If only that were the case, but no, he's long since come to terms with his own sexuality and it made avoiding women that wanted to get "closer to God" easier to let down. No interest, no temptation, though he hadn't really had that issue with men just yet. Though he had a hunch he probably would during his time in New York. It'll be fine, though.
A brow raises slowly at the Madonna quip and then he can't help a small bit of a laugh when it's true of all things. "I can hardly blame anyone, she is a wonderful musician. Always has been." For the most part.
As for the tease he lightly waves his hand, though unable to hide his small bit of a grin. "Come on now, we only use that for ritual, hardly for actual drinking for fun." A hot toddy is... interesting and he merely hums, seeming to be mulling the question over. "Oh, it's nothing to do with vows, we are allowed to drink as long to not excess. I just grew up in a very Italian family. Whatever you have is fine, but I would prefer something red." But if not...
Actually. "Though if you don't have any, I'll take your recommendation, it can't be any worse than the "bar drinks" in Southern Florida."
Color him surprised, not that he expected a priest of all things to be a fan of her music. "Hm. I bet you know all the words, don't you?" He isn't shy and he's merely testing the waters; he'll back off if he shows any sign of discomfort. The question is innocent enough, anyone who is anyone can probably belt out Madonna upon request. There's a reason her music is number one during karaoke nights.
"Ales are the big sellers here, pretty sure we have a Cabernet Sauvignon in the back that is older than I am. If you're feeling adventurous, I'll grab it. After all, most things get better with age, right?" Pointedly, he lets his gaze sweep from Pucci's torso to his face, eyes squinting against the effort of a smile that is marginally flirtier than the previous one. Kip doesn't wait for his answer, he has a hunch what it'll be, so he disappears into the storeroom behind the bar.
Still in view, he calls back over his shoulder as he roots through the various bottles lining the shelves in the back. "You actually drank down there? Bold move. I think the spirits are more dangerous than the gators. I'm surprised you still have all your teeth." He's heard talk of cocktails so stout they could be used as paint strippers, not his type of party. Not that he hasn't gotten blackout drunk on occasion, it's practically a rite of passage.
"Of fucking course it is," comes a groan as Kip finds the bottle, but it's on a shelf that is out of his reach. He has to stand on his tiptoes and stretch, causing the hem of his shirt to creep its way up his stomach and give Pucci a delectable view of a set of chiseled abs. It also reveals a distinct set of bruises that barely peek out over the edge of his low-rise jeans that look suspiciously like fingerprints, curling around a hip.
"Got it." Hooking the bottle around the neck, he settles his heels on the ground and waggles it at him, grinning.
Oh, that question earns him another bit of a laugh as he slowly moves to wiggle out of his jacket. While he is wearing that collar the rest of his outfit is more casual with a black dress shirt, black slacks with matching leather belt, and probably leather shoes to match. He actually goes to unbutton and roll up the sleeves of the shirt with a small hum. "Of course I do. Along with most of her other songs." He doesn't seem bothered by the question at all, especially as he rests his forearms on the bar, attention remaining focused on Kip otherwise.
Ales... Far more of a thing here than back home, he can say that. But most people favored beers in general or cocktails depending on the particular bar. Nor does he seem to react to that age comment other than smile in turn, clearly manicured nails lightly tapping against the wood. "There's a reason the term is "aging like a fine wine", you know. And it would seem my family is very well-off in the genetics department." Clearly no offense was taken and he's catching the bit of flirtation easily.
"I grew up there, so of course I did. You only tend to get those sorts of drinks if you go to the most backwater bars or badly watered down margaritas in the tourist beaches." And clearly he is neither of those things. But he's quiet as he watches him try to get at that bottle, allowing his eyes to trail over that exposed skin with a pleased little noise. He had heard the patrons were attractive, but not also the bartenders. Not that he's complaining.
When he turns around, his attention goes back to his face with a smile in turn. "And a show with my drink~" Okay, now he's clearly teasing him and maybe a hint of flirt to it. "I take it you've had some rough... encounters with those bruises at your hip?" There's no judgment in his tone, merely curiosity. For now.
"All right, I'll bite. What's your favorite one? We could use a Madonna expert on the panel on Sundays, I'm usually half-deaf by the end of the night. People seem to think if they yell into the mic, it'll sound better." Duly noted, Mr. Priest. He takes a moment to take in those forearms and finds himself wondering what's hiding beneath the rest of the shirt. Before he can get lost in the idea, he's snapped out of his stupor. "You wouldn't be a barfly, would you, Father?"
"Encounters, is that what you call them?" He nearly snorts and Kip's dimples are on full display, his smile almost boyish, as he plucks a glass from the rack and goes about opening the bottle of wine. A good sign, that means it probably won't taste like absolute garbage. "Give me another month or so and you'll get a real show. Flair bartending's all the rage nowadays with college kids, everyone's keeping an eye out for the next Tom Cruise. Which definitely won't be me." Before pouring the entire glass, he plays at being a sommelier, draping a towel over his arm and pouring the barest amount of wine into the glass before giving it a swirl.
By the time he finally slides it over to him, the amusement has drifted up into his eyes, and he has a tough time masking the grin he is trying to hide. He is playing a part here; he can't fall out of character just because he knows it looks stupid. "Your Cabernet Sauvignon, sir, make sure to take in the notes," he says, as he mimes the act of wafting the scent toward himself. This is a pub, not Le Bernardin, and the best appetizer on the menu happens to be cauliflower wings. But he can ham it up to make sure it's an experience Pucci remembers.
