Status: On hiatus.
Tiger Eyes
Stand
It had been two weeks since Mike had recieved Billie's nervous goodbye as the younger man left to confront what the proprietor had recently heard was now his ex-fiancé. Two weeks of watching silently as his new point of interest poured his broken heart into the piano keys and suffocated his pain in whatever drinks the bartender could serve to him.
Somehow, Billie's reaction was intriguing to the older man. The emotions he so obviously felt, the ones Mike could still detect from across the room even when Billie made his best attempt to subdue them, to hide them, to keep his sad green eyes from meeting Mike's curious blue ones. Mike knew. And Billie was afraid.
The pianist looked away again, still contending to avoid the tempting older man. He couldn't look at him, no. Looking at him would mean thinking about him, thinking about what they'd done together, thinking about whatever it was he felt, maybe even thinking about what Mike had caused him to lose. How could Billie handle that? Still, Mike would never look away now.
"Why are you watching me?" The pianist found himself demanding of the man in the booth, but even as he sent his glare downward into those smirking eyes, he seemed to lose his vigor. He knew from Mike's expression that he'd lost now. He'd given in, come to speak to the man after those weeks. It was what Mike had wanted.
"Well, you are an entertainer, if I'm not mistaken. You're paid to be watched."
"I'm paid to be heard," the smaller man snapped back, his arms folded in contempt. Mike was always so... smug. So superior. Billie couldn't stand that.
"Ah, then why are you wearing that pretty little bowtie?" the proprietor asked, reaching up to touch the tie softly, subsequently letting his hand drift down the pianist's chest and then drop to the table. Billie suppressed a shiver. Why did Mike have to do this? To touch him, to look at him with those chillingly beautiful eyes, to make him remember that night fourteen days ago when Billie had glimpsed some little mite of compassion behind them, the small portion of kindness which kept him thinking of this man for hours on end? Why would he not just go?
Mike only continued his smirk at Billie's uncomfortable silence. "Sit down," he commanded with a nod towards the table.
Billie hesitated. He hadn't wanted to become involved with Mike. He only wanted to forget, to move on. Still, he soon found himself taking a reluctant seat in the booth next to the older man. He allowed his head to drop into his hands and a sigh to escape his lips at the mistake. Such a fucking pushover.
"Talk to me," Mike told him, only a hint of that secret compassion in his voice.
"She broke up with me," he said simply, sitting back again and looking longingly back at that shining grand piano. Could it bring him some comfort now? "She said she should've guessed. Was it really that bad? I mean... I'm not that bad a person, right? That people expect me to be an asshole." He closed his eyes, feeling like tearing up again at this final admission. "Fuck, I am an asshole."
The other man continued to watch him curiously. "If you were an asshole, you wouldn't care so much," he stated.
Billie looked back at him and felt his stomach do another flip. Why did it always have to do that around Mike? "If I was a good person, I'd never have gone to that room with you."
The pianist became tense as his boss came closer to him, as the man's hand was rested on Billie's leg. "Yes, you would." Billie was speechless again, as he was so often rendered by this man. He wondered if anyone else could see the hand on his leg or if they noticed the almost fearful expression on his face. He wouldn't be able to resist the older man. He couldn't say no.
"Why are you touching me?" He hoped his voice wasn't shaking as he spoke. God, Mike. He was gorgeous. He was different, and he was interested, and he was mind-numbingly enigmatic. He was like a drug to which Billie was becoming swiftly addicted. Suddenly, he seemed to want nothing more than to kiss the amazing man next to him, to be with him, to feel his gentle arms around him. Billie's weak resilience was beginning to slip.
"Because I want to," the man answered simply, leaning closer.
"Well stop."
Billie's breathing felt laboured and nervous as Mike drew ever closer, stopping centimeters from Billie's mouth. "No," he said, smirking as the smaller man fought to pay no attention to his close proximity. Soon, he felt Billie's defeated hands upon his neck as the pianist closed the distance between them in another hot kiss.
A moan escaped Billie's mouth as Mike's tongue slipped its way in. He'd missed this, this beautiful, passionate kissing, this strange man. And for the moment, he hadn't a care for the eyes which he felt watching him. Suddenly, he only wanted Mike. Billie and Mike. Mike and Billie. Us.
The proprietor finally pulled away a moment later, that infuriating smirk plastered onto his face. Billie had done it again. He'd allowed Mike to win. "Shut up," he muttered defeatedly.
"I don't recall saying anything." Billie groaned and allowed his head to drop to the older man's chest.
"God, I fucking hate you," he muttered into his shirt.
Mike's smirk only continued. "No, you don't."
"I do. I want to fucking kill you."
"Yes... but then you'd be alone," he pointed out.
Billie pushed Mike away, sitting back up and making to move out of the booth. "Oh, fuck you."
Mike rolled his eyes, grabbing onto Billie's arm to keep him there. "Billie, stay here and talk to me," he commanded. He had Billie here. He wasn't going to let him run away again.
"And why should I?" He turned his venomous green eyes to the other man, jerking his arm away. "Didn't you hear what I said? I fucking hate you, Mike. Why the hell would I want to talk to you?"
