Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, smirking and visibly unbothered by the concession. “You’re kinda hard to resist.”
Which, yeah, given everything was putting it fucking lightly.
Maybe it was presumptuous, to trust the inklings that bloomed like paint on wet paper when he looked at Jamie looking back at him, at the car, at the empty street. He was supposed to be acting on the autopilot of not-knowing, like they were strangers when they weren’t twisted up with tongue and teeth and a condom between them. Because on a lot of levels, Seven didn’t really know the guy. That was the party line, yeah? There were blanks he had no way of filling, because those blanks lived on the other side of that line. But that line wasn’t a straight one, and it meandered around cigarette smoke framing bowed heads on back steps and his hand resting on Jamie’s leg, a touch that hadn’t been proprietary, or frenzied. Just familiar.
But that was one single touch, one dip in the line, and that didn’t mean that Seven knew him. Sure, he knew the way that Jamie’s smile spun gold when he was really fucking pleased with himself, or unwound after they were both frayed and fucked out. He knew about his fucked up family -- parts, anyway, because everybody’s fucked up family was an iceberg with the majority of shit hidden underwater. He knew about the crash and the way Jamie’s face had looked when he talked about dancing, before that line had come down to pin them into stasis. And he knew that just like Seven clung to his power, Jamie was held together with control like banded iron.
So he didn’t answer the clarification. Just smiled back, easy without having to try. He waited, eyebrows up a little expectantly, and there was a flicker of playfulness in his expression as he glanced pointedly at the street around the guy. “Hey, I’d offer you a ride somewhere if I didn’t think you’d say no. Though - ” and here he made a face like he was considering something unlikely, turning the hand resting along the window palm-up for a second like an offering. “You could always pretend it’s just an Uber Luxe. Sit in the back while I pretend I can’t hear you getting some poor fucker hard as a rock over the phone.” And the look that he levelled at Jamie was mild, but he didn’t bother tamping down the curling corners of his mouth.