| Where somebody waits for me | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Nov 14 2017, 11:42 AM (49 Views) | |
| Crutchie Morris | Nov 14 2017, 11:42 AM Post #1 |
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Crutchie would have loved to be able to say he had born into a family that loved and cared for him. He would have loved to say something along the lines of it was a close and happy family that fell on some hard times. Unfortunately, that was pretty inaccurate. Oh, he couldn't deny that his family loved him – they probably did, but...he was the youngest kid out of five. He had been a member of a bigger family and they all worked together to get stuff done, but...he had been smaller. The way his eldest brother had told him, he had come way earlier than the doctors thought he would and that he wouldn't survive. Apparently he hadn't eaten much as a baby (not that they had a lot to go around) and he was unnaturally quiet. The doctors, of course, were worried because it wasn't natural for a baby to be that way, they said. His parents, on the other hand, had just been grateful for the peace and quiet, for the fact that he didn't eat them out of house and home like some of his brothers had. As he got older, he had been introduced to their way of life: endless, back breaking work. He remembered that even at the age of five, he had been toddling around after his brothers or his father and dragging something with him because even at five a guy had to work, right? If you didn't work, you didn't eat. It was a tragic way of looking at things, but it had made sense to Crutchie had been a kid. A family couldn't afford to feed someone that wasn't working, what was the point? So Crutchie had done the best he could, he had done everything his little pudgy hands could work with. He didn't remember having a lot, but he was happy enough. He remembered his parents having tired smiles and his brothers feeling distant but content. <p> Then there came a wave of polio. He didn't know quite where it had started, but he had heard that some of their neighbors had a case. He heard that someone down the street had died from it. It was all very removed until one day, one of his brothers got sick. Really sick. Sick enough that he had taken to bed...and before Crutchie really knew it, his brother was gone. There were only four of them then. But he hadn't even really had a chance to mourn, he had begun feeling unwell. He had been tired and achy and he had a headache that wouldn't stop. Eventually he was bedridden too and he knew his family had loved him because while they had expected him to work, he had been fussed over and catered to so much during that time. He didn't really remember much, it had been a long time of just feeling miserable and wondering if who he was seeing was real or a ghost. Unlike his brother, though, he survived. One day, he woke up and he didn't feel so bad and he was better the next day and the next. Unfortunately, the world couldn't let him have a good thing because that was when he found out one of his legs didn't work anymore. The leg just...had no muscles, as if someone had come along and cut them all out and he just had something limp to deal with. That was when he had stopped being "Charlie" and had become "Crutchie" instead. But he figured he would just keep pushing forward. The problem was that was the start of worse luck – his daddy died of a heart attack not long after Crutchie turned fifteen, his mama just...up and disappeared. He had heard a lot of stories about his mama and there was a rumor that some body had washed up somewhere, but he preferred to think she had gone off for a better life. His brothers all left slowly – his eldest brother got mixed up in bootlegging and got himself shot, his other elder brother had gone off to some far away city and got himself a real nice job but never talked to them. The brother who was closest to Crutchie decided they weren't staying in that place anymore. Too many ghosts, he said, and he had taken Crutchie to the big city...where he had promptly ditched Crutchie for the clubs and beautiful ladies. <p> But it was all okay! He was fine! Sure, there had been a few days where he had been a bit...stranded, but he had met some real nice guys that had let him come stay with them. It had been a bit crowded all things considered; apparently the lot of them hadn't had enough money on their own to live, but together? That was something different. Crutchie hadn't mind. Heck, he had lived with four brothers, he was use to crowded. So he had lived with them and he had been happy. Eventually, he had even found a job. He had heard stories of the big city – every kid had, really. In the city your dreams could come true. In the city, you could do anything and be anyone and they hadn't been hurt as much as the poorer folk had. It wasn't <i>quite</i> true, but it had been true enough. At least Crutchie had a job, after all. It wasn't glamorous by any means, it was just checking in coats. For the amount of work he did, he got paid pretty decently. <i>And</i> he got tips sometimes! It wasn't every time and it wasn't always a lot. Some of the people he worked with always complained about it, sighing to the others that they hadn't gotten a tip or that they had "only" gotten a dollar. Crutchie had just stared at them so uncomprehending, unable to understand <i>why</i> they were complaining. The tips weren't expected, right? They still got paid their normal wages, didn't they? He couldn't imagine turning his nose up at <i>any</i> kind of money either. Had these people never known what it was like to have four brothers and two parents and try to spread money out for them? Had they never lived inside a crowded apartment where you had to sleep on the floor because there were more people then they could reasonably house? Crutchie had tried to ignore them, honestly, just making sure to be bright and cheerful. That seemed to make people willing to tip him. A cheerful greeting, no more and no less than they wanted, and just being as fast as he could. <p> He couldn't deny, though, that sometimes he let himself daydream. He watched the men and the women that came through there with their expensive jewelery and their money to throw around like it was nothing. He wondered what they did for a living that they had that kind of money to use. Sometimes he wondered if they were like those robbers and bootleggers that were always in the news these days. It seemed all the world loved a rogue and Crutchie couldn't deny he was no different. He loved reading in the papers about the people were stealing from the banks, but then there had been testimonies saying that they had left the people who had put out their own money alone. There was a certain charm to that, he thought. IT helped that <i>most</i> of the people that were being talked about hadn't killed anyone. It would have been hard thinking longing about someone that had gone so far as to kill someone, Crutchie didn't think he could handle that. He shook his head a tiny bit, snapping himself back into focusing. He had a job to do. People might complain about the little pay and the lack of tips, but it was still work. He couldn't just not do it because he felt it was unfair, after all. |
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| Spot Conlon | Nov 14 2017, 11:43 AM Post #2 |
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There had been nothing easy about his life growing up. Of course, there were worst things in life. He'd heard enough stories from Jack to know that his life could have been a harder one... but that didn't mean it was an easy life either. The thing was, he didn't remember a lot of things. His nonna always said he was too young, of course he wouldn't remember. There were specific things, though. There were specific memories that stuck with him that made him realize that no, life had never quite been a good thing. The one that stuck out the most in his mind was the blood and the chaos that had descended around their home when he was very small. Five, maybe. Six at the oldest, he thought. Enough to sort of begin to make sense of what was going on, but not really old enough to fully understand it. His father, his grandfather, his older brother, had been brought to the house by other men that were rain and mud spattered and there was blood everywhere. He remembered the wailing of his mother and his grandmother and, as a child, he had responded in kind because that was what you did even if you didn't really understand what was happening. He remembered the funeral, too, with a vivid clarity because it had honestly terrified him. The people he had known his whole short life were lying still and cold and everyone around him was crying. He didn't know what dead meant, not really, but he knew it was an awful thing and he vowed, even at such a young age, that it would never be him lying there like that. It was a vow he intended to keep as long as he could. Of course, life didn't get any easier. He remembered his nonna crying again later, this time over a note from his mother. He had never gotten a full answer out of her over that note - something she had burned so he would never see it - but as he got older he knew it amounted to only about two scenarios. His mother had left - and he vaguely remembered her yelling she would leave because she couldn't handle this family and its ties anymore - or she had killed herself. Those were the only two scenarios and neither one were exactly enjoyable to think about. It was terrible of him but, in a way, Spot almost wished it was the latter. At least that wouldn't end up with any surprises down the road of a mother who suddenly wanted to come back into his life after she had left him with no one but one old woman who was tired and hurting herself. At least his nonna loved him, though. She was hard and rough. She didn't pull her punches, so to speak. If he was being bad, he was going to pay the price. Sunday was for mass. He had better never be late for dinner. She had better not catch him sneaking any type of meat during lent. He was to be a good, respectful boy and he would speak Italian in their home. Be a good boy, Tonio, she told him all the time. Be a good boy. And he had tried. She had a hard enough life without him making it harder for her, but he always had the Devil in him she would say. He was going to end up like his father she had clucked at him more than once, a wistful sadness in her voice when she said it. So he had pulled his hat down and done his best to be the good boy she wanted him to be. He'd worked newsboy routes. Had run messages. Done deliveries. When he got older, he helped his nonna open up a small bakery that did surprisingly well - they had picked their neighborhood and their clientele very well. The problem was that the neighborhood was run by people other than him. Strong people. Dangerous people. They had come to