Gentlemanly Behaviour - Riley Tags Stephen

[Riley Adams]

The night had been eventful to say the least. Having witnessed Stephen spilling the drink on the poor young woman's dress had Riley both amused and deeply regretful. The dress had been pretty on the girl but Stephen finally stopped drinking. It took him awhile to actually come to his date's aid as he fulfilled his promise to the pregnant Midori to dance at least one song.

She was incredibly shy and so delicate even without her pregnancy and Riley was so afraid to break her. He finally deposited her back to where she had been sitting, planting a kiss on her hand before searching for his date and bundling him into his truck. Admittedly, drunk Stephen was even more amusing albeit snarky than sober Stephen so the ride back had Riley grinning the whole way.

Because Stephen wasn't coherent enough to give directions to his own place, Riley brought the other man back to his apartment. He was sure the man wouldn't mind sobering up on Riley's bed while he took the couch. It was just for a night and what kind of a host would he be if he put his guest on the couch, no?

Once they arrived, Riley helped Stephen out of the truck and kept him steady as they went up the elevator to his floor. Inside the apartment, Riley helped take Stephen's coat off to hang on the coat rack and his shoes to put them on the shoe rack near the door. Riley then helped Stephen into the bedroom where he put Stephen on the bed. "I'll get you a glass of water, okay?"

[OOC: Keeping it vague-ish for ya ]

[Stephen Gage]

Stephen Gage was normally a talkative fellow. He strongly disliked silence, if only because he was fairly certain that he had a damn good joke all that quiet time could be used to tell. And Riley, of course, must have known this. They'd only been seeing each other (dating?) for a few weeks, but that quality had to become apparent within mere moments of meeting the recruiter. And usually his humour was quite good-natured, full of as much self-deprecation as it was of light and gentle quips on others, though both of which took a far back-seat to the tales he'd accumulated over his time as a recruiter. Any of those stories, astonishing as they were, could be made into hilarious, harrowing epics when told in the proper tone.

Drunk Stephen, however, had little patience for finding the eloquence required to tell such tales, and instead reverted to the more sarcastic, observational humour that flowed more easily during times of inebriation. The ride home, or rather to Riley's house because Stephen's directions to his own place in their entirety had been "over there," was spent largely with Stephen's left hand draped on Riley's shoulder, his eyes out the window, and a grin plastered on his face. He commented upon everything he saw out of Riley's truck window. Which, admittedly, was little, given the coldness of the weather. Though he had spotted an old woman, and immediately decided and vocalized that she had to have been 112, had fought in the war, and still saw Nazis around every corner. Such was the nature of Stephen's commentary upon the world as Riley drove, the older man's incessant giggling only egging the recruiter on further.

Despite having given such minimal instructions on how to get to his own place, Stephen was still quite surprised to see the truck arrive at Riley's. Had he not given the man enough directions? "Over there" was more than enough to allow Stephen to find his way home. And, of course, it was his hime and he'd been there countless times, and Riley had absolutely no idea where Stephen lived, but logic was far removed from the recruiter's mind at this juncture. Except for one small, though ever-so-important application: figuring out why Riley would've brought him home.

It was a slow, laborious task to get the supposedly logic thought process going, and Stephen was out of the truck, leaning on Riley, and halfway to the door before any of it started to make sense to him. It was cold, and as the cold was so often wont to do, it took precedence in Stephen's mind and he huddled closer to Riley while they were outside. Body heat was nice.

OH! Stephen grinned wider as realization, false or otherwise, popped into his mind. It took until they were already at Riley's apartment door, but the memory of the body heat from mere moments prior sprung back into action as the door opened. That was why riley brought him here, the sly dog. Stephen was easier when he was drunk. Did Stephen rightly care? Not really. Not then, anyway. As he chattered on about some horrendous driver he'd watched out the window of Riley's truck, Riley made short work of his coat and shoes and Stephen decided he was rather fond of where this whole thing seemed to be going.

