Crazy Love, Vol II (Josh)
Sept 2, 2011 12:56:05 GMT -5
Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Sept 2, 2011 12:56:05 GMT -5
Sean didn’t expect the other man to keep up with every trick of the trade, or every inconvenience of his working conditions. He only mentioned some of them, usually as semi-complaints, certainly nothing worth holding memory space over.
“Good,” the telepath replied, since he’d given Josh first bite. He let the plate linger for a moment, should the other man want more, before he slid it back towards himself.
Sean overheard that thought as well; mental shields were, to a large degree, down for the rest of the night because he’d expended too much energy today as it was. As such, he would quietly overhear most of Josh’s inner ramblings and he would only remark on the most banal, which was how most of his time without strong mental shields went. Thus he didn’t point out that the two obvious solutions were that he could bow out and let Josh have a trip with his other friends for the weekend, which eliminate any attempts to convince Cobalt because the first words out of Josh’s mouth post invitation could be Sean isn’t coming. Or that Cobalt could set it aside for a weekend since it wasn’t as though they would be in the same car.
But that was contemplation for another day because there were both more important and more pleasant thoughts and plans ahead.
Plans such as reminding (teaching perhaps if the lessons were so long forgotten) Josh of how pleasant a sober relationship could be. Such as sharing experience, although he knew it had been over a decade since the other man had last dated, but there was still experience to be shared and gained. Such as moving everything around to make the house a home for both of them.
The telepath didn’t contemplate the offer for more than the merest second. He picked up his fork, reached carefully over his own plate to avoid getting an elbow in whipped cream, and then cut off a corner of cheesecake. He brought it to his mouth, ate it, and smiled. “You’re right; that is good.”
He washed it down with a sip of coffee and then remarked, “It occurs to me I can’t remember the last time I’ve even had cheesecake. For which I blame Anya.”
“Good,” the telepath replied, since he’d given Josh first bite. He let the plate linger for a moment, should the other man want more, before he slid it back towards himself.
Sean overheard that thought as well; mental shields were, to a large degree, down for the rest of the night because he’d expended too much energy today as it was. As such, he would quietly overhear most of Josh’s inner ramblings and he would only remark on the most banal, which was how most of his time without strong mental shields went. Thus he didn’t point out that the two obvious solutions were that he could bow out and let Josh have a trip with his other friends for the weekend, which eliminate any attempts to convince Cobalt because the first words out of Josh’s mouth post invitation could be Sean isn’t coming. Or that Cobalt could set it aside for a weekend since it wasn’t as though they would be in the same car.
But that was contemplation for another day because there were both more important and more pleasant thoughts and plans ahead.
Plans such as reminding (teaching perhaps if the lessons were so long forgotten) Josh of how pleasant a sober relationship could be. Such as sharing experience, although he knew it had been over a decade since the other man had last dated, but there was still experience to be shared and gained. Such as moving everything around to make the house a home for both of them.
The telepath didn’t contemplate the offer for more than the merest second. He picked up his fork, reached carefully over his own plate to avoid getting an elbow in whipped cream, and then cut off a corner of cheesecake. He brought it to his mouth, ate it, and smiled. “You’re right; that is good.”
He washed it down with a sip of coffee and then remarked, “It occurs to me I can’t remember the last time I’ve even had cheesecake. For which I blame Anya.”