the bakery full of smiles and sweet laughs and all through those smiles and that laughter they had said he had to pay. Oh, but not too much. He was the boy of Febrezio after all. Such a sad thing, they would say, shaking their heads ponderously and making small noises. For them, they would make a deal for protection... of course, if he wanted to join them then maybe he wouldn't have to pay at all, right? He had never seen his nonna react in the way that she had. She had quite literally thrown money at them and said they wouldn't take him, too. The hardened men with dangerous eyes had seemed to not know what to do but had eventually decided to err on the side of chivalry rather than threats. They had just lifted their hats to her and breezed out of the bakery. He had known that wasn't going to be the last of it, though. He had found other kids that had suffered similar situations to his own. Young guys that were angry, who wanted revenge, who wanted more out of life than what they were given. So he helped give it to them. They never hit their own neighborhood. That was off limits. They did small time things; robbed some stores, mugged some people, pushed others around. Eventually, they started to get dangerous. One day, Spot had sworn, they would be dangerous enough to take on more than some stupid shopkeepers. Some day he'd have his revenge for family, too. Then he'd met Jack Kelly and that, well. That had propelled them all up more. They fought. They butted heads. But they worked well together once they got past those humps. With the guys they both fielded, with their smarts and bravado, they had graduated from petty crooks to the big time. His nonna, he knew, hated it. she could only see the past and she'd hit him more than a few times with her purse after the first bank. He'd peeled off money anyways, told her to hire some new kids - good kids that Spot trusted to help keep her and the bakery safe - and she had kissed his cheeks and cried over him. He was finally somebody. The newspapers talked about him and Jack, about their gangs and their exploits, and most of them were positive. They were heroes. They were ruling the country, they all said. Spot thought that was maybe a bit much but he let it sit. Good press, after all, was the best thing they could ask for. And he and Jack agreed on that, because their rules were the same; no innocent causalities and do your best to leave cops alive, too. The cops were just doing their jobs, after all. If you had to use hostages, treat them nice and with respect and never take their money from them. Sure, they stole money from the banks and the government was pissed but the people in America? They loved them. They'd harbor them if they showed up. They were celebrities. And there was a certain safety in celebrity because they were so well liked and had bought off so many coppers they were left alone when they came to places like this. Fancy, somewhere he'd never set foot in before all of this. They called him 'sir' and refilled his drink and other people lit his cigarettes and cigars. It was another sign that they'd made it to the top. It was time to pack it in for the night, though. Enough good alcohol and fun was flowing through him to make him cheerful. He all but swaggered to the booth to pick up his coat and he felt his eyebrows go up at the guy standing there. His walk took on a whole new swagger this time and he leaned against the counter as he drew up close. "Well," he drew the words out. "Any chance I can take you home and leave my coat here, sweetheart?" |
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| Crutchie Morris | Nov 14 2017, 11:44 AM Post #3 |
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Sometimes a part of Crutchie daydreamed about a life that wasn't this. He was never quite sure what kind of a daydream he wanted – did he want to be like some of the people that came through here that always had money and never seem to have a care in the world, where their lives were probably sitting around and just idly reading papers or books? Or did he want to be like some of the robbers that he heard about, the ones that had the thrill of holding people up? He was sure that his parents were rolling in his graves to think that Crutchie was thinking of something like that, but...but it did sound thrilling. It sounded exciting and it wasn't like they <i>hurt</i> anyone, right? Besides, Crutchie would never be able to act on any of that stuff in a million years, not with his legs. Even thinking of his parents pulled him out of the daydream, because he had a job to do and he was being paid for that job, no matter how much the other guys complained. He could daydream later, when he was at home and trying to tune out one of the guy's snoring. But apparently focusing again drew his attention on the customer who swaggered forward and Crutchie's mouth went bone dry. He had never seen a man with so much...charisma, he supposed. Or muscles. He wasn't quit bulging out of his well tailored looking clothes, but Crutchie could definitely see the line of them. And then he had to go and lean on Crutchie's counter and <i>talk</i>. He felt his brain fizzle, he was pretty sure it might have even popped a tiny bit because what did he say in the face of that? Was there anything to say to that? He could feel his face warm up the tiniest of bits. "<b>I dunno,</b>" he found himself saying, even though it was oddly distant to his own ears, "<b>your coat might be a little more useful than I am.</b>" All right, so probably not the best response he ever had in his life. He'd probably be lucky if the customer didn't dismiss him entirely. <p> The problem with seeing someone handsome while he was working was just that: he was working. He was stuck behind a counter and he couldn't do much more than that. Well, he supposed it was a blessing and a curse. For some of the people Crutchie knew, it was a blessing because while they had to be nice to the person that was maybe spending a little too much time with them, there was still the safety of the counter in between them. There was the safety of being able to duck in the coat room proper to let someone else take care of it. Crutchie right in those moments hated the counter, wanted to potentially be on the other side. Even as he thought it, even as he knew that he was going to wind up with thinking about this later tonight, he took the offered tag....and maybe he let his hand linger just briefly over the customer's slightly roughened hands. He told himself it wasn't anything, he hadn't done anything wrong or worth noting, right? He was just taking the ticket and that was it, his hand had fumbled, that was all. And he most certainly hadn't given the customer a lingering look as if he might disappear before he came back. No, he wasn't thinking any of that as he limped his way to the back room, as he sorted through the coats until he came about his customer's. It was a nice coat, a <i>very</i> nice coat. Sometimes he and the other guys liked to theorize about a person by just their coat. Sometimes you had people that came to this place where they would spend lots of money and laugh as if they hadn't a care in the world, but their coat was old and worn and not at all matching the life. He supposed it was their own bit of revenge because it was usually those sorts that treated them so miserably. But this? This was a nice coat that looked warm and thick and if Crutchie were a more bold person (or there was a better block on the doorway), he might have wrapped himself in it. As it was, though, he just came back out. The customer was still there and he was still handsome enough that Crutchie almost ached. "<b>Seems like you's could be ready for anything with this coat. And you wanted to leave it here in exchange for me,</b>" he teased. <p> Oddly, the customer didn't leave. They had a lot of people that came through here, a lot of people that were drunk enough that they would be chatty or flirty or any number of things, but once they had their coat, they seemed to realize that they didn't need to talk to the clerks anymore. It was like a cutting of chains or something; they were tied down, pinned down by the need for their coat, and when they had it, they had been cut free, able to run off into the wild as if they had never been caught there. But his customer stayed and he was looking at Crutchie a little bit like he thought a wolf might. Except the thought didn't scare him. "<b>Anyone ever tell you you got somethin' of a familiar face?</b>" he found himself asking. "<b>You a movie star in hidin'?</b>" The customer did look familiar. His face reminded Crutchie of something but he couldn't be entirely sure of where, something that teased very close to the tip of his tongue. He looked at that short dark hair and the dark eyes and the strong jaw and the tiniest of gaps in his teeth...he told himself he was looking because he was trying to remember where he had seen him. That was it. It certainly wasn't because he was thinking about what it would feel like to run his hands through that hair or maybe kiss along the jawline while feeling the slightest of burns from the stubble he was sporting. Crutchie pushed the thoughts away, reminding himself he was just looking to see why this guy was familiar. Maybe he <i>was</i> a movie star. They were becoming more and more popular, weren't they? It was like the world knew that right now people needed the distraction, they needed to see that maybe things could be wrapped up neatly. Wouldn't Crutchie have a story to tell about having met someone <i>famous</i>, though. Someone famous that people actually knew rather than the men that came to throw their money around here. <p> The thing was the man was still here. Crutchie had thought it an odd sort of thing. They had had their interaction and it should be done now, right? Once the coat was handed over, that was the end of it. He had had plenty of customers that were chatty and pleasant, but as soon as the coat passed between hands, they were gone. Crutchie didn't mind so much; he didn't <i>need</i> them to keep chatting with him. Heck, the nicer ones usually left nice enough tips. But this guy before him...he was glad he was still there, but it was still really confusing. No one had ever lingered before. Just like no one had ever grinned at him like that before. |
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| Spot Conlon | Nov 14 2017, 11:45 AM Post #4 |
