for that (anymore, anyway. Not now that he was an adult and he understood). All he had wanted to do was be like his mother, he had loved her and he had loved this damn country, so he had put in his time. His father had told him to have back up plans, have things he wanted to do other than the army, but what more did Peyton really need? <p> His superiors had hemmed and hawed over Peyton leaving. They had understood, but at the same time they had told him one more year. Just one more year and he could retire with their blessing and benefits, they'd put him as military police somewhere nice and quiet. But Peyton at least knew himself marginally well enough; a tour of duty would have to be a year and a half. He knew given half the chance, he would just keep going. He would keep going until he made a mistake in the field or he did something he regretted. Almost twenty years and he was <i>tired</i>. When he had been younger, he had been ready for the fights, he had been full of ideas of right and wrong and he wanted to serve his country. It had made sense to take the role that saw the most fighting because he was ready to prove himself. After a year of that, he had seen how it had worn his brothers and sisters and he had wanted them to never have that look of exhaustion. He volunteered for those positions more and more so at least one person wouldn't have to. At least he had been smart enough to switch it up, allowing himself to be transferred to military police in quieter areas that gave him peace before he went back to fighting. It helped, it made everything a little bit more bearable. But even if the process of being worn down had eased some, it still happened. <p> He should have listened to his father. How many times had he thought that before? He should have listened to his father and found another job to be passionate about. He should have gone 'what am I going to do when I'm not in the army'. Maybe then he wouldn't be stuck as an auditor, traveling from state to state. It had been a desperate thing, a job – any job that would take him. He had been lucky that the man who had hired him had been as patriotic as him, or maybe he had just thought that Peyton was one of those war vets that had been through hell in back. Peyton could admit ever since he left the army, he hadn't been exactly the best at keeping himself tidy. His stepsister had been the one to help him fix his tie, adjust his suit jacket before he left for the interview and even then, he knew he hadn't looked his best. Peyton had just never realized how much of his military career had been what gave him structure. Everything had been neat in his things because they <i>had</i> to be if he wanted to be ready to ship out and not lose anything. <i>He</i> had to be neat and tidy because he was representing his country and his commanding officers expected it. Being cut lose as he had...it had been hard to care about it all when he knew that the worst that would happen to him was he wouldn't get a job. Maybe the man had just taken sympathy on Peyton. <p> He brought the glass of alcohol to his lips, sighing just a tiny bit around the rim. At least the job had allowed him to travel a bit. Go to different states, audit some people and then head out. It at least kept him from being stuck in a dark room with nothing to see. He felt he should have been more excited about the fact that he had been all over the world, but it was kind of dampened because he was sitting in a bar in Plainview, Texas. Not the biggest of cities, though Peyton supposed he had been in smaller cities over years. He sighed to himself again, shifting a little so he could pull out his cigarettes. All he wanted to do was quit. He didn't want to be an auditor, after almost twenty years in the army it was too much of a culture shock. It gave him no satisfaction in the slightest, but what could he do? The burnout had been sizzling through his gut, waiting to burn him up and ruin him. But maybe he should have let it, because what did he have to show for it now? He went from state to state letting people tell him he didn't know how to do his job, he had a smoking habit that had only gotten worse because he told himself to only smoke when he drove but he drove so much now, and a habit of drinking more times than he didn't. |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 12:57 PM Post #2 |
|
If anyone asked him, which no one ever bothered to do, Marc would probably say he was dissatisfied with his life. He realized he was young. He was only twenty three, after all. That didn't stop him from feeling like he was doing nothing, going nowhere, and that he never would. The most daring thing he had ever done in his life was move to another town - and it hadn't even been that big of a change. Sure, Plainview was nice enough. It was bigger than Tulia - but then everything was bigger than Tulia - but it was no big city. If he'd really, truly wanted to change and step into something different he would have gone north and gone up to Amarillo. Or gotten really crazy and driven down to Dallas or Austin. Big cities. Cities with more than two thousand people, more than twenty two thousand people. Just because Plainview was bigger didn't mean it was big. It was basically his hometown just scaled up a bit. And even that had just about been too much for him. Marc had never done well with change and moving like that had surprised everyone, himself included. He had just realized there was nothing at home for him. His family was all older and more distant from him the older he got. His best friend had moved to New York, his other good friend was building a life of his own with his own new wife. He was a red fish in a pond full of blue fish. He didn't quite fit in with anyone and so he had made his one big decision and change in life. The end result wasn't much. A small studio apartment in the cheaper side of town, no car, and a job in a bar. Nothing else had changed. He was still just Marc. He was shy and a little awkward, hesitant, prone to telling himself he was obviously sick so he needed a day off. The only difference now was that his parents weren't in the same place as him, James wasn't bouncing by for a visit and to drag him out, and if he wanted to see Curt he had to catch a bus or a ride twenty five minutes north. Not only had he made a change, but he'd secluded himself, too. He guessed life wasn't bad. He didn't hate it here. He just didn't feel like he fit in any better than he had back home. Maybe it was the state. Texas was changing a little more every year, but that didn't mean that the smaller towns were keeping up. Everyone wore jeans, and sure, Marc was a jeans guy but he wasn't a jeans and boots and button up shirts guy. He was a jeans and sneakers and long-sleeved shirt or hoodie guy. He was a guy with a slightly different haircut. He was a guy who, although he had grown up in the same town as his friends with thick accents, didn't really have a strong one. He was a guy who was gay, and that was definitely something not everyone was willing to overlook even if they overlooked everything else. Not that they really needed to overlook it anyways. It wasn't like he was obvious about it. How could he be? He hadn't dated anyone since Tulia and even those had been lackluster and short-lived romances. At least the bar was nice enough. He wouldn't call it anything classy and upscale, but it wasn't run down and it was nice. It had its steady clientele during the day and a little more variety at night. Marc wouldn't say he was the best bartender. He could make drinks and pour drafts and all of the technical things. He hardly even made mistakes or dropped anything save once in a great while. But the social aspect of it he supposed he wasn't the best at. He had seen some of the other bartenders. They could chat customers up, they could talk your ear off and flash a smile. He talked to people, and he listened, but he usually waited for someone to approach him, sometimes he never knew what to say or how to respond. He made decent enough tips but he knew if he was better at it he would probably be raking in far more money. But he supposed he should be thankful enough that he could at least hold conversations and that he wasn't screwing anything up or losing his job. Decent money was better than none at all. And at least there were plenty of men to look at. Not that Marc would ever do anything. He was too nervous. He'd let far, far too many opportunities slip through his fingers because of nerves. What if someone reacted poorly? He could get fired, or he could get the shit beat out of him or even worse. And what if he found someone and was interested in them but they just played him? Or what if someone turned out to be interested in him but he had no interest? It all seemed like it was just too much work and too many ifs. It was easier to sit and lament lost chances than to actually take that chance. Though he had been sorely tempted when the blond had walked into the bar. An older man, although it was impossible to tell how old. There had been a little twist in his gut when he had seen him, watched him sit at the bar, watched him drink. A part of his brain said talk to him, chat with him, flirt with him, for heaven's sake. The rest of it said no, no, no, bad idea. In the end, the simple fact that it was his job to talk to people, to sell more alcohol, decided him on at least doing that much. He walked over to the section of the bar, leaning forward just a little bit in the way he had seen the others do. On them, it looked like they were interested or being alluring. He just looked like a kid playing at it. "Ready for another round? Or just one and done?" He offered up a small smile, letting himself just look at the guy close up. Handsome, small bit of what looked like almost cultivated stubble, the blond hair swept back, and even sitting at the bar he still seemed to have an upright bearing. Marc drew his lower lip into his mouth, chewing on it lightly as he just waited for the answer. |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 12:57 PM Post #3 |
|
Peyton dragged an ash tray closer to himself before he put his cigarette between his lips, lighting it up with a practiced ease. Honestly he was surprised there was still smoking allowed here. Were many patrons doing it? Not so much, but there were a handful and there were ash trays so it didn't look like he would be asked to put it out. It seemed like all the bars back in Chicago had gone the route of banning cigarettes, every place had been been doing it slowly but surely. It was no skin off Peyton's nose, really. As much as he would have liked to be able to smoke and drink at the same time, he figured it wasn't the hardest thing to step outside to smoke. He inhaled slowly, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He remembered when it use to make him hack and cough on that first taste, made him sputter. Now it was the opposite; if he didn't have it enough, that was when the coughs came. That was when his hands began to shake. Come to think of it, the same thing had started happening if he didn't drink enough. Was this a sign? Was he suppose to quit? He doubted it. He doubted there was a dramatic and awe inspiring thing when it came down to his body. No matter how much the army liked to talk about being guided by the hand of God himself (while he and any other soldiers who weren't particularly religious or different religions entirely just kind of rolled their eyes at each other), he really doubted that was the case. <p> He took another small sip of his drink just as another bartender approached him. It wasn't the same one who had originally served him. The original one had either realized Peyton wasn't up to talking or figured he wasn't worth the time to talk to; he would have believed either one and wouldn't have taken offense to the last. In a bar full of people, you had to be able to know where your money was, right? What was the point of trying to be friendly to one that had all ready decided how much money he was going to leave on the counter no matter what? This one...he stared at the young man, feeling an eyebrow raise a tiny bit. "<b>Are you even old enough to be behind the counter?</b>" he found himself asking. His new bartender looked something like a kid, not horribly so. Not so bad that it must have been hell for him to get anywhere where adults could go. He wasn't even exactly baby face – maybe it was more something about his face that said he was young, an unfinished quality to it. Add to it the dark hair that just kind of flopped into his face and the clothes that said he didn't seem like the type that knew what worked for him, he just looked...unfinished. Then again, Peyton had known a lot of people who didn't look their age. He had seen kids who had looked like they were pushing thirty, he had seen forty year olds looking like they were a nice, fresh twenty five. Age had always been one of those things that was a hard thing to argue. <p> But he didn't want to insult his bartender enough to get him to leave. He might actually <i>leave</i> and never come back. "<b>Whiskey,</b>" he finally said. Then before the conversation went anywhere else, he downed the rest of the contents in his glasses. "<b>Good whiskey,</b>" he amended. Whatever the bartender had given him before hadn't been the best thing out there. Then again, maybe the other man had just thrown something in a glass because Peyton hadn't exactly been the friendliest person coming up. Oh he hadn't been rude or anything (or he didn't think so), but he knew people in the service industry formed their opinions fairly fast. How many times had he stepped behind a counter or stepped into a backroom and heard people talking about how someone had been unable to order something properly or hadn't understood what terms and conditions were saying so the person had geared up for a fight? How many times had he heard 'I've dealt with this so many times' and known they were reacting on preconceived slights? It would be a stupid thing to get upset about when it came to alcohol unless said alcohol had tasted more like water. The stuff he had just down hadn't been what he wanted, but it was still something that he could drink. That was what it came down to, right? Waste not, want not and all that. <p> He watched the young man go about doing what Peyton had asked and hesitated. The army doctors, the one that had checked on his mental health (he should have known better than to use buzz words like burnout and meltdown), said he should try engaging people a bit more. They reminded him not to cut himself off from the world just because it wasn't the one he was use to anymore. People were still people, even if he wasn't fighting for his country. Should he try talking with this guy? Was there a point? Did he seem like the kind of guy that would want to talk with Peyton? He wasn't an insecure man, not really, but he didn't want to waste anyone's time with something that might not have been what either of them wanted. Maybe the kid had just wanted to be on top of things, maybe he just wanted to get a better tip, maybe he was new and he thought he had to check on people are so often. "<b>Been working here long?</b>" It was a safe question to ask. A simple question, one that was probably hard to take offense to. If he was old enough to be behind the bar, he was old enough to have been there more than a day, right? |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 12:57 PM Post #4 |
|
