harshboldcharm | (no subject)

"Naah." Before he has a chance to answer further there's raised voices from just nearby, a drunk guy who's hassling a girl. Wylie is promptly abandoned, and half a minute later after a failed attempt to calm down the guy and having to had to dodge a sloppy swing of a fist, Warren has him pinned down on the ground in a firm hold. One of his colleagues comes out shortly after, and the circus of getting the guy into the hands of the proper authorities starts. It all happens surprisingly quickly and efficiently, and soon the guy is taken away in the back of a police car.

Wylie is watching from where he is casually leaning against the wall and watching all this unfold. He's impressed with how swiftly the bouncer deals with the drunk guy. It isn't long before he's got the drunken moron pinned down and then passed off to police.

"That looked fun," he calls to him, looking as relaxed as ever as he leans there.

"Yeah, hilarious," Warren responds as he returns to his post by the door, a bit more growly now when he's got an increased measure of adrenaline still running through his system. Breathing a deep sigh he wills himself to relax. Time always crawls by if he's tense.

Wylie looks at him, out to the street and back to him. "You're kind of a downer, Warren. For a handsome guy who could probably have whoever he wanted..." Wylie shakes his head and doesn't finish that part of the sentence.

"I'd love to help you be a little happier," he says next.

Que one raised eyebrow. Not even he can misinterpret He may be oblivious most of the time, but he has certainly been hit on while working before, but... It's usually women.

If anything, he just seems surprised. But before he has a chance to respond there's another interruption, this time by one of his colleagues - a big guy in his fifties - who comes to trade places with him. "Go on in, kid. Let a man get some fresh air. Besides, I know how much you hate the door. Go on, git."

And so, without further adue, he gives Wylie a look and a shrug, and disappears into the crowded bar.

Wylie doesn't follow Warren into the bar. That looks like stalking and he's not about to go and do that. Instead, he nods to the older gentleman, gives a farewell salute and heads on down the street.

Two nights later, Wylie makes a trip to that same bar and finds that the bouncer wasn't there, which was dissappointing. He spent some time flirting with a female bartender and asking about him. She didn't give up much, despite what Wylie thinks are flawless charming tactics.

The next day is when he suddenly notices a man, running and bounding off of curbs and walls and planters and whatever else that he realizes he's seeing that same fucking bouncer. He stands there, in the path that Warren is taking. Wylie tilts his head, holding a cigarette in between his fingers at his side and watches. The man has an incredible range of motion, watching how he manages to know where all of his limbs are at once. Wylie has a hard time not running into coffee tables on a regular basis, he can't imagine doing this.

As Warren gets closer, Wylie applauds him, "that's pretty good, bro."

When Warren runs he tends to be in his own little world. He's certainly aware of of the world around him, from the static objects he can use to make his path, to the people moving around him that he needs to avoid. But he's still very centered within himself, concentrated on what he's doing. That's why he's right up close to the tall, wiry man before he even notices, coming to a stop at the applause, crouched on a railing at the top of some stairs.

It takes him a few seconds to recognize him. "Wylie, wasn't it?"

Wylie grins when he remembers his name. "Yeah," he says, taking one last drag from the cigarette and then stamping it out against the concrete. He's got his eyes narrowed against the light hitting his face.

"So, you what? Vigilante training?" he asks, and then gets a big smile, "Are you the Bat Man?"

He can't help a chuckle at that. "Oh yeah. I'm a genuine superhero." What makes it funnier is that, well, he is. Or at least was, and it's not at all unlikely that he will be again.

He pushed off from the railing and lands smoothly next to Wylie with nothing but a a quiet thud as the soles of his sneakers hit the pavement. "Or it's just a workout."

Wylie leans in a little, playfully looking him over, "I would say that sounds like a cover up. Thou dost protest to much."

Leave it to Wylie to invade personal space a little more than he should, but he's still looking at this guy. He's drawn in my him. Maybe it's that sort of aloofness to the whole thing.

"Hey, you never told me if you'd let me take you out," he says. Really Wylie? Is that what you asked? No one believes you that it was so innocent as that.

The thing with Warren is that things like flirting and romantic encounters or relationships have never played a big part in his life. He's never really thought about a guy in any romantic or sexual way, but then again he doesn't think that about women either half the time. People are people, and people first. Gender doesn't really matter when things are usually kept at a platonic level, and thus pretty secondary. The idea of a guy hitting on him - which is impossible not to notice, even he's not that blind - is simply unusual more than anything else.

"I don't remember you asking," he simply says, looking somewhat skeptical but not really put off.

"That's fair," Wylie says, "I don't usually ask. Usually I tell people they're going out with me. I mean, c'mon, I'm really hard to turn down."

He gives an open armed gesture to imply that, hell yeah, I'm awesome.

