aucourant | Open RP Post

He would argue that he wasn't an idiot, just smart in completely different ways than Hartley. His intelligence was reserved for the witty arrangement of words, and understanding human behavior. Both of which were completely failing him at the moment, mostly because that little tug on his jeans was drawing all of the blood flow to that general region. At least he managed to not look too eager, looking down at Hartley.

"Well, I guess as long as there's possibilities...wait, is that the same thing as a chance, or are you just being a tease to make lunch interesting only to tell me there's no chance at the end? Not that I'm complaining, it's still my treat either way."

Whatever Connor would like to argue, Hartley was certain that he'd win. His smile might have been open for a few moments, but as he kept looking up at him, there was something a bit more wicked, making for a darker look in his eyes. He didn't need more proof to be sure of the eagerness, but he wasn't going to feel any shame over relaxing his hand, still hooked in that belt-loop. Knuckles brushing lower this way and if he had needed it, that was plenty of hard evidence.

"What you're saying is that you'll do what I want regardless of what's in store for you, correct?" Hartley lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. "What I want now is lunch and for you to keep wondering."

That look alone quickened Connor's pulse far more than should have been possible. He'd hoped for something, anything. But he'd assumed that a lot of what Hartley had done was more the product of drunken imagination making things more intense. Now he wondered if it had softened the edges of what the younger man was actually capable of. The possibility alone should not have made him so weak in the knees.

"Well, when you put it like that..." he started, his voice far too unsteady. "Yeah. That's certainly a way of putting it." Some of that unease passed and he managed to smile again. It certainly summed up what he wanted after lunch. One thing was certain, this was going to be the longest, strangest, most frustrating meal he'd ever had.

"Too easy." It was said as a tease, but accompanied with just enough softness to show that he wasn't really complaining. Instead he gave Connor's jeans one more tug before turning and walking again, checking his watch. Sure, he had meant to pick up some material for his latest project, but apparently there was now something, someone else to focus on and it could wait. No need to be all about work when there was a cute guy literally trailing behind him and presumably checking him out. "There's a bistro nearby. You're actually behaving like an adult, means I can take you to nice places."

For a moment, Connor was left just standing there. He stared after Hartley, at a loss for words. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He couldn't tell. Was he supposed to follow? But then Hartley was talking and immediately, he trotted to catch up. A good thing. Definitely a good thing.

---

Waiting wasn't exactly Connor's strong suit. He'd much rather have whisked Hartley off this his place and started peeling off clothes. But once they were settled at the Bistro, he seemed to have left the talk of sex behind. He had a comfortable, easy sort of charm about him, a bit toned down from the impulsive behavior brought on by alcohol. He seemed to have forgotten about the last half of his sandwich, wrapped up in a tale from work.

"...and I managed to lay my hands on the conference room door before security finally caught up. But everything, and I mean everything was on the line. Without me, Mason was going to choke, he's all art and images and big concepts. I'm the writer, he's gonna need words. I tried to tell him to use the idea we'd come up with the day before, waving my phone, trying to remind him of the texting concept. But he's so wrapped up in his meeting he doesn't even see it. Then it hits me--" He dramatically bounced the heel of his hand off his forehead. "Texting! Right? So I send him the tag line, in a text. Right at the exact moment he reaches the tagline in his pitch. He just picks it up and shows it to the client. Like we planned the whole thing. Right there. 'What can you do with one hand.'" He spread his hands with a grin, as if it were the best tag line he'd ever come up with.

"Clever." But he must be growing to like him, because instead of sarcastic the comment came out fondly, if not quite seriously or actually impressed. Hartley leaned forward, finishing his own food while he had a hand under the table. Good manners. He might have shed a lot of the etiquette he'd been trained in, but it tended to come out in many different ways. Never slouching, eating with his elbows off the table and one hand under it.

