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janie_tangerinePremise: it's all ficlets. I faaaail at drabbles. Spectacularly.
Supernatural
Title: And Their Mouths Are Choking
Pairings/Characters: Jimmy, Castiel.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 854
Disclaimer: SPN is not mine. If it was Jimmy would have had it better.
Spoilers: up until 5x14
Warnings: nothing unless someone craving for meat squicks you majorly. But it doesn't get graphic at all.
Summary: He’s hungry. After all, his body hasn’t eaten anything in months by now. It’s there like his wish to see Amelia and Claire again is there, and he doesn’t have much illusion that any of those two desires is ever going to get fulfilled.
A/N: for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wandersfound who wanted Jimmy. I'm afraid that you weren't searching for this completely angst thing but... eh. It was what came out. I hope you like it anyway! Title blatantly stolen from Temple Of The Dog. Using (in a very twisted way) for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sacred_20 #14, atonement.
I’m sorry, Castiel keeps on telling him, and Jimmy never really answers. He doesn’t need Castiel to tell him; he knows. He can feel it, all of it, because after all Castiel feels with Jimmy’s body.
And it’s such deep, profound, pure sorrow that Jimmy is almost tempted to forgive Castiel one day, because after all, what did he know? Nothing, that’s what Castiel knew, and he couldn’t have known better. Angels, after all, aren’t everything you’re led to believe.
Jimmy sometimes thinks that what he can’t forgive Castiel isn’t that he has trapped him inside his own body; he can’t forgive Castiel for showing him how things really were. How Heaven doesn’t care. How God isn’t in the building. How angels are, with a few exceptions, dicks. How his faith was, basically, wasted.
That’s something he just can’t get over.
And then there’s the hunger. Castiel doesn’t eat, of course he doesn’t, and Jimmy shouldn’t really feel anything if Castiel is in control (that’s what happened before, anyway); it might be because Castiel is diminished, it probably is, but it doesn’t work like that anymore. For a while Jimmy keeps it in check; after all, it’s not like he can do anything and it’s just… there. He’s hungry. After all, his body hasn’t eaten anything in months by now. It’s there like his wish to see Amelia and Claire again is there, and he doesn’t have much illusion that any of those two desires is ever going to get fulfilled.
And then it changes. He doesn’t get why. He doesn’t know. He’s cut too far out. But suddenly, it gets worse and he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad if only he got to eat something. Nothing fancy. Not even much. An hamburger would do. Like the ones Amelia used to prepare him when they were just married and didn’t have much money and he always got home late at night because he worked extra hours and she knew red meat was his favorite food (even if they never ate it on Sunday). They were simple, just white bread and red meat, cooked just right, not too much and not too raw, with maybe some tomatoes and salad to go with them. A bit of mayo if they really wanted to be fancy. He thinks he had never tasted anything so good in his life. He remembers that they used to have barbecues outside during the summer, and she’d cook them for Claire, too, and somehow the two things start to meddle. The way he misses food becomes the way he misses his family, and it might be two days or two hours but at some point it becomes unbearable. It hurts, it’s a void waiting to be filled, and oh, just one, just one, just one, he thinks, just one would be so good; and then he realizes that Castiel isn’t shutting him out. He isn’t even saying he’s sorry. He isn’t giving him control, but he’s weaker. It’s like someone is making him weaker.
Jimmy should be worrying. He should realize that this isn’t normal.
He doesn’t care and when it becomes unbearable, he talks to Castiel on his own for the first time since they came back.
If you really are sorry, I might start to forgive you if you just go and eat something for me. Like that hamburger Dean isn’t touching, he suggests.
He screams internally when in the end Castiel doesn’t eat it (so close, so close), but it isn’t much later when he realizes that they are sitting in a diner.
“Can I get something for you?” the waitress asks.
Hamburger. Red meat. Maybe with a bit of salad. Please, just one.
Castiel repeats the order and the second he takes a bite, Jimmy thinks that if he was in control he would have moaned. It’s good, so good, so tasty, the meat a bit raw maybe but nothing he can’t work with. Yes, yes, yes, he thinks, and then the hamburger is gone. Castiel licks his lips.
Jimmy can’t really stop himself. That was it, it was nourishment and fullness and the remembrance of his wife’s fingers touching his own as he was handed his dinner, it was his daughter’s smile as she took a bite in the sun during a summer day.
