Lee Fallon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lee_fallon) wrote2015-12-12 06:06 pm
lee_fallon) wrote2015-12-12 06:06 pm
Entry tags:
PSL - Chance Encounter
Lee's been in Darrow now about a week and a half, and he's been to every bar in the city limits, met all of the owners, and offered to tailor each of their wine lists. He wasn't getting paid for any of this, but based on the amount of money in his bank account, his monthly stipend, and the cost of rent, he didn't really need money to get by day to day. And he certainly didn't need to save up for anything.
He still hasn't bothered to see a doctor. He feels like he probably should, just so someone in the city (besides his dear friend Susan) knows what was going on with him. But he'll get to that later.
Today he's out for a run. His running shoes arrived in the mail yesterday, and he's been itching to get his pulse up. He never feels as alive as he does when he's out on the street, feet pounding against the pavement, sweating freely, breathing hard. Sex is a very close second, but nothing beats the adrenaline rush of a good, hard sprint.
He doesn't have a route yet, just sort of turning left and right at intersections with no rhyme or reason. He's planning on doing six miles today, using the app on his phone to track his progress; so far he's just over four miles, maintaining something close to an eight minute mile pace, nice and respectable.
But then, turning a corner, he stops, abruptly enough that he nearly stumbles. It's been a few days since he last saw Connor, his last glimpse when Connor slipped out of his apartment. He'd thought about calling a few times, just to check on him, but for some reason Lee had always changed his mind.
Here he is now, walking down the street, late afternoon sun lighting up his face. Lee's thought about him a lot, about what it had been like to be with him, but also worrying about him, all that sorrow filling him up, sending him on a self-destructive path. He looks good, right now, not happy really but not falling into himself like he had been a few nights ago.
He can't make himself say anything, just stands and watches Connor walk his way on the opposite side of the street. He's breathing heavily from running, covered in sweat, and his heart is pounding, but some of that has to do with seeing Connor again. More than he's willing to admit even to himself.
He still hasn't bothered to see a doctor. He feels like he probably should, just so someone in the city (besides his dear friend Susan) knows what was going on with him. But he'll get to that later.
Today he's out for a run. His running shoes arrived in the mail yesterday, and he's been itching to get his pulse up. He never feels as alive as he does when he's out on the street, feet pounding against the pavement, sweating freely, breathing hard. Sex is a very close second, but nothing beats the adrenaline rush of a good, hard sprint.
He doesn't have a route yet, just sort of turning left and right at intersections with no rhyme or reason. He's planning on doing six miles today, using the app on his phone to track his progress; so far he's just over four miles, maintaining something close to an eight minute mile pace, nice and respectable.
But then, turning a corner, he stops, abruptly enough that he nearly stumbles. It's been a few days since he last saw Connor, his last glimpse when Connor slipped out of his apartment. He'd thought about calling a few times, just to check on him, but for some reason Lee had always changed his mind.
Here he is now, walking down the street, late afternoon sun lighting up his face. Lee's thought about him a lot, about what it had been like to be with him, but also worrying about him, all that sorrow filling him up, sending him on a self-destructive path. He looks good, right now, not happy really but not falling into himself like he had been a few nights ago.
He can't make himself say anything, just stands and watches Connor walk his way on the opposite side of the street. He's breathing heavily from running, covered in sweat, and his heart is pounding, but some of that has to do with seeing Connor again. More than he's willing to admit even to himself.
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Connor pulls out and that, in and of itself, makes Lee whimper a bit brokenly, the wet feeling of it, empty of Connor's warmth but full of his come, a little jarring.Worse is how far away Connor is, suddenly, and Lee's endorphins and hormones can't keep up. He swallows hard and bites his tongue to keep himself from calling Connor back to him. He takes a breath, reaching out with his hand, just to feel Connor beside him, his fingers bumping against the back of Connor's arm.
