Safe and Sane

Dressed for soccer and covered in streaks of mud, Went was limping slightly as he made his way into the club. It hadn't been the wisest decision, perhaps, to join in the game with kids at least five years his junior and in top form, but it had been a hell of a lot of fun. His grin flashed white in his dirty face as he twisted sharply, popping his back with a crack that was audible. Very audible.

Wincing, he laughed, "That can't be quite right."

Jesse came into the on-call room, closed and locked the door behind him, and then crawled on top of Greg. "I have a problem," he said, conversationally. "And a fairly big one at that."

Jesse was trying very, very hard to redefine 'brat'. He hadn't gotten nearly enough of Greg's attention to make him happy (if there was any such thing), he'd had a bad day and really he was just snarking and bratting all over the place. "How long's it been since you killed someone with your attitude? Really?"

Jesse walked into the club with wild hair and eyes with more than a little desperation in them. In his bloody hands he held a cardboard box (with bloody fingerprints) from which an unearthly howling was very, very audible. He spotted Greg with something like relief. "Oh god, help me."

Friday night in Sal's was always a busy night. This Friday was a touch busier than most, because there was no chance in hell Lin was playing a set on his own when Carl was in town, and if Carl was playing, Lin was going to move heaven and earth to get him a good crowd. Didn't take much, a word here and there in the right ears, spread around the bar, the club, onwards and through.

It meant that Friday night was busier than most, but the crowd was in a damn fine mood. Mellow and easy, celebrating the end of the week with a couple of beers, a couple fingers of Jack, or just a couple of guys down one end of the room, playing guitars and singing together like their voices had shaped the songs together from their birth.

For some of the songs, that much was even true.

Wednesday night again. Fall past, and winter setting in with a vengeance. The outside tables had been cleared away, and the cafe was doing a brisk trade in hot chocolate, hot soup, and hot tea.

Only one problem.

The coffee maker was broken.

For one night only (because the repair man had been threatened, on pain of pain, to get the damn thing up and running again before opening time the next morning) the cafe was a coffee-free zone, and the staff were already looking stressed.

Greg had gone to work at 7 am. He'd left Jesse a note not to put on clothes, but to put the plug Greg had left on top of the note in. He got home at three, calling out with only a little bit of evil, "Honey, I'm home."

"Hello. Where's my candy, you dirty old man?" Jesse asked, when Greg opened the door. He was still wearing scrubs, his labcoat, and had a sthescope around his neck.

Jesse actually showed up at Greg's house. "I may have been exposed to HIV," he said, the *second* the door started the open. "And it's not from sex, so save berating me. Where's your booze?"

"Did you know," Jesse asked, as he walked into Greg's office, carrying two cups of coffee with him, "that there are people who don't find you hot?"

The leaves were just starting to change on the trees- it was a beautiful day, really. Crisp, clear, sun shining and just the faintest hint of a chill as summer unfurled into fall. There was soup in the cafe, some chili, in addition to the regular assortment of drinks and snacks.

Jesse had plans for Labor Day.

Actually, he had plans for the entire weekend. Plans made weeks ago, that had turned into weeks of near constant sexual frustration. He was more than ready to meet Greg at the club, bag packed for the weekend. He didn't know what he expected exactly, except the time together. It was going to end amazingly well or amazingly badly. Either one would be better than the near constant curiosity and fascinated wonder of the past -- well, not past few weeks, actually. The past few years was much more like it.

The holding pattern, of flirting and wanting and sexual tension was about to break.

Greg found Jesse in the hall, approached him from behind, then pushed him, lightly into an open room, leaving the door open as he pressed against Jesse from behind, fitting against him. "Hi."

It was Friday evening. John was at the club.

He was tired, he was sore, his back was still slightly raw from the week before, and he was starting to see a rhythm emerging with how often he could handle scening, at least with Gus and at least while he needed to be able to work. Album promotion, including scattered concerts and appearances, and upcoming auditions, meant that he needed to be able to move comfortably more often than not.

So, tonight he wasn't perky and bouncing off the walls - at least not quiet. He was however in a (typically) good mood. He glanced around, spotted Greg and crawled onto the couch and sat beside him. "Hey. Are you okay with some company for a bit?"

Like he hadn't already settled in.

Jesse walked into the club, stepped out of his loafers, and crawled onto the sofa. He flipped over and landed with his head in Greg's lap. "Hello, dear."

Greg was grouchy (that wasn't new). But he was quiet (that was), sitting in at a round table in a corner with a shit ton of files, spread across the table and a big red pen.

It was thundering, off in the distance this afternoon. It was raining, hard, pouring out, in the locale. There was a section in the front of the cafe set out for umbrellas and actual towels out to help people dry off.

Hot chocolate, cold drinks, and scones.

Greg caught Ken right outside the hospital cafeteria, sliding his arm over the other man's shoulders, "Come on, Kenny, have lunch with me."

Greg had a white lab coat on which was positively bizarre by Greg's standards. He also had on real shoes instead of sneakers.

Jesse poured two cups of coffee and walked into the lounge. He handed one to Greg and then sprawled on the opposite end of the couch with the other. "Did you know vaccinations are the devil's work and herd immunity's a myth?" he asked, wearily.

It was a warm, cloudy day. The temperature hit 92 at noon and stayed around 85 into the early evening. There were cold drinks, hot drinks, but also, weirdly, a lot of chocolate.

A lot of chocolate. Chocolate biscuits, Chocolate cookies, cakes, lollypops, candies, dipped pretzels. Good chocolate too.

If asked the baristas rolled their eyes and explained "Over order"