Those blue eyes looked at him and all Marc could do was fidget with the ends of his sleeves. He wouldn't say it was a disturbing stare in the least, but equally he had no idea how to handle it. When the other man spoke, it was all he could do to not sputter, to not be insulted. He probably would have been insulted if it was the first time it had happened... but it was most certainly not. He still got carded when he tried to go see R rated movies, for crying out loud. And he'd been asked multiple times if he was really old enough to be working here. "I'm, uh, twenty three. I know I don't look it but, yeah. Yeah, I'm old enough." He winced at the way he sounded. Like he actually was some young kid trying his best to convince someone that no, really, he was eighteen and this was totally legal, he wasn't trying anything. He gave a sigh at the fact that that was their opening discussion, at the way he had stumbled over his words and just sounded like a kid. What a perfect first impression he was making. At this rate, he would be lucky if this guy gave him a nice tip let alone anything other than that. He moved a hand up to rake through his hair once, letting it flop back over his face somewhat after the action. "Whiskey," Marc repeated. "Really really good whiskey or just good whiskey?" He flashed a little smile over at the man before he let it fade and told himself to shut up, he was not being funny. No one who came in here wanted the super expensive stuff. They wanted something that got them drunk not something that broke the wallet. He moved away for the moment, walking over to the rows of liquor bottles. He moved his hand up to his chin, resting the weight of his chin in the palm of his hand as he let his eyes roam over the different bottles. He'd love to impress him, give him some super fancy whiskey that would blow his mind. He'd love to see that face register some shock and a smile and know that he had caused it. He'd love to be able to tell the bosses that he'd sold some shots of the really good stuff, look how much money they had made. In the end, though, he knew he was just being... well, he was just being Marc. He was just imagining things that could happen if he actually dared to try something different when everyone, especially himself, knew that he wouldn't. So instead he just grabbed a middle range bottle. Certainly wasn't going to break the bank but it wasn't the generic stuff, either. He didn't really know too much about the taste because he was a beer guy and he was a lightweight beer guy at that. Three beers and he lost all his ability to have inhibitions or meaningful conversation. Four beers and he was sick and regretting his life and his choices to the toilet. Probably a terrible constitution for a bartender to have but he just couldn't hold his alcohol. He turned back to the bar, walking over in front of the man again. He pulled out a glass and poured the correct amount into it and then slid the glass over to the man. "Try that. Tell me how it tastes." Good, he hoped. He leaned back against the bar again for the moment, casting a quick glance down the line. Most of the other customers were taken care of and no one was signaling him yet, so he figured he had enough time to just relax and talk to this guy somewhat. "Yeah, about two years. Well, probably a little less. But, yeah. A bit. You know, moved here and kind of fell into it and it's a good enough job." he was babbling, but he didn't know what else to do or to say. The man had asked, so he wanted to know, right? Or maybe he had just been being polite, just keeping up small talk until Marc had come back with the drink. The job was pretty good. Maybe not amazing, but the pay was nice enough, the tips were nice and nobody expected Marc to deal with the annoying drunks. The other bartenders usually took over or the guy they had for security did. He was too scrawny and small, they told him, and the owners didn't want any of their bartenders getting hurt or into fights. So Marc usually just ducked away whenever someone got mean or unsettling and someone else took care of it. All in all, it wasn't too bad of a job. "So, uh, you obviously ain't from around here, right? I mean, never seen you before and you don't have an accent like everyone else." He almost bit his tongue at that. He hardly had an accent as it was. Oh, it was there. It was faint and there were some words he threw in and letters that he dropped that proved he definitely had a Texas twang but he wasn't like any of the friends he had grown up with who had some of the thickest accents ever. "That was probably way too rude soundin'." He brought his hand up to his forehead, pushing some of his hair back and blowing out a heavy sigh at himself. He was just not cut out for more than the most idle of chatter. At least with strangers. At least with people he wanted to impress. |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 12:58 PM Post #5 |
|
He watched the young man fidget and there was just something endearing about that. Or maybe Peyton was all ready on his way to being drunk. Not that he needed to be drunk to think a young man was cute, because Peyton had always considered himself very equal opportunity when it came to whether he liked men or women. It was more that he didn't remember the last time he had allowed himself to think of someone as cute, endearing. Attractive, yes. Handsome or beautiful, yes. But cute with a side of attraction was a kind of a new one. He offered him a small half smile. "<b>Stupid question, sorry,</b>" he offered up, "<b>You wouldn't be behind the bar if you weren't old enough.</b>" He could have made a comment about the town his was in, the state. Texas had always seemed to play by different rules, like it was a strange other nation. But even when he thought it, he figured he shouldn't say it out loud. For one, people might take offense and he was really not interested in an argument at best, a fist fight at worst. But more importantly than that, he wasn't interested in offending his bartender. Sure there were other people to serve him drinks but none of them were quite as attractive as the one before him. He finished off the glass before him, downing it with practiced ease. "<b>Take it as a compliment,</b>" he said, "<b>means when you get to be my age you won't look so bad.</b>" <p> The kid repeated his order, which hey Peyton was always okay with. If someone repeated what you said and then got it wrong, that was when you could be annoyed, he always felt. Not that he <i>wasn't</i> annoyed when whatever he wanted was screwed up anyway, but he felt a little more justified the other way. He went on to ask if Peyton wanted really good whiskey or just good whiskey and he fucking <i>smiled</i>, though it faded a little. It made Peyton grin just a little because while he knew it wasn't hilarious, it was still damn cute. He was beginning to think he was bias in those moments, though. He was biased because he liked this bartender – and not just because he was attractive, but he actually was at least engaging Peyton some. Not that he had always wanted a conversation when he came into bars. Most of the time all he wanted was to sit and drink and go home and maybe drink a bit more. "<b>I'll take the really <i>really</i> good whiskey.</b>" Because he could, because this was all his money and he might as well do <i>something</i> with it. Sure, his company was paying for his gas, paying for his hotel room and his food, but he got to control the bar time, which was pretty nice and beneficial if anyone asked him. He watched his bartender turn away and he took advantage of that, letting his eyes slide over him, taking in everything that he could. It felt like a risk here in Texas to do, but there was no crime against looking, was there? No one could accuse him of anything when they were too drunk to look in front of their noses. A moment later, the bartender turned back, came back to him and poured him a glass and pushed it over to him. Peyton had never met a glass of alcohol he didn't like, not in all the years he had been drinking, but there was an art to this. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip so he could appreciate the flavor. It wasn't like the other stuff that he had knocked back fast because that could mask the taste. It didn't mean he <i>didn't</i> throw the drink back fast, but at least the taste was decent. "<b>Much better than what I was given. You have pretty good taste.</b>" And he really hoped his eyes didn't wander to obviously, he really hoped that even when he told himself to keep his eyes front and forward and he felt them drift that it wasn't very obvious. <p> The bartender responded that he worked in the bar for awhile, that he had kind of fallen into the job. "<b>A man with experience then.</b>" He could understand falling into a job. Even though he had loved the idea of joining the army, that it had been his dream since he was a kid because that was what his mom had done, he had fallen into a lot. He had fallen into the role of leader even before people had pushed him to become a sergeant. The kid didn't sound exactly upset about his lot in life, but what did Peyton know? They were two strangers meeting in a bar. Maybe the guy was one of those serious types that never let on how bothered they were. It was a bit of information to store away...and then he realized he had no <i>reason</i> to. He was going to be here for a couple of weeks and then he'd be heading off home, where then they'd tell him he was going after all that. There was no need to store away information about someone he wasn't going to see again, no matter how cute he was. "<b>You saying I don't sound like I'm from Chicago? You sayin' that I don't sound like I'm from the windy city?</b>" He exaggerated his accent, let the 'th' fade into a 'd' sound. He had personally never heard the accent in his family – except maybe his mother. His mom, he remembered, had that heavy accent, his father had always sounded like he was losing his Italian accent but it was still there. But it was nothing like his bartender's. It had been hard to notice at first, but the more he talked, the more Peyton could hear that distinctly southern accent coloring the words just enough for there to be a twang. Just enough to be cute and to make him wonder if they were to take a tumble in his bed, would the accent get more obvious? Less obvious? He shook his head a little, offering him a smile. "<b>You didn't sound aggressive about, it's fine. I think I'm more interested in the fact that this town is small enough that you've seen every one from it?</b>" He couldn't imagine that. Sometimes he felt like he didn't even know his own neighbors back home. "<b>I'm an auditor,</b>" he said, "<b>I was sent down here from Chicago to check the numbers.</b>" He hesitated for a moment before stretching out his hand. "<b>Peyton Brooks.</b>" |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 12:58 PM Post #6 |
|
Marc moved one hand up the the back of his head, rubbing at the hair there for a moment before he just gave a small smile to the man as he apologized. "I hear it a lot. It's okay." He had just had to accept years ago that he had a slight, small build, that he was fairly short and that he had a baby face. It meant that people always thought he was younger than what he was. Sometimes it wasn't a bad thing but there were things he did get tired of hearing and people asking if he was old enough to even be behind the bar was definitely one of them. He knew there were some places and towns in the south and out in the midwest that could be lax but, honestly, this town was just big enough that it really couldn't get away with things like that. As he thought, his tongue poked out from between his lips to play idly with the lip ring that he wore. It was a common habit when he was just a little bit distracted and his mind was going about a hundred miles an hour. It was something physical for him to do while not distracting himself too much from his thoughts. Maybe he should have let himself get distracted, though, because when the older man finished the drink that was in front of him and then spoke, Marc could only say the first thing that came into his brain. "I don't think you look bad at all!" He blurted the words out almost rapidly and then froze for a split second, probably looking like a deer in the headlights. He hadn't meant to really say that but he had just let himself slip and God who said those kinds of things to complete strangers? And what if he was offended by it? What if he didn't want Marc hitting on him, if that's what you could even call it? Marc could only swallow heavily as the other man grinned at him. It just transformed his whole face. He didn't look particularly old, really. If he was pushing late thirties Marc would be honestly surprised. But that grin just transformed his entire face into something youthful and bright and oh God why couldn't he stop staring at him? He was going to start coming off as incredibly creepy soon if he didn't get his act together. This man was a customer. No matter how much Marc was admiring his face, the way he had his hair styled, the color of his hair and eyes, the stubble on his chin and mouth, the subtle hint of muscles below the shirt... that didn't mean anything. He could look all he wanted but his job was to serve the man alcohol. He rubbed one hand against his thigh, trying to dismiss the feel that it was growing clammy from nerves. "Really really really good whiskey?" Marc teased slightly, even as he mentally screamed at himself to shut up. This guy wasn't going to think he was funny or cute. He was just most likely going to roll his eyes at the whole thing and put up with it simply because Marc was getting him his alcohol. He was surprised that the guy had asked for good whiskey, though. There were always some people asking for higher end stuff, of course, but it wasn't very common. Most people were beer drinkers, honestly, at least down here. If it was whiskey, it was usually the cheap stuff. When he turned back to pour the drink he thought he caught... something. A glint in the eye, an appreciative glance. Maybe he was just making it up. As he leaned on the bar, he let his tongue poke out again to play with the lip ring some as he watched the man taste the whiskey. "Glad to hear it, considerin' I've never had it before. Not my thing, really." Alcohol in general wasn't a huge draw for him unless he was in a social setting and then it was always one or two beers and he was done. Whiskey would probably kill him with his constitution. "I don't know if I'd call it a lot of experience. Not even quite two years. I don't even drink much, either." He didn't know why he was still talking. Maybe just because the man was talking back. He hadn't indicated that he wanted Marc to go away. Maybe he wasn't professing undying love or anything, but he was actively responding to things that Marc said and engaging him in further conversation. That must mean that, for now at least, he wanted to talk to Marc. He blinked slightly as the man responded to his statement that he didn't have an accent. "Well, you do now," he pointed out helpfully. "Your accent isn't that thick. And I just meant... I mean, I just meant it didn't sound like most of the people down here." He was sure that the other man had figured that out easily enough. Marc had a serious case of not knowing when to just stop talking when he was nervous, though. He gave a small laugh, "I don't know everyone here but it's true that I hadn't seen you around before, right? But if you want to go where everyone knows each other you should see my hometown. No more than about three thousand people. You really do know almost everyone there." Maybe that was why he had left. There was nothing there for him with James and Gabi gone and his knowing every single person in town and knowing he sure as hell wasn't going to land a future or a date there. He focused back on the man as he spoke again. When he held his hand out towards Marc, Marc hesitated for only a brief second before he shifted his weight on the bar enough to stretch his hand - awkwardly, since it was his right hand - and clasp the other man's hand. It was strong and warm and he couldn't help but notice the way his own just seemed to fit right inside of it. The other man gave him his name and Marc couldn't stop himself from mentally sounding it out over and over, testing the different ways it might sound. "I'm Marc. Marc Miller. Kind of funny, you know, 'cause millers, they always used to set up their homes around brooks and stuff for their wheels so they could grind things - oh my God I need to just stop talking." What had possessed him to say that and why had he thought it was a good idea? Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away after a moment. "You, um, you want another round?" He asked, his voice a little smaller than he would have liked it to be as he tried to recover somewhat from the embarrassment that he kept heaping on himself. Really, he should know better than to just let himself keep talking. |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 12:58 PM Post #7 |
|
