Right now, Yuri Lowell looks particularly kissable, he wonders. And immediately freezes, running that thought through his mind once again, the following thought akin to a wordless feeling of ‘what the fuck’ and he’s most certainly pushing that nonsense down. Too drunk, he figures, head shaking over his drink. Hardly had any booze, but, well, since taking a trip with the kids he’s been cutting back. Wasn’t quite so hard to stay sober, wasn’t quite to tempting to drown everything out. This thought though--made him start to rethink this new policy. Didn’t think he could handle that nonsense sober.
“What’s the problem, old man?” Dry and biting as always, pulling the old bird back from his cups. Hadn’t been so good at hiding that lil crisis of his, huh. Eh, he’d just play it off, shake it off like always. One little stray thought didn’t mean anything.
“Nothin’, nothin’. Hey, pass over th’ salt--” Just pass the night like normal.
The light’s behind the wolf now, and the bird has his chin propped up on his hand, slack jaw and expression as he looks, eyes trailing up and down the line of gold that framed the younger’s jawline, the slope his neck, the beginning of his chest--
And then his shoulders hitch as he starts to think again, and realizes what he’s doing. Damn fool. Out goes a frustrated huff of air as he turns away, restless irritation rising to run his hand through his hair now. He was too sober for this. Too damn sober to be admiring a man, admiring Yuri. The hell was he doing.
He plays it off again. He always plays it off. But there’s just the slightest edge to it this time, the making sure he doesn’t look too long, doesn’t get too affectionate, doesn’t lean over and playfully yank Yuri’s hair, doesn’t let his smiles linger. This seems to frustrate the wolf over time. Frustrates himself more. The night ends on a sour note.
He’s been thinking. Doesn’t like that. But he’s been thinking. And he’s decided what to do.
Yep, just ignore it. Forget it. Sooner or later those weird feelings will dissipate, or, worst case, become so normal he can just tune ‘em out. Ignoring all his problems has definitely, always worked in the past. Absolutely. What a weight off his chest this decision is! No more fretting over if he’s seriously attracted to a) a man and b) this man. Probably just mistaking the normal feeling of intimacy people feel towards their best friends (which, as sarcastically as the phrase always comes out when saying it aloud, was the truth) anyway.
It’s not like Yuri would want some old bird attempting to woo him anyway. Wouldn’t want the normal schmooze he gives the ladies, the usual over-heavy laying on the charm. Not seriously. As a gag, maybe, and even then it’s all eye rolls and ‘not funny’s. Wouldn’t want that hand on his back, those rough lips by his ear. He’s washed up, he’s got a messy past, got too much bagged that the kid knew too much about to ever have the same thoughts cross his mind.
So, hands in his pockets, a spring in his step, he whistles. It’s all right. He’ll get over it.
He’s not really getting over it. Not as fast as he’d hoped. He’d hoped that as soon as he made his decision, it’d stop. Wouldn’t find himself making up excuses to stand so close, at least. Wouldn’t have found an excuse to keep his hand behind the wolf (th’ place is crowded, yeah?) as he puts on a smile that’s part giddy and part forced. Good thing he didn’t really have a heart, so he didn’t have to listen to any damned pounding of a fool. He’s a fool that ought get pounded. Wouldn’t even mind a sorta pounding--
Nope. Nope, not continuing that thought, and it ruins his mood enough to visibly make a face of disgust with himself. Yikes. Really losing it there, bud. Way too old to act like this. He takes his hand back, takes a step away, has to rub his face to rub in how dumb he’s acting. Yuri looks back, looks as if he’s going to say something, but really, the bird has been so strange lately, this might as well be normal. There’s no point to asking what’s wrong. Wouldn’t get an answer anyway. It’d just annoy them both. So the bird settles in, this time with much more distance, and they pretend it’s a normal night, just like all the others.
Say, maybe he’s had a couple too many to drink. He was irritated, Yuri’s words were cutting more and more, and they were both on the verge of leaving, calling it a night and trying to play masquerade another day. Rough hands tighten ‘round bottle’s neck--this is a damn dumb way to act. A phrase he’s been repeating over and over to himself the whole night. This nonsense was going to run sour anything they did, wasn’t it. He couldn’t--let that happen, now could he. This was his best friend, after all.
Sure, his guild-mates were fine, he had his hands full with helping run a global power, his skills as spy and pet and assassin coming in handy, all the years he’d spent at the sides of those in charge, and apparently he’d picked up more than he thought. Yet, even with Harry there was distance. The kid didn’t need to know all the bird’s past deeds, all the mistakes and wrongs he did and all the parts that were still sharp and broken. Same went for Karol, and the rest of them.
‘Sides, Yuri was a good reminder what would await him if he fell off the track again. He thought about it still, sometimes. There were still days he felt he shouldn’t be around, days he wondered why the line ought be bothered to tread, what did it matter, days were he damn near just did anything at all he was told to do, just to not think. Ah, but that wasn’t the sort of stuff Raven did, and the young wolf kept him remembering that. Raven was a flirt and a sleaze, but he was also an upstanding member of Altosk. He wouldn’t know what to do without Yuri there. He’d probably be fine, maybe--but it sure wouldn’t be the same, wouldn’t feel quite so right or be quite so happy. Strange thing to say, ‘bout someone who’s business was murder.
There the wolf goes, getting up to leave, and the bird can’t blame him. A slow, unappealing end to the night, and he’s just inebriated enough to lurch to his feet as well, grab the man’s wrist. He doesn’t quite know what to do with it, but he’s got it, and he figures he’s got to say something about.
“--Sorry. Sorry, ‘bout t’night. ‘Bout th’ last nights.” Ah, he sounds pathetic, tripping over his words. He can’t even convince himself to look up, just staring at his hand as he holds onto the other, his grip loosening as he speaks. Yuri’s warm. But--he doesn’t think he likes this. Doesn’t like having so many feelings for someone, even if he is overreacting, mistaking any feelings for another. Even if it’s all platonic, doesn’t know if he likes being so tied to someone, so invested in their well-being, so interested in their company. Had he ever cared for someone so much--?
“Look, this is--this is gonna be weird, a’right? But I just--bah, I’m jus’ overthinkin’ things an’ getting weird.” He’s so frustrated with himself, so annoyed by not being to deal with this in the way he always has--shove it down and ignore it.This irritation helps push him into his next action, a quick half step forward, thrusting his head near Yuri’s, close ‘nough his own breath warms his lips as he closes in--
And he chickens out. Staying there, freezing. Ah, damn. The wolf pulls back, nose wrinkled from the stench of alcohol on his breath, and those lips part for some sort of beratement, surely--and he’s got his second wind, free hand up to cup the wolf’s cheek as he capitalizes on confusion and irritation to slip in that kiss he’s been thinking about for far too long. A bothersome thing, these ‘feelings’, a more bothersome reaction in his enjoyment of the feeling, wanting to do more than a quick surprise kiss, a there and gone, and really relish that warmth. But he won’t, far too much a coward for even as much as he’s done, and he’s cut off all contact with the wolf as if he was holding hot iron.
“Yep, weird. Right, see ya next time yer in town, bud.” Oh, he hasn’t attempted to book quite so awkward or quite so hasty a retreat in quite some time, and from the grimace on his face, the stiff movements, one really isn’t quite sure if he enjoyed that action, or if the man was in any control of himself at all. And, really, he wasn’t all too sure on either front himself.
