Though his question is interrupted by the press of the glass to his lips, and he wraps his fingers around Tom's wrist just to try and have some sort of control over the drink. He does drink it, though, meeting Tom's gaze and swallowing audibly.
Once the glass is empty, he leans back from it a little, just to catch his breath a little. A lot is happening at once, and he feels overwhelmed. Tom is an overwhelming person.
Is he making Darling a little uncomfortable? Sending him spinning off of his scientific axis? The other's hand moves around his wrist for some sort of support--control--and Tom nearly forgets to blink, watching the other with a hungry gaze as the younger man moves back, just a little.
"I'm sorry," he lies, and the glass glitches--shifts--and it's out of his hands. It's out of existence entirely.
"I don't think I'm accounting for you in this collaboration."
He wants Darling to know about this. About him. About everything. Better chance of getting out, since Alan's gone mad. Tom lowers the hand Darling still has a loose grasp on to begin to play with the other's bowtie.
Tom also wants more.
"It's that you're so damn charming--but I have an idea. Let's play a game." And, before Darling has a chance to speak, both of Tom's touchy hands are framing either side of that bearded face, chuckling. He's three seconds from crawling into his lap at this point.
"Get our creative energy flowing, loosen up, get to know each other--you're a man of science and inquiry. It might help. What do you say?" A gentle pat of the other’s cheeks.
He's so close. Their knees are touching and Darling's free hand comes up to rest against Tom's shoulder, just to feel like he has some sort of control over the situation (he doesn't). His fingers clutching at the fabric of Tom's blazer.
"What sort of game are we playing?" he asks, trying and failing to make his voice anything less than breathless.
It's a good hand, a strong hand, a hand Tom Zane would love to see it other places but he has to focus.
"An icebreaker, a party game, a way to get through the cracks and collaborate, to show ourselves to each other."
Darling clutches at his blazer like it's a life line. Tom's gaze flicks briefly to those long fingers, and then back to the bowtie he's playing with.
"For every question you ask, I'll ask one, too. A back and forth. Less of a stuffy interview. You should have another drink. You should have something else, too, maybe. That way you can get answers and I can see you relaxed, and we both win. Doesn't that sound fair?"
It sounds a little odd. But to be fair, Darling hasn't played an ice breaker game since he went to frat parties in college. (Not that he was in a fraternity, he just tutored a lot of fraternity boys and athletes, and so would get invited along to things. But that's neither here nor there.)
"Yes -- yes all right." He's desperate to know more about this place. To know more about this man who's found him. So he nods, eagerly, relinquishing his grip on Tom's jacket a little. "Ask me anything you'd like."
"Good!" Tom's smile lights up the whole room, it seems, and there it is, another drink, fresh gin and compari and a lovely little orange slice in a perfect old fashioned glass.
He needs to get Darling to relax. To truly open his mind.
"Good," he repeats, and he laughs, looking more than a little giddy. Loosening up Darling before inviting him further into this place, this world. He's been wandering for days. Tom's been lost for longer, but this is his escape. He needs to cement it. Really lock it down.
"Kippis." Cheers him, Darling. Don't ask why or how he's got a fresh drink, too. Don't ask why the rooms lighting is warmer, far more of a hotel than it is a void, strangely muted neon ghosting along their faces from the outside window and the patter of drizzling rain running rivulets down the glass pane.
Tom takes a sip, sets it down, and puts a cigarette in between his fingers, gesturing with it. His first question. Something simple.
A cigarette doesn't sound like a bad idea right now, honestly. He never smoked quite like Trench (who could?), but he did smoke. Especially when nervous, which he is now, or after sex, which feels... appropriate, for this moment.
"I do, absolutely. There's something... magnetic, almost. Electric. I felt it when we first shook hands.
Sorry, you wouldn't happen to have an extra one of those, would you? The cigarette, I mean."
"For you, Darling?" Tom's expressive face pulls into another happy smile, pleased at both the question and the reaction in general.
He traps his own smoke between his lips, leaning down to the coffee table to grab a pack of Black Pyramids. Long, elegant fingers pluck one out of the pack and instead of handing it over, Tom holds it and looks expectantly at the scientist.
"Open," he instructs, and when he places the cigarette on Casper's lips he lets his hand ghost along his jaw, thumb grazing against that stubble.
"Good boy," he purrs. He's a gentleman. He'll light it for his scientist friend, too.
"You have a face for film. Has anyone ever told you that?"
The logo on the cigarette catches his eye and he starts to ask -- "How did you -- " get those is what he means to say, but there's a cigarette being placed in his mouth and lit, and he inhales to keep from choking.
The good boy hits something he does his best to ignore more often than not, but it's hard to ignore the fact that Tom is petting his face while saying it.
"Uh -- sorry, um." His brain comes back from being completely static while he tries to answer the question. "No, I don't think I've ever gotten that comment, no."