"<b>It doesn't make it right, so sorry,</b>" he repeated. That was something he remembered his mom teaching him when he was very young. You heard something a lot, you were told something a lot, and you began to think it was true. Or at the very least you were taught to think it was okay. It was normal after awhile. It never made it right, though, unless it was actually right. It was 'okay' to be told endlessly that you were screwing up, but it didn't make it right. Maybe he was putting too much thought into this, though. It was just his bartender's age, after all...but at the same time, it wasn't really his place to be making assumptions. Any more thought on the process, on the moral high ground, was lost when he watched the bartender poke his tongue out to play with a lip ring that Peyton hadn't noticed in the dimness of the bar. He watched, not really meaning to, as the tongue seemed to keep itself busy and Peyton couldn't help himself from wondering what that tongue might felt like if they happened to kiss. Or other things that were probably not exactly right to think about strangers. He was startled out of <i>those</i> thoughts when the bartender blurted out that he didn't look bad at all. Warmth spread through him that wasn't entirely due to the drink, he knew. "<b>Thanks,</b>" he offered, more casual than he felt, "<b>But realistically speaking, I know I look my age and it hasn't exactly been an easy life.</b>" Even though he had avoided the worst injuries, he knew he hadn't come out of it untouched. He had been aged as most people were. <p> Peyton was grateful that the bar was slow enough that his bartender didn't have to run off and go take care of anyone else in that moment. If he had left, well, Peyton couldn't fault him, but he would feel a bit more downtrodden because of that. "<b>The best whiskey you got.</B>" He couldn't quite stop his smile from growing a bit more. Maybe this was all a ploy. Maybe this was just a way to actually get him to buy the more expensive stuff, but he didn't care. He didn't care. He would pay all the money he had if it meant his bartender stayed there with him. Though if he was treated to the sight that backside, he wouldn't have minded him wandering away a few times just so long as he came back eventually. Did the kid even realize what he was doing to Peyton? Maybe, maybe not. When he poked out his tongue again to play with his lip ring, Peyton was honestly beginning to lean towards that he did. How could he just keep doing that and <i>not</i> know what he was doing? "<b>Not a whiskey drinker?</b>" he could see that being an issue. Honestly, he had never been much of one in the beginning either. He had liked beer. That was what he remembered the best; going out for beers with his brothers in between tours, going out for beer when he was able to in other countries. Whiskey had been a slower process to get use to, built up over time before he had finally started preferring that. <p> "<b>You don't?</b>" he couldn't keep the surprise from his voice and then he shook his head a little. "<b>really, it's not that surprising. It's probably like people who work in a pizza place or a coffee shop. Everything wears off after awhile.</b>" He had listened to people ask that question even of people. Those people never seemed to register the clerk's polite 'I have to be nice' smile. But it made a sort of sense. You were around it so much that it stopped being useful or unique or it just wasn't what you needed. He snorted at he was told now he had an accent. "<b>I'm told I really only sound like I'm from Chicago when I'm angry.</b>" He was never quite sure why that happened; maybe it was because he just didn't think about it and he was falling into old patterns he never really registered. "<b>Three thousand people?</b>" he repeated, "<b>That's it? That's so small.</b>" He couldn't stop his face from scrunching up. "<b>You probably do know everyone there,</b>" he didn't meant to but he knew he came off as sounding mildly disgusted. "<b>Sorry, I just...we have two million people. I'm no one there and I like to keep it that way.</b>" Because there was a freedom in the idea that no one really knew who you were, that you weren't recognized. Peyton didn't even much like going to places regularly enough that the clerks knew who he was. He couldn't imagine living in a place that hardly had anyone at all, comparatively. Maybe that was why the other man had moved? He didn't want to make assumptions, though. <p> God, even his bartender's hand was perfect. It seemed to fit right perfectly there and Peyton had to resist the urge to just keep holding onto it. "<b>Well, Marc, it's nice to meet you.</b>" He held Marc's hand for a few beats longer before he finally made himself pull back, made himself settle back into his position of customer alone. He watched as Marc (he loved saying that name. Marc) went on, adding how it was funny because of brooks and millers and then said he needed to stop talking. Peyton chuckled a tiny bit. "<b>I never knew that. Makes sense, though does this mean we're going to have to set up our homes by each other?</b>" he teased. He wouldn't mind. God, he would not mind in the slightest. Even if it meant moving to this small town, he would do it in a heart beat. He watched the younger man pull back a little. "<b>Yeah, I'll take more.</b>" At least everyone could say he was actually using the bartender proper, at least he could keep Marc here with him for a little while longer. Was it a bit obsessive of him to say he would buy every bottle in this place if it meant that he got to talk with Marc for longer? |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 12:58 PM Post #8 |
|
"Well, I appreciate it," he said after a moment. In reality, it wasn't that big of a deal. But that didn't mean that Marc didn't appreciate the kind words nonetheless. When had anyone ever apologized to him for something like that? Probably never. At least, not in the sane way. He usually just got a 'really?' or an 'Oh, sorry' and that was that. It made him want to practically wriggle with happiness that the other man had taken the time to do so - happiness that he didn't think he would have felt with someone else doing so. This man,though. Marc couldn't even begin to lie to himself and pretend that he wasn't interested. He was so caught up in his thoughts he didn't even notice the way the man was looking at him. In fact, he didn't notice much of anything until his mouth opened up and he just blurted the words out. He did his best to not I absolutely horrified with himself with mixed results. He was distracted by the other man thanking him for his words, though, and then further by what he said. Marc perked up just a little, glad that the other man was still engaging him. He tilted his head to the side just a little. "You don't look that old," he said. "How old are you if you don't mind me asking?" Maybe there was some weariness here and there about the man's face but... he still looked pretty good. No one would think he was in his twenties, but he didn't look like he was in his forties either. He didn't quite blush when the other man smiled even more at him, but Marc felt he was pretty damn close to it. Which meant he needed to get his act together. If he was going to get through this. If he started blushing he was probably going to start stammering and saying even stupider things than he already said as it was. Then he would just get even more embarrassed and then he would start dropping things, too, because of how flustered he would get. This was the last place you wanted to start dropping things. Not only was the glass dangerous but some of that alcohol was pretty damn pricey and Marc didn't need to pay for a whole shelf of expensive booze just because he'd let himself get stupid. "Well, the best it is then," he said, feeling more than a little tongue-tied. Not that he was ever all that good at verbally quipping back and forth with anyone anyways. Not unless it was Gabi, and that was just because they both had such a similar sense of humor that it was easy for him to banter with her. Someone that he hardly knew? Nerve wracking, really. Marc left off playing with the lip ring after a moment, switching to chewing on the other side of his lip as he watched the other man take a drink. "Not much of a drinker in general. I, uh... I don't have much of a tolerance. I guess I'm a, uh, cheap date that way," he offered up with a small laugh, trying to not wince at himself. Two beers and he was absolutely wasted. Three beers and he got very... handsy, or so he had been told. He turned into more than just a cheap date at that point. Four beers and he would be so sick he would hate every single moment of his life leading up until then. It was just generally better to steer clear of alcohol most days and, really, he was a more social drinker when it came down to it. "When I do drink, it's usually beer," he offered. "Nah," he said, wrinkling his nose up a little bit at the other man's surprise. "Like I said. I just... don't have the constitution for it. That's probably why it doesn't bother me at all to drink it when I do. I don't make enough of a habit of it. You're right, though. I have a friend who works in a kind of cafe coffee shop and he... well, he drinks coffee still but he said it kind of took all the joy out of it for him." James said an awful lot more than that, but this man didn't know James and he probably wouldn't care much what his friend had to say. Marc knew he had a tendency to go on, but he also knew that there were limits. Talking about his best friend of ten years - and the man he'd been in love with until only about one or two years ago - was probably not the best thing to add to the conversation. "Well, you sounded like it just then," he teased a little. "It's just natural sometimes, I guess. I dunno I don't always sound like I'm from Texas and you should hear some of my friends that grew up with me, they have the thickest accents imaginable." Not to mention he didn't get a Hispanic accent on anything unless he was talking with Gabi, really. He gave a small laugh. "This town ain't exactly high society either. There's lots of towns around here like that." Marc could have gone to a bigger one, but he had been too scared. "It's real easy to be no one in a town of three thousand, too," he said. After a moment he realized what he had said and how terrible it sounded. "Sorry, sorry. I mean. You know. You do know people in small towns but, at the same time..." He just shrugged his shoulders. He had been a red fish in a pond full of blue fish. He probably would have gotten his ass beaten a lot if James hadn't been his friend. But, curiously, there had been days he didn't even think that had been an outcome for him just because Marc was a bit invisible. It had started with his parents and just seemed to spread out to most of the world. "It's nice to meet you, too," Marc told the other man honestly. He felt more than a little disappointed when Peyton - his name was Peyton, he told himself yet again - finally let go of the hold that he had held for far longer than a normal handshake would usually go. He told himself to stop it. There was no sense in getting his hopes up, no sense in building things up in his head. Even if the guy was flirting with him - which he might be or it might just be Marc reading into things too much - that didn't mean anything. People flirted all the time without any intention of doing anything more than just that. "Well, um, actually, we would have to set up house together given that they would usually build their homes and their mills right on and right beside the river," he heard himself saying that almost distantly and he could practically hear his own mind screaming at him. He had practically just said 'hi I'm a stalker' at this point. Who the hell just practically suggested that they move in together after meeting someone? Well, he knew who, actually, but not everyone in the world was James. He did his best to ignore his flustered embarrassment as he went about pouring the man another drink. "So, um, you in town for long? I can't imagine it would take very long but then... I've never done it so what would I know?" |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 12:59 PM Post #9 |
|
He offered up a small half smile as Marc said he appreciated it. And that was what his parents had always taught him was the reward for going that extra inch for people. It wasn't just about trying to play nice, but making someone a little bit happier. It hadn't cost Peyton anything...though he supposed if he were a more serious and arrogant man, he might. It he were more serious, he might not have viewed the person behind the bar as an actual person at all. If he were more arrogant, he would have probably rolled his eyes and probably spoken down to Marc some. Or maybe Peyton was just showing his bias <i>there</i>. When his age was asked, he hesitated. Right now, he was enjoying their conversation, he was enjoying getting to watch the younger man. If he said his age, what if everything changed? Marc was twenty three, well above the age of consent, starting to make his way into the realm of an adult who could damn well make his own decisions. But Peyton hesitated...until he realized that this was probably a lost hope to begin with. "<b>I'm thirty eight.</b>" And his family had commented that some days it seemed like a hard thirty eight. Tibby said it was because his eyes looked like they always had bags under them, Dalton said it was from how much he drank, Minty said it was because he insisted on acting like he was sixty eight instead. It wasn't until he was out of the army that he had been able to slow down enough to realize he was closer to forty now than thirty. <p> Peyton could stare at Marc all day and there was a part of him that really wanted to. Another part reasoned that Marc was a working individual and couldn't just stay with him all evening...but then that part agreed very easily to the fact that if Peyton kept buying things, Marc would have to stay. Was that wrong? Was that terrible of him? He told himself that he wouldn't keep Marc if someone else flagged him down, he wouldn't stop him if he said he had to go take care of something or one of his coworkers called for his attention. When Marc spoke, he had to resist the urge to say that he all ready had the best right there. If they had been back home, Peyton might have said it. If he had just one more little indicator, he might have done it. But this was Texas and he had always tried to be cautious in areas like these. Not because he cared if people took problem with him, but because...well, it wasn't like he wanted to out someone who hadn't been ready yet. He almost snorted to himself – as if he had stayed in the states long enough to even find someone to potential date. Marc was making it harder, though, with the way he chewed his lip. Maybe it was the alcohol buzzing through his system, but he felt he didn't much care about where they were at the moment. "<b>Just means drinking isn't something we'll do on a date.</b>" If the reaction wasn't right, if Marc got insulted or concerned, Peyton could at least tell himself he meant "we" as in a general sense; "we" as in Marc and his date, Peyton with his. "<b>Beer's good too,</b>" he said easily. "<b>Beer's more of a social thing for me. Whiskey is good for right after work.</b>" Ever since he had come home, that was what it had been. A glass or two of whiskey just to take the edge off of being back here and knowing that he wasn't going to be shipping out anytime soon. <p> "<b>Could be said about a lot of jobs, I imagine.</b>" Not that Peyton had ever held a job that had that sort of thing attached. When he had been burning through college, he had been training to be in the army. When he had been in the army, that was all he was. Now that he was an auditor, it wasn't exactly money was ruined for him. Maybe a few stores had been ruined because of what he had seen them doing that were technically legal, but it wasn't anything like these sorts of jobs. He snorted. "<b>My accent is pretty faded these days. One of my brothers has a heavier accent.</b>" Dalton always said it was because he was the only one in the family that had stayed in Chicago; Peyton had spent years going to various countries, Tibby and Minty had been born and raised for a bit in Wisconsin before moving there. "<b>I think I like the more subtle accents,</b>" he offered up. Because there were certain words that Marc said that one could tell he had an accent on and if you didn't know it was Texan, you would just be left wondering. In the duration of them talking, it had thickened only slightly. Or maybe Peyton just found himself really liking the way <i>Marc</i> sounded. "<b>I always kind of liked these towns when I was younger,</B>" he admitted. "<b>It was pretty different from where I grew up. Tibbs always said that if we actually <i>lived</i> there, I would be dying of boredom, but...