(no subject)

[asoncalledgabriel]

Gabriel loves dancing. All kinds, really. The wild reels and steps of his childhood and the gyrating dances he'd learned in dark corners and even the foxtrot and waltz he'd been forced to learn with strict nuns keeping time.

There are no nuns tonight, though.

The semester has been a bear, with the only high point of his week sometimes being the class time he gets to spend with Anthony. And, maybe, the after-hours sessions they have together: he's an avid student, even half dressed and falling into bed he'll tease about grammar and conjugation. He'll hold little conversations in French as they lay together after, sharing cigarettes.

But not tonight. Tonight, they are both between projects and assignments and Gabriel wants to be out. He's texted Anthony, inviting (urging) him to come out for some fun while they both have the energy. Gabriel's been there for a little while, thoroughly enjoying himself while he waits for his--

Anthony.

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[asoncalledgabriel]

Gabriel turns his head toward Anthony's fingers and lets his lips brush against them. The ghost of a kiss, or the promise of one. He looks at Anthony, all coy and sweet.

"Maybe in the apartment, where no one is looking."

Well, if Anthony won't dance with him here, or in public, he's happy to start offering alternatives.

[flightfromennui]

There is something a little bit electric, knowing he could kiss Gabriel to his heart’s content, right here, if he wanted to. Such places had existed in his London, too, but the threat of arrest had not gone away even in those secret bars.

Anthony is largely indifferent, even disdainful, of the new freedom Darrow offers. But now he finds himself smiling. He could do what he wanted, even if he doesn’t.

He lifts a brow. “Are you really going to be focused on dancing by then?"

[asoncalledgabriel]

"Is that a challenge? I think I'm game if it means getting you to foxtrot or something around the hazards in the living room," he quips. Gabriel shifts closer, eyes bright.

This sort of thing would never be allowed where he came from. He didn't know clubs for people like him even existed, anywhere, even when he was getting ready to leave Derry. London was full of possibilities he didn't even have names for. Darrow has just as many and far fewer laws regarding his conduct in public or in private. The freedom of it still feels like waiting to take a breath, like any moment it'll be taken away.

But Christ, he'd rather be daring than terrified.