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The low hum of the saxophone drifts through the dimly lit jazz bar, its melodies dancing between tables and curling around jazz appreciators like tobacco smoke.
Jimmy sits at the polish mahogany counter, fingers loose around a glass of whiskey. At the age of thirty, he’s perfected the art of looking present and elsewhere at the same time. He wears a caramel-coloured suit that makes his features stand out, matching the amber glow of the overhead light. He wears it elegantly, but also effortlessly, like another day at the office. It fits his frame, every thread custom-tailored, thirsty as it hugs his body.
The way he sits, one hand resting on the bar, the other occasionally lifting his glass, speaks of someone comfortable in refined spaces. This is not his first rodeo.
He glances at his watch for what must be the fourth time in ten minutes. Taking another small sip of his drink, his expression remains neutral, though a hint of something akin to boredom flickers on his face, unaware that he caught someone’s eye, four stools down.
A young man watching him with envy. Perhaps for the glass his lips touch or the watch that wraps around his wrist, or, maybe, just maybe, the person he’s impatiently waiting for.
Jimmy hides his smirk into his drink before he sets it down, now more absorbed with a game of who can steal glances the stealthiest. He exchanges smiles with the young man when their eyes finally meet, a beautiful coincidence that isn’t one at all. Jimmy’s heart races, enraptured by this man who radiates a masculine beauty enlaced with a touch of femininity—interwoven into his being. Not forced. Not pretended.
A mischievous, barely contained smile curls his lip. Hypnotising, the way he holds his olive martini, his gaze fixed on Jimmy like he’s challenging him to the world’s hottest duel.
He's been making eyes for the better part of twenty minutes now, and he isn't being subtle about it. Not that Jimmy minds. He welcomes it, in fact. If he was being honest, he’s not exactly sad about how his evening’s turned out.
It’s the unwavering weight of that gaze, the subtle nod and the way this beautiful boy bites his lip, a cruel, cruel insinuation for what Jimmy wants to be done to him by the kid himself.
It’s too late to fake a lack of interest, even though he’s still trying to. He’s not that desperate. Is he?
Neither men are willing to make the first move. Neither is brave enough to drop the curtain and approach the other.
Jimmy turns his attention back to his drink, absentmindedly nodding at the bartender who looks amused by this whole eye flirting going on in his bar.
That younger man looks exactly that, younger. Jimmy can tell, and yet the casual confidence emanating from his presence, the way he sits and that damn earring that glints every time he moves speak of a royal ego that demands to be appeased.
It’s the scent languidly crawling to him, the not-so obvious play at feigning disinterest. Jimmy wants it. But he, too, has his fair share of ego.
This kid is flirting with him. Even the deep-red painted walls can vouch for his suspicions.
The next thought rolls around in his mind, unbidden, but welcome. Jimmy takes another sip of his whiskey, the liquid burning his throat, before risking a direct glance at his not-so secret admirer. Their eyes meet, briefly. The young man’s lips curve into a smile that can only be described as triumphant. He raises his martini glass in a small salute before taking a very slow, very deliberate sip, never breaking eye contact.
Jimmy is the first to look away, though he makes every effort to make it feel slow, and smooth, rather than an escape from the warmth creeping up the back of his neck. And for once, he knows it has nothing to do with the alcohol.
The jazz quartet slowly transitions into something sultry, intimate, pushing them to act, to do what their body language has intended to speak.
It places them in their own movie where improvisation is the only method worthy to be taught.
Jimmy floats in utter bliss, in the atmosphere and a melody that pushes two strangers to lean closer, that thrives on secrets and stolen touches.
He checks his watch again. His blind date is now officially late—very late. He should probably call, should at least send a text to see if this date is still happening.
He intends to, right up until the moment he rests his hand on his pocket and then he’s not so interested anymore. How is he expected to be when his attention is stolen by that young man who seems more determined than anything to prove...something with those heavy lidded eyes.
Before Jimmy calculates his next move, the younger man stands, leaving his stool and smoothing down the front of his jacket with one hand while the other holds the martini elegantly.
He fixes his hair, brushing away the bangs teasing his vision before he moves, walking closer with an easy grace, with intention, nothing accidental or uncertain about his energy.
The gap is filled with a few steps until he slides into the neighbouring seat with a thrill he must think is concealed. But Jimmy knows better.
