You said it. Hang tight, I'll be around in about an hour.
Despite Blake's suggestion, Wes can't think of a way he'd explain to Jean-Paul what he's doing with the man's romance novels. Instead, he heads to the library. It's not a place he's bothered to spend much time since his arrival, but perusing the stacks of books makes Wes think he could get lost in them if given the chance. He scarcely realizes how much time has passed by the time he's walking out with a small armful, but the clock in his Buick gives him reason to hurry. Eggs and milk procured -- along with a six pack of beer, for the hell of it -- he takes the drive to Blake's.
The mood is pretty different from the last time he found himself stumbling toward this target. Wes sits in the car for over a minute, wondering if this is right or wrong. If he should text Jean-Paul and tell him he's doing this, or if his partner's concern applies only to sex. Surely he's allowed to hang out with a friend. Resolved that they're certainly not going to fuck again, Wes cuts off the engine and goes to knock on the door.
Blake doesn't think twice about the implications of meeting again in this place where they'd last found trouble together. He doesn't think about texting anyone — not Jean-Paul nor Bruce — because he doesn't feel there's any need to do so, not when they're just two friends hanging out.
Heading to the door, he opens it with a smile, still tired but obviously on his way to recovery. It'll be a couple more days before he's fully righted, but the improvement is obvious, as is the smell of cleaning products in the air. He's got a dish towel tossed over his shoulder and he immediately waves Wrench inside.
Thanks. Come in. Good to see you. He signs as rapidly as he can, then reaches out to help the other man with his load, starting with the eggs and the beer. He raises an eyebrow at Wrench over the beer, but he's grinning nonetheless.
Good to see you too. You look a little better. If Wes has any idea that he and Blake have interacted more recently in child form, he doesn't let on. Instead, he grins when the man clears his hands of the beer as top priority. He glances around the space and toes out of his boots before following him towards the kitchen to offload the milk and stack the books on the countertop. Wes can't say he was paying much attention to the decor the last time he was here, and he realizes now how much the state of his own drunkenness had tunneled his vision around that singular goal.
When Blake turns back around, he allows himself to be caught staring. Nice place, he gestures a finger around the area demonstratively. It's apparent that Blake has been here for a while. It also seems evident that he takes pride in his living space. Wes can't honestly say he's spent too much time in places this fancy, and he's glad that he abandoned his shoes early on, without tracking much more evidence of himself onto the recently-cleaned surfaces of the home.
Blake does take a particular pride in his living space and appearance, although the majority of of what's in the condo was there when he opened the door the first time. He keeps it up, though, even when he's not living in the place full or even part time.
Thanks He hadn't thought about it before, but he realizes now that maybe the last time around things were a bit more of a blur for Wrench. Make yourself at home, he adds, setting everything down, putting it all away for the time being. He's not so sure about eggs and beer, so he leaves the beer out and noses through the collection, noting they're from the library. That's not without purpose, he imagines.
Yeah, whatever you're having. So as not to tempt fate, he thinks. Thank you. He'd come expecting to do some amount of nursemaiding, but Wes realizes as he looks around that he's not sure just what to do in the absence of blood or bullet holes. The injuries he's used to tending err on the side of being much more immediate, and require much less tender work. He can pack a wound easily, but he's never quite sure how to navigate something gentler. All he knows is that he still wants to try.
He takes a seat on the leather couch and turns to keep Blake in his sights. It's an easy feat given the open floorplan, and he finds himself caught again thinking how empty it all feels and how massive it must seem for just one person to manage alone. The big man drums his fingers and waits for his companion's attention to float his way again. You don't live with Bruce?
Blake grabs a couple beers for them both, tucking them in with a couple of glasses as he shuffles through the last of his chores. It's mostly just draping dishtowels in passing and moving stuff on the counter until it's to his satisfaction and can catch what Wrench asks him.