And to the bedroom no less! Game, set, match, Stephen. Of course, he needed Riley in order to walk in a line vaguely resembling a straight (heh) one, so that may have been rather unbecoming. But Stephen thought he was making up for the unattractiveness of wobbly walking by precisely where he'd laid his hand on Riley for support. Hip, maybe just a shade lower. He could play the game too. More messily in these instances, sure, but played regardless!

Then boom: bed. Stephen was elated. Though his arms felt rather... empty. And his lips were noticeably, and disturbingly, lonely, and somebody was talking. Why was there talking? Less talking. More kissing. But he caught the words, and though his eyes were half-lidded, he looked up at Riley playfully as he spoke. Glass of water? Right. Stephen's hands shot forth with surprising speed and accuracy for a drunk man, grabbing fistfuls of Riley's shirt and pulling him down, managing to burst out in the middle of it all: "But I've already got myself a tall drink o' water."

Reality be damned. Stephen was a Casanova so long as he felt like one.

[Riley Adams]

To say he was surprised when Stephen pulled him down on top of him would be a gross understatement. Riley would have started flailing about had he not heard Stephen's statement that made him snort and blush at the same time. And he couldn't struggle since he could actually hurt Stephen. That was not how Riley wanted to end things with the oh so good looking recruiter.

"I..." he started before closing his eyes and trying to push off the bed but Stephen was surprisingly stronger than his stature and state of inebriation suggested and not even a minute later, Riley found himself pinned down on his own bed under a man who was giving him some dangerously strong tingles in all the right places.

The rational and gentlemanly part that usually governed Riley was telling him to get out of the room because Stephen was drunk and Riley was not going to do anything to someone who was not too aware of his surrounding. And it wouldn't be a pleasant wake up call either. But another part that hadn't been on the surface for quite sometime was urging Riley to give in to temptation. Stephen might not even remember it tomorrow. It was an impulsive move, way too impulsive for someone like Riley to make.

Stephen was already pushing down for a kiss and the part of Riley that didn't feel like saying no to Stephen pulled him down and pressed their lips together.

[Stephen Gage]

Riley tried to get a word out.

The fool.

Stephen would have none of that nonsense, thank you very much. He had much better things and people to do. Whatever rational or properly-behaving part of Stephen could have intervened in this situation (a rather large portion, to be sure, given his daily activities) was snoozing quite comfortably beneath a blanket of booze and lust. And there it would remain, for Stephen had on his drunkard cap. And for the brief moment when those two words cruised along the foggy haze of his mind, Stephen grinned and chuckled, partly at the visual image of such a thing as a drunkard cap, and partly because his diabolical plan to avail of everything Riley had to offer (but couldn't in public) seemed to be going swimmingly.

He was descending, he knew that much. Stephen had made the mistake of closing his eyes at one point, and decided that they were quite cozy closed, and relied on his skewed sense of balance and location to direct him. It worked well enough, apparently, because when he'd opened them again, he'd been on top of Riley, straddling him, and leaning down to claim his prize: the other man's face. He saw resistance in Riley's eyes, a dim light of it, and put himself promptly to the task of replacing that waning flicker with a more raging fire.

And how did he know he was descending? Because Riley was pulling him. And that was how Stephen knew he was well on his way to giving the fire in Riley's eyes a different kindling. He felt the back of his collar being pulled forward and succumbed to the tug, planting both hands on either side of Riley's head. Stephen's conscious thoughts were few, far between, and sluggish.

Which is why it was only when he had one hand half-way up Riley's shirt that he realized he still had clothes on. What the hell was that nonsense about? Clothes made the act of ""getting it on" rather difficult, as one might imagine, and Stephen endeavored immediately to rectify such a horrific problem. he left Riley's mouth behind, sitting up on the older man and fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Alcohol, as it is well known, does not a dexterous man make. He got most of the buttons done, and got frustrated with the entire ordeal and simply pulled it off, tossing it somewhere he'd be sure to spend a good twenty minutes discovering the following morning.

