Re: Third floor balcony
"Its not the kind of story you tell when you're trying to get someone to kiss you. I don't do the pity thing, sweetheart -- and trust me, its a sad fucking story." Death, revenge, betrayal, and falls from grace. It sounded like the tagline for a movie he'd go see, if he hadn't already lived it. He found that things like death and violence were easily acquired tastes, a hungry dog would eat what he was given -- but he got tired of having the same thing for dinner all of the time. He got tired of constant fighting, even if it was the only way, it got exhausting… but this was nice. He'd suspected that the hotel was responsible for a whole lot of death and fighting, but not this time. Not for him. He wasn't getting into any useless frays. He was getting drunk. Getting drunk in a shopping mall was extremely high school, and so was kissing people you'd just met -- it went together expectedly.
He smirked at the snort. "Did I ruin the moment? Should I have just went for it?" He wasn't familiar with etiquette one followed when one kissed another man. In that moment he realized that there was at least one person back home whom he could have asked if only he'd known this was a possibility in his future. And he claimed to be always prepared. His lip curled, because there was nothing like making the self-discovery of your own (proven)worthless hype.
Anyway, he figured that Blondie's giggle wasn't a no. So he stepped up and squared off against narrow hips, and he palmed the back of Blondie's stylishly groomed neck, bringing the pair of them a step or two away from the balcony rail. Then, without even a hint of asking again, he kissed him.
It was all very dramatic, swift and romantic. There was even a little dip like they do in the movies.