Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
Jamie looked. He'd seen the guy naked a dozen times, stripped down and sweating but he couldn't remember any time but like, the time the guy had stripped as he'd come toward him where he'd seen Seven shed the corporate skin slow. Comfortable, like habit. So he looked, the sift of his gaze mapping the guy's torso, marking puckered scars and counting ribs. It wasn't like, a strip-tease. Jamie wasn't getting hard over the guy undoing his shirt cuffs, but seeing Seven shuck all the shit that made him look like idk, presidential suite unlocked something tight incubating in his chest.
"Not a mattress on the floor," Jamie said deliberately. Beryl-blue and all, Jamie ran a hand over the fabric of the couch just to be like, touching something. It was bait, maybe. Kinda? He didn't know what exactly he wanted, if he wanted the guy to rise to it but Jamie had never let not knowing exactly what it was he wanted stop him from going after it anyway. "I stayed in suites as a kid. This isn't a suite, they need like, a new definition." But he'd fumbled with the whole, VIP thing, it gritted in his mind. Usually. Like, was this the same as the house, and the bodyguard or a legit perk that came with running a building-site? Jamie didn't know, and it grated, frayed like a loose thread unravelling.
"Fuck off and shower," Jamie said, nicely because Seven was backing up instead of dropping pants and walking out naked, which was -- weird, maybe? What was the like, norm here? But he waited, long enough for Seven to get gone before like, wandering the length of the room to the drumming of water behind the closed door. Partly because he was like, stretching out his knee before it knotted up tight enough he couldn't walk and partly because like, it felt weird af to come to rest in this place without Seven in the room to take up the air.
The guy at the door knocked and he didn't even have a twenty in his wallet to give him. Jamie handed him a five and the kind of apologetic smile that probably made it way worse, and he ate a handful more ibuprofen before like, circling one of the couches and tossing all the cushions on the floor. Sitting was way worse than lying, and he spread out, his head one end of the couch and his good knee hooked over the arm of the opposite end and Jamie closed his eyes like, for a second while he listened to the shower next door.