Satisfied for now, Stephen leaned back down to once more engage his date, and he even succeeded. For a little while. Before long (as Stephen's mind had long since lost the care to gauge minutes or seconds), the hand on the back of his head moved to his shoulder, and pushed instead of pulled. Stephen simply assumed a change of position was in order, and obliged by rolling over. One can imagine his disappointment when the man-sized heater that had kept his exposed chest warm was suddenly gone.

Stephen's eyes opened, his brow furrowing in confusion as he tried to focus his gaze on the standing form of Riley. A pitiful sort of whining noise escaped his lips before his throat decided to usher more sophisticated sounds into the world. "What... come on... what's the matter?"

[Riley Adams]

The force with which he had to summon just to push Stephen away was immense and terribly hesitant but Stephen was quite pliant as he rolled over and let Riley breathe. He slipped out of the bed and stood looking down at his inebriated...date? Surely he hadn't yet been labeled a boyfriend. They haven't even done anything but make out and even then it had been brief. And he wasn't going to go any further than kiss in Stephen's current state. As much as it might be a casual relationship with them, Riley wasn't going to make his second first time with another man after ten years be a meaningless drunken one night stand.

The whimper that came from Stephen made Riley get down on his knees and run his fingers through the other man's dark hair. With a smile on his face, Riley leaned forward to place a kiss on Stephen's forehead. "You're a little drunk." Understatement. "Go to sleep, alright? I'll have breakfast for you tomorrow morning."

Riley grabbed a spare blanket and a pillow before leaving the room. He went into the common bathroom to change and got to sleeping. He was already regretting leaving Stephen in his room simply because the man was half naked and if Riley's glazed eyes while Stephen started unbuttoning his shirt was any indication, Riley was ready to make the beast with two backs.

As it were...

---

Riley woke up with a start. Though his sleep had been dreamless, something nagged him to awake from his slumber. Stretching while getting off the couch, he went to his room and saw Stephen with his bare back exposed. Riley moved to the kitchen to make chocolate chip pancakes and freshly squeezed orange juice.

Getting things ready on the table, he also placed two pills on Stephen's side of the table and a glass of water.

[Stephen Gage]

Ah, Riley was on his knees! The whimpering had done the trick. Usually Stephen avoided the "pity me" route, but desperate times call for similar measures. Victory was nigh. Riley ran a hand through his hair, and the otherwise euphoric sensation was only magnified by the addled state of Stephen's mind. This was good. He liked where this was going. Riley leaned forward. Yes. Riley's lips puckered. Yes. Riley leaned Stephen's head in. Yes.

And kissed his forehead. Stephen's half-lidded eyes shot open in surprise, irritation, and no small amount of confusion as he felt Riley's kiss leave a damp mark in the middle of his forehead? Was that his idea of foreplay? He was moving in the entire opposite direction of what was proper if that was the case. No matter. Stephen could instruct him in the correct method. And he would have, too, if Riley's hand were not gently, but firmly, held against his shoulder. There were other avenues to his goal available to Stephen, but drunkness, tiredness, and frustration clouded his vision to them, and he merely remained rooted to his side of the bed, staring in drunken, lustful perplexity as Riley spoke.

"You're a little drunk."

Well stop the bloody presses. Stephen would have said those exact words, but his willpower failed him and they merely came out as a disappointed grunt. He knew where this was going. Riley had to go and be one of those wonderful men that teenage girls wrote of in their diaries and men like Stephen could hope only to meet in the strangest and most unforeseen manners. Which, actually, now that Stephen thought of it, he had. But as kind, and patient, and gentlemanly as Riley was, neither of those qualities were taking care of the more immediately pressing need dwelling down south. Nor did it seem Riley had any intention of addressing it.

