"Welcome! I'll be serving you here today, so is there anything I can get for you?"
The young girl/woman waiting on their table seemed a little too enthusiastic for a simple lunch restaurant like this. Her smile was too ingratiating, her eyes too bright, her breasts pouting out too much. And her voice was definitely a little too cheerful.
Schuldig wondered why, and after checking her thoughts he quickly came to the suspected conclusion that she wasn't their real waitress.
But she wasn't an assassin or shady contact either.
She'd simply switched tables. Now she would have to cover for one of the other waitresses for an extra hour this afternoon, but it'd be worth it to get the table with the two cute foreigners.
Schuldig smirked. The thought of Farfarello being referred to as 'cute' somehow seemed amusing.
But, being who he was, he couldn't help taking advantage of the situation. He directed the seediest grin he could possibly generate at the girl, while staring straight down her rather deep cleavage, suggestively raising an eyebrow.
"Any recommendations?"
The poor girl looked as if she was about to either faint or break into a fit of nervous giggling.
"Uhmm... I don't..." She quickly turned her eyes down to her order book in a futile attempt to stop that revealing blush from turning her face any redder than necessary. "I'll get the menus," she concluded, running off towards the kitchen.
Schuldig chuckled silently and turned back to Farfarello, getting a bit disappointed by the fact that he hadn't even seemed to notice anything.
The Irishman had been too busy examining the edge of his knife. Not that it was a very interesting knife. It was actually just a normal stainless steel knife of a type commonly found in cheap lunch restaurants, but he had to check it anyway. Call it a fetish if you will, but he just had to know how well it would cut. The best way to find out would be to try it against his own flesh, and now his lower left arm was adorned with a few red near-cuts. It wasn't intentional or anything, but they did look a little like an S.
Schuldig tipped back on his chair, hoping the damn thing wouldn't fall apart underneath him. He crossed his legs and regarded his lover through half-closed eyes. Cute? He hadn't really thought of it that way before, but there was something about Farfarello's short ruffled hair... It was so damn soft that Schuldig could spend all night with his face buried in it, but it still looked a bit like steel wool. Maybe it was the color, almost bluish in certain light. The fact that he never even cared enough about his appearance to run a comb through it might perhaps be considered cute.
And the curve of his nose... That scar made it almost impossible to pass him without giving him a second look. Schuldig didn't even see the scars anymore. Maybe he just knew Farfarello too well to get hung up on details like that. It was strange though. When he'd first met the Irishman those scars and the eyepatch had been all he'd seen, and now those things didn't even register with him.
Maybe the eyepatch even was for the better. Farfarello's look was so intense, almost burning with some inner hate or contempt or pure adoration depending on who and what he was looking at. And the color of that eye... the thought that it was the only one in existence seemed almost comforting. Two would have been too much, made it profane in some way.
And his narrow eyebrows... Knitted in fascination for a simple dinner knife. At times he'd be completely cut off from everything concerning the 'real world', living through his own imagination. At other times he'd be vividly aware of the world around him, pointing out ordinary little things to Schuldig, exploring and explaining them as if he'd never seen anything like them before. And he pulled it all off with such seriousness and intelligence that it never even verged on childishness. Schuldig had never really spent much time thinking about how things appeared - things were the way they were - but now he suddenly found himself doing just that. Maybe it rubbed off.
And those earrings... Schuldig would count them, run his tongue over them, bite, suckle, pull, as if they were toys, and Farfarello would squirm a little, warm breath washing over his ear. He'd never remove those earrings, and the silver had almost blackened from being subjected to air and water and blood and chloride and whatever else for so long. Maybe Schuldig could make him clean them. It'd be fun to see them gleam and reflect the sunlight. Then again, maybe they were cute this way.
And that black leather collar... The way it accentuated the paleness of his throat. The thin, worn bond with the small metal buckle looked almost parodic, an imitation of restraint on someone who could hardly even be considered restrained when wrapped up in a straightjacket.
Then there were his shoulders of course... He was almost as tall as Schuldig. And he was slim, but in a well trimmed way and not too slim like some guys who simply lacked muscles. Farfarello's shoulders were broad and he would have looked great in any kind of suit, but he'd never felt comfortable in formal wear. Instead he wore shirts showing off his muscular arms and part of his chest... His shirts usually didn't do much to hide the contours of the muscles underneath either.
Farfarello was strong, no doubt about that. Stronger than Schuldig, but he'd never do much to show it. Not out of some notion not to bruise his lover's ego, and Schuldig would have seen right through that, but simply because he didn't care. Schuldig was good enough to keep up with him and would put up enough of a fight to make it interesting, and that was all that really mattered. In an odd sense it was reassuring to have a bloodthirsty psychopath by one's side. And to have one in bed... but maybe 'cute' wasn't the best word for that.
Schuldig uncrossed his legs and leaned in over the table, putting his left hand over Farfarello's right. He firmly pressed the knife down to the table, and placed his other hand behind the Irishman's neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Forgetting all about his knife, Farfarello lapped hungrily at Schuldig's mouth, using his free hand to grab the collar of Schuldig's blazer, almost dragging him out of his chair. A glass fell over.
The waitress from before returned after a quick trip to the ladies' room (to splash her face with some cold water, check her lipstick, and make sure her blouse wasn't too unbuttoned) with two lunch menus and an order book full of food recommendations, only to find her two cute male customers leaning over the table, caught up in what appeared to be a rather passionate kiss; the redhead doing a fair bit of groping, and the guy with all the scars and bandages emitting a fair bit of little throaty sounds, making it completely obvious that he definitely didn't mind.
She promptly turned on her heal, blushing furiously for the second time that day. Now probably wasn't the best time to discuss lunch options. Damn. The good ones are always taken...