Now that he had a little bit of wine in him, he felt a little bit more comfortable and wanted to ask the question that was burning in his mind for this entire time, "How do you afford to do all of this, if you don't mind me asking?"
Rick set down his own glass of wine and pulled Craig closer to him, "Whaddya think someone does with a shitton o'black belts, babe? I won a lotta competitions way back when. They usually have some kinda prize money. Past that, it's all bein' smart about investin' and all that."
That did make sense now that Craig had a second to think about it. Obviously there were competitions for Mixed Martial Arts, though he was only dimly aware of them. Rick did feel… muscular enough. Craig was pressed up against Rick's side, though he didn't remember getting that close. It just felt much more stable that way. It probably had something to do with nearly passing out in the entrance to this place. Something occurred to him: he hadn't heard anyone speak English after Rick spoke to them in French, why did Rick want him to stay quiet?
The mild warmth in his stomach from the little bit of wine he'd had made it a little easier to talk to Rick, so he asked away, "Why did you want me to be silent while here?"
"Two reasons, beautiful, yer voice doesn't pass so well. Y'made such an effort tryin'ta look'th part, too. And th'other you won't believe me," he replied with a chuckle.
Craig found that hard to believe, considering how much he'd already found hard to believe. The stupid nicknames being turned on him, French-speaking well-off MMA fighters hitting on him, getting forced to wear a dress to a date with another man, to start off with were all very unbelievable things. He almost asked anyway, but Rick moved to spear his last bit of tiny cake his fork and held it up.
"Make ya a deal," he said with a mischievous grin, "Take this and I'll tell ya."
Craig gave Rick an incredulous look, knowing that Rick wanted him to eat it. The corset wasn't feeling tight enough as it was? It wasn't as though Rick knew about that. Fact: If the roles were reversed, Rick wouldn't be adjusting anywhere near as well. Craig couldn't decide if that fact was smugly good for his resourcefulness or very bad for his tolerance of these things.
He finally acquiesced and parted his lips with closed eyes. He felt the fork on his tongue and tried to quickly eat it, but he'd forgotten how good it tasted. He didn't know it, but Rick was watching as he swallowed and passed his tongue over his red stained lips. Craig finally opened his eyes to see Rick giving him 'the look' which kind of made him want to go and hide forever. It made him feel warmer than the damned wine did and that wasn't comfortable to say the least.
"Kinda wanted to impress ya with th'French, beautiful, believe it'r not," Rick said, squeezing Craig's shoulders a big tighter.
Craig didn't have time to express his disbelief with that because in the same blur that all of their courses came, the check was paid and they were happily ushered out and into their car without Craig actually remembering the transitions. Next thing he knew they were pulling up to a brightly lit dance club that seemed to cater to a crowd a tad bit younger than Craig had any interest in. There was another valet there and curiously, Rick got them in past the long line in the front. From his past piss-poor assumptions, Craig had to assume something was going on there, but he didn't get a chance to ask.
The inside of the club was loud and thumping so much that Craig couldn't hear himself think, much less anyone else talk. Rick had to nearly yell in his ear to ask if he wanted something to drink. He managed to convey that he wanted a drink and they moved over to the bar. Rick held onto Craig's gloved hand tightly, but Craig couldn't hear what he was asking for, still. He glanced around the club, trying to figure it out. There looked to be a balcony just over the bar where the VIP was and there was an upstairs and a downstairs dance floor. It was all lit with blue lights all across the edges, where the rest was a shiny black or silver. There were black lights on the dance floor Craig could see; this whole place looked like a 20-something hip hangout or whatever it is they would say.
Rick finally pressed something in a martini glass in Craig's hand. It was pink and opaque; a cosmopolitan, Craig liked those, at least. Rick gripped Craig's hand tighter and started pulling him through the crowd. Craig could barely see Rick ahead of them, this dance floor was packed. All of a sudden, Rick stopped and Craig had to figure out the brakes on his heels pretty damn fast before he crashed right into him. He could see he was talking to someone, but he didn't know who they were or what the might have been saying. Rick finally looked pained and turned to him.
"Sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go take care of something. Remember my rule for here?" Rick asked right near his ear and Craig nodded, swallowing heavily.
