harshboldcharm | (no subject)

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?"

My son. That's the real answer. He's trying to take some time to get to know his small kid, but he doesn't exactly have any reason to say that, does he?

"Traveling," he says, "I don't stay stagnant for long. Depends on the day. Sometimes I stay, but I haven't been in one place for too long. I like to keep moving."

Warren can relate. He's doing something not unlike it, though instead of going day by day he'll stay a while. Up to a year or so. Then he'll move on again. "Running, or simply restless?" It's usually one of the two, isn't it? Or a combination.

Ah, there's the beer.

"Restless," he says, smiling. Restless is certainly one way to put it. "I like moving around. Sometimes I find a place I like for a while. A person I like for a while." Wink wink. Hint hint.

The beer shows up and Wylie takes a long drink of it. Damn, that's good.

Warren takes that with a grain of salt. Because, simply put, he doesn't know him. Still, there are some conclusions to draw from someone moving around like that. He probably doesn't have a family, or at least not a family he gets along with. "How long have you been doing that?"

It's probably not the kind of stuff you should be throwing around that he doesn't stay put. Makes it sound like he has issues with commitment--he does--or like he is incapable of forming attachements--also true.

"Since I was eighteen," he says. "So, ten years now."

Ten years of drifting? Yep, Warren draws another conclusion. Commitment issues. This is not someone to get attached to. Good to know beforehand.

Quick math. Twenty-eight, which makes him a year older than Warren.

"You ought to have seen most of the country by now."

Wylie has commitment issues and daddy issues and mommy issues and step-daddy issues and being-a-daddy issues and all those issues you can come up with that are family related. None of them make any sense and all of them have fucked with his head. If he's honest with himself, he'll tell you, but the wandering is just about finding someone worth sticking around for. His son is the closest he's got.

"Yeah, quite a bit of it," he says.

They have a thing in common when it comes to daddy issues. Maybe someday they'll swap stories. But not likely today.

"Best place and worst place so far?" He asks after a swallow of beer.

"Best? Right here. New York gives just enough anonymity when you're out. And there's no end of beautiful people," he says, "nothing like people watching here."

He thinks for a second, "The worst is Texas. It takes you more time to drive through Texas than it does to drive through multiple states in some parts of the country. That place is flat and desert and just boring as hell," he says, then grins, "they didn't like me much either, though."

He makes a vaguely agreeing sound. "Bit too preachy around there." He's spent some time outside of Houston. He's been in worse places, but he's not longing to return.

"It's a pity the winters are so miserable here. Otherwise I'd might consider settling."