#sometimes u basically dry hump ur bestie in a bar. its cool. thats what friends are for

[ingolds]

@indeath. — sender kisses receiver to pretend they’re in a relationship.

     the bar isn’t one they’re familiar with; nour had picked it out, excited to try somewhere new, and theo barely tries to deny him anymore. it’s cozy, at least, the interior well-lit and warm, and the bottles lined up at the top shelf behind the counter are true spirits, theo’s eyebrows going up when the bartender rattles off how much it’ll cost for a glass. nour cuts them a lazy look, pays for it without much fuss, and then theo has whiskey in their hand, aged somewhere north of 150 years. he wanders after that, flitting here and there, and theo tries not to mind.

     three glasses in ( two of which theo has paid for themselves, thank you very much ), and they’re back at nour’s side, sipping slowly and not too focused on the conversation occurring on either side of them. the stranger seems more engaged than nour, spinning a tale even as his eyes drop, lingering somewhere around nour’s throat. he’s interested, sending signals so strong theo can nearly hear them, but nour keeps him tethered far, nodding every other sentence or so. he strikes theo as skeevy, slippery and oily as an eel, his hair slicked back tight and his eyes narrowed in an assessing, bold study of everything that nour is.

     then – he lays a hand on nour’s own atop the bar, fingers curling over the side of his palm, and the world sort of…halts, like its rotation has stopped dead. two things happen simultaneously: one, theo raises their eyebrows, caught just as off-guard as nour seems, at a move so brazen. second, long fingers slip into their back pocket, pointed and obvious. theo doesn’t quite startle, shifting in place, and when they glance at nour, he very explicitly doesn’t mention anything to the man – waits for him to catch on for himself. and catch on he does, dark eyes dropping to theo’s feet, trailing up their hips, over their chest, until they make eye contact with them – and theo smiles, showing all their teeth. it’s a clear attempt at sizing them up; theo feels an embarrassing sort of victory at having a clear eight inches on him. nour goes so far as to turn his face towards them, the man now only given his profile, a dismissal that doesn’t need to be spoken aloud.

     or maybe it does. neither of those gestures works.

     the patron sidles closer, hand skimming further up nour’s arm, and theo lowers their glass to their side, a warning hovering at the tip of their tongue. nour doesn’t need saving, not by any means, but if it’s one thing theo has long since tired of, it’s persistence. they don’t get the chance to voice it.

     theo feels their head being tipped to the side, nour’s palm soft but intent at their jaw, and then nour’s mouth is sliding against their own. they almost drop their drink when nour’s tongue curls past their lips, theo tasting wine, copper, something far sweeter they can’t name. he tugs them closer with the hand still in their pocket, fingers tangling into the hair curling just over their nape, and theo’s palms settle on the slim jut of his hips, pressing forward until nour has to arch his back to accommodate their height. nour’s leg slides between theirs, his hand slipping beneath the hem of their shirt to guide theo’s hips into theirs, and that finally sparks something in theo’s brain, a message reaching them through the fog of nour’s mouth sliding cool and slick against theirs, the hard line of his thigh nudged right up against them. theo tilts their head away, and almost for good measure, nour skims a kiss over their jaw, nuzzles at where their pulse hammers in their throat. theo cannot, with every fiber of their being, remember the last time they had so desperately wanted someone in public.

     and then, in case he hadn’t quite gotten the message yet, it’s spelled out for him: this is my boyfriend, theo. it’s only those words that finally get him to throw in the towel ( and perhaps the flagrant display of affection as well, theo thinks ), slinking away with his head bowed, certain to find some other poor customer to bother. that word – boyfriend – swims in theo’s head, makes them dizzy, a dog chasing its tail and never quite catching it. they know it doesn’t mean anything. can’t. it doesn’t stop them from wondering.

     nour’s hand doesn’t leave their pocket, his face still turned towards theo’s shoulder, and theo tries desperately not to read into it. it only somewhat works.

varying kisses prompts / accepting