forgodssake | ic inbox } ataraxion.

I distinctly remember something about subsisting on potatoes and not shaving because of angst. Or something like that.

[He takes a swallow of his drink, then sets it down, looking up at the other man.]

So what's the real story?

That's definitely Raven. I assume the potatoes is indicative of her jealousy towards my own British ancestry, and the other one being-- well, true, if a little reductive.

[ His tone keeps light, even on that last point. Whatever, Raven. ]

The real story, then. Alright. I'm from a relatively standard sort of Earth, specifically 1973. I was headmaster for a school, before it closed, and before that, a recent Oxford graduate in genetics. [ The transition into self-awareness is seamless as he continues with; ] You wanted my CV, I presume. Hang on. [ He neatly finishes off the rest of his drink. Date. Datedatedate. Not an interview.

The buck is efficiently passed, gesturing at Travis with emptied glass; ]

Why don't you give me the highlights of yours, beyond being over 21 and-- that way inclined.

Edited 2015-03-23 04:50 (UTC)

[He smirks over the edge of his drink, amused, before taking a swallow.] I don't think you want to know all of the story. Kinda boring. But let's see... Grew up in foster homes and became a cop, robbery/homicide. My bike- motorcycle, I mean- is my baby, and yes, I'm sad without it. I'm also from Earth, specifically 2013. And I happen to find that accent of yours pretty sexy.

[Conveniently leaving out his joined-at-the-hip-ness with his police partner. But he leans forward a little at his last comment, hoping he'll take it as a compliment.]

[ The absence of any mention of antagonistic life partners on his end is also as deliberate as other specific details that Charles has left out thus far; the difference is, Travis is not a telepath. But glimmering thought of a friend also on board the Tranquility doesn't warrant deeper search.

He smiles at this last part instead. Be cool, Xavier. ]

Deliberately sexy. If I can't rely on what I say to get me by, then I can at least depend on how it's said.

[ He sets aside his empty glass. His posture -- leaned back, lax -- doesn't list forward in return, but his body language stays open, confident, even if his dialogue seems to fritter and fuss around. ]

I've actually lived in New York for significant portions of my life, American citizenry and all, but there it is. You'll be west coast, yes? What department, LAPD?

[ Maybe Travis' accent is a give away. Or Charles is cheating. Or both. ]

[His eyebrows lift a little and the smile is replaced by a slightly surprised expression.]

Yeah, actually.

[He doesn't ask how he knows, assuming it must be his accent.]

Lived mostly in LA, but I've been all over.

[He grabs up his drink and swallows the rest. He's making note of Charles' open posture, but he's usually touching dates by now. He thinks of Blake in a similar bar, how soon he kissed him. Of course they'd met sooner than he and Charles. He presses his lips together, trying to focus on the current date.]

Should I get us another round?

[ It's about there that some decision is made, the dim impression of Travis' thoughts wiring off to prior paramours. Charles is more than a little inoculated to the wild diversions of other people's brains, the unfair observations, the lack or presence of focus -- especially in those he's only just met.

He'd relaxed, when Travis had been upfront over network. He relaxes more at incremental information.

And will leave the news of his telepathy on a shelf, for the time being.

In the name of keeping things simple. ]

Mm. [ Agreeable to the prospect of a second round. The time it takes for Travis to finish his drink and then look back with offer, Charles is studying -- a warmer kind, rather than analytical. Speculative. ] Although, I have at least a quarter bottle of Dewar's whiskey in my room on fourteen, if you'd prefer a better class of liquor.

[In his room. His thoughts race to thoughts of sex, and he licks his lips, not nervously or in anticipation, but just in thought. And just as fast as his thoughts raced to sex, he's thinking, with an exhale of relief, how good it is that he wasn't rejected outright.

He looks back up (having glanced at Charles' lips) and smiles.] You know what, that sounds great.

[He stands and starts for the door, glancing behind to make sure Charles is following.]

[ Charles unfolds himself from his seat once Travis is stood. He's nervous, but at a distance, he can keep it off the radar. His hands tuck into trouser pockets and he quick-steps to catch up, posture upright without being stiff.

(And tries not to laugh outwardly at fretting that Marks might anticipate rejection from him.

I mean really.)

As they leave the bar, onwards for the elevators-- ]

Tell me something. You've not been here very long. Do you call this landing on ones feet, or distraction?

[ Here they are, swanning out of a basically empty bar, out into the industrial, dimly lit tunnels of the gigantic kidnap spaceship in another dimension. ]

Do I call this- [He gestures between them.] -one of those? [He doesn't wait for an answer.] Mm... landing on one's feet, I'd say. Nothing I'm really distracting from.

