The Grey Scale ((Grey Weston and Kaspar, Closed))

[Kaspar]

<Grey Weston>

He waited for the barest handful of moments. It was something the pair were both attentive towards; each on the cusp of some greater moment and yet reluctant to be too demanding. He didn't flinch when Kaspar's hands shifted, lifting to frame either side of his head. It effectively hemmed him in. Brought home that there was nowhere else to go, even if he'd wanted to. The dull pressure of Kaspar's knee as it slid between his own was greeted with an obedient slide; legs forced apart. He reached for him a split second later; fingers lifting to bury themselves in his shirt, tangling at the hemline as his hips bucked lazily, pressuring firmly against Kaspar's own. He considered for a split second more before one arm dropped, hand fumbling blindly behind himself, fingers closing over the handle, sliding underneath it before giving a firm yank.

<Kaspar>

Kaspar gave a content little groan, he welcomed the return pressure of hips, the hands that pulled and bunched in the fabric of his shirt. He tilted his head, easing closer to nudge lips against a jaw, not starting at the sound of the door handle being lifted. Decision made then, and who was he to argue?He pushed off the car, stepping back so the door could be swung open, so Grey could have room to enter.


<Grey Weston>

The sound was enough to coax another brief flash of a smile in the dark. It was something easily lost, if it wasn’t looked for. The nudge of Kaspar’s lips against his jaw was not so much grounding as a weight; as if he were a butterfly urged into place with a long, tapered pin. He shifted under the touch, head gently tilting upwards to coax his lips to trail along the curve of his jaw, guiding them towards the hollow of his throat. He sank back a second later, one hip lifting slightly in order to find the edge of the seat. Once he had his balance - one long leg still halfway outside of the car - his hands released their hold on Kaspar’s shirt, sliding to thread through his hair once more , pulling him insistently forward.

<Kaspar>

Physical cues were definitely far more Kas’s speed, where words could baffle and lead to hours on end of circling around the same issue, physicality cut to the core of things. It was easy to see what Grey was asking for, and Kaspar didn’t disappoint. He followed to the open door of the car, under the insistent pull upon his shirt, one hand reaching out to grip the back of the seat to steady himself as the other sought Grey’s hip tugging it towards him. Kas pressed easily between the man’s thighs once more, his head bowed to the hold of hands amongst his hair. He let lips settle in the hollow of the blood thief’s throat, tongue flicking out to trace in a slow caress over claimed skin. When hips rolled forwards pressing flush against Grey his hand gripped, fingertips digging in against the flesh he found, kneading with firm strokes. There was a renewed confidence in his touch, no questions left about what he wanted, or whether he was going to have it; to take it.

Hel imagined a heat growing within, spreading outwards from his core where stomach muscles clenched, that feeling that made you want to gasp, to grab desperately at clothing and pull it free from frame. He wanted Grey to know that he was burning up, his cool touch a cruel disguise for the flames that licked at his insides, spurring him on. Hand slipped inwards, fingertips tucking into the top of his jeans, thumb flicking teasingly at the button. Teeth grazed softly, a nip at the sensitive flesh of the throat, a kiss that trailed upwards over an adam’s apple, claiming the chin before suckling at the lower lip. Kaspar leaned forwards into it, not hesitating to part Grey’s lips with his request for more, making his desire quite apparent with that languid, seeking tease of tongue. So much for a quiet night alone to think.

Fade to black, to the darkest shade painted across your skin.

Obscuring you, letting you fade into a shadowy hell.

I will be the light, let me shine for you, let me draw you out.

Somewhere in the middle, i'll be your perfect shade of grey.

Dress yourself in my kisses, let them linger on your face.

Have me on your lips as nothing more than memory when I turn away.

Shade of grey,

They always leave,

They'll never stay.

Shade of grey,

Don't chase the sun,

He'll always fade away.

[Kaspar]

Chapter Two: Charcoal

<Kaspar>

It had been a few days since the infamous night in the car, and Grey had shoved his number at Kas after he'd dropped the guy home. It was lacking in ceremony and perfectly Grey, from what he'd seen of the man so far. Pulling up at the curb outside his apartment building Kas sat in the car, letting the engine idle as he considered his options. Probably should've called to warn the guy he planned to rock up, but where was the fun in that? He'd just had a particularly enjoyable meeting with one Enzo Dragomir, plotting for the upcoming Grecian inspired masquerade Kas was to perform out. He'd made an offhand comment suggesting artists to paint at the party, capturing the mood, the scene or whatever inspiration they found in the environment. Enzo had loved it, and today they'd caught up to finalise the details.

The blonde rocker turned the keys to kill the engine, he’d been wearing sunglasses though it was dark out and almost as an afterthought swapped them out for his reading glasses. He grabbed hold of the invitation, peeling himself from the jeep and locking it behind him before heading up to Grey’s door. He was of course a little more sharply dressed than the usual tight jeans and leather jacket combo, even his hair groomed and the familiar chunky boots replaced by a shiny pair of black leather shoes. Vaguely he remembered the apartment number Grey had hurled at him, not having bothered to write it down and as he knocked he had the stray thought that was if it wasn’t the right one? Oh well, he’d meet the man’s neighbour instead. Maybe they were cute.

<Grey Weston>

The sound of Kaspar's knock was lost to the low, percussive sound of drums. The walls were membrane-thin, leaving the sound to seep under the crack beneath the door. His neighbors had, hours before, entreated him to lower the volume with the sharp rap of knuckles against the walls, no doubt beating them half-bloody. It was only when Stoker leant his voice to the din - releasing a series of dark timbred barks, sharp and succinct- that the low clatter of the deadbolt as it drew back on an aging chain could be heard. The door swung open a moment later. Grey stood framed in the doorway; the unkempt strands of his hair cascading to frame his face. A streak of white paint traced the curve of his jaw. He considered Kaspar for a moment, one narrow hip leaning to press against the doorframe, arms folding over his chest. "Ka--" He began. The sound was torn from his lips, devoured by the slow climb of a bass line. He frowned, before reaching out with a pair of paint-stained fingers, flicking carelessly against the worn chrome dial against the wall. The apartment was immediately plunged into silence. "Hey."


<Kaspar>

The man’s brow was raised as he waited, considering simply slipping the invitation under the door, walking away and then just showing up the day of the party to collect the guy. That was sufficient warning, wasn’t it? He could guess at a costume, pick one out and force it on Grey. Yeah, like that would would go down well. Just as he was turning, about to stalk off and give up on the plan the door opened. One hand tucked into his pocket, the other with the invitation in hand Kaspar turned back to eye the man in the doorway. He ignored the way he looked him up and down, folding his arms. Was he mad already? He honestly couldn’t be sure what the man had expected, so he gave him some space, a few days with only a text or two in between. Nothing serious. Kaspar’s own gaze trailed slowly over the man, studying the lines of him, noting the painted fingertips and the smell that lingered. There was temptation to remark on the paint at his jaw, it was sort of endearing, cute even but figured it was a bad plan if Grey was riled up. He waited until the music was turned off before bothering to speak, the juxtaposition of loud noise to utterly silence jarring. “Nice choice.” He quipped, reaching forward to shove the invitation into Grey’s chest. “We have an event to attend, and you need a costume. Get your coat on.”

<Grey Weston>

His shoulders hitched, the gesture a mixture of nonchalance and false modesty. There was a quiet tension between the pair, and for a brief moment, he felt like a teenager, suddenly unsure of his hands. Kaspar solved the issue a split second later, with the envelop thrust against his chest. "What --?" He began, palm flattening against the thin, cream-colored paper, holding it gingerly against his chest. He studied him for a moment. "We," he repeated, tone slightly flat. All the same, his eyes were bright with amusement. There's a 'we' now? was the unspoken question that hovered between the pair. "Kind of in the middle of something," he replied smoothly. And then, biting back a shallow exhale, teeth catching at his lower lip and worrying it thoughtfully, he relented. "And they say romance is dead." He turned away from the door, making his way further inside the apartment. "You can come in," he called over his shoulder. "And shut the door, yeah? You'll let the dog out."

<Kaspar>

He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, sure his greeting hadn’t been exactly well behaved either, but Grey could be a real **** when he wanted to be, and oh boy did he ever want to be. Kaspar had half a mind to snatch the paper back and walk away, take back the offer. Ok, so he could have gone about it a different way but it was likely Grey might have been more insufferable for his efforts. “There is a you, and there is a me. Both invited to an event.” He clarified, “Romance is alive and well if you want it, Grey, but sometimes you make it hard to try.” It was a little harsh, and he bit on his lip immediately after, fingertips pushing those glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Sorry…” He did follow the man inside as beckoned, closing the door behind him, voice low as he muttered to the creaky wood. “Of course there’s a dog.” Kaspar liked animals, but these men and their dogs were really something else, they seemed almost dependent on the animals. Perhaps they were? “Apologies for my rude interruption, I should have called but I honestly didn’t think you’d pick up, and it’s more than just a party. It’s a job.” It was then that Kaspar looked around him, taking in the place, and looking of course for the mentioned dog. The tall blonde lowered his frame into a half crouch, giving a low and practiced whistle.

<Grey Weston>

His gaze lingered for a split second. There was a quiet tension to Kaspar. A subtle thing, but entirely new. It was a sharp contrast to the ease between them only days before, after...well. After. He found it unappealing. "Don't." He replied, tone neutral. It was hard to tell whether he was forestalling the apology or the other man's sense of guilt. He waited until the door had shut behind them before turning abruptly, closing the distance between them in two quick strides. He reached for him then; finger tips plucking feather-light against his shirt as he reeled him closer, rocking onto his toes in order to plant a brief kiss to his cheek. "Nah. I deserved that one." He said, tone warm. He made a slight face a split second later. "There is, and he's the man of the house," he returned smoothly. The announcement was followed by the quiet click of the dog's toenails on the floorboard as the shepherd emerged. "A what?" He repeated, the question mildly blank in tone. He shot Kaspar a hard stare, even as Stoker's tapered muzzle slid cautiously under the man's hand.