"As for the bruises, it's fine. What can I say? I kinda like it rough," Kip says with the same casual air that one might use when saying it's raining out. He thumbs at the spot, now covered by his shirt again, and quietly savors the dull ache it brings. It hasn't been long since the encounter, maybe two or three days, and the bruises are already starting to fade. Shame, that.
"Like a Prayer or Into the Groove, depending on my mood. But those might be too old for you." Now he's leaning fully into the tease, entirely ignoring everyone else in this bar now. "Oddly enough I'm always free in the evenings. But that's what happens when you're a chaplain." Which, if he knows what that word means, he can already understand where he works and why he seems so laid back with a lot of shenanigans. If he notices his looking at his forearms, he doesn't make it obvious other than a small shift to show the lithe muscle there. But he snorts at the barfly question. "Enrico. But I certainly was a rebellious young man and while I went into the church around fifteen, I wasn't a full clergyman until I was eighteen. And a lot of the students went out." He was drinking underage, really, but no one in their part of Florida really cared too much.
"Would you rather me be blunt? I can do that." He smirks, not even bothering to pretend to not flirt now as he rests his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm. "Are they from you being clung to while railing someone or from you being held in place while someone else does?" There it is. Thankfully the sommelier act gets him to stop for now, merely shrugging. "Tom Cruise was never my type, so I don't mind that you won't be." At least he's honest?
God this man is ridiculous and he's actually genuinely smiling at the whole act as he rolls his eyes and takes the glass to take a sip of it. He'd expected the worst, but this is... actually pretty nice. "Mm. For not really serving it, it's actually rather good."
Likes it rough, huh? He's quiet as he looks him over once more, quietly debating on if he should say something. It's not Florida where you have to be in the right place at the right time, so... "It would seem we agree in that regard. Unfortunately I haven't found anyone around that matches me since I got here." That could not be more of a blunt question if he tried.
"Typical," he snorts, at the first suggestion. At the second has him raising his eyebrows, eyes narrowing in a slight challenge. "Into the Groove, dropped in 1985. Don't underestimate a gay man who loves his music, Enrico. It's still practically a staple at clubs but, if we're dropping favorites, I think Papa Don't Preach and Hung Up are pretty solid choices." He reaches out to take the glass from him after he drains it, he didn't put much to begin with, and makes it a point to brush the tips of their fingers together.
"I'd prefer it. We're all adults here." His fingers linger around the stem of the glass, his forefinger trailing a slow, lazily line up the length of it and back down, his dark eyes lingering on Pucci's own. "This time? I was the one taking it, but I'm versatile. Keeps things interesting, you know?" Opting not to divulge more, he tries not to look as amused as he feels. "No? What is your type, then? Since we're sharing and all."
Oh, fuck, he's really into him? He decides to get a bit bolder, pouring him the glass of wine and leaning over the counter a little further than necessary to deliver it. Close enough that he can probably pick on his aftershave, something that definitely isn't top shelf, but it works for him. Citrus, floral, and spicy notes. It's distinctive enough to make him stand out from everyone else there that night, at least. Most of them reek of cotton candy body mist and bad decisions.
"I get off in an hour. Maybe we could talk more about it after?" Prior to his last one-night stand, it's been months since he's actually put himself out there. The nibbles come all the time, but he isn't exactly slutting it up across the whole of New York. He has some standards and this guy is checking all of the boxes, the worst he can do is shoot his shot and miss, but it doesn't seem like he'll have to worry about that.
"Mm, I should have known better than that~ But some gay men forget to know the classics, unfortunately. I'd rather not recount the many times I've had to tell them who she even was. That's how you know someone is either newly out and/or way too young." Which is, also, not a bad thing to take a bet on. "Also solid choices." He pauses a little as their fingers brush, a moment of his breath catching until he learns how to breathe again. Dammit, sometimes he's so easy.
Versatile, good, that means he doesn't have to cut their conversation off as he keeps his gaze in turn. "My type? Hm..." he trails off with a wicked little grin, oh goodness. "Well, for one, you, actually." If he had any doubts before, he's quickly putting those to rest.
He's not at all moving back when he pushes further and humming in a little approval at the smell of that aftershave. It's nice and probably would mesh rather well with his top-shelf nonsense that is more on the deeper woodsy and spice side.
Slowly he relaxes more as he mentions when he gets off and he lightly taps his nails on the bar top again. "Oh, only an hour? I can absolutely kill an hour if you give me the rest of that bottle. I'll even pay for it up front." It's not even him trying to show off, merely to let him know he can be trusted in that regard. "And so convenient as I live only about a couple minutes drive from here."
"Oh, ye of little faith, and after I gave you a show," comes the playful retort. "But no, I think my playlist would surprise you. As much as I love pop, I also love jazz. Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughan, Etta James. Now those are the classics." It doesn't go unnoticed, the way his throat seems to bob at the contact, and it makes him file that tidbit of information away. Maybe not touch starved, but he could certainly do with a little TLC.
"Yeah? What about me tickles your fancy? Other than the bruises." Kip rests his forearms on the bar, uncaring of anything that might have collected on the mats over the duration of his shift. He cleans them often enough, better to save him some grief throughout the night than have to power wash the sticky and God only knows what else out of them at close.
Kip watches him for a moment then delves into a pocket, pulling out an off-white card. It's firm, looking to be a business card of sorts, but it actually just has a name etched across it in a simple font. KINGFISHER is written in the middle in bold letters, followed by Kip Grady right beneath written in italics. Nothing else, no phone number or anything fancy. Just a momentary parting gift.