Tom is watching him very carefully, hand dropping to those arms again, touching the doctor's forearm loosely. Drinks forgotten, his free hand casually takes a drag from his cigarette. He at least has decency to blow the smoke away from the other.
"No! No, not in the least." Not uncomfortable, no. A little overwhelmed, maybe, but certainly intrigued. Darling reaches over to rest his fingertips against Tom's knee, to reassure him.
"It's just that you're the first person I've spoken to in almost two years. I'm still adjusting."
There it is. electricity again, of connection, science and art meeting, of collaboration, of a true fucking higher power. Thomas feels like, for a brief moment, that simple touch and confirmation is akin to religious ecstasy before Darling ways almost exactly what he wants him to say.
"It gets lonely," he says softly, and he tilts his head to the side. There's a truth to his words, and now that he's said them aloud, the weight of it feels real.
The cigarette smoke suddenly doesn't smell as sweet to him. Zane trails off, gaze moving from Darling to an errant spot on the wall before he pulls himself together with soft fingers back to Darling's face. Index finger and thumb on his jaw, he gently nudges him to face him. His smile is back.
Darling takes a slow drag from the cigarette to calm his nerves, exhaling off to the side.
And then Tom's fingers are back on his face again, and Darling can't help but lean into the touch. Electric, absolutely. Magnetic, the way he feels drawn towards the artist. Swaying into his space. Those fingers still against Tom's knee.
"I think I like your idea for our initial collaboration." His voice is a little rough around the edges, and he can see Tom's hand move in his peripheral vision, as he speaks.
Tom's smile is genuine as it widens, reaching his full face and his eyes easily.
"I knew you were smart! That brain is as big as your arms!" His excitement is palpable even with his soft tone, and since Darling's all but given him the go ahead, he begins to undo that bowtie he'd been playing with.
"With your mind and my creativity, there'll be no stopping us."
"Quite a lot of free time, in the void," he says, though his voice is distracted, to say the least. His gaze lowering as Tom's fingers start to work at his tie. "I tried to keep active."
Though it feels silly to say, even as it leaves his mouth. But the filmmaker is doing a very good job of throwing him off, between the compliment and those busy fingers. His own hand creeps up Tom's leg a little, settling more on his thigh than his knee.
Tom's feeling pretty proud of himself. He's finally got the curious scientist to stop asking questions, and that hand up his thigh is divine. He takes a long drag of his cigarette.
"Oh, it worked," he assures. The barely lit cigarette is placed on a brown glass ashtray, right next to his half a cocktail, and Tom pulls the final knot to loosen the entire bowtie.
"It worked very well. You look stunning."
Zane shifts, sliding his leg easily over Darling as he sits, straddling the scientists' lap and letting his long fingers run through the other's short hair. He's wanted to do that for a while.
Oh. Darling's next exhale is a little shaky, his hands finding Tom's waist underneath the suit jacket. Fingers sliding along the waist of his leather pants. Nervous, but eager.
"Stunning?" he asks, with a shy sort of laugh. "I don't think I've ever been called stunning before." Tom is ethereal, the makeup around his eyes only making them seem more blue.
"Because you're used to being around people that don't appreciate you," Zane brings his hand down, from the other's shot hair, along his jaw, down to that bowtie he's undone. He gently pulls the fabric and tosses the whole thing behind him, easing him out of his fancy little labcoat as well while he talks. His hips angle themselves appropriately, a pleased hum as the other grabs at his waist. It's nice.
"You, or aesthetic. But science and art are very closely linked." He inhales.
"The golden -- ? Ah, yes." His tone is... distracted, to say the least, as Zane's fingers move over his face, those clever hands pushing his labcoat down his arms. Darling moves with it, inhaling sharply as his movement to get the coat off inadvertently shifts his hips up as Zane's hips tilt down and this is going a bit quicker than he had intended.
But he doesn't pull away.
"I'm very, uh, familiar with the Fibonacci sequence. I've seen a few lectures, presentations, applying the ratio to various paintings. Statues, sometimes."
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Though his question is interrupted by the press of the glass to his lips, and he wraps his fingers around Tom's wrist just to try and have some sort of control over the drink. He does drink it, though, meeting Tom's gaze and swallowing audibly.
Once the glass is empty, he leans back from it a little, just to catch his breath a little. A lot is happening at once, and he feels overwhelmed. Tom is an overwhelming person.
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"I'm sorry," he lies, and the glass glitches--shifts--and it's out of his hands. It's out of existence entirely.
"I don't think I'm accounting for you in this collaboration."
He wants Darling to know about this. About him. About everything. Better chance of getting out, since Alan's gone mad. Tom lowers the hand Darling still has a loose grasp on to begin to play with the other's bowtie.
Tom also wants more.
"It's that you're so damn charming--but I have an idea. Let's play a game." And, before Darling has a chance to speak, both of Tom's touchy hands are framing either side of that bearded face, chuckling. He's three seconds from crawling into his lap at this point.
