- (sonrisa) wrote in rooms, @ 2015-04-28 19:31:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !ocean's eleven, *log, lin alesi, neil donovan |
Log, Ocean's Eleven: Neil D & Lin A
Who: Neil Donovan & Lin Alesi
What: Elvis watching
Where: Elvis Chapel
When: nowish
Warnings/Rating: language?
85°. Lin had lived in Vegas long enough to find 85° a reasonable temperature for April. It was no broil. No breeze either, but it was fine. It was dry, and the sun cracked on sand-colored skin like a great yolk, bronzing him and turning black hair blacker, and he thought that all was great. #bless. He'd look fucking beautiful. It was less great that Daniel was gone and basically only promised, like, a postcard, even if he had finally allowed himself to say the Big Three Words every rich Lothario loathed. But, you couldn't exactly cuddle or fuck around with 'I love you.' You could fuck around with 'I,' but even that got a little boring after a while. Plus, it was lonely, that apartment, cooped up in air conditioning, and since he wasn't visiting Daniel in the hospital anymore, Lin wasn't really drawn out. He spent his time there, and, like any good nearly-only child, he was talented, well-practiced at distracting himself. But, perhaps because of the excitement (and crushing guilt, lol) of his wish, and the lack of expectation of Daniel up and leaving, given his well-known status as a homebody and recluse, he'd found himself alone with a suddenness that he couldn't seem to overcome. He hadn't reached out to Louis for a dick to ride, but mostly because he liked talking to people and he liked Louis, but that'd blown up in his face (for good reason, he knew) spectacularly, so, you know what? Fuck that. Which is entirely figurative, because no literal fucking is to be had by any parties + Lin's dick/asshole/whatever. So, okay, he'd talked to Aubrey too, and that was weird, since Aubrey wished him out of existence. And then there was Neil, who was having trouble, it seemed like. Like, not trouble settling in, but trouble finding time to settle with all the shit going on Sam's deft shutdown implied. It was a good match. They could go be not lonely together, by watching drunk tourists hook up in front of a lost soul dressed as the lost soul of Elvis. I mean, I could make so many Elvis puns rn, but instead, I'm going to focus on the important parts here. Lin was a girl today. He was dressed in a beautiful dress, striped in shades of blue—#61B4D6, #575C5, #4C85DE (yes, he'd looked them up. Why? He was bored af. Thanks.)—and shimmery. It was cut short and close, and the sun shined off of it like it did gloss on nails—near-specular reflection, bright, and up, and, most importantly, it wasn't hot. His hair was long and loose, makeup done with expertise—eyeliner, a tinge of pink stain on lips, some mascara—and nails that were a a sunset over Chernobyl, all done by steady hands and the tick, tick, tick of time.—He waited on black hightops that gummed on the sun-hot cement, and he listened to his new Janet Jackson CD, the player held in his hands, against his hip, and his headphones huge, foam discs, and he waited for Neil. Elvis had not left the building yet. It was, in fact, his building. A chapel to be specific, but whatever, there's your pun. |