harshboldcharm | (no subject)

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."

"Are you looking for a place to settle?" Wylie asks. He's been asking himself that same question for some time now. Where for he want to be.

Well, with a son, he's got to be nearby right? No. The kid might have a good step dad or something but Wylie isn't so cold as to think he should abandon it. He knocked a woman up. That's his fault.

He shrugs. "Sometimes I'm considering it, yeah. But after about a year I get restless and end up moving anyway." So yeah, they've got restlessness in common.

"Figured I couldn't be the only one," he says. He's finished off his beer in record time so when the servers comes back for their order he can get another one.

"Alright, batman. Let's hear a little more about you," he smiles, "you leave a broken heart in every town you leave?"

"Nope. At least none that I know of." He's had the odd adventure here and there, but really only one major relationship ever since he started moving around. And she left him rather than the other way around. "I probably work too much to bother." All work and no play, indeed.

"Ah, I'm sure we can fix that. Give you some fun to break up that bouncer act. You've probably seen enough drunk fools to last a lifetime," he suggests. Oh good a second beer shows up for him.

"There's gotta be more you haven't told me," he says. Wylie will always pry.