Re: Capital club: Patrick G/Newt P
That's right. Now you understand. [Newt smiled. He was rather too stoned to stop smiling, even as Patrick went on to talk about his concern.] Oh. [Concern twinged eyebrows together, and the smile finally twitched away to ether.] I'm all right. You worry about enough people as it is, I think. I'm rather glad you're back, though. [And he was. He smiled again when he was accused of flirting. He defended himself, but Patrick wielded that wink with utter precision, as he did, Newt imagined, that sword. Deft and ruthless, and Newt was blushing before he even knew why.] You are a flirt. [He could confirm that, even if he'd not give himself up to the same.
The grin given, after the so-called play was called by Newt, who'd've been the world's worst football coach, was all the danger and trouble of earlier bound up into one curve of lips. And Newt made himself take a breath. That was before his ass was smacked. He was quite surprised, but, he was too slow and all he'd've done was color again. Which, of course, he did do as Patrick walked away.—Newt watched, leaning back against the bar to order another drink. By the time his gaze, which'd not wandered so very much, returned to Patrick and the other man, he blinked as Patrick glanced at him. Then, the pair kissed.
Rather unwilling to turn this into another scene like that in the strip club loo, Newt tore his gaze away. He turned back to the bartender and ordered himself a tequila shot. He straddled a stool, letting the sounds of the club bear down on him. He was a bit hot under the collar, but he ignored it. His gaze adhered to the bartender's cheek and chin as he passed over bills.] Thank you. [He smiled, then without the ritual preparation for a tequila shot, he downed it. He looked over his shoulder to see how things were progressing.]