Against etiquette would be that said hand found it's way between Connor's legs, trailing along the inside of his thigh and nudging it to part a little. "How tall are you? I'm wondering how I could best tie you standing up or if I should rather get you on your knees."

Casually and apropos of nothing.

The question came out of nowhere, but Connor was used to things like that. He'd certainly been asked odder questions out of the blue. Hell, he asked his own fair share of things that were technically related to the topic at hand, by way of at least three mental tangents. The nature of working among creative minds. He actually started to answer, half a syllable out before Hartley continued his statement.

For an impressive moment, Connor seemed speechless. He blinked a few times, trying to remember how to speak. But that might have had a bit to do with the hand on his leg. Finally, he cleared his throat, trying to ignore the burn in his cheeks. "I uh...I'm six foot even." He seemed to find his footing once he spoke, a comfortable smile returning to his lips. His leg moved, parting further for Hartley's wandering hand. "I'd ask if that was a problem, but you didn't have an issue last time."

"Not an issue at all. I just also like being creative." Hartley's smile was positively angelic. He knew it too, because even though real smiles weren't something that happened to him much, he was still aware of the boyish, all too All American charm he could have used in theory, if he ever bothered much. There never seemed to be much reason, at least outside of when his fingers felt their way along Connor's thigh, only the knuckled brushing against his crotch before they started slowly withdrawing again. "You're more flexible than I'd have thought too. I didn't get to take that into account last time, but I guess we can explore your limits now."

He reached for his glass and took a sip, his eyes still on Connor. "So. The texting pitch worked?"

Edited (because we're not self-inserting) 2016-07-03 10:25 (UTC)

"The....what now?" He blurted out, having not followed on the path back to the topic they'd started with. His imagination had snapped up on just what exploring limits could possibly mean and ran with it. Combined with vital resources being diverted to respond to that teasing knuckle, he was left with very few faculties in tact.

Was that the game? Teasing and acting like there was nothing happening? Usually he was the one driving these things, so he wasn't quite sure where they stood or where they were going. It took him several attempts to even get back on track with the conversation, let alone figuring what what he was supposed to.

"Oh. Yeah. Totally. Shot a whole commercial, eventually lost the account. A whole drama thing. Ruined the whole year. Can we get back to that other thing? About the limits? I kinda need an elaboration there." It was quite possible that he didn't know how to breathe between words.

"Seems like you'd have an easier time keeping up in show as opposed to tell." Hartley rolled his eyes, but his smile was teasing while he watched Connor's face. He was easy to mock, but at the same time also all too charming. "I've never talked to someone in advertising before. It's interesting."

Also interesting? What Connor's reaction might be to his fingers trailing ever higher up again. Actually far more interesting, but that was the point. Connor was so eager to talk the other day, it was fun to keep him talking today, although now it seemed he'd have preferred to listen.

"What elaboration do you need? I'm just curious to find out more about you. How long you can last before begging, for example."

Connor was prepared with an answer to that, about how science and advertising tended to not mix, or about how he probably had and just never knew because ad men could easily move among any crowd like chameleons. But before he could get the words out, that hand was wandering again, throwing his mind off course. Just a small stumble at first, but then those words had him openly staring. Did Hartley mean here? Or was that for later? Bring spots of color blossomed on his cheeks as he tried to settle on what it could mean or imply.

"Ah. Well. Advertising is...well, it's like anything else, isn't it? At the end of the day, it's just a job. You go in, you do the work, you go home. It just takes a, uh..." He stumbled again, clearing his throat and casting a wary glance around the restaurant. "Shouldn't we maybe take this somewhere else?"

"You're sweet. All talk." Hartley chuckled and shook his head, using his free hand to run a finger along the rim of his glass, finally dipping it in and then leading it to his mouth. "Don't worry. As long as you show any control at all, nobody will even notice."

No, he really didn't seem that bothered by any of this. Amused, if anything. He watched Connor and relented, moving his hand down along his thigh again and finally just letting it rest on his knee. "I don't actually appreciate being stalked, so I have a different idea about what you and I will be doing today and for the time being."

