The ritual was enough for both of them.
Karl jumped up, grabbing his pad of paper and his pen before he went scurrying into Mr. Clooney's office. He pushed his glasses up with a nervous finger, spent his time studying his boss while waiting for him to look up. As always, Mr. Clooney was impeccably groomed – today he was wearing Karl's favorite suit, a charcoal grey that brought out the silver highlights in Mr. Clooney's hair. Karl often wondered what Mr. Clooney would do if Karl were to ever just yank on his tie and bring him close for a hard kiss. Quite possibly have a heart attack right there. But it was fun to think about, and made the day go faster. In Karl's thankless job, he'd take whatever perks he could find.
In fact, it had a few perks. Getting from one spot to another was a breeze, he didn't have to worry about dressing up for anyone, and he got to hear some of the most fascinating conversations. And, most important, he got to keep a very close eye on a young man by the name of Dominic Monaghan. Seemed he was supposed to be this kid's guardian or something, which was fine by him. Because Dom (as Dominic's friends called him) was certainly easy enough on the eyes, even ghostly ones, and he was constantly finding new ways to keep Karl on his (figurative) toes. There were worse ways to spend his days.
Karl spat out his drink, sputtered, and blinked owlishly at Harry. "What? You can't! I, uh, I mean, what?" "Women have gotten to be too much damned trouble," Harry shrugged, and called for another round to be brought to the table. "Broke up with another one, hmm?" "You called it, old friend," Harry nodded, and loosened his tie, baring a small triangle of skin. "Three months, and already she was talking marriage. Me, married, can you imagine?" Karl tore his gaze from Harry's throat, studied his glass. "Well, uh, maybe...maybe you need to look elsewhere," he mumbled, then downed the contents in one noisy swallow. Harry's brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't follow." "Yeah, I didn't think you would," Karl muttered, and changed the subject to the latest rugby match.
Karl snagged the ball between his hands, and gazed up – and up – at his favorite baseball player in the entire world. "Gee, thanks, Mr. Morgan!" He felt the comforting weight of his father's hand on his shoulder, but didn't tear his eyes away from Mr. Morgan's crinkled grin. "Anytime." Mr. Morgan tipped his ballcap. "Bring it back to the park sometime and I'll sign it for you," he said, and headed into the dugout. "You bet," Karl breathed, and made a promise to himself that he'd practice and practice his fast ball until he was good enough to play on the same team as Jeff Morgan.
Viggo and Jensen were great guys, the best of friends, always included Karl in everything they did. But Karl knew that he was the odd man out. He didn't mind, though, didn't mind being on the outside looking into their little circle of two. When Viggo and Jensen finished each other sentences or when they looped arms around each other, lingering too close, or when they'd look at each other sometimes like they knew a joke the rest of the world didn't, Karl just sat back and soaked it all in like he was watching his favorite film on television, like Viggo and Jensen were Hepburn and Tracy or Gable and Leigh. Karl didn't know what that made him, but he was happy just to watch.
The desperate shout was all the warning Karl got before he was bowled over by a 75 pounds of enthusiastic dog, and pushed onto the wet ground. Instantly, he was assaulted by a long pink tongue, paws holding him in place for the pseudo-bath. "Sidi, get off!" The dog's owner yanked on his leash, and the dog – Sidi – sat on his haunches, tail wagging, tongue lolling, looking, for all the world, rather pleased with himself. "Fuck, man, I am so sorry," the other man continued, as Karl took a moment to assess the damage to his suit (considerable, but he'd live), and to his person (minimal, if one didn't count the bruised pride at being knocked to his ass by a dog). He got to his feet, brushed the dirt off as best he could, and met a concerned pair of very pretty brown eyes with a rueful grin. "No worries." The other man bit his lower lip and blushed in a rather endearing manner. "I have no idea what got into him." "Must be my cologne." Karl tilted his head, fascinated by the blush. "I'm Karl," he finally said, and stuck out a hand. "Orlando." The shake was firm, strong, rippled along Karl's arm like lightning. "And this," Orlando tugged at the leash, "is Sidi." "We've met." Orlando laughed, the sound clear and bright. "Look, um, your suit...you'll have to let me pay to have it cleaned. I'm really --" "Sorry, yes. You've said." "Sorry." They both smiled. "Tell you what." Karl tapped his finger against his chin, then inwardly shrugged. Fuck it, nothing ventured. "Let me buy you dinner and we'll call it even." Those pretty brown eyes widened. "Are you serious?" "Don't tell me you're married." "Uh, no." Orlando shook his head quickly and, if possible, his blush deepened. "No, I'm not. I just...wow. I never would have, um. You don't look the type." "I'm bi, if that helps," Karl replied, wondering if Orlando's blush tasted as delightful as it looked. "Yeah?" Orlando brightened, then bent to give Sidi a scratch behind the ears. "Me too. I go through these phases, y'know, where I'm with a woman for a really long time, but I like men, too, and, um, wow, that's probably way too much information." "I don't mind. I want to know about you." "Yeah?" Another wide smile, and something shifted inside Karl, like a puzzle piece falling into place. "In that case, yeah." Orlando held out his hand again. "I'd love to have dinner with you." This time, Karl held on for a moment longer than necessary. He noticed Orlando was just as reluctant to pull away. "How's tonight?" "Perfect."
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