By: Caz [missingmywings at msn dot com]
Rating: A light R, I guess.
Summary: Chapter three: Odd Dating Habits
Notes: Ehm… this chapter kind of flirts with smut, but I really didn't want this fic to lose its cuteness, so I didn't let it get too graphic. People to thank over the course of this: Emily, Court, Erin, Melissa. And anyone else who helped me in ways I'm not sure of.
Disjointed. Illogical. His thoughts had wandered over more subjects in the last few minutes than in the rest of the night combined… and he didn't know why. But he found that every other subject that came to mind reminded him of something else, of someone else, or of some place he'd been and never returned to. The couch—grey mohair, purchased at the Salvation Army—felt like the thick, wooly material of the bedspreads at his father's old hunting cabin in Derbyshire… the sweet-sour taste of the wine on his tongue was reminiscent of New Year's galas he'd never meant to attend… the salient moon reminded him of werewolf films… and—
"Why did you do that?" he said, finally remembering the subject he'd meant to discuss the entire time.
"You know, you lose yourself in thought far too often," his compatriot said at the same instant. The statement was followed by an inquisitive, "hm?"
"You know what I'm talking about!" Hal retorted. "On the way to the restaurant. You kissed me. Why?"
David shrugged, reading the label of the wine bottle distractedly. The question, considering the emotional symptoms it was giving to the one who'd posed it, didn't seem to affect him much. "I don't know… do you always have a rationalization for every decision you make all the time? It's not like it was your first kiss or anything."
The perturbed Doctor rolled his eyes and stared, aghast. "Well, I don't know where you got your information, but I don't just run around kissing random men! It wasn't my first kiss, but it was my first with—with a guy! With you! I mean… don't tell me you're like that with every chick you chase after. There's things like... like flirting and dates and cohabitation before the spontaneous make-out session!"
Slouching against the couch in quintessential "who-gives-a-shit" posture, David plucked a cigarette from the pack he'd shoved into his pocket and let it hang from his lips, fumbling for his lighter. When he was unable to find it, he glanced up to find that he was being stared at rather stubbornly. "What?"
"Well?" Hal said. "Explanation, please?"
He shrugged again, mirroring the same expression from before as his eyes still remained down and his hands still searched the many folds and pockets of his coat and shirt for the Zippo.
"I don't know. Like I said: I just did it! I didn't sit there and analyze it. And as for dating? I took you to dinner, we're already friends, and we already live together! What flirting, what date, what cohabitation? Look, if you hated it or were embarrassed or whatever, I'm sorry… but I just run on impulse sometimes. I don't know why it happened. Don't you tell me you've never just done some random, unprompted thing…"
"I haven't! Unlike you, I always think before I speak. And…"
There was a long silence, followed by a measured sigh. He was theorizing on how exactly he could have known Otacon for so long and still be amazed as new layers of his naïveté were revealed. Never once given in to impulse? Come on… when he next looked up, Hal was staring at him with a strange, unformed expression. Behind his glasses, Hal's eyes then traveled to the floor as he spoke next.
"And… I never said that I didn't like it," he admitted, voice subdued. Suddenly, and in one fluid motion, he had plucked the cigarette from Dave's mouth, tossed it over his shoulder, and leaned forward, pressing their lips together in a temperate kiss. Neither of them could accurately gauge how long it lasted… one was too busy trying to shut off the mental alarms—do you realize what you just initiated?!—and focus on the sensation; the other was simply letting himself fall under because analyzing actions and then second-guessing them simply wasn't something he tended to do. Oddly enough, the kiss remained chaste 'til the very end, when they separated with but an infinitesimal distance between them, neither sure when to open their eyes or make another movement.
"Was that impulsive enough for you?" the engineer said, the corners of his mouth turning upward in a devilish smirk.
The odd fact was that nothing between them felt changed; there was no fear of broken bonds, no turning away and rushing toward another room; there was just a brief moment of "what-the-fuck-am-I-doing" and there would be no discussing it, even, because things between them were that simple. Once he looked back on it, Hal would think that their relationship was easier than he'd ever had it with any woman: women needed confirmation, emotional support… women got jealous. Women wanted to know how they looked in a certain outfit; Snake nor David would ever ask him anything like that. Or even anything about whether or not they wanted to take it to the "next level." A week's worth of discussion and questions and answers passed between them in a nanosecond, like neurotransmissions through a synapse, with instant understanding.