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Spot just smirked a little as the other man stared at him in a way that suggested he liked what he saw and that he hadn't expected anything that Spot had said to him. That was good. He liked that. It meant he was off balance and people who were off balance were much easier to deal with, in Spot's opinion. When the other young man finally spoke, the words were a little bit distant. They weren't quite the response that he had been hoping for but, then again, the other young man looked dazed. Maybe he wasn't on top of his game. Maybe he wasn't even interested, either. That was a possibility although it wasn't one that Spot wanted to consider. In his world, he got what he wanted and right now what he wanted was right in front of him. "Oh, a coat's a nice thing but I dunno if it's gonna do for me what I want." It was bold, brash and it really wasn't hiding what he was hinting at. Especially not when he let his eyes roam quite pointedly up and down the clerk's body. He was small. He wasn't quite slight, but he wasn't a muscled individual either. He didn't really look stocky, either. He looked small and like someone that he would want to protect. His face was round, the dark eyes bright even in the dim lighting of the club, and the mop of sandy blond hair was rather adorable. What really made the difference, though, was the smile. He had seen it when he walked in and he had seen it directed at another customer when he had been pacing around, deciding if he was going to leave or not. He wanted to see more of it now. Much to his disappointment, the other man seemed to finally get a hold on himself. He straightened up a little bit and reached out to take the claim ticket from him. Spot wasn't quite sure if it was his imagination or not, but he was pretty sure that the other man had taken the ticket and just let his hand sit there for a moment, let his fingers brush over Spot's palm before he finally withdrew. Then he straightened up again and gave him a look that honestly had him contemplating if he wanted to hop the counter - to show off, of course - and find a little bit of fun among the coats and wraps of complete strangers. He might have done it, honestly, except that when his gaze had traveled down to take in the retreating backside of the other man he noted the limp. There was nothing wrong with his having one, of course, but he now realized that maybe fucking him up against the wall beside all of the coats wasn't the best of game plans when it might cause him discomfort. That was fine. Spot was nothing if not adaptable. He waited patiently for the other man to return and he eventually did, carrying his coat. Spot was proud of that coat - Jack was, too, because Jack had one just like it. Money and cars and alcohol were all great, but this was something even better. That coat meant money, status. You didn't buy a coat like that if you didn't have the money to spend. It fit him perfectly, tailored just for him, and he was proud of the damn thing. "I'd throw it in the damn garbage can in exchange for just a minute with you, doll," he said, amazed at the honesty in his own voice. A part of him said he would do it because he had money. He'd just get a new coat - a better coat - and he'd have this guy, too. A part of him felt it was more than that. A more personal gesture. Look what I'd give up for you; that kind of a thing. After he took his coat, Spot put it on, letting it sit and settle and enjoying the feel of it. He settled it around his shoulders, tugging it this way and that until it was settled just right. He smirked a little as the other man didn't chase him away as he lingered, just watching him carefully even as Spot eyed him up and down. When he went on to speak, Spot gave a laugh. "Maybe cause you's seen it somewhere before," he said, letting the hint of it linger there. He was no movie star but he and Jackie boy, they were getting famous. It was an intoxicating thing, but dangerous. They had to play their cards right or they were going to end up shot or in jail. "I ain't no movie star, doll. I guess you better guess again." He wondered how much this clean cut guy would want to be staring at him if he realized Spot was a bank robber, a criminal. Some people that'd be the end of their interest while others it would only heighten it. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He glanced at the other man for a moment before he offered the pack out to him. "You smoke, sweetheart?" Most people did, honestly. He was surprised when someone didn't smoke more than anything. And, true to form, the other man took the proffered cigarette. Spot just grinned a little around his as he tucked the pack back in and brought out his matchbook. He struck the match easily, bringing the flame up to his cigarette and waving it out on the matchstick. Then he leaned against the counter again, reaching out for the tie the other man wore and pulled him close enough that he could press the end of his cigarette to the other man's. He held them there for a moment before he leaned back and took a drag off of his, watching the other man for a long minute or two. "You got a name, sweetheart?" Despite outside appearances, Spot was never much of a patient man. He could stand here talking to Crutchie all night, which wouldn't be a bad thing, but he would prefer something different. If he was going to talk, he'd prefer somewhere more intimate than a jumping club full of people. If they were going to do something else, well, privacy was also very good for that. He took another drag off of his cigarette, thinking for a long moment. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's get out of here. You and me." He put promise into those words as well as a command. It was the true test of things. Would he pick his job and his livelihood or would he pick the sense of danger and adventure that was undoubtedly there between them at the moment? |
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| Crutchie Morris | Nov 14 2017, 11:46 AM Post #5 |
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Crutchie wondered if he should be leaving this guy to someone else. He desperately <i>didn't</i> want to because what if he transferred this attention to whoever came over to him? One of the guys or girls that worked with Crutchie...Crutchie wouldn't exactly have <i>blamed</i> the customer for focusing on someone else, but Crutchie selfishly wanted those dark eyes on him, that smirk for him. He didn't want to give it up at all, even when he knew that this was probably all just a customer that happened to be drunk enough to see what he wanted to in Crutchie. When his customer spoke, Crutchie couldn't help the confusion. "<b>What's you expectin' it to do?</b>" he asked slowly. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized what had properly been said and he caught the eyes roaming up and down and he couldn't stop his blush. He was no stranger to flirting. He had gone out with the boys that he had been rooming with before and he had seen them flirt and been flirted with. A few people had even flirted with him...at least until they saw the crutch. Then they inevitably saw his foot and he always watched their face chance. Sure he wore shoes and everything was covered, but sometimes he thought that might have been worse for people. People would look at how it just kind of...sat there limply and they imagined all sorts of ways of how it looked. They never wanted to see it in reality and he supposed asking someone to leave one shoe on was a little bit weird if you were inviting them back to your place. Crutchie supposed he couldn't blame them, but it had left him floundering for now. He <i>should</i> be either turning this guy down or he should be making it obvious he had that limp, something to make him stop...But god, Crutchie loved it. He loved those dark eyes locked so intensely on him, he loved imagining the feel of those strong arms and strong fingers holding onto him. <p> He wished he had been bold enough to be more obvious when he put his hand on top of the other man. He wished he had been bold enough to obviously slide his hand over his and lock eyes with him...and maybe in his darkest dream, where no one knew what he thought, he would have darted his eyes towards the back and sauntered away and maybe this man would have joined him. But that was just a fantasy. The reality of things said that was impossible for multiple reasons. Crutchie doubted he would have an easy time of someone trying to be with him against the wall, he doubted that they would be left alone long enough to get anywhere, and this man was probably just a flirty drunk who didn't know who he was flirting with. So he just focused on getting the coat and bringing it back out, all while making casual conversation. The problem with casual conversation, though, was that it left him suddenly breathless when the man said he would throw it away for just a minute and used that pet name again. Crutchie's face flushed again, flattery at war with that want again. "<b>Coat like this might warrant more than a minute,</b>" he found himself saying. "<b>Not that I'm saying throw it away or anything, 'cause it's cold out there and you's need it to keep warm but I'm just sayin' that in exchange it would be-</B>" he cut himself off, face going brighter and brighter. Finally he just had to admit defeat, didn't he? He had just made an absolute fool of himself in front of someone who was so handsome, he had contemplated letting the risk of him getting caught in back. God, if he had had any interest in Crutchie, he would have lost it at that, right? He wasn't good at this kind of stuff, he never got to practice, he never know what to do, and he had just proven that he couldn't be left to flirt with someone. Maybe <i>he</i> was the one that needed to have a few glasses of something to drink. <p> Crutchie watched as the man took the coat and put it on, only realizing seconds later that he was probably watching him the same way a man watched a pretty lady undress. He couldn't help it, though. The way the man moved was with a lot of confidence and and surety, knowing exactly what he was doing...and the coat fit him. Crutchie always thought of coats as just a thing; something to keep you warm. It didn't need to be anything except too small, right? But this man's looked a tailor had come in and fitted it for him so that it was absolute perfection. He was brought out of his thoughts by the laugh, by the words. Crutchie <i>knew</i> he had seen him somewhere, but when the man went on to say that he wasn't a movie star, he leaned forward. He rested his elbows on the counter, putting his chin into his hands so he could stare harder at him. It wasn't exactly a trial. "<b>It's on the tip of my tongue,</b>" he hummed mostly to himself. He had seen him before, he knew it. He had seen that face somewhere because he remembered thinking something about rugged good looks. "<b>You <i>sure</i> you ain't a movie star? You look like you belong in pictures.</b>" After he said it, he straightened up again, feeling himself blush. It was one thing to let a customer flirt with you, let them say what they wanted...it was another thing to respond in turn, to mention something so blatantly. What if he didn't like blatant men? What if he wanted someone who came off as cold or who acted like they were uninterested? He watched him pull out a pack of cigarettes, blinking at the question. "<b>Don't everybody?