</b>" he gave a small shrug. But he had always figured he would have found his own fun, he figured he was going to be in the army all his life, so why shouldn't he come home to a quiet place? He watched Marc for a moment, listening to him. "<b>Being a no one is easier because then you meet someone and it makes you feel better to know they see you as a someone.</b>" Peyton had always been happy with that. He had always felt a bit more connected to people that way. But then, dad had always said that Peyton had a way of making friends when he decided he wanted to. Look at all the people that still called him from foreign countries because they wanted to see how he was doing. "<b>The problem with small towns and knowing people is they know you in a very specific light. I saw it a lot when I was in Thailand. They didn't know people's names, but it was still small enough they were like 'that's coin guy because he's too cheap to use anything bigger than coins' and 'that's a banshee because her laugh is like a shriek'.</b>" It felt stupid to say there were problems everywhere with every level of town, but it was probably true. <p> For the first time since coming home, Peyton wished he was staying. He had come home and chafed over and over at the idea of being stuck in one spot. It was fine at first, but eventually his body had started going 'it's time to leave, it's time to move on' and there had been no outlet for it. Right now, as stupid as it was, he wanted to stay. "<b>No, right, fair enough. I bow to the facts on that one.</b>" It was too early to be joking about that. They hadn't even gone 'I really like you, let's date', they shouldn't be joking about this. Then again, it wasn't a crime to joke about moving in together if one of them didn't see the other as an actual option, "<b>Here a few weeks, maybe longer if the store has some problems or is really disorganized. I've had a couple like that since I got back.</b>" and it had all been mind numbing. A few of those jobs had been extended because he had just been too bored to pay attention to what he was working on. When he had come back to himself, he had looked at the numbers and realized none of it made sense. "<b>It's boring. Really boring. They say it's a good job for people who want to travel but they don't tell you it's so <i>boring</i>.</b>" he ran a hand over his face, sighing softly. |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 12:59 PM Post #10 |
|
Marc took the opportunity of the small lull in the conversation to wipe at the counter-top of the bar. It didn't really need to be cleaned off at all, but if he looked like he was doing work then it meant he could stay right here. He was enjoying talking to the older man. He wanted to be able to keep talking to him and so long as he looked busy no one was likely to come tell him to move along. It wasn't like they were precisely busy, either. There might be some more people that wandered in but it wasn't like it was a weekend - and even if it was it wasn't exactly like this town was enormous. They would get a steady flow then but he wouldn't say they were slammed ever. Just busy. So it was nice to have a handsome man to talk to that he could actually engage and keep talking to. He paused for a moment as Peyton said his age. Without trying to be too obvious about it, Marc let his eyes rake over the other man again, taking in his features now that he had an age to put to it. "Yeah, you look really good," he breathed the words out, unable to even stop himself. When he realized what he had said he ducked his head some. "For your age, I mean. I would have guessed younger. I mean, not like, crazy younger but younger." This man was fifteen years older than him. Did that bother him? Not really. Marc was an adult and he'd always felt pretty attracted to men that were older than he was. The problem was that, honestly, what would a man like Peyton want with a scrawny, awkward kid like Marc. Marc continued to chew on his lip, momentarily lost in thought. It was easy to do that when he was watching Peyton. It was easy to lose his train of thought because the man was taking a drink and Marc could watch his throat move with it, because his blue eyes were staring at him, because if he let himself look he could notice the muscles in the arms, the tiniest strain of muscles against fabric whenever Peyton shifted. That was more than distracting. Honestly, he probably wouldn't even hear someone else trying to flag him down right about now. He only had eyes and ears for Peyton, it felt like. He picked up a shot glass off of the line to inspect it, to do something to distract him from the very, very handsome man that was less than two or three feet away from him. When Peyton spoke, he nearly dropped the glass, only just barely managing to recover it. His heart pounded in his chest as he ran those words over and over in his head. "Well, I... I figure a date is probably better without alcohol, right? It means we'd get to talk without something altering things." He had said 'we'. Peyton had said 'we'. Did that mean - or was Marc just reading into it way too much? Maybe he was just teasing, just flirting lightly. "Yeah... I don't really drink alone. Not often anyways." There had been a time or two in the past but, usually, if he was drinking he was in company. That had mostly ended because, honestly, who did he have to drink with now that James and Gabi were both gone to opposite sides of the country? There was Curtis, sure, but he was busy with his family. "Anything food related, I'm sure." Marc had heard it from some other jobs, too, but food seemed to be the biggest. The longer you were around it, the less you wanted to deal with it, he supposed. James always complained about how the smell of coffee was everywhere until he showered and washed his clothes and he supposed that was probably true of any food. You just started smelling it everywhere and you didn't want to deal with it, didn't want to smell it or eat it once you had clocked out. Marc was just lucky that alcohol didn't have a huge scent to it until you got close to it and he didn't drink it enough for it to be a big deal for him. He gave a shy smile as Peyton said one of his brothers had a heavier accent, but that he liked a subtle one. "I kinda like both." Because he had always liked the accent on James and Curtis, but then the mild accent on Peyton was very nice, too. "I always kinda wanted a thicker one but then whenever I think about it I just go man, I'd sound weird." Because he just didn't look like he should be speaking with a thick accent. He didn't even look like he should be speaking with any sort of accent at all. He leaned back on the bar again, crossing his arms and giving a small laugh. "They can be very boring. But, you're right, you make your own fun. It helps if you're more of an outdoors type, too." Not that Marc overly was, but he'd been dragged along on plenty of adventures. The Taylor kids had certainly had plenty of things to do and Marc and Gabi had often been taken along for the ride. And if it wasn't James or Curtis, Gabi would grab him and find something for him to be busy with. "I guess," he finally said in response to Peyton's words. He wasn't sure if that was a hint or just a platitude but Marc didn't honestly know what to say either way. He wouldn't say he didn't matter to some people, but he could honestly say he hadn't really met many new people that suddenly decided that he mattered to them. He gave a small laugh. "I'm sure most of them just thought of me as that weird gay kid who hangs around with the Taylors." Because Marc hadn't had much of an identity in his old town, really. Not that he had much of one here, either. He paused for a second before the rest of Peyton's words filtered in. "You've been to Thailand?" That was amazing to him. Hell, this was the furthest he'd ever been away from home. Marc felt his heart ramp up again, practically slamming against his chest. "Well, uh, there aren't too many brooks around here so, uh, I guess you'll have to do instead." It was, perhaps, the boldest thing that he'd ever said and it made practically no sense at all. He was absolutely terrible at things like this. "A few weeks? That's... that's good." Maybe it wasn't good. Maybe it was stupidly terrible because if this guy came in more than once Marc would just pine more and more. He would let himself get attached and then this guy would be gone in less than a month and he shouldn't let himself get that way. He was Marc, after all. It wasn't like he was going to make a move. He would just burrow himself beneath the sand like he always did. "Well, I mean, no offense, but if it's so borin'... maybe somethin' else would suit you better?" Likely the man had thought of that. Maybe he didn't have a choice. It wasn't really Marc's place to tell him things he already knew. |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 12:59 PM Post #11 |
|
Peyton tried not to perk at the words because this kid was young and he wasn't staying in town long. He had never cared for the more casual things, at least not now that he was older. God, when he had been younger, he had been ready to explore and act like he knew everything. Now? Now, these days, it was about long term for him. He didn't want a quick roll, he didn't want something that would last only a week. His father had always warned him that he would be old one day, but it just sort of snuck up on him. He laughed softly as his bartender was quick to say he looked younger. "<b>You should see my brother and sister. They look yards younger than I do.</b>" He and Dalton, he had felt, always looked around the age they were suppose to. They both took it as compliments because at least they didn't look older, at least that was a benefit, right? But Tibby and Minty...they looked like they should have still been in their mid-twenties, stunning on both counts. They had always said it was because black people refined a lot better with age and Peyton could believe it between them and his mom. It had always been something that he had been a little bit jealous of. At least until Tibby through an arm around his shoulder and said for a guy that smoked and drank and had been in the army, he looked fairly good. It always earned Tibby a punch to the arm and a laugh and succeeding where Peyton had failed trying to cheer himself up. <p> When was the last time that Peyton had been in a bar when he found someone attractive? It had always been something that if he was in a bar, he was there with a friend or he was opting to drink alone. Then again, he didn't think he had ever crushed on a <i>bartender</i> there before. It was just generally more that he had found them in stores or thanks to random happenstance that had lead to a date or two. Not that he was entirely sure that this was going to lead to that, but he would have been lying if he said he didn't <i>want</i> it to go in that direction. "<b>Look at that, you sound like an old man all ready,</b>" he teased, "<b>Drinking is probably better for a later date,</b>" he agreed easily. But then again, Peyton had never viewed drinking as much of a social thing in his book. Going out for drinks with a date? If you wanted a quick little check to see how they interacted with you, coffee was a nice new thing to do. "<b>I haven't been a social drinker in years.</b>" That was something he probably shouldn't admit because that had a bad meaning these days, not like when he was younger. When he was younger, to be a non-social drinker meant you just didn't want the crowds, maybe you just had some beers at home. These days it was always something considered to be taboo; if you weren't a social drinker, you were drinking alone and in excess and you were desperately trying to hide the fact. Not that he had ever cared what people thought before; he hadn't exactly taken to telling people but...but he didn't want Marc thinking he was a lush, thinking that he had a problem and <i>needed</i> to drink. <p> "<b>Makes me glad my job is all ready pretty ruined so it doesn't ruin anything else.</b>" Because at least with auditing, he was going through what felt like endless numbers. Sure it made it hard to understand numbers when he was done – like saying one word over and over until it didn't seem real anymore – but numbers weren't like a certain food, a certain drink. "<b>I like the way you sound,</B>" he found himself admitting, even when he told himself not to. It was a cautious thing, he knew. He had to be careful because this was a bar in Texas, because not everyone cared who you wanted to date, but some people did. Also because Marc might not be overly interested in a man who was so much older than him. But it was true; he liked the small accent Marc had, the fact that it wasn't as noticeable except for one certain words or unless you were paying attention. "<b>Hey, sounds good to me.</b>" Even before Peyton had joined the army, he had been the outdoors type. He remembered his mom – his real mom, his biological mom – coming back from tour and she would take him out camping, just her and him. Then later, she and him would stay home as his brother and his dad went to some thing in an even bigger city. It had been nice, it had been fun, and it had always kept him interested in outdoors stuff. He wouldn't mind living in a place that had outdoor adventures to go on, but neither had he ever minded where he did live. But maybe that was because he had always spent so much time away that it held a place in his heart that couldn't handle being there long term. When Marc said he was gay, he really had to try not to perk. Sure, Peyton had pretty much understood that they had been at least mildly flirting but this was actual confirmation. "<b>If it's worth anything, I was probably considered the weird bi kid that hung around my friends.</b>" Though to be fair, he wasn't entirely sure that when he had been a teenager people made the distinction, it had just been one way or another. He had earned some acknowledgment of being "all right" because he had just never responded to them. He'd be lucky in that. "<b>Yeah,</b>" he gave a small shrug, "<b>Thailand, Korea, Germany...couple others. I was military police occasionally in the army.</b>" <p> "<b>I'm sure it's a disappointment,</b>" he laughed. Because Marc was young and there had to be other young gay men in the area. He gave a small nod to the question. "<b>Sometimes more, sometimes less. Depends on how the books are kept.</b>" After he said it, he realized he wanted them to be an utter mess. He wanted his job to involve having to go back months and years and have to match things up so he could stay longer. Just so he could see Marc some more. When Marc asked if something else might suit him better, he sighed a little. "<b>Not entirely sure what that would be. Nothing is exactly exciting or thrilling when it comes to jobs. At least this one let me travel.</b>" It was the curse of leaving the army. Even when he had been military police in peaceful places, it had been something to do and explore and he had an entirely different world to interact with. |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 12:59 PM Post #12 |
|