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Connor lifts his free hand, covering Lee's with his own, squeezing gently. It's all that he can give him right then; he knows it's probably not what Lee wants, but it's all Connor's got, all that he can let him have.
"I'm so fucking glad I ran into you."
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Lee's surprised when Connor covers his hand with his own; it's more contact than he figured they'd have after Connor moved away from him.
Then Connor speaks, and Lee can't help laughing. "I'm pretty happy about it myself," he says, still smiling. "This is a lot nicer than whatever else I had going on this afternoon."
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"Hell freaking yes," says Connor, flashing his white, expensive grin as he turns his head to look at Lee for a second. "Had a feeling you'd be worth a repeat visit."
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Lee laughs again, and he turns his head as well, their eyes meeting between them. "I'm glad we got a chance to do this again," he says, feeling warm and happy in this moment.
"Hey, do you have any plans for Christmas?" he asks suddenly, partly because he doesn't have any himself and he thinks Connor might prefer to not be alone, but also because he really wants to have an idea of when he might get to see Connor again.
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The question knocks Connor for a moment - of all the things that he was expecting Lee to say, that wasn't it. He blinks, shakes his head, doesn't pull his hand away.
"Not that I know of," he says. "Trying not to think about how I should be at my sister's or my Nonna's, probably."
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Connor's answer only reassures Lee that asking is a good idea, so he goes ahead, saying, "You want to go somewhere with me? I was thinking maybe just get a room in a hotel for a couple nights, take off our clothes when we get there and not put them back on again until we check out."
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Connor falls silent for a moment, thinking that over. He might be getting into a situation with Lee, which is something he'd like to avoid - he might be trying to fuck his way into forgetting Oliver, but he doesn't necessarily want that.
But it does sound incredibly tempting.
"Sure," he says. "Fuck it. Why not?"
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Connor hesitates for a moment, and Lee thinks maybe it's for the best, if Connor says no. Because once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, and three times, well. Three times is a habit. And while the sex is spectacular, fucking somebody that many times, no matter how hard you try to disconnect, is dangerous from the perspective of developing feelings.
But then Connor agrees, and Lee is filled with relief and gladness. It will be good that neither of them have to be alone over the holiday, thinking too much.
"Great," Lee replies happily. "I'll see what hotels I can find and then let you know."
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"I'll bring alcohol," he says, grinning. He stretches until his spine pops, eyelashes fluttering at how fucking good it feels. "Anything else you want me to sneak into my overnight bag?"
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“Chocolate?” Lee suggests, even as he thinks of his own list of goodies he’s going to bring along. “And probably lube. I have a feeling we’re going to need a lot of it."
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"Chocolate and lube," says Connor, laughing, nodding. "Got that covered. Definitely. Will I need a suit?"
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Lee’s initial reaction is to say no, that he doesn’t plan to let Connor get dressed the entire weekend. But then he changes his mind, knowing they’ll have to eat and not being able to resist the idea of taking Connor down to dinner. “Yes,” he answers with a smile. “I’d really like to see you in one."
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"I've bought a couple of decent ones since I got here," he says, ruffling his free hand through his hair. "I haven't managed to replicate my wardrobe back in Philadelphia, but it's something."
Shirts. He misses his shirts. And his boots.
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“You’re doing better than me,” Lee replies, fighting the urge to turn his hand so he can hold Connor’s properly. “I need to go shopping before Christmas. I wouldn’t want to look like a scrub out on a date with a hot guy like you,” he adds with a laugh.
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"You'd look good in a suit," says Connor, turning to look at Lee's profile. "I mean, you look great in running gear, but you could absolutely carry off tailoring."
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The compliment makes Lee feel warm in a strange way, a way he really likes, and it causes a surge of feelings that he has to fight hard to swallow back down. “I will definitely make an effort so that I look like I belong out with you,” he says, and god, he wishes he were younger or healthier, because there’s a part of him that wants Connor for something so much more than a sex partner.