It's gentle. Easily shrugged off. Now he's thrown himself into many a fool's errand sort of fling since Desmond. None probably so reckless as this in some barmy, dream dimension town where things go tits up at the drop of a hat.
Easy to tell that Grady can handle himself. Even drunk as he is, John can tell. Just like he doesn't have to feel the cold of a room to know something else might be there with him. He doesn't want to push too hard too fast but there's a buzzing in his brain that's begging for it.
Subtlety is for little girls with notes passed in class and playing coy. Not a couple of devious bastards like they are. Granted, John could be wrong in that assumption, but the warmth in his gut that's got nothing to do with alcohol tells him otherwise. This man isn't puppy dogs and rainbows any more than he is.
He wants to lean in and kiss him right then but a group of people comes round another corner and John uses his hand on Grady's elbow to guide them closer to the building, affording them a little reprieve from the glaring sunlight.
"Yeah---" A raspy chuckle escapes him. "We probably ought to."
Now standing up and out in the sunlight and fresh air, it's getting increasingly difficult for Grady to deny that he's just spent the last few hours working his way through as much alcohol as he can cope with in one sitting. He can already feel the edges of a hangover playing around the back of his skull. Competing with the urge to sit back down again is the urge to push John up against a wall and investigate the open collar of his shirt, but he ends up doing neither when they're interrupted.
Grady lets himself be guided sideways, then decides that he's tired of both the goddamn daylight and standing in the street and wants to get on with making bad decisions while he's still conscious. He tugs his arm out of John's grip and takes a few slightly wandering steps in the direction that his companion had previously indicated, then glances back over his shoulder.
Hurry up, he signs, automatically, then remembers belatedly who he's talking to. He starts patting down his pockets instead, hunting his own cigarettes. "Let's go, man, come on."
John would say he isn't near his limit but he's a functional alcoholic at the best of times. Least he owns it. It might be murder in the morning or whatever this bloody place wants to call it now, but at least there's some good times to be had before cold reality sets back in.
Bastards is muttered under his breath at the group that interrupted as he's left clutching empty air when the other man starts off down the sidewalk. It takes him a moment for his head to catch up. Slow on the draw. He notes the sign and doesn't know what it means. If anything he's more familiar with any BSL and that's dodgy at best. An old fling.
His feet catch up with the rest of him and he's moving, swaying into step next to the other man as he goes. He points up towards where they are headed.
"Starling, like the bird? Nice name. What's the point of naming streets that don't exist, huh? If this is a dream. Like, who ordered that piece of fucking bureaucracy, the deer?"
The commentary is given as Grady searches for his smokes, then apparently gives up the job as too complicated for his brain to handle right now. He does find a toothpick in his pocket and sticks it between his teeth instead, mostly to give his restlessness something to bite down on.
It's more than a little strange to be walking through the town during a day that feels like night (or is it night that feels like daytime?). In his life before Deerington, he never had much cause to wander around a place unless he was casing the joint or following a mark. He and Wes didn't have much in the way of downtime, and what they did have was usually taken up with getting supplies and patching themselves up for the next job. Having time to do whatever he wants is something Grady is still getting used to.
"Just like that, old son. Dunno. Figure whoever in charge wants us to feel as at ease as they can. Bit of something normal-like here. Almost homey if you don't look too hard at it," he muses aloud in answer. He offers a rough chuckle in response to Grady's thoughts on it, eyes crinkling in amusement.
He motions when they wander up to the junction and starts heading up towards the house. It's nothing in looks like his old place back in England but it's still got that odd feel to it. Like there's something left behind. He'd almost appreciate it if it didn't leave a bloody sour taste in his mouth.
"Nevermind the bloody street names." John mutters accusatorily as he jabs a finger skyward. "I want to know what's going on with whatever stupid git decided it should be always sunny. Cause whoever they are? They're a tosser."
Hello God, is that you? It's me, John. You're a wanker.
"Hey man, careful with that thing." Grady makes a lazy swipe at John's hand, trying to capture that pointing finger. "That's how you get, you know, smited. The wrath from on high atop the whatever. You have to turn around three times and spit, or something."
His commitment to the argument fades quickly, especially once he realises he's still holding the other man's hand. He looks at it for a second and then lets go, focusing instead on the house as they come up to it.
Bladdered enough that he doesn't try to keep his distance, his hand is easily captured. The jostling is enough to send him a step into the other man's space as they continue to walk and he has to sniff, trying to clear his head as they regain the right direction. He laughs, actually laughs, this time. It's not a sound one ties to him unless it's laced with sarcasm.
