interested instead in how they trade body language: the way Ogden half smiles, nervous, and taps an anxious toe under the table, and Julian maintains a level of unreadability Fletcher hasn’t seen on him in a long time, eyelids low and posture artificially relaxed, removed.
As if suddenly satisfied with the quality and length of the small talk, Ogden lurches forward over the table, eyes narrowed in an expression of bullheaded determination. “So, uh, you two.” He gestures to Julian and Fletcher in a big, vaguely circular motion, as though he’s tying them together with his finger. “What, uh, what’s the dynamic here?”
Fletcher grins and looks to Julian, who doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s my boss,” he deadpans.
Ogden shoves back in his chair, face as red as a cherry Popsicle and expression pained. “Oh. Oh God. Oh God !” He grimaces.
Fletcher flashes Julian a chastising look.
“Oh,” Julian says, offhandedly, “It’s all of that , too. It’s just... first and foremost, he’s my boss.”
Fletcher can actually see the whew! crossing Ogden’s features. His posture relaxes a little. “Gotta give you credit. I’ve always hated my bosses.”
“Who says he doesn’t hate me?” Fletcher teases, tilting back in his chair. He suddenly sees Julian’s game: the appeal in knocking their third wheel off balance, toying with him like two cats.
“I definitely hate him,” Julian confirms. He crosses his legs at the knee casually. “It’s just a shame he has to have such a big cock.”
Fletcher and Ogden nearly spit-take simultaneously.
Ogden excuses himself. Julian just smiles.
On his way to the men’s room, Ogden casts a pleading look over his shoulder to Fletcher, and Fletcher smiles placidly back, waving him forward. As soon as he’s gone, he turns to Julian.
“All right,” he demands, turning all business, like flicking a switch. “What’s your angle?”
Julian takes an innocent sip of his coffee, avoiding eye contact. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You asked him out. Why?”
“Fletcher, are you really asking me that? Me , the man who’s waiting at your desk with a mug of coffee before you even realize you need one?” Julian actually looks offended.
“I always thought that was a little creepy, Julian,” Fletcher teases. He looks in the direction of the washroom to check for Ogden’s return, but for the minute, they’re alone.
“Creepy,” Julian counters, “but remarkably astute.”
“Yeah, but Julian, some perspective, please. That’s coffee . This? This is—”
“Sex. Yes.” There’s something wicked in Julian’s eyes, in his smile. It’s a challenge. “Don’t coddle me, Fletcher, I’m a grown man. ‘Some perspective, please.’”
Fuck , the face Julian’s making right now. Totally dismissive, imperious, a little cruel, and a lot calculating.
Fletcher takes a deep breath. “All right,” he says. “Just so long as you know what you’re getting into here. Do you know what you’re getting into here?”
“Not really,” Julian admits, but that smirk, half-assedly suppressed, tells Fletcher everything he needs to know. He wants this. “But I’m adaptable.”
“I HOPE you don’t mind coming back to mine,” Julian says, all manners, and puts his key to the lock. Although the slip-up isn’t obvious, Fletcher sees him jab the key forward two or three times before he manages to hit the right spot and slide it home. Fletcher puts a steadying hand on his lower back, rubbing it in soothing circles. He turns to Ogden.
“He barely lives here, honestly,” Fletcher tells him, “So it’s clean. Neutral territory, I guess. Just a little less impersonal than a hotel, don’t you think?”
Ogden’s white as smoke, body tense to the point of quivering. He doesn’t give a shit.
“You don’t have to do this,” Fletcher says to him, voice low, but he means it for Julian too. “You can back out any time.”
Julian shoulders through
As if suddenly satisfied with the quality and length of the small talk, Ogden lurches forward over the table, eyes narrowed in an expression of bullheaded determination. “So, uh, you two.” He gestures to Julian and Fletcher in a big, vaguely circular motion, as though he’s tying them together with his finger. “What, uh, what’s the dynamic here?”
Fletcher grins and looks to Julian, who doesn’t miss a beat. “He’s my boss,” he deadpans.
Ogden shoves back in his chair, face as red as a cherry Popsicle and expression pained. “Oh. Oh God. Oh God !” He grimaces.
Fletcher flashes Julian a chastising look.
“Oh,” Julian says, offhandedly, “It’s all of that , too. It’s just... first and foremost, he’s my boss.”
Fletcher can actually see the whew! crossing Ogden’s features. His posture relaxes a little. “Gotta give you credit. I’ve always hated my bosses.”
“Who says he doesn’t hate me?” Fletcher teases, tilting back in his chair. He suddenly sees Julian’s game: the appeal in knocking their third wheel off balance, toying with him like two cats.
“I definitely hate him,” Julian confirms. He crosses his legs at the knee casually. “It’s just a shame he has to have such a big cock.”
Fletcher and Ogden nearly spit-take simultaneously.
Ogden excuses himself. Julian just smiles.
On his way to the men’s room, Ogden casts a pleading look over his shoulder to Fletcher, and Fletcher smiles placidly back, waving him forward. As soon as he’s gone, he turns to Julian.
“All right,” he demands, turning all business, like flicking a switch. “What’s your angle?”
Julian takes an innocent sip of his coffee, avoiding eye contact. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You asked him out. Why?”
“Fletcher, are you really asking me that? Me , the man who’s waiting at your desk with a mug of coffee before you even realize you need one?” Julian actually looks offended.
“I always thought that was a little creepy, Julian,” Fletcher teases. He looks in the direction of the washroom to check for Ogden’s return, but for the minute, they’re alone.
“Creepy,” Julian counters, “but remarkably astute.”
“Yeah, but Julian, some perspective, please. That’s coffee . This? This is—”
“Sex. Yes.” There’s something wicked in Julian’s eyes, in his smile. It’s a challenge. “Don’t coddle me, Fletcher, I’m a grown man. ‘Some perspective, please.’”
Fuck , the face Julian’s making right now. Totally dismissive, imperious, a little cruel, and a lot calculating.
Fletcher takes a deep breath. “All right,” he says. “Just so long as you know what you’re getting into here. Do you know what you’re getting into here?”
“Not really,” Julian admits, but that smirk, half-assedly suppressed, tells Fletcher everything he needs to know. He wants this. “But I’m adaptable.”
“I HOPE you don’t mind coming back to mine,” Julian says, all manners, and puts his key to the lock. Although the slip-up isn’t obvious, Fletcher sees him jab the key forward two or three times before he manages to hit the right spot and slide it home. Fletcher puts a steadying hand on his lower back, rubbing it in soothing circles. He turns to Ogden.
“He barely lives here, honestly,” Fletcher tells him, “So it’s clean. Neutral territory, I guess. Just a little less impersonal than a hotel, don’t you think?”
Ogden’s white as smoke, body tense to the point of quivering. He doesn’t give a shit.
“You don’t have to do this,” Fletcher says to him, voice low, but he means it for Julian too. “You can back out any time.”
Julian shoulders through
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