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beccaelizabethstarted typing, ended up with an Andrew pov snippet from a story I may not write for, at current rates of progress, about ten years. Silly and unbetaed.
What kind of chat up would Andrew manage?
The fizz felt funny on his tongue. He kind of liked it. Like the orangey citrusy slightly pineapple flavour and all the different colors on the paper umbrella, the bubbles seemed to hit individually, like he could taste everything seperately but all at the same time. He kept sipping through the straw slowly, with a look of slightly awed concentration.
The bubbles looked kind of pretty too. The way the flashing lights made them all colors, crawling up the inside of the glass heading for that final burst into freedom. He thought they were maybe popping in time to the music.
"Andrew..."
Or maybe not.
"Andrew?"
That would require further study.
"Andrew!"
Fingers clicked in front of his eyes, somewhere between him and the table, and suddenly the rest of the room popped back in to his awareness. He turned around to see Oz giving him a puzzled sort of look. Andrew looked back at him much the same way. His eyes were... interesting. They changed colors. When he blinked. Or maybe when Andrew blinked. Darkness filling and falling out...
"How much ghost ash did you use?" Oz asked him.
"Huh? Oh. Some? Enough. Had to be sure I'd see them. You know, we're going to be on watch all night, and if I have to go get some more then I might miss something, and anyway I'd have to go make a room all full of smoke or see if the pipe thing works better with the water and either way they'd probably think I was smoking something funny and, you know, seeing things. Which is the point. But only actual ghost things, not thing things."
Oz listened to Andrew's earnest explanation, and nodded slowly. He rose to his feet, then patted Andrew on the shoulder. "Just... sit here. Keep watch. And I'll watch you, okay?"
"'Kay." Andrew agreed happily. He turned around to watch Oz walk over to the bar. Then he realised he didn't have the straw in his mouth any more and turned back around. He caught the straw again and took a sip. And stopped.
Across the room there was a guy. Which was not exactly a surprise, even with the crowd as thinned out as it was tonight, but this particular guy was... really, really there. There was something about him... some presence, like maybe he was center stage in some play you hadn't previously realised you were watching and the spotlight just came up. He caught the light in different ways than anyone else there. His skintight top gleamed darkly, with just one band of brighter blue-black shining across his shoulders.
Andrew's eyes were wide, wide open. He forgot to swallow. His jaw dropped. And then he was distracted by the new and not good fizzy drool situation, which required quick application of paper towels and the vague hope nobody had been looking. But when he looked up again That Guy was looking straight at him.
Eye contact!
Andrew blinked and tried hastily to convert 'rabbit in the headlights' into some kind of suave, sophisticated, I-wore-a-tux-and-made-fun-of-vampires James Bond kind of thing, but it started to crumple again when That Guy excused himself from the group he'd been in and walked. Right. Over.
"Hi!" Andrew squeaked. Then cleared his throat and sipped the drink again, desperately trying to think of what would go after 'hi'. He hadn't usually got that far before, so nothing really sprang to mind.
"Hi," That Guy said, grinning easily. His smile caught the lights in a way Andrew vaguely felt deserved sound effects. "I noticed you were looking."
The high school trained side of Andrew quailed in reflexive anticipation, but the smile was still right there.
"Um... yes? I just... well, with the lights and all... You looked like Nightwing." Andrew said it with due reverence; the leader of the Titans held a special place in his personal pantheon. But then he bit his lip. Geeked again. When would he learn?
"So... Are you saying I look like a Dick?"
"Wha...? No! I mean..." Andrew sputtered, and That Guy laughed, then grabbed a chair and sat down. Andrew realised... "You know Nightwing's name?"
"I do indeed. In fact..." He leaned in and mock-whispered, just audible above the beat, "I have his whole solo run."
"Complete?"
"In a box under the bed."
"Awesome." Andrew nodded, then realised it was probably his turn to say something. "I used to have a great collection, all the highlights, rare stuff. Like you'd have to..."
"Hunt down and ransom?"
"And make dark offerings, and rob banks..." But he wasn't doing that any more so just don't mention it out loud, "But... well, there was an earthquake." Andrew looked down and fiddled with his drink, uncomfortable as always with such a mundane-safe explanation.
"Lost many?"
"All of them." He sighed.
"Ouch." That Guy shifted in his seat, leaning back, and looking Andrew over. "You know, you could come and see mine, sometime."
"Yeah?" Andrew perked up, then looked at him.
Looked at the way he was looking.
Andrew smoothed his tongue over his recently-worried lip and, hesitantly, looked back kinda the same way. Which had a lot to do with something like hunger and, just maybe, not very much to do with comics. Andrew took a chance.
"Tonight? Maybe?"
That Guy took a long drink from a bottle. Andrew gulped too. He smiled.
"Tonight looks promising, yeah."
Andrew beamed, and let out the breath he'd been holding.
"I'm Andrew. Wells."
"Mike," he said, holding out his hand.
Andrew took it, expecting a grip, and got a brush of fingers that could only be called a caress. His gaze looked slightly glazed, now, and his breath came faster.
With a grin Mike took his hand and used it to pull him in close. Then kissed him.
... and Andrew had thought fizzy felt good ...
They parted a moment, Mike checking Andrew's face and then getting a very smug look.
"I... we... oh yeah... pleasemoreagain?"
"And comics say kissing helps your linguistic skills."
Andrew snorted laughter even as he leaned in for more.
By the time Oz came back Andrew was no longer watching for ghosts.
But all things considered he probably didn't want watching either.
*** *** *** *** ***
*** end for now ***
*** *** *** *** ***
PS yes it is four in the morning over here. I don't know if that constitutes a warning or not.