If he had to dance with whoever approached him, this might end up badly. Craig wouldn't admit this on his deathbed, but he was getting used to have Rick around to block out everyone else. He was getting used to having Rick there to lean on so he didn't break his ankles or fall over because he didn't know how to walk in heels. Rick pulled and grinned it him, touching his chin gently before he left with the other guy.
Craig shut his eyes for a moment but was jostled around on the dance floor. He quickly downed the rest of his cosmopolitan and started toward the bar for another one. The drunker he was, the more likely he'd forget about all of this in the morning, and hopefully, just maybe he'd forget all the embarrassment of this forever. He didn't make it as far as the bar before someone turned around and bumped into him. Craig nearly fell over, but he felt someone grab his elbow.
"Well there, miss! I'm so sorry about that, terribly clumsy you know. Comes with being tall and all, I mean, what else am I gonna do with all 6'5" of me, right?" someone chattered at him.
Craig finally looked up to see an impossibly tall man gripping his elbow. He had a stupid grin on his face that made Craig immediately dislike him, along with bright blue eyes that nearly matched the lights along the bar. Craig didn't say anything immediately which made the man start to look uncomfortable and nervously run his hand through his ginger hair.
The man pushed his glasses up his nose and then tried to guide Craig to a barstool, "Well, I must've done more damage than I thought then! Can't speak, okay. That is… not a good sign, but let's see what we can do about it, yeah?"
Craig winced, but allowed himself to be dragged to the bar. That is where he was going in the first place anyway, but Craig was a trifle annoyed with this babbling British man who seemed completely unable to shut up. Craig lifted himself onto the barstool with some insistent help from the blue-eyed man. He finally got a good look at the babbling moron; he was wearing some expensive kind of grey suit along with a vibrant blue shirt. He looked well-off, from the way he was carrying himself and the way he was dressed.
"Still not talking, hmmm. Ah, I've got it! I'll buy you a drink and maybe that'll clear you up, what do you like? Oh right, not talking uhm…," he spouted, making Craig roll his eyes slightly.
The man didn't seem to catch that bit of sarcastic body language, "Uhm, well, uh, do you like… Oh, hell if I know anything about alcohol. I only know one drink really and I've never even had it, funny story. It was some drink that someone spilled on me once and they said 'Oh, I'm soooooo sorry that I dropped that appletini on you!'" he said, mimicking a high pitched feminine voice, "And I asked her, 'you've ruined my shirt, why does it matter what kind it is?'"
He chuckled lamely until he realized Craig was staring at him with a decidedly uninterested glare. He cut off the awkward laugh before ordering an appletini with a wide-eyed bartender. That was an odd reaction for a regular customer, noted Craig. This guy was strange. Fact: Craig had been in the company of more strange men than he ever wanted to have company with ever again.
"Uh, so, my name's Wheatley," the man said, putting the martini glass full of apple-green liquor next to Craig's hand that rested on the bar, "What's yours? Oh, right, not speaking… uhm… Can you say appletini? Aaaahhhppletini, just like that, go on. Appletini."
Craig's eyebrows dropped into a pretty standard deadpan glare, which made Wheatley get seemingly more nervous, "That's… uh that's glaring that you're doing right there, glaring. Apologies, I didn't mean to… imply you were stupid. Y-you must be mute, which is okay! Nothing wrong with someone who can't speak! Some… some of my best friends are quiet, y'know… don't speak much."
Aside from disliking this chattering guy, Craig was wary to start speaking from what Rick had said about his voice. He hadn't tried to make it passing, just his appearance so he was better safe than sorry. Fortunately, this man seemed to talk enough for not just the two of them, but two more people and Craig passed this little trial without much worry. Wheatley kept pressing appletinis in Craig's direction and Craig managed to make the completely oblivious fool think that Craig had drunk every single one when Wheatley himself was drinking all of them. It was simple as flipping the empty glass from his long-finished cosmopolitan in front of Wheatley and switching it with a full appletini a quick, single wrist motion. The now-drunk idiot didn't seem to notice that he hadn't been drinking in the first place.
"Oh, I shwear I finished that," Wheatley slurred for the ninth time before doing the foolish thing by knocking the entire green drink back.
