Re: The Apartment: Jamie/Seven
Yeah, Jamie had gotten a load of Seven's idea of like, interiors and figured out the guy was about edges. Clean lines, the whole serene thing that took a lot of plate glass and white, glossy leather to keep things looking like they were always new, always perfect, the kind of like 'just bought' fresh. Maybe it was pop-psych or whatever, Jamie hadn't done college-level anything, but he figured no one liked that much of stuff tidied out of the way unless they liked control. But like, he knew Seven was control-oriented or whatever, the guy had literally organized a hook-up around his life to cut loose a little. What he didn't know? Was how far it span. How much Seven needed shit to stay the same or to keep things moving or whatever. The guy felt unutterably flexible, until he hit a wall. Jamie remembered NYE better the longer the time drifted, he remembered rigidity.
So like, figuring out exactly like, what the guy wanted out of this? Was dogging Jamie, even as the guy crammed his fingers back through his own hair with the like, discomfort of thinking through the real world shit that was kinda just waiting on the outside of the door downstairs. But he could narrow in on this. Like, listen or whatever, the shit that was mostly crammed into drowsy moments and snatched seconds . Now? Jamie wasn't fucked out and exhausted, he was kind of high note fretted anxiety as a background to the warm, buttery feeling of being like, rammed up against the guy, even if the angle did shit to his back his back didn't like. He hadn't like, done this and the quiescent uncertainty was like, getting taken over with a serious case of enjoying the shit out of it.
Jamie like, with regret, slid away from the new and like, def not unpleasant thing of kissing the guy without the anticipation of like, the immediate next step. But like, narrowing in on the shit that was important. "I legit don't think a guy can worry this hard about fucking her up and fuck her up. But what does the therapist say? Like, is there a thing you can do?" He hadn't been. Amy had suggested it, but he wasn't going to pay a shrink to listen to him not-talk about his problems. He smoothed a thumb over the line of the guy's eyebrow, and again over the furrow threatening to like, furrow Seven's forehead.
"We can come back to my balls later, asshole," which was like, literally the only part of this stuff that wasn't new. "Talk?" Cat yawned, and sneezed, and then like, went back to sleep which appeared to be her commentary on this shit.