"Deal. That's a real shame, I was looking forward to warming you up later," he says, as he deposits the card onto the bar next to him and promptly slips away before he can add anything to the conversation immediately. Another customer has flagged him over and is talking animatedly to him about something, he keeps an expression of polite interest on his face the whole time.
"I stand absolutely corrected, then. What good tastes you have," he muses quietly, this man just continues to surprise him through this whole thing. It's been a while since he's really messed around with anyone outside of some sort of playdate or one night stand. Dating had been mostly off the table when he knew he was going to be moving elsewhere and how Florida acted.
"Hm... Well, the humor, for one. Darker hair for another. I could continue if you want." Or he could tell him later when he's on his knees, whichever he'd prefer.
Quietly he takes the card, looking it over and then pocketing it just as quickly. "A pleasure, Kip." More so later.
Ugh, he hates the fact he's leaving but he's quick to watch him go and lets his eyes wander over the rest of him. An hour shouldn't be too long with people watching and with his bottle of wine to tide him over. Even if he steadily is realizing just how attractive this man is and wondering what he looks like naked. Normal things.
Aside from a handful of glances and the occasional check in, Kip largely spends the next hour tending to at least two dozen other customers. Some sneak in for last call, others have been there for hours like the habitual barflies that they are. Either way, no one person gets more attention than the other, even though he's more than made his opinion of Pucci known. It isn't a coy act; he is simply doing the best he can while he is the only one on the bar.
Ideally, he could've spent the time tempting him with tantalizing angles, opportune moments to flex and a flirty wink, but he's not here to corrupt him. He knows all of his best sides and exactly what to do to catch a man but, even as eager as he is, he has his limits. What this is isn't a honey trap, merely what you see is what you get, he's always been honest about who and what he is.
It isn't until last call is announced that he finally has a moment, amidst breaking down wells and wiping down the bar top, that he finds himself standing before him again with a smile that is part amusement, part intrigue. Aside from the other staff, who are eagerly chasing patrons out of the pub, "All right over there, Enrico? You're looking warmer than you did an hour ago." It's a quiet offer, one that extends him the opportunity to back out if he so chooses.
He leans in to pick up the bottle he left with him, waggling it to see if he did indeed finish the contents. His face is flushed from the effort of his work.
Oddly enough he doesn't mind that he isn't paying him more attention than anyone else. Mostly because he does enjoy watching him work and appreciating the way he does things so effortlessly.
Honest is honest, as well, he doesn't mind the way he moves and doesn't flirt with him as he goes. Earnest and attractive even then. All attention is focused on only his drink and Kip, not remotely caring about the rest of the rabble.
Once he returns to him, he smiles in turn. He has, indeed, finished the bottle but other than seeming a little more loose and comfortable, he seems perfectly fine. "I'm perfect, actually. Merely killing an hour until I take a gorgeous man home." He quips, seems that he has absolutely no inclination of backing out of this and, in fact, has been anticipating it instead. "May have thought a few things that may be fun to do, but nothing I can say in public."
"Yeah? Do I know this gorgeous guy?" Kip jokes as he tosses the empty bottle into a bin beside him, along with the quark he had set aside. It isn't like he could have taken it home with him, but it would've gone a long way to making sure some unsuspecting bartender didn't get showered in more bar juice if any excess wine leaked before the trash got dumped at the end of the night. That only has to happen one, then they get more mindful of dumping out the remnants.
"Could feel them on me, you know. Your eyes." By this time, there is only one stubborn customer left at the front, but they seem more interesting in flirting with the staff member trying to get them to vacate the premises than listening to their conversation. "Maybe you could wine and dine me on the way back, love a good story." And it is titillating, knowing someone is thinking of him in the regard.
"I think you've killed that hour. Gonna have to kick you out soon, I just have to clean up and we're free to talk." The way he says it, all drawled out in his accent, hides nothing. Whatever they plan on doing tonight, talking has little to do with it.
"Perhaps," he returns in the same joke of a tone as he glances towards the bottle as it's tossed out. It doesn't matter to him what he does to it, but he just has to be curious as to what he's doing at the barest minimum. Nor would he be terribly surprised to learn that that had happened before, it's not like it's not a hazard of the job, after all.
A brow raises slowly at the next set of words before he shrugs, unable to hide the now seemingly natural smile that's pulled to his lips. "Oh? I was hoping that you might, a little distraction at work never killed anyone. ... Well, mostly." He could think of a few ways, but that doesn't matter. His attention is fully on Kip, thankfully, not remotely concerned about the one customer flirting with the person trying to get him out. "I could if you are hungry," he starts, letting the moment sit for but a moment before he picks it back up, "at least in that regard, but I have a sneaking suspicion that's not what you mean."
Ah, right. He can't just hang around while he cleans up, how annoying. "I'll be outside, then. You'll know which." Slowly he pushes himself to stand before pausing and setting a card down on the bar top, "for what I owe and add however much for yourself or the others, if you pool tips, you wish. I'm good for it." ... Which is more of a flex than he realizes, given he's not seeming like he's saying it in that manner. "Just bring it out with you."
"Mm, I'm always hungry." It sounds innocent enough, could be perceived that way by anyone in earshot, but the way he sizes him up after says it all. He isn't talking about food, at least nothing nutritious. His brows furrow when he drops the card, and he looks to be thinking about something, before he nods and picks it up. So, he's that kind of guy, huh?
