The grownups are talking. Lip has played his part, offered his wrists like a canapé tray to the guests. He doesn’t know what morbid business they came here to discuss, and he doesn’t need to— all he needs to know is that they are, for now, satisfied. Thirst slaked and eyes shining, the visitors have disappeared into the back room with Lip’s boss, leaving the breathers to wait in the lounge.
He’s seated a little closer to Rod than he really needs to be, cozied up on one of the dramatic leather fainting couches with the easy-to-clean finish. The room is warm, but not so warm that Lip, with his backless silk top and his forearms freshly healed over, doesn’t feel a chill. On another night, he’d be on his way to charm the bartender into raising the thermostat by now. But tonight, Rod is here, and Lip wants to take the chance to spend a bit more time with him. Even if that means attempting small talk.
@allpurposebogeyman says: “Oh, don’t worry about it. I have a ton of things that I do.”
The non-answer answer doesn’t phase Lip at all. He laughs a little, brushing a stray lock of Rod’s hair back into the pomaded wave.
“I’m sure you do.” There’s a particular way he’s learned to hold himself, always displayed to his own best advantage. His bare shoulders catch the low light, inviting an arm to be wrapped around them. He glances towards the door to the back room. “How long do you think they’ll be in there?”
[ mortal stakes starters | accepting! ]
He used to like clubs like this, you know? The pulsing music designed to match your heartbeat and pound in your throat, the dark corners and slick furniture-- now something about it makes his teeth ache, as much as he radiates aggressive casualness for the benefit of any unseen watchers. Roderick's self-satisfied sprawl is as much theater as Lip's careful position next to him, one arm thrown out along the low back of the couch and his head tipped back to consider the ceiling. He, after all, is an invitation only dish (Not his own, ha, but that's being a ghoul for you.)
He turns his head into Lip's hand slightly at the brush, flashing the dancer a sliver of smile far more sincere that the shit-eating grin he maintains for this sort of thing. Non-answers aside, he likes Lip. There's a shift of his shoulder, a suggestion that his arm might come around those bare shoulders, but he waits for an acknowledgement before giving Lip a casual squeeze and "forgetting" to remove his arm again.
"Thinking of playing hookie?" There's a joke here about going to get a bite to eat, since everyone else has. It's maybe in bad taste(ha), so he slides into "There's a great little place up the street-- there and back before they finish hashing out who gets to speak first? Anybody asks, you can tell them we're networking."
That's what the kids call it, right, when you go out with someone tangently related to your job?
"Or that I kidnapped you. Either or."