<Kaspar>

He found the word frustrating, even so he let some of the tension ease from his shoulders, not holding himself quite so ramrod straight. Maybe it was the clothes, he was largely in shark mode, ready to strike a deal and name his demands. He didn’t want to do it here. He was caught up before he’d managed to settle, automatically return the brief brush of lips to cheek. “Good.” Kaspar sighed out, turning his intention instead to the dog that entered the room. One elbow rested on his knee for balance, his other arm stretching to present a palm for the dog to choose to come to or not. “It is pleasure to meet you, man of the house, i’m Kaspar Wilhelm Grube.” He man wouldn’t be surprised if even after carefully plucking and preening to remove all trace of gold he had pieces of Bucket’s hair on him. The dog quite enjoyed jumping up on the large bed, and taking up an alarming amount of space, or demanding excitable kisses especially when Jay wasn’t there to offer them. The dog seemed to like a male presence, but shied away from Adley and his dangerous touch, leaving Kaspar the only alternative. “All Right Now is probably my favourite, and before you start I know, not exactly original but what can you do?” He referred to the music that had been spilling from the room upon his arrival. “A job, Grey.” He cleared his throat, brow raising once more as he peered up at the man, hand reaching to stroke over Stoker’s fur. “And if you’d like, a date. That can be part of the deal.”

<Grey Weston>

Stoker’s expression was dubious for a moment. The shepherd was an imposing specimen. He commanded respect in the sense that a Lexus once had, prior to the turn of the century; meant to garner glances with his sleek frame, muscles well-defined beneath his coat. Conformation wise, he was a showman’s wet dream, absent of the classic swaybacked stature of his American cousins. The desperate amount of care - borderline obsessive - that went into the animal was heartbreakingly evident. He had been - and in many respects, still was - Grey’s anchor for years. A measure of sanity. After a moment, the dog conceded, moving closer. His nostrils flared briefly, nose skimming lightly over Kaspar’s knuckles, before pressing wetly against his knee. He inhaled sharply then, drawing in the lingering scent of Bucket. He lingered, as if inhaling the remnants of something - someone else. A low whine emitted from his throat, though he quieted until Kaspar’s touch, ears pinning briefly before pressing forward, a contented rumble low in his chest. Grey crossed over to the dog a second later, gripping him by the short fur of his face, hauling his head up, planting a noisy kiss on the dog’s head. “I know. Blondes. They don’t call, they don’t write...don’t even have the courtesy to give you a halfway decent crotchlick as a goodbye.” He straightened a second later. A low, fond scoff escaped him; softened by the brief flash of a grin, dimple-deep. Stoker leaned into Kaspar’s legs with a deeply satisfied groan. Grey stared openly for a breath. Not that he could refuse. Despite appearances to the contrary, he was hardly starved for money. How he got it was less important. “You’re not giving me an option,” he said. It was an observation. Not that he blamed him; it removed the chance to say ‘no.’ He crooked a finger at him, trailing further into the apartment. “Details.”

<Kaspar>

His focus was entirely on the animal that crept suspiciously towards him, he was an utterly handsome and proud creature, obviously given everything he required to be healthy. His coat was thick and well maintained, the denseness a comfort to Kaspar as his fingers sunk into it. He couldn’t help but relieved, with intelligent animals there was always a moment of hoping that they would like you and allow you into their space. Wasn’t Grey just the same? He glanced up then, between the pair and marked the similarities in personality. The way that Stoker pushed under his hand, yearning for the attention while also lamenting with his soft whine over the dog, and perhaps man, that he could smell on Kaspar’s clothing. The discomfort of guilt tugged at him, his hands working to smooth and pet over fur, nails scratching gently behind ears and shoulder blades.

Grey’s words brought him back, somewhat, from his reverie. Kaspar acknowledged them with a short laugh, one that said he saw the amusement in it but it never fully escalated to that point. “Maybe we can discuss a play date, maybe he won’t mind me taking the crazy blonde out for a walk, hm?” He spoke to Stoker, not to Grey, leaning forward as if he might move to sit, to sink his face into the fur. Instead he stood, though a hand remained behind a shoulder blade, massaging the muscle there as the dog stayed sunk into him, making appreciative noises that did make him laugh in earnest. Grey’s question went unanswered, Kaspar not moving to follow. “I had a Belgian Shepherd, he was HUGE, he could rest his paws on my chest when he jumped up, almost to my shoulders. Granted I was a few inches shorter then. He weighed a tonne, but figured he was a lap dog when Klaus and I were involved. Two skinny blondes sprawled on the ground with 30kg of shepherd crushing their legs, good times, the three of us were pretty inseparable. Well, until we weren’t.” He cleared his throat, letting the goofy grin slip into something more composed. Reluctantly he moved further into the apartment, shoving his hands into his pockets,“Anyway… Party. You always have the option to say no, but i’m hoping you’ll say yes.”

<Grey Weston>

There was a pause, Stoker's gaze coming to rest on Kaspar's own. His eyes were a rich chocolate in color - the shade stark against the dark fur of his face. It was nearly umber in certain light. His expression was a rapt one; attentive. His tail struck the floor in a muted thump a split second later, one paw lifting from the floor to gently settle over top of Kaspar's hand. As if he'd understood. It was more likely that there was something appealing about the man's tone. The leg in question dropped solidly to the floor once more as Kaspar rose. Stoker made no move to trail after Grey; content, for the moment, to remain pressed against Kaspar. Grey, for his part, hadn't gone far. He'd begun to draw his shirt up and over his head - the front of it mostly ruined by the broad stroke of blue across his chest - when Kaspar spoke. He stood transfixed outside his bedroom door, towards the end of the narrow, dark hallway. He softened then. He didn't pry; some wounds never quite lost their ragged edges. His response was to casually toss his shirt into the man's face. The smile that followed was rife with cheek. "Hey." The word was hushed; meant to coax Kaspar into the present. The unspoken lingered between them. You don't have to. "Glad you're here." He reached out with a hand a second later, giving the knob a firm twist. He disappeared into the murk of the bedroom, returning seconds later with a clean shirt. The material was soft with age; faded into the color of bleached ash. He closed the distance between them as the fabric settled into place; hemline coming to rest at his hips. "It's a yes."

<Kaspar>

He saw the shirt coming and casually side stepped it with an impressive show of grace and speed, eyeing the article as it fell at his feet and Stoker’s. “You’ve decided to ruin my outfit too, hmm?” The tone was teasing, despite the seriousness that seemed to hover about him. Kaspar studied the man’s expression before the returning the smile, getting the message clear as day without him really having to say a word. “Thanks.” He grunted, pushing a hand up to adjust his glasses. They were more habit than necessity now, he used to get eye strain when pouring over sheet music for hours, or writing and especially when sorting through documents for the work side of what he did. Tedious, but he liked to be organised, and he liked his contracts solid. He wasn’t some stupid, drunkard rockstar wannabe who let others decide his path. One thing his dad taught him well was how to be the charming shark, how to snap ones jaws and tear them in two when they tried to pull the wool over your eyes. “Good, I already told Enzo. Made him promise not to eat you… Without your permission, that is.” He wasn’t about to dictate a damn thing when it came to Grey’s personal interactions, “It’s at the Dragomir temple, they are a vampire… Family, I suppose. A lineage. The theme is centered around Greek Mythology and it’s a masquerade, hence, we need to pick you a character and get you a costume…” He finished speaking as the man moved closer, mostly so he could focus on leaning in towards him, a hand slipping to curl fingertips in his short hair, thumb hooking between his cheek and jaw so that the palm cupped his face. Kaspar allowed a moment to stare at Grey, to look into his eyes before ducking forward to steal a kiss that lingered on lips as long as he allowed.

<Grey Weston>

"It's in my top three," he confirmed. The statement was gently teasing; ambiguous enough to be borderline innocent. Stoker's head lowered after a moment, idly nosing the crumpled fabric. Grey made a face a moment later. It was brief, but telling. "What kind of girl do you take me for?" He asked finally. "That's definitely third date caliber, at least." He sobered a heartbeat later. Despite the levity that crept into his tone, it was clear he was appreciative. He was silent for the duration of Kaspar's explanation. There was only a mild wince to politely, yet mutely, communicate his opinion. The two genres were not entirely irreconcilable, but by the same token, it reeked of opulence. Excess for the sake of it. Melodrama. In other words, it intrigued him, much the way the guttering sway of a candle seduced the moth moments before it consumed the dry kindling of its wings. "Do I really ---?" he began. The question remained unfinished, the words dying on his lips as Kaspar's fingers threaded through his hair. His face tilted up slightly, lips meeting his. It was brief. Slow. He drew away some minutes later, doing his best to disguise the audible catch to his breathing. "If we don't leave now, we never will," he pointed out, a twinge of wistfulness coloring his tone.

[Grey Weston]

<Kaspar>

At some point Kaspar’s other hand had moved to embrace the man, bunching in the fabric at the small of his back to pull him closer towards that slow, leisurely kiss. It wasn’t rushed, no urgency other than that slowly rising intensity, the niggling desire for more that tugged at him. He gave the slightest sound of disappointment when Grey did eventually draw back, his hips shifting instinctively at the sound of his breath catching, wanting to press the advantage but the words made him pause. “I am seriously leaning towards never…” He groaned lightly, releasing the man and stepping back, turning instead to pat the impatient Stoker who stared at him. “Err, sorry buddy. I’ll put your daddy down.” He chuckled to himself, ruffling fur. “Only third date? But, Grey, I don’t believe we’ve had a single date… Depends what you count as a date. I guess I have bought you drinks a few times, but the first time I you left me with Vienna, the second you gnawed on Adley, and well the THIRD time we didn’t even get around to drinks…” He trailed off, peeking over his shoulder at the man. “That isn’t helping. What was my point? Who cares. Right, focus, outfits. We need to pick you out a character to be, wanky I know but it could be fun, just think of me draped in some form of toga and maybe gold body paint. It’ll totally be worth it… Plus, you’ll get to swan around in disguise and harass vampires.” He was secretly the hoping the man might say to just pick him an outfit, because Kaspar’s hands itched to grab him and send the fresh shirt flying. When the choice was shopping or kissing, Kaspar knew his preference.