"You know," Kip says as he emerges from the front door about seven minutes later, pulling his jacket on and popping the collar to stave off the chill in the air. "A guy who gives a struggling bartender his card and tells him to pick a number? Must be a world of trouble." Just as expected, he produces the card and a receipt, holding it between his fingers before offering it to him. He hasn't gouged him. If anything, he took significantly less than expected, just the bare minimum.
"I appreciate the offer, and the money would be great, but it's not the same if I don't earn it myself. All I did was open the bottle, you polished it off yourself. Where to?" After stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat, he turns on a heel and waits patiently for his directions.
"I can't say I'm surprised," he teases in turn, knowing full well what he means. "We'll see what's open, then." Fair cover story if needed. And he is absolutely that type of person, but more that he knows the money his family has will never really run dry unless the world ends at this point so why not help where he can?
Predictably he's still bundled up in his coat, waiting patiently until he's handed the card and receipt. "What makes you think that?" Oh. That's why. Huh.
"If that's how you feel about it, then I won't force it on you." Thankfully he understands that mentality even as he motions for him to follow him to a nearby parking lot. "I have a space nearby, even if I know it's stupid to have a car here. I need it to get to work." Especially in his line of work, at that.
... Honestly, it probably makes sense as to why he leads him to a parking lot that's monitored as he leads him to a fucking Maserati of all things. All black but thankfully he's at least practical enough that it's an SUV type versus some supercar nonsense.
"It's how I feel," he adds on for emphasis, thankful that he doesn't push the issue. So, he's a guy with money that doesn't flaunt it, it's a refreshing take on the type of people who usually come in and try to do that. They butter him up and, when he turns down their advances, they show their true colors. Funny, then, that he never thought to do the same to Pucci. Turn him down, that is, he must be worse off than he thought.
"Your words, not mine," Kip chimes in, grin just a step away from being a shit-eating one. "I'm not going to rag on someone for having a car here, makes things easier. Or you hate yourself. Guess it depends on how far you have to drive and how much you love sitting in gridlock."
Kip takes one look at the car, scoffs (but not for the reason one might think), and raises his arms. "You want me to get in that? Do you have newspapers to put down, or maybe you could pop the trunk? D'you really want your seats smelling like a bar? Not sure I can foot the cleaning bill."
A priest with money at that, which is perhaps the funniest part of this scenario. But other than the car he really doesn't seem to show it at all. Clothing is subtle so even if it was expensive it wouldn't really stand out, jewelry is just a simple crucifix as to be expected, that sort of thing. Nor did he even flaunt it with his alcohol, merely stating he had enough to cover the bottle simply so he didn't need to worry about taking it back after pouring his drink. All the flirting being natural things, too.
"I'm well aware of how the locals feel about cars," he muses quietly, unable to hide his grin. "In my defense, I had this car when I was in Florida and little reason to give it up even here." Means he could easily go elsewhere in this state where cars were more common, too.
He pauses when Kip throw his hands in the air, brow raising slowly. "If I had concerns about that I wouldn't have been flirting with a bartender. These seats have seen worse than smelling like a bar, now please shut the fuck up and get in." The last part is clearly not seriously being upset about his actions as he presses a button to open the doors and climb in. "I'm not feeling like sucking your dick and getting railed outside, so." Get in the car, Kip.
"Not all of us hate them. Just, if you come from money, people usually go for a car service rather than sitting in traffic for an extra hour," Kip muses, then pauses, backtracking a bit. "Not that I'm judging. Nothing wrong with being independent and I guess you don't have to sweat the gas prices." Being filthy rich and all, Kip has an eye for things like this. Even if he hadn't seen the car, he would've known.
Kip snorts, holding his hands up in defeat. "Remember that when you get into your car tomorrow and it smells like grenadine and cranberry juice." But he does as he's told, slipping into the passenger seat while whistling at the crisp interior. He's seen pictures of the inside of one, but he never thought his ass would be plopped into the seat of one.
"Oh, no, that's definitely a second date kind of activity," Kip jokes, giving him a wink as he settles into the seat and slips his seatbelt on. He makes no secret of the way he occasionally glances over, sizing him up. Color him impressed, he wouldn't have pegged him as a bottom, but that doesn't sour the mood at all. If anything, he is even more intrigued.
"And I'd rather not have to deal with a car service if I want to have a quickie in the backseat." He responds back, unable to hide that grin. Is he joking or serious? Who knows, he'll have to figure that out at some point or another. He would have absolutely figured it out once they get to his home, but at least his use of money seems more... practical than anything else? Weird.
"It'll be a nice reminder of the bartender I brought home the night before." See? Think positively, Kip. It's not the newest model and shows signs of having been used, but still very, very well taken care of, at least. And if he's looking around the car itself he may spy what seems to be an ID badge of some sort in the cup holder. Not that his card didn't have his name on it, but this one spells it out as well and outs him as working in Queensboro Correctional Facility and as a chaplain. Well, he didn't lie about any of that at least.
"Then that'll have to wait until it's warmer out, Florida native and all." He can't help but tease him back before starting the car after putting his own seatbelt on and heading out. Thankfully the streets aren't too busy and it shouldn't take long. So unless Kip wants to ask more questions, it'll be a rather short ride to the gated parking area of a luxury-looking highrise.
"Quickie?" Kip snorts, shooting him an amused look. "You don't strike me as the type of guy who likes it quick. I'm not," he adds casually, giving him a vision of what the night has to offer. It won't be quick, he intends to take his time with him and, whether he realizes it or not, he'll likely repeat the process several times throughout the night.