And, aside from all of that, the point was this: both had been stressed and, to lose all delicacy whatsoever, more than a little lonely. Hal was just glad that he was finally kissing someone. It didn't matter that the tongue currently wrestling with his own happened to belong to a man.
After breaking apart once more, there was no hesitation. They leapt immediately into the kind of foreplay that caused teenagers to be forcefully removed from public areas. With David, he was finding, there were no clearly defined rules or boundaries. Thus, it became somewhat of a competition between the two of them, each trying to outwit the other. However, he was finding that he was losing, due to the creativity of the other. But it was so that when he found himself on his back upon the couch, being straddled as though he were the textbook bitch of the relationship, he really didn't mind.
Claimed by another kiss, he focused on the taste—leftover Szechwan with nicotine—and gasped as he felt a sudden, sharp, yet not entirely unpleasant pain.
"Biting me on the neck, huh? What are you, some kind of vampire?"
He countered with a fierce bite of his own—there would be marks in the morning—and then trailed kisses across Dave's stubble-spotted jaw line, smirking as he elicited a rumbling moan in the other man's throat. He was then thrown roughly onto his back, shirt yanked up around his shoulders and finally pulled off entirely. Then it was an entirely new ballgame: each new brush of skin to skin set him on fire. Before he knew it—is the world really moving in slow motion? Jesus Christ—he was pulling them closely together, panting and demanding. It was different than with a woman, he thought as his dazed brain floated out into the proverbial ether. The hands upon his skin were rougher; the body above his own was hard and rigid, decidedly lacking feminine curves. Blood rushed hot and quick through the capillaries of his fingertips, which ere all too eager to assist in the removal of the last thin items of clothing separating them.
Before he knew it, nails were digging into his skin and tears were forming in his eyes as he screamed the name of the one who'd carried him to heaven. He didn't care who heard.
A while later—too distracted to bother looking at a clock—they were seated at a familiar place, staring out at a very familiar little slice of sky and city. Only this time, they occupied the windowpane together. And this time, the architecture that cupped them to its stone-and-mortar breast seemed somehow more warm than cold. The remnants of the wine had been poured into slightly-overfilled glasses; they sipped it thoughtfully as the cascade of lights before them slowly trickled down to few. The city wasn't dead, Hal realized, nor was it even dying. It had simply gone to sleep for a while.
"If I had a nickel for every time this window caused you to ignore my presence entirely…"
They shared a bit of a laugh, probably more due to the alcohol than to the line's relevance or humor. It didn't matter either way.
"I hate them—the people out there—because of the fact that they don't even know how much they owe us," Hal said. A long moment passed before he continued, finally collecting his thoughts: "but… now that I really think about it… does that even matter? No matter how many rogue governments or crazy bastards are out there, the best we can do is fight until we can't anymore. Whether we save them or they save themselves, life will just keep moving forward."
"Profound words from a man as drunk as you are," David commented, smirking. "But you're right," he added as he wrapped his arms around the slimmer man's shoulders, and pressing his cheek to Hal's neck. Smooth, strong, his heart kept on beating.
"I don't understand, though, why I suddenly feel this way. Maybe it's the wine—"
"—or the sex—"
"—hey! Anyway, what I was saying before you took your perverted liberty… is that everything just kind of feels different now. Like maybe, in spite of it all, we just might make it."
He laughed and took one of Hal's hands between his own, splaying the fingers flat and running his thumb along the delicate topography of his open palm. It was every bit as romantic of a gesture as it had been before; only this time, there were no chopsticks.
"Yeah, I know what that feeling is," he said offhandedly.
"Oh? Enlighten me."
He held their hands together, comparing the size and shape with an ironic smile. Soft to callused, fragile to firm, pale to tan… yet despite their differences, they complimented each other perfectly.
"Where I'm from, we just call that 'hope.'"
/Fin.