shirt in his hands, rumlow has to take a pause, glancing over his shoulder at the man still in bed. he wanted to stay? whatever shock of electricity that statement left rumbling down his spine was well hidden, facing forward to pull a soft cotton tshirt over his head and fuss over his hair for a brief moment in the mirror. as eager as he felt, it didn’t matter. james might as well have been a bird; one false movement, one loud sound, and he’d be skitting off, leaving brock wondering if he’d ever even see him again. he hated it. hated not knowing, hated wondering about this night after night. it wasn’t friends with benefits, because to be real, they weren’t friends. were they? fuck buddies, sure. well, not really. it was too often to be that anymore – what the fuck is even going on here?
“at nine in the morning?” it was easier to just forget about it. nothing was constant, everything changed, like standing on a ship and waiting for the storm to pass and nausea to subside. patience was all it took. patience was not brock rumlow’s strongest characteristic. eyes back on james, he finds a seat on the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to fist a hand in that dark hair and pull him in for a needy, demanding kiss. things were still up in the air.
his hangover suddenly gave way to a very sobering series of thoughts.
“oh. oh, you meant.. yep. got it. lunch sounds great.” now he feels like a fucking idiot. remote swiped up in one hand and feet lifting onto the bed, he still tried to keep his distance, give james his berth, but flip on the television as something for him to focus on. no, not the news. and not pbs, either. with all of seven channels to choose from, a cooking show would have to do. except for the fact that he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, and spent the better part of the night drinking and, uh… using up his energy. “you like mexican food?” god forbid he ask personal questions, but watching this blonde lady on television spout how good her homemade guacamole is wasn’t helping things. “there’s a place that delivers not far from here, my work buddies and i stop there a lot. unless you wanna go out somewhere.” more unintentional personal information – along with the fact he’d just basically asked him out in a roundabout way. jesus christ, brock, you used to be so charming.
THIS was dangerous territory. he should have left. thoughts tickling the back of his head were dangerous and with the amount of time that it took brock to realize what bucky had said -- well, the only thought that overtook was how cute it was. CUTE. now, that was not a word he usually used in relation to his bedmate. it caused him to take pause and the welcomed distraction of the other turning on the television was -- well, welcomed. licking his own lips, he listened to the woman for a moment in what could be called awkward silence. silence as a knife hit against the cutting board beneath her manicured fingertips. his gaze lifted to look at brocks clothed shoulder.
( does that mean he works near here? )
IT almost burned him that he didn’t know much about him. but who’s fault was that? honestly, it was bucky’s. he never asked. he never offered. and when you never asked and you never offered, how was someone supposed to KNOW what was going on in your life? how were you meant to KNOW what was going on in theirs? you weren’t. that was why ears were kept shut, lips sealed and interest dead.
“i like mexican food.” his voice was almost too soft with how his thoughts were racing. did he want to take a step forward in this direction? he stayed -- didn’t he? he stayed. he stayed and he was still here. maybe it was time to, to give into what he was feeling. what he wanted to feel. how he wanted to chase the drunken kisses with sober morning ones. he suddenly felt far too naked in the bed they shared the night before but he made no move to stand up.
“i don’t really feel like going out in the walk of shame for lunch,” there was a quirk to his lips and a small smile rising from the ashes of his scattered thoughts. he was overthinking things. nat would say that was her job and he felt inclined to agree with the mental image of his best friend at the moment. maybe it was fine. maybe it was okay to ask questions. brock was offering information. he was offering so it was bucky’s turn to ask.
( because how else were you meant to know? )
“do you work near here?”
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