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Brooklyn au - After Work
2018-12-13 12:31 amThe moon is high and bright in the sky, spilling white, watery light down upon Enniscorthy and gilding Jim’s house in silver. Rafter Street is quiet as he guides his car to a stop, it’s not terribly late but at half eleven, it’s well past his neighbours’ bedtime.
Of all the windows in their house, only the front parlour shows any signs of life. Thin rails of light trace the shapes of the windows behind the heavy drapes and as Jim ascends the steps, keys at the ready, he can faintly hear the strains of one of Ben’s jazz records playing from within. In an instant, he’s through the door and locking it. Pulling the curtain across to keep out the draughts, he sets his keys on the side table, adjusting one of the pictures that always falls crooked when the door slams.
“Jim?”
Ben’s voice beckons him from the parlour. In two steps, Jim is leaning against the doorframe of the room, smiling at the tableau that greets him. Ben is sprawled across the sofa, Tilly purring like a small engine on his chest. He gently rests his book upon her back.
“I’d get up but this cat is too heavy.”
Jim smiles fondly. The strains of the Jimmy McPartland Orchestra tumble down the stairs from where the Victrola is playing in their bedroom.
“You needn’t have waited up for me.”
Jim crosses the room to thoroughly kiss Ben, who struggles to a sitting position, Tilly clasped to his chest.
“I don’t like to go to bed without you.” He sets his book on the coffee table in front of the sofa then hooks his fingers in the collar of Jim’s shirt, reeling him down for another kiss. Ben wrinkles his nose. “Jim, you know I love you, but you smell like the Guinness factory.”
Jim collapses on the sofa beside Ben, planting his elbow on the arm of the sofa he rests his head against his fist. “There was a rather heated discussion of De Valera's latest budget schemes, I had to separate Stephen and George. A bit of spilled alcohol is better than a ruined chair.”
“Yeah well, whiskey and politics rarely mix.” Ben grins, setting Tilly down on the cushions between them. He pats his lap. With a quiet groan of relief, Jim kicks off his brogues and hoists his feet into Ben’s lap. He grunts as Ben digs his thumb into the arch of Jim’s right foot. “His ridiculously austere economic plans are going to cost him seats in the next election.”
“Ah!” Jim slumps lower on the sofa, pushing his feet further into Ben’s lap. “I have no doubt-don’t stop, that feels good.”
Ben smiles as a comfortable silence falls between them. After a few minutes, Ben’s talented hands begin to slide further up Jim’s legs. Tilly yawns hugely as she curls into a tighter ball; she sighs once before her purr rumbles to life again. From upstairs, the music has died away and there’s only the sounds of silence and the groans of the settling house. Ben gently sets Jim’s feet on the floor.
“Come on.” He holds out his hands so as to pull Jim to standing. “Let’s go get in the bath”
“And then to bed?” Jim says hopefully.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Of all the windows in their house, only the front parlour shows any signs of life. Thin rails of light trace the shapes of the windows behind the heavy drapes and as Jim ascends the steps, keys at the ready, he can faintly hear the strains of one of Ben’s jazz records playing from within. In an instant, he’s through the door and locking it. Pulling the curtain across to keep out the draughts, he sets his keys on the side table, adjusting one of the pictures that always falls crooked when the door slams.
“Jim?”
Ben’s voice beckons him from the parlour. In two steps, Jim is leaning against the doorframe of the room, smiling at the tableau that greets him. Ben is sprawled across the sofa, Tilly purring like a small engine on his chest. He gently rests his book upon her back.
“I’d get up but this cat is too heavy.”
Jim smiles fondly. The strains of the Jimmy McPartland Orchestra tumble down the stairs from where the Victrola is playing in their bedroom.
“You needn’t have waited up for me.”
Jim crosses the room to thoroughly kiss Ben, who struggles to a sitting position, Tilly clasped to his chest.
“I don’t like to go to bed without you.” He sets his book on the coffee table in front of the sofa then hooks his fingers in the collar of Jim’s shirt, reeling him down for another kiss. Ben wrinkles his nose. “Jim, you know I love you, but you smell like the Guinness factory.”
Jim collapses on the sofa beside Ben, planting his elbow on the arm of the sofa he rests his head against his fist. “There was a rather heated discussion of De Valera's latest budget schemes, I had to separate Stephen and George. A bit of spilled alcohol is better than a ruined chair.”
“Yeah well, whiskey and politics rarely mix.” Ben grins, setting Tilly down on the cushions between them. He pats his lap. With a quiet groan of relief, Jim kicks off his brogues and hoists his feet into Ben’s lap. He grunts as Ben digs his thumb into the arch of Jim’s right foot. “His ridiculously austere economic plans are going to cost him seats in the next election.”
“Ah!” Jim slumps lower on the sofa, pushing his feet further into Ben’s lap. “I have no doubt-don’t stop, that feels good.”
Ben smiles as a comfortable silence falls between them. After a few minutes, Ben’s talented hands begin to slide further up Jim’s legs. Tilly yawns hugely as she curls into a tighter ball; she sighs once before her purr rumbles to life again. From upstairs, the music has died away and there’s only the sounds of silence and the groans of the settling house. Ben gently sets Jim’s feet on the floor.
“Come on.” He holds out his hands so as to pull Jim to standing. “Let’s go get in the bath”
“And then to bed?” Jim says hopefully.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