Craig winced, but at least Wheatley was the drunk one and not him. He couldn't even divine why he was pushing drinks toward him or even why Craig was sticking around to watch this train wreck. Craig watched as he picked himself off of the barstool and almost fell immediately to the floor. He clutched the bar as he steadied himself; Craig hadn't ever recalled seeing such a tall man so drunk before. It was morbidly amusing.
"I wash waiting 'til I gotta… gotta bit a courage'n me b'fore I asked this, y'know," Wheatley slurred, almost half forgetting the sentence he started, "But would you like to dance wif me? I mean, only if you wanna, 'cause I'm not a creep or anything, that'd be bad if I forced you to do it, right?"
Craig shut his eyes for a moment before he said anything. He really wished he could just speak right now and scare the moron off, but it appeared that wasn't going to work. He'd risk exposing himself to everyone and that wouldn't be pretty for his self-esteem. He finally just nodded to Wheatley who clumsily grabbed his gloved hand and proceeded to drag him out to the middle of the crowded dance floor. Wheatley stared for a moment, clearly unsure of how to do this now that they were there. Craig rolled his eyes completely this time, which was also missed by his drunken dance partner.
He finally caught a clue and shyly wrapped his arms around Craig's waist and pulling him close. Craig nearly cringed because he smelled so much like that apple-flavored vodka, but he pulled him so close that he had to put his hands on this drunk's shoulders. Wheatley must've taken that as a positive sign, because he quickly moved his hands to Craig's hip and the small of his back.
"Y'know, I might jusht regret saying this, but not to sound… y'know weird or anything because that'd be horrible If I shcared you off! Took all that time to chatchu up and then poof! You disappear? A whole night washted! But anyway, anyway, you're really something… well, beautiful, you know that? Yes, I've been quite smitten since you bumped into me, that's not strange, is it?"
Craig was trying to ignore Wheatley's babbling over his appearance because it was frankly embarrassing. He tried to listen to the pounding music like he couldn't hear Wheatley anyway. Ooooh, let me in or I'll get physical… with yoooou~ Craig winced and genuinely hoped that this didn't give this buffoon any ideas, like it had been with the grinding and gyrating people around them.
"Well, um, I shuppose it is kind of loud, so maybe you can't hear me!" Wheatley said and Craig made no indication he did, "Maybe this is kind of sudden and I dunno your name or anything, but oh well."
It seemed that this sound did indeed give Wheatley some room to loosen up because after a few moments of awkward silence, Craig could feel his hands moving. Craig's eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he felt a pair of awkward hands moving a bit too low for Craig's comfort. He finally deigned look glance at his dance partner and his reddened, bespectacled face was much, much too far down for Craig's comfort. He had to bend in funny ways to dance with the much shorter Craig, but now Wheatley was nearly bent in half bending near Craig's face. Craig's mouth opened to yell when he felt a hand pass over his ass and Craig only had a second to react, which he didn't use, before a very vodka-flavored mouth was pressed up against his.
This drunken ass kissing him was stronger than he appeared because as much as Craig tried to push him away, he couldn't even get him to budge. He finally let go and Craig immediately broke out of his dancing grip and did his best to dash away without falling over. He could hear Wheatley behind him bumbling on about making moves much too quickly and how he was begging forgiveness for being a horrible kisser. Craig almost took a left at the bar, intending to hide in the other dance floor, but he saw a sign for the bathrooms and shot to the right, moving past the entry way and coming up immediately to a neon-lit pair of doors that said 'Ladies' and then 'Gents' in a silvery looped script.
Craig stared at them for a very heavy minute trying to decide where to go until he heard a pretty familiar British accent behind him. Craig picked the door that would take him somewhere where Wheatley couldn't follow and burst into the ladies' bathroom. He kept running to the surprisingly mostly empty stalls and locked himself inside of the furthest one. He took a deep breath and checked the purse Catherine forced on him for his phone. He was highly tempted to call Catherine and call this a bust. Rick had abandoned him and now he was being harassed and groped by some babbling British idiot. He realized that he'd have to see Rick for a long time after this… and he did not want to give the man any blackmail material before he could make him sign a legal gag. He'd just have to go through with this. Maybe he could find Rick quickly and tell him what had happened and then they could leave.