‹Grey Weston›"Ah, yes. The cardinal sin," he deadpanned. "Leaving with the other woman." He didn't contradict the accusation, teasing though it was. "From what I understand, you weren't exactly complaining at the time." He drew away from Kaspar reluctantly a moment later, navigating towards the main foyer once more. The floor plan, while spacious, left much to be desired. Aside from the master bedroom and the bathroom, much of it was open; no doors to divide the negative space, to seal off the outside world. He drew open the tiny closet slightly east of the door. For a moment, he rifled through its contents, sending coat hangers swaying, plastic clicking together gently. Several of the coats that hung from them were far too large for his slighter frame; meant for someone taller, their fabric darkly woven. The detritus of their lives. They hung like silent sentinels; their vigil likely eternal, now. The scent of winter still clung to their folds. His hand closed over the faded, checkered pattern of an acid-washed denim jacket a moment later. One shoulder - and one only - bristling with studs. He grunted, drawing it out and shrugging into it a split second later. "Remind me again why you need my input?"

Kaspar› Kaspar rolled his eyes, but laughed. No he wasn't complaining, why should he? He'd ended up getting plenty of attention that night too, in fact more than he'd bargained for perhaps because of Grey's interaction with Adley. Plus, he'd enjoyed the view, watching the two as Grey sank in his fangs, Adley giving into the man's touch just briefly. Kas clicked his tongue, shaking his head to clear it once more, that was dangerous territory. "Why do I need your input?" He trailed after Grey, his long legs crossing the space easily in a few strides. Stoker seemed quite content to stay within reach of his hand, nudging it slightly with a damp nose. Kas gave in, crouching with one one knee resting lightly to the ground so he could rub and scratch, "You are an attention whore, Master of the House, but better than Bucket. That dog is a total tart! Your daddy didn't even give me your name, isn't that rude?" He cooed to the dog, "Ahem. Your input, Grey, is because you'll have to wear it. You'll be painting, hopefully, the concept is to have you acting like a live art installation so you can paint whatever you want based on inspiration from the party or theme itself. You could choose to actually paint what you see, or a mood, a feeling... I don't know, this is up to you." He'd glanced into the closet, watching Grey pick out the jacket, giving a little nod of approval. "Maybe you should consider clearing out your wardrobe, some of those don't look to be your size, liebchen."


‹Grey Weston› The sounds Stoker made before were mild in comparison to the guttural sounds that poured from the canine as Kaspar's fingers buried themselves within the thick fur of his lithe frame. There was a muted thump as he rolled onto his back, jaws snapping affectionately, settling briefly around Kaspar's wrist. He mouthed the skin there for a moment, the pressure light and gentle, before going still with a low, content sigh. "Stoker." He said, by way of introduction. "Occasionally Brammie." He stilled at Kaspar's words; one corner of his mouth drawing upwards, just faintly. It faltered a second later, the anemic twist of a smile gone in an instant. He reached out to trail his index finger across the worn, frayed sleeve of a particularly bulky jacket. "Yeah." He agreed, tone distracted. His gaze rose a moment later, taking inventory of the room. It settled, briefly, on his abandoned canvas. "So it's cool if I sit silently in a corner?" He asked abruptly, tone wry as he made his way towards the darkly grained easel, reaching up to tug a thin black veil across it. It was, as far as he concerned, dry enough for such treatment. "Ready when you are."

<Kaspar>

He enjoyed playing with the dog, the man laughing and giving a playful growl of his own in response to the gentle close of jaws over his wrist, if he wasn’t expected to go out and get on with things he’d probably be rolling about play wrestling with the creature by now. “Stoker? Was someone a fan, or… Just going for the whole “I read too, guys, old horror because I'm so edgy” vibe? Whatever, it’s cute and I’m STOKED to meet you.” He chuckled at his own lame joke, leaning down to press his face briefly into the thick fur. He was still smiling, happily smothering Stoker in attention when he glimpsed to catch Grey’s expression. Oh ****, he thought, yeah of course the jackets would be too big. It was pretty obvious if he thought about it, if he really looked, that they were Jamie’s. “Sorry…” He started, but didn’t bother to continue because Grey just wouldn’t want to hear it. “Yeah, you can sit quietly in a corner if you aren’t interested, just tune out and paint. I promise the music won’t be too terrible, I know you’re not my biggest fan.” He watched the man walking away, catching a glimpse of the easel but averted his eyes, figuring it would be rude to look at it without being invited to do so. “I’m always ready, Grey. Look, I'm serious, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.” With an apologetic look to Stoker he withdrew his hands, using them to push off his knees and stand up. Another few strides had him close to Grey, pressing casually against the man’s back, lowering his head to nuzzle an all too affectionate kiss against the side of his neck.


‹Grey Weston› It was clear that Stoker - for his part - was a touch smitten with Kaspar. He had no qualms broadcasting the fact with broad sweeps of his tail, the motion causing it to sigh against rough floor boards. Grey grimaced at the question, though it lacked any trace of bitterness. It was largely good natured, all things considered. "It was my ex's fault. Figured I owed him." It translated, roughly, to the fact that Grey'd been worn down slowly over the course of weeks. It suited the dog, truth be told. Stoker, for his part, responded to the change in tone with an eager squirm, paws boxing restlessly at the air for a moment before curling loosely around Kaspar's wrist, head tipping back to deliver the barest kiss against the curve of his cheek. He rolled onto his side as Kaspar rose, jaws splitting into a wide grin, sides heaving slightly with a contented pant. Grey didn't begrudge Kaspar's lack of insight. There were, in truth, many pieces of his life that didn't align quite right. "That's the second time you've said that tonight," he replied. The words were hushed and flat. He leaned back slightly at Kaspar's approach, allowing his back to press into the man's chest. "Yeah. I know." He paused. But it's important to you. "But you asked."

He paused in the methodical tug of the thin fabric as Kaspar's frame curled around his own, eyes briefly flickering shut, a low, content sigh escaping him at the feel of his lip's against the curve of his neck. "I can play groupie for the night. S'no big." He allowed a fleeting glimpse of the painting he'd worked so tirelessly to conceal, then; a n angel cowered beneath the focus of the magnifying lens. There was something diminished about the figure; skin unblemished, save for the dusting of freckles across its shoulders like dull constellations. The Grecian ideal gone to ruin. Its wings dragged in the dust; twisted at grotesque angles. Misshapen in a way to suggest that what remained were fractured. Their tips were stained; off-color and the shade of the dirt they twisted in. The focal point, however, was the pair of tweezers that hung suspended over the prone form. They reflected light from an unseen source; their color stark and almost sterile. Almost. Their tips were wet with a blush of crimson. The same shade of red that matted its hair. The blood-tinged tips wreathed one side of its too-still face like a tangle of thorns; the curls there plastered against the curve of its cheek.

‹Grey Weston› Its eyes were filmed over; the opaque, cloudy sheen like a burial shroud over the iris, making it impossible to tell what their true color had been. Its eyes reflected the sky. The hand that wielded both tweezers and magnifying glass were small. Child-like. It wasn’t his typical work. Grey tended to shy from the surreal. He reached up a split second later, absently brushing the back of his knuckles against Kaspar's jaw, tracing lightly. "Let's go."

<Kaspar>

He was pleased with the way Grey let him come so close, the man slipping back towards him as arms came to drape loosely around his hips. The sigh welcomed him, and so he stayed, giving the man a light squeeze. “Mmm? No, you aren’t expected to play groupie, just try to have fun? Or not, whatever you want. Yes, I asked because I'd like you there, I think you might enjoy it if you let yourself.” He nuzzled another little kiss to throat before resting his chin on Grey’s shoulder. His gaze flicking between the man’s profile and the glimpse of painting he allowed. The broken figure beneath a magnifying glass and cruel look tweezers, as if some demented child picked him apart, as if the angel were a bug soon to be crushed with little thought. “Playing God.” He barely breathed the words. His quick gaze took in details before the veil covered it entirely and he let himself stare openly at Grey, enjoy the sweep of knuckles over his jaw. “Hauntingly beautiful.” The words were followed up by space, distance, the taller male stepping away to walk towards the door leaving his statement hanging between without confirming his meaning. Whichever way it went, it was true.

“Yes, let's. We are going to a costume shop, and now let me just say that we are not going there in hopes of finding something off the rack, but the owner is a wonderful seamstress and would be able to put together something specifically for you. In other words, you are going to need to help out by deciding on a concept, Trouble.” He gave a quick farewell pat to Stoker, trying to ignore the happy wag of tail that would make him feel a little guilty, and headed to open the door. “Hermes? Maybe? You could pull that off.”


‹Grey Weston› He was relaxed. At ease in a way he hadn't been in days, if not entire weeks. The contact was obviously appreciated, even when Kaspar's hands slid drape over his hips. Had he wanted to be a tease, he'd have given them a lazy swing, a gesture of ingrained habit. As it was, he accepted the way arms tightened around him with a low hum of pleasure. "I'm sure I can handle it." He wasn't one to shrink from attention. He, unlike others, didn't seek to seize it with both hands, though that was a matter of restraint. It didn't mean he craved it any less; particularly in moments like these. The smile that settled into place was warm, soft with affection. "Nervous?" He teased, the word smooth. Even so, there was a brief whisper of concern under the gentle taunt. He waited until Kaspar stepped back before carefully disentangling himself and heading for the door, pausing long enough to swipe his keys from the kitchen counter. It was easier not to dwell on those words. He ushered Kaspar out a second later, closing the door behind them; biting back the bitter twinge of guilt at the rapid sound of Stoker's feet as he paced towards the door. "Hermes." He repeated, brow creasing into a faint frown as he began the walk down the carpeted hall. "The...cow thief?"

<Kaspar>

He frowned, the look of confusion rather than annoyance or frustration. “Nervous? About what?” With Grey it could’ve been directed towards any number of things. He let the man take the lead as they left the apartment, staying a respectful step behind him as they headed towards the building exit. Kaspar couldn’t help but laugh at the assumption, shaking his head. “Uh, not the intention behind my suggestion, no. Hermes was also said to be a messenger of the Olympic Gods, he could travel freely between the mortal and divine realms, commune with those both natural and supernatural.” His hand rolled on his wrist, as if to suggest the man might be able to see where he was going with this, considering his unique position of being one that could live amongst humans as one of them, and yet found a little niche place with those considered to be no longer within the mortal coil. “I mean, it’s a suggestion, a starting place. Did you have something better in mind? There are quite few already taken, so no Aphrodite in a clam shell for you, sorry lover.” He snickered, giving a playful swat to Grey’s backside. As they reached the exit he opened the door, letting Grey through and with a gentle nudge of hand to shoulder directed towards his car.


