|Daniel Ciin | Ares (thouros) wrote in paxletalelogs,|
@ 2017-03-06 18:55:00
|Entry tags:||ares, coyote|
I need noise
Who: Chris & Daniel
What: An unorthodox date on the DL.
Where: Daniel's place, #209
When: 6 p.m., Saturday March 4th
Daniel could not be sure if it was the two bottles of Cucapá he'd already put back, the unusual cleanliness of his apartment, or the outrageously delicious smells pervading his apartment, but he was in a stellar mood. Perhaps it was just the anticipation of a decent fight card and an even better night. Whatever it was, he was almost dancing through the kitchen as he finished off the crema and slid it into the fridge to cool. From the living room wafted the tinny sounds of pre-fight commentary, all gossip and speculation Daniel was gladly drowning out with the languid bass of Migos' Culture on surround sound. Beside a cast-iron skillet tilapia filets waited on the counter, still marinating in a Ziploc bag. There was little left to do but wait for his guest.
This, then, proved most difficult for Daniel. He cracked open a third beer and leaned back against the kitchen counter, his bare feet crossed at the ankles. He pointedly did not look at the clock, instead closing his eyes as he took a lengthy pull from his beer, letting the music distract him. For his part, Chris did not keep Daniel waiting long. The only thing that had nearly kept him late was the decision to go with his brace or his cane; since he assumed they'd be sitting for long periods of time, watching the fight or something else, he finally opted for the cane. The choice weighed on him, and the walk to the elevator seemed longer than ever. If someone had come out of their apartment just then and seen him, he would have turned right back around and forsaken the date altogether.
But instead he found himself in the second floor hallway, just outside 209. One hand raised to knock, but Chris prolonged the moment as he straightened his buttoned shirt for the umpteenth time, looking down at his mostly casual slacks. The same hand passed through his hair again, his shoulders rolling. The last time he remembered feeling this nervous was... Well, it didn't bear to hover over memory, and he didn't want to think about his father at a time like this. Instead, the quiet, thumping sound of music mixed with the delicious smells wafting from beneath Daniel's door soothed him and he knocked, doing his best to keep the sound from being too excited.
Daniel answered the door with a haste that might have embarrassed a lesser man. He had not even set down his beer, nor turned down the music that now poured out into the hall. He grinned, unabashed, and motioned Chris inside. He could not help the slide of his dark gaze down Chris's front, though he tried, at least, to curb the duration of it. As he turned away to close the door, he sank his teeth into the swell of his lip, biting it against a smile.
He found the sound system remote on the battered coffee table, raising it up long enough to turn the music from a dull roar to quieter, background noise. "Right on time," he called, shuffling back into the foyer. "Prelims are on but they're boring, so they're mostly talkin' about the main card. Hence the music." He raised the beer in his hand as he slid past Chris, returning to the kitchen and what little prep work remained. "Look what I found."
He rummaged in the refrigerator a moment, procuring another bottle for his guest. "It's damn good, so now I picked up a whole case."
Chris nearly returned Daniel's smile in kind, though he managed to temper it. His eyes slid over his host, at first, pleased by what he saw, and then took their time climbing over the interior of the apartment. It was almost too clean, to the point of looking like a floor model rather than a home, and the faint smell of chemical cleaner under the food made him wonder to what lengths the man had gone to make himself presentable in all ways. Apparently their little talk during their last unofficial "date" had sunk in, and Chris quietly told the beating thing in his chest to calm down.
"I'm glad you like it," he replied, nodding at the Cucapá in Daniel's hand. "There're a number of local brews from across the border, but that one tends to beat out the rest, at least for me." He bit his tongue before he offered a loose invitation to go tasting, his brain stopping short at the idea of being seen in public in such a scenario, not to mention the wording that would surely invite more lewd comments from his host. He limped further into the apartment, following Daniel into the small kitchen and seating himself in order to remove the cane from the equation. No matter how hard he tried, the thing always made him feel like an old man.