"Charming me even when you know it's a sure thing? Should I be worried?" He teases, shifting in his seat so he can watch him more closely. He takes in the way the city lights dance off of his face as they pass them, lighting up that beautifully dark skin. Truthfully, he can't wait to taste it, to have him ride him until he's so far gone that the only name he can remember is his. The badge is noted, and he tucks that information away for later.
"Yeah? I don't know, I think I could keep you warm enough. Or distract you enough that you don't even notice it." He's confident for a reason but, when he notices how short the drive was, he laughs. "Fucking rich people," comes the playful jab, "next time you should take the scenic route, really makes warming up more exciting."
"Not generally, but sometimes I just don't have the time depending on what's going on at work." Oh, he won't complain about any of that at all since he generally prefers things to take their time and be absolutely exhausted by the end of it all. He glances over at him with a soft huff of a laugh. "And good, I don't have work tomorrow so we have all the time in the world."
Worried? Oh come on now. "Only if you regret it later, I suppose." Truthfully, he's pretty sure outside of the whole "money" aspect of himself, there's not much he really should be worried about. He's been entirely up-front with him about everything and he's a pretty open book as far as answering questions go. Thankfully he does keep his attention mostly on the road and even in these lights it's probably clear that this man also takes very good care of himself, probably one of those people with a multi-step skincare routine.
Once he parks he bites back a laugh, turning the car off and shifting to actually look at him properly with a raised brow. "Oh? Did you need to be warmed up? Could have fooled me." He certainly didn't need to be while watching him work and that bottle of wine. "I could always hit every single button in the elevator to make it take longer if you'd like." ... Admittedly, he's not even sure if he could last that long without having to do something, but at this time of night he's fairly certain no one would intrude on them anyway.
Carefully, he picks up the badge and dangles it in front of his face, twirling it between his fingers. If he makes a move to grab it, he leans back and holds it just out of reach, though it's only a ploy to get him a little closer. "Yeah, well, now my imagination is running wild. Maybe you can tell me about it sometime." Anytime else, other than right now. To sell the point, he leans over, tucks the badge into his pocket, and tucks his face into the crook of his neck to murmur against the skin.
"Lead the way? Otherwise, I might have to take you to the backseat." And he will do it, judging by the heat in his eyes when he pulls away just enough to look at him with a lazy smile. "Life's too short to have regrets, I probably don't have to tell a chaplain that, though." Spiritual journeys, and the like.
"Me? No, born and raised here, this is practically a heatwave." With snow on the horizon for the morning, tomorrow would probably be even less agreeable with his newfound possibly-into-some-shit-shit Floridan hookup. Huffing out a laugh, he takes the initiative to get out of the car first, actually walking over to open the door for him.
"This night's gonna be predictable as fuck if you keep sharing all my trade secrets like this. How long do you think you could hold on for? Every floor?" For one reason or another, he doesn't think so. Not to toot his own horn, but no one has ever left a session with him feeling unsatisfied. Curious, he flicks his attention down to the front of Enrico's pants, humming with unabashed interest. Unnoticeable to anyone not looking directly at it, sure, but evidently, he's given him a lot to mull over during the short drive.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2026-04-25 12:53 am (UTC)A brow raises slowly at the Madonna quip and then he can't help a small bit of a laugh when it's true of all things. "I can hardly blame anyone, she is a wonderful musician. Always has been." For the most part.
As for the tease he lightly waves his hand, though unable to hide his small bit of a grin. "Come on now, we only use that for ritual, hardly for actual drinking for fun." A hot toddy is... interesting and he merely hums, seeming to be mulling the question over. "Oh, it's nothing to do with vows, we are allowed to drink as long to not excess. I just grew up in a very Italian family. Whatever you have is fine, but I would prefer something red." But if not...
Actually. "Though if you don't have any, I'll take your recommendation, it can't be any worse than the "bar drinks" in Southern Florida."
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Date: 2026-04-25 10:05 pm (UTC)"Ales are the big sellers here, pretty sure we have a Cabernet Sauvignon in the back that is older than I am. If you're feeling adventurous, I'll grab it. After all, most things get better with age, right?" Pointedly, he lets his gaze sweep from Pucci's torso to his face, eyes squinting against the effort of a smile that is marginally flirtier than the previous one. Kip doesn't wait for his answer, he has a hunch what it'll be, so he disappears into the storeroom behind the bar.
Still in view, he calls back over his shoulder as he roots through the various bottles lining the shelves in the back. "You actually drank down there? Bold move. I think the spirits are more dangerous than the gators. I'm surprised you still have all your teeth." He's heard talk of cocktails so stout they could be used as paint strippers, not his type of party. Not that he hasn't gotten blackout drunk on occasion, it's practically a rite of passage.
"Of fucking course it is," comes a groan as Kip finds the bottle, but it's on a shelf that is out of his reach. He has to stand on his tiptoes and stretch, causing the hem of his shirt to creep its way up his stomach and give Pucci a delectable view of a set of chiseled abs. It also reveals a distinct set of bruises that barely peek out over the edge of his low-rise jeans that look suspiciously like fingerprints, curling around a hip.
"Got it." Hooking the bottle around the neck, he settles his heels on the ground and waggles it at him, grinning.