Craig shoved his phone back into the bag and stepped out of the stall. He could do this and he would do this; he wasn't about to let some big brute who was leading him on get the better of him. And to think he was starting to like the UPS man; it was ridiculous. He strode toward the sinks and peeled off his gloves so he could wash his hands. There, a tall and pale woman joined him, washing her hands as well. Craig couldn't help but notice her as she was much older than the crowd around here, as obvious by her snow white hair. The woman looked up in the mirror and noticed that Craig was looking at her. She had an extremely neutral, almost deadpan expression on her face, but she started conversation anyway.
"You're extrodinarily tall for a woman," she commented.
Craig froze, unsure if the woman clocked him or was just trying to make conversation, "…Taller women are… are 80% more likely to have a lucrative career," he stammered as quietly as he could get away with. He dried his hands and pulled his gloves on while the woman leisurely dried her own. While she and him were standing up straight, Craig made the flabbergasted realization that the woman was taller than he was.
"Not with a timid voice like that," the woman said without emotion, "What is it you do?"
"I-I work in the city library, I'm the head librarian," he said truthfully.
"Hm, what is your name?" she asked.
Craig nearly panicked and picked the first name that came to the top of his head that started with a 'C', "Caroline," he blurted.
"Hm, funny, so is mine," the woman said, "I think I like you. Would you care to join me in the VIP?"
Craig studied the woman's face; it was long and pointed. It made Craig think of a spear; she didn't have any emotion in her face, even now. It was hard to tell if she was playing games with him or not. He erred on the side of caution and with the thought that he might be able to spot Rick from the VIP balcony.
"Yes, I would love to," he repeated.
Caroline didn't say anything, but turned on her heel and started for the exit. Craig, feeling a little self-conscious, paused for half a second before following her. She led him through the club, mercifully unbothered by any tall British motor-mouths. They began the climb up to the VIP balcony but was stopped by an annoyed looking bouncer. He asked Caroline for her ID and she whipped it out of some unknown pocket and she was allowed to pass. Craig nearly freaked out. This was his worst nightmare. Caroline was looking at him expectantly and he had no other choice but at least see if he could get up there so he didn't offend the frightening looking woman. He nervously pulled his ID out of his purse and handed it to the bouncer. He inspected it for what seemed like forever before glancing back up at him with a frown.
"Ma'am, this isn't you," he said grumpily, "Your husband or your brother, but he ain't you, ma'am."
Craig didn't know how to respond, so he quickly wet his suddenly parched lips and said, "Yes, yes it is, I'm Craig."
Suddenly, he felt a hand on his elbow and then, with a wince, heard a familiar spouting accent, "Thank you, Jerry, thanks for the hate-crime right there, give me that."
Wheatley snatched Craig's ID from the bouncer with surprising authority. Jerry looked suitably cowed as well; Craig was confused as hell and swearing revenge on this Caroline woman who was no longer in sight. Wheatley then steered Craig away from the VIP balcony and Craig stole a look over his shoulder where he could see several people outright staring at him. All of a sudden, he realized with a door slam that they were outside.
"Damn, I swear this was my office," mumbled Wheatley.
Craig gaped as Wheatley handed him back the ID and then jiggled the door handle to see if they could get back in, "Sorry about that, new bouncer, he won't be new for long, though! Gonna fire him, if you didn't catch that. Sooo out of here, didja see how rude he was to you? Mad, that one, really mad! I mean, if I weren't the owner, I'd complain… to me! Well, I'm not the owner yet per say, but I am taking over for Mr. Johnson now that he's retiring. His wife, didja see that scary old bat? Caroline her name is, and she is a scary one, I'll tell ya."
Craig stared in disbelief as Wheatley prattled on like he hadn't just harassed and molested him on a dance floor and just found out he was a man, "Slow down," he finally said, which made Wheatley stop for half a second.
"…Oh you DO talk! I thought you might have been mute or something, but it seems you just, heh, lost your voice or something!" he blurted, suddenly seeming much more distracted and awkward.
"…I'm so confused," Craig said, putting his head in his hands, "You don't seem to care in the least that I am not a woman."
Wheatley paused to think about this, "I've had worse dates, luv, you are beautiful in that dress, I might add. I mean… I might not know what's under it, but I don't think I care! It's smashing on you. Smashing really."
"I can't believe this," Craig said, turning away to walk toward the parking lot.