He sits at the other end of the couch, cracking the beers open one at a time and pouring them into glasses until his hands are free again, but it's an interesting question that he doesn't get asked all that often. For months and months he and Bruce had been hip-to-hip, undeniably keeping each other company more than just the average set of coworkers-slash-friends. Now, it's no quite so clear, he realizes.
Most of the time, yes, and he nods as if to illustrate further. Who needs all this space? he signs, inadvertently echoing Wrench's unspoken thoughts before passing over the beer for him.
Someone must've thought you did. He takes the offered beer and raises it in a gesture of salute before helping himself to a generous swallow. Wes doesn't understand how anything gets assigned around here, but he's not jealous. For a lot of reasons, the cabin in the woods is perfect for him. Having a place of his own at David Cliff is convenient, but largely unutilized by now. It's pure curiosity that makes him wonder who makes these kinds of decisions and what they're based on. Whatever it is, Wes thinks Blake deserves the comforts. And the kitchen is certainly suited to a restaurant owner.
Think it might be lonely, though, he admits after another few moments. Wes sips a little more of the beer before setting it to the side and turning on the couch to fully orient himself towards Blake. Is he upset with what happened between us?
Blake, like Wrench, often wonders about the powers that be, certain they're making statements about him he doesn't rightly agree upon. In Wonderland it had been a room fashioned after his parent's last apartment — a place he hadn't seen since he was eight — and it had felt both comforting and haunting. When he'd finally arrived in Deerington and come through the door, he'd guessed it was just that way until he'd seen a couple other places. Now, it breeds some fondness, it's grown on him, but if given the choice, he'd take Bruce's place in a heartbeat instead.
Thinking then of the subject change, he finally shakes his head, sipping at the beer a little more deeply than he might normally. He's not possessive, Blake manages, although he has to think how to say it. His vocabulary might be improving in this regard, but he still feels like he has a very long way to go. He'd shove me out the door some days, I swear. He's always saying I need to find someone better. And truth be told, it hurts a bit every time, if only because Blake knows how much value there really is to Bruce Banner.
You think he'd be more disappointed or relieved to know that's not where you wound up? Self-deprecation is perhaps the most natural language of all. Wes stretches a long leg towards Blake and nudges at the man's calf with the ends of his toes. The playful jostle is a familiar gesture, but somehow it doesn't feel altogether misplaced. It's a bit more levity than most people get from the indomitable Mr. Wrench, but Blake has managed to get there. When their gaze meets again he winks and goes back to his beer.
Truthfully, it's a sad and familiar sentiment, one he's sure he and Grady have pitched between the two of them so many times over the course of a lifetime that it's become largely meaningless. People's perceptions of what's better aren't often rational or logical. Mostly they tend to ignore what's good about themselves. What might be perfectly fitting. Blake and Bruce have made it work for this long, and there must be good reason for that.
It's only because of the playful gesture that Wrench doesn't get a swat for bagging on himself like that. Blake, who knows exactly how that goes, has at least a little patience for self deprecating attitude, especially after getting close to Bruce. They're all pretty guilty of that kind of attitude, though, there'll be no denying that.
I wouldn't leave him alone is Blake's frank answer, and not exactly untrue. We flirted around a lot, he adds, particularly proud of this fact and not the least bit shy about it based on his beaming smile. He's more dangerous than he looks. And to illustrate how he feels about that, Blake waves a hand in front of his face like he's a southern lady fanning herself on wrap-around porch. Of course, such statements can be taken many other ways, and probably should considering Bruce's relationship with the Hulk.
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Despite Blake's suggestion, Wes can't think of a way he'd explain to Jean-Paul what he's doing with the man's romance novels. Instead, he heads to the library. It's not a place he's bothered to spend much time since his arrival, but perusing the stacks of books makes Wes think he could get lost in them if given the chance. He scarcely realizes how much time has passed by the time he's walking out with a small armful, but the clock in his Buick gives him reason to hurry. Eggs and milk procured -- along with a six pack of beer, for the hell of it -- he takes the drive to Blake's.