Stephen could change that. The thought entered his spinning mind. Just a little gesture. A flick of the finger, and Riley on his knees would be put to much better use. As quickly as that thought came, it found itself met with steel control Stephen only ever summoned up when required to contain such urges. Riley had free will, and it would not do for Stephen to strip him of that. Unfortunate, yes, because the recruiter was in world-rocking mode, but morally superior. So when Riley told him to get some sleep, Stephen simply sighed, layed on his back, stretched, and rolled over, flopping down upon his stomach.

Just because he still possessed the presence of mind to grant Riley his own free will did not mean he was remotely. That blue-balling son of a bitch was- holy hell these pillows are comfy. Whatever annoyance and frustration had built up in the languid form of the recruiter flooded out of him as he sunk into the bed. Christ, he could get used to this. It wasn't long before all thoughts escaped his mind and Stephen fell more or less blissfully into the throes of sleep. He snored a bit, as he was wont to do, but the lightness of his head persisted until he was completely out, and after that, he hardly cared about anything.

---

Until morning. It took him twenty minutes to open his eyes, for fear that the blazing ball of fire in the sky had inexplicably grown closer to the earth and would painfully burn out his retinas the moment he lifted his eyelids. A wicked throbbing had gathered in his temples as the night had worn out, one he realized only when it ushered him from sleep into the waking world. He buried his face deeper in the pillows, aware that his lower half was still draped in pants and a blanket. Where had the blanket come from?

Riley. Right, that's where he was. That's why the bed was so comfortable. His bed at home was cozy, to be sure, but Riley must've plucked a few angels to get a mattress like this. Stephen relinquished himself to his further relaxation, finding himself filled with enough courage to rise only when a peculiar, wonderful smell invaded his nostrils.

Pancakes. And chocolate. And though he had a well-used gym membership and the body to show it, Stephen was a man who loved to eat. Especially when he was eating pancakes. And chocolate. He needed those things inside his stomach. Right the-fuck now. Stephen kept his eyes closed, waving one arm around the other side of the bed from his reclined position, attempting to find his shirt, the article itself located clear across the room. Damn. What to do, what to do...

Fuck it. Stephen remembered most of the night prior, and decided upon the following: If he was dressed as such, shirtless with jeans on, and in Riley's bed, chances are Riley' seen it. So to hell with it, he'd go discover the source of this delicious smell with or without the shirt.

Stephen opened his eyes, and what laid before him upon the nightstan may well have been heralded by a choir of seraphim: headache pills. And a glass of water. Yep, Riley was definitely a wonderful man. A tease. But wonderful regardless.

Stephen downed the pills, chugged most of the water, and rose, navigating his way through Riley's place with eyes still mostly closed, the morning light a shade too harsh for him. He found his way to the kitchen, familiar as it was, and stood in the doorway, sniffing. Riley stood in the kitchen, cooking, and from his stove wafted the most wonderful of smells. He leaned against the doorframe, smiling with delight at the smell of pancakes. He was relaxed, the final, fading vestiges of his accent slipping into his words. "You know, most people don't reward me for a night of debauchery with pancakes. I could get used to this."

[Riley Adams]

The radio was switched on to a low volume, cranking a chart topper for the week to which Riley hummed to as he flipped the last piece of pancake from his mix on the griddle. Blindly groping for the plate on the counter, he flipped the pancake on to the already mountaining pile before sliding it on to the dining table. It was then that he looked up to find Stephen shirtless standing at the kitchen doorway with a smile and that ridiculously attractive accent lilting his sentences.

Riley tilted his head just slightly and gave the other man a smile. "I wouldn't be a gracious host if I let you leave my house with an empty stomach on top of a headache." He motioned for Stephen to enter the kitchen, disregarding the fact that a shirtless Stephen did not help with his morning situation. He sat down quick before pouring Stephen a cold glass of orange juice and filling his plate with a few pieces of the pancake.

Starting on his own share, he nudged the butter dish and the squeeze bottle of maple syrup on to Stephen's side of the dining table. "Hope you slept well last night," Riley filled the silence out of politeness. The man who was so used to silence now couldn't stand it around one Stephen Gage. He didn't quite understand it but being around Stephen had Riley fixated on talking.

