Tim Drake-Wayne (redrobin) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-12-18 15:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | legolas, red robin |
WHO Malcolm & Spencer
WHAT Tea after Yoga class
WHEN Recently
WHERE At a Yoga studio & then a nearby cafe
WARNINGS Cute. So cute.
After talking to Malcolm on the journals, Spencer was looking forward to his next yoga class. He arrived a bit late, unfortunately, so they didn’t have any time to talk before class, but still, he nodded his head in the direction of the attractive young man wearing a UCLA shirt. He tried to keep an eye on the man throughout the session, but eventually he just got lost in the exercises and routines, finding his inner peace. All of the stress and complications of his relationship with Nick melted away. His aches and sores got tucked away in the back of his mind as he focused on his breathing and by the time class had ended, Spencer was feeling much better and definitely looking forward to saying hello to Malcolm. The rest of the class trickled out before Spencer made his way over to the other brunette. “Hi, Malcolm?” he greeted warmly, just a touch of uncertainty in his voice because there was always a chance he’d be wrong. “I’m Spencer,” he added, introducing himself and extending a hand to shake. He was wearing his UNLV sweats and a work out tee, like he’d said he would, so if it was Malcolm, he should’ve been able to recognize him from how they’d been talking. Still, he didn’t want to take any chances. Malcolm was rolling his mat up to tuck it into his bag when Spencer approached, and he stood up with a smile -- granted, his heart was thudding a little harder in his chest, but whether that was from nerves or the class, who could say? “It’s nice to meet you,” he said, reaching out to shake his proffered hand. His UCLA shirt was an unremarkable grey thing, the blue and gold letters faded from years of wear, but that was yoga clothes for you -- his black trousers were lean and unremarkable, too. Still, the American school clashed a bit with his accent, the warm, round vowels of southern England clearly shaping his pleasant tenor voice. “Bit easier face to face, really. My handwriting is notoriously terrible.” His handshake was warm and firm, friendly without being too excited, as the rest of his general demeanor was. Spencer was nothing if not friendly, though he tried to keep in mind that not everyone was as used to being friendly as he was. “A pleasure,” he replied with a grin, taking in the look of the other man. Quite cute, too. “It’s nothing to worry about, trust me. My handwriting is only legible because it had to be,” he offered. “Are you running off somewhere? Or can I tempt you with a cup of tea?” Spencer grinned. “There’s a cafe just at the corner,” he explained, gesturing vaguely to the far end of the room as if to say the cafe was that way. “I wouldn’t mind tea at all,” Malcolm agreed, something shy about his acceptance, about the smile on his face, a reserved sort of pleasure. He pulled a fleece out of his bag, a comfortable black thing, and pulled it over his head. Winter in Las Vegas was still winter, and he knew cold air against warm muscles would be agony. “I’m putting off rehearsing for Christmas gigs, anyway, this is a marvellous excuse, really.” Spencer laughed warmly, glad he could help the other man procrastinate just a bit. After Malcolm got his fleece on, Spence held his hand out for the other man’s bag to carry for him. “I’m glad to be of service,” he replied with a grin. “What kind of Christmas gigs are you rehearsing for?” he asked curiously, leading them out of the studio and onto the sidewalk, easily turning them up the right direction so that they were headed to the small cafe just on the corner, as he’d said it was. Malcolm found Spencer taking his bag absolutely and unexpectedly charming, and really, he couldn’t stop smiling, walking along companionably. The air was pleasantly cool, pinking his cheeks. “The usual. I have at least four Messiahs lined up. I’m a cellist, if I didn’t say. Well, I do a lot of things, but primarily, I’m a cellist. And Christmas and Easter are good times for classical music,” he explained, his hands fluttering as he talked, like expressive birds on the wing. He couldn’t remember if Malcolm had said about being a cellist so he gave a shrug that could’ve been either a yes or a no. “How many instruments do you play? I can believe that about the music. My father was a preacher so Christmas and Easter were kind of a big deal in our house,” he explained with an amused smile. Things were much better now that there was a good bit of distance between him and his parents and neither of them needed to see him with a boyfriend or keeping up with his friends and wondering if there was anything going on there. Neither his mother nor his father approved of his choice in partners. It was just a fact of life. “You must be quite talented then. I’m sure you’ll be looking forward to a nice break after the holidays are over,” he added as they