Title: "Date, maybe."
Pairing: Adam Green/Carl Barât
Rating: Meh. Not porn. Fluff. That should be enough of a rating.
Author's notes: This came to me because of a mail I received from Mary today. And just for the record: all the stories so far belong to one and the same universe. The boys happily and sappily in love. Because I am a romantic fool to the bitter end. This takes place way before the other three ficlets though.
Summary: Carl doesn't know if he is on a date or not. He angsts a little. And is nervous a lot. At least Adam knows what is going on. For most of the time anyway.
Warnings: Sappy boys again. Well, Carl is. Adam not so much because he doesn't have a lot to do or say for that matter. Well, he does but Carl just rambles on with his thoughts that we don't really know what Adam is exactly talking about the whole time. Again: spellcheck still on holiday :(
Carl fumbles around with the lighter as he lights yet another fag on his way to the pub. Merely to have something to do with his hands. At the pub he will be meeting Adam which is why he is so nervous (his hand coming up to run through his hair for the umpteenth time). Not even twenty four hours earlier Adam had come up to him at the party they both had been at and asked him if he would like to go out for dinner with him the next day. And maybe for a couple of beers afterwards. Just the two of them if that would be okay with Carl? And ever since then Carl has been agonizing about the whole thing. He just doesn’t know if this is an actual date or just two friends going out for a late dinner and drinks at the pub. It’s not that he doesn’t want this to be a date, quite on the contrary. He wanted to go out with the skinny American ever since he first met him. Which was about six months ago. Ever since then Adam Green preoccupied his thoughts more than he liked him to. And ever since this last week he actually cannot think of anything else anymore. This last week had just been so filled up with Adam – what with that gig they both had appeared at, and numerous parties over the last couple of days they both attented. Parties and gigs and maybe at their record company – that’s where they so far mainly met. Always with dozens of other people around. Ever since that first meeting six months ago. Carl immediately liked Adam, was drawn to him actually; they just clicked - they talked for hours, totally forgetting all the other people around them; and Carl found himself mesmerized by those huge gray eyes and that beautiful, wide and open and very infectious smile of the American. And his whole bubbly personality really.
After that initial meeting they saw each other twice – once in the States, and once again in Britain – and then of course the four times alone over this last week Adam has been spending in London. Carl knows he is in the process of falling quite hard for this guy (or judging by how he is behaving right now – like a blushing fifteen year old on his way to his first date ever – he probably already arrived at that point) and sometimes he thinks those feelings are actually returned. At least every time he thinks about how Adam’s eyes always seem to seek him out, and then immediately flashes him one of those heart stopping smiles, how he always ends up sitting with Carl in the end, talking as if there is no tomorrow. And what is the deal with all those silly, nonsense and random text messages he keeps sending to Carl ever since that first meeting?
“Hey, Carl!”, he is startled out of his musings by Adam shouting his name, and he realizes he actually nearly walked by the pub. “Where are you going, man? I am right here. Didn’t you see me? I am not really *that* small, am I?” He laughs. Carl curses himself. He didn’t even figure out if this is a date or not by now. Maybe he just should have asked Adam this right away yesterday? No time to dwell on that thought though as Adam more or less drags him into the pub, announcing that he is starving and needs to eat right now. Before Carl knows what happened they are sitting at a table with a beer and their food in front of them. Carl is uncharacteristically quiet (normally he doesn’t have any problems joining into any conversation but tonight he feels as if he doesn’t have one thing to say) but Adam chats away happily for both of them anyway. And Carl is happy to let him. Adam tells him about the possibility of a tour in Germany, a new song he wrote, the book he read yesterday and babbles on about what he doesn’t understand about football (although he, of course, calls it soccer) and what is it about that Cricket game anyway; and rambles on about some random bizarre thing Carl doesn’t really understand at all. He is glad letting Adam do all the talking because he still is way too nervous (and still cursing himself about it) about the whole thing and about still having no clue if he is on a date or not – Adam certainly doesn’t help with figuring that one out. It also doesn’t hurt that he enjoys just listening to Adam’s voice.
Before too long they have finished with their food, and Adam just rejoins him at their table with their second round of beers. Adam sits back down next to Carl but stays quiet instead of keeping up with his nonstop rambling since they arrived at this place. Instead he steadily stares at Carl, who in turn stares at his glass. After a while of this, an unnerved Carl snaps at Adam: “What?”
Adam simply shrugs. “You tell me, Carl. I am just wondering if you actually wanna be here, man. I have been talking and talking nonstop for about an hour now, and you probably have said about ten words in that time. That’s not how I know you. So, what is wrong? Am I boring you?”
Carl stares at him. “What? No, of course not. Not at all actually. I am just … “ He pauses. What is he just anyway? Nervous? Too chicken to take the plunge and just find out what the fuck is going on and if he read the signs the right way. Taking a deep breath he continues. “Fuck, here goes nothing. I just have no clue what this is? “He gestures between them two. “And I have been trying to figure it out the whole day, believe me. Made me nervous, which is why I was so quiet. Had nothing to do with you. Well, in a way it has. The thing is that I … I … I was hoping this would be a date but I just cannot figure out if it is or if we just went out as friends to grab some food. Shit, listen to me … soyeah, you are not boring me at all, I was just preoccupied with my brain going a bit crazy … “ Adam’s listening to his babbling with an amused smile on his face, and decides to stop him. “Carl! Carl! Stop talking for a second there. I’d love to help you figure it out.” And before Carl can process what exactly is happening Adam’s lips are pressed against his.
'Definitely a date then.'