</b>" Everyone he knew smoked, it was something to do. Especially when you were poor. The pack was offered to him and Crutchie cautiously took it, like he expected it to be snatched away or like his boss might come storming over and demanding what he was doing. It didn't matter for long, because as soon as he put the cigarette to his lips, the client was leaning forward and grabbing his tie. He had a brief moment to wonder if he had done something to offend him, if maybe he was going to get clocked for some transgression, but he just put the tip of his own cigarette to Crutchie's. He held there for a couple of beats longer than was probably strictly necessary, longer than it would need to assure him that Crutchie's was lit, but finally he was released. Crutchie shakily took a deep breath of his. "<b>Everyone calls me Crutchie,</b>" he offered, making a half hearted gesture to his crutch. "<b>But...I mean, you could call me Charlie, if you wanted to.</b>" It would be the first time anyone had called him Charlie since his family though. "<b>what about you?</b>" <p> He watched as Spot took another drag of his cigarette, just entertaining himself with the look of him...but then came the words. He stared at Spot with wide, wide eyes. "<b>What?</b>" he breathed a little, "<b>I got work, my shift ain't over for hours yet.</b>" But even as he said it, he was biting his lip, looking back over at where the others were busy working and no one was really watching him. He hadn't said no yet, but he knew he should. He should say no he was working and if Spot wanted time with him, he would have to wait until the end of his shift. At the same time, his heart leapt in his chest because he heard that was a command. Spot wasn't asking him to leave with him, he was <i>telling</i> him to leave with him. A part of Crutchie said no, he should stay put, he needed money, didn't he? There were lots of guys who wanted a job, Crutchie wasn't special. But...he bit his lip again, moving to step from behind the counter, moving so he could stand closer to Spot. He smelled like cigarette smoke and Crutchie wanted to bury his face against his neck and just stand there awhile. |
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| Spot Conlon | Nov 14 2017, 11:47 AM Post #6 |
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Spot just smirked a little as the other guy came back up to him with the coat, as he gave him a somewhat confused look. The guy was... maybe not innocent, but maybe a little bit naive. It was cute, really. What was even cuter was when he finally seemed to realize just what Spot had been implying with his words. Spot just let his smirk grow at the sight of the blush that was spreading across the other man's cheeks. "Well, that depends. A little of this and a little bit of that, maybe." He let his eyes roam up and down again in an even more obvious fashion, letting his eyes pause to linger in areas that weren't exactly considered polite to be staring at.. but Spot had always been bold. "All depends on what your pleasure is." He wasn't even being subtle anymore, but did he really have to be? At this point, the other man had pretty much figured out exactly what it was that Spot was talking about. He would either reject him out of hand or he would make a move. And, given the way that the hand lingered on top of his own when the other young man reached out to take the ticket he was pretty sure he knew exactly where the interest was lying and he was pretty damn sure he wasn't going to be rejected. If he was, he would be very surprised. Maybe he was being cocky, but he didn't think so. People didn't give you looks like that and not be interested. He contemplated what he might do with the younger man as he watched his ass in the pants - not too tight pants, but tight enough he could see the shape and the form and it was a very nice package to look at. He also idly contemplated the leg. An accident maybe? Something he was born with? Something else? Did it really matter? Spot supposed it only mattered in so much as how much it might potentially hurt him when they were having the fun that he was damn sure they would be having. Watching the young man coming back from the front was just as enticing as it had been from the back, too. When he took the coat, the other man continued on to say that a coat like this would warrant more than a minute. Spot couldn't stop himself from grinning - almost leering, really - at the words, even when they were abruptly cut off. It seemed like the guy finally realized what he had said. "Oh, so's that means I can get more than a minute of your time if I chuck it?" he asked. He'd have to consider the real possibilities of that if that were the case. He could feel the eyes on him and he smirked a little as he settled and adjusted the coat so it sat just right. When they had bought it, it had just been a thing as a status symbol. It had just been something to show that they had cash to toss around and, admittedly, it had been something to last and to keep them warm. He hadn't ever thought about how someone might react to him in the coat, though, and now he had an example of just what else this coat could do for him. Spot smirked a little at the reaction to his saying he wasn't a movie star. He watched the other man lean forward, resting his elbow on the counter and looking at Spot like he was a puzzle that he just had to solve. He rather liked being scrutinized like that and he adjusted the coat a little bit more before he smirked again, putting his own hand on the counter and just leaning against it to look down at the clerk. He couldn't help but to grin a little as he spoke again. "I know somethin' else that could be on the tip of your tongue," he told him, not even bothering to be subtle anymore. He grinned at the predicted reaction to that and then he laughed again. "Yeah? You think so?" Spot asked him. He had never had anyone tell him that before. Mostly they said that he looked like a thug and a gangster, like someone who was going to end up face down in a river somewhere. He'd never had anyone tell him that he looked like he belonged in the pictures. It was kind of heady, honestly. "Yeah, usually but it's the gentlemanly thing to ask, ain't it?" Spot questioned at the response. He and Jack... well, they hadn't rewritten their personalities but they had also tried to play the part of gentlemen gangsters, too, with varying degrees of success. He was just lucky, though, that this guy didn't panic or push him away when he offered him the smoke and then leaned in to light it with his own cigarette. He grinned a little as he pulled away, noting the shaky breath. He gave a tiny frown at the name that he was given but it was gone in a flash when the other man added that he could call him Charlie if he wanted. "Charlie. I like that." He took a drag off of his cigarette and grinned at him again as he asked his name. "Most people don't get to know my name, sweetheart. For you? I'll make an exception. It's Spot. Spot Conlon. Least that's what folks call me." That might just end things quickly. Not everyone recognized his and Jack's names just yet, but they were getting there... and not everyone wanted to be tied up with a bank robber. "But you" You's can call me Tony." He had never given anyone his real name before. Not in a long time, anyways. When he spoke his command, the other man's eyes widened and he seemed absolutely taken back by it. He wondered if he wasn't going to be having his fun after all. "Yeah, and?" he questioned as Charlie went on to say that he had work and his shift wasn't going to be over for hours. Honestly, Spot would have waited for him. This was a test, though, and he waited to see if the young man was going to pass it or not. "If you gonna be my guy you's gonna have to make some sacrifices and trust that I'm gonna take care of you's." He laid out as he took another drag, just watching him intently. Then there was a subtle shift, almost imperceptible, and then Charlie was walking out from behind the counter at a slow pace, limping but right on track to come up to his side. Spot smirked again and he reached out, snaking a hand around his waist. "That's the spirit, doll." He pulled him tight against his side, recognizing that it was probably going to make it a bit difficult on him to walk but that was okay. His car was right outside anyways. "Let's get going', sweetheart." He walked him firmly out of the building, ignoring the stares of others and the fact that he had probably cost this guy his job - but he had been truthful. He was going to take care of him. He wasn't going to need a job. He took him right up to the car - pride and joy, that was. Him and Jackie boy both were way too proud of the cars they'd gotten - and held the door open for him. "Climb on in, sweetheart." |
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| Crutchie Morris | Nov 14 2017, 11:48 AM Post #7 |
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No matter how many times he told himself that maybe, just maybe, he should walk away, he didn't. This wasn't exactly new territory for him, but it was a bit...welcomed. Too many years (not many; he wasn't <i>that</i> old he reminded himself) of just kind of being shunted to the side, of being ignored in favor of someone else. Someone stronger, someone taller, someone with...less glaring problems. Arguably, maybe the customer didn't even know that and if Crutchie tried to show that to him, he might be disgusted, or at the very least leave. But could anyone blame him for listening to this? For wanting to have that touch of being faintly scandalized that came with being flirted with? "<b>Well,</b>" he found himself saying, "<b>I think anybody usin' a coat for that sorta thing don't know how to properly use a coat.</b>" Internally, he winced; he winced <i>hard</i> because what kind of flirt was that? God, he just kind of wanted to crawl away, crawl into the back room and hide amongst the coats until he was safe to come out. He took the chance of getting the coat as an excuse to hide, at least briefly. Of course this was how it went. A handsome man finally had some kind of interest him and here Crutchie was flubbing it up like someone had just tossed him a ball to catch without warning. It was in the coat room, he knew he had a few choices to make...and even before those choices fully formed in his head, he all ready knew his own answer. He all ready knew that he was going to go back out there, he was going to at least attempt to flirt. Attempt being the key word and then he could curse himself when, inevitably, the man left and Crutchie was alone again. The problem was that every time he looked at the man, he went a little stupid. He felt tongue tied and useless...especially when he got leered at. Maybe he should have been weirded out by the leer, but instead it made something in the pit of his stomach stir and tighten. "<b>I'm just sayin'-</b>" he cut himself off, trying to figure out what he "just" was saying in response. It felt like he kept putting his foot in his mouth. "<b>Seems kinda silly to chuck somethin' that's all ready a pretty sure thing.