Re: The Apartment: Jamie/Seven
Jamie didn't know shit about timezones. Stuff hadn't like, crept insidious until he was swallowed by it, it was a choice. Okay, it had been a wasted choice, but it was a choice and he kinda figured he was due to own a couple. Holly lurked in his head, like, what the guy would think about Seven sat there, his knees slung wide and sprawled into the couch as if he owned it, occupied it, whatever and his face kinda full of something bright and really fucking shiny like a penny. Like, yeah it occurred to Jamie this stuff wasn't casual, but the sex kinda took that off the table, right? Familiarity, and whatever, and he knew the way Seven said shit with the way his mouth flexed, the oiled black of his pupils. Right now, his eyes were bright blue and looked kinda like he was laughing and Jamie still didn't give a shit about Marta, when the guy looked like he was that content.
"Fuck Marta," he said, like, succinct. Because that was about as much as Jamie wanted to think about her, like, way more, in fact. Jamie didn't care about apologies, and he kinda figured her intentions were complex, shadowed with whatever the hell she actually wanted. "Ask Sawyer, move forward." And it was that simple even it was enmeshed in complicated that ran deep like roots. But like, Seven's smile was crazy-wide in the way it drifted, and if Jamie hadn't like, figured out already that he kinda really liked the guy chill, the snare-drum kick it punched into his gut was punctuation or whatever.
"On you," Jamie corrected him, because like, truthfully? He couldn't remember if he'd been specific but it seemed like the kind of thing he would have been. "I imposed that on you." With like, the kind of slow, sliding grin that Jamie felt creep up on him. And yeah, okay, he'd deflected. But like, the intensity of right then? Felt like heat, searing or the kind of heavy weight of an oncoming thunderstorm, the air swimming with pressure. It wasn't Netflix and it wasn't fucking chill, and Jamie's fingertips were still circling the guy's stomach, until they trailed to a halt.
"I'm good with seeing you too." He skimmed right over 'okay'. Okay had been like, a dumb, non-applicable statement for a while and Jamie knew that. "That's what I want." Which wasn't specific, but whatever. It meant like, that. The look on the guy's face, the contentment of his sprawl in the couch, the vague suggestion of the kind of intensity that flickered at the edge of where Seven was. "This doesn't suck." Which, Jamie's smile kinda showed he knew it was understatement.
"So are you going to pick a fucking movie? Ignore anything Netflix recommends."