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Date: 2026-04-25 10:21 pm (UTC)Ales... Far more of a thing here than back home, he can say that. But most people favored beers in general or cocktails depending on the particular bar. Nor does he seem to react to that age comment other than smile in turn, clearly manicured nails lightly tapping against the wood. "There's a reason the term is "aging like a fine wine", you know. And it would seem my family is very well-off in the genetics department." Clearly no offense was taken and he's catching the bit of flirtation easily.
"I grew up there, so of course I did. You only tend to get those sorts of drinks if you go to the most backwater bars or badly watered down margaritas in the tourist beaches." And clearly he is neither of those things. But he's quiet as he watches him try to get at that bottle, allowing his eyes to trail over that exposed skin with a pleased little noise. He had heard the patrons were attractive, but not also the bartenders. Not that he's complaining.
When he turns around, his attention goes back to his face with a smile in turn. "And a show with my drink~" Okay, now he's clearly teasing him and maybe a hint of flirt to it. "I take it you've had some rough... encounters with those bruises at your hip?" There's no judgment in his tone, merely curiosity. For now.
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Date: 2026-04-26 05:57 am (UTC)"Encounters, is that what you call them?" He nearly snorts and Kip's dimples are on full display, his smile almost boyish, as he plucks a glass from the rack and goes about opening the bottle of wine. A good sign, that means it probably won't taste like absolute garbage. "Give me another month or so and you'll get a real show. Flair bartending's all the rage nowadays with college kids, everyone's keeping an eye out for the next Tom Cruise. Which definitely won't be me." Before pouring the entire glass, he plays at being a sommelier, draping a towel over his arm and pouring the barest amount of wine into the glass before giving it a swirl.
By the time he finally slides it over to him, the amusement has drifted up into his eyes, and he has a tough time masking the grin he is trying to hide. He is playing a part here; he can't fall out of character just because he knows it looks stupid. "Your Cabernet Sauvignon, sir, make sure to take in the notes," he says, as he mimes the act of wafting the scent toward himself. This is a pub, not Le Bernardin, and the best appetizer on the menu happens to be cauliflower wings. But he can ham it up to make sure it's an experience Pucci remembers.
"As for the bruises, it's fine. What can I say? I kinda like it rough," Kip says with the same casual air that one might use when saying it's raining out. He thumbs at the spot, now covered by his shirt again, and quietly savors the dull ache it brings. It hasn't been long since the encounter, maybe two or three days, and the bruises are already starting to fade. Shame, that.
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Date: 2026-04-26 06:16 pm (UTC)"Would you rather me be blunt? I can do that." He smirks, not even bothering to pretend to not flirt now as he rests his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm. "Are they from you being clung to while railing someone or from you being held in place while someone else does?" There it is. Thankfully the sommelier act gets him to stop for now, merely shrugging. "Tom Cruise was never my type, so I don't mind that you won't be." At least he's honest?
God this man is ridiculous and he's actually genuinely smiling at the whole act as he rolls his eyes and takes the glass to take a sip of it. He'd expected the worst, but this is... actually pretty nice. "Mm. For not really serving it, it's actually rather good."
Likes it rough, huh? He's quiet as he looks him over once more, quietly debating on if he should say something. It's not Florida where you have to be in the right place at the right time, so... "It would seem we agree in that regard. Unfortunately I haven't found anyone around that matches me since I got here." That could not be more of a blunt question if he tried.
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Date: 2026-04-27 12:06 am (UTC)"I'd prefer it. We're all adults here." His fingers linger around the stem of the glass, his forefinger trailing a slow, lazily line up the length of it and back down, his dark eyes lingering on Pucci's own. "This time? I was the one taking it, but I'm versatile. Keeps things interesting, you know?" Opting not to divulge more, he tries not to look as amused as he feels. "No? What is your type, then? Since we're sharing and all."
Oh, fuck, he's really into him? He decides to get a bit bolder, pouring him the glass of wine and leaning over the counter a little further than necessary to deliver it. Close enough that he can probably pick on his aftershave, something that definitely isn't top shelf, but it works for him. Citrus, floral, and spicy notes. It's distinctive enough to make him stand out from everyone else there that night, at least. Most of them reek of cotton candy body mist and bad decisions.
"I get off in an hour. Maybe we could talk more about it after?" Prior to his last one-night stand, it's been months since he's actually put himself out there. The nibbles come all the time, but he isn't exactly slutting it up across the whole of New York. He has some standards and this guy is checking all of the boxes, the worst he can do is shoot his shot and miss, but it doesn't seem like he'll have to worry about that.
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Date: 2026-04-27 12:39 am (UTC)Versatile, good, that means he doesn't have to cut their conversation off as he keeps his gaze in turn. "My type? Hm..." he trails off with a wicked little grin, oh goodness. "Well, for one, you, actually." If he had any doubts before, he's quickly putting those to rest.
He's not at all moving back when he pushes further and humming in a little approval at the smell of that aftershave. It's nice and probably would mesh rather well with his top-shelf nonsense that is more on the deeper woodsy and spice side.
Slowly he relaxes more as he mentions when he gets off and he lightly taps his nails on the bar top again. "Oh, only an hour? I can absolutely kill an hour if you give me the rest of that bottle. I'll even pay for it up front." It's not even him trying to show off, merely to let him know he can be trusted in that regard. "And so convenient as I live only about a couple minutes drive from here."
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Date: 2026-04-27 03:45 am (UTC)"Yeah? What about me tickles your fancy? Other than the bruises." Kip rests his forearms on the bar, uncaring of anything that might have collected on the mats over the duration of his shift. He cleans them often enough, better to save him some grief throughout the night than have to power wash the sticky and God only knows what else out of them at close.