Mike was more than a bit surprised at the outburst. Billie never spoke that way, especially to him. A part of the younger man felt satisfied at the other's silence, but the larger part of him, the part which was angry, couldn't stand even being in his presence now. He took the opportunity to escape the booth quickly, leaving the stunned man remaining to watch his angry walk out into the cold night air.
Somehow, Billie's reaction was intriguing to the older man. The emotions he so obviously felt, the ones Mike could still detect from across the room even when Billie made his best attempt to subdue them, to hide them, to keep his sad green eyes from meeting Mike's curious blue ones. Mike knew. And Billie was afraid.
The pianist looked away again, still contending to avoid the tempting older man. He couldn't look at him, no. Looking at him would mean thinking about him, thinking about what they'd done together, thinking about whatever it was he felt, maybe even thinking about what Mike had caused him to lose. How could Billie handle that? Still, Mike would never look away now.
"Why are you watching me?" The pianist found himself demanding of the man in the booth, but even as he sent his glare downward into those smirking eyes, he seemed to lose his vigor. He knew from Mike's expression that he'd lost now. He'd given in, come to speak to the man after those weeks. It was what Mike had wanted.
"Well, you are an entertainer, if I'm not mistaken. You're paid to be watched."
"I'm paid to be heard," the smaller man snapped back, his arms folded in contempt. Mike was always so... smug. So superior. Billie couldn't stand that.
"Ah, then why are you wearing that pretty little bowtie?" the proprietor asked, reaching up to touch the tie softly, subsequently letting his hand drift down the pianist's chest and then drop to the table. Billie suppressed a shiver. Why did Mike have to do this? To touch him, to look at him with those chillingly beautiful eyes, to make him remember that night fourteen days ago when Billie had glimpsed some little mite of compassion behind them, the small portion of kindness which kept him thinking of this man for hours on end? Why would he not just go?
Mike only continued his smirk at Billie's uncomfortable silence. "Sit down," he commanded with a nod towards the table.
Billie hesitated. He hadn't wanted to become involved with Mike. He only wanted to forget, to move on. Still, he soon found himself taking a reluctant seat in the booth next to the older man. He allowed his head to drop into his hands and a sigh to escape his lips at the mistake. Such a fucking pushover.
"Talk to me," Mike told him, only a hint of that secret compassion in his voice.
"She broke up with me," he said simply, sitting back again and looking longingly back at that shining grand piano. Could it bring him some comfort now? "She said she should've guessed. Was it really that bad? I mean... I'm not that bad a person, right? That people expect me to be an asshole." He closed his eyes, feeling like tearing up again at this final admission. "Fuck, I am an asshole."
The other man continued to watch him curiously. "If you were an asshole, you wouldn't care so much," he stated.
Billie looked back at him and felt his stomach do another flip. Why did it always have to do that around Mike? "If I was a good person, I'd never have gone to that room with you."
The pianist became tense as his boss came closer to him, as the man's hand was rested on Billie's leg. "Yes, you would." Billie was speechless again, as he was so often rendered by this man. He wondered if anyone else could see the hand on his leg or if they noticed the almost fearful expression on his face. He wouldn't be able to resist the older man. He couldn't say no.
"Why are you touching me?" He hoped his voice wasn't shaking as he spoke. God, Mike. He was gorgeous. He was different, and he was interested, and he was mind-numbingly enigmatic. He was like a drug to which Billie was becoming swiftly addicted. Suddenly, he seemed to want nothing more than to kiss the amazing man next to him, to be with him, to feel his gentle arms around him. Billie's weak resilience was beginning to slip.
"Because I want to," the man answered simply, leaning closer.
"Well stop."
Billie's breathing felt laboured and nervous as Mike drew ever closer, stopping centimeters from Billie's mouth. "No," he said, smirking as the smaller man fought to pay no attention to his close proximity. Soon, he felt Billie's defeated hands upon his neck as the pianist closed the distance between them in another hot kiss.
A moan escaped Billie's mouth as Mike's tongue slipped its way in. He'd missed this, this beautiful, passionate kissing, this strange man. And for the moment, he hadn't a care for the eyes which he felt watching him. Suddenly, he only wanted Mike. Billie and Mike. Mike and Billie. Us.
The proprietor finally pulled away a moment later, that infuriating smirk plastered onto his face. Billie had done it again. He'd allowed Mike to win. "Shut up," he muttered defeatedly.
"I don't recall saying anything." Billie groaned and allowed his head to drop to the older man's chest.
"God, I fucking hate you," he muttered into his shirt.
Mike's smirk only continued. "No, you don't."
"I do. I want to fucking kill you."
"Yes... but then you'd be alone," he pointed out.
Billie pushed Mike away, sitting back up and making to move out of the booth. "Oh, fuck you."
Mike rolled his eyes, grabbing onto Billie's arm to keep him there. "Billie, stay here and talk to me," he commanded. He had Billie here. He wasn't going to let him run away again.
"And why should I?" He turned his venomous green eyes to the other man, jerking his arm away. "Didn't you hear what I said? I fucking hate you, Mike. Why the hell would I want to talk to you?"
Mike was more than a bit surprised at the outburst. Billie never spoke that way, especially to him. A part of the younger man felt satisfied at the other's silence, but the larger part of him, the part which was angry, couldn't stand even being in his presence now. He took the opportunity to escape the booth quickly, leaving the stunned man remaining to watch his angry walk out into the cold night air.