Prompt - “Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do?”
god, i totally forgot about this prompt, it sat in my inbox for months, i don’t even know from which list that was, sorry, ahh! im using this for clydeland finally!
“Exactly how much more hinting do I have to do?”
Clyde looked up from his very busy task of polishing the glass. It was the Irish guy who’d been here the past nights, drinking first a beer, and then a bit of Tequila. Clyde knew that he had moved here a few weeks ago. The first night he’d seen him he’d told Clyde that he had just moved here, feeling like some bird who’d finally spread his wings or something.
Clyde hadn’t really listened because the bar had been full then and it always took him longer for the drinks because…well. One arm and all that.
He remembered that the guy worked in some furniture store or something.
He’d talked a lot that first night. Rambled even. Clyde had just dryly told him how it had happened when the guy had stared at him mixing the cocktails one-armed. He’d stuttered then, apologized to Clyde that he didn’t mean to stare, he’d just been truly impressed by that skill. Clyde had just shrugged and went on to the next patron.
When he’d looked back to the Irish guy after mixing a few drinks for others, his seat had been empty, but he’d left Clyde the money he owed him, with a very nice tip.
He’d come back to the bar every few days from then on, and Clyde had watched him trying to flirt his way through the bar. Most times he failed. But sometimes, he left with a lady. Due to the constant flirting, Clyde had overheard some information and one evening he really had wanted to ask if the guy had made this whole cuckold-moving-in-with-me-and-showing-me-the-way-of-the-flirting-and-succeeding up just to get into the ladies’ pants.
The past week, he’d been coming in every night, though, and hadn’t tried to flirt with anyone. As far as Clyde could tell. He’d just sat there, and talked. Rambled. Clyde had only half listened as usual, sometimes being distracted by other patrons, sometimes silently raging at people who made fun of him, and one time by his brother who’d made a surprise visit.
And now, standing there and polishing the glasses, he realized for the first time that he had been talking to him the whole time. Clyde wanted to tell him that this whole the bartender being your therapist business was not his style, but instead he said, “What?”
The guy sighed and asked if he could have a gin with ice then. “I asked you how much hinting do I have to do? I mean, I get it, you’re not a talker, but you’re not outright frowning at me like you do with some others. I’m not saying that I’m getting good vibes here and embarrass myself, because that is the past me, but I thought I might try, after Lydia from a week ago, just patted my cheek and said I should come back to her when I have the bartender out of my mind, and I didn’t get it, because I’m not gay, you know. And you’re the only bartender here. I assume you own the bar. But it really got me thinking, like, I lay in bed that night, wondering if I might not be completely straight. And I came back here to check you uhhh i mean it out.
“You know, testing uhh the waters. And trying to understand. And uh, well, I didn’t know why she said staring, and I guess I started staring at you and you…you really have an impressive backside, I noticed, and I started dreaming about that backside and I tried to talk about the stuff that Grady told me to do and you didn’t visibly react and I’m really trying here. I’m not going to be that person again, and really. You want to or not?”
Clyde had stopped polishing the glass and stared at the guy who had pink cheeks now. It clashed horribly with his orange hair. Clyde blinked and tried to make sense out of all the rambling. He repeated most of the words in his head, and finally said, “What?”
Yeah, he really should say more than that word. Ginger cringed and looked like he was about to give Clyde the money and leave. He looked so shattered, that Clyde quickly added, “I’m sorry. It’s been so busy the past nights. I…what was your name again?”
The guy blinked and Clyde became aware of his long eye lashes and how they fanned so prettily.
“Stensland. I introduced myself the first night…Clyde.”
Clyde put the glass away and walked over to him. He leaned down, on his good arm and stared Stensland down without blinking. Stensland stared back, until he looked away, cleared his throat and looked back again.
“You’re trying to find out if you’re maybe bisexual and like my backside?” Clyde asked.
“Well…I’m pretty sure I am. And you do have a lovely backside. I’ve been trying to ask you out for a few nights now, to find out if it feels as good as it looks like,” Stensland said boldly.
Clyde huffed. Against all odds, he was charmed. And Stensland was cute. And Clyde hadn’t had a warm body next to him in so long. Or even a nice talk over some dinner.
“Fine,” he said, starting Stensland who probably hadn’t expected such an answer. “Under one condition only.”
“Yes?” Stensland asked eagerly. “Yes, everything.”
“You gotta tell me that whole story. You told everyone here. What with that husband. And something involved Lederhosen.”
Stensland laughed. It sounded nice. Clyde liked the sound.
“All right,” Stensland said. “But only if you drink another one with me.” He held up the Tequila shot glass and Clyde nodded, getting the bottle and another glass. Stensland brushed his hand when Clyde filled the glasses and Clyde liked the feeling of his warm fingers on his skin.
(And he definitely liked the soft touch on his backside.)
blakekathryn
theartofmadeline
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