[Stephen Gage]

To say that Stephen was standing in the doorway would be to give the man just a shade more credit than he deserved. In fairness, he was indeed upright, more or less, and sober enough to stand if he so chose, but a fair portion of Stephen's weight rested against the doorframe, as did the side of his head. Pressing his temple against the frame soothed the steady thudding of his brain against the inside of his skull, and Stephen would well have stayed there perfectly happily had it not been for the wonderful scent of pancakes that continued to fill his nose. He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the reprieve from the painful light, the Top 40 song that filled his ears, and the smell of fresh pancakes. He would have laughed at the domesticity of it all if his stomach hadn't grumbled, a more pressing urge at this hour than humor.

Riley sat down with a quickness and urgency that Stephen failed to catch, the recruiter focusing instead of the wonderful sight of a glass being filled with orange juice and a plate of pancakes awaiting him. He took the seat just to the older man's left, sitting downheavily and enjoying the sensation of no longer resting his weight on his feet nor a doorframe. He'd done something to deserve this. Precisely what that something was, Stephen had no idea. But he was happy he'd done it, because as soon as Riley passed him the butter and syrup, a look of almost childish elation took over his face. He chuckled at Riley's mention of sleep, taking knife in hand and spreading a pat of butter across a few pancakes. "Not quite. I mean, I slept as well as I could've, I guess. But this head of mine's ready for another few hours."

Stephen lifted the syrup, pouring just enough across his breakfast to prevent it from becoming drowned in the stuff, and sliced off a piece. It was speckled. Ah, so that was the chocolate he'd smelled. Yep, Riley was a winner. Stephen chewed the delectable piece, and swallowed, casting a simultaneously playful and bashful glance at Riley. "So I woke up with no shirt on. To a man making chocolate chip pancakes with orange juice for breakfast, and good music on the radio." He fixed himself with a look of pretend thought, then leveled Riley with a jokingly suspicious gaze. "I'm not dead, right?"

[Riley Adams]

Riley simply laughed as he sawed off a piece of his pancake and stuffing it into his mouth at Stephen's subtle comment of wanting more sleep. Surely the man didn't mean here in Riley's apartment so it meant he was going to go home. Of course he would want to go home. There was nothing here keeping him from doing so. Oh wait, Stephen's car was at the town parking lot. That meant Riley was going to have to drive him home.

No biggie. Just let the man finish breakfast, hopefully find his shirt and they can mosie him on home.

Stephen's statement caused Riley to force his stupid grin from growing any wider but he did let out a sputter of a chuckle when Stephen gave him that accusatory look. Everything in his little box of retorts sounded a little too wrong for him to say, given the situation. And what would the situation be? Ah yes, Stephen was shirtless. That held too many implications that Riley was not going to poke with a hundred metre pole.

So he simply laughed again, his head bashfully set down as he tried to concentrate on his eating instead of the images that were popping into his head right then of the younger man in his bed in compromising positions. Curse you mental images.

"You look good for a dead guy, though." Riley said after swallowing a piece of his pancake. It was forward but Riley thought he deserved a little break from being too...proper. He was sure by now Stephen had to know how the landscaper felt about him so it wouldn't hurt. "Em...so I put your shirt behind the door." He let his voice trail as the hand holding the fork pointed in the general direction of the bedroom.

[Stephen Gage]

Improper as it might've been, Stephen could not honestly deny a level of sheer enjoyment in putting that red-faced look on the other man's visage. The averted eyes, the nervous-yet-honest laughter, the filling of his cheeks with color; yeah, Riley had serious adorableness capacity. Stephen had since become entirely certain that Riley's former flame was dead and gone, sad as it was, but had refrained from asking any questions on the matter. Death was always a tricky subject, and Stephen Gage was not smooth enough to inject a healthy dose of "So dead guy..." into a breakfast conversation. That required an entirely different degree of talent. But he contented himself with making the wonderfully-gentlemanly Riley sputter and blush.

