Chapter Text
James doesn’t club much; he can count on one hand the number of parties he’s gone to during his schooling, and he’s not one who often wants to add to it.
He likes his simplicity, his routines. Pouring himself into his assignments and work was really the only thing he had time for. But it’s been a while since he’s last had fun, so sue him for opening up Google Maps and searching ‘Gay Bars near me’.
The guilt he feels isn’t as intense as it used to be, when it was meeting up under bleachers or when nobody was home. The summer before starting school, he took a trip with his family to Italy. It wasn’t anything extraordinary: an Airbnb and a couple of days to celebrate him.
He hadn’t planned on getting drunk or coming out. It had simply happened, loosened by wine and warm air and the fact that, for once, he felt safe.
Taking a deep breath, he looked at the bar in front of him, a hole-in-the-wall place he’s never been to. He finds it relieving to go places outside his area in the city, nothing like his usual haunts, nothing he does can follow him home.
The lights in it are clashing with the darkness of it all. Definitely not his scene, but he’s already driven here, so
He grabbed a seat at the bar, squished beside two slightly tipsy women. The bartender, he called too, is already making his drink: vodka cranberry. Something to ease him, offering him courage to do something before he begins working and pours his life into that, something without strings or attachment.
He’s about halfway through his drink, already planning to leave when no one here catches his eye, when the bartender leaves another drink next to him.
“Hey, I didn’t order this?” He runs his finger over the condensation that surrounds the glass.
“You didn’t, he did.” The bartender points up, and James follows his gaze to a man; he couldn’t be much older than him if his height had anything to say about it. Dark honey curls, cut like a mullet. He’s wearing a slightly cropped shirt and a flannel that he can’t make out the color of.
He notices that he’s been staring for a long time, analyzing this man who looks like he’s about to break and walk away, before James motions him over.
“You order every guy at the bar drinks, or am I special?” James opens with confidence. If someone has piqued his interest, he doesn’t want them to wiggle away so easily.
“No, actually.. I only order drinks for guys I’m attracted to.” The man has this.. laugh; it’s airy and carefree, the kind of laugh someone has with the help of liquid courage.
“So I am special then?” James doesn’t have to look down at him while sitting; it’s nice, like they’re on an even playing field. But he can definitely tell he’s shorter than James, if not by at least half a foot.
The man let out another laugh, like James is the only one in the world right now who can hear him, and the selfish, curious thought that anyone else could ever hear this makes his stomach churn.
“Yeah, I guess you are.. I’m Dennis, and I’ve never seen you here before.” Dennis uses his right hand to fix his bangs before stealing the chair next to him, which James had just noticed was no longer occupied by those two girls.
“I’m James, and I’ve never been here before.” He leans more heavily on the bar, like when he was an ignorant kid in grade school, taking up the bar space and very nearly knocking over his glass. Dennis smiled and looked down, like James had just said the smartest thing.
He was honestly not planning on staying much longer, but with this man in front of him, strutting up to him with confidence, buying him a drink. He already drove here; might as well indulge in this.
“You’re local?” Dennis asks, hand resting on the bar, next to James’ arm, “Or are you not from here?”
He knows it’s morally wrong to lie, especially to someone he is considering bringing home with him- if he’d let him, of course. But it’s almost like a habit when he shrugs.
“Sort of, I’m here for work.” Not technically a lie, he’s here for the Residence at PTMC. Though he’s sure it won’t matter, so he doesn’t mention it. Just moves his arm closer and looks down into Dennis’s large eyes. And Dennis nodded incredulously, and maybe James was being hopeful when he swore he saw something more than bland curiosity lying there.
Dennis, satisfied with his answer, leans in closer; “So, tell me about yourself. You’re here for work, what else?” and like Dennis could sense his next move, he puts his hand on his arm, nothing rough or sadistic, like he could tell James thought he was dreaming.
“I’m from Italy, but I’ve lived in the States for a good portion of my life, only visiting occasionally. And I did my undergrad at UCLA.” He says the last part as if he’s bragging, showing off to him like how birds dance to attract mates. The thought is so embarrassing that James feels his face get red.
If the shorter man noticed the change in hue, he didn’t say anything. He’s just staring into James’s eyes like it’s crowned jewels, and it makes him sheepishly swell at the thought he’s that admired— as foolish and self-pitying as that sounded. “And you? Let me learn something about you, Dennis.”
He doesn’t notice until Dennis starts talking that his accent slipped out during his question, which he feels makes his heart skip an unhealthy number of beats. The only reason he noticed is that Dennis has one two, some faint Southern- (maybe Midwestern?) one, like he’s Canadian or something. It almost makes James forget to listen.