The drink is placed on the counter. "Hi." The single syllable is spoken with the warmth of a voice Jimmy has been fantasising about the last few minutes. And yet, it’s somehow exactly and the complete opposite of what he imagined. It’s sweet, friendly, tinged with a come hither invitation.
Jimmy turns, playing it off cool when he’s burning on the inside. He raises his eyebrows, a confused smile playing at his lips. "Hello."
Up close, this man is even more breath taking. Gorgeous. His dark hair is styled with just enough product to look deliberate without appearing overly styled, and his eyes hold a spark of intelligence mixed with unmistakable interest. The brown of his suit complements his skin tone perfectly, and the way his tie sits against his chest suggests he's taken great care with his appearance tonight. Perhaps he’s waiting for his own date.
“Tawinan.” The kid, Tawinan, offers his hand.
Jimmy takes it. “Jimmy.” The hand shake feels too formal for this game brewing between them. The sexual tension is seconds from exploding and here they are, exchanging names instead of something else.
"Drinking alone?" Tawinan asks, his voice carrying an intimate tone, too private for a public setting.
"Ah, yes?" Jimmy answers, then immediately winces at how uncertain he sounds.
Tawinan lets out a chuckle, the sound genuine, playful. "Are you asking me?"
Jimmy rubs at his neck. "Well, no,” he answers casually, crossing his arms for that cool effect he was trying to pull off earlier, “but I'm kind of waiting for my blind date to show up." He gestures to the far entrance, as if his absent date might materialise at any given moment. Please God no.
Tawinan leans in slightly, one eyebrow raised. "How do you know it's not me?" His mouth breaks into a toothy grin.
Jimmy blinks, taken off guard by the boldness. This kid is so close he can smell the distinct scent of his saliva mixed with the martini. Jesus, he’s not surviving tonight.
Taking a small sip of his drink, he buys himself a moment to respond. When he does, his tone is intentionally flat. "Because you don't have boobs."
The laugh that bursts from Tawinan is loud enough to turn a few heads. It's unrestrained and delightful, the kind of laugh that makes other people want to smile even if they don't know what's funny.
He sets his martini down on the bar, one hand briefly covering his mouth as he recovers from the bad joke.
“Fair enough.” The younger man nods. “So,” he drawls out, “you're bi." He gestures to him, throwing the words like a sure fact.
"What? Why would you think I'm bi?" Jimmy cocks his head.
Tawinan preserves his urge to roll his eyes. He leans his side against the counter, sick of playing pretend ping-pong. "You were making eyes at me earlier. Don't tell me you're straight because I'm not gonna believe that." He finishes with a taunting laugh.
Jimmy feels burning heat rise to his cheeks, and this time it definitely isn't the whiskey.
Has he been that obvious? He thought he was being discreet, but apparently not discreet enough. Rather than deny it, he clears his throat, his hand twirling his glass to maintain a weak level of composure. "So you come here often?"
Tawinan notices the sudden diversion but doesn’t comment. "You could say that. You?"
"Me too." Jimmy nods.
Tawinan’s face softens more, like it was possible. "Well, then I guess I don't come here often enough." He sneaks his hand closer, fingers an inch away from Jimmy’s.
Oh this kid is definitely flirting. Jimmy needs no proof. Those hazy eyes, the lust filling the innocence that was there before.
Innocence. Sure. Because that’s how innocent looks like.
The tension builds, hanging between the urge to take each other right here on this very counter. Like jazz notes, unmistakable, floating in the thick air. And that’s when Jimmy feels it. A flutter in his chest, a possibility he hasn’t dreamed of manifesting in his hand when he came to this lonely bar filled with lonelier people.
Tawinan glances at Jimmy's wrist. "Hmm. Your date is late. Think she stood you up?" He furrows his brow, almost genuine to anyone passing by but not to Jimmy. He can unmask that little hint of joy anywhere.
"I don't know." Jimmy shrugs a shoulder. He leans in closer, their breaths entrapped in one another, enticing the kid to just fucking say it.
"You gonna call her?" Tawinan asks with genuine interest, putting Jimmy on the spot. What the hell is this gorgeous man doing? Does he actually want him or is he just stringing him along like meat on a hook?
"I don't think so." The words slip out, too late to be swallowed back when Jimmy realises what he’s said. But he no longer cares. Because this, right here, the way this kid’s beautiful face lights up, the way his confidence returns as though he was afraid Jimmy will turn him down. This, all of it, grants Jimmy a rare surety that he’s finally done the right choice in a life full of bad decisions.