came up to the cafe. Out of habit, Spencer stepped ahead to pull the door open for Malcolm. “After you,” he said warmly. “Cheers,” Malcolm said appreciatively, stepping inside. The air was warm, and smelled pleasantly of coffee, which was always nice, and he rubbed his hands together, trying to encourage the warmth in his fingers. “I was a music major at university, so I have a fair number under my belt, strings and piano primarily, but I can dabble all over, if needs be. Which is pretty par for the course, really. Doesn’t everyone learn to diversify just in case?” Spencer had stopped into this particular cafe a few times before so he led Malcolm right over to a small table in a quiet corner and gesturing for the barista to bring them a small menu for the other man to peruse. “You’re very talented, I see,” he observed, obviously pleased that Malcolm seemed happy with what he was doing. “Do you just perform for people who hire you out or do you work for an orchestra?” The question itself and the way he asked it likely informed Malcolm about just how little Spencer knew about musicians and how their jobs worked. The barista came with the menu and Spence deferred to Malcolm before ordering his own English Breakfast tea. “Green tea, for me, thanks,” Malcolm asked the barista, handing back the menu. Then, he turned all his attention back to Spencer. “I work at the Venetian, I play the Phantom of the Opera show. I’ve been in the pit for about a year now, come to think of it. It’s fairly demanding, they do a few shows a night, but the pay is good, so that’s something. I still gig on the side, the show will probably close sooner or later. The joys of music.” He shrugged. “But you’re an army recruiter, yeah? I’m pretty sure that’s what you said.” He made a mental note about the green tea, always paying attention to the little things, and listened intently as Malcolm explained what he did for a living. “I’ve heard good things about that show. I know they’re celebrating their 25th anniversary on Broadway,” Spencer replied, but that was about as relevant as he could get on the subject. “Do you enjoy it, despite how demanding it is? You must be able to play those songs in your sleep,” he joked lightly. Malcolm laughed, ducking his head a little, and his curls were floppy around his face, dark and soft. “I do, really. The orchestration is lush, and there’s some really intelligent stuff going on in it, for all that it’s an 80s rock opera monstrosity. I really respect Lloyd Webber, though, he’s not a dumb composer, nor is he a hack. He thinks about what he’s doing. And even if I don’t always like his stuff, that’s not to say it’s bad stuff, does that make sense? He doesn’t churn out meaningless rubbish as a general rule.” Wasn’t that just the cutest? Spencer’s smile was much more fond this time, as he listened to Malcolm talk about Andrew Lloyd Weber, the composer of Phantom, he assumed. “It makes perfect sense. I can relate somewhat, though more about the decisions the higher ups make. I can respect them, but it doesn’t mean I necessarily have to like the order that are coming down,” he explained, hoping he wasn’t making too much of a stretch in finding something they could connect with. “I am an Army recruiter,” he replied belatedly. “I work at UNLV currently, but I’m just waiting for my contract to be up. Just a few more months, and then I won’t need to be worried about deploying ever again.” That was a huge relief right there. “And then you’re out of the army altogether?” Malcolm asked, trying to understand. “Or you’re on reserve, or ... I’m really completely clueless about the whole military thing, it’s quite different back home and was never, admittedly, on my career radar. So they could deploy you now, if they wanted? That seems awful.” Spencer nodded. “Altogether. I’ve been on active duty for almost a decade. I sign four year contracts at a time and mine will be up in the coming months. I can be deployed, overseas or wherever they say really, at any time without any notice. Generally, there’s talk about where we might be deployed and when if that’s a possibility, but thankfully things are quiet. I used to be based out in California, but then the journals happened and I requested a transfer out here. Do you know anyone here? Or any of the others through your door?” The barista came over with their teas and Spencer quietly thanked her before returning his attention to Malcolm. Malcolm wrapped his long fingers around the white cup of steaming tea. It smelled good -- clean and fresh, with that astringent, lovely note he liked so much. “Well, my sister’s come over from England for a little bit, and funnily enough, she’s got a voice and all of her own. Does it run in families? I hadn’t thought to ask.