"Smited, eh? I dare 'im. He'd have nobody worth their salt left to clear up his mess," spat out derisively. How's that?
Distracted, though, by the lingering hand on his own. He follows it as it relinquishes his own, clearing his throat as he shoves it in his coat pocket.
"Yeah, sure. That'd be almost normal in my book."
He heads up the stairs and opens the door, not having bothered with locking it up. He's got enough protections that it shouldn't be a problem. And it isn't as if he's overly concerned by keeping out thieves and the like. Especially if he can manage Jasper's old zero gravity trap here. That could be fun.
If it's not already been brought home by his ongoing skepticism, Grady's lack of any magical ability is made even more obvious by a complete absence of reaction to John's protective wards. As he follows John up the steps and into the front hall, he looks around the place with polite, if slightly woozy, interest. It's definitely a big, old, and pretty empty house.
He scratches his beard thoughtfully and wanders a little further in, peering around like a guy trying to get rid of the habit of keeping an eye one very possible exit.
His wards have been dodgy as of late. Works on some, not on others. He hasn't been able to work out exactly why, so he just takes it as he goes. John watches him look around, but doesn't comment on it. Figures he's just curious. Even if it is cautious, not that he can blame him with how this place makes him feel at the best of times so far.
He shrugs his coat off and tosses it over the back of the sofa.
Grady lets that thought and the heat still idling in the pit of his belly urge him forward, crowding into John's personal space, meaning to back him up against it. One hand returns to the front of the other man's shirt as the other slides into his hair, pulling his head down to kiss him, meaning to pay back every bit of patience he's had to hold on to since they left the bar.
The mention of getting a drink at his place quickly flees his mind when the other man says that.
Distance closed between them, John lets him crowd him back against the sofa. He can feel the warmth of his hand through his shirt as he goes with the tug to pull him into a kiss. The rasp of his beard, the scent of cigarette smoke heavy and the taste of liquor still there. It's easy to get lost in. Easy to return the kiss with a heady sense of urgency.
Reaching out, he blindly hooks fingers in his belt look to tug a little then John reaches up push at the coat on Grady's shoulders.
"Fuck." Grady breathes out the curse against John's mouth. He hasn't exactly been steady since they left the bar, but he feels nothing but clumsy now, all the layers of cloth between him and John suddenly impossible to get off just as their absence becomes vital.
He shrugs out of his coat, letting it fall onto the floor with a thud -- probably not the best idea with a loaded gun in the pocket but he's not exactly thinking with a clear head right now -- and starts to unbutton his shirt, then gives it up once he remembers he has more interesting things to do, like trying to get John's belt undone and leaning back into the heat of that kiss.
John grins against the other man's mouth at the curse but a laugh doesn't quite escape him so much as a huff of breath. Neither of them are steady as they might normally be. John feels downright silly here and now, fumbling like a teenager near about.
The coat hits harder than he expects but he's quickly distracted by Grady's proximity. By the skin exposed with each button and the fumbling at his belt. Good idea, that. Maybe in a better spot than the back of the bloody sofa so they don't go tumbling over like a pair of idiots. He thinks it but the words don't come. Too distracted by the rest, kiss more sloppy than what might be if he had a head for finesse at the moment.
He doesn't and he's glad for that. Nothing but spur of the moment bad decisions that he may or may not have to pay for come morning. Doesn't stop him from impatiently tugging the other man's belt loose as one hand reaches up, clasping around the back of his neck to keep him close as they kiss.
Breaking away is done with no small amount of reluctance, panting a breath in a second, forehead to forehead with him. His voice is a little rough.
"Should maybe consider taking this upstairs, yeah?"
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Easy to tell that Grady can handle himself. Even drunk as he is, John can tell. Just like he doesn't have to feel the cold of a room to know something else might be there with him. He doesn't want to push too hard too fast but there's a buzzing in his brain that's begging for it.
Subtlety is for little girls with notes passed in class and playing coy. Not a couple of devious bastards like they are. Granted, John could be wrong in that assumption, but the warmth in his gut that's got nothing to do with alcohol tells him otherwise. This man isn't puppy dogs and rainbows any more than he is.
He wants to lean in and kiss him right then but a group of people comes round another corner and John uses his hand on Grady's elbow to guide them closer to the building, affording them a little reprieve from the glaring sunlight.
"Yeah---" A raspy chuckle escapes him. "We probably ought to."
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Grady lets himself be guided sideways, then decides that he's tired of both the goddamn daylight and standing in the street and wants to get on with making bad decisions while he's still conscious. He tugs his arm out of John's grip and takes a few slightly wandering steps in the direction that his companion had previously indicated, then glances back over his shoulder.