</b>" Instead, he was pretty sure he was slowly dying a painful death, because what was he thinking? What was he trying to prove here? That he was useless at flirting? <p> A guy could daydream an awful lot when a man wore a coat like that. A guy could let his mind run wild and think about the fact that what would it be like to have that coat spread out on a bed or even the grass outside and lie on it with this man over him. He pulled away from those thoughts, shoving them back into the back of his mind. He shouldn't think like that. At least one the job. On the job, he was suppose to be professional, right? That was what they paid him for. When he got home, he could lie on the couch or something and think about those strong hands and that coat and those lips and – he pulled his thought away from that...just in time to be told there could be something else on the tip of his tongue. All right, okay, Crutchie was probably going to die of all the blood rushing to his head. He could live with that. "<b>Well, that sorta thing is only if you ask nicely,</b>" he found himself responding. Hell, this guy could ask anything of him and it would probably be an instant yes. He could ask Crutchie for all the money in his wallet and he would <i>thank</i> him, because he had gotten to look at him the entire time. When the man asked if he thought so, Crutchie found himself just melting a tiny bit on the counter, leaning heavier on his hand. "<b>Yeah,</b>" it came out maybe a bit too dreamily, "<b>Definitely got the rugged good looks of a lead actor.</b>" Maybe some would say that he looked more like a gangster, but who was to say gangsters couldn't be handsome? Or lead actors? The man before him had the kind of face that was easy to swoon for and the smile to make anyone double think the idea of being faithful to anyone else. He'd do a lot for that smile. "<b>You always a gentleman?</b>" he asked, unable to stop himself from biting his lip a tiny bit. A gentleman was nice, don't get him wrong. Crutchie loved the idea of a man who would ask him things, who would hold open doors, and pull out chairs – who didn't want that? At the same time, there was a spine tingling thought of this man being less of a gentleman, more of a man who took what he wanted. That sort of man who would shove someone against a wall to kiss them, to take what he wanted, and hey, if their partner enjoyed it, then he supposed it was win-win. Crutchie found he wouldn't mind that so much, especially if it was anything like the way he had been pulled forward to be so close. The man hadn't asked then if he had needed a light and Crutchie was pretty damn okay with that. He gave a slight grin as he said he liked his name. "<b>No one really calls me that anymore, so.</b>" So it would be just him, only him, like a sort of pet name almost. He raised an eyebrow, almost pouting as he said that most people didn't get to know his name...but that faded when moments later, he said that his name was Spot Conlon. Spot Conlon, how did that sound so familiar? Again it was on the tip of his tongue, it was as familiar as the man's face...and then he went on to say that Crutchie could call him Tony. "<b>Tony,</b>" he repeated it with a sigh. "<b>I like that too.</b>" <p> Crutchie's heart was in his throat and beating wildly. A part of him thought that he should be angry, furious even maybe, that Tony would just be so blasé about Crutchie's job. When he just went 'and?', Crutchie wanted to snap that he needed to eat, didn't he? He needed to be able to buy clothes, he needed to be able to buy rent. How was he suppose to do that if he just walked out of a job that they could fill within days? But then Tony continued on, saying that Crutchie was going to be his guy, or at least could <i>be</i> his guy. A shiver went up Crutchie's spine, working through his body because that a thrill wasn't it? Had anyone ever offered to take care of him? No, no he had always been on his own, pretty much. Mostly it was because people couldn't just take care of them because they had their own lives to live with. He swallowed hard, feeling his hand flex a tiny bit on his crutch. "<b>Well,</b>" he murmured mostly to himself, "<b>suppose you don't get no where without faith.</b>" That was what they had taught at church too, right? You had to be willing to put your trust in the hands of someone else and assume it was all going to work out. Personally, Crutchie thought he might have more faith in Tony than God. So he moved, he walked forward, and he was rewarded with an arm around his waist and being pulled tight to Tony's side. Crutchie's breath was having trouble getting out again with all the pet names with the confidence rolling off of Tony. It was easy to put his faith in someone that confident. "<b>Yeah, I guess we should.</b>" Before Crutchie had a moment to think that maybe he was better off staying, before he had a moment to realize he knew nothing about Tony. He just let Tony take him out – a little harder considering how they were positioned, but Crutchie didn't care because Tony was so warm – and he stared at the car. "<b>This is yours??</b>" he couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice. Cars weren't that rare anymore, he knew, cars were a lot more common in the big city...but it had always seemed like such a luxury. Carefully, slowly as if he were going to be told this was all a joke, he got into the car, settling into the seat quite contently. |
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| Spot Conlon | Nov 14 2017, 11:49 AM Post #8 |
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Spot counted it as a win that the guy hadn't walked off, hadn't made up an excuse or hadn't called someone to have Spot removed. That was always a very quick sign that his attentions weren't wanted. This young man had done none of those things. It might be a bit arrogant of Spot to say he was quite sure that there was interest there, but all of the signs seemed to point that way. After all, he wasn't averting his eyes or laughing in a fake way. He wasn't subtly making signs that he wanted to wander off. He seemed quite willing - happy even - to stay right there where Spot was. He was even trying to flirt back, although the flirting wasn't exactly top notch... but Spot didn't really need it to be top notch, did he? He just needed to know the interest was there. He gave a chuckle at the words. "Depends on how you're usin' it, sweetheart," he commented with a slow grin. He could think of plenty of uses for a coat in that sort of situation, honestly, but he wasn't about to go dropping those hints right now. He didn't want to scare him away, after all, and while flirting heavily was one thing... talking pretty openly about the things he could and might even actually do to someone else weren't exactly welcome in the general public. Spot might be a bit of a ruffian and a ne'er do well but that didn't mean he didn't have some kind of class and manners. It was one of the reasons that the general public - and the media - loved him and Jack. They were bank robbers and rogues, but they were charming and never hurt anyone if they could get away with it. Public image was important in this line of work. The other man was staring at him with wide eyes and it made Spot smirk all the more. The things he could do to him to make those eyes go even wider... Although when the other man spoke again it was Spot's turn to have slightly wider eyes. Not so much shock but just simple surprise at the blatant words that pretty much meant that he was going to get exactly what he wanted. "Oh ho, a sure thing, huh? I like the sound of that." And he did. He liked the sound of that very, very much. Spot didn't miss the glances that were sent his way, the way that the guy definitely was appreciating the coat and the way it sat on him. Not for the first time he blessed the tailor that had made the coat. He had made sure it fit absolutely perfectly on both him and on Jack and it was the first time in either of their lives that they had ever owned something that fit so perfectly and made them look the way it did. He was never more appreciative than when someone was eying him and up and down because of that coat and right now he was triply appreciative. He might have to wander back one day and slap a couple bills in the guy's hand for a job well done if the night went the way he thought it was going to go. He watched the eyes widen again a little and the blush spreading across the guy's cheeks as he realized just what Spot had told him. He gave a small laugh at the look and then raised his eyebrows at the words that were sallied back at him. This guy had spirit and spunk and Spot liked that. "Oh, so if I ask you nicely you got no problem with that then?" he said with a slow grin. "I can ask very nicely, given the circumstances." This guy was surprising him left and right and Spot liked that. He liked that a lot. The guy just about seemed to melt against the counter and he was practically drooling into his hand which was nice, Spot had to admit. He hadn't always been lonely for company but had anyone ever reacted like this to him before? He didn't think so. This was far more than he was expecting. "Yeah? You think so? Maybe I should switch careers, huh? Rugged good looks," he repeated, sounding more than pleased with himself. He'd never heard that before. Mostly he heard he was too short - which usually got someone decked - or that he was too rough or too aggressive. He'd even heard someone complain about the tiny gap in his teeth before. Never had he been told he was handsome enough to be a movie star. "Oh, that depends, sweetheart. You's want me to be a gentleman or no?" he asked with a slow grin. Because he could do both. He would hold the doors and rush to make sure he didn't walk in the mud, would push his chair in and be the picture perfect man. But he'd take other fun to different heights if allowed. Pulling him forward like that was just a taste of what it could be and given the way he reacted he didn't think this guy had any objections to it. "Well, I'm gonna call you's that," he said, firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument. He liked the name. He liked the way it fit him. He wasn't going to use some name everyone else used. He watched the play of emotions run across the other man's face, still smirking a little to himself. When Charlie spoke his name, though, he had to stop himself from biting down on his lip. "Yeah? Good. You's gonna be sayin' it a lot." Which was both a very heavy innuendo and also just a simple fact... because he was