Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
It was uncertainty, and it was irritation (god, so many layers of irritation -- that Jamie wasn’t being a bratty little shit for once, which totally threw Seven off his end of the rhythm he expected between them, and, oh, that Tommy had been right after all, even after being wrong), but more than anything else he was waiting. For what, that was beyond the grasp of the feelings that he’d allowed names and recognition.
He snorted softly when Jamie jumped, instead of feeling bad. Jamie generally exuded nonchalance, the kind that people his age worked real hard to maintain even when they were alight under the surface, twitchy tension and anxious nerve endings. There was something almost gratifying about catching him off guard for half a second, and knowing it wasn’t something that was going to send him running. And ftr, he was also glad that it was only fleeting, and he watched the guy settle back against the cushions as Seven dressed lazy-slow.
“‘Into’ you?” he repeated slowly, deliberately, one eyebrow lifting in a sharp arch as the edge of his mouth curled up. The smirk deepened, took root. He glanced down for a moment at the place where his hand was splayed against Jamie’s knee, tracing a seam with the flat of his thumb, and he breathed out a low chuckle through his nose. “Nah. It’s mostly been pity sex.” He stepped forward so that his knee bumped Jamie’s and the arm of the couch, as his hand slid lower, curled lightly around the back of the guy’s calf. His gaze was alight with a biting edge of humour. “You’re my charity case, obviously. And an ungrateful one at that, since you’re not even very nice to me most of the time.”