Kip watches him for a moment then delves into a pocket, pulling out an off-white card. It's firm, looking to be a business card of sorts, but it actually just has a name etched across it in a simple font. KINGFISHER is written in the middle in bold letters, followed by Kip Grady right beneath written in italics. Nothing else, no phone number or anything fancy. Just a momentary parting gift.
"Deal. That's a real shame, I was looking forward to warming you up later," he says, as he deposits the card onto the bar next to him and promptly slips away before he can add anything to the conversation immediately. Another customer has flagged him over and is talking animatedly to him about something, he keeps an expression of polite interest on his face the whole time.
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Date: 2026-04-27 03:57 am (UTC)"Hm... Well, the humor, for one. Darker hair for another. I could continue if you want." Or he could tell him later when he's on his knees, whichever he'd prefer.
Quietly he takes the card, looking it over and then pocketing it just as quickly. "A pleasure, Kip." More so later.
Ugh, he hates the fact he's leaving but he's quick to watch him go and lets his eyes wander over the rest of him. An hour shouldn't be too long with people watching and with his bottle of wine to tide him over. Even if he steadily is realizing just how attractive this man is and wondering what he looks like naked. Normal things.
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Date: 2026-04-27 09:33 am (UTC)Ideally, he could've spent the time tempting him with tantalizing angles, opportune moments to flex and a flirty wink, but he's not here to corrupt him. He knows all of his best sides and exactly what to do to catch a man but, even as eager as he is, he has his limits. What this is isn't a honey trap, merely what you see is what you get, he's always been honest about who and what he is.
It isn't until last call is announced that he finally has a moment, amidst breaking down wells and wiping down the bar top, that he finds himself standing before him again with a smile that is part amusement, part intrigue. Aside from the other staff, who are eagerly chasing patrons out of the pub, "All right over there, Enrico? You're looking warmer than you did an hour ago." It's a quiet offer, one that extends him the opportunity to back out if he so chooses.
He leans in to pick up the bottle he left with him, waggling it to see if he did indeed finish the contents. His face is flushed from the effort of his work.
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Date: 2026-04-27 11:11 am (UTC)Honest is honest, as well, he doesn't mind the way he moves and doesn't flirt with him as he goes. Earnest and attractive even then. All attention is focused on only his drink and Kip, not remotely caring about the rest of the rabble.
Once he returns to him, he smiles in turn. He has, indeed, finished the bottle but other than seeming a little more loose and comfortable, he seems perfectly fine. "I'm perfect, actually. Merely killing an hour until I take a gorgeous man home." He quips, seems that he has absolutely no inclination of backing out of this and, in fact, has been anticipating it instead. "May have thought a few things that may be fun to do, but nothing I can say in public."
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Date: 2026-04-28 10:54 pm (UTC)"Could feel them on me, you know. Your eyes." By this time, there is only one stubborn customer left at the front, but they seem more interesting in flirting with the staff member trying to get them to vacate the premises than listening to their conversation. "Maybe you could wine and dine me on the way back, love a good story." And it is titillating, knowing someone is thinking of him in the regard.
"I think you've killed that hour. Gonna have to kick you out soon, I just have to clean up and we're free to talk." The way he says it, all drawled out in his accent, hides nothing. Whatever they plan on doing tonight, talking has little to do with it.
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Date: 2026-04-28 11:03 pm (UTC)A brow raises slowly at the next set of words before he shrugs, unable to hide the now seemingly natural smile that's pulled to his lips. "Oh? I was hoping that you might, a little distraction at work never killed anyone. ... Well, mostly." He could think of a few ways, but that doesn't matter. His attention is fully on Kip, thankfully, not remotely concerned about the one customer flirting with the person trying to get him out. "I could if you are hungry," he starts, letting the moment sit for but a moment before he picks it back up, "at least in that regard, but I have a sneaking suspicion that's not what you mean."
Ah, right. He can't just hang around while he cleans up, how annoying. "I'll be outside, then. You'll know which." Slowly he pushes himself to stand before pausing and setting a card down on the bar top, "for what I owe and add however much for yourself or the others, if you pool tips, you wish. I'm good for it." ... Which is more of a flex than he realizes, given he's not seeming like he's saying it in that manner. "Just bring it out with you."
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Date: 2026-04-29 01:36 am (UTC)"You know," Kip says as he emerges from the front door about seven minutes later, pulling his jacket on and popping the collar to stave off the chill in the air. "A guy who gives a struggling bartender his card and tells him to pick a number? Must be a world of trouble." Just as expected, he produces the card and a receipt, holding it between his fingers before offering it to him. He hasn't gouged him. If anything, he took significantly less than expected, just the bare minimum.
"I appreciate the offer, and the money would be great, but it's not the same if I don't earn it myself. All I did was open the bottle, you polished it off yourself. Where to?" After stuffing his hands into the pockets of his coat, he turns on a heel and waits patiently for his directions.
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Date: 2026-04-29 02:25 am (UTC)Predictably he's still bundled up in his coat, waiting patiently until he's handed the card and receipt. "What makes you think that?" Oh. That's why. Huh.
"If that's how you feel about it, then I won't force it on you." Thankfully he understands that mentality even as he motions for him to follow him to a nearby parking lot. "I have a space nearby, even if I know it's stupid to have a car here. I need it to get to work." Especially in his line of work, at that.