But I wrote something! Fictional! And possibly coherent!
What kind of chat up would Andrew manage?
The fizz felt funny on his tongue. He kind of liked it. Like the orangey citrusy slightly pineapple flavour and all the different colors on the paper umbrella, the bubbles seemed to hit individually, like he could taste everything seperately but all at the same time. He kept sipping through the straw slowly, with a look of slightly awed concentration.
The bubbles looked kind of pretty too. The way the flashing lights made them all colors, crawling up the inside of the glass heading for that final burst into freedom. He thought they were maybe popping in time to the music.
"Andrew..."
Or maybe not.
"Andrew?"
That would require further study.
"Andrew!"
Fingers clicked in front of his eyes, somewhere between him and the table, and suddenly the rest of the room popped back in to his awareness. He turned around to see Oz giving him a puzzled sort of look. Andrew looked back at him much the same way. His eyes were... interesting. They changed colors. When he blinked. Or maybe when Andrew blinked. Darkness filling and falling out...
"How much ghost ash did you use?" Oz asked him.
"Huh? Oh. Some? Enough. Had to be sure I'd see them. You know, we're going to be on watch all night, and if I have to go get some more then I might miss something, and anyway I'd have to go make a room all full of smoke or see if the pipe thing works better with the water and either way they'd probably think I was smoking something funny and, you know, seeing things. Which is the point. But only actual ghost things, not thing things."
Oz listened to Andrew's earnest explanation, and nodded slowly. He rose to his feet, then patted Andrew on the shoulder. "Just... sit here. Keep watch. And I'll watch you, okay?"
"'Kay." Andrew agreed happily. He turned around to watch Oz walk over to the bar. Then he realised he didn't have the straw in his mouth any more and turned back around. He caught the straw again and took a sip. And stopped.
Across the room there was a guy. Which was not exactly a surprise, even with the crowd as thinned out as it was tonight, but this particular guy was... really, really there. There was something about him... some presence, like maybe he was center stage in some play you hadn't previously realised you were watching and the spotlight just came up. He caught the light in different ways than anyone else there. His skintight top gleamed darkly, with just one band of brighter blue-black shining across his shoulders.
Andrew's eyes were wide, wide open. He forgot to swallow. His jaw dropped. And then he was distracted by the new and not good fizzy drool situation, which required quick application of paper towels and the vague hope nobody had been looking. But when he looked up again That Guy was looking straight at him.
Eye contact!
Andrew blinked and tried hastily to convert 'rabbit in the headlights' into some kind of suave, sophisticated, I-wore-a-tux-and-made-fun-of-vampires James Bond kind of thing, but it started to crumple again when That Guy excused himself from the group he'd been in and walked. Right. Over.
"Hi!" Andrew squeaked. Then cleared his throat and sipped the drink again, desperately trying to think of what would go after 'hi'. He hadn't usually got that far before, so nothing really sprang to mind.
"Hi," That Guy said, grinning easily. His smile caught the lights in a way Andrew vaguely felt deserved sound effects. "I noticed you were looking."
The high school trained side of Andrew quailed in reflexive anticipation, but the smile was still right there.
"Um... yes? I just... well, with the lights and all... You looked like Nightwing." Andrew said it with due reverence; the leader of the Titans held a special place in his personal pantheon. But then he bit his lip. Geeked again. When would he learn?
"So... Are you saying I look like a Dick?"
"Wha...? No! I mean..." Andrew sputtered, and That Guy laughed, then grabbed a chair and sat down. Andrew realised... "You know Nightwing's name?"
"I do indeed. In fact..." He leaned in and mock-whispered, just audible above the beat, "I have his whole solo run."
"Complete?"
"In a box under the bed."
"Awesome." Andrew nodded, then realised it was probably his turn to say something. "I used to have a great collection, all the highlights, rare stuff. Like you'd have to..."
"Hunt down and ransom?"
"And make dark offerings, and rob banks..." But he wasn't doing that any more so just don't mention it out loud, "But... well, there was an earthquake." Andrew looked down and fiddled with his drink, uncomfortable as always with such a mundane-safe explanation.
"Lost many?"
"All of them." He sighed.
"Ouch." That Guy shifted in his seat, leaning back, and looking Andrew over. "You know, you could come and see mine, sometime."
"Yeah?" Andrew perked up, then looked at him.
Looked at the way he was looking.
Andrew smoothed his tongue over his recently-worried lip and, hesitantly, looked back kinda the same way. Which had a lot to do with something like hunger and, just maybe, not very much to do with comics. Andrew took a chance.
"Tonight? Maybe?"
That Guy took a long drink from a bottle. Andrew gulped too. He smiled.
"Tonight looks promising, yeah."
Andrew beamed, and let out the breath he'd been holding.
"I'm Andrew. Wells."
"Mike," he said, holding out his hand.
Andrew took it, expecting a grip, and got a brush of fingers that could only be called a caress. His gaze looked slightly glazed, now, and his breath came faster.
With a grin Mike took his hand and used it to pull him in close. Then kissed him.
... and Andrew had thought fizzy felt good ...
They parted a moment, Mike checking Andrew's face and then getting a very smug look.
"I... we... oh yeah... pleasemoreagain?"
"And comics say kissing helps your linguistic skills."
Andrew snorted laughter even as he leaned in for more.
By the time Oz came back Andrew was no longer watching for ghosts.
But all things considered he probably didn't want watching either.
*** *** *** *** ***
*** end for now ***
*** *** *** *** ***
PS yes it is four in the morning over here. I don't know if that constitutes a warning or not.
But I wrote something! Fictional! And possibly coherent!