gonna keep this guy in his life. Spot just watched the way that the other man seemed to be processing what was going on. This was pretty much the time where he would either tell Spot to forget about it, try to make some kind of deal, or give in. Maybe it was a bit wrong of him to expect him to do what he said but Spot meant the words. He would take care of the ones in his life that were important to him. If this guy dropped what he had to be with Spot? Spot would make sure he was taken care of even after Spot was long gone from this world. As he watched, the other young man swallowed hard and the hand on the crutch tightened almost painfully. Then when he spoke, he said pretty much exactly what he wanted to hear. "That's exactly right, sweetheart. Don't forget it." People were surprised to find out Spot was a moderately religious man, given what he did. He always just shrugged and said well, he was raised that way and he needed to have someone in his corner for the inevitable end to his and Jack's run. He smiled slightly at the feel of the other young man against his side, the way that he just fit there, the warmth of him. "Music to my ears," he commented as Charlie agreed with him and said that they should get out of here. He couldn't help but to swell up some with pride at the somewhat awed surprise out of the other young man's voice as he stared at the car and asked if it was Spot's. He seemed to want to treat it like it might break as he very slowly, very carefully got into the car. "All mine, sweetheart. You better get used to ridin' around in some style." He closed the door gently and then made his way around to the driver's side, sliding in with a practiced ease. He put an arm behind the younger man on the back of the seat, angled towards him just a little. "I got a place... ain't the best, but it's got a roof, got what you need to get by, it's mostly private until the boys come tromping in but I can send 'em out anytime. How's that sound to you, Charlie?" Good, he hoped. |
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| Crutchie Morris | Nov 14 2017, 11:51 AM Post #9 |
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Was he lucky that this guy hadn't left because of Crutchie or was he just trying to bide his time until he got his coat back? Crutchie thought of his roommate Romeo, who was flirting with everyone in the entire world and when someone called him on it, when they said that he had dropped someone awfully quick, Romeo had just blinked. It hadn't occurred to him he was flirting because it was just what he did naturally. Some people were able to make casual conversation, others just flirted. Maybe this man was just doing what came naturally to him and Crutchie was making him wait because he thought it meant something. The man still gave a slow grin, though, saying it depended on how you used it. "<b>How would you -</b>" He cut himself off, because all he could think of was this man over him and a coat, whatever the coat might have looked like, spread out beneath Crutchie's back. They'd be out in the middle of somewhere no one really went, away from noises and prying eyes with only the stars above them. Crutchie could feel his face heating up even as the the thought played over and over, just imagining what this man's strong chest must look like, what his firm hands must felt like. He told himself to stop it, because he was being ridiculous. Hadn't he just told himself that this guy was probably a natural flirt who didn't even think of who he was flirting with? Crutchie was being ridiculous and he needed to stop before he made a bigger fool of himself. When he made the other man's eyes widen, he felt the blush go bright enough that he felt almost dizzy. "<b>I mean, it's just - </b>" he stumbled over his words, trying to think of a way to play it off...and then his brain caught up with what his customer was saying. His brain suddenly realized he had said he liked the sound of that. "<b>You do?</b>" he asked cautiously, because this was putting a hole in his 'natural flirt' idea. Not only that, but...it made Crutchie's heart flip flop in his chest. When was the last time someone had even thought to say something like that to him? He didn't think he had ever had it. Plenty of people he knew that had had polio and such always talked about a time before; they had a lot of things going for them before and then polio had stolen it away. Crutchie hadn't even had that; he'd been too young and a little bit too poor to really experience everything people were talking about. <p> He was going to die from all the blood rushing to his head. He was going to keel over backwards and die and he wasn't even going to be sorry because he had been graced with the man before him. The boys that Crutchie roomed with all thought he was a bit weird; they all talked about the girls and the guys they had gone out with but then there was Crutchie. Crutchie who never seemed to have any stories to tell and who always seemed a little left in the dust when it came to these sorts of things. He had always felt a little left out because he didn't have these stories to tell – no man ever really flirted with him for long before the leg unsettled them, before they found someone better looking or in higher status than a coat checker. He didn't even have the courage to flirt with anyone who came by that he thought was handsome. "<b>I'd do a lotta things if someone asked me nicely,</b>" he said a bit ruefully, not even in the vein of what this man was implying. Being a coat checker, he had found, was a bit like being a kind of punching bag. The people that came through here were those with money (money enough to tip, a colleague had said, but no one ever did) and it seemed that this whole...recession had made them realize how lucky they were to have money and for some reason that made them <i>mean</i>. The sheer amount of demands that Crutchie put up with in any given day felt staggering, so when someone was actually <i>nice</i> and added a please or a thank you, he wanted to help them more because it was just so rare. So this guy could get a lot out of him if he was just nice enough...which admittedly was kind of dangerous because he didn't know anything about this man in the slightest. All that didn't matter, though, because he could only stare at him dreamily as he said he should switch careers. "<b>I'd go to every one of your pictures,</b>" he said. He would have. He would have been the person sitting way in the back, who watched the screen with rapt attention every moment he was there. Crutchie would have been the man who watched the man and just spent the rest of the movie imagining himself in the place of this man's opposite lead and pretend like it all meant something. This man was made to stand out, to be noticed, to be adored, if only by Crutchie. When the man used that pet name again, when he asked the question, Crutchie bit his lip a tiny bit. "<b>I'm thinkin' a gentleman knows which one is wanted.</b>" Maybe it was selfish, but Crutchie wanted both. He wanted someone who would be polite and thought of him first, who did things to make things easy...but at the same time, he wanted to be desired so much that this man had no choice but to take what he wanted in the way that he wanted. And Crutchie liked to think that this man would know what Crutchie needed; he'd know when Crutchie needed someone to pull out his chair for him and when to push him against a wall and say that he was taking what he wanted. When the man spoke, there was no room for argument, no room for him to say that no, he preferred Crutchie now, and it made Crutchie's knees a little weak to realize. "<b>Okay,</b>" he said easily. Anything this man – Tony – wanted, he would do it willingly. He could feel his face warming again as Tony said that he would be saying it a lot. "<b>I plan to,</b>" he said softly. <p> He was crazy, that was the thought going through Crutchie's head. In this economy you couldn't be frivolous, you couldn't just leave a job with the faith that you'd be okay. There was no promise that things would be okay. What did Tony even do that made him think that he could take care of <i>two</i> people? But...but Crutchie felt like he had made his choice and Tony <i>liked</i> that he had made his choice and oh, Crutchie was gone. He was so gone, swept away by the handsome and charming grin, swept away with the fact that he was being rewarded to ditch his job. "<b>I trust you, Tony,</b>" he offered, even as his brain screamed that he had only just met Tony. Tony had literally only come up to get his coat and Crutchie was putting all his faith in him. Despite that, he found he meant it. He trusted Tony...and god, wasn't he a fool? He was going to wind up in some newspaper on some serial killing or something, if the media cared about a no name coat checker. What was worse was that Crutchie couldn't care because he was pressed up against Tony's side and he <i>fit</i> there pretty perfectly. When Tony said it was music to his ears, he smiled. He wanted to tell Tony to stop saying such things, stop rewarding him for something that they both knew was crazy and outlandish and not smart. If he kept praising Crutchie, Crutchie was going to do a lot more stupid stuff like this. But then again, maybe it wasn't so stupid considering how nice the car was. "<b>I dunno if I can,</b>" he admitted, "<b>I ain't ever seein' or ridden around in something so nice.</b>" Because he had rode on the trolly and such, but that had been like being packed into some kind of can, stuck amongst others that were all pushing to get by. This was different; this was a very nice car, so nice that Crutchie almost felt bad sitting in it, like he should be charged for the privilege or not given it at all. When Tony got in the car, an arm went almost over Crutchie's shoulders. He could feel the warmth of him and all Crutchie wanted to do was burrow into that warmth. Without really thinking, he inched a bit closer to the other man. "<b>That sounds perfect.</b>" Did he wish that there wasn't the inclusion of "the boys"? Sure, but he felt like that would have happened no matter what. He wanted Tony all to himself and he wanted Tony's attention all on him. He wanted peace and quiet with Tony. |
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| Spot Conlon | Nov 14 2017, 11:52 AM Post #10 |