Marc ducked his head just a tiny bit at the soft laugh that the older man gave at his words. It wasn't laughing at him. He knew that. He also knew he had been insanely obvious with the way he had said his first sentence. He had thought, maybe, that he had seen the other man perking up a little when Marc had said he looked good but, honestly, Marc wasn't letting himself believe that. If he believed it, he would just let himself get his hopes up. He was very, very good at building his hopes up and letting all sorts of scenarios play out in his head only to have them come tumbling down around him because all they were were just weak pipe dreams that he never took the necessary steps to fulfill. He offered up a weak little smile when the other man said that his brother and sister looked younger than him. Not for the first time he wished his own relationship with his brother wasn't the way that it was. He could never just mention Scott in casual conversation. The few times that he did, people were shocked to realize he even had a brother and that Marc had nothing that was good to say about him. They were even more shocked when Marc would change the subject, when Marc had nothing good to say about his parents either. It was best to just not even start getting into that with someone who was still, for all intents and purposes, a stranger. "Well, I still think you look really good," was all Marc said instead. He didn't look his age. Maybe not like he was ten years younger, but he looked good. He looked handsome and perfect, so far as Marc was concerned. He felt his cheeks heat up somewhat with a blush when the other man teased him, saying that he sounded like an old man already. "My friends always said I sound like one sometimes," he muttered. It was only partially true. There were times where Marc got fretful and worried and he could get, well, lecturey, he supposed. But then again, being friends with someone like James kind of meant you had to be fretful, worried and ready to lecture. He had always been a bit of a troublemaker and Marc had forever been trying to keep him from doing anything too outrageous - not that it always worked. He swallowed hard as Peyton said that drinking was better for a later date. It sounded innocent enough. It sounded like just a simple agreement but, at the same time, it sounded like he was expecting there to be more than one date. What if there was? What if this guy asked him on a date and they had more than one? Marc didn't know if he was exceptionally excited or absolutely terrified of the prospect. "Probably. I know people make a lot of mistakes with alcohol and, you know, I think it's better to... to just know what you're going into and embrace it." He acted like he really knew when he only had about two relationships under his belt, one of which was online, and neither of which had really involved any dating in the least. Then again, though, he saw the results of alcohol constantly. He knew people made stupid choices when drunk and if this guy wanted to date him - God, let him want to date him - then Marc would prefer it to be a sober choice. "Maybe you just need the right people to drink with," he said. Maybe Marc should be taking that as a sign. People who drank on their own sometimes had problems, right? But, then again, Marc drank on his own - when he did drink - and he hardly ever did it. Maybe it was a situation like his. You couldn't just judge someone at first meeting; not unless the signs were just blatantly right in front of you. "Well, I guess it would be pretty hard to have to worry about that in your job." Of course, Marc was sure there was a whole slew of other problems, too. Just because it wasn't retail didn't mean it wasn't problematic. Maybe there was a lot of office politics or maybe just the simple fact that you had to sit and go over numbers upon numbers to make sure that the accounts were all right. That alone sounded like it could be punishment to plenty of people. He was distracted from his thoughts, however, when Peyton quite simply and blatantly said that he liked the way that Marc sounded. This time he fumbled the glass he had been just idly pretending to clean and he dropped it on the counter top - not on the floor, thank God. It was enough to at least cause a small clatter and he felt his cheeks heat up both at the embarrassment of the move and at the fact of what Peyton had said. "I - I like the way you sound, too," he managed to blurt that out, feeling just about as mortified with himself as he had the whole conversation. Because the older man's voice was nice. Just a little rough, but soothing. There was a tiny bit of an accent and Marc just... liked hearing him talk. "I was never very outdoorsy. I still ain't, really. My friends were, though, so I was always out and about." Nowadays, James claimed Marc was probably hermit status. Marc always told him to be quiet, he wasn't allowed to make judgment calls all the way from New York. It wasn't like there were many places for Marc to go and he didn't drive so how was he going to get out to other cities anyways? And why bother? His attention was diverted away from thoughts of that, though, when Peyton just smoothly and easily followed up with Marc's statement about his being gay by stating that he was bi. His heart practically slammed into his ribcage at that admission. Peyton was bi. That meant he liked men, too. That meant Marc had the tiniest little pinprick of a chance. He knew he shouldn't get his hopes up but God he was bi and he had just admitted it so easily. "Oh. Oh. I... well I don't think I can imagine you being called the weird kid," he managed to lamely say. He figured yelling out loud 'you're bi and that means I have a chance' was probably not the best thing to let past his lips. "Wow," Marc breathed out in amazement. "This is.... this is literally the furthest I've been from where I grew up and it's all of like, thirty miles away maybe." It really put his life into a sad sort of perspective. Sure, Peyton was older than him but he wasn't that much older and he'd been all over the world it felt like. "Really? I'm not sure I can think of anything better." Marc felt the words slip past his lips and though he tried to stop himself they were still out there. They were still laid out bare to be heard and absorbed. He leaned against the bar a little, not quite closer to Peyton but still putting himself forward just a little bit more. He had always rolled his eyes with Gabi about James and his claims about falling in love right away the moment he saw Rosemary. Maybe James hadn't been messing around, though. Maybe some of the Taylor tradition had rubbed off on him somehow because of how much time he had spent with them. "Well.... I guess you'll find out, won't you?" Marc wanted it to be weeks. Months. He wanted to be able to spend more than just one fleeting meeting in a bar with this man. He wanted to see him day after day. "Well, you said you were in the army. There's gotta be a lot of jobs that are kinda similar to that, right?" Maybe not specifically similar but Marc could think of a few off the top of his head. |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 01:00 PM Post #13 |
|
"<b>Thanks, it's nice to hear especially now that I'm getting older.</b>" Peyton had never really considered it an issue before. Before when he had been younger, he had been...well, young. The world could come and go as it pleased because he was young, he had years. And then he had gotten older and the world had gotten older. And then he gotten past the age of thirty five and things had changed. Somehow he was too old now, so he had to go look for old people. He wasn't sure when exactly that had happened. It was like he had come out of the army and the world had painted him some eighty year old man. He supposed ultimately it didn't matter. He had his own world to live in when it came to his age, he had his own circle of people who were in much the same boat as he was. But it was a little daunting for people to call him old or talk about him behind his back. Hearing someone – a young someone – say he looked good for his age felt...good. He ignored the voice in the back of his head that whispered that maybe this man – this kid – was looking for a really good tip, was looking to be remembered so that Peyton would pay him more and more. He didn't want to think that was the case, but...but well, it could be. It might be. There was a possibility for it, he wouldn't cut that idea out, but he wanted to pretend. He wanted to feel like this was flirting for the sake of flirting. <p> He offered Marc a small smile as he muttered out that his friends said he sounded like one sometimes. "<b>It's a good thing,</b>" he offered, "<b>Keeps crazy kids from winding up in the hospital more times.</b>" Because younger people always wanted to do the craziest things, he remembered that. Everything was something a person could do if they were young enough. The voice of reason, though, that was the most valuable one, in Peyton's opinion. The person the reigned everyone in just enough that the danger was minimized, that a cab would come and pick them up in the end. People like Marc were the ones that were needed and the ones that later people would thank, though that didn't always make up for being considered the wet blanket at the time. "<b>I'm sure you've seen a lot of that working here.</b>" And Peyton didn't want to make mistakes. He shut down the 'with Marc' before it had a chance to fully form, but he knew it was too late. It had formed and he knew it. "<b>But also I guess I'd rather know someone up front first than going out drinking with them right away.</b>" Because that would be too hard of reality, that opened yourself up for things you weren't prepared for. People were different when they drank. People took advantage of people that did drink. Some of it wasn't totally avoidable, some of it was. Better safe than sorry he supposed. "<B>That could be said about anything, you know. Need the right people to do anything with.</b>" It was something he hadn't really quite learned until he was older. When he had been young, he had surrounded himself with anyone. These days he was more picky. Which made for pretty lonely drinking. <p> "<b>I tip my hat to whoever can do a job like yours, though. I get to do mine mostly by myself.</b>" He couldn't imagine the people that came in here and demanded things and having to do the right thing...only to have a customer complain and then the employee had done the <i>wrong</i> thing. All Peyton had to do was put up with higher ups and numbers. He was lucky in that respect. He blinked out of his thoughts when Marc fumbled with the glass in his hands, jumping slightly as it dropped to the counter. IT hadn't been loud, but just jarring enough. That was easily distracted away because Marc was saying he liked the sound of Peyton too. He licked his suddenly dry lips, offering up a smile. "<b>Well, that's good. Means I don't have to go away because you don't want to listen to me anymore.</b>" Granted maybe Marc didn't want to hear the words or maybe he just didn't like Peyton in general, but knowing his voice was at least welcomed? "<b>You don't strike me as the outdoors type,</b>" he offered. Because Marc didn't seem like the type, though Peyton wasn't sure how exactly one determined that in the span of ten minutes. It was just...Marc seemed like he didn't care for it in the way he talked. Or maybe that was just Peyton wanting to agree with him. He snorted as Marc said he couldn't imagine being called the weird kid. "<b>Well, it didn't really start until I started calling one of my brothers my twin. People looked between us and thought it was weird and or desperate. Though I should state that one of my brothers is actually my stepbrother. We're same age, so we had enjoyed calling each other twins.</b>" Because he and Tibby had fallen in love, Minty was fond of saying. They hadn't grown up together so it was like getting to live with somebody who could be your best friend. People had always considered it a bit weird considering his mom, Tibby, and Minty never changed their last name. "<b>I can't imagine staying in one place for so long, but I think it was just...since I was twenty, I was always out of the country.</b>" He had never had a problem with staying home before the army. Then it had always been out and doing things, only to come back for a little while and then he was back out again. <p> He gave a soft laugh. "<b>I think I'm a little less useful than an actual brook,</b>" he pointed out. He should be shooting this down. He should be saying that he had to go, reminding himself he wasn't staying. He shouldn't be flirting, but god, Marc was cute and he was gay and he was responding. "<b>I imagine they'll be a mess. Smaller towns tend to be a mess.</b>" He didn't say he wanted them to be a mess, he didn't say he would make them a mess, but he could plan for it at least. If only to see Marc again and again. He gave a small sigh as Marc mentioned a job similar to it, looking down at his glass. "<b>I don't know what. I was in the army for almost twenty years. That was going to be my career, I told myself. It was my job, I liked it. They gave me positions in combat and they gave me ones as a military police officer. But I burned out, I got tired. I don't know what kind of a job I'd get that's like the army but didn't cause the same problem.</b>" |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 01:00 PM Post #14 |
|
"I'm surprised you don't hear it more," Marc told the other man honestly. "Like I said. You look good." He knew, of course, that people had their types. Everyone did. He certainly didn't see a sexual attraction in women, so he had only a general idea of what other men say in terms of that in regards to people like Gabi, Lillian and Rosemary. He could understand that they were attractive, they just didn't do things to him. He could understand that Gabi liked a certain type of physical body type. He could understand, naturally, why Rosemary had gone for James. He couldn't understand why people wouldn't be telling this man that he was still handsome, that he looked good. Maybe that was his being biased though. In terms of looks he was pretty different from the men that Marc had pined after in the past. The closest he came to was James and, honestly, it all boiled down to two features really; he was strong and confident, or at least he came off that way. Marc had always liked older men, too. Older, strong, confident, all of them were little bells for him tinkling in his head. Maybe some other people in the world would also think that this man was handsome at his age, that he looked younger and looked good, but he knew not everyone would. That was fine, though. That meant Marc had more chances to appreciate what he was looking at with no one else to interrupt. "Somebody should be telling it to you more." It was a flirt, it was also a terrible attempt at fishing to see if the blond was single or not. Clumsy and rough, but Marc had never claimed he was any good at anything like social interactions, after all. Marc blew out a loud, heavy sigh at the small smile and the words that followed it. "Oh, you have no idea!" Gabi was generally pretty low key for the most part. She didn't usually get into crazy adventures, but she had a temper and she could be coerced into trying something. James had both a sense of adventure and a temper. It meant that Marc was forever the one running after them trying to get them to calm down, stop arguing, and to not do some crazy idea. That had calmed down some over the years, of course, especially now that all three of them were in different parts of the country but Marc had certainly had his days in the past where he wondered why he was friends with them and if he wasn't going to start getting gray hairs at seventeen. He brought his hand up to rub a little at the buzzed sides of his head, running over the short strands of hair that would start to get longer again soon enough. Idly, he wondered if he shouldn't let it grow all out again, maybe dye it again, do something a little different because he needed some change in his life, right? "Probably not as much as you'd see in a bigger city but yeah, I've seen my fair share." Some people just didn't know when to say stop, after all. And some people just turned mean when they had alcohol. He lowered his hand again and ran his tongue over his lip ring again, playing with it for a moment before he nodded in response to Peyton's words. "I would, too. It just... it just seems better." Because, like he had said, alcohol made people make a lot of mistakes and Marc... Marc didn't want to be a mistake to this man. He wanted to be something that held no regret at all. He didn't dare to believe that it could be anything bigger than, maybe, a one or two night fling but if he could be considered a fond memory and not a mistake... he could live with that. "Yeah. Yeah," he practically breathed that word out as he just looked at the other man for a long moment. "I'm sure we could find the right person to do something with." Marc smiled slightly at Peyton's words and he gave another small sigh. "Not so bad. I mean, it'd be worse if the town were bigger." He couldn't imagine doing this in a town like Dallas. And New York? How did people even handle that? How did James, of all people, handle working in a coffee shop that was also a cafe? He guessed being an adult and needing the money made it the way he could. Having a wife and needing to keep them both fed, clothed and housed kept the reins on James' temper. And then there was Gabi, having to work something like three jobs just to make ends meet out in Los