he can’t actually recall the last time he’d seen marley--it’s been weeks, at least, and they’d seemed to pass in a blur. that happens from time to time when things at work become particularly stressful. seen is a loose term, though; over the holidays he’d indulged his mother’s love for seeing the nutcracker every single year and had been surprised to say the least to see his on-and-off fling up on stage. in the back of his mind he’d vaguely remembered something about the small blond being a dancer, but of course he hadn’t stayed afterward to chat nor had he let marley know he’d been there. and aside from that, there’s been no contact since the last time they’d been in bed together following a heated argument about god only knew what. things never really settle down when it comes to his job ( particularly because of the things he does to make sure he keeps that job ), but it’s when they reach a minimum level of stress that he usually winds up texting marley to satisfy an insatiable itch. besides, there’s some measure of satisfaction in knowing the blond will show up no matter how long it’s been, and likely even if the requested time and place aren’t good for him. tonight he’s decided to push things even farther for his own personal amusement, asking marley to meet him at his place of work around the time he expects to leave--only he deliberately waits fifteen minutes before going down to the lobby, just for the pleasure of seeing the boy standing there like he simply can’t help himself. “my meeting ran late,” he says by way of greeting, folding a scarf around his neck as he approaches marley. it hadn’t and he thinks marley probably knows that, but isn’t that the point? dangling people on a string to which they willingly subject themselves is one of damon’s greatest pleasures in life. “we’re going back to my place. should i assume you haven’t eaten?”
