"Why not?" Silver raises an eyebrow. "I like you prattling on. I like learning about people, Benedict, and you're hardly the exception. If anything, you're one of the most fascinating people I've ever laid eyes on, and I know quite the colourful characters."
"Again--why not? You're the best client I've ever had." It's smooth, and Silver is surprised it's true as he says it. Usually, he says that as a ploy--he has to play the personality game, after all, rubbing elbows with the rich. This, though?
"I can't pretend to understand half of the phrases you use, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it. We're at our best when we're passionate about something, and for you to do it so openly is refreshing."
"Being a good client doesn't automatically make me fascinating," Benedict points out, but he can't deny that he's quite pleased by the compliments. He really can't recall a time someone called him interesting.
He supposes, to some degree, his small pocket of friends must find him moderately interesting. But being interesting isn't really a requirement for friendship, and Henry had first invited Benedict into that scene based on his interest in art and his potential. Did that make him interesting?
Benedict doesn't know. What he does know is that, when it comes to the Bridgertons, most of his family has a flair for the dramatics where he does not.
"Non the contrary. It tends to set the bar lower, truth be told. I am very grateful for their patronage, of course, but their conversation..." He winces. "Mostly they try to show off, as if I'm not aware that the simple act of hiring me means they're well off. It's dreadful. You? A breath of fresh air. Plus, you dabble with the working class."
Benedict is here, after all, eating in his kitchen and talking of art.
"Unless you think I'm lying, which is entirely reasonable, if completely untrue."
"You care what I think about you," Silver states, sounding almost impressed. He's lost in that damn smile, and he finds himself smiling, too. "That's your first problem,"
To emphasize his point, he gestures to the middle distance. "You care. If you're going to be hanging around here, you have to at least pretend you don't care about what anyone thinks about you. You'll get the hang of it, don't worry."
Unless it reflects poorly on his family, but he hardly thinks that eating breakfast at a friend's, even on this part of town, is shameful. It's the twenty-first century, after all.
"But if I'm to understand your words correctly, you're telling me you wouldn't care if I didn't like you at all?"
Silver's not expecting that, and it shows on his face, lips frozen, gaze shifting to a brief flash of confusion. Not at Benedict or his logic, strangely enough. More that he seemed to have been caught in something he set up himself.
He's not sure he likes it, and yet he finds himself answering honestly.
Benedict can't help but laugh, though he keeps it soft and amused (but with a distinct hint of an I told you so attitude) as he takes another couple bites of breakfast.
"Of course. As with every rule."
He's quite pleased to have caught Silver in a corner, so to speak. Not that Benedict felt that Silver didn't think he was clever, but it's also nice to one up someone. On friendly terms, of course.
The exchange does it for him, cements the decision in his head: he's going to kiss Benedict as the other leaves to make up for what happened last night. Silver doesn't think he's ever been delighted in being wrong before, of being cornered, but here Benedict is with a pleased look on his face and Silver, in turn, finds himself mesmerized.
"Thank you," he says finally. "For staying for breakfast." He could have left. Silver wouldn't have blamed him in the least. But it's been one of the best mornings he's had all week. It's like he's going on a date with the other all over again.
Not that the first time was a date, he has to remind himself.
Oh. That's unexpected, and Benedict looks across the small table as he wonders if he's misheard or missed something.
"I think I should be the one saying thank you. First, for letting me stay here, and second, for making me breakfast. Not that I'd pass this up - if it weren't for this, I'd have had a very sad breakfast sandwich and a very large iced coffee."
That's enough out of him, Silver promises himself, and that easy smile is back. He's let his defenses down, and Benedict hadn't trodden all over him. It's something he appreciates more than he thinks Benedict will ever be able to know.
"Do you normally drink iced coffee? How American."
"As long as you have standards," Silver laughs, and after the other steals some of his hashbrowns, he can't help but grin. He's definitely going to kiss the other senseless when he leaves.
Breakfast goes swimmingly, and Silver doesn't even realize they've been talking for at least an hour after the last of the coffee has ran out. It has to be far closer to noon than either of them admit, and Silver feels a pleasant giddiness inside him as he escorts the other do the door. He's still shirtless, too absorbed in the other's conversations to even think about changing.
"That wasn't bad for an impromptu chat at a pub," he says casually, one arm leaning against the wall by the door, looking at Benedict with a small smile.
Benedict finds himself getting dressed reluctantly, though it’s obvious that Silver isn’t about to invite him for an afternoon cuddle and nap. Which is fine, really, but a man can hope.
Perhaps, he thinks, that Silver is just naturally a sort of flirt. It suits his charismatic nature well. Benedict is more than fine with looking at Silver while he stands there, looking like that.
“We’ll have to do it again some time. But perhaps without me making a fool of myself.”