Stephen laughed as Riley offered him the first compliment of the day, averting his own eyes briefly to his pancakes before fixing Riley with a deliciously fake knowing look. He arched his back, sitting up straight with an air of pomposity. "Well, I have to dress to impress, you know." He then glanced down at his own torso, and the shoulders deflated, Stephen falling back into his casual posture with another chuckle. "Okay, maybe not this instant, but it's a work in progress." However entertaining, the compliment was progress. Riley had scarcely complimented him on his looks before. Baby steps.

He was caught with his fork and a piece of pancake in his mouth when Riley directed his attention in the general direction of the bedroom. His shirt was on the back of the door? Well no wonder he couldn't find it! Stephen made quick work of the pancake, nodding in understanding as he looked off towards the door, itself just visible around the corner. "I was wondering where that thing went. Had my arm flopping around the bed for a few minutes looking for it. I couldn't be bothered to open my eyes."

He returned his gaze to Riley, casting him a warm, curious smile. One of his legs was bouncing beneath the table, his bare toes cool on the tile. "Where was it, by the way? I, em, remember getting it off..." he said with a shy chuckle, "but after that it's a bit dim. I imagine I fell asleep at one point."

[Riley Adams]

Stephen straightening up and peacocking made Riley laugh, his smile wide and his eyes glinting. "So much for dressing," he let slip before biting his lower lip in a sheepish grin. Riley knew he wasn't going to get over his awkwardness any time soon but the rare spurts of bravery were already showing and that was good enough. He just hoped Stephen thought it was good enough too.

He imagined Stephen did, seeing that it's already been three weeks and the green-eyed recruiter hadn't run for the hills just yet. That, to Riley, was a good sign. A good sign indeed.

"Oh," Riley offered Stephen an apologetic grin. "Sorry. I didn't want it to crumple," his shoulder lifted in a small shrug. The smile that came after had Riley's heart flip. His question was inevitable but Riley still blushed something fierce as yesterday's events ran through his mind. "I-it was on the floor by the bed." He gulped inaudibly as he forced himself to look at Stephen.

"Yeah, after I set the couch up, I hung your jacket and shirt up and you were already asleep so...I pulled the blanket up over you. Didn't want you to get cold or anything." Riley was known for his hospitality, that much was sure. Whether he was chronically shy was out of the question. Riley always wanted his guests to feel welcome, no matter the situation. And Stephen doubly so since he was Riley's...what, partner? Boyfriend? Date? Nothing fit but still...Stephen was more than a friend simply put so Riley's hospitable manner kicked into overdrive.

"I should have put it somewhere accessible, sorry." He offered another apologetic grin before pushing the plate of pancakes in Stephen's direction. "Have some more of the pancakes."

[Stephen Gage]

Stephen congenially waved off Riley's apology, shaking his head to indicate that the location of the shirt was far from any great concern of his. "It's no problem. Less for me to wrinkle, so you did me a favor." Strange that waking up shirtless would have such an innocent cause for Stephen. He certainly didn't go about being fruitful and multiplying all willy-nilly, but Stephen was no stranger to confusing mornings following drunken evenings, and waking up shirtless was rarely as simply as having misplaced the clothing the night prior. He caught the tail end of one of the most potent blushes he'd seen Riley display yet, and Stephen knew immediately with mixed curiosity and satisfaction, that innocent had hardly any place in a discussion of last night's events.

Riley continued on in his explanation, Stephen hiding his attempt at recollection behind the guise of drinking orange. He'd set up a couch? Oh, right, the one off in his living room. Had Riley slept there? That was likely, given that Stephen woke up alone and he'd just talked about setting it up. If that was the case then something happened. Stephen decided that the most likely courseof events was that he'd tried to display his affection for Riley in a more... physical manner than usual. But he'd been drunk. And Riley was chivalrous to a fault. But they must've been doing something before the couch and the sleep. Stephen didn't strip for nothing, after all.

