| New York telephone conversation...
||[Jan. 27th, 2004|10:39 pm]
... between George and Gregory. But only one of them's in New York. Playas, not haytas.|
It's gone midnight, and George is just back from the bar, where he's been knocking back the contents of a local distillery with Adrien Brody. Brody has an early call in the morning, though, and George has a phone call to make.
He does the math - it'll be about seven o'clock in New York, which means Gregory could easily be at home, or at the office. But he lost some office time in coming out here for the weekend, which means he'll be making up for it now. George sits on the end of his bed and dials the office.
Lists, lists, more lists. Another jotted note on the side of his legal pad. The idea came to him last night as he lay in bed, feeling lonely for George and homesick in his own apartment. He didn't sleep a wink for the rest of the night.
It's a big idea. A giant frightening leap from his quietly structured life to something - something he's admittedly dreamed of for years. And now - maybe. Just maybe.
The phone buzzes as Lorraine has already left and set the calls to come straight to Gregory's line. He picks up absently, writing another spate of ideas down before he forgets.
"Gregory Dunkirk," he says crisply.
"I love it when you talk formal to me," George chuckles. "Hey handsome. I'm drinking heavily in your absence."
Gregory brightens at the sound of George's voice over the line. He drops his pen and leans back in the chair. "I'll pretend to be flattered by the pickling of your liver and assume it's because you miss me so much."
"Also, it's pretty good sauce," George smirks. "But, yeah, I miss you like crazy." George kicks off his shoes and lies back on his hotel bed. "How’re things in the big city? You looking after yourself?"
"The big city is cold, damn cold and we're getting snow later on tonight. I'm doing my best to stay warm - lonely as I am and all," Gregory teases gently. "How's work for you? No delays I hope?"
George laughs at the subtle way Gregory shoehorns that in there. "Nothing that'll hold me. I'll be home on Friday, like I promised." Home. He wonders if using that word gives Gregory the same delicious butterflies it gives him.
Home. Meaning New York, meaning Gregory and it's all Gregory can do not to spin in his chair like a child. "The apartment feels empty without you," he admits softly.
"Yeah," George says distantly, feeling the same way about this hotel room. "I wish you could have stayed out here a little longer. We should take a real holiday some time."
The lists on his desk seem to stand up and wave, and Gregory resists the urge to spill his surprise before details have been worked out. "With our schedules it won't be easy but... I promise. I'll do everything in my power to make sure we spend some real time together." He tugs his tie, trying not to count the hours until Friday. "I've cleared my calendar as best I can while you're here. So... so we can have some fun. Do touristy things if you'd like."
George chuckles. Touristy things. He figures Gregory wants to win him over to his adopted city, and he's not going to resist the seduction attempt. "That'd be nice," he says. "But it's you I want to see, not New York."
"George, I'll be with you as we do the touristy things," Gregory says dryly. "And we'll be li... we'll be at the apartment together - I'm sure you'll get sick of my ugly mug in no time."
George sighs longingly. "Yeah, I hope so," he teases. "It's interfering with my work, the way I spend all day thinking about those soft, full lips, those beautiful ice blue eyes, those handsome, razor sharp cheekbones and that wonderful mussable hair." He fidgets on the bed, having managed to get himself flustered with his own musings.
Gregory bites his lip, rubbing a hand against his thigh - nervous energy has suddenly welled up inside him. "Sounds like a movie star," he says slowly. "Should I be jealous of this man who distracts you so much?"
"Definitely," George replies, getting an idea for some mischief. "In fact, you should head over to his apartment tonight and give him some abuse."
"I'm a lawyer George, not a... a... henchman." Gregory puts his hand over his eyes, laughing softly. "Shall I show up with a sock full of pennies and smack him?"
George tuts. "Not the kind of abuse I was thinking of, Greg. Since you're the guy I spend my whole day thinking about, you'll have to... abuse yourself."
Gregory feels his face flush hotly. It took him a second, but he gets George's meaning - gets it perfectly. "I - I've already been..." his voice drifts off and he clears his throat. "If you only knew," he manages to whisper.
George smiles, a warmth seeping through his bones that has nothing to do with the Scotch. He can't help being pleased, flattered, and turned on to know Gregory has those thoughts about him while he's away. "I can imagine," George says, in a tone that suggests that's exactly what he's doing.
"I feel like I'm in high school again," Gregory laughs, embarrassed, turned on - and suddenly feeling George's absence all the more. But that isn't even true, because even at the height of his skiing, partying, pretty blond women from good families college days, no one he's ever met has ever made him feel this way.
George slides his free hand through his hair, giving it something to do, because the urge he has right now... well, it just wouldn't be fair, with Gregory trapped in his office. "I bet you were damn beautiful then, too," he says softly. "Wish I'd known you then. Wish I'd found you all those years ago."
"I was shallow and unfocused. And then I was angry and bitter." Gregory's voice is wistful. "I'm glad you found me now - I can be a better man, better for you." He sighs, the melancholy edging up on him. "You know what? If I were a more selfish man I'd be begging you to come home now."
George laughs. "If I were a more selfish man, I'd be there," he says. He rests his head on his arm and stares out at the low Glasgow skyline. "Only Friday. Should I make an appointment? The beard won't be that full, I'm afraid, but it shouldn't look too bad."
"You're flying in, I'm picking you up and we're going back to the apartment. No stops in between," Gregory declares. "No arguments. I'm a litigator - I'll win."
"You make an excellent case," George agrees, knowing full well that he won't be able to keep his hands off Gregory when he does get to see him again. "Straight back to the... straight back home it is," he says.
Lost in thought for a second - really dirty thoughts to be precise, Gregory clears his throat and grins at his own ridiculous shyness. "What time is your flight getting in? I have plans to make..."
"Uh... mid-afternoon. I'll e-mail you the flight details," George says, too caught up in his own dirty imagination to remember anything precise. Then his dirty imagination catches up with the word 'plans'. "Wait... what kind of plans?" George asks suspiciously.
"None of your beeswax," Gregory says, clearly at the height of his maturity. "They're a surprise."
"Oh yeah?" George licks his lips. "You're a cruel man, Greg. But nothing you can say or do could make me want to get home any sooner than I already do."
"I'll let your imagination keep you warm until you get home," he murmurs, shifting slightly in his chair. "Friday. I'll be there to pick you up. I'll take you home and then... then we don't have to be lonely anymore."
"I love you," George sighs, knowing he has to let Gregory get on with his work, and not wanting it for a second. "I'll send you that e-mail in the morning."
"I'll be looking for it. And I love you too." Gregory leans back on the desk, picks up his pen. The lists just got longer as he jots down a few more things. All about George, of course. "Talk to you tomorrow?"
"Of course," George says.
"Well... goodnight then." Gregory reluctantly says.
"Goodnight," George echoes. Don't hang up. "Speak to you tomorrow."
"Yes..." he's drawing it out, not wanting to break the connection. "I love you," Gregory says again, "So much." Before he can say anything else, Gregory takes the phone from his ear and sets it down in the cradle, ending the call.
It almost hurts - and that's both a frightening and beautiful thing to him.
"I love you," George repeats feebly to the dial tone. He hopes his dreams tonight will be fuelled as much by love and lust as by whiskey.