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, I’m still meeting people. I have ... really solid tendencies towards being a recluse if allowed. Mostly, my dog has been my social life. And yoga classes. What about you? Do you have family out here?” Spencer did the same with his tea, blowing on the steaming liquid just lightly. It was just a touch too hot for his tastes. “I don’t think so, though it does seem that there are quite a few siblings on the journals. I imagine it makes things easier, knowing that there’s family to rely on. I’m glad your sister is here for you,” he replied honestly. “I don’t have any family, no. Only child,” he admitted almost shyly. “I’ve got a few friends here though, and my kid through the door certainly keeps me busy,” Spencer said before taking a hesitant sip of his tea. Still a bit too hot. “Have you been through yet?” “Not yet,” Malcolm allowed. He sipped at the tea. Still hot, and it singed his tongue slightly. Best to let it wait yet. “I should. It’s just ... intimidating. And I don’t really know what’ll happen, honestly. But my voice keeps prodding me to go, he’s bloody insistent, really.” Spencer nodded, all to understanding of a pushy Alter. “It’s probably not too bad,” he offered. “Do you know who he is then? That’s generally half the battle as far as I’ve known. He’ll probably get better once you let him through for the first time and then as long as you can work out some sort of schedule, it helps. I hope he’s not too demanding, though,” Spencer offered kindly. “It sounds so ridiculous to admit it aloud, but I think he’s from Lord of the Rings,” Malcolm admitted with another of those sheepish, shy ducks of his head. “The er, blond elf one. I only saw those films once at university in England, and I think I promptly forgot them thereafter.” “Legolas?” Spencer asked, before he could help himself. “Sorry,” he followed that up with, his own sheepish smile coming to his lips. “I had an ex who was really into comics and things. I watched Lord of the Rings hoping it might be one of the many things he was into, but it turned out he was more into Batman and the like, which is ironic because now I’ve got Tim Drake in my head,” Spence explained with a fair amount of ease. “He’s one of the Robins in the Batman series,” he added, knowing not everyone was up on the storylines. “Oh!” Malcolm said. That reference, he at least understood. Everyone knew the Robin half of Batman-and-Robin. At least, everyone in the English-speaking world, he thought. “Oh, wow. That ... seems like a lot of responsibility. And your Alter has a kid there? That’s a lot to handle.” A bark of laughter escaped and Spencer was glad he hadn’t been drinking his tea, otherwise it would’ve been sprayed all over Malcolm. “No, no. He is a kid. Only 19. He feels like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders and the like. It’s difficult, but I help him out as best I can,” he replied with a shrug. “Oh, sorry, sorry, misunderstood,” Malcolm apologised, and his face pinked again. He fumbled for a moment, internal chastisement set to stun -- way to listen, self, he’s going to think you’re a right idiot now -- but managed to recover, at least somewhat. “Nineteen’s tough. I recall nineteen. I was bloody miserable. Didn’t have the weight of the world on my shoulders, but I was still bloody miserable and really, phenomenally stupid, honestly.” Spencer winced just slightly as Malcolm apologized. “No, no, it’s okay,” he replied quickly, realizing his mistake at laughing. Damn. He hadn’t meant it like that. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he apologized. “I was already in the Army then, so I get it. We work pretty well together, for the most part. I hope things go well with Legolas, though I’m sure they will. He seemed pretty awesome from the movies,” he commented, before trying his tea once more. Much better. “I hope so. I think I’m frustrating to him. He complains about me like human beings are a species of particularly fragile goats or something,” Malcolm said, laughing a little. “And I am the most recalcitrant of them all! I try not to be, he’s just ... terribly insistent, you know, really dreadfully insistent.” “Oh no,” Spencer frowned. “The only thing I can really think of is just seeing if things get better after you let him through the door. Otherwise, I’ll be sure to have a word with him afterwards,” he promised with a smile. That, he could do. Hopefully it would help, if it really came down to it. “You’ll let me know how it is after you’ve crossed?” he asked before taking another sip of his tea. “Yeah, absolutely,” Malcolm said with a smile, and it was a boyish expression, equal parts charmed and charming, dimples showing in his cheeks. “It’s rather delightful, how forthcoming and helpful people are. I suppose this is rather an odd little club that we’re all in, isn’t it?” “Very odd,” Spencer agreed, his smile wide and obviously quite happy. “Most of us are pretty helpful, but there are some out there that’ll take advantage of you. Just be careful, okay? Wouldn’t want you to end up hurt or anything,” he warned quite sincerely, a small smile playing on his lips. Malcolm nodded solemnly. “I know, don’t trust everyone. But you have to trust some people, occasionally. Life’s hard enough as it is, why make it harder thinking