Stephen masked all of this in a thankful, if somewhat regretful smile. "Well, thank you. And I apologize if I did anything a bit too... forward, for you." With his own habits, Stephen had little problem. He was accustomed to displaying affection in several ways, one of which was the one he'd attempted to instruct Riley in last night. And he certainly held affection for the other man. Hell, this was the longest relationship the recruiter had experienced in months, perhaps years. And this was only three weeks. Desperate to try and add some fun into the conversation, Stephen wiggled his eyebrows comically suggestively at Riley, leaning his head in slightly. "But can you blame me?"

The remainder of breakfast went by, more or less, swimmingly. Stephen and Riley continued talking and eating, the recruiter made jokes, and the landscaper slowly regrew the balls he seemed to have misplaced. Adorable and sweet and kind as it was, Riley's continued innocence was something of an obstacle. At some point or another, sooner or later, it'd have to go. If only for an hour.

The two washed the dishes together, and it was not long after that when Stephen had found his shirt, coat, socks, and shoes. Despite his subtle attempts to bring riley into the room with him while he fetched his shirt, the landscaper remained steadfastly beyond the borders of the bedroom, and Stephen resigned himself to that fact. He was tired, anyway. He could use a nap.

Riley had promised to drive Stephen home, the recruiter's car in the town parking lot and most assuredly freezing from a night of disuse and exposure to the elements. After some convincing, anyway, Riley had informed him that he'd rather die and go to hell than drive a frigid car, and the landscaper had agreed to drive him home.

Riley's car was warmer than Stephen's would have been, and the recruiter relaxed in the passenger seat, loving the flow of hot air coming from the vents. He'd already shared the details of how to find his apartment, so Stephen simply availed of the wonderful calming properties of warmth. "Winter is the worst time to have a hangover. It's much easier in the summer. And I don't have to wear this much clothing in the summer either. None of this four-layer nonsense."

[Riley Adams]

Nodding at Stephen's reassurance, Riley continued on with his breakfast and his explanation until the man thanked him and proceeded with an apology. Though it had been a little harrowing for the landscaper, it had given the older man a little confidence in a strange way. He had initiated the kiss, hadn't he? Sure, Stephen was the one who pulled him down but Riley was the one who pushed up for that kiss. Sure Stephen was drunk but it still counted in Riley's book.

The apology part of Stephen's sentence was met with a dismissive wave. The blush had even lessened by then when Riley assured Stephen that it hadn't been that big a deal. "You were drunk. I'm sure you didn't mean-" Riley paused mid sentence at Stephen's next comment. It was times like these that Riley wished he didn't have his crippling shyness so his blushes would at least be curbed. But no such luck, the ridiculous blush came back in full force.

Fortunately, however, the rest of breakfast went without a hitch. Riley even attempted to flirt with little touches every now and then and even a hip bump while they did dishes. He was actually surprised that Stephen had the adequate motor skills given that he was probably still a little frazzled from last night's drinking. Riley made a mental note to drop the whole disapproving alcohol stand if what could happen was a night with this man.

Cue the string quartets.

Riley was grateful for Stephen being back in his clothes as Riley drove him back to his apartment. He finally gave appropriate directions instead of yesterday's helpful "Over there" worthy of Google Earth.

"But I happen to like you in your suit." Riley shrugged. "You look debonair." He grinned as he leaned against his arm resting on the window shield. "I personally think you should be in suits more often." Would you look at that, Riley Adams was gaining some testicular fortitude! Glad tidings all around. This was of course mostly because Riley had a thing for guys in suits. But more on that later...

They arrived at Stephen's apartment with no further complications however and fortunately less awkwardness on Riley's part to which he was terribly grateful for. A chaste kiss goodbye later, Riley went home with a huge dorky grin, happy that Stephen wasn't witness to it.