He needs it. He wants it. He craves it.
What about another one? Or maybe two?, he asks again. Castiel doesn’t answer, but he complies obediently, like he can’t fight it, either, and buys another five to go. The paper bag is warm as their fingers touch it.
As Castiel gets out of the diner and brings the second burger out of the bag, taking a bite and chewing slowly, he thinks this has to be Famine’s doing, I need to warn Dean and Sam now. But he doesn’t stop eating.
Jimmy barely grasps what it means. Mostly, that it’s very bad business. But it doesn’t matter, not really. All he can think is yes, yes, yes.
And, maybe also because he knows Castiel won’t or can’t refuse him, more, more, more.
End.
Heroes/SPN
Title:
Pairings/Characters: John/Adam (sorta, it's not exactly shippy but.. well, see for yourself.)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 740
Disclaimer: SPN isn't mine and Heroes isn't either, I wouldn't be here writing fanfiction.
Spoilers: sort of very vague S1 for SPN, AU from like 3x05 or 06 for Heroes.
Summary: Adam snorts for the umpteenth time this day. Damn, it really wasn’t his style to get caught by some supernatural hunter, but then again when you’re just freed from a grave, it takes a while to regain all of your balance and he has been careless.
A/N: fortoestastegood who wanted John/Adam. It isn't EXACTLY shippy but hey, I tried. ;) I know I majorly screwed the timelines, probably, but I couldn't be bothered to check. Pretend that Heroes S3 is set during SPN S1.
“What the fuck are you?”
Adam snorts for the umpteenth time this day. Damn, it really wasn’t his style to get caught by some supernatural hunter, but then again when you’re just freed from a grave, it takes a while to regain all of your balance and he has been careless. His fault, mostly. Well, the guy is a tough one, surely; it’s not like managing to tie Adam up to a chair is an easy task.
Hell, no.
Then again, it has also been good fun. The guy was convinced that Adam was a demon first (rule number one: never get in bar fights when there’s the risk you might get slashed, Adam needs to remember) and so he has tried ten different exorcism, drew a devil’s trap under his chair, made him fucking eat salt, but it didn’t have effects. Of course it didn’t, Adam is no literal demon. Seriously. He’ll concede metaphorically, but that’s not the point.
And then it has been a good three hours and whatever the guy thought Adam was, there was no response of any kind. And while Adam should start being bored, it’s still more amusing than anything that has happened to him since he managed to flee before they could bring him in front of Arthur, and that had been a master move. He has a feeling he’d be dead otherwise.
“Other than immortal, nothing special,” Adam answers for the umpteenth time.
“No one’s immortal. There has to be a way to kill you.”
“Well, there might be, but I won’t be so stupid to actually spill it out. Do I look stupid to you?”
“That, you don’t. Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going through your head, but don’t be a fucking smartass with me. If you’re immortal then you’re not human, and if you’re not human then you’re something supernatural, and if you are then my job is kicking your fucking ass unless I decide that you aren’t dangerous. And you don’t seem harmless to me.”
“Don’t you think that you’re being a bit over-suspicious?”
“Maybe, but it appears that I’m rarely wrong. So, again, what the fuck are you?”
“I already told you ten times. You say I’m not human, fine, you have a point. I’m not exactly your average bloke that you meet buying groceries. But I’m not… supernatural either.”
“And where does that put you?”
“You could say I’m enhanced.”
“Enhanced. Sounds about fucking peachy.”
“Hey, I’m not the only one!”
“I don’t think I wanna know what the fuck could your other enhanced pals do. Now my problem is, what do I do with you?”
“What about letting me go?”
“When I don’t know if you’re dangerous or not? Not a fucking chance, pal.”
If only you knew, Adam thinks, and then puts on his best smile. “Well, it’s not like I had anything planned for Saturday night. Bring me with you. For as long as you think is necessary.”
“Yeah, and I should trust you? Sorry, but I’m this close to tracking down the son of a bitch who put me in this position in the first place and I don’t need no fucking burden.”
Adam feels kind of offended.
“Hey, for your information, I’m not the first idiot passing by.”
“Yeah, and you’d follow me while I’m hunting a first class demon without any training or shit.”
“Oh, I can fight, don’t you worry about that. And why not?”