“I moved for school, and stayed for work, and am now here, with my roommate, who’s probably with her girlfriend, so.. here alone mostly.”
James hums appreciatively. He doesn’t want to talk; he wants to hear that carefree voice, that slight southern accent.
“Roommates?” He almost ignorantly said, ‘people still do that?’, he does recognize it’s a snobbish thought, which is why he doesn’t say it. “That must be fun, you guys close?” Apologies to Dennis’s roommate, but he couldn’t care less for them— he just wants Dennis to start talking again. He must be what saints hear up their way to heaven.
Contrary to his previous voice, he does look around nervously, no doubt inspecting the area for his roommate before turning back to him, and meeting his eyes, it’s not a sight James is prepared for: he wants to spoil him until his eyes are so bright they’re glowing, he wants to be with him in the morning when those eyes are adjusting to the light and he wants to stare so long it's burned into his eyes like a fire branding into a horse.
“She’s nice enough. I do a lot of the housework. The only issue is,” Dennis’s face glows under the light in the club, but his embarrassing smile is still visible. “We kind of have thin walls.”
The smile makes James laugh, mostly in a hilarious shock that brings him, the way he said it, to tears in his eyes. He does realize that after a while, he might’ve been laughing too loud, as the bartender and a couple sat not far from them, keep giving him the stink eye.
James doesn’t care, but he stops laughing in case Dennis does. He’s leaning forward, eyeing the smaller man in front of him, the bottom of his pants to his cupid bow top lip, like a tiger ready to pounce.
“Is this the part where I invite you over to escape her, then?” James doesn’t realize that he said it too cocky, too full of confidence, that he worries it might make Dennis back off, the thought plants a pit in his stomach so quickly that he barely feels his face dropping.
Dennis doesn’t answer right away. He blinks at him, mouth parting like he’s about to say something, then he laughs, short and breathy.
"Jumping the gun much," Dennis slightly moves his hand away from James, which makes the pit feel like a black hole. "Are you always this confident? Or is that a tonight thing?"
James feels like the teleprompter glitched, like when a can is stuck in a vending machine, and he's stuck on what to say. Usually, that's the part where he and whoever fits his vague attraction criteria find a hotel, fuck, and then one of them leaves after (usually James).
It's only then that he realizes he invited Dennis to his house this time, his jaw tightens, and he's overcome by this all-composing exposure.
His gaze drops to where his arm used to be, "I... actually don't usually invite strangers back to my place." It's not often James feels like an idiot, and he's not often affected by trivial means.
It almost makes him want to back out entirely, go home and analyze why he's feeling so different, what about Dennis is different, but if he leaves no,w he knows the thought of what they could be would be etched into his brain like a woodcut.
Dennis takes a beat to absorb the information. "You seemed really comfortable for someone who doesn't really do that." James was hoping he hadn't noticed, but of course he did.
His brain must be overheating, because he leans his head down and away from Dennis, while shaking his head in a nervous laugh.
The lights shine brighter on him, and the music rattles against his rib; he's trying to figure out how fast his heart is thumping in his chest.
He's cut off mid-count by Dennis, "Walk me outside," Dennis says, "and if you're still feeling confident after that, we'll talk."
—
The sticky air of warm Pittsburgh in June is something James doesn't particularly enjoy, but he's stepping over cracks in the sidewalk while listening to Dennis talk about working on a farm, so it's making it worth it.
Learning how Dennis grew up makes him more curious about Dennis; he wants him to talk without stopping. His slightly tipsy lust has subsided, it's replaced with an embedded with a deep appreciation for Dennis.
"Sounds different from Italy," James replies with a smile, showing off his bright teeth. "Well, from my side, Italy." They’re about half a block from the bar, and the buzzing of city life provides the perfect white noise to tune out and focus on Dennis.
"Italy! Right... how did you end up at UCLA?" Dennis slips his hands into his pockets, his eyes following a passing car before returning to James. James shrugs and scratches his upper cheek. "They have a program I was interested in, and there was a place here that caught my attention." Dennis hums in response, then falls silent. James tries to focus on the sound of Dennis’s breathing but realizes after about half a minute that it’s too quiet.
"I’m sure growing up on a farm is very different from city life. Do you like it?" He deliberately steps closer to Dennis, slowing his pace to savor the moment. He notices Dennis biting his lower lip in thought, as if he’s debating whether to share. "Well... it was hard to adjust at first, but I like it here now," Dennis says with a shrug. "Have you ever mucked a stall?"