Angeles. Maybe he had made the smarter choice. Sure, Plainview was nothing amazing. It could even be considered a pretty poor town, but the cost of living was low and he didn't need to work three jobs to even be able to eat. If he had to tighten his belt sometimes, well, that was a small sacrifice. The both of them were rudely interrupted by his fumble of the shot glass. He reached out, straightening it up. As he was pulling his hand back, though, he brushed his hand against the other man's and he froze, like a deer in headlights. Just that simple brush had left him feeling electrified and God, even just the faintest feel of that hand beneath his fingertips was one of callouses, roughness, of a man with experience on him. Marc was pretty sure it was doing things to him that would not be considered very work appropriate. "Of course I want to listen to you!" Marc blurted those words out, again, without thinking. It was the truth, though. Even as his cheeks turned hot, he couldn't regret saying it. He wanted to listen to Peyton, hear him talk, hear what he was saying, and just hear the way his voice dipped low at times, to hear the slight inflection of an accent on some of his words. God, he wanted to hear it. He ducked his head some with a chagrined laugh. "Not really. A little, but it was mostly my friends. I just tagged along." Not that he had minded, really, but he was very much an indoors fun type of person most of the time. Marc gave a small laugh at the description of Peyton with his brother. "Sounds like you and your brother really get along." The words were more wistful than he wanted them to be. He had always tried to trail after Scott when he was young and that had never worked out for him. At first, he had just thought it was because Scott was nine years older than him so of course he didn't want a toddler hanging around with him. Eventually, he had figured out that it was just that Scott didn't want anything to do with him period. Or any of them. He had stopped trying to reach out to his brother years ago, but that didn't mean he still didn't wish things had been different. "Wow," Marc repeated again. "This place must seem pretty borin' after going all over the world." What did Plainview even have to offer to a man like that? "I think you'd be useful enough in other ways." That was, perhaps, the boldest innuendo that Marc had ever used in... well, possibly his whole life. He could feel his cheeks probably turning a darker shade of red at this point but he did his best to actually try and hold the other man's gaze, even when he felt himself wanting to avert his eyes or drop his head forward somewhat. "Oh, well..." Marc trailed off, chewing on his lip for a moment. He couldn't say that he hoped the books were a mess. That would be mean. That would be wishing that Peyton was buried under work, that this place had accounts that were messed up for ages, all so he might get the chance to even see the other man again. You couldn't just say those kinds of things. "Cop," Marc blurted out the first thing that came to his mind - a habit he was going to have to stop soon enough. "A cop. It's kind of like it, right? I mean, not on a grand scale but. You know. Patrolling, keeping on top of things, keeping the peace..." He shrugged a little lamely as he trailed off. Maybe it wasn't that similar after all. "Security guard? No. That's probably just. Kinda lame after doing military work for twenty years." What else was there, though? Not too many things, Marc figured. |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 01:00 PM Post #15 |
|
He gave a soft laugh as his bartender said he was surprised. "<b>I think it's mostly because my dates are few and far in between...and usually done through dating sites.</b>" There he had his age listed and most people going into it were aware, so he figured no one was really going to go 'what? You're this age?'. Once people knew, they seemed to accept it and go 'yes, that is the age they look like'. At least as far as Peyton had experienced. Being in the army had never really been good for his dating life. While he was doing military police work, he had had some interest...but outside of flings, who wanted to be with an American who was leaving once the tour ran out? It was the same back home. People were okay with it for a duration, then they realized that right, he wasn't going to be home for long stretches. Personally, Peyton figured it was because he had been going to make a career of the army. Every chance he got, he reenlisted. When people talked about girlfriends and boyfriends sending letters, it was always 'I'll be home soon, this tour is it'. People seemed a lot more willing to wait if they knew an end was in sight. For Peyton, that had only become recently. He kept thinking about trying to get dates, but he had been so unsatisfied with his life, he couldn't imagine going on another date. When his bartender went on to say somebody should be telling him more, he found himself laughing again. "<b>Are you offering?</b>" he raised an eyebrow. That was a bit more bold than he should have because this was a fairly small town. A lot of trouble could happen with those words, but...well, Peyton found he didn't care. He was confident in taking care of himself and really, if his bartender was going on about how good he looked and somebody should be telling him? That was an indicator, right? <p> The loud sigh made him laugh again. "<b>I don't really. I was always the kid winding up in the hospital while Tibby told our mom that it seemed like a good idea at the time.</b>" Then they had both gotten in trouble and Minty had just snorted while telling them she told them so. Dalton had always had the audacity to agree. Sure they had some fun memories from that, but they probably would have done well to have had someone who wasn't their sibling telling them they had better stop. "<b>I've found in my experience, it's the same as everywhere. Bars are always the same. I don't think we get to count size because if you scale it, it amounts to the same.</b>" Peyton had been in both big and small bars and there were always <i>those</i> types in them. Those types that if you left them alone, they were fine but the moment you told it was time to close up or something, they pitched a fit. He wouldn't say he had been in many bar fights, but he also couldn't deny that he had been apart of a few. But what did he care about bar fights and scaling things when he was watching that tongue play with the lip ring? What did that matter at all? He shook his head a little. "<b>Besides, a drinking buddy is a bit different than a date if you ask me. Tibby is someone I ask out to drinks, a date deserves better.</b>" Maybe it was because he had begun associating drinking with being alone or listening to complaints. Why would you take your date some place where all you wanted to do was complain? He stared at Marc as the younger man agreed and he couldn't help wetting his lips that had gone so suddenly dry. "<b>Who's the right kind of person for you, Marc?</b>" he found himself asking. <p> "<b>I'm glad you're here,</B>" he said easily. "<b>If we were in a bigger city, you wouldn't be able to have the time of day for me.</b>" It could be taken as he was talking just about getting to talk with him, but Peyton knew he meant in regards to being able to do this. The mild flirting, the getting to watch him as they talked, the pretending...though that made him feel like a creeper to be thinking about just reaching over the bar and kissing him. That was also considered sexual harassment and he wasn't about to get in on that. It would be one thing if they had both said up front what they wanted, but no one liked surprises like that. This all wasn't helping considering their hands were touching, feeling Marc's soft fingers still against his own. Peyton could feel his heart in his throat even when time felt like it was standing still. It wasn't quite kissing, but...he pulled his hand away just enough so that it wasn't resting under Marc's but loosely taking hold of his. Marc could pull away, Marc could jerk back and Peyton would let him, but this felt nice, this felt bold. Everything about this encounter was sending little shocks up his spine, letting him know he wanted this and he wanted more. When Marc ducked his head, he found himself running his thumb against Marc's skin. "<b>Nothing wrong with that. It's not for everyone.</b>" It had just been soothing for Peyton...at least to a certain extent. He couldn't decide if he liked camping because he did or if he had somehow trained himself into thinking that after the third year of being in the army. He gave a small nod. "<b>We thought we were going to hate each other, honestly. We were both right at that age that when our parents remarried, it was like an affront to the parents we lost and it was losing out on space and everything that went with it. But then we realized it was more like we just got a live in best friend.</b>" Because they had both been old enough to know they weren't brothers. They were old enough to have a lot of opinions formed and they had realized they had the same interests. They were two boys that weren't quite teenagers but they were <i>ready</i> to be teenagers. It was hard to see each other as brothers. Dalton was a brother, Peyton had thought to himself, but Tibby was the best friend that never had to go home because he <i>was</i> home. He chuckled as Marc commented that this place must seem boring. "<b>It all starts to blend together, honestly. Everywhere I went was always crowded with a lot of people. I kind of like the more quiet places.</b>" It was just hard to settle, he realized. He hadn't wanted what Chicago had to offer, but he wasn't sure if that was all of Chicago or if he just needed to find his legs. <p> He raised an eyebrow as Marc said he'd be useful enough. "<b>Oh? Why don't you share some of those ways with me then,</b>" he couldn't stop his smirk. He wanted to hear what Marc had to suggest, he wanted to know what Marc could possibly want...and he'd be so willing to do it. He watched Marc chew his lip, watched him concentrate and it was just about the sexiest and cutest thing he had seen in years. It was almost jarring when he suddenly announced cop. He blinked at Marc, staring as he went on to explain more, and then shrug. "<b>A cop?</b>" he repeated. "<b>I don't think that ever really registered, mostly because...well. It's Chicago, I'd burn out faster there than in the army.</b>" Even as he said it, he wondered if maybe it wouldn't be so bad in a smaller town, a quieter town, like all those shows you use to see that had a cop just checking in on people. "<b>I don't think anything is exactly lame, army man or not. I mean, really, there's nothing overly amazing about being in the army outside of the fact that I dodged enough bullets and didn't walk on land mines.</b>" |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 01:01 PM Post #16 |
|
"Oh... oh, I never tried those..." Marc fidgeted just a little bit. He was almost overwhelmed with the amount of information. The fact that the man had tried dating sites meant he was single, that he had been dating around, but that he hadn't dated all that often. Marc had considered using those before, but he had always stopped himself because... those were strangers. Granted, when you met anyone the first time they were a stranger. It was easier to lie online, though. Marc had never really had the courage to sign up, to sift through all the people that could be a prospective date on a dating site, then to talk to them and set up a date. He was awkward enough just first meeting someone at his job, how would he deal with it when he was first meeting someone on a date? He almost said he was glad that the other man hadn't had too many dates, but who said things like that? That was not only rude, it was more than a little bit creepy. He hardly knew him. The guy could be kind of upset and dejected that he hadn't been on many dates recently and if Marc just blurted the first thing that popped into his head out how would that feel for the other man? When the other man raised an eyebrow at him and then asked if Marc was offering, he could only make a small noise of embarrassment, turning a bright red color, feeling his hands want to fumble on something except he wasn't holding anything at the moment. "W-well, I mean," he stammered over the words for a moment, unsure of what he wanted to say. "If no one else is going to, someone should," he finally said after a minute, more firmly than he actually felt. "Because you do. You look good." He glanced up at him before he offered up a shy smile. "Very handsome." Marc paused at the laugh and then gave another sigh. "Oh, geez," was all he said initially. He had spent most of his life trying to keep James out of trouble. Sometimes Gabi and Curtis, too, although Curtis was a rarity. It really had only taken one scare for Curtis to never want to do anything that was considered risky ever again. Gabi wasn't usually a problem but sometimes she went right along with James too. "I'm surprised I didn't end up with... I don't know, the youngest case of ulcers ever with my friends sometimes." It was an exaggeration, of course. James wasn't that bad. Honestly, most of the things that Marc had been required to keep him from doing had just been getting into fights more than anything else. James had a temper at times and it definitely roared to life when he thought anyone was messing with his friends or family. He gave a small laugh. "I guess if you look at it like that, yes." Marc wouldn't say he'd been in a lot of bars until he was twenty one and then, honestly, it had just been this bar. So it wasn't like he had a lot of experience. He knew that, sometimes, there were guys who were so drunk they had to call to get them escorted out. Usually, though, the place was pretty quiet. Even on the weekends people were generally more content to just sit and drink rather than cause problems. Usually. Marc gave a small smile at the other man's words. "Well, I think you're right there." Not that some people didn't go out to drinks with their dates but... Marc wanted to get to know someone. Maybe that was overly romantic by today's standards, he wasn't sure. He did know that he would much rather go to dinner, go to a movie, just play around in some game, with someone before he went out drinking with them. Marc found it hard to breathe when Peyton looked at him so squarely and asked who the right kind of person was for him. Did he say what he wanted to say? Was that too assuming? Was that too early? When he spoke, he was pretty sure it was in a slight wheeze. "Someone strong, I think. I like... I like strong people." He liked strong arms, strong backs, strong bodies. He liked someone who could lift him without a thought. And he liked strong personalities, too. All of that Peyton seemed to have. Marc could feel his cheeks heating up again even more and he did his best to not duck his head, although he was pretty sure he was failing at it. He kept moving his hands into his sleeves, then reminding himself that he had to keep them out so that he could do his job. "I'm glad I'm here, too." Because the big city was scary. Mostly, though, because if he hadn't been here he would never have been able to run into this man. Maybe Marc was making everything up in his head. Maybe Peyton didn't have interest. Maybe Peyton just had an idle, short interest. Marc was glad to have met him, though. He was glad to have someone making him feel this way. It had been too long, honestly. When their hands touched, though, Marc wasn't too sure he was pleased. Because he wanted it, but he felt like he might just... drop over dead. His heart was slamming into his chest, his mouth was dry, his face felt far too hot, and he was sure that he was going to pass out or something equally embarrassing. When Peyton pulled his hand away, he felt the first stab of disappointment for a few seconds. Then Peyton just shifted his hand so that instead of just resting underneath Marc's light touch Peyton's hand was the one on top and Peyton's hand was wrapped around his. It was a loose hold, one that either of them could break, but the other man was holding onto his hand. He practically trembled at the overwhelming feel of it, at the feeling that he loved it, that he wanted that strong, hard, calloused hand to always be holding onto his. When Peyton ran his thumb over the back of his hand Marc was pretty sure he was going to