"And I see you cooked. What kind of fish?"
"Tilapia." Daniel set the opened bottle down on the table in front of Chris. He did not linger there, though he wanted to, instead returning to the stove. "Almost done. I even made this crema with chipotle chili and all? It's awesome." He shrugged, a playful grin on his lips. "I mean obviously it is."
He pulled the filets from their bag, setting each on the hot skillet. He kept a close watch on them, careful to turn them when necessary. "Everything else is done," he said. "We can eat out in the living room. I'm not crazy about any of the preliminary fights, but who knows. Somethin' good can always happen."
"Somethin'," Chris echoed, pulling his drink toward him and filling his mouth with the lemony taste. His belly growled appreciatively, and he pushed back in his chair. Beer in one hand, his other took up his cane and he moved himself toward the living room, pausing for a moment to consider the picture Daniel made in the kitchen.
"You want me to do something to help? I do have at least one free hand."
"You can come make your tacos," he called. "Or at least tell me what you want on 'em. I've got that crema, shredded red cabbage, limes, all that. I dunno what else you'd want…" He took the fish from the pan, setting them out onto a plate to cool. "And you can thank me for not makin' a lewd joke about what else you could be doin' with that free hand." He chuckled to himself, digging the rest of the components from inside the fridge, then procuring warmed tortillas from their place in the oven. "I'll wait for those jokes til you've caught up to me in beer. You are welcome."
Chris smothered his smile, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "I feel so grateful. But yeah, everything," he rejoined, moving back to the table and watching Daniel work. The TV in the background was a minor distraction as he let his eyes roam more over his host's backside, another sip from his beer forcing a loose feeling throughout his limbs. "How far are you in? Beerwise," he clarified, trying to see what he was up against.
"This is number three." He lifted his bottle and shook it, not turning around as he did so; all the same, he felt Chris's eyes on him, and tried not to take too much pleasure in that knowledge. "Hand me a plate?" With his free hand he gestured to a neat little stack near the kitchen's entrance, where two plates, utensils, and paper towels were already laid out. Chris shuffled over to comply, leaving his beer on the table.
Daniel set to work plating the first set of tacos. His pride was evident in the square of his shoulders, in the confident motions of his body and hands as he moved through the kitchen. "These might be better than my tamales," he said. "But I make no promises."
He made the second plate the same as the first, moving more quickly this time. He handed the first plate to Chris, taking up his own and his bottle and gesturing for them to move to the living room. "Three," he repeated, lifting the bottle. "So you better get to work."
"Why do I see you using peer pressure in high school, often?" Chris took his plate and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch, going back for his beer before Daniel could even think to offer. He was soon seated on the furniture next to Daniel, his mouth salivating from the taco's smell. Tipping another sip of Cucapá down his throat, he didn't wait for permission to bite into one of them. The fried taste of the fish combined with the lime and the crema were an intricate twist in his mouth, his hunger providing any spice they might lack.
"These are definitely better than your tamales," he said, his mouth still half full.
Daniel smirked, washing down his own bite with a deep draught of beer. "I'll take that as a compliment to these," he said, "and not an insult to the tamales." He pointed an index finger at Chris, almost accusatory. "I'm gonna get those right sooner or later. You'll see." Chris' smile reached his eyes, but he was content to chew instead of verbally reply.
He settled back onto the couch, his feet crossed at the ankles atop the coffee table, the plate balanced on his lap. He was quiet for a moment he switched the sound from music to fight, and then as his food filled his mouth. A preliminary fight started anew, drawing his attention only for a moment. But it was largely the fighters dancing around one another, feinting and jabbing, and soon he was focused again on his guest. "They are pretty good, though, right? Good suggestion."
Chris moved the taco from one hand to the other, licking the fingers of the former hand with a pop. "I'm full of 'em," he replied, finishing the taco and following it with a swig of his beer. "Thanks for the invitation. I didn't think you'd wanna see me again so soon." Realizing how raw that statement sounded and how open it left him, he quickly motioned to the TV with a jerk of his chin. "So what's the interest in this? Because I can show you where they have bum fighting downtown. Way more realistic, probably even have a splash zone."