‹Grey Weston› "I could **** it up," he pointed out. "It's your reputation on the line. Not mine." It was easy enough to produce a plausible sounding explanation, though hadn't been what he'd meant. Not entirely. The elevator seemed the far more practical option, given their height. He pressed the call button with the customary impatient tap of the tips of , ignoring the alarming way the metal button seemed to collapse in on itself and stick, lingering in its compressed position for a full minute before the anemic lighting of the down arrow flickered to life. The pair reached the grand floor without incident, largely; Grey passing through the door and into the damp, cloying chill of the evening. "You have a point." That, and he doubted that touching on the personifications would do either of them any favors. He shrugged. "Not really. " He paused, considering. "Don't do Eros," he added flatly. He flashed a grin then, steps lengthening as he half-jogged from the swat and its faint sting. He allowed himself to be directed towards the car once more, movements quicker, serving as a shield against the cold.

‹Kaspar›

Kaspar rolled his eyes at the man, he seriously thought Kaspar was concerned the man might mess with his reputation? Hardly, but then again it could just be a means to cover his own insecurity over the event and implications. For Kaspar, there was none. It was a party, it was a job, and he hoped they'd have fun. "Chill out, Grey, I'm not worried. There is nothing for you to **** up." He unlocked the car, opening the door for Grey before moving around to his own side, not waiting to see if the man got in, he was perfectly capable of doing so without help. "Why not Eros? Want to guess who I chose?"

[Kaspar]

<Grey Weston>

It was, in many respects, something that nagged at the corners of his mind purely because of the heavy implications. If his time had been his own - and not prematurely volunteered - he'd likely have declined, citing a quiet evening at home. He settled into the car after a moment, drawing open the door before settling in. He grimaced. "Someone might think it's a little too..." He blinked, relieved for the change of the subject. "Dare I ask?"

<Kaspar>

Once the other was settled he started the car, driving them in the direction of the shop he wanted to visit. "Morbid? Dark?" He supplied, giving a shrug. "They're VAMPIRES, Grey." He added it almost as an afterthought, his way of implying he thought it fit. "Well, it's a masquerade, I should keep it a secret... But **** that, it's you. I can tell you." He beamed, hands tapping against the steering wheel. "I picked Apollo! God of music, poetry, art, plague, archery, sun, knowledge and whatever else! Mostly I liked the idea of having a lute on stage, if I'm being completely honest."

<Grey Weston>

"I was going to say 'on point,'" he replied mildly. He wasn't one to flinch from the macabre. There were those who might argue it was his lot in life; a pall that plagued those artistically inclined, eventually becoming a funeral shroud that stretched over their bones. It was why most who answered the siren call of creativity rarely lived long; fleeting embers. He glanced at him briefly, softening at the display of almost boyish enthusiasm. "Gonna steal your cows," he murmured, lips quirking into a grin, before his gaze drifted towards the window.

<Kaspar>

Kaspar laughed softly at the remark, nodding along. He had a point, perhaps it was too direct of a nod towards the world they were walking on. Maybe something more lighthearted, though he couldn't really imagine Grey dripping in flamboyant gold. Just as Kaspar was turning to more sobering thoughts Grey did it again, cracked a smart *** remark, a joke that had him laughing. "Hey, you leave my cows out of this, Grey Weston!" His hand drifted across the space between them, brushing casually over a thigh, sliding down to a knee where he gave a gentle squeeze. "Does that mean you're going Hermes?"

<Grey Weston>

Perhaps it was for Kaspar's benefit. It was difficult to say. Grey wasn't precisely the easiest man to read, despite how freely emotions roiled to the surface, following some minor provocation. Perhaps it was a kindness; an attempt to drag Kaspar from the darker recesses of his mind, keep him grounded in the present. "Never!" He snorted, briefly glancing down at his lap and the fingers that splayed across his thigh, before coming to rest against his knee. His hand dropped to cover Kaspar's own unthinkingly. "You win," he conceded.

<Kaspar>

His brow went up, fingers flexing slightly as the hand covered his, a sort of acknowledgement of the contact. "Never? How rude." He was wearing a lazy grin, one that had yet to disappear like most that had crossed his features that day. "Oh really? I win? Were we playing a game, were we? Well, i'll make sure you are the best dressed Hermes around. Or something... I don't know. How do you feel about showing some skin?" He teased, glancing at him long enough to give a playful wink.

<Grey Weston>

"I do seem to have a knack for leading with my mouth," he agreed. He was quiet for a moment, fingertips lightly tracing Kaspar's knuckles, before his fingers abruptly flexed, curling to lace themselves through his own. The smile was gratifying in many ways. The hazy warmth that settled in his chest had little to do with the focus of it. He was wrapped up in the sincerity of the gesture. The question earned him a considering look; measured. "Until two weeks ago I was a nude model for a life's study course at the university. Does that answer your question?"

<Kaspar>

"Ah, but I don't mind you leading with your mouth. You do have a lot of lip on you, but that's ok, just gotta put it to good use." He chuckled at that, shaking his head. "Sorry, too much. A life model?" He drag his thumb in a soothing caress over Grey's hand, content to wrap the fingers that pressed between his up, holding them in that easy embrace. "Mmm, makes me wish I was better at drawing. So you're comfortable with a draping toga and a little nip slip?" Kas made a strangely content little sound, his posture relaxing in his chair. "Any ideas about what you might like to wear?"

<Grey Weston>

For a brief moment, he wore an expression of baffled innocence. It seemed strangely out of place, feigned or no. "I'm a quick study," he allowed mildly. The careful circle of Kaspar's thumb against his skin seemed to soothe him, coaxing his words. "The pay was ****," he shrugged. "But it was fun." He shot him a wry look a moment later. "On a scale of Argon to Beyonce, how much of a nip slip?" He countered. He was unprepared for the question, a low, defeated chuckle sliding from his throat. "Surprise me."

<Kaspar>

Kaspar didn't reply, just nodding along to the man's words, listening. At the question he gave a noncommittal shrug, just flexing his fingers around Grey's again until he had to reluctantly pull them back to return to the steering wheel. He let the silence stretch out, comfortable in it as they pulled into a parking spot a few metres up from a large costumery, the lights on but the sign on the door saying "Closed, entry by appointment only". It was good thing Kaspar had made one, even if Grey said no he had his own costume to peek at. The man unbuckled but didn't move to leave the car, instead he release Grey's seat belt from the buckle too, an excuse to lean over close to the man. "Surprise you?" He finally replied, before his mouth fell to Grey's in a blistering kiss, full of warmth and earnest longing.

<Grey Weston>

The space between them narrowed abruptly. If he hadn't grown accustomed to it, he might have flinched. However breathtaking their speed was - in more ways than one, the sharp thrill that nearly always followed leaving him gasping, reeling - it was difficult to forget their nature entirely. One could admire a cheetah for its beauty. That didn't rob it of its fangs. The muted click of his seatbelt filled the silence that stretched between them, cutting through the low static of Grey's even breathing. Kaspar's mouth crushed to his, and any protest he might have made about being in public - in full view of a storefront, no less - drowned in the white noise that filled his head. His hands lifted to frame Kaspar's face, fingertips lightly toying with the ends of his hair. It was easy to answer hunger with hunger. Keeping his hands to himself, he realized grimly, was increasingly becoming a problem that evening.

<Kaspar>

Kaspar allowed a moment alone together, letting the hunger rise, to stir in him before he began to ease back. He softened his approach until his lips were ghosting soft brushes of affection across the man's lips, a low satisfied rumble sounding in his chest. "Mmm... We should go inside. Before we get any other surprises pop up." He pecked at the man's lips, laughing softly. "You really need to learn to watch your words, Grey. That mouth is going to get you in a whole world of trouble." He was glad for the tinted windows, and the darkness outside. Any innocent bypasses would've missed the show, unless they squinted real hard and even then just two dark shapes moving together. Kaspar let himself out of the car, giving a stretch of limbs before moving around to wait for Grey to exit, in case the human needed to catch his breath. They had time.

<Grey Weston>

His chest gave a shallow heave as Kaspar drew back, lungs struggling to regain the oxygen they'd been denied. For a second, his breath hovered against Kaspar's lips. Soft. Teasing. A soft, appreciative sound slipped from him as those gentle nudges caught against his lips; shallow strokes that did nothing to quell the hunger he'd invoked. "Just around you," he argued. "Maybe. But you're my kind of trouble." He exited the car shortly after, following a firm tug of the handle. He shut the door firmly behind himself, ensuring it latched, before shooting Kaspar an expectant look. "After you."

<Kaspar>

His kind of trouble? Yeah, well, Kaspar couldn't really argue that it was the same way for him. He could try to act disinterested, but they both knew it was pointless and so he stopped trying. His arm tucked easily over Grey's shoulders, walking beside him towards the costume shop. "No, with me. Not after." He dropped a kiss to the guy's temple, "Oh, and I promise you don't have to wear the dorky hat, I had something else in mind if you're down with that? The shoes though... Seriously, need winged shoes. And a messenger bag, you can use to carry some of your stuff in too so it's more than just decorative. I mean, if you want just a simple toga..." He trailed off, knuckles rapping out a rhythm on the door before he twisted the handle, alerting her to their presence.

"Hello? Love, we've here for our costume fitting." A woman popped her head up from behind a row of costumes, probably in her late 40's but wearing it well, her hair a perfect mess of ginger ringlets piled on her head and a shock of red lipstick that was very vintage. "OH, my favourite boy! Oooh, and you've brought me a tasty treat. Look. At. Him! OOF!" She clapped excitedly, rushing forward to grab their faces, shoving kisses to cheeks. Kaspar winced slightly under the attack, but took it with good grace, returning her kisses and eyeing Grey as he received his. "Cindi, this is Grey, Grey... Her name isn't really Cindi but that's what everyone calls her because omg THIS girl, just wants to have fun.” He explained, giving a long-suffering sigh.