pass out. He licked at his lips again, trying to wet them. "I don't mind it... to a point, I guess. Then I... I just kinda want to get back in and settle in again." He was surprised at how level his voice was, at the fact that they were just there, in the bar he worked in, holding hands. He was holding hands with an older man and a handsome man. A strong man. Marc listened silently for a moment as Peyton described having met his brother when their parents had remarried. He stomped down on the jealousy that always sprung forth whenever he saw or heard about siblings that got along so well. There was no changing the past and Marc highly doubted that the future was going to change either, at least not for him and his brother. He stifled a soft sigh. "That sounds nice. I guess the only people I can really think of as my siblings were just my friends and that's mostly because we grew up together." He didn't add that he had practically lived with Gabi and James at times because their own families welcomed him in. He didn't want to make someone pity him. He didn't want to talk about things his brother had said to him or the way he had felt growing up over the years. That didn't have a place here. Maybe, one day, if things continued between them, Marc would talk about it. Not right now. He gave a small smile. "I do, too. For a lotta reasons." The fact that he was nervous and didn't like change were the biggest. But the fact that the towns were quiet, with lower crime rates and generally friendly people also made it nice enough. "No," Marc let the word trail on in a soft little whine at the smirk, at the raised eyebrow, at the way that his entire face heated up again. He ducked his head. "Those aren't the kind of things you say in public," he said, softly, almost under his breath. Because oh, he could imagine many uses. Having the courage to say that sort of thing to someone who was essentially still a stranger? That wasn't something Marc did. That wasn't something Marc thought that he could do. He was almost glad for the distraction that the conversation had provided. He just shrugged a little at Peyton's echoing his words and speaking. "It was just... y'know, just the closest thing I could think of. I can see what you mean, though." In the end, Marc really hadn't helped all that much. Really, though, what else could he offer? He didn't think that there was that much out there that would be similar to the army. Not unless it was doing something for the army and it was obvious that Peyton had gotten out of that for a reason. |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 01:01 PM Post #17 |
|
"<b>I mean they're all right,</b>" he shrugged slightly. "<b>But I always had to weed through people that weren't my type or just wanted a one night stand. Though now that I think about it, it was kind of nice having that convenience at my finger tips rather than trying to spend time listening to someone ramble. Does that make me sound like a bad person?</b>" He didn't mind listening to people, but he looked for a different set of personality traits when it came to dating and for a friend. A friend he could disagree with and have a more relaxed nature with, they would have a certain personal space between them. A person he was dating, he wanted to get along with better because eventually they wouldn't be living separately anymore, couldn't go to separate houses to cool off. He would be invested, but there was just something really daunting about getting four dates into it and realizing they were severely mismatched. Maybe that was just Peyton's age talking, though. When the bartender blushed and made a noise, Peyton couldn't quite stop his laugh. He hoped it sounded like it wasn't mean, that he wasn't trying to be a jerk about it and more just being amused. He doubted it worked that way, though, especially if the bartender happened to be sensitive or over thought things. The words were...well, they were awfully sweet considering they had only just met and they hadn't even exchanged names. "<b>That means an awful lot coming from you,</b>" he smiled. He thought about checking him out, very obviously letting him know Peyton was interested but that seemed more than rude but downright disrepectful. "<b>Someone as cute as you saying I'm handsome is one hell of a compliment.</b>" <p> At least Marc laughed, sighing afterward. Peyton decided that he liked that life, it was a good sound. He gave a small shake of his head. "<b>I imagine so. That must have been rough on you, though I gotta say I have some real respect for anyone who tries to corral their friends. I tried it once and I gave up.</b>" He had left them to their own devices with a 'do what you want' sort of attitude and Tibby had laughed and laughed and laughed over it while Minty had rolled her eyes and Dalton had given him the look that said he was so disappointed in him. But nothing was really a good teacher like getting in trouble or hurt. Not terrible hurt but if you smacked your hand against a burner on a stove without asking and you burned yourself, you just learned to ask if a burner was hot. Marc laughed again and Peyton wanted to hear him keep doing it, to always have a reason. "<b>You gotta look at some things differently,</b>" he offered up. IT didn't quite work. All bars tended to be the same – you had the people that sat there to drink, the people celebrating, the people that thought they were so charming after a few beers – but the volume could be different. Right now it was quite in this one. Ones in Chicago always felt like they were crowded with everyone shoved in together unless you went to a hipster bar where mid-twenties people in vintage clothing went to talk about the imported beers and comment on the music playing. "<b>I think you might have been the right one first,</b>" he offered with a smile, "<b>You were the one to point out you didn't want to go drinking with a date.</b>" It was credit where credit was due. Peyton hadn't thought anything of mentioning that he would take a date out for drinks and only after he thought about had he realized it wasn't the best. It was only fair to acknowledge that. When Marc spoke, when he said he liked strong people, Peyton had to force himself not to sit up straighter, to maybe flex. That would just be silly, he knew it, and maybe a little desperate. "<b>Is this where I mention that I have a fair amount of weight training under my belt in addition to endurance training?</b>" All right, apparently he was giving up the ghost here. He could try dancing around it more, but they had been subtle enough to this point. <p> Everything about Marc seemed shy and bashful and somehow Peyton found that to be more than cute. He had always told himself he liked the bold types, strong men like himself who weren't afraid of saying what they wanted and taking steps to get it. He told himself he wanted someone who wasn't shy and hesitant. But sitting here, it was hard to think that he didn't want someone like that. Sitting here and watching Marc, listening to him as he said he was glad, he realized as much as he went after men like himself, they had never been compatible. The blunt and bold types had always grated on his nerves to a certain extent, making him want to say 'would you calm down' or 'no one actually cares'. The strong types usually had their preference in bed, liking the top to being on the bottom and that had clashed because Peyton hadn't liked bottoming to men anymore than they had. It felt a little startling to realize in five minutes that the type he had always chased after wasn't the type he <i>wanted</i> because the type he wanted was standing before him. Or maybe Marc was the only one of his type that Peyton particularly wanted, which he was pretty okay with. It was a realization that made him bolder, more confident so that he didn't quite make himself stop as he lifted their hands that had so briefly touched and brushed his lips over the knuckles. It was the barest of things, one you had to watch him to know he had done it at all. He didn't regret it in the slightest. "<b>As contradictory as it sounds, I can be that way too. I like moving around, I like camping and being outside, but I think that's only because I have a place to come back to.</b>" He didn't think he was trying to push the idea that they would work together, but it was still a very close thing. It was still something he was trying to do. He couldn't stop if he had wanted to. "<b>Well then they can be your siblings, can't they? If they're close enough friends...</b>" Tibby had been something like that, it was just that they had needed the boost of stepfamily to be closer. Peyton liked to think that they would have been friends without it, but...But Peyton had struggled getting closer to the kids his own age so he had never had friends so close they might as well have been siblings. "<b>Your town is pretty peaceful, I gotta say.</b>" It was nice, quaint in a way. There was a part of him that balked at the size of it, that if he didn't live in the right place he couldn't just casually stroll to the store or to entertainment, but...well. He had spent a year in some pretty rural places. This was something of a step up in comparison. <p> Marc whined at him and Peyton chuckled a little. It was only because he was so intent on Marc that he heard the words after. "<b>Then what if we were some place more private? I have a hotel room all for myself.</b>" It felt kind of trashy to say, it felt like he was just looking for a one night stand but Marc was handsome and Peyton was almost certain he was interested and he knew it would mean <i>something</i> between them. He gave a small shake of his head, telling himself to get a grip, to focus. "<b>You did better than me, I hadn't even thought of it.</b>" He had come home and he had just assumed he would find something with his degree. That was why his father had pushed him to get one because he had known Peyton wouldn't be in the army forever. Then when he had gotten there, realized he wasn't an army man anymore, it had been like this giant void of nothingness. What did he do with himself? What could he do? |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 01:01 PM Post #18 |
|
"I don't... have much experience with them, like I said," Marc admitted again, knowing he probably sounded like a kid, like someone with no experience at all. It was sadly the truth. Oh, he had had a boyfriend back in high school. He had dated someone online. Neither of those had been long lasting, deep and meaningful relationships. Maybe, maybe, the second one might have been but it wasn't ever going to go past an online thing and in the end they had decided friendship was better. "No, not really. That's kind of the point of dating sites, isn't it?" Marc figured the whole reason they existed was for someone to talk to someone else without having to do the awkward pickup in a bar or a club. You could talk about your interests to see if there was even a spark there, to see if you even wanted to make the attempt to go on an actual date. Marc had just never seen the point in his trying. Sure, maybe someone would be interested in him... but then he would likely just dither over it for so long that his chance would have passed. And, for the longest time, he had been so wrapped up in his one-sided infatuation that he wouldn't have even thought of looking around for someone else. He honestly didn't even know how he had managed to date someone in high school while still holding a very obvious torch for James. He just blushed further as Peyton laughed at him. At least it wasn't a mean laugh. It just sounded like Marc had tickled him rather than Peyton was laughing at him. He hoped so, anyways. He didn't think he could handle it if Peyton was laughing at him. Marc bit down against his lower lip, doing his best to not turn a bright shade of red as the other man smiled at him, when the other man called him cute. He was just about ready to sink into the floor out of feeling like he had melted into a puddle of pleased embarrassment. "I'm not... I mean - I - thank you?" Marc managed to stammer his way through the words, feeling as if he should kick himself. He sounded like an idiot. Worse, he might be coming off as uninterested when he was anything but. "They weren't that bad, I guess. Mostly just keeping them from getting into fights more'n anything." Sometimes it was keeping James and Gabi from fighting with each other. Sometimes it was keeping Gabi from getting into fights with Lillian. Sometimes it was keeping Gabi from intentionally making a big scene about someone bothering her in school so that James would go and fight them for her. Sometimes it was trying to keep James from going off the deep end about something. James had a temper. Gabi had slightly less of one, but if she was provoked just right she could be ten times as dangerous. And then Marc had always been the one in the middle begging them to calm down. He had had a little bit of help when Curtis joined them in school, although he wasn't always there at the same times as Marc was. Other than that little bit of help, though, it had mostly fallen onto Marc. He wasn't sure if he had ever gotten good at it or if they had just humored him mostly. "I can't say I've been in too many bars. I guess I don't have a lot to compare it to." That went for a lot of things, really. Marc wasn't sheltered by any means, but he also wasn't experienced. There were so many things he hadn't tried or places that he hadn't been. He always intended to branch out, to try this or that, and then he would get scared, he would feel alone, and he wouldn't do it at all. "I guess that makes us both right, then? And both people who don't want to go drinking on a date so we can know the person." Unspoken, on the tip of his tongue, was the urge to say that he would love to try that out with the older man. Instead, he just let it sit, let it die, in the way that he always did. Marc felt his mouth go just a little bit dry at Peyton's words, letting his eyes shift to stare at the older man's chest, at his arms. Peyton wasn't even trying to show off the muscles but they were there. "I can tell," he said, his tone breathless, for once he was too caught up in the moment to even realize just how blatantly he was staring and how blunt his words were. He felt far more jittery than he had in a long time. However, at the same time, he felt almost... calm. Maybe not calm in the fact that his emotions weren't going crazy, but calm in that he felt safe. Standing there, in the middle of the bar, with his hand gently held by the older man he felt calm and safe. He felt like nothing bad might happen. Of course he knew that things like that could and did happen. Hell, someone could look over and take offense to what was going on even with how blandly innocent it was. Right now, though, he just felt like nothing would happen and that if it did happen Peyton would protect him from it. He watched for a moment as the older man held to his hand still before he lifted it. He didn't press a kiss against the back of his hand, but there was the barest, driest of brushes of lips against Marc's knuckles. If his face hadn't been red before, it was now. He could feel it. He could feel it crawling up his neck, his cheeks, up to the tips of his ears. He wanted to say something, anything, in response to that but words completely abandoned him for a moment and the absolute best that he could do in response to the action was to just very lightly squeeze his hand against the older man's. "It's a good feeling, isn't it? I always liked that on cold days. Just knowing that once you get in the door things feel so much better and you can relax." Not that Marc went out that much. When he did, though, he always felt relieved when he came back home. His home was his sanctuary and he greatly enjoyed burrowing down in his hoodies and feeling warm, content and safe there. He gave a small smile at Peyton's words. "Gabi and James pretty much are my siblings, yeah. I practically lived at their houses growing up." He didn't elaborate on that. He didn't want to or need to. That statement could be taken several ways and, right now, Marc would prefer it to just be seen as he had spent so much time with his friends that it felt like he lived there rather than the fact that he honestly practically did live in both the Ramos and Taylor homes. "Its got its moments but, overall, yeah. It's pretty peaceful and quiet. Not dead like it'd be back home, not loud like it'd be in a bigger city. I like it.' And he liked it even more right now because Peyton had come here and Marc had been here to meet him. Marc was sure his face had to pretty much be on fire at this point. He hadn't meant for the older man to hear him, but he had. There was no taking that back now - not that he particularly wanted to, honestly. He just stared at Peyton for a long moment, blue eyes meeting blue eyes, and then he did what he typically did in situations like this: He opened his mouth without even thinking about what he was saying and the words just fell right on out. "I get off at three," he exclaimed, probably louder than he had intended to. He just stared, eyes wide, feeling his heart slamming against his chest. He wondered if he was making a stupid mistake. He wondered if Peyton was even really truly interested. In the end, though, he knew he couldn't take it back because he wanted it. He wanted it so much. "Well, maybe you'll think of something else, too. I'm sure something has to come up eventually, right? Even if it's not a police officer or something like it." He tried to not say 'I came up with it but you didn't seem that thrilled so it's kind of useless' because that was a bit of a downer, he figured. Still, maybe it would jump start something in Peyton's mind, something that he had thought of before and hadn't remembered. "So, um..." Marc fidgeted for a moment. "Can I get you anything else?" He didn't really want to, honestly. He didn't want to work. He just wanted to... bask in Peyton's presence, as strange as that sounded. He was being paid to stand here, though, and he figured he should at least pretend to do his job. |