"Oh hush," Daniel said, waving a hand at him, dismissive. "This is real. I didn't call you over here to watch some WWE shit. This won't be the best fight I could show you, and these prelims are definitely gonna be boring. The lightweight and featherweight champs are the ones to watch. They're quick and they hit like a fuckin' truck. I wish Conor McGregor was fighting tonight. Swear to God, that dude would move the needle on anybody's Kinsey scale.
"But the main fight tonight is Woodley and Thompson for welterweight, which I guess will be cool enough, even if kickboxing isn't really my thing."
Chris nodded, zoning out a little regarding the details of Daniel's explanation, instead focusing on the way his mouth moved and how animated his form became as he dove into a topic he was quite obviously familiar with. He picked up a second taco, finishing his beer before he could take a bite.
"So what is your thing?" He replied, rising unsteadily to pick up his cane and move across the room toward the kitchen and the fridge, seeking out a second beer. He retrieved it, limping back to the couch as he waggled it in the air. "Number two. Happy?"
"Not yet," he said, lifting his own, grinning all the while. "I'm almost done with this, so you're barely caught up at all." He swept a bit of spicy crema from the corner of his mouth, sucking it off the pad of his thumb.
"My thing? I like the jiu jitsu guys best, I guess. Capoeria is bad as hell, too. And I'd love to see somebody bring JKD to the ring, but I dunno how it'd really work unless you had great ground game, too… they all wanna get sweaty and roll around on the ground for most of the round. Which I'm not sayin' I don't enjoy watchin', but c'mon. It's not really what this is about, right?"
"Is it?" Chris rejoined, Daniel's excitement slightly infectious. "Also, JKD? I think you're just making shit up." He fell back into his spot with a grunt, a deep swig of his beer filling his mouth before another bite of fried tilapia followed. As he chewed, Chris leaned back in his seat, his hands resting lightly on his thighs as he scrutinized the TV. "You have some really varied interests. For someone into a historical drama about French architecture, I would not have put this in the same category. Well," he amended, one hand rising to pause any incoming comments from the peanut gallery to his right, "This I can believe more than the historical drama."
Daniel chuckled. "Should I be offended right now? I feel like I should be offended." He finished the last of his second taco with a healthy bite, keeping politely silent as he chewed. "JKD is Jeet Kune Do. Bruce Lee's shit. Find somebody good at it and it's like watchin' a dance. Gorgeous. Really fluid, and really adaptable. But it's a lot of feints and evades and rollin' with the punches. Get 'em on the ground and a judoka just twists 'em up like a pretzel."
He looked over to Chris as he raised his bottle to his lips, a wicked smile playing over them. "Maybe I just really like watchin' people get naked and sweaty, ever thought of that?" After a quick sip from the bottle, he waved toward Chris. "But okay, judgey, what d'you watch in your spare time?"
"Telenovelas," he answered, his eyes on the fight as he took another bite, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. "Otherwise, not much television. I read, when I have time, but..." Chris shrugged, implying that didn't come around often. He switched the topic back to Daniel. "Do you practice any of that pretzel twisting? It's one thing to like to watch people do that, but something tells me you're not entirely the voyeuristic type." His gaze slid toward Daniel, expression attempting a mild innocence that was entirely unsuccessful.
"Mmhm." Daniel finished another bite, leaning forward to set his plate aside on the coffee table. Half a taco remained, but he was finding his tastes were running more toward beer and conversation than food. "Jiu jitsu, mostly. Some boxing, but that's pretty boring and I'm not really built for it. And I have this thing about tryin' to avoid chronic traumatic encephalopathy, so..." He shrugged, then rose from the couch, disappearing into the kitchen only to return with two more beers.
