. is that you, moatillata . [Gideon]

[Dirge]

The alcoholic reek of the bar was a welcome scent, like the smell of a long-lost friend in Ellington's arms. After too long on the road and too little time with company, walking into the dark tavern felt like coming home. Pleased with himself for finding it, he squeezed himself onto a stool at the bar and smacked his big hand boisterously on the polished wood.

"A beer! Whatever's on tap!"

Leaning over the bar top, he peered hungrily at the shelves of liquor across the way, then glanced around for the barkeep- a very, very tall, lanky man with his long dark hair pulled back. He cut an oddly familiar silhouette, even with his back turned, and after a moment of squinting through the smoky haze Ellington rapped his knuckles on the counter to try to catch his attention. "Oi, you have anything to eat here?" While he wanted a closer look at the tall figure, he was also starving, his stomach groaning in anticipation after having had only an egg salad sandwich that morning, so many hours ago. Ellington had what could generously be called a healthy appetite, and that wasn't nearly enough to keep him going overnight- especially if he happened to find a pretty girl here to come back to his hotel with him.

A hotel which he had yet to find, and probably should have booked before driving all the way here or at least before stopping to get himself smashed. His stomach growled obnoxiously. -Well, first things first. Eat, drink, and be merry, as they say. He fully intended to do all three tonight, if fate was kind (and she was far too often to him for his own good).

[GloriousGoat]

“Maddy, where the hell is Chris? His shift started thirty minutes ago and I’m not in the mood to deal with his shit again.”

Gideon didn’t wait for a reply, slamming the door to the small back kitchen with a snarl. Whipping the towel from around his neck he scrubbed furiously at the dark, beer-stained wood of the countertop, barely doing more than smearing the spills deeper into the strongly-scented pine. Maddy’s bar wasn’t the most popular place, but that didn’t make him the damn maid as well as the bartender – with the kid missing, he kept having to duck out from behind his sanctuary and stalk amongst the drunkards, skirting away from flailing hands a sweaty, foul-smelling bodies as he tried to reclaim his missing mugs. He shuddered at the thought of having to brave the crowd again, having to deal with the idiots populating the place when he was within touching distance. The sharp pang of a cramp had him jerking his hand back with the realization he’d been attempting to dig through the counter with it.

He barely paid any attention to the newest addition of muscled flesh to settle at the bar, catching enough to hear “beer” before slender hands hit autopilot and grabbed for the last of his clean mugs. His hand settled on the cool metal of the dispenser before something in him clicked.

"Oi, you have anything to eat here?"

No. It couldn’t be. That thick drawl drew up hazy, familiar memories from the dregs of his memory as heat coiled in his stomach. It couldn’t be. For a moment his vision swam with rough hands, a mountain of a bare chest shoved forcefully against his, rough blond hair scratching over his face. An aggressive bark preceded those full lips shoving themselves against his, forcing open the cut on his lip as hands grabbed forcibly at bruised skin.

It couldn’t be.

He turned slowly, torso first and head lingering, as if not seeing him would make the identity of the man any different, until finally his eyes dragged over and settled on the man at the bar. Ellington Paxton Hemsworth.

“Fuck.”

The word escaped from between his lips in a hiss before he even acknowledged he was thinking it. Combined thoughts of the universe deciding he needed his night fucked up even more and, traitorously, how good it would feel to have those hands shoving him down and dominating him made him feel a bit hazy and he quickly shoved the beer down on the bar. He dropped suddenly, grateful for the moment to pull himself together as he grabbed blindly for the bag of slightly stale pretzels on the shelf under the counter. He felt a phantom hand on his and jerked, smacking his forehead on the wood. Shit. One minute he was the king of his domain, settled and in charge of himself, and all it took was one look at Ellington – seven years, damnit – and suddenly he felt like the awkward teenager he’d been the last time he saw the jock. He was once again viewing his slender, almost feminine figure with unease – a shudder of something else went through him – and he jerked back up, upending the bag over the empty bowl on the counter, scattering pretzels all over the counter with the rough jerking of his hand.

“Hamburgers. That’s all we got, besides the pretzels. MADDY. HAMBURGER.”