<Grey Weston>

He settled under the weight of Kaspar's arm with an ease that suggested it was quickly becoming habit. As if he'd always fit there, like the missing half of an interlocking puzzle piece. It was uncharted territory, and he should have, in reality, been more cautious. The pair of them were hurtling towards something ill-defined. A sweaty-palmed anticipation that would likely feel not unlike that surge of adrenaline - the short of high that brought a white out bliss - of a car jumping the guardrail. Those infinite seconds before gravity caught up with it. Loathe though he was to admit it, he was cautiously optimistic. He buried his face against his side, quietly breathing him in, a shy half-smile toying at the corner of his lips. "I could swing that," he agreed. He paused, considering. "It'd give me a chance to --" he started. His words died with the appearance of Cindi. A lopsided grin settled into place as she fussed over Kaspar. It was endearing in a way. The grin faded, replaced by a mild look of alarm over the woman's shoulder as hands abruptly rose to catch him by the face, kisses pressed to his cheek. He looked, for all the world, like a man cornered by an in-law. To his credit, he managed to wrap an arm around her back, patting gingerly. "Nice to meet you, Cindi."

<Kaspar>

Mouthed, "sorry", over her head at Grey though he looked rather amused by it all. Eventually he stepped up to Cindi, taking her by the shoulders and steering her towards her work space. "How's mine coming along? Brilliantly no doubt? We have officially decided on Hermes for Grey. Isn't that right?" He peered at the man, ensuring he was following, Cindi bouncing along in front of him. "Oh, good! I know you said MAYBE, Angel, but I got excited. I already have a mask ready, based on what we discussed." Kaspar had the good sense to look mildly sheepish, though it was apparently not his defining emotion in the moment. "I see, very good." He gave her an encouraging hug, releasing her as they approached the desk with sketch and fabric swatches spread across every spare inch. Cindi whirled on Grey, taking his measure. "Angel, he is CUTE. Real cute. Shame to cover that face up, but the strong jaw and those eyes will shine in my mask. An artist, huh?" She grinned, "Kaspar said you'll be painting at the event."

Again, he gave that little smile that seemed to say, "Oops". He leaned over the desk, brushing his fingertips over a design with his name on it and the words "final draft", it was attached to another outfit, one ridiculously over the top the other more simple. "I can't wait to see it all ready. You said you had most of it done? You are a marvel." She positively beamed up at him, the small woman smoothing her hands over Kaspar's chest fondly. "I'm just so proud of you, Angel! Grey, isn't he wonderful? All the hard work paying off, not long now!" She continued to straighten his attire like a mother hen clucking over a child, "Your father won't know what hit him, the *** will be flabbergasted when he hears it all." Kaspar's smile grew tight, he was appreciative for the kind words but the topic was getting too personal, his eyes shifted to Grey briefly. "He'll be something alright." Kaspar pushed at his glasses, slipping them off and folding them to tuck into a pocket. "Want to measure Grey? Let's find out how ticklish he is."

<Grey Weston>

Grey locked eyes with Kaspar for a handful of seconds. The arm loosely curled around Cindi abruptly tightened, shielding her from the subtle rise of his opposite hand. He formed a 'v' with both middle and index finger, tongue sliding neatly between them. Vulgar as the gesture was, the laugher that sparked in his gaze made it clear that the unvoiced **** right off was halfhearted, at best. Far from sincere. It was something of a relief when Kaspar managed to corral her, ushering her further inside. He trailed after the pair, keeping a respectful distance, gaze restless, an intense, quiet curiosity in their depths. "Mmm." He interjected a moment later, in support of Kaspar's claim. It was a flat, noncommittal sound. Not that Cindi appeared to notice. "Oh. Yeah. ...Yes, ma'am," he spoke then, the correction automatic. "Sort of." His brow arched at her rushed conclusion, and he shot Kaspar a cool, though pointed look."He's not really one for keeping things quiet, is he?" He remarked. His attention wandered briefly, arrested again at the mention of his name. "He's..." He started, words trailing as her own spilled over top of them. He frowned slightly. "I'm lost," he confessed, gaze shifting, growing pointed. It communicated silently that the pair of them would be enjoying a frank conversation once home. Her assumptions - eager and naive as they were - left him wondering what, exactly, he had shared. How much. That, and it was clear from the abrupt shift in topic that Kaspar was uncomfortable, eager to close the topic of his father. Interesting. "Don't be an ***," he scoffed, the words fond.

[Grey Weston]

‹Kaspar›

It was to Kaspar's relief that Cindi started grabbing for the soft length of measuring tape she had draped over her shoulders, moving to fuss over Grey. He hadn't missed the look, nor Grey's admittance to being lost and that was no great surprise. Kaspar, as vain as he was, tended to avoid bragging especially about things that might end up outside of his control. He and Grey had spoken, sure, but not in depth about their lives, only snippets. He wasn't exactly about to go into intense detail about his business, about the album or the other deals he had in the pipeline. Would Grey even give a ****? "Don't be modest... He's very talented." He assured Cindi as she pushed and pulled at Grey, laughing when the woman took his inseam, lifting her gaze to Kaspar with a devious smile. Once done she plonked at her desk, her face a mask of seriousness. "Give me 5 minutes, you boys have a look around." Kaspar taking this as an excuse to wander off, gesturing for the man to follow.

‹Grey Weston›

He was dutifully still. It was a mild strain, if only because the process was a touch invasive and more than a touch awkward. He sucked in a breath in response to the business-like touch, his flat look seeking Kaspar like a heat-seeking missile. He was grateful to be dismissed, stepping away with more haste than necessary. He trailed after Kaspar a moment later, stride lengthening to catch up to him faster. "You mind cluing me in to what that was about, back there?" He said, once he'd reached his side, giving a pointed jerk of his chin. He was careful to keep the words pitched low, not wanting to be disruptive.

‹Kaspar›

Kaspar figured it was coming, but some part of him had hoped Grey might keep it bottled up until they'd finished up here. Not so lucky. As the man impatiently demanded answers he took him gently by the arm, fingers curling around a bicep and directing him up a short flight of stairs. The staircase opened out onto a small area that was clearly used as part fitting room, part lounge. There were two comfy looking couches, a closed off both area for changing and a large mirror on one wall. Kaspar pointedly kept his gaze away from the mirror, dropping onto one of the couches and tugging Grey right along with him. "What specifically?" He exhaled the words, barely managing to contain his wariness and apprehension.

‹Grey Weston›

A part of him bristled, taking umbrage towards the placating touch. It had a similar feel to those rare moments when his mother would haul him helplessly into the seclusion of a bathroom at a 24 hour diner or motel. After a while the dingy wallpaper had begun to look the same. Instructed to be good. To be quite. Assurances that she'd be back soon. Really. It had been easy to forgive. It always was, when they came back to you. He drew a slow breath, vision clearing. He was not six, shivering with the cold and cowering in grayscale of a darkened . Holding his breath and listening, hope a brittle thing between his teeth, for the familiar sound of her footsteps. He didn't speak until the pair sank onto the couch. "Any of it."

‹Kaspar›

Kaspar tucked one leg up onto the couch, knee bent so that his foot dangled over the edge. A hand reached tentatively to rest on Grey's leg, not wanting to invade space too much. "She has done some stage costume stuff for my father before, she doesn't particularly like him, prefers me as you could likely tell. She just gets overexcited and proud of my achievements, she's known me for years, she was only twenty one when she made the first jacket for Nik." He raised a brow, "Or are you referring to something else? I'm not really sure, I'm not trying to bait you, I am genuinely trying to figure out what you would like me to explain. Colour me obtuse, Grey."

‹Grey Weston›

He didn't shy away from the contact, gaze briefly dropping to his hand. A low, exhausted noise slid from his throat then; choked with frustration. Dishonesty was much like liquor. Those intoxicated might pass for sober one spent a moment in their company, perhaps two. But their breath always reeked of it. Jameson's tells were obvious. Kaspar's, less so. "You are an idiot." He agreed smoothly. There was a tension to the words; something unspoken. "'Hear' about what, exactly, Kaspar?" He exhaled finally.

‹Kaspar›

He was momentarily baffled, not bothering to try and hide it, letting the emotions slip over his features as he contemplated the man's words, ignoring the idiot remark and cutting to the core of what was bothering him. "Hear about..." He was seriously trying hard to recall the conversation, drumming his fingers lightly against the man's leg as if it might aid in recollection. His hand stilled as he grasped it, or at least thought he did. "OH, you mean what she said about dad being surprised or whatever?" He looked uncomfortable, shifting his position on the couch. "Yeah, that... I was offered a record deal, I decided not to take it. I bought the church, turned it into the studio, started Morningstar Inc. and was renting out the space for projects between recording. We hooked up with an awesome producer and another independent label who were looking to separate due to wanting to go in different directions and incorporated them in. They'll be forming Morningstar Productions and will be putting out our first official album..." He cleared his throat, not wanting to look at Grey's reaction to this little explanation. "It's not important. Is that what you're annoyed at me for? Or was it something else?"


‹Grey Weston›

He studied him for a long moment, the weight of his gaze nearly a physical thing. The faint drumming of Kaspar's fingers against his leg was a sharp counterpoint; vague sensation that only seemed to heighten the discomfort between the pair. It was only once his hand stilled drew him marginally closer. There was no judgment in his expression. "Okay." He said at last, leaning over to gently smooth a strand of the man's hair with the tip of his finger. And that was that. "Why do you do that?" He asked suddenly, drawing back slightly. There was a flicker of the earlier frustration in his gaze, coupled with pity. "I'm not," he replied shortly. "At you, anyway."

‹Kaspar›

There was an air of tension, Kaspar almost imagined he could feel it settling in his lungs when he breathed in. He didn't like it. He wanted to cut through it, to take Grey and kiss him, to end the conversation with the heat and passion he knew he could stir within the man easily. That would be cheating, though, and so he waited. A hand brushing at his hair had him leaning in, though his posture rather than relaxing stiffened further at the follow up question, "Do what? And I dunno, I mean you seemed pretty mad at me, Grey." He considered the man, not really a fan of the look he was receiving but in no position to argue against it. "What at, then, if not me?"


‹Grey Weston›

He paused at the way Kaspar tensed under his touch, mildly uncertain. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, worrying at the flesh until it blanched, the skin blooming into a soft ivory before he released, oxygen restored to the compressed vessels, leaving them to flush a darker shade. "Downplay everything," he said at last. "Pretend they don't matter. If that was the case, you wouldn't..." He trailed off, reluctant to push. "You're ******* dumb." He muttered, in conclusion. It was far from eloquent, but it was a raw wound; one he didn't have the right to salt. "This." He gestured between them with a curt flick of his wrist, the motion tightly controlled. It was a vague sentiment, though one clearly meant to encompass the tension that surfaced between the pair. "Whatever." He sighed, abruptly twisting so that he fell back against the couch, head settling into the man's lap. "Let's just get our things and..." He paused, a tired laugh escaping him, shallow and edging on breathless. "Go to bed."