"The rest of what I do is just nameless dirty tricks and self defense shit. But the jiu jitsu--" He motioned to the television screen, where one fighter, on his back, had his forearm across the throat of the man atop him, drawing him backward into a painfully tight bow. Slowly the top fighter's face darkened from pale to something close to purple. Daniel watched, rapt, until the man at last tapped out, gasping as he rolled to the mat. "That's my jam."
Chris's expression was less than enthralled at Daniel's self-described pursuit. His brows furrowed in concern as he watched the man's face change like a mood ring.
"If this is to find out if I'm into choking or something, it's both creepy and yet oddly delicious," he replied, helping himself to his third and final taco. Between the good food and the beers, he was starting to relax even further in Daniel's company, more quickly at ease in the man's apartment than he would have wagered back when he'd first agreed to this plan. He chewed, observing the fight. "I saw that post you put up on the network. Is self defense a part time thing, or are you just worming your way into watching people roll around live instead of just on TV?"
Daniel laughed, unabashed. At last he returned to the couch, dropping down onto a cushion a bit closer to Chris than he had been before. "It's kind of a part-time gig," he admitted. "I've been doin' it for years. It's good for my clients cos they can't carry weapons, y'know? But they still need some way to keep themselves safe. So back home I taught their wives and girlfriends and kids, then I taught them when they were outta jail. I'm tryin' to get back to that out here. I've started, but I don't have the same network here I do at home."
He waited until Chris was between bites, then elbowed him gently. "And no, I'm not gonna try to choke you. Unless you, y'know, ask me to."
Chris managed to swallow his last bite without gagging despite the comment he'd invited. He finished his second beer, helping himself to one of the ones Daniel had brought over.
"Naw, I don't think I'd look good in purple. So you ever put any of that into practice?" He cracked the beer open with a swift twist, one leg scooting over to brush against Daniel's. His host slid closer, encouraged by that lingering touch.
"Not often," he said. "It's good to know, but I live by the 'don't start none, won't be none' principle. One little tussle at a protest aside, lately I've kept to myself, for the most part." He grinned over at Chris, a decidedly mischievous glint in his narrowed eyes. "Why? You interested in a private lesson? Checkin' out my credentials?"
"Maybe," Chris replied, taking a long drink of the beer. "This is only number three, though. Do I get penalized for not catching up?" He slid closer still to the other man, his shoulder bumping against Daniel's. In all truth, it was not the beer, the game, nor the food that had brought him to apartment 209, and he could feel his hands subtly shaking with excitement. He took another long drink, and put the bottle next to his empties and plate; as he sat back, his hand came to rest on Daniel's thigh, his face turned toward the other man's to see what he would do.
"Yeah you do," Daniel said. He grinned as he brought his hand over Chris's. He did not redirect his touch, though he pressed it firmly against the warmth of his skin beneath thick denim, and leaned in closer still. His mouth was close enough to Chris's that every word was a flutter of warm breath, a teasing flick of a tongue. "I mean, if you're more sober than I am..." His teeth skimmed over the swell of Chris's lower lip, but still he did not move forward, did not kiss him as he so desperately wanted to do. Chris didn't even bother to swallow back the groan Daniel's bite elicited. "How do I know you're not tryin' to take advantage of me?"
"You mean you'd be upset?" He didn't wait for Daniel to reply, instead leaning forward and taking the liplock that the other man was so clearly waiting for. The taste of Cucapá, fried fish, and chipotle chili mixed with the irony tang of Daniel's tongue as Chris's hand wrapped around the back of Daniel's head, pulling the other man closer to him. His mouth worked at Daniel's, his body sliding into his as the hand on Daniel's thigh moved around his waist to the small of his back. He kissed the edge of Daniel's mouth, pulling back just a touch. "Isn't that what you invited me down here for?"
Daniel pouted. "Not completely," he said. There was sincerity in his tone, but it may have been lost in the easy way he shifted to allow Chris's touch, to fit himself to it. His head tipped to Chris's hand; his own moved to rest along the stubbled line of his jaw, pulling him near, closing that small distance between them. He kissed him again, watching his face all the while, his eyes heavy-lidded with lust. "Y'know," he said, "I actually like bein' around you. This--" Another kiss, a sharp bite at the cupid's bow of his mouth-- "Is just icing on the cake."