“Why not?”
“I never did anything like that before. Sounds exciting,” Adam answers, and it’s not a complete lie. It’s nothing he has ever done in the last centuries and it’s low enough that no one would think to search for him.
“Son, if you think that it’s exciting you must be out of your goddamned mind, but then again no one who’s in his right mind, me included, does this. Fine. First time I think you’re dangerous or a liability, I’ll test my theories on how to kill immortals. I might have an idea. And by the way, I’m John,” he ends up, freeing Adam. Adam blinks and figures that it really might be interesting. Fine. He’ll play along. Also, the John guy doesn’t seem an idiot at all; surely it’ll be an improvement from helping fucking Hiro Nakamura.
“I’m Adam. I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly.”
“My ass,” John answers loading his gun, and Adam smirks.
This looks fun, indeed.
End.
Lost
Title: Another Time, Another Place
Pairings/Characters: alt!Jack/alt!Sawyer
Rating: PG
Word Count: 592
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, pfff. Like anyone could say otherwise.
Spoilers: for the S5 finale and through 6x01/6x02.
Summary: He wishes they met somewhere else, sometime else. Maybe in a world where Sawyer never needed to be Sawyer and Jack never had to be the uptight son of a bitch he is.
A/N: foralliecat8, who wanted Jack/Sawyer. It's more pre-slash of anything but hey, I tried. I hope you like it! <3 Also using for 10_shakespeare #5, "Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you", thus finishing that table. Yay me. Title shamelessly stolen from RENT. *cough*
They could have been friends, Sawyer thinks as Jack’s bloodied face disappears among the trees. Another time and another place, but they could have; or so he wants to think. It’s just the truth, more or less. It’s just that it’s a question of time, and place; for them, it wasn’t either.
Since the crash, it’s been a question of push and pull; they have loved the same woman and it hasn’t gone well for either of them, he has called Jack names and Jack hasn’t answered in words but in action (for good and for bad, it doesn’t really matter), they have bickered and fought and sort of made up and fought all over again and they’ve been closest thing to friends, but they never got there. Not quite. Not ever. Sawyer sort of regrets it, but maybe it was just a question of circumstances.
He wishes they met somewhere else, sometime else. Maybe in a world where Sawyer never needed to be Sawyer and Jack never had to be the uptight son of a bitch he is. Or well, not as much. Maybe they could have met in some bar and bought each other a beer and they’d exchange numbers because Sawyer likes to talk and he knows that Jack likes to listen even if he doesn’t show it; it wouldn’t have to end like this is ending.
And then the other woman they (maybe) both loved at one point falls down and everything becomes white (in spite of his grief; it shouldn’t be white), and the last thing he thinks before another him is back sitting on Oceanic Flight 815, not remembering a thing, is that thinking that something could go the right way was really fucking wishful thinking.
--
“Have we ever met?”
Jack turns to his right, and he blinks as his eyes meet the other man’s. And no, they never met, but he doesn’t feel like a stranger. There’s something in the way his dark blond hair falls over his forehead or in the way he’s looking at Jack with piercing eyes that might be green or blue that screams familiar all over.
“I mean, not on the plane. I know you were there.”
Jack nods and then shrugs, adjusting his hands on the counter of the airport’s bar. “Maybe. I mean, I’m pretty sure I never met you before, but you look familiar. For some reason. Nothing to do with the plane.”
“Yeah. Same thing for me too,” the other man answers, his voice warm and his drawl sounding soothing, for some reason.
Jack doesn’t know why but it feels like he’s at some kind of crossroads and he just doesn’t get it. Then he figures that when you just learned that Oceanic lost your dad’s coffin somewhere you are allowed to be careless, once in a while.
“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?” he asks then, and the man slowly smiles, a small dimple showing in his cheek.
“Why, I’d like one. Especially if you’re buyin’.”
“I’m buying,” Jack confirms, and he doesn’t know why it feels amusing for some reason.
“I’m Jack, by the way,” he says then, extending his hand; the man stares at him for a second before slowly accepting and shaking it back. He bites his lip, like he’s debating something, then he half-smiles again and the grip becomes firmer for a second before he lets it go.
“James,” he answers, his voice maybe not exactly steady, but it’s not Jack’s business and he nods and orders two beers.