‹Kaspar› The blush of colour to his lip made Kaspar both intrigued, and uncertain, like he didn't know entirely what the gesture meant in this context. Grey was a difficult one, though he figured the man would probably argue against that. "So are you." The words weren't malicious, but if he was stupid then Grey was just as bad, if not worse. He welcomed the man as he fell into his lap, fingers twisting into the short dark hair, stroking over scalp. "We aren't really done here, you are aware of that yes?" He sighed then, considering the man, "But if you want, I'm sure Cindi can figure out how to make you look good, we can leave her to the costumes and just hope for the best..." He leaned down, bending almost double so he could brush a kiss to the tip of Grey's nose. "We can go to bed."


‹Grey Weston›He snorted. There was a part of him that took minor offense at the calm repetition, though he supposed he wasn't entirely without fault. The frustration between them had engulfed them; a particular sort of greed. Too much of the evening had already been wasted on those pale flickers of irritation. Anger. His eyes half-drifted shut at the feel of fingers in his hair. "I know. We can give it another minute or two." The tension ebbed from his chest at the soft brush of lips across his nose. He'd nearly forgotten what else mattered.

‹Kaspar›

Kaspar lowered another kiss, this one to Grey's lips, struggling to keep it light and without further intention. "Thank you. C'mon, we just have to nod a bit and shake our heads a bit at plans, then leave her to it." He sat up straight, easing Grey up into a seated position and within a minute was dragging the man back to Cindi's work desk. As he had expected she muttered exactly, grabbing fabric to drape over Grey, cinching and pinning to give a vague idea of the shape. They'd discussed a tunic style or single shoulder shorter toga, leaning towards the second. A messenger bag, winged shoes and the mask would accompany it. Kaspar's was kept secret, other than the startling low slung toga that was held on by a lute shaped pin, some Hollywood tape and sheer will power in a soft gold. The rest was ridiculous, over the top, and only for arrival.

FLASH

‹Kaspar›

They pulled up in the car, the ride had been quiet, Kaspar singing along to the stereo, fingertips laced once more with Grey's, tracing occasionally over the man's palm in slow circles. They were at Grey's apartment, but he gave the man the option. "Want me to come in? We can go to my studio, otherwise, or if you just want to sleep..."


‹Grey Weston›

He had been largely silent himself on the return trip. Nearly any other time, he'd have enjoyed the irony; intrigued at the way Kaspar's mood served as a weather vane to his own. He had responded to the questing touch; palm open, fingertips gently closing around his tracing fingertips as they circled the inside of his palm. "I do." He said, the words low, devoid of anything beyond a hushed sort of honesty. "Let's go." He spilled out of the car once more seconds later, pausing just long enough to offer Kaspar an outstretched hand.

‹Kaspar›

Kaspar followed the man, words didn't seem necessary, it was obvious that the touch alone would speak for him. He locked the car, shoving his keys into a pocket and accepting the outstretched hand. Instead of letting himself be tugged along, drawn inside just yet he used the leverage to draw Grey in towards his chest, free hand gripping at his side. Their height difference was more remarkable this close up, he had to bow his head slightly, gaze lowered to meet the man's eyes. "Hey." He murmured, a soft smile curving his mouth.


<Grey Weston› He didn't resist the pull when it came. It was, for all of its insistent nature, light enough to where he practically flowed against the other man. There was nothing jarring about the way he pressed against him, head automatically tipping upwards. "Hi." It was impossible to still the gentle pull of an echoing smile; infectious and warm. He didn't press; allowing Kaspar time to collect his thoughts. Content, in the moment, to be pressed against him, despite the chill.

‹Kaspar› Gently he nudged his nose against the other man's, his smile playful as he nipped and kissed him with gentle pressure, the sort of flirtatious exchange that was JUST acceptable for public viewing. "I'm Kaspar, Kaspar Wilhelm Grube. I'm twenty three years old, a musician and business owner. I have a 7 month old son, my dad is a famous rockstar who I don't get along with half the time and I think you're cute."


‹Grey Weston› It took a moment for the words to sink in. His expression had softened by that point into a mixture of drowsily attentive and a hushed affection. "You have a...?" There were those, he was sure,who'd have balked at that. Firmly rejected it. For some, it would have been the end of the line; a spring bud blackened by the first hint of frost. Whatever struggled between the pair was still new. Fragile. "Well, Kaspar Wilhelm Grube. My name is Grey." He began, inflection level as he took a cautious step backwards. Not before delivering a soft return nip, teeth chasing after his lips with a lazy click of his jaws. "I paint. My foot can frequently be found inside of my mouth." He gave a firm tug then, making his slow way up the low stoop of the apartment complex. "I think fatherhood suits you. I'm also taking you home." His free hand dropped then, bracing behind the pair of them to shove open the main entrance. Behind them, the edges of the horizon had begun to turn the barest shade of gold.

[Kaspar]

Chapter Three: Gunmetal Grey

-Someone New-

<Kaspar>

The night was pleasantly mild when he dragged Grey out of the cafe, glad to be alone again. "Well, that was..." He sighed, not really having a word to explain, shoulders just shrugging.

<Grey Weston>

Home. The word had held a comfort it had been lacking for months. It had been a word mouthed by rote, ringing hollow. Shaped by Kaspar's lips, however, it was...he wasn't entirely sure. It had the same careworn feel of rosary beads worn smooth. It left a pleasant warmth. He didn't question it. That, or the fact that the pair had begun to make one without realizing. "Different," he supplied, letting the word spill into the night. He leaned into him a second later, suddenly drained by the events of the evening.

<Kaspar>

The blonde nodded, tucking the man close as he leaned in without hesitation or question, he too felt a weariness tugging at his bones. "We're only a short walk from your place, you cool if we head there?" He pulled out his phone, shooting a quick message to his bandmates to ensure all was fine with the pack down and that they remembered to lock up the studio after.

<Grey Weston>

A hushed snort slipped from him at the words. Kaspar was being solicitous, as if he couldn't, by rights, have entered the run-down apartment any time he pleased. "Depends." He glanced up at him then, lips pressed against the fabric of his shirt. "Are you planning to stick around?" His tone was light; borderline nonchalant.


<Kaspar>

He got an agreeable response almost instantly, appeasing him enough to shove the phone away without replying. "Hm? Depends." He peered down at the man, free hand moving to cup his cheek, stroking across the cheekbone he so loved to trace. "Are you just talking about tonight, Grey?" His tone was light, speaking if softly as if uncertain.

<Grey Weston>

The words were echoed back to him, and rather than reply, he leaned into his touch. His cheek followed the careful trace of his hand, eyelashes kissing the skin there."If you stick around I'll make beignets," he finished. He drew in a breath. "No," he said, voice just as soft.

<Kaspar>

Kaspar seemed to allow himself a moment to consider, smiling at the comment about making beignets, taking him a moment to recall exactly what they were. "From scratch?" He gave a shiver to the feel of lashes creating butterfly kisses against his hand, leaning forward to rest his forehead to Grey's. "I want to... To stick around. I don't... Yeah, I want to."

<Grey Weston>

"Sure." He could feel the faint pull of the smile that threatened, the hint of it hovering in his words. It would be pleasantly ritualistic. He'd lost track of how many lost Sundays had gone by, leaving a cold kitchen in their wake. He leaned into Kaspar quietly, a flood of relief settling into his veins. He was torn between a drowsy sensation and the slightest of trembles, like iron shavings responding to the pull of a magnet. Hyperaware. "Good," he breathed, exhaling the breath he hadn't known he was holding.

<Kaspar>

"Hey", he tucked his hand under Grey’s chin, searching the man's face for a moment, but the sharp exhale seemed to be a more positive one. As if he'd been holding on for something, and Kaspar didn't really know what to say about it. "I don't know what promises I can make you, I refuse to make promises I can't keep. With me you'll get the truth, which isn't always so fun. Bare bones, Grey." He brushed the lightest kiss to his lips, "Come on, we should start walking before I have to carry you home." He began to move at a slow pace, giving Grey time to catch on.

<Grey Weston>

His own gaze was questioning as Kaspar's hand slid underneath his chin. There was a caution to his returned gaze; a wordless acknowledgement that the ice beneath their feet was thin. It wouldn't take much for it to splinter and send them crashing through entirely. He didn't want to spook him. "I don't..." He paused, chewing lightly at his lower lip. "I won't ask for more than you can give," he said finally. But he wanted it. All of it. "I just..." His voice threatened to crack. He cleared his throat a second later, forcing it to stay even. "I just want you." The brush of Kaspar's lips against his own coaxed a soft, throaty chuckle. "Carry --" he repeated, tempted to reward the comment with an annoyed shove. Instead, he moved to catch up.

<Kaspar>

"Well..." He smirked, half expecting to be kicked or shoved but simply getting the man following. "Then we are fine... I should explain what I mean when I say "bare bones", it was something that started with Klaus, my twin, actually." His tone became more relaxed as he spoke, easy with each step they took towards Grey's place. "When we were convinced the other was holding back, trying to keep something in or being avoidant we'd tell them they had to bare bones. Had to let people look inside. It helps us to keep a certain transparency to our actions, especially with my, uh, alternative lifestyle? Sigrid, too, picked up on it when we first became friends and later started dating. It works. My relationships aren't exactly conventional at the best of times, and honesty I find is key to keeping them healthy. That is pretty much all I ask for, honesty and patience. This is... A busy time in my life, and I don't have enough hours in the day. My son and family get priority, and then my work." He winced, "That sounds dismissive but you know what I mean?"

<Grey Weston>

For a handful of minutes, the only sound was their muted footsteps and Grey's even breathing. It was a concept he was familiar with, if only because he'd spent the better half of a year with a man who felt everything intensely. It had been easy to get caught up in the emotional highs; to get lost in the belief that they were the only living souls in a world that was desolate and gray. It was dangerous. He didn't flinch. The words should have stung, but hope was a fragile thing. Remarkable. Naive. That, and he hadn't been a priority in...years, really. There was always something else in the way. Addiction. Careers. Being bitter about it didn't do him any favors. It's just how things were. "He should be." He said at last. And then: "We'll figure it out."

