Warren & Gabriel: Haters Gonna Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate (backdated)

[x-velocidad.livejournal.com]

Warren and Gabriel run into each other during a night out. It goes about as well as you'd imagine.

Another night. Another random fund-raiser. This one had to do with the homeless. Or vets. Maybe homeless vets. Warren wasn't sure.

To be honest, he wasn't even supposed to be here. The invitation was for his father who passed it to his mother who gave it to Jolene who then got sick (the audacity!) and that left Warren. Whatever. It helped the philanthropic vibe he was supposed to be giving out now anyways.

This event was more formal than some of the others. White tie. A blood donation at the door to make sure it was blue enough. The typical thing. That explained why he hardly managed to avoid a spit take when he saw Gabriel.

It took him while to maneuver his way over without being overly obvious. "You're not dressed like the help," Warren said dryly. "And there's no way you were invited. Why are you here?"

"That's a fair question, but you know, nice to see you too." Gabriel took a sip of the gimlet in his hand, looking past Warren to survey the room. Many of the people here looked at home in their bow ties and tails, as if they were born into them. It probably helped that they were owned and tailored, unlike his, which were rentals procured at the last minute.

A caterer came by with an empty tray, and he set the now-drained glass on it as the man walked by. "Your bow tie's crooked," he informed Warren, an eyebrow raised, "and I'm here as a guest." He paused, looking back at the man. "On a date, actually."

Warren couldn't help himself. "The kind that ends with a tip?"

Gabriel visibly stiffened for a second, a small frown on his face. It faded after a few seconds, since he knew there was no way Warren would understand the nerve he struck. "Actually," he reached out to straighten the older man's bow tie, which was driving him crazy, "my nights don't end with 'just the tip.' Speaking of which, where's your date?"

Warren frowned at the familiarity of Gabriel, but he didn't stop the other man from fixing the bowtie. "I came alone," he answered, with a shrug. "It was a last minute thing. No one else was available so here I am. This group is my father's favourite tax deduction, but he can't be bothered to actually appear. But seriously, who are you here with? Should I just get used to seeing you everywhere? I mean, let's be honest, " he added. "For two people who don't like each other much, we seem to be running in the same circles lately."

"I've seen you at the mansion, a party where you paid me, and here. I think you're fine." Gabriel dropped his hands to his sides and scanned the room for his date. "I thought he went to the bathroom, but I guess not." He shrugged, looking back at Warren. "You know Carter Yates? He's a regular at my bar. Never really spoke to him much, but he's always buying me shots."

Warren smirked. Carter Yates. Ultimate bro. Wanted to be liked by the world and to be treated on his own merits, but he was really just killing time for his inheritance. "Hedge fund manager, huh." He shrugged. "You could do better. Carter pretends to not care about slumming, but I guarantee you -- if he was called out on it, he'd leave you in a heartbeat."

"Slumming?" Gabriel's eyebrows narrowed. "Excuse me?" He shook his head. It seemed like every time he wanted to give Warren the benefit of the doubt, he was reminded how much he hated one-percenter douchebags.

"I'm sorry, I thought we were on honest terms with each other." Warren cleared his throat. "Alright, how about 'dating outside of his station'? Is that more dignified? I mean, there's nothing wrong with it really. Fairy tales do happen. I just hope you're not too disappointed when the clock strikes twelve and your prince turns into a frog."

"Is that really—" Gabriel's voice was louder now, his face hot. He dropped his voice again, now basically glowering as he looked up at the man. "Wow," he shook his head. "I can't even..." A waiter came by with a tray of wine, and Gabriel reached out to grab a glass of white. "How are there people who can't see what an asshole you are?" He held up a hand as he took a sip. "I mean, Jesus Christ."

Warren had no idea either. "I've never hidden what I am," he responded idly, already bored with the conversation. "It's not my fault that some people enjoy my company, although frankly -- can you blame them." He flashed a smile. "I am pretty magnificant."

"Saying it doesn't make it true," Gabriel said flatly. He took a sip of the wine and winced. "Well, for the record," he looked up at Warren, "Carter Yates has a nine-inch dick and gives pretty good head. Which is pretty much all I'm looking for right now. Not trying to move into a palace, be kept or get into Vows. So." He raised the glass and took another sip.

"To each their own," was all Warren had to say about that. He felt tempted to mention something, anything, just to rile Gabriel up further, but Jolene had finally arrived, appropriately drugged up. She must have read his fifty-odd 911 texts.

"And on that lovely note, I hope you don't end up with anal prolapse or anything else unpleasant. I have to go but as always, it was an enlightening conversation."

Not really, that was a lie. But he did decide that he'd get Jolene to spread around that Gabriel had super gonorrhea. That'd be hilarious.

"Yeah," Gabriel spat back after he'd finished draining the rest of his wine. He didn't want to be here anymore, hot date or not. "Enjoy your frigid ice queen," he nodded in Jolene's direction, "and the chlamydia flare-up she'll no doubt cause." He shoved the empty glass at Warren, then turned away to find the date he'd now decided to ditch.