"No, wait, I mean, I'm sorry for what I did, I sobered up a bit, had some coffee! That improves that, doesn't it? Right, yeah?" Wheatley said, following Craig.
"Fact: Coffee improves the appearance of being sober, but it does not improve actual Blood Alcohol content," Craig spat while trying his best to storm off.
"Oh, I did not know that, I learned something new today! See, lookit that, we make a great pair, just like that, now that you're talking, I'm learning! See that, regular… peas in a pod we are," Wheatley said, taking long strides to keep up with Craig.
"Please, leave me alone," Craig said firmly.
"Wait, wait! What now? Why? I swear I won't—Hey!" Wheatley moved to grab Craig's arm, hooking his fingers hard around his bicep.
"Let me go!" Craig said, trying to wrench his arm away from this clearly still somewhat drunk man.
"Would you just… wait a second, please just… stop fighting!" Wheatley pulled roughly on Craig's arm and he lost his balance.
He felt like he was moving in slow motion all of a sudden before he hit the ground, with a painful 'WRUNCH' sound in his left ankle. He immediately scuffed his wrists and then his elbows, too. He cried out in pain when he tried to move away again, realizing he did something serious to his ankle. He glared daggers at Wheatley who was now fussing over him.
"HEY," came a loud shout, making Craig flinch, thinking it was that damned bouncer.
Craig whipped around to see a pretty angry looking Rick marching down the parking lot instead of that rude bouncer. He was thankfully alone and had the fire of hell in his eyes; thankfully not directed at him, but at his harasser. Craig glanced up at Wheatley who now looked genuinely spooked considering how pissed off Rick looked.
"What in th'hell d'ya think you're doin'?" Rick roared, advancing toward the two of them quickly.
"Nothing! Nothing! She just took a tumble and here we are. I'm trying to help her here, nothing bad! Just a friendly… pick me up?" Wheatley stammered, managing to still talk TOO MUCH even when visibly scared.
"You're buggin' my date," Rick said in a dangerously low voice.
"YOUR date? Ooooh, then why… why weren't you with…"
Wheatley never got to finish that statement because Rick promptly punched him in the jaw. He didn't fall over, but he was now clutching his fast-swelling face while trying not to scream in pain about it. He stumbled backwards away from Craig, much to Craig's relief, and back toward the club. Rick knelt down and tried to see if he needed to go to the hospital.
"Are you alright, darlin'?" he asked, gently taking his arm to look at the scratches on his arms.
"Where the fuck did you go?" Craig demanded, pulling his arm out of Rick's grasp, "Do you have any idea how much that… that… PARROT was bothering me!"
"Shit, you're right, I'm sorry; I swear I'll make it up to you," Rick said, suddenly extremely apologetic like he just realized his mistake.
"Like hell you will, take me home," Craig said, not really liking how much he sounded upset right then.
"…Alright," Rick said, righting himself and holding out his hand to help Craig back up on his teetering heels.
Craig stared at Rick's hand for a moment, knowing that he would be in extreme pain if he tried to stand and possible give his ankle a stress fracture. He was almost too proud to say that he couldn't get up, but he didn't want to be in a cast because of this insensitive asshole.
"…Ican't," he mumbled, "I… hurtmyankle."
Rick had a look of pained guilt across his face now and retracted his hand. He looked pensive for a moment before he crouched down to scoop Craig up bridal-style, forcing Craig to grab his shoulders to steady himself. He started toward his car through the mess of parked vehicles without a word. Craig, now physically and emotionally drained leaned his head against Rick's shoulder while trying to figure out why he was feeling such a sinking sense of disappointment.
"Je suis desole," Rick suddenly said, making Craig perk up a little and look up to find that Rick was looking him right in the eyes.
"I'm sorry I didn't hea-," Craig asked, sounding more upset than he wanted.
"S'il vous plait pardonnez-moi," he said said rapidly, "Je vous laisse tranquille et vous avez été blesse."
Craig had no idea what he was saying, but Rick's deep, rumbly voice made it so he didn't really care. He never thought he was the type of person to be drawn in by foreign languages and deep voices, but here he was, finding himself forgiving the brute. He still didn't say why he had disappeared like that, but Craig just wanted to go home, he didn't care so much about the damn disappearance if he just got to take off this make up and go to bed.