A Manly, Brooding Silence

  PT sat on a bar stool, a shot glass in front of him, still full. His partner, Phillip Carlyle, sat beside him. He also had an untouched shot glass in front of him. Charles sat cross-legged in front of the two, and Lettie stood behind the bar with the bartender, whose name no one ever thought to ask.

No one spoke for a while.

Then Charles: "So, are you two going to do this thing? Or are you just going to sit there and try to intimidate one another with your manly, brooding silence?" 

Lettie snorted, "All it is is an arm wrestling match. You two are THAT afraid of holding hands in front of us? You guys started this freak show- no one cares that you two are just as weird."

PT opened his mouth, then shut it, having lost his comeback. Phillip sighed and rotated his barstool to face PT. He offered his hand. PT was wearing his grim expression- perhaps trying to think of a way out of the situation, perhaps a little afraid. 

"You that afraid to lose?" Phillip smirked. 

"You're a bit eager to face certain defeat, aren't you Carlyle?" PT turned his eyes onto Phillip, a smile dancing in them. Phillips lips twitched into a grin.

PT slid his hand across the bar and grabbed Phillip's all in one fast move. His hand was clammy and a little sweaty, and Phillip realized PT was...nervous? Phillip rubbed his thumb over PT's fingers.

They had been sort of together for several months now, Charity and Anne were okay with it, and so was the rest of the troupe. But they were shy around each other when it came to doing couple things...like holding hands. Even alone, it was strange and new- in public, it was nerve wracking. Too much trouble, too much emotional strain. In public, they were friends, partners, even one another's helpmeet- but never lovers. Never a couple. 

Phillip quirked his lips into a small smile, and the looked into PTs eyes: "This okay?" his eyes asked. 

PT just smiled and wrapped his hand around Phillips. 

"Get a room already, you useless gays," Charles unimpressed voice interrupted. 

"Shhhh, Charles, they're having a moment," Lettie whispered mockingly, her voice very loud in the quiet bar. 

Charles groaned, "Just arm wrestle already! You two are killing me with all your lovey-dovey eye contact!"

All at once, PT put his full force into smashing Phillips hand into the bar top. Phillip was stronger than he looked, and fought back, gritting his teeth and straining. His face turned tomato red. PT's face was white, and tight with concentration.

Phillip fought well, but PT had the element of surprise at his advantage. Phillips strength began to waver, and his arm was slowly maneuvered towards the bar top. 

So he did the only thing he could think of- he cheated.

Well, sort of. 

He stretched his foot forward underneath the counter, until his ankle brushed PTs. He focused his eyes on PTs face, and was delighted when he saw the hazel eyes across from him widen in surprise. 

Phillip hooked his foot around PTs leg, and enjoyed the flustered look that crossed the other man's face. PT was distracted now, and Phillip used this against him, exerting the remaining bits of his strength. 

To his great satisfaction, Phillip smacked PT's arm onto the counter. 

"Ha! I win!" Phillip released PTs hand and grabbed his glass, knocking back the whiskey in one glorious gulp. 

Charles and Lettie cheered, and the silent bartender smiled and poured a round of shots for everyone.

Phillip still had his leg entwined with PT's, and when he glanced over PT was smiling broadly.
"Good game, Car- Phillip. Good game."