He let out a breath that was almost a laugh, both eyebrows lifting. When did he ever have control? Connor never had any sort of control, impulsively or with his mouth. He just sort of went after things with no concept of control. And he was expected to keep it together when he just wanted to shove everything off the table and take Hartley right then and there?

"I wouldn't call it stalking. Come on. We went to your place, didn't we? I just happened to be in the vicinity of said place on another day. Stalking would be using knowing where you live and your name. Well, your first name. Hartley's a first name, isn't it? Could be a last name for all I know. Anyway. It's still enough that I could have used the magical power of the internet to find out all kinds of information. Which I can honestly say I did not do. Otherwise I'd know whether or not Hartley was your first or last name." To prove that he could totally be in control, he marked the end of his statement by picking up a fry off his plate and popping it into his mouth. He was in no way over explaining to cover how nervous he was. Nope. Not a bit.

"That really just makes you seem like you're an incompetent stalker or I'm not worth that much dedication, so I'm not sure if you want to lead with that argument." Hartley had to make the wry observation, but there's a lot of amusement mixed in with his unimpressed look, which took away a lot of the sting it might otherwise have had. "It's my first name."

Might as well volunteer that information. "I got used to it." Not exactly the coolest name around, but at least it was fairly unique. He preferred Piper, but he preferred even more to keep that thought to himself. No need to let Connor in on that. No need to really let him in on anything.

He held up two fingers, while with his other hand two fingers were raking along Connor's thigh. "You have two choices. Either I come home with you and I guarantee that you'll beg, but won't get off or you go home alone and I'll let you get off. I'd even send you something for stimulation. What's your choice?"

Yet again, Connor had his reply all ready to go. He was used to defending his actions and words, especially when they seemed to fall short of expectations. A snappy wit and quick mind allowed him to keep up. Most of the time. A slight smile tugged onto his face, and he drew a breath to lay it out, when Hartley blind-sided him again. He verbally stumbled and had to press his lips together. Those fingers on his thigh weren't helping.

His gaze drifted down to the table briefly. What did that mean? Wasn't the point of it all to get off? Why would he take Hartley back to his place if they weren't going to get off? But that left further implications. What sort of something would he be sent with? Could he take care of business after Hartley left? Would he come back? He had far too many questions to come up with a proper answer. Maybe it was all just some twisted trap.

"Neither of those sound very fun. I mean, either we're working toward a very specific goal or we're not. Which is really the point if a lunchtime hook up, isn't it? A little mid-day relief. And I am in fact not an incompetent stalker. I am, actually, a considerate stalker. Anything more than what I did would be very invasive on the privacy front and would therefore cast me in an incredibly poor light. My dedication shows in the fact that you have no way to know how many times I circled your block--completely on foot, mind you--hoping to see you."

"I am working toward a very specific goal. You just don't seem to know what you're into. Which is interesting, because clearly you're craving exactly that." There's only so many ways he can react to his stalking argument, so what he does is roll his eyes and shake his head. "A considerate stalker. That is so much nicer than the inconsiderate stalkers I have." Whether or not he was just joking or if he actually had stalkers other than this ever so considerate one was up to debate.

"Let me ask you a simple question. Do you want me to make you whimper the way I have again or not?"

And again, Connor faltered. He opened his mouth to answer, but bright color blossomed on his cheeks and he immediately shut his mouth. His gaze darted around to anyone who might overhear them. Should they really be having this conversation right here in public? But he was stalling. How could he answer that? Of course he wanted it again, it felt better than anything he'd ever felt before. But he also wanted to get off. That wasn't exactly a fair choice to be offered.

"I know what I'm into," he said, not answering the apparently simple question. "There's not any question about that. Never will be. I am a man who knows what he wants and what he likes. Simple as that." He gave a firm nod, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded. Like that was any kind of answer. How was he supposed to answer a question like that?!

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