[Grey Weston]

<Kaspar>

"Grey..." He narrowed a look on the man, nudging him with his hip. "FIRST priority... Not only. Alright? Mmm, i'm taking him to meet Indie this week, she'd been badgering me for a while and I did promise." He steered them around a corner, the apartment block fast approaching. "I'm guessing you have no interest in knowing my family."

<Grey Weston>

"Hmm?" The sound of his name jarred him from his brooding. He swayed slightly as the other man's hip knocked into his, before leaning his weight heavily into his side in response. It was a brief scuffle; short lived and playful. The hint of a grin that had begun to form faded almost as quickly as they rounded the corner. "That's up to you," he said. "Look, Kaspar. I...****." A low, defeated laugh slid from him. He didn't want to intrude; wary of stepping on toes. Wary of complicating their lives more than they already had. "I never bought into that picket fence ********." It hadn't stopped him from wanting it. Hadn't stopped him from briefly considering adoption the summer before. Something had stopped him. Fear, maybe. Or maybe he hadn't wanted what had seemed like a sure thing with his own selfishness. "I'm not interested in being someone's dirty little secret," he said finally. That had stung more sharply than any number of the recent truths that had recently come to light. "I do. But I'm not going to force it."


<Kaspar>

He enjoyed the playful nudging, pinching at the man's side. The mood shifted quickly, reminding him fragile this was. "Grey... You are not my dirty little secret, would I have dragged you to Cindi's? Come to your house? Taken you to the party and cafe? No. Look, being a part of my life is... We can work it out. Siggy wants to meet you, embarrassingly so. She's giving me grief demanding I tell you something..." He winced.

<Grey Weston>

"I wasn't accusing you," he said hurriedly. "I'm just saying. I've been there." It had taken weeks to scrape himself off the floor following that realization. That was the cycle he lived in. A continuous moment of highs followed by the inevitable drop. He studied him for a moment, before reaching up, palms smoothing over his chest, gently nudging him against the brick of a low garden wall, fingers splaying. "Okay." It was a word that surfaced between them often, lately. Simple, but heavy with meaning. His gaze was expectant, but he was careful not to push to hard. For a moment he didn't speak. The words caused the tension to bleed from him all the same; a low exhale of laughter. "Tell her thank you," he said at last, gently straightening to allow him room. He backed up then, and allowing him space.

<Kaspar>

His eyes rolled up, nodding his head at the man. "You can tell her damn self, once she's badgered me into bringing you home for long enough. It looks good there though, I couldn't believe it and was confused as to her enthusiasm. So..." He looked a bit sheepish, rubbing at his hair as they arrived at Grey's apartment block. "Basically... You're invited to pop by whenever."

<Grey Weston>

"Next week." He paused, leaning in once more, reclaiming the freely given space in order to gently catch his lower lip between his teeth, tugging softly. He leaned into him, allowing his hips to press into Kaspar's with the barest hint of teasing pressure. "Maybe. I still have some things to take care of." He pulled the man from the wall a split second later, palms bracing against his back to encourage him forward with a light shove. He sprang forward himself immediately after; weight settling against Kaspar as his arms laced around his neck, legs wrapping firmly around his waist. "Go!" He commanded.

<Kaspar>

Growled, a low sound of warning as the man pressed close, teasing with hips and teeth. "No skin off my nose, i'm good at dealing with impatient women... And men." His brow raised, gaze flicking over Grey as if making his point. "Wait, what things?" He grumbled as he was shoved, stepping forward a few paces only to receive a Grey jumping on his back for the efforts. "Excuse you? I am no horse!" He reached back to swat the man's ***, but did hook hands under thighs to hold him in place as he pressed the door of the building open, heading for the elevator. "Do you want to press the button too, you huge child?"

<Grey Weston>

"I'm assuming your...associate would like a copy of the painting," he pointed out mildly. "I'll need to run a few prints. Give him a couple of options." The words were muffled against his skin, Grey's lips nestled lightly against the crook of his neck. The words were choppy; faltering slightly as soft kisses trailed along the curve of Kaspar's neck. Exhaled. "True. But it's not going to stop me from riding you all night." The swat generated an abrupt, stinging warmth; a welcome reprieve from the slight chill as the temperature began to drop. "Bend over."


<Kaspar>
Nodded his head carefully, tilting to allow the kisses to find purchase against his skin. "Mmm. Yeah, yeah he would. The guys have taken your stuff to the studio, don't worry they were careful... Well, I assume, they said they were. They've yet to **** up entirely." The urge to pull out his phone and call was interrupted by Grey's words, Kas's posture stiffening slightly. "Oh, really? Bend... No." He stepped into the elevator, pressing the button that would take them to Grey's floor. He pressed back, pushing the man gently up against the wall of the elevator, reaching out to nudge the emergency stop button bringing the metal cage to a halt.

<Grey Weston>

For a brief second, the dull drag of his teeth answered for him. The gesture was soft; barely more than a tease, breath ghosting over Kaspar's skin. The impulse to sink his teeth into flesh, forcing it to yield, was strangely absent. "Mmmph." He drew away with some reluctance. "I believe them." It was an understatement of trust; calm. "Let's see if you run out of bla--" he began, only to falter as hands guided him against the wall, pinning him into place. The elevator shuddered to a halt a split second later, a low groan escaping the support cables. He lifted a brow, but refrained from comment.

[Kaspar]

<Kaspar>

He shuddered under Grey's attentions, hands work to disentangle the man, ensuring he didn't fall on his *** as Kas brought him down to the ground. The taller blonde turned on the man, hands bracing either side of him against the slick metal of the elevator. His head tilted, leaning in to capture the man's mouth without any preamble, no smart *** comments. He just wanted to kiss him.

<Grey Weston>

He slid to his feet with limited grace. The floor lurched beneath them just slightly, the elevator stilling entirely. The shock of the impact was a mild one; a brief sting that faded under the touch of those restless hands. He didn't protest being caged by the loose barrier Kaspar's arms made to either side of him. The sound that slid from his throat was muffled; briefly registering surprise, replaced with a low, content gasp. His hands lifted seconds later, fingers curling around Kaspar's shoulders, tugging him closer. The surge in his pulse was immediate; a hard, violent kick that settled a split second later as he returned the kiss with an urgent heat.

<Kaspar>

Kaspar almost laughed against him, a strangled, shocked sound as the man grabbed him to pull him closer. He didn't argue, allowing his hips to rock comfortably to meet Grey's body bowing in towards the heat he offered. His hands moved, pressing down over the man's shoulder blades, following that line over his back, slipping over his *** where he paused long enough to shape the roundness within his palms. One last movement, cupping just beneath the man's backside he hoisted, lifting him up to urge legs to wrap around him once more, shoving the man's back more firmly into the wall.

<Grey Weston>

The haze of exhaustion was rapidly unraveling; falling away from him. The coy roll of Kaspar's hips provoked a shallow noise; throaty and sharply inhaled, cresting into an unfinished mutter of profanity. He should have been accustomed to it. The thrill should have paled. It shouldn't have felt as good as it did. He'd resigned himself to the fact that the immediate spark of pleasure would probably be a permanent reaction. As it was, he barely restrained himself from forcing Kaspar against the opposite wall; barely kept himself from grinding with the same desperation that crashed in his head. Instead, his back arched slightly as he rocked onto his toes; following the careful squeeze of Kaspar's palms. His legs slid up obediently; settling over hips, ankles locking into place against the small of his back.

<Kaspar>

His thumbs hooked through the loops of Grey's jeans, fingertips curving over his hips to grip, tugging the man's hips towards him as he bucked his own gently, rolling to the man with a desperate lately sound, an aching whimper. He broke the free of the kiss with great difficulty, find his mouth hovering hopefully, "Grey... We should probably take this to the apartment." He kept his eyes closed, refusing to look at the man's face until his head was turned away safely, peeking open to find the button which he reached out to press. The elevator started with a jolt, groaning to life.

<Grey Weston>

The faint, tugging pressure of Kaspar's fingers through his belt loops was borderline torturous. It wasn't helped in the slightest by the sudden buck of his hips. A hiss of sound slid from Grey's throat, his own hips responding with a firm, steady friction that left him choked. The whimper that poured from Kaspar left him dry mouthed, throat tight. "No." The word was abrupt. Stubborn. The word was chased by a firm nip to Kaspar's throat, a shuddering, unsteady laugh whispering against his skin. "Since when have you been the responsible one?" He demanded. He relented a second later, tongue sliding from between his lips to lap at the taste of him that still lingered as the elevator resumed its climb.

<Kaspar>

The man laughed, the sound husky and catching in his throat, "Hm? The responsible one? All along, Greyby, haven't you figured that out?" He grinned devilishly, trying to act as if he had this under control but they both knew full well that wasn't the case. The ding of the elevator doors was a relief, Kas not bothering to try and put the man down, just carrying his *** all the way up the hall to the front door. "Keys?"

<Grey Weston>

He tried to scoff, but the sound was arrested, caught in his throat. There was a part of him that wanted to call him out; puncture his ego, if only for a moment. "Greyby, huh?" He asked dryly. He allowed himself to be carried, mildly relieved that no curious neighbor roamed the halls to witness the spectacle. "I'm sorry?" He asked, one eyebrow shooting up, feigning confusion. "What's the rush?" He demanded, even as his hand slid into his pocket, fetching his keys and tossing them to Kaspar lightly. He made a mental note to have a copy made for the man. An errand for later in the week. Much later.

<Kaspar>

He was going to dislodge something soon the amount of times his eyes had rolled in response to something Grey did or said, but it was accompanied with a snort of laughter and smile. "Yeah, yeah, no rush. We can just hang out here like this if you want?" He caught the keys in one hand, the other still holding Grey. "I mean, we don't HAVE to go inside." He jingled the keys teasingly over the man's head, backing him up until his back touched the door. He heard the movement of something inside, paws scuttling across the floorboards. "I think someone might get mad at you if you choose to bang the pretty boy in the hall, rather than saying hello."