"Far from foolish," silver says softly, and he means it. If anything, a somewhat pleased smile flashes across his face, though only for a moment. "You're a very flattering drunk," he assures, and after another small smile he opens the door for the other.
"I'll see you in a few days, then. Make sure your fridge has plenty of room in it."
"I'll try not to starve between now and then," he teases.
Benedict notices the softness, like a sort of shift in the air. He's still not sure if he's misinterpreting the tension between them - is it awkward now, is it completely invented in his own head, or has he been reading it right all along?
It's not something to think about now. Not when his hangover is still yelling at him and he has a long cab trip home.
"Thank you. Again. For letting me stay the night and for that fantastic breakfast."
"The pleasure's mine." he means it, too, and for a moment he's caught, frozen, distracted by Benedict Bridgerton's ridiculously crooked smile.
Just as the other's about to leave--really leave--Silver grabs at the other's wrist. It's a simple gesture, but one he uses to pull the other closer, making sure they're close enough. He doesn't waste too much time, either, because his free hand moves to touch the other's jaw, guiding him closer for a kiss.
It's a proper one, Silver's hand steadying Benedict, gentle if he wants to pull away but firm enough the other can lean in. The hand that had grasped Benedict's wrist to pull him in now rests at the small of his back, a half embrace as he gives the other a full, proper kiss, nothing like what had happened last night.
At the gentle grab, Benedict thinks he's maybe forgotten something, so he turns around with a bit of a question in his face. Except that it all happens quite swiftly, and Benedict can't deny that Silver is very, very smooth.
Benedict leans into the kiss. He likes the feeling of the warm hand against his back and the scratch of Silver's stubble. But he's not as insistent as he'd been the night before, more than happy to just enjoy the moment and feel out the kiss to a natural end, which leaves him smiling a little against Silver's lips.
"You couldn't have done this earlier today?" he asks, teasing.
"I was making breakfast." He excuses himself with a slow smirk, though it doesn't seem like much of an excuse at all as they naturally drew back. Maybe he's a shit for not doing this right away, but it's a little more fun like this.
He resists the urge to part with a kiss. Silver has the right idea, maybe - it’s nicer when one’s made to wait a bit, and it suggests that maybe there’s more between them than friends-with-benefits. So he makes himself leave with the promise of seeing each other on Tuesday, and Benedict is more than fine to wait.
Really.
Except Monday night rolls around, and after an impromptu dinner out with his brothers, Benedict gets lost in painting. Eventually his stomach gives a grumble and he realizes it’s horribly late. Silver comes the next day to prep meals, so Benedict is about to settle for some bread or some cereal when a thought comes to his mind. If Silver is already meant to be here in the morning anyway, he may as well be here for the night. Or what’s left of the night.
On a whim and pure Bridgerton boldness, he texts Silver to let him know he’s in desperate need of a late night snack.
Silver responds a half-hour later with an apology (no phones on the line, he'd just dealt with a rush) and a promise to be there in under another half-hour, if Benedict is still up for it.
In truth, Silver doesn't think much of it. Maybe it's because his mind is still in work mode since he's coming straight from the Admiral Benbow, save for a short detour to try to shower off kitchen grease.
The doorman knows to just let him in now--even lets him in since he has his arms full of the food he'd bought prior for Tuesday's meals, though he still needs to go back for some more.
"I'm later than I'd like," he apologizes, immediately beginning to set stuff down and set things up. "Anything in particular you're in the mood for?"
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"You went to an art museum to see an igloo? That place must have been freezing."
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“Not actual igloos. Just things manipulated to look like igloos. To explore the connection between us and nature.”
He sips his coffee.
“I prefer neo-classicism myself. It’s a bit uppity, I know, but it’s a bit more to the point. Also, you mustn’t let me prattle on this way.”
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Benedict looks down demurely as he tucks into his breakfast, which is exactly what his hangover is craving.
“I’m not certain anyone’s ever called me fascinating.”
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"I can't pretend to understand half of the phrases you use, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it. We're at our best when we're passionate about something, and for you to do it so openly is refreshing."
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He supposes, to some degree, his small pocket of friends must find him moderately interesting. But being interesting isn't really a requirement for friendship, and Henry had first invited Benedict into that scene based on his interest in art and his potential. Did that make him interesting?
Benedict doesn't know. What he does know is that, when it comes to the Bridgertons, most of his family has a flair for the dramatics where he does not.
"But thank you."
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Benedict is here, after all, eating in his kitchen and talking of art.
"Unless you think I'm lying, which is entirely reasonable, if completely untrue."
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He cracks a smile, one half of his mouth lifting up.
"Well, I won't argue with you. If you find something likeable about me, I'll do my best to maintain it, not convince you otherwise."