"I haven't... but I worked at a vet clinic- in Italy -just a summer job, and I've dealt with many dirty cages." James tries to put his experience on par with Dennis's, but he's well aware that mucking a stall is nowhere near a rabbit kennel. It feels good to tell someone about himself; it never usually gets this far.
He's about to continue, ask Dennis more questions about himself, but he notices that they're getting close to where he parked, and his heart drops a beat. James wants this to go on long into the night, and then still be with Dennis when it breaks day. He just stops, not slowing his pace before turning to Dennis, who looks up at him while turning just a moment after him.
"My car isn't far from here," he said. This reminds him that he hadn't exactly told Dennis he'd change his mind. "Not like that!" He wipes his mouth, a habit of his to recollect his words, and he inhales softly.
"Dennis, I really liked this, but I don't-" is all he can get out before Dennis kisses him.
It's a sweet, soft kiss. Like the first sip of coffee when it's off the kettle, Dennis's mouth feels like it's burning into his own, melting them together like creamer and sugar. It's decadent, and James wastes little time, shooting his hands to the sides of Dennis's face and leaning down. He didn't feel that short when walking, but now that they're idle, the height difference is noticeable, and James practically needs to bend his knees.
It felt longer than it was, but Dennis pulls away first, his big eyes tracing from James lips to his own eyes. He's still holding the sides of Dennis's face, and Dennis- he didn't realize until now -had both hands on either side of his waist.
"Sorry, that was... Alot," Dennis peels his hands off James's waist. James's hands stay sutured to Dennis's face. "It's not that I don't want to," He reassures, "It's that tonight just might not be the best night..." James unweaves his hand from Dennis's face, bringing it to preen his hair.
"I would like to do this when I can do it properly." He takes the hand previously in his hair and brings it to Dennis's own waist, holding him closer. Dennis nods and looks at James's chest with his eyebrows furrowed. "Okay," he starts, "I just hope I didn't read into that."
"You definitely didn't," James replies confidently, as if he's never been more sure of anything in his life. And Dennis, honest to god, giggles before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a phone with a blue case. It's an older iPhone model, James immediately clocks, briefly recalling having one as well.
"Then text me..?" He leans his phone forward, towards James, but the name 'SANTOS' pops up before he can start typing in his number. There's a picture of a woman, long- maybe medium-length hair? She's got it in a ponytail with a huge grin on her face. He can't quite piece together the song Dennis has as his ringtone before he snatches it back.
Pressing the decline button, he hands it back to James. "Sorry, that was my roommate." His face turns toward the club, and he scans for a moment, trying to find her. "She probably thinks I ditched her." James wants to say something along the lines of 'You kind of did', but puts his mouth to better use by pecking Dennis right beside his mouth, which causes him to whip back around.
He hands Dennis's phone back, contact saved as 'James:^)(from bar)', and searches his pockets for his keys, eyes still trained on the man in front of him. Dennis is carefully typing with one hand, and James feels his own phone buzz under his fingers, next to his keys, before Dennis spins his phone around to James's face.
"Hi, it's Dennis :)." is shown in a blue text bubble, before the call screen with 'SANTOS' pops up again, and he lets it ring briefly with a sigh, "That's my cue." he picks up the phone before pressing the 'Mute' button immediately, "Don't be a stranger."
And before he can reply, Dennis is winking and walking away, phone pressed to the same side Jame had kissed him. He feels like a fool when he's sitting on the driver's side of his car, hands on the wheel, yet still parked, replaying every moment in his head until he's satisfied. He digs his phone out of his pocket and sees the text, quickly saving Dennis's contact, before pulling out and beginning his tedious drive home.
His phone is still open to the text when he gets home, so he doesn't realize he's there until his phone screams at him, telling him he's reached his destination. There hasn't been anything new from him, which is fair because James hasn't texted, courtesy of Texting-and-Driving assemblies. He doesn't have an excuse for not texting him back when he's changing out of his clothes and brushing his teeth, but he still lets his eyes linger on the screen: tapping it when it turns off.
Or when he's lying in his bed, staring at it again. The blue bubble is itching at him like he's got eczema, gnawing all the meat off his fingertips as he types out.
"Nice meeting you dennis :) do you want to grab dinner sometime this week?"
He deletes and retypes it almost a million times before finally sending it, and before he allows it to eat at him more than it has, he plugs it in and shuts his eyes. Brain cycling between Dennis and his work tomorrow, and he convinces himself not to Google either of them, before finally drifting into sleep.