[Nothing really horrid has happened to him (yet). He may be using sex to get the intimacy he really desires without having to worry about getting rejected when feelings are in the mix. No heart involved, no mess. He presses the button to call the elevator, letting his arm maybe purposefully touch Charles' as it falls back to his side.]

What about you?

Yet to be determined.

[ There's an absent glance after that arm, then back up, smile skewing crooked. He nudges back with the edge of his elbow, slightly more friendly than incidentally flirty. ]

You're distracting regardless.

[ Ding. Doors open, the populated levels meaning these things are never far away. Charles moves first, a step inside that turns him to face Travis even as his hand wanders out to touch on level fourteen, eye contact maintained, almost pinning, even if it angles up.

Which is definitely more than incidentally flirty. ]

[Good. He likes being distracting. And that crooked smile.

He lets Charles go first, and feels his stare as he wanders in with him. His cocky smile melts away to something strangely close to awe. The doors close, and he waits for Charles to press the button before he's suddenly closer. Now, he can probably feel a little nervousness in Travis. There's always a fear of moving in too soon, but that look felt like an invitation. A hand moves to cup Charles' cheek, the other finding a resting place at his hip. He leans in to share breaths with him, their lips close but not touching, close enough for Charles to lean in, should he wish, but still an opportunity to pull away. His face is a big question mark- 'Is this too soon?']

[ Probably.

But here we are, and there is a kindness in the subtle points of contact and the gentling in Travis' expression that is as attractive as forthrightness. Intimacy introduces new details -- cigarette smoke that's had some time to settle into the weave of his shirt, in his hair (shot fine with some silver-grey, visible at this proximity, under starker light), but cleanliness otherwise. A trace of something metallic and chemical, likely the labs.

Hands close on the lapels of Travis' jacket, tugging him in closer while his chin tips up to meet kiss. Smothering out nervousness, softly. ]

[Travis is used to the smell of cigarettes. He used to smoke, and boy, does the smell of the smoke in Charles' clothes make him want one. He thinks of an inhale of smoke, and he's glad for the distraction of Charles' lips on his.

The nervousness is smothered quite easily with the physical contact. It's something he's used to, taking out his emotions through physical fights with Wes, and sex with other people.

His fingers move across the stubbled hair along Charles' jaw, and then he's kissing back harder, his lips moving against the other man's.]

[ Leather creaks under the twist of Charles' hands, only letting go to find another resting place for them -- tucked beneath open jacket, splayed against Travis' ribs, warm skin through thinner fabric. It's nice, this, mindlessly kissing, accepting more than marking the differences between this and encounters with women. Encounters with Erik.

Harder contact is accepted, eliciting a rough, inarticulate sound from the back of his throat, which must be a positive one because he responds in kind, and the blunt edge of fingernails can be felt catching in the weave of shirt. Fitting his body tighter against the other man's. Sweetness listing to a hint of hunger, but holding back.

While they're in a public elevator.

So lets just do that until the doors open on level fourteen. Eventually, a hint of a smile can be felt pressed into kiss. ]

Edited (hands hands) 2015-03-24 12:08 (UTC)

[If Travis was a little timid before, he's not now. He nips at Charles' bottom lip before returning to kissing him eagerly, his thumb rubbing rough against the hair on Charles' face.

Charles is holding back just a bit, and Travis holds back in kind. Just barely not pushing it in a public space. He sneaks the hand on his hip up, though, snaking it under his shirt to feel the warm skin of his stomach.

Travis almost groans at the sound of the doors opening. But he feels him smile against his lips and he can't help but chuckle. He presses his lips against Charles' one last time before murmuring-] I guess this is your floor.

[It's hard to extricate himself from the warmth of Charles' body, but Travis manages to do it, and smiles at Charles before walking out of the elevator, putting his hand on the space where the door comes out so Charles won't get left behind. He'll let Charles lead the way to his room.]

[ He steps out as invited, a hand chasing absently after where Travis' had snaked beneath his shirt, smoothing fabric, still feeling touch like it had come with electrical charge. But composure, with a slight hair toss en route into corridor, is gathered for the walk to room 100.

It's very quiet. Unpopulated. No ambiance of opening doors, conversations behind the walls. His posture is very prim, by course of habit. ]

Now, [ Charles says, turning to walk backwards a few paces so as to address Travis directly ] you'll have to forgive me, but there's a labrador I'll have to relocate from my room before we go much further.

[ He turns back to see where he's going, passing door after door. ]

Otherwise he'll expect all attention is for him.

[Travis sticks his hands in his pockets, following him down the hall. At the mention of a dog, his eyes widen and he smiles.]