Wylie seems to have a similar but opposite response to gender. It isn't that he sees certain people as possible sexual partners but rather that he sees people as people and potential sexual partners.

"I see." The guy was cocky as hell and way too full of himself. But, Warren had to admit, he was at least fun. "And that usually works for you?"

He remained somewhat skeptical, but he couldn't help but to be kind of impressed He sure as hell would never manage that relaxed and sure as hell way of flirting with someone else. Hell, he didn't even know how to flirt, period.

Wylie laughs, "Fuck no. I've been slapped before, believe me. I figure telling people I get turned down though isn't the way to go. Confidence is key," Wylie explains with that ever-cocky grin of his.

"Think of it this way, you're the catch here. I'm the one chasing you, right? This ain't about how good I am, it's about how bad I want you," he gives a crooked smile.

Okay, that's... That's a compliment. He thinks. Kinda aggressive and direct, though, considering they've had, what? Not even five minutes worth of conversation? Which leads Warren to think that the guy is simply out to get laid.

Well, nothing wrong with that, is there? Not if he's being honest about it.

He gives a somewhat exasperated sigh. "Before anything else, I need a shower." He's been out running for a while, he really does need one.

But, really. Why not? If nothing else it would be company over a beer or two.

Aggressive is what Wylie does. He knew that was throwing down all his cards and hoping to god that this is what was going to work, but if the guy said no? Yeah, he would know to back off.

But he doesn't have to back off. Maybe he doesn't have to go as aggressively as he has been, but now he's got the date.

"We could meet a little later. Don't mean to rush you from your workout, Batman," Wylie says.

"I'm gonna be stuck with that nickname, aren't I?" He asks with a wry kind of half-smile. Eh, he's had worse.

"There's a pub a couple of blocks up. Brennan's. Say in about an hour?" He has the night off, and with the week he's had he's earned a couple of beers.

Wylie nods, "Oh, yeah, absolutely."

Who wouldn't want to be called fucking Batman? Wylie would die for that kind of nickname. Fuck.

He grins when Warren gives a suggestion for the pub to go to and Wylie nods, tucking his hands in his pockets. "Sounds good. I'll see you there," he says as he takes a few steps backwards, giving him an appreciative look up and down and then turning to keep moving.

Wylie gets to Brennan's probably before Warren and stands outside up against the wall to have another cigarette.

Warren doesn't live that far from there, close enough that he can continue his run on his way home and still not have to rush with his shower and the walk back.

"Do you have a thing for leaning against walls outside of bars?" Not in uniform, not in workout clothes, but now he looks like he usually does. Boots, jeans that he's had long enough for them to be thoroughly worn in and have gotten that perfect fit but not long enough for holes to start to appear, a somewhat washed-out black Guns'n'Roses t-shirt and his beloved leather jacket on top of that. His hair is still damp after his shower and is pulled back into a ponytail.

Jesus Christ, that man knows how to look deliciously ragged. Wylie is immediately imagining getting a hand in that hair of his. No, not in it, pulling it by the pony tail. His mind goes to dirty places.

Wylie on the other hand is in grey skinny jeans and a t-shirt with a pair of Chucks. No jacket. That unkempt mohawk laying down to the right side of his head. The rest of his head is buzzed.

"I know how I look best," he says with a grin. Pushing off he takes a bold step forward into Warren's personal space. It's nice being the same height as him. He can get a good look at his mouth. "C'mon," he says, opening the door and holding it for Warren to enter.

Choosing not to comment, Warren steps in. The pub is a come-as-you-are kind of place, people hanging out at the bar and scattered at tables. He waves at the bartender, obviously familiar with him, and picks up a couple of menus from a corner of the bar on the way to a table. He's hungry so this might as well turn into dinner.

"The fish'n'chips is good," he says after having taken a seat, handing one of the menus over. "The ribs are even better."

Wylie follows him, taking a look at his ass while he can and sits down across from him once they've got a table. Apparently dinner is happening too. Wylie seems very happy about this.

"Ribs sound pretty good right now," he says. Wylie isn't much for eating battered and fried fish. Fish in tacos? Yes.

"Alright, Warren. You said you're not from here. Where are you from?"

"Maxville. A town a bit east from Cleveland." A waitress is quick to come around to take their orders for food and drink, and quickly scurries off again.

"You don't sound like you're from around here either. My bet would be California."

Ah, good old, Ohio. Wylie's been there. He drove through Maxville. There's some weird folk there.

"Did the fact that I called you bro and dude give it away?" he asks with a smile. That's usually the kicker there, but also the slightly nasally tone and the hard emphasis on 'r' sometimes does it, too.

"It was a clue," he replies with a slight shrug. He hasn't spent a lot of time in those parts, but he's been there long enough to have picked up on Wylie's slight accent. "What brings you to New York?"