Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
He had been. An asshole. Or like, honest which wasn't the same. It was just honest, bare and unblinking. Except the flex, the mood belling out like a sail didn't like say 'didn't care'. Was he like a trick rn, in a ritzy hotel room, was the guy's intent to get bent over the back of the couch or the bar and get fucked until he crashed out in the fancy bed and slept it off? That was way close to what Jamie had like, wanted, expected but he wavered now, on the unpleasant line between Seven stripped down to the explicit statement of what shit was, and the guy who had been way relaxed.
Jamie watched the guy's progress from the bar to the couch, and flexed his fingers, curled them into his palms and out again. "It came from somewhere. It's cool, if that's what you want," he said, like, breezy. "It's the way shit was before." Which it had been and then it hadn't, and Jamie didn't know exactly where the flimsy line had been thrown up but it had. "I mean, you're seriously pushing it if you expect more than a hand-job right now." Punched through with the carelessness of like, deliberate intent.
And like, he'd said what he'd said. The guy had been way clear shit wasn't blurring that way and Jamie could like, operate with clarity. There were two ways shit could go and Seven had kinda hit the ball out of the park on one of them. Jamie drew a foot up to the couch cushion, good knee against his chest and leaned his chin on his kneecap.