Chris moaned lightly, falling deeply and easily into Daniel's touch. The reassuring words did the trick, and he had no more barbs to hurl in the other man's direction; it was too good, too nice to feel wanted without any other motive. The hand on Daniel's back slid under his shirt, palming the warm skin with a fresh eagerness mimicked by his mouth as he caught Daniel's lips once more. He tugged the other man forward, leaning back on the couch, no longer giving a shit about the fight on TV. The orgiastic sounds of two men wrestling were a strange but perfect backdrop for the moans suddenly emanating from Daniel's apartment.
For Daniel's part, every sound seemed to only heighten his arousal. He moved over Chris, letting his shirt ride up against Chris's fingers as he did. He straddled Chris's leg, kneeling above him, the hard line of his body pressed to the other man's thigh. "So," he breathed, his lips parted over his guest's. "Above the waist?" He was smiling even as he traced Chris's mouth with his tongue. His hand splayed on bare skin beneath Chris's shirt; his thumb trailed low, tracing the sharp ridge of his hip. But he stopped at the line of his pants, a question and promise in one small motion.
"Ugh." Chris let his hands stroke down Daniel's sides, the man's expanding and contracting ribcage along with the count of every rib making him want more. He tightened his arms, pulling Daniel closer against him. "You're going to make me regret saying that, aren't you?" One hand came out from under Daniel's shirt, gripping his nape as fingers trailed along the edges of his hairline. "Maybe I just wanna get to know your mouth really well before the rest of you? It's a fucking gorgeous mouth." He brought both hands out from under the shirt, gently cupping Daniel's face, his thumbs making small circles at either edge of the man's lips. "It goes nicely with the rest of your face. And I like your face. A lot."
Daniel's soft moan might have been answer enough; what little it did not say, the curve of his smiling mouth did. He pressed himself flush to Chris's shape, parting his lips with a slide of his tongue. His next sigh broke against their bruising kiss, as muffled by flesh as it was by the guttural sounds rumbling from the speakers nearby. He opened his mouth to the man below him, encouraging him with small flicks of his tongue, beckoning, silently pleading. His hands tightened on Chris's hips, squeezing tight as his own pressed down to meet them.
Chris needed no goading. He met each movement of Daniel's lips against his own, with his own, his tongue eager to roll and twist with the other man's in a strange mimicry of what the TV was presenting. His hands gripped Daniel's face, sliding backward into the man's hair and taking a soft grasp in it as he moaned in reply to each and every sound Daniel made. His legs parted, opening enough to allow Daniel's hips to sink further into him, his groin thrusting upward to match Daniel's every move. He felt himself getting hard, but his mind focused on other things: the shape of Daniel's mouth, the slick, wet, iron-smoky taste of it that echoed their shared dream, the other man's tongue and how it moved, wresting him away from any pretentious perch he might have found to otherwise dissuade this sort of action.
His hands moved down over Daniel's shoulders, reaching for the edge of his shirt and pulling it upward so he could feel down the man's backside. He stopped at the edge of his pants, instead urging Daniel to remove his top garment. "Above the waist means I can see you half naked," he muttered, as though trying to convince himself rather than the man atop him.
A ragged, needful sound passed over Daniel's lips. He bit at the corner of Chris's mouth, sucking at its fullness as he drew slowly away. He reached for the hem of his shirt, stretching upward as he pulled it off and tossed it aside, behind the sofa and immediately forgotten. He remained there for a moment, slim fingers tracing from the button of Chris's pants, up to follow the narrow trail of dark hair. He pushed the other man's shirt up as he went, his eyes still on Chris's as he exposed pale flesh, inch by inch.
