ArchivedLogs:First Date

First Date
Dramatis Personae Eric, Kyle Whelan	2013-05-08 eric cannot decide whether to be a wingman or a date
Location <NYC> 311 {Kyle} and 404 {Eric} - Sunrise Apartments - Clinton
This apartment does not have much to recommend it. A tiny shabby one-bedroom, its walls are cracking and waterstained, its carpeting old and peeling up at the corners. A small kitchen area has cracked linoleum floors, an old temperamental stove, a sink badly in need of caulking. The bedroom is small, big enough for the bed and a nightstand and dresser. The sitting room has a grungy old beaten-up couch, a small table, a television on a wheeled stand against the wall. There's little in here by way of decoration or personal touch. A Yankees pennant on the wall. A picture of a young boy and girl on the nightstand. Occasionally some roach traps. That's about all. It has arrived. That time, that most joyous of occasions. Eric and Kyle's outing. His date, as Eric has been calling it, and Kyle most certainly has not. Dressed in a deep red dress shirt to match the red rose in his hand, black and silver belt holding up black slacks, Eric looks a proper gentleman. His hair, even, has been somewhat tamed and combed. Positively white-collar! Eric stands outside the door to Kyle's apartment, checking the time on his phone for a moment before he leans forward and raps his knuckles against the door. One-two, three-four, he knocks, then he takes a step back to smile up into the peephole. Hello, Kyle. Kyle is -- in jeans. A flannel shirt over a plain white t-shirt. Boots. He opens the door and /stares/ at Eric. "The fuck, Sutton." Staaare. Mostly at the /rose/. "I thought you knew I like lilies." Eric's eyes flick over the other man and an eyebrow raises. He extends the rose to Kyle even as he tuts. "No wonder you ever get laid, Sarge." he says, a twisting smile spreading on his face. "You need to look a little better than that. Come on - we're goin' somewhere nice to get you hooked up. I don't want to have to work against that." he says, gesturing at the other man's shirt with the flower. "Dress shirt open at the collar and slacks." he instructs. Kyle frowns as he steps back. He doesn't take the rose. "Dress shirt? Where the fuck are we going? I didn't get /you/ any goddamn flowers," he adds, grimacing at the rose. He doesn't bother to close his door, just leaves it open for Eric as he heads back into the apartment to dig up new clothes. "Somewhere /nice/?" He sounds -- skeptical. "Yeah. Nightclub called Figment, down in SoHo. The guard they hire is off-duty from the 12th. We can get in." Eric explains, as he enters the room and closes the door behind him with his foot. "But it's a nice place, and the girls there are very, very nice." he says, a purr in his voice. He heads to the kitchen, opening the cabinets until he finds a glass to fill with water and place the rose into. "We'll get you setup with someone nice." "/Nice/-nice? Shit. That was a lot of nice. I don't think I /got/ clothes that nice." Kyle is glowering at his closet. His closet is failing him. He scrubs a hand against his cheek. At least he's shaved? "So you're gonna be buying me fucking /expensive/ beer is what you're saying." "For you and the chick, no doubt. That triple-shift meant some extra overtime, so, at least you know I can afford it." Eric teases, lightly. He glances over the other man and chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, thoughtfully. "Maybe you can fit into somethin' of mine. Some of my dress shirts aren't /so/ tight." He shakes his head and grins. "If you fit in 'em, it'll be a hell of a look. What'd'ya say, Sarge?" Kyle is still glowering at his clothing, so the suggestion from Eric is met with a slight lift of eyebrows. "Yeah?" He looks over the other man skeeeeptically. "If you think you got something, bring it. But none of your nancy fucking spandex or whatevertheshit you wear to clubs, OK?" Eric raises his hands up in a gesture of surrender, and the look on his face is completely innocent. Baby Jesus would look like a criminal next to this guy. "No nancy fucking spandex, I promise, sir." he says. "Come on. Let's go see what I have." He turns, stepping back over to the door and opening it. His hand gestures outwards. "After you, Sarge." he says, eyes flicking over the other man with a grin. "Let's go pick out some clothing." Kyle answers this with a grunt. He grabs his wallet and keys and heads out, locking the door behind him. Eric leads the other man upstairs to his apartment, opening the door and heading straight for the closet. He begins shifting through clothing immediately, pursing his lips and tilting his head to one side. "Aha." he says, tugging out a hanger. He has a black dress shirt edged in silver, and he holds it up in front of Kyle, front facing him, as he squints at it. "Yeah, that looks good. Take off your shirt." He tosses the shirt on the bed and turns to begin to search for pants in the dresser, though his attention stays lazily focused in the mirror on the other man. Just in case he obeys. Kyle does oblige, though he's frowning at the dress shirt, too, like it displeases him. "Silver's kinda flashy, isn't it?" But he's pulling off his shirt, at least the green flannel outer shirt, leaving him just in a plain short-sleeved white tee. Maybe undershirt. It's hard to tell. He holds out a hand for the dress shirt, gimme. "Here we go." Eric pulls out a pair of black jeans, and looks over Kyle. "It'll be a little tight, but, I think you can rock it." he says, tossing the jeans to the other man and moving over to hold up the dress shirt. "Worth it, too, if'n it gets you laid. And not by me, too - a bonus." "You work under me, Sutton, not fucking /under me/," Kyle says this /as/ he strips off his jeans, pulling on Eric's instead. /Scowling/. Wriggling into them. "Fucking hell," he mutters, not buttoning them up until he has donned the dress shirt, too. He tucks it in neatly. "That could change." Eric drawls, brightly, winking at Kyle and giving him a little salute. "I can do both," he drawls, as he heads into the kitchen. "You look good," he says, turning and glancing over Kyle. "Alright. Let's go." he says, waving the other man out into the hall. "I /will/ hit you." It's more a promise than a warning. Kyle smooths the shirt into place, frowning at his reflection. But only for a moment. Then he heads out into the hall. For his DATE.