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To emphasize his point, he gestures to the middle distance. "You care. If you're going to be hanging around here, you have to at least pretend you don't care about what anyone thinks about you. You'll get the hang of it, don't worry."
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Unless it reflects poorly on his family, but he hardly thinks that eating breakfast at a friend's, even on this part of town, is shameful. It's the twenty-first century, after all.
"But if I'm to understand your words correctly, you're telling me you wouldn't care if I didn't like you at all?"
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Silver's not expecting that, and it shows on his face, lips frozen, gaze shifting to a brief flash of confusion. Not at Benedict or his logic, strangely enough. More that he seemed to have been caught in something he set up himself.
He's not sure he likes it, and yet he finds himself answering honestly.
"There are, perhaps, one or two exceptions."
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"Of course. As with every rule."
He's quite pleased to have caught Silver in a corner, so to speak. Not that Benedict felt that Silver didn't think he was clever, but it's also nice to one up someone. On friendly terms, of course.
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"Thank you," he says finally. "For staying for breakfast." He could have left. Silver wouldn't have blamed him in the least. But it's been one of the best mornings he's had all week. It's like he's going on a date with the other all over again.
Not that the first time was a date, he has to remind himself.
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"I think I should be the one saying thank you. First, for letting me stay here, and second, for making me breakfast. Not that I'd pass this up - if it weren't for this, I'd have had a very sad breakfast sandwich and a very large iced coffee."
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"Do you normally drink iced coffee? How American."
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And then, feeling a bit bold, Benedict reaches his fork across to pierce a hashbrown off of Silver's plate.
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Breakfast goes swimmingly, and Silver doesn't even realize they've been talking for at least an hour after the last of the coffee has ran out. It has to be far closer to noon than either of them admit, and Silver feels a pleasant giddiness inside him as he escorts the other do the door. He's still shirtless, too absorbed in the other's conversations to even think about changing.
"That wasn't bad for an impromptu chat at a pub," he says casually, one arm leaning against the wall by the door, looking at Benedict with a small smile.
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Perhaps, he thinks, that Silver is just naturally a sort of flirt. It suits his charismatic nature well. Benedict is more than fine with looking at Silver while he stands there, looking like that.
“We’ll have to do it again some time. But perhaps without me making a fool of myself.”
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"I'll see you in a few days, then. Make sure your fridge has plenty of room in it."
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Benedict notices the softness, like a sort of shift in the air. He's still not sure if he's misinterpreting the tension between them - is it awkward now, is it completely invented in his own head, or has he been reading it right all along?
It's not something to think about now. Not when his hangover is still yelling at him and he has a long cab trip home.
"Thank you. Again. For letting me stay the night and for that fantastic breakfast."
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Just as the other's about to leave--really leave--Silver grabs at the other's wrist. It's a simple gesture, but one he uses to pull the other closer, making sure they're close enough. He doesn't waste too much time, either, because his free hand moves to touch the other's jaw, guiding him closer for a kiss.
It's a proper one, Silver's hand steadying Benedict, gentle if he wants to pull away but firm enough the other can lean in. The hand that had grasped Benedict's wrist to pull him in now rests at the small of his back, a half embrace as he gives the other a full, proper kiss, nothing like what had happened last night.
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Benedict leans into the kiss. He likes the feeling of the warm hand against his back and the scratch of Silver's stubble. But he's not as insistent as he'd been the night before, more than happy to just enjoy the moment and feel out the kiss to a natural end, which leaves him smiling a little against Silver's lips.
"You couldn't have done this earlier today?" he asks, teasing.
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Plus, the smile is worth it.
"Tuesday, then?"
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He resists the urge to part with a kiss. Silver has the right idea, maybe - it’s nicer when one’s made to wait a bit, and it suggests that maybe there’s more between them than friends-with-benefits. So he makes himself leave with the promise of seeing each other on Tuesday, and Benedict is more than fine to wait.
Really.
Except Monday night rolls around, and after an impromptu dinner out with his brothers, Benedict gets lost in painting. Eventually his stomach gives a grumble and he realizes it’s horribly late. Silver comes the next day to prep meals, so Benedict is about to settle for some bread or some cereal when a thought comes to his mind. If Silver is already meant to be here in the morning anyway, he may as well be here for the night. Or what’s left of the night.
On a whim and pure Bridgerton boldness, he texts Silver to let him know he’s in desperate need of a late night snack.
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In truth, Silver doesn't think much of it. Maybe it's because his mind is still in work mode since he's coming straight from the Admiral Benbow, save for a short detour to try to shower off kitchen grease.
The doorman knows to just let him in now--even lets him in since he has his arms full of the food he'd bought prior for Tuesday's meals, though he still needs to go back for some more.
"I'm later than I'd like," he apologizes, immediately beginning to set stuff down and set things up. "Anything in particular you're in the mood for?"
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