![]() |
|
| Peyton Brooks | Nov 19 2017, 01:02 PM Post #19 |
|
"<b>I won't advertise them anymore then.</b>" Because...because Peyton didn't want him going to a dating site. That was probably worse than him wanting the convenience of being able to do that with little though. But the fact of the matter was that if Marc decided to go to those sites, he'd probably be snatched up in a heart beat and Peyton? Well, Peyton wanted to have a chance first. The thought came hard and fast before he could tell himself that it was he just looking out for him. Which, in a way it was. Cute younger types seemed to be taken advantage of, it was just a fact. "<b>Well that's a relief. I'd hate for you to think of me as a terrible person.</b>" Though he grinned a little at the end, he found he meant it. He didn't want Marc thinking he was terrible because...oh god, was he really thinking this? Because he wanted to go on a date with him? Was that it? The realization – actually thinking the words rather than attempting to ghost around it and pretend like that wasn't it – made him feel almost awkward, like he should be getting up and showing himself out. But the thought just kept coming every second he looked at Marc. He kept telling himself it was okay, Marc was <i>twenty three</i> and it wasn't cradle robbing to look at a man who was twenty three. He grinned a little bit more as Marc stammered over his response. "<b>That's even cuter.</b>" Maybe he was playing a risky game, but there was a part of Peyton that didn't care. The other part of him figured he could take care of anything that came at him. <p> "<b>Oh, so <i>those</i> are the types. I get you.</b>" Peyton had never been one of those people and neither had his family. His family, stepsiblings and biological brother alike, had all been blessed with the fact that they had had even tempers and were more laid back. He couldn't honestly think of any one in his circle of friends who had been overly hotheaded or who butted heads with others. But that may have been that Peyton had had no qualms with dropping someone that had proven to be more trouble than they were worth. It sounded terrible, he knew he should be willing to give everything in the name of his friends...but at the same time, he expected something in return. Why should he stop countless fights, endless arguments, and being support when he never got any in return? Maybe that was selfish, but there was a part of him that just didn't care, couldn't care because there were so many other people that <i>would</i> put the effort in. Generally speaking, the hot headed types were easy enough for him to drop."<b>They're overrated, I'm sure.</b>" He paused as he thought that over for a moment, "<b>Is it irony when I say that while sitting in a bar or just hypocritical?</b>" It probably did come off as being sort of like a douchebag all things considered. Talking about how all bars were essentially the same and then when the person he was interested in said he didn't go to them, he turned around and said they were nothing. Either he was being hypocritical or coming off as desperately trying to impress Marc. Which he was, but he preferred to think he was more subtle. He offered another grin at Marc, almost saying that if he put aside his whiskey, they could count this as a first date. Really, the only thing keeping him from doing that was his pride. This wasn't a very good first date, if anyone asked him. "<b>It's the best way to do it,</b>" he agreed easily. That grin grew wider as he saw Marc's eyes wander and god, didn't he just want to show off? He hadn't wanted to show off for anyone in years. "<b>Ask me nicely and I'll carry some stuff for you.</b>" It was a subtle offer without being an offer. Marc could take it as a joke or more serious. <p> Peyton couldn't remember the last time he had felt like this...he was pretty sure that it had been a long time ago, probably when he was home from his tour and had been thinking maybe this time would be the one where he decided he was going to stick around. It always faltered. Even as he thought that, he realized that this time it couldn't falter, could it? There was no going back to the army now; he doubted that they would let him back after he had said the dreaded words of 'burn out'. "<b>I always liked it,</b>" he said, his heart beating a little faster as Marc squeezed his hand, "<b>A warm house to come home to and warm food...warm arms.</b>" He raised an eyebrow at Marc. It wasn't exactly an offer, but it wasn't <i>not</i> an offer. It almost felt like he was still trying to test the waters. Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was more testing the waters to see if Marc would seriously want to date – until Peyton remembered he wasn't staying long. He was going back to Chicago eventually. "<b>Good. I mean...it's good you had them.</b>" He didn't add that the 'it wasn't good you had to do it' because who knew why Marc had stayed with them. Abusive parents, absent parents, not good quality of life, all sorts of things that Peyton had no right to pry about. "<b>Sounds like a dream,</b>" he offered. He wouldn't say that he desperately longed for a town like it or that he hated Chicago, but...his dad liked to say that maybe Peyton had burned out on a lot more than he thought. He burned out on crowds and loud people and activity while at the same time being so used to it he couldn't understand life without it. <p> He watched Marc, his heart beating faster and harder than he thought was strictly healthy. This was it, wasn't it? This was everything he was hoping for and it could be crushed with a single sentence. Except it wasn't. Marc said he got off at three, quick and loud and Peyton couldn't help grinning. "<b>I got time. So long as I show up at some point to work tomorrow, they don't care.</b>" All right, so he had given them a time frame, but it was still technically true. He would take his time with Marc and it would be good and fun and perfect. "<b>You gave me more than I had originally.</b>" A cop. A cop in Chicago wouldn't be all that great, but maybe...was he actually thinking about here? That was pretty extreme, wasn't it? He didn't know Marc all that well. Maybe they would have their night together and realize that they didn't work. If Peyton dropped everything to be down here, he would look awful foolish. But the thought lingered. When Marc asked if he could get him anything else, he glanced at his still mostly full glass of whiskey and wondered if he should down it. He hadn't even begun to feel buzzed yet. "<b>Water would be great.</b>" Because if they made it to his hotel room, he didn't want to be drunk for it. |
![]() |
|
| Marc Miller | Nov 19 2017, 01:02 PM Post #20 |
|
Marc gave a small laugh at Peyton's words. "I don't think I'm the type to use it anyways." Because he was too scared of change and too awkward around strangers. Look at how he had been acting so far! Sure, the internet let him have more courage but... you had to eventually meet that person in real life and then what? Then it would still be just as awkward. Besides, as much as he might scoff over the concept of everyone on the internet being some kind of predator... Marc knew they existed, too. They existed and he wasn't exactly a strong person. All it would take was one stupid mistake and he would just be like the stories you read about on the news. "I don't think of you as a terrible person," Marc said easily. He didn't know this man, his brain told him, so he shouldn't be making snap judgment calls like that. But then Peyton was grinning at him and he was so nice and Marc just wanted to shrug it all off. Of course Peyton wasn't dangerous or anything like that, right? He was just a normal guy. A nice guy. It wasn't the same level of risk if Marc, say, wanted to go on a date with him. And oh, Marc did. He found himself wanting it more than he had possibly wanted anything else in his life. When Peyton commented that he was even cuter the way he was stammering and blushing, Marc felt his ears going red and he ducked his head somewhat, letting his tongue just play with his lip ring for a moment. "I am gonna pass out from all the blood rushing to my head," he murmured, mostly to himself. He didn't know what else to say to it. Saying thank you seemed just dull, denying it and freaking out seemed almost an insult. He had never encountered this before. Oh, he'd had moments before with Prosper but that had been different, too, somehow. Maybe because they'd just been friends online for so long that it hadn't been like a compliment from a near stranger... or maybe it was because that had been online and not with a person physically sitting in front of him. "Yeah... I mean, not all the time. But it still happened." The worst was when Gabi would egg James on to go after someone else. She knew how protective he was of her and of Marc. All she had to do was come over to James when someone had been bothering her and turn on the waterworks. Whatever Marc said didn't matter at that point. James would be in full on protector mode and would go after whoever had made his friend cry with a vengeance. It had dwindled, of course, when James had left school. He was still willing to knock someone around for being unfair or cruel - Marc remembered hearing about his beating up a couple of college kids for his sister's boyfriend a little after James had dropped out - but it wasn't as common of a thing now that James was working full time and then spending the rest of his time with Marc and Gabi. Then Rosemary had come along and, well, that ate up about ninety nine percent of James' attention. Gabi was usually more level headed although she had no problem in tongue lashing people while Marc squirmed in embarrassment and desire to just slink away unnoticed. For someone like him, two outgoing personalities sometimes had been a trial. He loved them both, but there were days that he had been at his wit's end with one or both of them. Marc gave a soft laugh at Peyton's words and question. "I think it's just acknowledging something that you know but choose to generally ignore?" Maybe. Marc didn't know how often Peyton went to bars. It might be a common, weekly sort of a thing or it might be a once in awhile deal. Of course, it could all be a line, too. For all he knew, Peyton said whatever a person wanted to hear and cruised bars all the time for people who were a little too eager for company. "I think so, too," Marc said with far more confidence than he felt. Honestly, how many dates had he been on? He didn't think he could even call the things back in high school dates. He hadn't even been with him long and it had been a terse and rocky relationship from the start. That grin of Peyton's, though. It made him want to pretend to know so much more than he did. He blushed again slightly as Peyton noticed his blatant staring. "You could carry me anywhere," Marc muttered the words out before realizing he had meant to kept that internal. "I mean. I just. You could. You could probably bench press me, honestly." That was a sort of save, at least... and probably the truth. Marc was slight and short and he could see Peyton's muscles bulging in the sleeve of his shirt. Marc swallowed heavily as he kept holding to Peyton's hand, as the other man didn't drop the hold in the least and just seemed pleased that Marc had squeezed his hand back. This couldn't be happening, right? Marc was going to just... wake up and realize that it had been a dream that he had had. He was going to shake himself and come out of a daydream at a slow night at work. He was going to wake up tied up in a bathtub or ice, missing a kidney or something, right? Things like this just didn't happen and they didn't happen to him. It was hard to think all of that, though, when Peyton agreed that he liked coming back in a warm house after a cold day. Marc's lips and mouth went dry as he spoke further, as he raised an eyebrow at Marc in a way that said he was waiting for an answer to those words more than an agreement. "Warm arms and someone saying welcome home," he said, softly. "I'm really good at hugs," his voice was still soft, but he practically blurted the words out in his anxiousness. He could definitely imagine getting up to greet someone who was coming home to him every day. He smiled lightly as Peyton said it was good that he had them. "They made life interesting sometimes, but I also don't know what I would do without them." He missed them both terribly but he was glad he still talked to them all the time. They were the one constant he still had in his life. "Maybe not a dream, but... it was the most I could handle when I moved and. I mean. It is nice enough. And... and it meant I was here," he pointed out, shyly. If he hadn't moved to Plainview, he wouldn't be here in this moment. He could feel his face heating up with the way that he had just blurted out - loudly - that he got off at work at three. If anyone was paying attention they would have no problem in figuring out what was going on. At least Peyton was grinning at him. At least he didn't seem offended or anything. He seemed pleased, honestly, and wasn't that a revelation? "Well, I... maybe I can get out earlier. It's kinda slow tonight." Thank God for that. Marc could have been so busy he had no time for a chat or a crowd could have made him or Peyton wary or shy. He gave a small smile at Peyton's words. "Well, I hope you find it, the job you're lookin' for, the one that settles better than the rest." Marc couldn't say he had. He had just found a job. An okay job, but still just a job. That was the problem with not having any ambition or big dreams... you just had to settle. Marc hesitated for a moment before he nodded, moving to get a separate glass of water. Water wasn't precisely encouraged in a bar, but he was a paying customer who had already bought a couple of drinks - one of them pretty high end whiskey - and so he doubted anyone was going to have a problem with it. He set the glass in front of Peyton, leaning against the bar again, playing idly with his lip ring, fidgeting a little with the knowledge that things were going to happen tonight. Finally, he straightened up after a moment or two. "Let me... let me go talk to my boss." Because the waiting was going to kill him. He pulled away and then ducked around the side of the bar, heading to the back, heart practically in his throat as he sought out the owner. The conversation was stilted and awkward and Marc wasn't so sure that they hadn't figured out just why Marc was asking to leave early. He managed to get through it, though, and he scurried back to where Peyton was. "Let's get out of here," he breathed the words out almost anxiously, as if Peyton might have changed his mind. |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
| « Previous Topic · Plainview · Next Topic » |







12:56 PM Jul 11