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Dating was a bad idea, Frank reflected as he sat at the bar, sipping his whiskey. Not the sex and talking part, but the going on dates with Matt part. People seemed to find him irresistible. It didn't matter who. Men. Women. They'd all come sidling up to him even when he was obviously with someone.
All of them wanted to flirt with him, to touch his arm, and make sleazy innuendos about having sex with a blind person. It annoyed Frank. It wasn't that Matt even encouraged it. He was quite well behaved actually. Just him sitting there sipping his red wine seemed to do it.
It came down to two factors as far as Frank could tell. Matt was hot. That was an undeniable fact. He was also blind, and therefore vulnerable, easy enough to take advantage of. So people thought. That combination meant that Matt had fended off three interested women and one man just in the last half hour.
The man kept coming back. Couldn't take a hint. Frank wanted to give him more than a hint. It was taking every ounce of self control he possessed not to say something, not to get aggressive, and jealous, and protective of Matt. If he made a scene, it would ruin the night. They'd be asked to leave the bar. Matt would be upset about it. So he sat there and seethed instead.
"Come on. Let me buy you a drink," the guy pleaded for what must have been at least the third time, if not the fourth or fifth.
"No, thank you. As I said before, I'm not interested," Matt said calmly.
The guy opened his mouth to say something else and Frank cut across him, "Look, just leave us alone, alright? He's not interested. He's made that clear."
His blood boiled when the response he got back wasn't 'Sorry I bothered you. Have a nice night,' but rather, "It's a free country."
"Yeah," Matt said quietly, setting his wine glass down and touching Frank's arm, an unspoken signal to one, calm down, and two, let him handle it himself. "That means you're free to ask, and I'm free to say no. I'm free to expect you to accept and respect that when I say no, I mean it, and my boyfriend here is also free to express disgust when you don't have the decency to accept that when I say I'm not interested, I mean it."
"Come on," the guy whined, but Matt wasn't having it; he'd clearly reached the limits of what he was willing to tolerate.
"No," he said firmly. "I'm not playing hard to get. I'm in a relationship with someone who actually respects me. I'm happy with him, and what you think of as 'flirting' is a brand of aggressive sexual harassment. I'm going to have to ask you to leave us the hell alone." Matt stood up then. "Let's go, Frank."
Frank needed no more encouragement than that, and he stood up too, tossing Mr I Can't Handle Rejection a look of scathing disapproval. "I'd say it was nice to meet you, but it's been, yeah… good night."
Matt picked up his cane and Frank followed him out of the bar, looking over his shoulder several times, half expecting the guy to try and follow them, and feeling relieved when he didn't. The cool night air was welcome on his skin and he breathed deeply as Matt unfolded his cane, seeming to need a moment to calm down too; even though he'd maintained an outward appearance of composure, it had clearly bothered him.
"I really thought you were gonna hit him," Frank admitted as he and Matt started walking, heading towards the subway stop on Forty Second Street.
"I did," Matt replied, looking a little pleased with himself. "…with my words."
"That is so hot," Frank declared, and Matt laughed.
He kissed him then — firmly, tenderly, with intention— needing to end the night with something good. And yeah, Matt knew how to fight with his fists, but he also knew how to fight with his words, how to push back and stand up for himself. It was perhaps the first time Frank had realized that being a 'really good lawyer' as Matt claimed to be, was more than a career choice, it was a means of survival that had taught Matt more effectively than some blind asshole like Stick ever could, how to stand his ground, and that was hot; ask anyone.