... Honestly, it probably makes sense as to why he leads him to a parking lot that's monitored as he leads him to a fucking Maserati of all things. All black but thankfully he's at least practical enough that it's an SUV type versus some supercar nonsense.
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Date: 2026-05-01 06:43 am (UTC)"Your words, not mine," Kip chimes in, grin just a step away from being a shit-eating one. "I'm not going to rag on someone for having a car here, makes things easier. Or you hate yourself. Guess it depends on how far you have to drive and how much you love sitting in gridlock."
Kip takes one look at the car, scoffs (but not for the reason one might think), and raises his arms. "You want me to get in that? Do you have newspapers to put down, or maybe you could pop the trunk? D'you really want your seats smelling like a bar? Not sure I can foot the cleaning bill."
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Date: 2026-05-01 11:00 am (UTC)"I'm well aware of how the locals feel about cars," he muses quietly, unable to hide his grin. "In my defense, I had this car when I was in Florida and little reason to give it up even here." Means he could easily go elsewhere in this state where cars were more common, too.
He pauses when Kip throw his hands in the air, brow raising slowly. "If I had concerns about that I wouldn't have been flirting with a bartender. These seats have seen worse than smelling like a bar, now please shut the fuck up and get in." The last part is clearly not seriously being upset about his actions as he presses a button to open the doors and climb in. "I'm not feeling like sucking your dick and getting railed outside, so." Get in the car, Kip.
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Date: 2026-05-03 11:39 pm (UTC)Kip snorts, holding his hands up in defeat. "Remember that when you get into your car tomorrow and it smells like grenadine and cranberry juice." But he does as he's told, slipping into the passenger seat while whistling at the crisp interior. He's seen pictures of the inside of one, but he never thought his ass would be plopped into the seat of one.
"Oh, no, that's definitely a second date kind of activity," Kip jokes, giving him a wink as he settles into the seat and slips his seatbelt on. He makes no secret of the way he occasionally glances over, sizing him up. Color him impressed, he wouldn't have pegged him as a bottom, but that doesn't sour the mood at all. If anything, he is even more intrigued.
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Date: 2026-05-04 12:04 am (UTC)"It'll be a nice reminder of the bartender I brought home the night before." See? Think positively, Kip. It's not the newest model and shows signs of having been used, but still very, very well taken care of, at least. And if he's looking around the car itself he may spy what seems to be an ID badge of some sort in the cup holder. Not that his card didn't have his name on it, but this one spells it out as well and outs him as working in Queensboro Correctional Facility and as a chaplain. Well, he didn't lie about any of that at least.
"Then that'll have to wait until it's warmer out, Florida native and all." He can't help but tease him back before starting the car after putting his own seatbelt on and heading out. Thankfully the streets aren't too busy and it shouldn't take long. So unless Kip wants to ask more questions, it'll be a rather short ride to the gated parking area of a luxury-looking highrise.
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Date: 2026-05-06 06:17 am (UTC)"Charming me even when you know it's a sure thing? Should I be worried?" He teases, shifting in his seat so he can watch him more closely. He takes in the way the city lights dance off of his face as they pass them, lighting up that beautifully dark skin. Truthfully, he can't wait to taste it, to have him ride him until he's so far gone that the only name he can remember is his. The badge is noted, and he tucks that information away for later.
"Yeah? I don't know, I think I could keep you warm enough. Or distract you enough that you don't even notice it." He's confident for a reason but, when he notices how short the drive was, he laughs. "Fucking rich people," comes the playful jab, "next time you should take the scenic route, really makes warming up more exciting."
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Date: 2026-05-06 12:53 pm (UTC)Worried? Oh come on now. "Only if you regret it later, I suppose." Truthfully, he's pretty sure outside of the whole "money" aspect of himself, there's not much he really should be worried about. He's been entirely up-front with him about everything and he's a pretty open book as far as answering questions go. Thankfully he does keep his attention mostly on the road and even in these lights it's probably clear that this man also takes very good care of himself, probably one of those people with a multi-step skincare routine.
Once he parks he bites back a laugh, turning the car off and shifting to actually look at him properly with a raised brow. "Oh? Did you need to be warmed up? Could have fooled me." He certainly didn't need to be while watching him work and that bottle of wine. "I could always hit every single button in the elevator to make it take longer if you'd like." ... Admittedly, he's not even sure if he could last that long without having to do something, but at this time of night he's fairly certain no one would intrude on them anyway.
jesus christ, i dragged ass on this one
Date: 2026-05-16 11:19 pm (UTC)"Lead the way? Otherwise, I might have to take you to the backseat." And he will do it, judging by the heat in his eyes when he pulls away just enough to look at him with a lazy smile. "Life's too short to have regrets, I probably don't have to tell a chaplain that, though." Spiritual journeys, and the like.
"Me? No, born and raised here, this is practically a heatwave." With snow on the horizon for the morning, tomorrow would probably be even less agreeable with his newfound possibly-into-some-shit-shit Floridan hookup. Huffing out a laugh, he takes the initiative to get out of the car first, actually walking over to open the door for him.
"This night's gonna be predictable as fuck if you keep sharing all my trade secrets like this. How long do you think you could hold on for? Every floor?" For one reason or another, he doesn't think so. Not to toot his own horn, but no one has ever left a session with him feeling unsatisfied. Curious, he flicks his attention down to the front of Enrico's pants, humming with unabashed interest. Unnoticeable to anyone not looking directly at it, sure, but evidently, he's given him a lot to mull over during the short drive.