harshboldcharm | (no subject)

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.

Warren is still only about halfway through his first beer. But then he doesn't really like to drink all that much. When one can set fire to things with just a thought, it's better to keep a clear head.

"Not at all. I can totally sum up my life in three minutes. Can't you?" Yep, he does sarcasm. "What do you want to know?"

He's at least slowed down on the second one. For the most part, Wylie can hold his liquor.

"Oh yeah, totally," he replies with equal amounts of sarcasm. "I want to know whatever you would tell me if you were trying to impress me."

"That would imply that I felt a need to impress you." Which he really doesn't. It kind of seemed like he'd done that already. "But for the sake of playing along? Let's see..."

There was of course the obvious I-can-set-myself-on-fire thing, but that wasn't going to enter the conversation. What else did he have?

"The freerunning you've already seen. Been into that for seven years. Been playing guitar since I was about eight. I ride a Harley, and I've kinda lost track of how many hours I've spent at the tattoo parlor." The flames around his wrists hinted now and had been fully visible earlier when he'd been in a t-shirt. But whatever else he had was covered up.

"You've got a Harley?" he asks, looking kind of impressed. That's cool to find someone else who has that many things in common with him. "I drive a Ducati," he says with a grin.

Wylie plays guitar and also has tattoos, but his aren't quite right in your face like those flames on Warren's arms. He's not sure exactly what his comparison is. Wylie doesn't spend a lot of money on body accessories. Not to say he doesn't love to get them done.

"You keep getting more and more attractive, man. You doing that on purpose?" he asks with a grin.