Re: Capital: Jamie & Seven Friday night
Tonight? Was one hundred percent all about Seven. The guy had stopped on the side of the road - nah, curb-crawled him and the conversation and the laughter, cracked amusement oozing and the languid drape of however many feet and inches of the guy there were to pour over expensive furniture, nah, Jamie def blamed Seven for all of it. So like, he dropped his shirt over the back of the couch Seven had soured briefly, deliberately. He let the cheap logo besmirch a cushion or whatever, and he unbuttoned his fly on the way over plush carpet toward the bedroom. Which, ftr, was what made this place an apartment instead of a hotel room.
"You would whine loud," Jamie said, with the kind of confidence that came from absolute certainty. He didn't think Seven would whine often, but he had definitely, jimmied in with his hip to Jamie's own, cramped enough to try cracking joints from the pillow.
"But like, I get it. You need expensive stuff to be comfortable." He flashed a deliberate, fuck-off smile in Seven's direction that was almost sweet as he dropped his jeans and boxers tangled together and stepped on the legs of each to climb out of them. And it was kinda weird? That he was stripping like this, the same careless way of like, shedding pre-bed rather than clawing shit off to get at bare skin. Seven looked like, blithely confident and way unaware shit was weird, and Jamie threw a decorative pillow at the guy, just because he felt like it.
When Jamie dropped onto the bed, it was like, all at once, and he rolled onto his stomach, grabbing a pillow and dragging it down to his chin. "Yeah, it's like, a whole room's bed. This bed is bigger than my living room right now." Which was half-yawn, as everything that ached solidly, made contact with mattress. His eyelids drooped automatic, and it ceased to matter the guy was lying next to him and he hadn't even touched him really. He was this close to dropping off, and he yawned, closed his eyes and dug his chin into pillow.