Matt says he's busy tonight, promising to take him out to lunch the next day all in the same breath. Work things, he says, even though Tim's pretty sure they haven't had a client in weeks. Still. Matt's busy, and while Tim isn't overtly clingy, he doesn't exactly feel like being alone tonight. So he goes out, finds a bar that he doesn't like quite as much as Josie's, but that has plenty of good-looking guys to choose from. It suits his needs, even if it's missing a leaky roof and stale bar peanuts.
(He's not sure when he became so fond of the shitty little bar in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. Probably around the time he became so fond of Matt Murdock.)
He's not at the bar long before a man approaches. Tall, long legs and a strong jaw and biceps barely covered by a thin t-shirt. He smiles and offers to buy Tim a drink, and Tim smirks and accepts. The talk is polite, nothing more than a formality. Tim reveals that he's a marshal and the guy, Brian, reveals that he's a personal trainer, and the entire conversation is hand with the other's hand on Tim's knee.
The guy's hot, but Tim finds himself stalling. Buying them both a second round, and then a third round, letting him flirt and work for it. Usually, Tim's much easier than this, ready to go half a drink in. His heart's not in it tonight. All he can seem to think about is how Matt has a realer smile and nicer hands and a better ass. But then Brian finally asks him if he wants to get out of here, and Tim says yes on reflex. He's sure that as soon as they're getting undressed, he'll forget all about Matt.
They start to leave, Brian's hand against Tim's lower back. It wanders down to his ass once they're out the door, ready to get a little handsy before they're even out of the parking lot. This is where Tim should be reciprocating, but instead, he finds himself shifting away. It's not Matt's hands feeling him up in a rainy parking lot, and he's just not fucking into it.
He's into Matt. He's into their rough sex on the couch because they can't seem to make it all the way to the bedroom. He's into falling asleep between silk sheets, waking up to the smell of eggs and bacon. He's into Matt bringing him coffee in the middle of the day and Tim bringing him lunch in return. He's into Matt's laugh and his wide eyes and all those rough, unrefined edges beneath the polished lawyer look he upholds so well. He's so into Matt that the idea of being beneath a stranger tonight sounds entirely unappealing to him.
He's in love, honestly. And he can't stand the idea of keeping on the way they have been. It's possible this will ruin it. But he's had just enough to drink to remain hopeful. And to have the courage to do it anyway.
Brain looks confused, then annoyed as Tim excuses himself, giving a vague excuse of forgetting to do something before making his exit. He walks, despite the chill and the rain, because driving probably isn't a good idea, and Hell's Kitchen isn't terribly big. Matt's apartment is six blocks down, two blocks over, and Tim's beginning to learn the city enough that he shortcuts through a couple of alleys without getting lost. He's not so drunk that he has to concentrate too much on the staircase, and it isn't long before he's outside Matt's door and knocking, whether or not Matt's busy.
He's dripping wet and his heart's hammering so hard in his chest that it hurts, and this is probably the stupidest idea ever. But it's too late to back out, and besides. He doesn't even want to.
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(He's not sure when he became so fond of the shitty little bar in the heart of Hell's Kitchen. Probably around the time he became so fond of Matt Murdock.)
He's not at the bar long before a man approaches. Tall, long legs and a strong jaw and biceps barely covered by a thin t-shirt. He smiles and offers to buy Tim a drink, and Tim smirks and accepts. The talk is polite, nothing more than a formality. Tim reveals that he's a marshal and the guy, Brian, reveals that he's a personal trainer, and the entire conversation is hand with the other's hand on Tim's knee.
The guy's hot, but Tim finds himself stalling. Buying them both a second round, and then a third round, letting him flirt and work for it. Usually, Tim's much easier than this, ready to go half a drink in. His heart's not in it tonight. All he can seem to think about is how Matt has a realer smile and nicer hands and a better ass. But then Brian finally asks him if he wants to get out of here, and Tim says yes on reflex. He's sure that as soon as they're getting undressed, he'll forget all about Matt.
They start to leave, Brian's hand against Tim's lower back. It wanders down to his ass once they're out the door, ready to get a little handsy before they're even out of the parking lot. This is where Tim should be reciprocating, but instead, he finds himself shifting away. It's not Matt's hands feeling him up in a rainy parking lot, and he's just not fucking into it.
He's into Matt. He's into their rough sex on the couch because they can't seem to make it all the way to the bedroom. He's into falling asleep between silk sheets, waking up to the smell of eggs and bacon. He's into Matt bringing him coffee in the middle of the day and Tim bringing him lunch in return. He's into Matt's laugh and his wide eyes and all those rough, unrefined edges beneath the polished lawyer look he upholds so well. He's so into Matt that the idea of being beneath a stranger tonight sounds entirely unappealing to him.
He's in love, honestly. And he can't stand the idea of keeping on the way they have been. It's possible this will ruin it. But he's had just enough to drink to remain hopeful. And to have the courage to do it anyway.
Brain looks confused, then annoyed as Tim excuses himself, giving a vague excuse of forgetting to do something before making his exit. He walks, despite the chill and the rain, because driving probably isn't a good idea, and Hell's Kitchen isn't terribly big. Matt's apartment is six blocks down, two blocks over, and Tim's beginning to learn the city enough that he shortcuts through a couple of alleys without getting lost. He's not so drunk that he has to concentrate too much on the staircase, and it isn't long before he's outside Matt's door and knocking, whether or not Matt's busy.
He's dripping wet and his heart's hammering so hard in his chest that it hurts, and this is probably the stupidest idea ever. But it's too late to back out, and besides. He doesn't even want to.