End.
Supernatural
Title: And Their Mouths Are Choking
Pairings/Characters: Jimmy, Castiel.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 854
Disclaimer: SPN is not mine. If it was Jimmy would have had it better.
Spoilers: up until 5x14
Warnings: nothing unless someone craving for meat squicks you majorly. But it doesn't get graphic at all.
Summary: He’s hungry. After all, his body hasn’t eaten anything in months by now. It’s there like his wish to see Amelia and Claire again is there, and he doesn’t have much illusion that any of those two desires is ever going to get fulfilled.
A/N: for
wandersfound who wanted Jimmy. I'm afraid that you weren't searching for this completely angst thing but... eh. It was what came out. I hope you like it anyway! Title blatantly stolen from Temple Of The Dog. Using (in a very twisted way) for sacred_20 #14, atonement.I’m sorry, Castiel keeps on telling him, and Jimmy never really answers. He doesn’t need Castiel to tell him; he knows. He can feel it, all of it, because after all Castiel feels with Jimmy’s body.
And it’s such deep, profound, pure sorrow that Jimmy is almost tempted to forgive Castiel one day, because after all, what did he know? Nothing, that’s what Castiel knew, and he couldn’t have known better. Angels, after all, aren’t everything you’re led to believe.
Jimmy sometimes thinks that what he can’t forgive Castiel isn’t that he has trapped him inside his own body; he can’t forgive Castiel for showing him how things really were. How Heaven doesn’t care. How God isn’t in the building. How angels are, with a few exceptions, dicks. How his faith was, basically, wasted.
That’s something he just can’t get over.
And then there’s the hunger. Castiel doesn’t eat, of course he doesn’t, and Jimmy shouldn’t really feel anything if Castiel is in control (that’s what happened before, anyway); it might be because Castiel is diminished, it probably is, but it doesn’t work like that anymore. For a while Jimmy keeps it in check; after all, it’s not like he can do anything and it’s just… there. He’s hungry. After all, his body hasn’t eaten anything in months by now. It’s there like his wish to see Amelia and Claire again is there, and he doesn’t have much illusion that any of those two desires is ever going to get fulfilled.
And then it changes. He doesn’t get why. He doesn’t know. He’s cut too far out. But suddenly, it gets worse and he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad if only he got to eat something. Nothing fancy. Not even much. An hamburger would do. Like the ones Amelia used to prepare him when they were just married and didn’t have much money and he always got home late at night because he worked extra hours and she knew red meat was his favorite food (even if they never ate it on Sunday). They were simple, just white bread and red meat, cooked just right, not too much and not too raw, with maybe some tomatoes and salad to go with them. A bit of mayo if they really wanted to be fancy. He thinks he had never tasted anything so good in his life. He remembers that they used to have barbecues outside during the summer, and she’d cook them for Claire, too, and somehow the two things start to meddle. The way he misses food becomes the way he misses his family, and it might be two days or two hours but at some point it becomes unbearable. It hurts, it’s a void waiting to be filled, and oh, just one, just one, just one, he thinks, just one would be so good; and then he realizes that Castiel isn’t shutting him out. He isn’t even saying he’s sorry. He isn’t giving him control, but he’s weaker. It’s like someone is making him weaker.
Jimmy should be worrying. He should realize that this isn’t normal.
He doesn’t care and when it becomes unbearable, he talks to Castiel on his own for the first time since they came back.
If you really are sorry, I might start to forgive you if you just go and eat something for me. Like that hamburger Dean isn’t touching, he suggests.
He screams internally when in the end Castiel doesn’t eat it (so close, so close), but it isn’t much later when he realizes that they are sitting in a diner.
“Can I get something for you?” the waitress asks.
Hamburger. Red meat. Maybe with a bit of salad. Please, just one.
Castiel repeats the order and the second he takes a bite, Jimmy thinks that if he was in control he would have moaned. It’s good, so good, so tasty, the meat a bit raw maybe but nothing he can’t work with. Yes, yes, yes, he thinks, and then the hamburger is gone. Castiel licks his lips.
Jimmy can’t really stop himself. That was it, it was nourishment and fullness and the remembrance of his wife’s fingers touching his own as he was handed his dinner, it was his daughter’s smile as she took a bite in the sun during a summer day.