Hurry up, he signs, automatically, then remembers belatedly who he's talking to. He starts patting down his pockets instead, hunting his own cigarettes. "Let's go, man, come on."
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Bastards is muttered under his breath at the group that interrupted as he's left clutching empty air when the other man starts off down the sidewalk. It takes him a moment for his head to catch up. Slow on the draw. He notes the sign and doesn't know what it means. If anything he's more familiar with any BSL and that's dodgy at best. An old fling.
His feet catch up with the rest of him and he's moving, swaying into step next to the other man as he goes. He points up towards where they are headed.
"Starling Lane is where we're headed, chief."
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The commentary is given as Grady searches for his smokes, then apparently gives up the job as too complicated for his brain to handle right now. He does find a toothpick in his pocket and sticks it between his teeth instead, mostly to give his restlessness something to bite down on.
It's more than a little strange to be walking through the town during a day that feels like night (or is it night that feels like daytime?). In his life before Deerington, he never had much cause to wander around a place unless he was casing the joint or following a mark. He and Wes didn't have much in the way of downtime, and what they did have was usually taken up with getting supplies and patching themselves up for the next job. Having time to do whatever he wants is something Grady is still getting used to.
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He motions when they wander up to the junction and starts heading up towards the house. It's nothing in looks like his old place back in England but it's still got that odd feel to it. Like there's something left behind. He'd almost appreciate it if it didn't leave a bloody sour taste in his mouth.
"Nevermind the bloody street names." John mutters accusatorily as he jabs a finger skyward. "I want to know what's going on with whatever stupid git decided it should be always sunny. Cause whoever they are? They're a tosser."
Hello God, is that you? It's me, John. You're a wanker.
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His commitment to the argument fades quickly, especially once he realises he's still holding the other man's hand. He looks at it for a second and then lets go, focusing instead on the house as they come up to it.
"Nice place. Who'd you live with, the Munsters?"
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"Smited, eh? I dare 'im. He'd have nobody worth their salt left to clear up his mess," spat out derisively. How's that?
Distracted, though, by the lingering hand on his own. He follows it as it relinquishes his own, clearing his throat as he shoves it in his coat pocket.
"Yeah, sure. That'd be almost normal in my book."
He heads up the stairs and opens the door, not having bothered with locking it up. He's got enough protections that it shouldn't be a problem. And it isn't as if he's overly concerned by keeping out thieves and the like. Especially if he can manage Jasper's old zero gravity trap here. That could be fun.
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He scratches his beard thoughtfully and wanders a little further in, peering around like a guy trying to get rid of the habit of keeping an eye one very possible exit.
"On your own, huh?"
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He shrugs his coat off and tosses it over the back of the sofa.
"Just me, yeah."
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Grady lets that thought and the heat still idling in the pit of his belly urge him forward, crowding into John's personal space, meaning to back him up against it. One hand returns to the front of the other man's shirt as the other slides into his hair, pulling his head down to kiss him, meaning to pay back every bit of patience he's had to hold on to since they left the bar.
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Distance closed between them, John lets him crowd him back against the sofa. He can feel the warmth of his hand through his shirt as he goes with the tug to pull him into a kiss. The rasp of his beard, the scent of cigarette smoke heavy and the taste of liquor still there. It's easy to get lost in. Easy to return the kiss with a heady sense of urgency.
Reaching out, he blindly hooks fingers in his belt look to tug a little then John reaches up push at the coat on Grady's shoulders.
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He shrugs out of his coat, letting it fall onto the floor with a thud -- probably not the best idea with a loaded gun in the pocket but he's not exactly thinking with a clear head right now -- and starts to unbutton his shirt, then gives it up once he remembers he has more interesting things to do, like trying to get John's belt undone and leaning back into the heat of that kiss.
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The coat hits harder than he expects but he's quickly distracted by Grady's proximity. By the skin exposed with each button and the fumbling at his belt. Good idea, that. Maybe in a better spot than the back of the bloody sofa so they don't go tumbling over like a pair of idiots. He thinks it but the words don't come. Too distracted by the rest, kiss more sloppy than what might be if he had a head for finesse at the moment.
He doesn't and he's glad for that. Nothing but spur of the moment bad decisions that he may or may not have to pay for come morning. Doesn't stop him from impatiently tugging the other man's belt loose as one hand reaches up, clasping around the back of his neck to keep him close as they kiss.
Breaking away is done with no small amount of reluctance, panting a breath in a second, forehead to forehead with him. His voice is a little rough.
"Should maybe consider taking this upstairs, yeah?"