Can I meet him first? What's his name?

[Travis and animals are like peanut butter and jelly. Most animals love him. Of course, he won't let the focus stray too much. His hands really miss the warmth of Charles' body.]

See? Immediately.

[ But his tone is good natured, a little pleased. Dog people are good people. And maybe having room to breathe and talk before more drinks, more of that back there happen, isn't such a bad thing. ]

Of course you can. His name's Lincoln. He's a bit jumpy, I've not yet convinced him that manners matter. Did you leave a significant other behind?

[ There's a slight skip quickstep once door is in range. ]

Of the canine variety, I mean.

[He looks up at the significant other question, surprised, before he clarifies.]

Surprisingly, no. My apartment's too damn small. I actually have a dog here, though. Joint custody with my police partner. But Hudson is Randi's dog- my ex-girlfriend's, I mean. He's a drug dog, and we took care of him when Randi was in the hospital. He's a German Shepherd. He's staying with Wes this week.

Really?

[ Charles stops short of the million immediate friendly reactions that spring to mind, like sharing the dog biscuits he's figured out how to bake in quantity, meat slurry recipes for regular feeding, offers for dog-related play dates in the Gardens, because maybe overtures of friendship don't go hand in hand with someone you're planning to get into bed with in the next short while. He'd already pledged to himself to keep it simple.

Later. A later time. He does add; ]

Hudson's a good name, rather New York -- I'd like to meet him too, perhaps. [ He waves his door open, and immediately, a lanky black labrador is sleepily wandering out to greet him, before immediately perking up at the scent of someone new. Lincoln shoots past Charles' reaching hands to, as promised, leap up in enthusiasm, paws aiming for belly. ] Lincoln.

[He nods at the 'really?' with a smile. He thinks about offering a doggy play date himself before he thinks maybe he should wait and see how they want to continue.]

Yeah. He loves new people. Just don't kiss me in front of him. He likes to bark at lovers who aren't Randi.

[He shrugs, but then he's got a dog leaping up on him. With a grin, Travis squats down so he's more at Lincoln's level.] Hey, Lincoln. I'm Travis.

[And yep, he sure is using a goofy, smooshy voice to talk him.] What a good boy you are, yes.

[He stands then, though, not wanting to spend all his time petting Lincoln.]

He's a sweetie, [he says, addressing Charles.]

[ By the time Travis is standing, Charles is leaning a shoulder against the wall, watching with the kind of satisfied-ly charmed expression of, you know, attractive Americans being nice to your pet. It's a specific phenomena, but notable. ]

Born and bred on the Tranquility. It's a little easier for him, I expect, jumps and things, people coming and going.

[ He whistles, sharp, snagging the labrador's attention. ]

I'll get him settled -- make yourself at home, as you like. Liquor's on the dresser.

[ Charles heads off to install the dog a few doors down, Lincoln obediently dogging his heel.

These places are hard to decorate. Nonetheless, Charles' room of level fourteen, number one hundred, feels lived in. The Dewar's bottle is where he said, next to a few empty glasses lined up nearby for occasions such as these. Around the place are a couple of actual facts books, some paper notes, a few clothes tossed on the second unoccupied bed. An ashtray on the nearest bed stand. Not strict and tidy, but not overly messy either. ]

[He wanders in, looking around a bit. He doesn't touch anything, just glances at the books before retrieving the liquor and a couple of the glasses.

He sits at the table in his room and pours them both a little, sliding the other cup to the other side of the table. He's currently wondering just how smart Charles is. He seems really smart. Travis isn't a dumbie; he's got a high IQ. But he's betting Charles is, like, a genius or something.]

[ It takes a couple of minutes. Charles has a few dog-related things stashed away, so he isn't leaving his labrador in a random room for the sake of a hook up -- a bowl is filled, water supplied, a few dedicated ear scratches, before he returns.

The doors slides shut behind him, moving around behind Travis, letting his fingertips brush over the horizon of the other man's shoulders as he goes. Intimacy re-established, however lightly. ]

Cheers.

[ That hand reaches for glass, collecting it up as he goes to sit. ]

Now that I've cornered you, I don't mind saying it's been some time since I've done anything like this, [ is said over the top of glass. Factual, as opposed to emotive. His nerves are his own business. ]

[He takes a swallow of his drink before replying.] Not a problem.

[He slips out of his jacket, letting it fall against the back of the chair, before pushing up his sleeves and standing up, going over to Charles. This time, it's Travis behind him, fingers lightly following the curve of his neck into his shoulder, and resting there. He presses a kiss to his neck, then leans up to murmur-] Mind if I move things a little faster?

[Travis was never one for patience.]

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