He needs it. He wants it. He craves it.
What about another one? Or maybe two?, he asks again. Castiel doesn’t answer, but he complies obediently, like he can’t fight it, either, and buys another five to go. The paper bag is warm as their fingers touch it.
As Castiel gets out of the diner and brings the second burger out of the bag, taking a bite and chewing slowly, he thinks this has to be Famine’s doing, I need to warn Dean and Sam now. But he doesn’t stop eating.
Jimmy barely grasps what it means. Mostly, that it’s very bad business. But it doesn’t matter, not really. All he can think is yes, yes, yes.
And, maybe also because he knows Castiel won’t or can’t refuse him, more, more, more.
End.
Heroes/SPN
Title:
Pairings/Characters: John/Adam (sorta, it's not exactly shippy but.. well, see for yourself.)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 740
Disclaimer: SPN isn't mine and Heroes isn't either, I wouldn't be here writing fanfiction.
Spoilers: sort of very vague S1 for SPN, AU from like 3x05 or 06 for Heroes.
Summary: Adam snorts for the umpteenth time this day. Damn, it really wasn’t his style to get caught by some supernatural hunter, but then again when you’re just freed from a grave, it takes a while to regain all of your balance and he has been careless.
A/N: for
toestastegood who wanted John/Adam. It isn't EXACTLY shippy but hey, I tried. ;) I know I majorly screwed the timelines, probably, but I couldn't be bothered to check. Pretend that Heroes S3 is set during SPN S1.“What the fuck are you?”
Adam snorts for the umpteenth time this day. Damn, it really wasn’t his style to get caught by some supernatural hunter, but then again when you’re just freed from a grave, it takes a while to regain all of your balance and he has been careless. His fault, mostly. Well, the guy is a tough one, surely; it’s not like managing to tie Adam up to a chair is an easy task.
Hell, no.
Then again, it has also been good fun. The guy was convinced that Adam was a demon first (rule number one: never get in bar fights when there’s the risk you might get slashed, Adam needs to remember) and so he has tried ten different exorcism, drew a devil’s trap under his chair, made him fucking eat salt, but it didn’t have effects. Of course it didn’t, Adam is no literal demon. Seriously. He’ll concede metaphorically, but that’s not the point.
And then it has been a good three hours and whatever the guy thought Adam was, there was no response of any kind. And while Adam should start being bored, it’s still more amusing than anything that has happened to him since he managed to flee before they could bring him in front of Arthur, and that had been a master move. He has a feeling he’d be dead otherwise.
“Other than immortal, nothing special,” Adam answers for the umpteenth time.
“No one’s immortal. There has to be a way to kill you.”
“Well, there might be, but I won’t be so stupid to actually spill it out. Do I look stupid to you?”
“That, you don’t. Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going through your head, but don’t be a fucking smartass with me. If you’re immortal then you’re not human, and if you’re not human then you’re something supernatural, and if you are then my job is kicking your fucking ass unless I decide that you aren’t dangerous. And you don’t seem harmless to me.”
“Don’t you think that you’re being a bit over-suspicious?”
“Maybe, but it appears that I’m rarely wrong. So, again, what the fuck are you?”
“I already told you ten times. You say I’m not human, fine, you have a point. I’m not exactly your average bloke that you meet buying groceries. But I’m not… supernatural either.”
“And where does that put you?”
“You could say I’m enhanced.”
“Enhanced. Sounds about fucking peachy.”
“Hey, I’m not the only one!”
“I don’t think I wanna know what the fuck could your other enhanced pals do. Now my problem is, what do I do with you?”
“What about letting me go?”
“When I don’t know if you’re dangerous or not? Not a fucking chance, pal.”
If only you knew, Adam thinks, and then puts on his best smile. “Well, it’s not like I had anything planned for Saturday night. Bring me with you. For as long as you think is necessary.”
“Yeah, and I should trust you? Sorry, but I’m this close to tracking down the son of a bitch who put me in this position in the first place and I don’t need no fucking burden.”
Adam feels kind of offended.
“Hey, for your information, I’m not the first idiot passing by.”
“Yeah, and you’d follow me while I’m hunting a first class demon without any training or shit.”
“Oh, I can fight, don’t you worry about that. And why not?”
“Why not?”