[Grey Weston]

<Grey Weston>

He didn't bother to disguise the grin that settled into place. "Works for me," he said. Too quickly, no doubt, but it couldn't be helped, in the grand scheme of things. His head lifted just long enough for his chin to tip, following the keys as they jangled harmlessly overhead. The nip against Kaspar's fingertips was sudden. Pointed. He'd only just begun to carefully draw them into his mouth - the barest hint of heat and the coy, slick pressure of his tongue assaulting the senses - when the low, heavy exhale sounded from underneath the door. "Like a child." He groaned. He reached up to grab the keys from Kaspar's hand a moment later, fitting them into the deadbolt before turning the lock. The door swung open at his touch seconds later. Sure enough, the clatter of nails on the floorboard intensified, and he was nearly overbalanced by the enthused greeting of Stoker as the dog rushed the pair.

<Kaspar>

Kaspar hissed out a breath at Grey's teasing antics, his fingertips caught by the suckling pressure and teeth, Kas clutching the keys in his palm so he didn't drop them in response. "Dammit..." He grumbled, giving the keys up just as easily as he had taken them, shifting their position so the man could open the door. It was just as he'd reached to unhook ankles, pushing Grey's legs to the ground that Stoker charged into them. "WOAH, boy. Hey." He steadied the littler grip before releasing Grey entirely, bowing down to rub his hands through the dog's fur affectionately.

<Grey Weston>

Grey mercifully settled to the floor long before the headlong rush. He took a moment to step around the pair, allowing them their reunion, and only narrowly missing the sweep of the dog's tail as Stoker's hips swiveled slightly, body overcome by wriggles of excitement. His fingertips found the lightswitch, and he made his way inside. Stoker, however, was beside himself; rearing up to plant his paws on Kaspar's stomach, tongue lolling as his jaws widened into a classic canine smile, a low series of rumbles and hushed whines sliding from his throat.

<Kaspar>

He laughed happily, making kissy faces at the dog as he rubbed and scratched, fingers submerged in the fur to find muscles. "Who is a beautiful boy? You are! C'mon, Stoker! Inside." He urged, nudging the dog along, once they were safely inside shutting the door to hide them from the world. Kas slumped to the floor carelessly, wrapping his arms around the dog as he threw himself down too.

<Grey Weston>

Stoker was all too happy to press his advantage; paws digging in more firmly as he urged himself closer, tongue flicking out to catch him on the chin. He settled solidly to the floor a moment later, front paws striking the ground with an abrupt nature. He executed a neat, sharp circle, falling on Kaspar's heels as he reentered the apartment. "Slut," Grey commented in a low, fond mutter. It was hard to say whether the accusation was meant for Stoker or Kaspar. Stoker was heedless, all too happy to shove against Kaspar, head thrown back to tuck against his face, rolled onto his back. Grey, to his credit, didn't interrupt. He took a moment to drop the keys in his hand onto the worn, faded wood of a nearby bookshelf before stretching, wincing at the dull sound of joints as they cracked.

<Kaspar>

Continued to play wrestle with the dog, happily giving him the love and attention he so obviously had missed that evening. "Aw, he just missed company! I stole his daddy away, he needs attention." Kas tucked an arm around the dog's shoulder, one hand lifting the face towards Grey, "Just look at this face!" He teased, making a little pout of his own next to the dog's sloppily happy grin.

<Grey Weston>

A low, rumbling note of a faux-growl registered in the depths of Stoker's chest. The noise would have given most pause; it was only the ragged sound of the dog's breath and the near-constant wagging of his tail that gave away the lack of a threat. He rolled lightly, trapping Kaspar underneath him for a split second, a grumble escaping his throat as he essentially plowed his head into the man's shoulder, relenting only when fingers closed under his jaw, turning his head. His eyes were bright as they fixed on Grey. Excited. "Yeah. Cute," he allowed, tone amused as he regarded the pair. His gaze, however, wasn't focused on the dog as the words left his lips.

<Kaspar>

The man grinned up at Grey, damn near giggling as he was headbutted and nudged at by the dog, trapping the canine's face between his palms so he could press a kiss against his muzzle. "Ok, you, I should stop riling you up or you'll never settle. Come on." He pushed his tall frame up from the floor, tapping as thigh in encouragement for Stoker to follow. "Cup of tea? Coffee?" He asked Grey, glancing in the direction of the kitchen, not entirely sure if the man kept either. Kaspar always made sure his kitchen was stocked with drinks and food, he'd done the same at the Hive and the studio, so much so that Indigo and the others had started leaving lists of items for him to fetch. He'd huffed and told them he wasn't their shopping slave, but snatched the list and gotten the items anyway.

<Grey Weston>

Stoker settled for a brief moment as Kaspar's hands came to rest against his muzzle. The kiss coaxed a shiver from those muscles; a quiver of excitement that subsided quickly. The dog quickly got to his feet, summoned by the tap of Kaspar's fingers, tongue hanging from his mouth, a slash of vivid color. He trailed after the man without a second thought. "I have both," he confirmed. "I think there's a choice of English Breakfast or mint." He shrugged, the gesture a mildly sheepish one. Faintly apologetic. "Upper cabinet. Right hand side," he explained, stepping hard on the back of one shoe, foot sliding from it a moment later. "There should still be fresh coffee in the bowl by the sink." He made a habit of hand-grinding his own, always leaving just enough for two mugs in the morning.

<Kaspar>

Kaspar didn't take long to make himself at home in the kitchen, finding mugs and teaspoons, grabbing coffee and tea alike. "Preference?" He asked, peeking over his shoulder at Grey. It would probably be considered rude by most, to charge into a kitchen but he figured it was better to be decisive, and if he let himself get distracted again the two of them wouldn't be coming up for air long enough to say anything other than groaning each other's names. Which, wasn't the worst plan, but he still wanted to talk to the guy. Things had gotten heavier than expected, fast, and he wanted to ease back, to take time to talk a little. He was getting too good at diving in, and it was weighing on his mind.

[Kaspar]

<Grey Weston>

Neither, was the immediate preference. He didn't say as much, of course; it would have been uncharitable, and he had no desire to dampen Kaspar's enthusiasm. There was something endearing about how quickly he made himself at home; as if already intimately familiar with small space that governed precious little of Grey's life, outside of a morning routine he had allowed to fall into neglect. "Tea," he settled on. He would at least be better equipped to negate the brief effects of wakefulness it would bring. He paused long enough to retrieve a discarded dog toy from the center of the room, dropping it into a shallow plastic tub, before wandering into the kitchen, leaning on the isle that dominated it.

<Kaspar>

The man's shoulders shrugged, pushing the bowl with coffee grounds back to it's place, instead plucking out two bags of English Breakfast tea. Placing them into the mugs he turned on Grey, eyes moving over the man with an overly serious expression upon his fair features. "Hey, I need to ask you a serious question, ok?" He paused, glancing down at his feet and doing his best shy impression, fingertips shifting to brush stray blonde curls behind his ear. They were still styled in those loose curls, slowly dropping out to be closer to his natural waves but giving that added angelic look. "Do you... Sorry, this is really hard to ask." He took a false, steadying breath, playing it up. "Do you like milk in your tea or just black? And even more importantly... Do you take sugar like a heathen?"

<Grey Weston>

A pile of unsorted mail rested at the corner of the counter. It leaned precariously, fanning out to display a scattered handful of notices. Beyond that, the island was clean; devoid of excess clutter beyond the sleek answering machine whose red notification flickered and then held steady like a pulse, and a handful of aged textbooks. The ceramic dishes holding sugar and the slow-spinning spice rack themselves were neatly arranged. He glanced up at the change in Kaspar's tone; frowning slightly as he stopped and began again. "Is everything-?" He started cautiously. Only to stare openly at Kaspar in disbelief a handful of seconds later. A low growl escaped him, and for a brief second his hands seized on the nearest textbook, arms drawing back as if he intended to lob it at the other man. Or beat him to death. "I only take coffee black." He paused. "Milk in tea is disgusting, and I happen to like three spoonfuls of sugar in my tea," he finished smugly.

<Kaspar>

Hid his amusement behind the fridge door, quietly chuckling to himself about the situation and managing to get Grey on the back foot, telling him to shut and defending his choices. "Uh huh, sure, nothing wrong with sugar... In tea. Heathen." He repeated, grabbing the carton, looking at it dubiously. "Is it any good though? Also, seriously? Let me guess, you drink from the carton and leave dregs behind, then open a new one." He raised a brow, peering around the door and gesturing vaguely to the juice cartons. "Boy, maybe this won't work out after all."

<Grey Weston>

His eyes rolled heavily. For a moment, he studied the pattern in the ceiling; the series of hairlike cracks and slightly darker stains that had come to collect against the smooth plaster over the years, whether from water damage or the unfortunate habits of previous tenants. "Check the expiration date," he said, unhelpfully. There was no danger of it souring. He'd purchased it Thursday. He pushed himself upright a second later, ambling over to where Kaspar stood. "No. I pee in them," he corrected, even as he backed the man against the door. "So that nosey fuckers like you will stay out of my kitchen." He shot him a sly grin a second later, before rocking forward to nip lightly at his earlobe. "I'll say. You're a little too high maintenance. And so pretentious." His words were teasing, fingertips dropping to trail along the inside of his arm to ease any sting the words might have caused.

<Kaspar>

Scoffed at the remark, but did as he was told, "I'm almost impressed, this might be salvageable after all." He'd teased, shutting the door only to find himself pressed against it, with Grey mocking him in return. He liked it. "Oh, so your dog is more toilet trained than you? Good to know." He leaned in as if he might kiss Grey but the kettle flicking off signal the water was boiled made him halt, breathing out a half sigh against the man's lips. "Tea." He eased away, busying himself with pouring hot water into each mug and adding three teaspoons of sugar to one, nose wrinkled in distaste the entire time. Once they were sufficiently brewed he pulled out the tea bags, wrapping around spoons to draw out excess moisture before disposing of them. To his own mug he added the tiniest splash of milk, depositing the rest of the carton back into the fridge. "Where would you like to sit and talk... Yes, talk." He held up a finger as if to stop argument.

<Grey Weston>

He looked, for a brief moment, as if he might not allow him to pause. To brush past. His expression was one that had become thoughtfully quiet. It was only when the thin whistle of the kettle cut above their banter that he relented, the noise abrupt and shrill. He turned to accept the mug of tea with a grateful air, relishing the faint warmth that seeped into his cupped palms. "There's the living room. Unless you wanted to curl up under blankets. Your choice." He regarded the outstretched finger with mild skepticism, expression mildly wary. But then he shrugged, blowing out a short exhale, a cooling breath across the surface of his tea. "About?"