Its been awkward since New years, but he hadnt meant to be avoidant all month. They'd seen each other, but sorting through what he did and maybe didn't want to be vulnerable about, well. He hasnt quite figured it out but has enough that he's bullied himself into at least showing up.
Which means he's knocking on Oscars door around ten in the evening, dressed for an evening in which consists of a matching set of silk lounge pants and robe and a pair of house shoes that rarely sees any time outside of his shared cabin.
His other hand is in his robe pocket, clutching a bag of assorted sweets.
It's been a crazy month- there were people falling asleep, then the breach where he was a mafia boss which- while he gained Maggie as a sister- still rattled him pretty badly. He didn't try to force Varker to see him, after their near sexual encounter.
He had missed him all the same.
When he heard the knock, he opened the door slightly- then paused, before opening it more, letting his baton go to settle against his wrist, where the band lay.
"Good evening Clement." He was surprised, and a little sleep mussed. Despite the room upgrades, his robes were a little shabby. So were his thin pajamas.
"Would you like to come in?"
He had no idea why he was here, really. Not a booty call. He looked too sober for that.
Varker is just about to tease him for his early turn in and bed head, but the wide eyes at him opening the door brandishing a weapon is more important.
"What the fuck is that for, Oscar? Who's threatening you?"
He might not be the kind of man to beat the shit out of anyone, but he can pretend he can be, slightly puffed up at the thought of anyone hurting him.
He eyes the baton suspiciously, shouldering his way into Oscar's room and giving him a look.
"Sure it does, which is why you brought it, raised to answer the god damn door." He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath to attempt to calm himself and lets it out in a sigh.
"I will be in a moment, here." His hand pulls out of his pocket with a bag of assorted sweets. "It bothered me... that you can't sleep. Folgate got me a dish for the sleep aids, you should be taking them, not sleeping with a fucking club around your wrist, christ."
His confidence is rising for the simple fact that it is entirely hypocritical for him to be telling anyone they should be taking care of themselves.
"Yes, well 'trying' and restless sleep isn't good enough."
He shrugs a shoulder at the question, breaking eye contact. "Sorting my shit out. Norton's been dragging me to dance lessons." A slight quirk of his lips, "do you dance, Oscar?"
"You don't have to thank me for it, I just-" some more grumbling follows as he uncrosses his arms and starts to pace, though its far less agitated than usual, slow and meandering. He just doesn't feel like standing still.
"Put something on we can waltz to while you're at it." He directs him, rolling up the sleeves of his robe and kicking off his house shoes so he doesn't slip or trip over them, bare scaled feet on the floor.
He likes seeing him so dressed down, hair a mess. It had always been one of his favorite things, even when he hadn't even liked who he'd hooked up with. He could spot them in class later, buttoned up, well groomed and know what a man looked like at his most vulnerable and relaxed state.
"Do you want to lead, or should I?" It made him feel powerful, even if he only kept it to himself.
"If you do well I'll know your humoring me," he teases him, taking his hand and putting his other on his shoulder, counting along with the music before he starts them off in the step.
It might look silly, the shorter of them leading, but Apart from the perhaps too tight grip on his hand, Varker is confident in each step.
It feels nice to have confidence in something he does well, leading Oscar through the steps more slowly than he should to try and help him through. As his smile grows, he thinks to himself that he can't tell Norton for the fact that he'd be too giddy and up his own ass about it.
"I think you're doing fine, shall we go a little faster, Oscar?" He doesn't like the feel of his scales against Oscar's hands, but it is nice to touch him, and slowly but surely his grip loosens.
He leads him in a more traditional pace, sure that Oscar wouldn't trip, "now wouldnt that be embarrassing when you're sober and I'm not."
Not like he's trying to hide it these days, and while he does take care of his appearance you can't scrub away the smell of whiskey. "If you fall I'm coming down with you, wouldn't be so terrible, would it?"
"Means I haven't lost my touch," he practically purrs at Oscar, leading them in a turn.
He likes Oscar, enjoys playing these games with him, but it's a little intoxicating, the idea that he could tempt him, that he might fall with him.
And it isnt even that he wants him to join in his misery, just that he would be happy, and getting healthy and seen him, none of those things and still wish to be right here.
