The expression of Cecil's face does several things in rapid succession. First, the vague, adoring smile disappears from it. Then it is surprised. And then it is confused. And then it is disappointed. "Oh," he says, as he makes a visible effort to think about something that is not Carlos' fingers in his hair, and the warmth of Carlos' skin under his hands, which... which are still on Carlos.
Uncertainly, he removes them.
"Back to... to my apartment?" he asks, and this is so hesitant that it has to be an honest question. Cecil has gotten good at asking this, and things like this, in a way that implies that anything is going to happen. Orchestrating the things that don't happen in a way that feels like they could is half of the act. If this evening had gone as planned, he would have been saying this with a grin, right into Carlos' ear, just loud enough for any nearby microphone to pick up, and preparing to feign disappointment when Carlos recited some rehearsed reason that he couldn't come.
But now, he sounds unsure. He feels like something has just ended, like he has just been told something he didn't want to hear, and with the alcohol still making his head feel lighter than usual (or is it the taste of Carlos' mouth still on his tongue?), he finds himself needing to ask for this clarification, even though it might come with consequences.
Was this a mistake? is what he is really asking. Do you think this is a mistake? Have I done something wrong? And-- yes, even, there is a part of the question that is really asking, that dares still to hope-- ...Do you want to come back to my apartment? Does this have to be over?
He glances at the party again, which is emptying out more quickly now, and there is a question in that glance, too. They will have to decide here and now whether or not they are going to be alone tonight.
no subject
Uncertainly, he removes them.
"Back to... to my apartment?" he asks, and this is so hesitant that it has to be an honest question. Cecil has gotten good at asking this, and things like this, in a way that implies that anything is going to happen. Orchestrating the things that don't happen in a way that feels like they could is half of the act. If this evening had gone as planned, he would have been saying this with a grin, right into Carlos' ear, just loud enough for any nearby microphone to pick up, and preparing to feign disappointment when Carlos recited some rehearsed reason that he couldn't come.
But now, he sounds unsure. He feels like something has just ended, like he has just been told something he didn't want to hear, and with the alcohol still making his head feel lighter than usual (or is it the taste of Carlos' mouth still on his tongue?), he finds himself needing to ask for this clarification, even though it might come with consequences.
Was this a mistake? is what he is really asking. Do you think this is a mistake? Have I done something wrong? And-- yes, even, there is a part of the question that is really asking, that dares still to hope-- ...Do you want to come back to my apartment? Does this have to be over?
He glances at the party again, which is emptying out more quickly now, and there is a question in that glance, too. They will have to decide here and now whether or not they are going to be alone tonight.