Re: That One Tree Behind the Reg. Table: Billy K & Lin A
“Are you assuming that because he was, like, Jesus, or because rebirth after a gruesome death would probably put anyone in a good enough mood to tolerate abuse and-or blasphemy?”
Billy’s hands didn’t spend a lot of time in his pockets, and he wasn’t really a fidgeter. He had found, in his wealth of time spent observational of strangers and clients alike, that there was a set list of people (okay, men, yes, most of the gay boy hooker’s social calendar was occupied by the dick-equipped, tell us something we don’t know) who walked around with their hands in their pockets: perverts, overcompensating shoplifters, and people who were uncomfortable enough in their own skin as to not really know what else to do with their hands in public.
Granted, the pervert thing was supposedly up for debate in certain social circles, but Billy definitely didn’t consider himself any of those things. And the fidgeting? That was usually a product of not knowing how to be comfortable around other people, again. Which definitely wasn’t a problem, not given his chosen occupation or his upbringing long before that. Billy was perpetually at ease, and not remotely squicky about personal bubbles. Actually, that was something he had to work on remembering that other people were usually weird about.
So the stranger all up in his business with the arm-around, that was met with only the widening of Billy’s smile into a grin with the corners of his eyes crinkling and everything, and one of those hands that didn’t fidget or spend time in his own pockets in fact came up only to rest on Lin’s shoulder. The one closest to Billy, so it wasn’t a photo-op-cutesy mutual-half-hug situation, just a casual gesture that said he was totally cool with it and also helped him keep his balance with the partial addition of someone else’s weight leaning in.
“Shut up,” he laughed, turning to level a squint in the other’s direction at close distance. “You do not. I mean, not that I wouldn’t love the chance to make a joke about having extra legs in your pockets or just being happy to see me, don’t get me wrong. Give me a couple more minutes to think of the best wording for it, though.”
He spared a breath to angle his glance downward, one cheek tucking into a dimple. “Nice shoes.” Letting the next part of that truly classic line hang in the air, unspoken and waiting to see if Lin took the bait, before he laughed again. “I’m sorry in advance, I’m not very competitive. I’m that just-happy-to-be-included kind of person. Obnoxious, right? But you seem like you can lead us to victory, Lin.”