The mood is pretty different from the last time he found himself stumbling toward this target. Wes sits in the car for over a minute, wondering if this is right or wrong. If he should text Jean-Paul and tell him he's doing this, or if his partner's concern applies only to sex. Surely he's allowed to hang out with a friend. Resolved that they're certainly not going to fuck again, Wes cuts off the engine and goes to knock on the door.
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Heading to the door, he opens it with a smile, still tired but obviously on his way to recovery. It'll be a couple more days before he's fully righted, but the improvement is obvious, as is the smell of cleaning products in the air. He's got a dish towel tossed over his shoulder and he immediately waves Wrench inside.
Thanks. Come in. Good to see you. He signs as rapidly as he can, then reaches out to help the other man with his load, starting with the eggs and the beer. He raises an eyebrow at Wrench over the beer, but he's grinning nonetheless.
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When Blake turns back around, he allows himself to be caught staring. Nice place, he gestures a finger around the area demonstratively. It's apparent that Blake has been here for a while. It also seems evident that he takes pride in his living space. Wes can't honestly say he's spent too much time in places this fancy, and he's glad that he abandoned his shoes early on, without tracking much more evidence of himself onto the recently-cleaned surfaces of the home.
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Thanks He hadn't thought about it before, but he realizes now that maybe the last time around things were a bit more of a blur for Wrench. Make yourself at home, he adds, setting everything down, putting it all away for the time being. He's not so sure about eggs and beer, so he leaves the beer out and noses through the collection, noting they're from the library. That's not without purpose, he imagines.
I'll get these back on time. Want a drink?
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He takes a seat on the leather couch and turns to keep Blake in his sights. It's an easy feat given the open floorplan, and he finds himself caught again thinking how empty it all feels and how massive it must seem for just one person to manage alone. The big man drums his fingers and waits for his companion's attention to float his way again. You don't live with Bruce?
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He sits at the other end of the couch, cracking the beers open one at a time and pouring them into glasses until his hands are free again, but it's an interesting question that he doesn't get asked all that often. For months and months he and Bruce had been hip-to-hip, undeniably keeping each other company more than just the average set of coworkers-slash-friends. Now, it's no quite so clear, he realizes.
Most of the time, yes, and he nods as if to illustrate further. Who needs all this space? he signs, inadvertently echoing Wrench's unspoken thoughts before passing over the beer for him.
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Think it might be lonely, though, he admits after another few moments. Wes sips a little more of the beer before setting it to the side and turning on the couch to fully orient himself towards Blake. Is he upset with what happened between us?
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Thinking then of the subject change, he finally shakes his head, sipping at the beer a little more deeply than he might normally. He's not possessive, Blake manages, although he has to think how to say it. His vocabulary might be improving in this regard, but he still feels like he has a very long way to go. He'd shove me out the door some days, I swear. He's always saying I need to find someone better. And truth be told, it hurts a bit every time, if only because Blake knows how much value there really is to Bruce Banner.
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Truthfully, it's a sad and familiar sentiment, one he's sure he and Grady have pitched between the two of them so many times over the course of a lifetime that it's become largely meaningless. People's perceptions of what's better aren't often rational or logical. Mostly they tend to ignore what's good about themselves. What might be perfectly fitting. Blake and Bruce have made it work for this long, and there must be good reason for that.
How'd the two of you get together?
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I wouldn't leave him alone is Blake's frank answer, and not exactly untrue. We flirted around a lot, he adds, particularly proud of this fact and not the least bit shy about it based on his beaming smile. He's more dangerous than he looks. And to illustrate how he feels about that, Blake waves a hand in front of his face like he's a southern lady fanning herself on wrap-around porch. Of course, such statements can be taken many other ways, and probably should considering Bruce's relationship with the Hulk.