"Do you want me to tempt you, Oscar? Do you like it when I do?"
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Which means he's knocking on Oscars door around ten in the evening, dressed for an evening in which consists of a matching set of silk lounge pants and robe and a pair of house shoes that rarely sees any time outside of his shared cabin.
His other hand is in his robe pocket, clutching a bag of assorted sweets.
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He had missed him all the same.
When he heard the knock, he opened the door slightly- then paused, before opening it more, letting his baton go to settle against his wrist, where the band lay.
"Good evening Clement." He was surprised, and a little sleep mussed. Despite the room upgrades, his robes were a little shabby. So were his thin pajamas.
"Would you like to come in?"
He had no idea why he was here, really. Not a booty call. He looked too sober for that.
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"What the fuck is that for, Oscar? Who's threatening you?"
He might not be the kind of man to beat the shit out of anyone, but he can pretend he can be, slightly puffed up at the thought of anyone hurting him.
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It was very tempting to call him love and touch his face, but that was shadows of the breach.
"It just- helps me sleep sometimes. That's all."
Which sounded weird but he didn't want to sleep with a gun. And maybe it helped with the nightmares.
"Are you all right? Come in, sit."
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"Sure it does, which is why you brought it, raised to answer the god damn door." He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath to attempt to calm himself and lets it out in a sigh.
"I will be in a moment, here." His hand pulls out of his pocket with a bag of assorted sweets. "It bothered me... that you can't sleep. Folgate got me a dish for the sleep aids, you should be taking them, not sleeping with a fucking club around your wrist, christ."
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And realizing what the sweets were for made his eyes soften.
"That- it's-" He gave up trying to explain, moving to take the bag instead.
"This is very thoughtful. Thank you."
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"Sleep deprivation is dangerous... and you need to take care of yourself."
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A pause. "Try to sleep. It's just not always restful."
And he was trying to work himself to sleep where he could. It helped.
"What about you? How have you been?"
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"Yes, well 'trying' and restless sleep isn't good enough."
He shrugs a shoulder at the question, breaking eye contact. "Sorting my shit out. Norton's been dragging me to dance lessons." A slight quirk of his lips, "do you dance, Oscar?"
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"Well, it looks like you've helped me. Thank you."
He watched him, and felt a little smile touch his lips.
"I know a dance or two. Have you come to cut a rug with me?"
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"Maybe."
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His expression was warm as he watched Clement pace. At least it wasn't as agitated this time.
"Maybe? And here I thought you wanted to sleep." What a tease.
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He presses his lips together before holding out his hand, lifting his chin, "just one, before we turn in?"
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"Just let me set the bag down, and I'll give you this dance."
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At least the floor was warm, as Oscaf came forward, taking off his robe and sliding off his slippers.
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"Do you want to lead, or should I?" It made him feel powerful, even if he only kept it to himself.
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"You lead." He offered his hand. "I'm rusty with the waltz." And Clement could use some power back.
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It might look silly, the shorter of them leading, but Apart from the perhaps too tight grip on his hand, Varker is confident in each step.
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Maybe it did look silly, but from the looks of it, Oscar was far less certain about the steps. He felt just a little wobbly to show he wasn't lying.
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"I think you're doing fine, shall we go a little faster, Oscar?" He doesn't like the feel of his scales against Oscar's hands, but it is nice to touch him, and slowly but surely his grip loosens.
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"A little faster...yes, all right." He lightly pressed their palms together. "I apologize if I trip and fall on my ass ahead of time."
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Not like he's trying to hide it these days, and while he does take care of his appearance you can't scrub away the smell of whiskey. "If you fall I'm coming down with you, wouldn't be so terrible, would it?"
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He knew. And he could smell it and long for the liquor smell and want a swing out of a hip flask or something so strong. His mind would blur.
Though it wasn't a flush of guilt, but a fluster at the idea of Clement on top of him...he coughed.
"You're a tempting man." He told him. "It's already hard not to kiss you right now."
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He likes Oscar, enjoys playing these games with him, but it's a little intoxicating, the idea that he could tempt him, that he might fall with him.
And it isnt even that he wants him to join in his misery, just that he would be happy, and getting healthy and seen him, none of those things and still wish to be right here.
"Do you want me to tempt you, Oscar? Do you like it when I do?"
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