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The other man spoke the beginnings to a question and then broke off. That sudden ending of the words made Spot grin, because he knew that the other man had figured out exactly what he had been talking about. He could see that realization further in the other man's face, in his expression, in the way that a light blush was starting to play over his cheeks. Good. He wanted him to think about that. He wanted him to think about it very carefully and judge whether or not that was something he was interested in. Considering the guy hadn't called a manager or the cops or another worker or guest Spot was pretty sure he wasn't opposed to the idea. "Exactly, sweetheart," he said, the words not quite purred out, but close enough; his lips not quite turned up in a satisfied smirk but on their way. It wasn't even technically a response to anything, but he wanted the other man to know that Spot had noticed his reaction and Spot knew that he now knew exactly what he had been getting at. That blush only got even deeper as Spot continued to look at him in mild surprise. There was a hesitant attempt to say something that didn't really go anywhere at all. Then he asked a hesitant question that made Spot simultaneously smirk and also want to reach out to shake him and ask why he didn't think someone would like the sound of that. So far, he was an attractive package with a cute voice, nice big eyes and a wide smile that pulled you in. He was also agreeable and Spot was enjoying that quite a bit. "Yeah, I do. Who wouldn't like the sound of that? A sure thing with a guy like you?" Maybe that sounded like he was laying it on thick, just saying it in the moment, but he meant it. Spot had never seen anyone as gorgeous as this guy. Why wouldn't he be pleased to hear that it was a sure thing that he would probably go along with him, a sure thing that he might get to have more of him? He took a moment to just look at the other man, taking him in even more fully than he had before. Every time he felt like he had his type pegged down, he wasn't quite sure. He had seemed wholly innocent and nothing but sunshine with that smile, but then talking to him there were some dark clouds that hung around; maybe not immediately visible, maybe hidden behind his eyes, but they were there. He seemed sweet, but he'd already said some things that were sarcastic and biting in their own way. There was more to this man than you got on the surface and Spot wanted to see more of him. The words that were spoken were rueful, an admittance that people probably walked all over him, and that certainly made him mad to hear about and to think about... but he couldn't deny that his brain quite firmly latched onto the idea and that the innuendo that had been in the words had left him with a nice mental picture and a certain amount of warmth that could very well be a problem in public. "Well, I better make sure to always ask you's nicely then, sweetheart. Don't worry. I'll treat you's right." He tipped a somewhat lazy wink towards the other man, trying to get the thoughts of that mouth and that tongue to a more innocent place for the moment. "Yeah? You'd be my number one fan, huh?" he asked with a small laugh. "Maybe I'd come take ya to the premiere of every one. Then you'd get the real VIP treatment, sweetheart." Not that anyone was going to put him in the pictures. They'd rather take him to jail than put him up on the silver screen and Spot probably had shit acting anyway. It was nice to be told he had movie star looks, though. He adjusted his coat a little as he looked at the other man and he said he figured a gentleman would know what was wanted. He smirked a little, blatantly eying the other man up and down. "I think you's the type of guy who wants both, huh? Gonna want to be treated real nice outside'a closed doors but then once you get inside..." He raised an eyebrow just a little. That wasn't to say that he would treat him rough all the time, but he had a feeling he knew that what he wanted was someone to be nice and kind to him but to also be in control. Spot could do that. Hell, Spot would enjoy that. He fluffed up a little as Charlie agreed so easily to being called that. He almost, almost stumbled when he agreed again and said that he was planning on using his name a lot, blush included in the statement. "Like music to my ears, sweetheart," he purred the words out for Charlie, just holding his dark eyes on the other man for a moment. Spot watched the other man closely as he made his way past the counter, as he slowly limped his way to where Spot was. Some people, he was sure, would be bothered by that limp, that leg, but not him. What did he care if he had a bum leg? He knew plenty of guys who had problems both before and after getting involved in a life of crime. Guys who had fleas, guys who had lost eyes or digits of their hands, guys who you couldn't see the injuries but they were there nevertheless. There were guys in his own little group that had plenty of problems and he'd seen the same in Jack's group and in other organizations. No one was unblemished. It felt like a bolt of lightning had struck him when Charlie looked at him and so simply, so plainly, said that he trusted him. 'I trust you, Tony,' was all that he said but those four words were enough to almost root him to the ground for the moment. He reached out to pull Charlie closer, pressing the tiniest kiss to the top of his head. "You can always trust me, sweetheart. I'll take care of you." And he meant it. God, he meant it. He was going to take care of him, come hell or high water. He gave a soft laugh as the other man said that he didn't know if he could get used to it. "Trust me, it's real easy to get used to it. Pretty soon you's gonna always need to go ridin' around in style. There won't be any other way you'd accept." And he planned on making it just that way for Charlie. It was very important, he felt, that it should be that way. Despite his words, Charlie settled into the seat easily enough and when Spot put an arm around him, he slid in closer towards him. Not quite against his side, but close and there was plenty of room for him to get closer if he wanted to. He was thrilled at how easily Charlie said the setup was perfect. "It ain't got much. Just two small bedrooms and a kitchen, y'know, but it's decent. Quiet, unless them idiots is trompin' around in it. You'll look nice in it," he told him. Honestly, he had a feeling Charlie would make the place feel like a home. |
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| Crutchie Morris | Jan 16 2018, 09:09 AM Post #11 |
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Crutchie both wanted this to end and to never end. A part of him wanted someone to swoop in and save him, come over and tell Crutchie he was suppose to be working...but at the same time, if that were to happen, he'd want this man to give whoever said it a sharp look and say to leave, they were talking. Crutchie felt out of his element, which wasn't something he was use to. He wasn't use to feeling like he was adrift because no one flirted with the likes of him. Or at least they didn't after they saw the crutch, the limp, after they realized he wasn't...perfect or something. But this handsome man with his familiar face and confidence in every single move was standing here and flirting and Crutchie felt...he didn't know what he felt, right now. Too many things at once and staring into those dark eyes wasn't helping, yet he couldn't look away. The man almost purred his words out, using that pet name again and Crutchie's knees wanted to go weak. Thank goodness the counter was there to hold him up, otherwise he might have dropped like a rock. "You's lookin' for a scandal," he found himself saying, knowing the words were suppose to sound scolding, sharp, but instead he just sounded almost bashfully pleased. He couldn't help it, not really. The man before him was handsome and Crutchie had never really gotten to talk properly with handsome men before. Most men seemed more interested in girls or people like his roommates, who had all sorts of varying qualities that Crutchie didn't. Most men might be interested, but then they saw the crutch and they got weird and Crutchie could never quite figure out why. Did they think that it was some kind of painful illness that they might make worse? Did they think it was just unattractive? Did they think that it was something that he could give to him? It didn't really seem to matter because there was always a little bit of flirting until Crutchie had to walk somewhere. Those he could accept, though, because he always felt that the worse ones who didn't flirt at all because Crutchie just hadn't made an impression on him. Maybe it was stupid and selfish, but he hated being out with his roommates and having them all get attention and then there was Crutchie, who was just...there. He gave a lopsided grin as the man asked who wouldn't like the sound of that. "Lotsa guys, honestly," he said ruefully, "I ain't exactly a hot commodity." It hurt a little bit to say, but it was true. He wished he had someone to talk to right in these moments. He wanted to run (hobble) home and tell all the guys that he had met someone and the man had taken the time to flirt with him. But for one thing, that would be abandoning not only his job, but also the man who was flirting with him – he probably wouldn't like it too much if Crutchie just up and disappeared. And for another...well, Crutchie wanted to play this close to his chest, he felt. The man was flirting with him, talking him up, calling him 'sweetheart' and 'doll', but it didn't mean anything. Letting this guy take him out, maybe even being intimate? That didn't mean anything either. Maybe Crutchie was being unfairly jaded, but words and actions didn't mean a whole lot in this world. This man could promise him everything, but at some point he was probably going to go out the door. Even if he had Crutchie on his arm, it didn't necessarily mean...anything. The world was full of people who would say anything to get what they wanted. It needed someone willing to lie, but it also needed someone willing to fall for it. Crutchie? He got the feeling he would fall for it. He wanted to think that all the words were true and this guy had eyes for him, but...a man this handsome had to have people throwing themselves at his feet, begging for even a glance. But Crutchie could live in the moment, he could pretend, especially when this guy spoke and tipped a wink at him. "You seem like you would," he said easily, honestly. The man before him spoke of a man who had money...but not necessarily money that had always been there. Crutchie, in his time working in the big city, had found there were two types of rich people: the kind that always had money and new money. The kind that always had money simply ignored people like Crutchie; to them, Crutchie was more of a door handle or something. He was a fixture that was there to be used, but not necessarily acknowledged. New money was worse, though, because they had money and they hated being reminded of what they use to be; they acknowledged people like Crutchie, but it was to make them feel miserable, to remind them that they had gotten out while they were still in the thick of things. This man was acknowledging him, was talking to him, and engaging him in a way new money never would have and old money never would have thought to. He grinned up at