“I never did anything like that before. Sounds exciting,” Adam answers, and it’s not a complete lie. It’s nothing he has ever done in the last centuries and it’s low enough that no one would think to search for him.
“Son, if you think that it’s exciting you must be out of your goddamned mind, but then again no one who’s in his right mind, me included, does this. Fine. First time I think you’re dangerous or a liability, I’ll test my theories on how to kill immortals. I might have an idea. And by the way, I’m John,” he ends up, freeing Adam. Adam blinks and figures that it really might be interesting. Fine. He’ll play along. Also, the John guy doesn’t seem an idiot at all; surely it’ll be an improvement from helping fucking Hiro Nakamura.
“I’m Adam. I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly.”
“My ass,” John answers loading his gun, and Adam smirks.
This looks fun, indeed.
End.
Lost
Title: Another Time, Another Place
Pairings/Characters: alt!Jack/alt!Sawyer
Rating: PG
Word Count: 592
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, pfff. Like anyone could say otherwise.
Spoilers: for the S5 finale and through 6x01/6x02.
Summary: He wishes they met somewhere else, sometime else. Maybe in a world where Sawyer never needed to be Sawyer and Jack never had to be the uptight son of a bitch he is.
A/N: for
alliecat8, who wanted Jack/Sawyer. It's more pre-slash of anything but hey, I tried. I hope you like it! <3 Also using for 10_shakespeare #5, "Hereafter, in a better world than this, I shall desire more love and knowledge of you", thus finishing that table. Yay me. Title shamelessly stolen from RENT. *cough*They could have been friends, Sawyer thinks as Jack’s bloodied face disappears among the trees. Another time and another place, but they could have; or so he wants to think. It’s just the truth, more or less. It’s just that it’s a question of time, and place; for them, it wasn’t either.
Since the crash, it’s been a question of push and pull; they have loved the same woman and it hasn’t gone well for either of them, he has called Jack names and Jack hasn’t answered in words but in action (for good and for bad, it doesn’t really matter), they have bickered and fought and sort of made up and fought all over again and they’ve been closest thing to friends, but they never got there. Not quite. Not ever. Sawyer sort of regrets it, but maybe it was just a question of circumstances.
He wishes they met somewhere else, sometime else. Maybe in a world where Sawyer never needed to be Sawyer and Jack never had to be the uptight son of a bitch he is. Or well, not as much. Maybe they could have met in some bar and bought each other a beer and they’d exchange numbers because Sawyer likes to talk and he knows that Jack likes to listen even if he doesn’t show it; it wouldn’t have to end like this is ending.
And then the other woman they (maybe) both loved at one point falls down and everything becomes white (in spite of his grief; it shouldn’t be white), and the last thing he thinks before another him is back sitting on Oceanic Flight 815, not remembering a thing, is that thinking that something could go the right way was really fucking wishful thinking.
--
“Have we ever met?”
Jack turns to his right, and he blinks as his eyes meet the other man’s. And no, they never met, but he doesn’t feel like a stranger. There’s something in the way his dark blond hair falls over his forehead or in the way he’s looking at Jack with piercing eyes that might be green or blue that screams familiar all over.
“I mean, not on the plane. I know you were there.”
Jack nods and then shrugs, adjusting his hands on the counter of the airport’s bar. “Maybe. I mean, I’m pretty sure I never met you before, but you look familiar. For some reason. Nothing to do with the plane.”
“Yeah. Same thing for me too,” the other man answers, his voice warm and his drawl sounding soothing, for some reason.
Jack doesn’t know why but it feels like he’s at some kind of crossroads and he just doesn’t get it. Then he figures that when you just learned that Oceanic lost your dad’s coffin somewhere you are allowed to be careless, once in a while.
“Hey. Can I buy you a drink?” he asks then, and the man slowly smiles, a small dimple showing in his cheek.
“Why, I’d like one. Especially if you’re buyin’.”
“I’m buying,” Jack confirms, and he doesn’t know why it feels amusing for some reason.
“I’m Jack, by the way,” he says then, extending his hand; the man stares at him for a second before slowly accepting and shaking it back. He bites his lip, like he’s debating something, then he half-smiles again and the grip becomes firmer for a second before he lets it go.
“James,” he answers, his voice maybe not exactly steady, but it’s not Jack’s business and he nods and orders two beers.
End.