Tawinan drains the last of his martini before plucking the olive off the stick with his teeth.
Jimmy hangs his mouth open, the sight alone makes him twitch in his pants.
The younger man catches him, his expression shifting, serious, laced with intent close enough that Jimmy gets a strong whiff of his cologne—woody with hints of citrus.
When he finally breaks the silence, it’s with his warm breath against Jimmy's ear, his smile evident in his voice. "Wanna ditch her and do something fun?"
Jimmy's heart stutters. He pulls back slightly to look at his face, searching for... what? Sincerity? Jest?
All he finds is an openness to trust and an eager to please. Confidence, sure, but for what purpose? Jimmy suspects it’s all for show, to make himself more desirable. Which is downright insane. This kid had at least half a dozen eyes glued to his every step as he sauntered over. They are not to blame. He’s beautiful. Handsome. Adorably confident. Playful yet serious when he needs to be. A million paradoxical features amalgamated into one and Jimmy hasn’t a clue how he knows it. He just does.
He lets out a nervous chuckle, the jazz music the only one speaking. "You an escort or something? You're coming on to me way too strong."
Tawinan's head falls back with a laugh, the same uninhibited sound that had captivated Jimmy minutes before. "How dare you?" He questions, feigning offense while secretly thriving on the banter.
Jimmy puts his hands up, “okay, sorry, my bad.” He clicks his tongue, assessing the man’s intention. “So, if you’re not an escort, then..." He gives the younger man an expectant look.
"No. I am not." Tawinan's voice drops lower, each word a whispered, seductive breath. "If it's with you, I'm happy to do it for free."
Jimmy gulps, his grip tightening around his forgotten whiskey.
"Well, if you're not straight, of course.” Tawinan gives him an up and down look.
Jimmy lets go of his drink. He turns to the kid, meeting him dead on, their knees almost touching. "Who says I'm straight?"
"So you admit you're bi.” He hums. “Interesting.”
Jimmy draws in a breath. "I don’t know about that either. I think I might have been permanently converted tonight."
The words hang between them, electric, loaded with dirty promise.
Tawinan’s smile no longer carries a pretend confidence for the wrong reasons. No. It’s bright, warm, filled with heat that lightens the load of loneliness Jimmy has been carrying for years.
He stands abruptly, deeming this part of the night to be over in favour of starting another. He extends a hand that somehow tells Jimmy it’s never been turned down in its life. "Then let's go. I have a room upstairs." He announces with a fearless jubilance.
Jimmy stares at the offered hand for a moment, his mind racing through a dozen different thoughts. His date clearly isn't coming. And this beautiful, bold young man is offering him a night of spontaneous pleasure. An unbroken, soulful connection he’s been starving to sneak a taste, and someone who lights his body on fire, who would never allow his heart to second-guess itself when they’re together.
Without a moment’s hesitation, he accepts the offer, feeling the warmth of the younger man's palm, the strength in his grip. I’ll never let you go.
Tawinan pulls him to his feet with surprising ease, and suddenly they're standing close, so close that Jimmy can see the flecks of light brown in those eyes. They stand there for a heartbeat, two, the world narrowing to just the space between them.
The jazz music swelters around them, the saxophone hitting a particularly soulful note that seems to echo what Jimmy feels building in his chest, ever since he laid eyes on this man.
Amidst the lust and hunger, a titillating curiosity appears, pushing towards a feeling a twin to recognition. Destined to meet in this very moment. In this exact place that has their names stamped all over it.
Tawinan leads the way to the back of the bar, his hand still clasped around Jimmy's. They weave between tables, past couples leaning close over candlelight, past solo drinkers nursing their contemplations and the woes of their single life.
The soothing music follows their footsteps, the piano and bass lurking behind their shadow, while the saxophone plays a soundtrack to their departure, each note encased with envy.
Behind the bar, the bartender—a man with salt-and-pepper hair—watches them go. He's been wiping down the same spot on the counter for the past five minutes, his attention split between his duties and the romance unfolding before him.
As the two men disappear behind the stairs that lead to the hotel rooms above, he shakes his head with a small, fond smile.
Five years together and these two still manage to find the time to roleplay a different character each month.
What he wouldn't give for a love like that...