him, eyes still feeling just a little bit hazy from his not quite daydream. "Yeah," he said wistfully, "People would start to talk if you's did that." And Crutchie would be on his arm and not care one bit. Or maybe he would care and it'd only be as much to smirk at people who saw them. He got a smirk as a reward for his words and eyes roaming over him. "Who's to say that's gotta be behind closed doors all the time?" he questioned, maybe a little too boldly. It wasn't just the sex thing, he knew. A gentleman, he felt, would know when to take control, when to tell Crutchie what they were doing rather than asking. It could also be about the sex, he knew, but...He couldn't help grinning as Tony seemed to puff up only to give almost a start at Crutchie's words. And then his eyes met Crutchie's and he found he couldn't look away. "Anything for you, Tony," he offered. Go back, a voice whispered to him, it wasn't too late. He could just walk right back behind the counter and go back to his job and know he would be making his money. It wasn't too late. But...but that seemed too safe. It seemed to simple. Tony had the promise of adventure in his eyes, even if that adventure was just learning what another man's body was like for the first time in his life. Putting his faith into Tony...it seemed like the right thing. Maybe it wasn't the safe thing, but it seemed right. It seemed perfect leaning into him, pressing against his side like he was. This felt better than standing behind the counter and watching people come and go, watching as they spent more money than he ever dreamed about. He'd rather be on Tony's arm, if even for only one night. Tony pulled him closer, kissed his head and Crutchie's knees felt weak. "Promise, Tony?" The words weren't as vulnerable as they could have been, they weren't naïve or innocent. Crutchie knew better, he knew all promises weren't made to be kept, but...it felt like a game almost. A part of the game where he played his part in that he needed Tony's assurance. And it wasn't a part. He wanted to hear those words, even when he knew that Tony wouldn't always be able to keep it. He couldn't help his laugh as Tony said it was real easy to get use to. "So you's says. It ain't ever gonna feel right." Partly because Crutchie didn't have money to pay for anything so nice and odds were good he would never have money like that because he had the feeling that this walking out on a job thing was going to haunt him. Tony could tell him he'd buy everything and anything Crutchie asked for (which he hadn't put on the table yet) but that didn't make it Crutchie's. It felt like...borrowing or maybe just being allowed to look. It wasn't his. But then again, even if it was his, he'd probably cherish it and try to protect it as much as possible because it wasn't like Crutchie had a lot in the way of nice things. But it was pretty easy to settle into the car, especially when Tony was so close. He was close enough that every time Crutchie inhaled, he caught the scent of aftershave and...just him. "We don't need more than that," he said. He didn't know why he had, he didn't know why he made it sound like some kind of domestic arrangement when they hadn't even gotten away from Crutchie's old job. He gave a small grin. "You really think so?" it came out more bashful than he meant it to. He supposed he should be insulted that Tony was saying he'd look nice in it, like he was some kind of furniture, but oddly enough, he felt flattered. He felt warm and like that actually meant something. Edited by Crutchie Morris, Jan 16 2018, 11:53 PM.
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| Spot Conlon | Jan 23 2018, 12:40 PM Post #12 |
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Spot was honestly surprised that no one had interrupted them by now. This place was exceedingly busy - a very up and coming new club where everyone wanted to be seen. There were people going constantly in and out of the place and surely some of them would have left their coats at the desk? Then again, he liked to think that maybe they weren't coming over because they saw him. He and Jack weren't what one would call infamous just yet. They had people who recognized them but they weren't immediately identified by civilians or police. They had a little bit of anonymity still surrounding them, though that was probably going to change soon enough. Still, he liked to imagine people saw him and whispered to themselves that that was Spot Conlon and they'd better not mess with him... or, at the very least, that they didn't want to mess with the tough looking guy at the counter and they'd come back later. He could accept that in lieu of the other right now. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm always lookin' for a scandal," he commented with a quick grin, letting his eyes roam over the other man in an all too blatant way yet again. "Especially with somebody like youse." That was laying it on thick but this guy seemed to like that, honestly. Spot wasn't adverse to that. It was nice to have somebody who seemed interested in him and was reciprocating and who seemed to like things being a bit heavy handed. He could be subtle when he had to be, he was a lot quieter and pensive than people thought he would be, but it was equally nice to not have to dance around and just be direct with desires and interests. His face turned down into a frown when the other man gave a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes and went on to say that a lot of guys didn't seem to want a sure thing with a guy like him. "They all must be stupid or somethin'," he commented breezily. Okay, so the guy had a crutch and his leg was damaged somehow. So what? Maybe he wasn't going to be running around in dangerous situations like Spot was but that was a good thing, wasn't it? Hell, the less Spot would have to worry about this guy being in a dangerous situation the better. "You're a catch, doll." And he believed it. Had anyone else ever caught his attention this way, made him feel this way? He didn't think so. This guy was something else. There was a silence as he stood there and he could see wheels turning, the cogs going in the great machine of the man's mind. Maybe he was having second thoughts? Spot wouldn't like that, although there wasn't much he could do about that. He could try and cajole him further but at some point you just had to give it up as a lost cause. He didn't want to, but sometimes you had to accept you couldn't get what you wanted. What he wanted was something he couldn't just take by force. You couldn't make someone enjoy being on your arm and loving you, not without a considerable amount of fear piled on into that situation and Spot didn't want that. "Ain't no 'seem' about it, sweetheart. I know how to treat a fella." And he did. Not that he had an awful lot of men and dates under his belt but he did know how to treat someone right. His Nona had taken care of that. "I bet you'd like that, wouldn't ya?" he asked the other man as he gave a somewhat dreamy, wistful answer in response to Spot's words. Frankly, Spot would like it, too. That was another reason he and Jack did what they did, although neither of them said that specifically. They liked people talking about them. They liked opening the paper and seeing themselves in the headlines. Spot would feel about ten feet tall if he was a movie star with a gorgeous guy on his arm and the whole world talking about it. His eyebrows shot up a little at the words and he couldn't help but to give a bark of laughter. "Oh, youse just full of surprises, ain't ya?" he questioned, his grin just short of leering. He knew it probably wasn't meant just like sex but he couldn't help but to tease him anyways because he was beautiful and he was responding to Spot and Spot was enjoying watching the way he reacted to things, the way he blushed and fidgeted and would kind of zone out on him in a way that said he was thinking very obviously about certain things. It was adorable and endearing and he loved every second of it. Charlie met his eyes and he didn't back down, didn't turn his gaze away; he just stared back steadily in a way that made him shiver just a tiny bit at what he had going here. "I like the sound of that. You just keep practicin' saying that, sweetheart." Hearing that... that did things to him. He could get used to that. Charlie had multiple options, he knew. He didn't have to come with Spot. He could change his mind, go back to safety. He could bolt - or, well, make his way away from him at least - in the street and decide he didn't want to go with him. He could make all sorts of decisions that didn't involve his going with Spot but did he? No. He just pressed closer in a way that made him want to strut. Spot always liked getting what he wanted, honestly, and this was no different... except it was different. This was something more and it filled him with a tingling, like that feeling when you got the mildest of shocks. Not painful, maybe a little unpleasant, but mostly something that sent shivers through you and made the hairs on your arm stand on end. This was fate, he was sure. "I promise you. I promise I'll die before I let somethin' happen to you. I'm gonna take care of you good and proper," he said, the words taking on more of the aspect of a vow than he had intended, the words more serious than he had intended. This was supposed to be part of the game but he meant it. He would keep him safe and happy and he would die trying to do it. He let himself be distracted by the small laugh and the words. "Ha, just youse wait," he said knowingly. He had felt like that once and so had Jack, so had all of the boys. They had money, they had things, and they weren't used to those things. It felt weird and strange and yet... within a few weeks it was the norm. That was why you kept on doing what you were doing, that was why you kept robbing banks. Because it was too easy to get used to living a life where you could afford a nice car like this and where you had money and it was impossible to go back to not having it anymore. Spot turned a little to look at the other young man as he said that they didn't need more than that. "Naw, we don't. I think it'll suit us just fine." He leaned in then, leaned in close and moved to nudge his nose against the other man's hair, his cheek, and then turned Charlie's head just enough to give him the briefest of kisses that just left him wanting more. He pulled back, keeping an arm around the other man as he moved to start working the car out into traffic. "I think youse gonna make that place feel like somethin' it never felt like before. It's gonna feel like an actual home with you in it." And maybe it was too much and too soon to be saying that but they'd already gone this deep. Spot saw no need to lie, after all. Edited by Spot Conlon, Jan 24 2018, 12:50 PM.
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1:04 PM Jul 11