"Then I get to see, too," he said. The raised shirt made a loose collar close against Chris's throat, and a binding bunched up beneath his arms. Daniel leaned down, his fingers splaying wide over subtly shifting ribs, and took a nipple delicately between his teeth. He sighed, slow and warm, at the feel of their bare flesh fitted together. Another heavy thud and a distant cry from the television, and Daniel's hips pushed carelessly forward again, his cock twitching against Chris's own.
A demanding moan tore its way through Chris's throat as his back bowed upward, in search of Daniel's mouth. He ground his hips against Daniel's, his hands hovering at the line of the other man's pants to hold him tighter against their clothed forms. His eyes slipped closed as he concentrated on just breathing; gooseflesh spread over his chest, his breath hitching from each touch Daniel bestowed on him.
Softly, as though testing, Daniel bit tender, peaked skin. He laved away that small pain with the flat of his tongue. His hands gripped Chris tightly, short nails digging into the hollows of his ribs. He kissed his bowed throat, just above where the cloth of his shirt pressed against it. He licked stubbled skin, bit the hard line of Chris's jaw, sucked lightly at his earlobe. Then he caught his mouth once more, their bare chests sliding close to one another, hips rolling together with every clasp of Chris's hands. That clasp tightened, all but bruising tawny flesh. Chris groaned into Daniel's mouth, the sound echoed back at him by the other man, his hard erection a pointed reminder of what he was not supposed to be doing.
"Hey," he said, trying to pull himself away from Daniel's sanguine taste. Another fleeting kiss, and then one to the corner of Daniel's lips; his hands came up Daniel's back, curling around the man's shoulders. "Hey, let's... We need to slow this down. Believe me, it feels great, and I shouldn't...shouldn't be making you take your clothes off, but... You don't wanna miss the fight, right?" His face winced with concern, waiting for Daniel to get upset, or worse, tell him to leave. In the long run, it'd be better. It didn't mean that Chris wanted to go.
"What fight," Daniel said. His hips pushed forward once more, then stilled, though he could not resist one last, deep kiss. As he pulled away he drew a long, slow breath, drinking in the scent of warm flesh beneath him, the faint hint of something wild beneath clean laundry and aftershave. He kept his weight held near above Chris, but Daniel's hands stopped their wandering, retreating at last to the couch cushions on either side of him.
Chris at least did what he could to keep Daniel near him, silently grateful that the rejection had been taken without an argument. His arms stayed around Daniel's shoulders, more than happy to have the man's body heat nearby. "Nothing says we can't just lay here, and enjoy the show. Maybe give you some ideas for later?" His jaw clenched, worry in his eyes for reasons other than the obvious. His hands pushed down on Daniel's back, encouraging him to lay atop him.
He laughed, a mischievous little sound. "Sounds good to me…" He settled low over Chris, his weight resting slightly on his left side to better watch the fight. From time to time it did draw his interest, but his focus always returned to Chris: small slides of fingertips, smaller kisses pressed to cheek and jaw, brief distractions from the pretense Daniel had used to get him here. By slow degrees the quick beating of his heart eased, his arousal bleeding away in favor of something softer, and perhaps, though Daniel would never admit it aloud, more vulnerable.
Reaching for a pillow, Chris propped his head up for a better view of both the television and the length of spine he could see running down Daniel's back. One of his hands slid up and down that length, pleased by the tactile comfort.
"So, is that jiu-jistu? Or what is that one guy... That's just boxing, right?" His free hand gestured toward the TV, re-inviting Daniel's enthusiasm about the sport earlier, hoping to further distract him from what Chris was hiding.
"Yeah, but just boxing nothin'," Daniel said. He hesitated a moment, but a lightning-quick strike drew him into the fight once again. He mirrored Chris's gesture, pointing out a jab on the replay. Excitement bled into his voice, impossible to hide. "They're even faster than the kickboxing guys. Blocks like crazy. But like Joe Lansdale said, kickboxing is four wheel drive. It's just more versatile..."
The fight went on, and with a steady stream of commentary so did Daniel, obviously content -- at least, for the most part -- with the way their evening had played out.