"Get our creative energy flowing, loosen up, get to know each other--you're a man of science and inquiry. It might help. What do you say?" A gentle pat of the other’s cheeks.
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"What sort of game are we playing?" he asks, trying and failing to make his voice anything less than breathless.
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"An icebreaker, a party game, a way to get through the cracks and collaborate, to show ourselves to each other."
Darling clutches at his blazer like it's a life line. Tom's gaze flicks briefly to those long fingers, and then back to the bowtie he's playing with.
"For every question you ask, I'll ask one, too. A back and forth. Less of a stuffy interview. You should have another drink. You should have something else, too, maybe. That way you can get answers and I can see you relaxed, and we both win. Doesn't that sound fair?"
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"Yes -- yes all right." He's desperate to know more about this place. To know more about this man who's found him. So he nods, eagerly, relinquishing his grip on Tom's jacket a little. "Ask me anything you'd like."
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He needs to get Darling to relax. To truly open his mind.
"Good," he repeats, and he laughs, looking more than a little giddy. Loosening up Darling before inviting him further into this place, this world. He's been wandering for days. Tom's been lost for longer, but this is his escape. He needs to cement it. Really lock it down.
"Kippis." Cheers him, Darling. Don't ask why or how he's got a fresh drink, too. Don't ask why the rooms lighting is warmer, far more of a hotel than it is a void, strangely muted neon ghosting along their faces from the outside window and the patter of drizzling rain running rivulets down the glass pane.
Tom takes a sip, sets it down, and puts a cigarette in between his fingers, gesturing with it. His first question. Something simple.
"Do you feel this? This connection, between us."
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"I do, absolutely. There's something... magnetic, almost. Electric. I felt it when we first shook hands.
Sorry, you wouldn't happen to have an extra one of those, would you? The cigarette, I mean."
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He traps his own smoke between his lips, leaning down to the coffee table to grab a pack of Black Pyramids. Long, elegant fingers pluck one out of the pack and instead of handing it over, Tom holds it and looks expectantly at the scientist.
"Open," he instructs, and when he places the cigarette on Casper's lips he lets his hand ghost along his jaw, thumb grazing against that stubble.
"Good boy," he purrs. He's a gentleman. He'll light it for his scientist friend, too.
"You have a face for film. Has anyone ever told you that?"
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The good boy hits something he does his best to ignore more often than not, but it's hard to ignore the fact that Tom is petting his face while saying it.
"Uh -- sorry, um." His brain comes back from being completely static while he tries to answer the question. "No, I don't think I've ever gotten that comment, no."
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"Am I making you uncomfortable?"
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"It's just that you're the first person I've spoken to in almost two years. I'm still adjusting."
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"It gets lonely," he says softly, and he tilts his head to the side. There's a truth to his words, and now that he's said them aloud, the weight of it feels real.
The cigarette smoke suddenly doesn't smell as sweet to him. Zane trails off, gaze moving from Darling to an errant spot on the wall before he pulls himself together with soft fingers back to Darling's face. Index finger and thumb on his jaw, he gently nudges him to face him. His smile is back.
"We can fix that, too. Together."
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And then Tom's fingers are back on his face again, and Darling can't help but lean into the touch. Electric, absolutely. Magnetic, the way he feels drawn towards the artist. Swaying into his space. Those fingers still against Tom's knee.
"I think I like your idea for our initial collaboration." His voice is a little rough around the edges, and he can see Tom's hand move in his peripheral vision, as he speaks.
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"I knew you were smart! That brain is as big as your arms!" His excitement is palpable even with his soft tone, and since Darling's all but given him the go ahead, he begins to undo that bowtie he'd been playing with.
"With your mind and my creativity, there'll be no stopping us."
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Though it feels silly to say, even as it leaves his mouth. But the filmmaker is doing a very good job of throwing him off, between the compliment and those busy fingers. His own hand creeps up Tom's leg a little, settling more on his thigh than his knee.
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"Oh, it worked," he assures. The barely lit cigarette is placed on a brown glass ashtray, right next to his half a cocktail, and Tom pulls the final knot to loosen the entire bowtie.
"It worked very well. You look stunning."
Zane shifts, sliding his leg easily over Darling as he sits, straddling the scientists' lap and letting his long fingers run through the other's short hair. He's wanted to do that for a while.
"We can set to work after we celebrate, hmmm?"
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"Stunning?" he asks, with a shy sort of laugh. "I don't think I've ever been called stunning before." Tom is ethereal, the makeup around his eyes only making them seem more blue.
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"You, or aesthetic. But science and art are very closely linked." He inhales.
"Do you know about the golden spiral?
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But he doesn't pull away.
"I'm very, uh, familiar with the Fibonacci sequence. I've seen a few lectures, presentations, applying the ratio to various paintings. Statues, sometimes."