everyone’s out to get you?” He shrugged. “I know, I’m probably naive. I recognise that Americans are a rather different breed, so on and so forth, and God only knows who’s coming through as Alters and things. I do try to be careful, trust my instincts, all that.” “Instincts are good, and if you ever need any help, feel free to reach out to me,” he offered in all seriousness. “I don’t know everyone on the journals, but I can at least be a familiar face if you’re uncomfortable about meeting someone else.” He paused. “Well, provided your instinct says you can trust me. I hope it does,” Spencer added, a touch shy despite the obvious hope in his tone. “It does,” Malcolm said simply, honestly. “Or else, I wouldn’t have told you where to meet me and agreed to a cup of tea thereafter, now would I?” He grinned, and it, too, was boyish, a bit cheeky at that. He wasn’t always playful, but it seemed the right timbre now. It was so easy to get bogged down in who to trust and the potentially dire consequences of everything. Wasn’t a bit of cheek and playfulness a better answer? At least, more pleasant, if nothing else. Spencer laughed again, this time warm and friendly, and when he shifted his legs, his foot nudged accidentally against Malcolm’s. His cheeks tinged pink just slightly and a muffled, “Sorry,” came after that. He busied himself with a sip of tea before clearing his throat. “I’m glad you agreed. I was prepared to ask again next time as well, though I just might regardless,” he replied with a teasing smile that was half hidden behind the lip of his cup. “Well, so long as you don’t actually prove to be a complete creeper between now and then, that seems a pleasant prospect to me,” Malcolm replied, still teasing, but it was light and easy, the edge of flirtation. Just the edge of that country, carefully skirting it, making tentative forays into the territory. His smile was entirely warm and winning, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes and his dimples showing. “But I highly doubt you secretly are. Creepers don’t open doors or carry my bag for me. They’re always far more entitled than that, and you aren’t. You just ... aren’t, I don’t think. Maybe I’m wrong. But I do hope I’m not.” His smile had yet to fade and that was more than he could ever have hoped for. Usually, after yoga, his stresses and worries crept back in fairly quick. Today though, he had an even longer reprieve and Spencer was certain that had to do with how enjoyable Malcolm’s company was. “I don’t know if it’s possible for me to be a creeper but I’m also not about to try,” he reassured the other man. “I’m sure there’s a creeper out there somewhere playing the gentleman to find a fool, but you’re no fool and I don’t have any nefarious ulterior motives.” It was almost laughable that Spencer could ever have a nefarious motive for anything, given how genuinely kindhearted he was. He did, however, have good ulterior motives for striking up a friendship with Malcolm. He wanted to find people outside of Nick and Jade, the door, and everything else. “Then I’ll take it on good faith that this is a good thing to come from those books,” Malcolm said, with assuredness that surprised even himself. He needed to get out more, obviously, his reclusive ways weren’t good for him -- Gemma had told him so, many times, so much so that over the years, he could practically recite the litany of her complaints by heart. He just smiled, pushing his messy curls back from his face (though they just flopped back down persistently). “This is all ... really nice. It’s so strange and delightful to not feel like hearing somebody’s voice in the back of my head doesn’t make me a complete raving nutter, you know? And not only that, to discover genuinely lovely people in the process ... it’s just really, utterly marvellous.” Spencer nodded in agreement and even lifted his glass, saying, “I’ll drink to that,” with a warm, light sort of smile. It was a teensy bit cheesy, maybe, but he thought Malcolm would get a kick out of it. The way the other man’s curls just flopped back into place had Spencer itching to reach out and push those curls back behind his ear, but he resisted. He didn’t want to startle the poor man or scare him off. “I’m glad I could make it a little more bearable for you, and even surprise you a little. Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to surprise you again?” There was a flirtatious glint in his eye as he finished off his tea and set his cup aside. Malcolm laughed, that warm, pleased sound, and the smile on his face was irrepressible, really. “I’ve been told I’m easy to surprise. Mostly because I’m the least nosy person on the planet, which is ... probably beneficial to that end, if nothing else,” he admitted with a chuckle. The tea was rapidly vanishing from his cup, and he rather wished it wasn’t. This was far too enjoyable to be over soon. Where had the time gone? “Being the least nosy in the world will likely keep you out of too much trouble,” Spencer replied, obviously glad for that. The last thing he wanted was to come across Malcolm being beaten up or attacked in a dark alley because he’d been curious about a noise or something. He could only hope it would keep the other man safe from some of the insanity that was going on around them. The barista came over with their check and Spencer immediate fished out his wallet, promising himself he’d order a bigger cup of tea next time. “Is your rehearsal space nearby?” “Over at the university, actually,” Malcolm said, preparing to fish his own wallet out of his bag, but Spencer had beat him to the punch. That was a pleasant thing, he thought, and then wondered -- was this a date? Ish? Sort of? Best not to ask too many questions and ruin things, he thought. “I have to go home, let my dog out, and pick up my cello, though. And put on clothes that aren’t meant for the studio.” Spencer perked up at that, but then deflated when Malcolm explained he had to go home first. Perhaps another time, he could offer the man a ride. Paying for the tea was instinctive, more so because he’d asked than trying to label it as anything. It had been a very pleasant time and he was looking forward to doing it again. “Seems you’ve got a busy day ahead of you then. I’m sorry if I kept you from anything,” he apologized softly. “You didn’t, not at all,” Malcolm said quickly, earnestly. He didn’t want Spencer to apologise, not in the slightest. It felt dreadful, really, to have anyone apologise for something that had been so very lovely and unexpectedly welcome. “I really, really enjoyed this. And if you kept me from rehearsing, well. I was happily kept. Very happily, at that.” He brightened considerably at that and stood, offering his hand to Malcolm to help him up as well. “I’m glad you enjoyed this. I did, too,” Spencer admitted, lifting both his and Malcolm’s bags up before gesturing toward the door. Malcolm could have his bag back once they were no longer walking in the same direction, as far as he was concerned. “Is your car nearby?” There was something so deeply appealing about that nearly-chivalrous courtesy -- not that Malcolm was a lady or anything ridiculous like that, only that he appreciated that quiet care that Spencer showed. “I took the bus, actually. I don’t drive much, if I can avoid it. I learned in London, and if I get distracted or I’m too tired, I end up on the wrong side of things,” he admitted. That was easier than admitting that migraines or high doses of painkillers made him drift lanes. He really oughtn’t have a license, he thought, but it was one more piece of documentation that helped him stay in the country, right along with his work visa. “Oh, okay. Yea, a bus is probably much safer,” he replied, though he found it very very odd that Malcolm would drift lanes like that just by getting distracted. It seemed out of character for him, but Spencer wasn’t going to push. “I kind of like you in one piece,” he added with a smile, pushing the door open for Malcolm and then following him over to the bus stop near the yoga studio. “Would you like some company while you wait?” It was fairly obvious that he wanted to wait, but he didn’t want to overstep. “Wouldn’t mind at all,” Malcolm said, smiling, hitching his hands in the pockets of his fleece against the cool air. “I like being in one piece. It’s a state of being I work very hard to continue to maintain. Takes more effort than one would imagine, though!” It was an easy thing to joke about, mostly because his spine was only in the pieces it was meant to be, now. And if a shadow flickered in his eyes at the strangely black humour, such things could be expected, really. No point in making a big fuss about it, really. The pain spasms would pass. Surely. A few months, at most, and he’d be fine. It was a bit of a relief to know that Malcolm wouldn’t mind his company for a few minutes longer and he smiled a bit as they joked. “Oh, I understand completely. Hopefully your friend on the other side is careful with himself, otherwise, you’ll end up with his injuries. Nasty side effect, unfortunately and it’s landed me with quite a few bruises and sore ribs on more than a few occasions.” There were a couple of downsides, but hopefully Legolas would be careful. He could only hope and perhaps suggest to the golden-haired elf to be gentle. Malcolm winced at the thought. “He’s nigh-on indestructible, so says the internet. I hope he doesn’t get himself too banged up, or I’m in for it,” he said, his lips pressing in a thin, pale line. “I’ll try to remind him that I’m human and breakable. Rather breakable, really.” There was a rumbling down the block, and Malcolm knew it was the bus. Usually, he was pleased to see it, but not today. “Tea again? Next time, perhaps?” “If you get into some trouble, just let me know. I know a bit myself, but I’ve also got a few doctor friends that wont ask questions,” he offered, seeing the way Malcolm pressed his lips together. “Next time, absolutely,” he agreed, handing over his bag. Spencer waited until the bus had driven away before heading on his way. |