[Stephen Gage]

Though it was a joy he shared alone, Stephen was thrilled to be back in his own apartment. The simple kiss with Riley begrudgingly sent to the back of his mind, Stephen focused his thoughts instead on the headache he still bore, and the tiredness in his bones. Riley's medicine had helped somewhat with the throbbing, but his eyelids felt sore and heavy from the ordeal. As soon as he got into the warmth of his apartment (kept as such by a total willingness to pay whatever heating bill came his way) Stephen tossed his coat onto his couch, walking in socks towards his bedroom, his aim the bathroom beyond. A warm shower would help the hangover fade. And once that over with, tea. Tea helped everything.

The shower did indeed help, and Stephen spent the better part of a quarter-hour simply standing beneath the showerhead and letting the warm water fall against his forehead. After he was done with that, dried and dressed in casual clothing far removed from the "debonair" taste of his suit, Stephen set the kettle to boil. The water just beginning to bubble, he clicked on the radio on his counter-top, switching it the very moment a deafening guitar riff came across the airwaves. he cringed as the sounds grated against his ears, the expression relaxing only when he landed on an easy-listening station he'd discovered months ago. Ah, that was better.

The kettle whistled, and Stephen set to work brewing his tea. Irish Breakfast, as was tradition. A splash of milk, a tiny bit of a sugar, and he was good to go. He fished a bottle of analgesic pills
out from his cabinet, staring at it with uncertainty. He'd taken two at Riley's. And that had been maybe an hour ago? Hour and a half? Another one wouldn't be too bad. The alcohol was out of his system anyway, so an overdose was unlike.y. Maybe just one. He popped a pill into his mouth and with a swig of tea, it was gone.

He shuffled to his bed, placing the cup of tea on the nightstand and sliding beneath the sheets himself. Warmth. Sweet, delicate, comfy, warmth. The smell of tea wrapped itself around his head and Stephen closed his eyes. Just for a little while. He had tea to drink after all.

It didn't take very long for the light snoring to start.

[Riley Adams]

The apartment suddenly felt empty. The smell of pancakes was gone, the coat on the coat rack had disappeared, and even the song on the radio had been switched off. Riley's hand swept against the spotless countertop of the kitchen as the kiss still lingered on his lips.

He couldn't go back to sleep now so Riley spent the day working on an apple pie, something that reminded him of Stephen. Images of last night streaming into his head once more. His sense imploded in his mind as he wondered what could have happened if he hadn't stopped Stephen in his tracks last night. That warm rock hard body against his...

Riley shook the image out of his head as he slid the pie into the waiting oven. He padded into his bedroom and saw the rumpled sheets and slight indent on the pillow where Stephen had laid his head. To avoid feeling like a creeper, Riley simply made his bed, smoothing one hand over the pillow Stephen had used last night.

Taking a quick shower, all he could think of was going back to Stephen. Yesterday would have been a mistake if he continued but...but what about today? It wouldn't be a mistake would it? Stephen would be sober and Riley is pretty willing right now. The other man had been really patient with him and had tolerated Riley's crazy...

He stepped out of the shower just in time to hear the buzzer for the pie. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he took it out and let it cool on a cooling rack while he toweled himself off, working up the courage to decide on going over to Stephen's. The pacing helped greatly and within minutes he was already bundling up and putting the pie in a paper bag.

The thoughts running through his head was fortunately not distracting enough to stop him from driving straight and after an hour or two of just driving around Pilot Ridge and consequently down the road where Stephen's apartment was, Riley finally parked his truck and got up to Stephen's door.

His fists was raised a few times but none of the tries bore fruit, or a knock. Something was holding him back but he didn't know what. He told himself to stop worrying, which wasn't too reassuring but it did have him rest his knuckle on the door. Taking a deep breath, his knuckles actually produced a sound against the door, a deafening and intimidating sound to the nervewracked forty-nine year old landscape artist.

Riley took deep gulps of breath, his hands grasping the bag of pie tightly as he waited for an answer.