【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
Due to a high volume of check-ins, temporary accommodations have been made in our parking garage for all new arrivals. We aim to have all guests moved into their reserved rooms as soon as possible. We deeply apologize for any inconvenience!
All are invited to There Is No Tomorrow, a Phoenix Casino soiree to celebrate our beloved guests. The festivities will begin at 1800 hours on January 20th and end at 1800 hours on January 27th. Please look forward to 168 hours of delight.
In an effort to raise happiness and encourage better guest relationships, attendance is required. The house will assist guests that are too shy to appear of their own accord. Please note that black tie attire is mandatory. As always, we hope you enjoy your stay! 】
PARKING GARAGE
ANY CAR IN A STORM
PHOENIX CASINO HALL
WELCOME TO THE NEXT 168 HOURS
Phoenix Casino is a-flutter with activity and packed to the beak with guests. As a famously ever-changing space, the staff would be remiss if they didn't deck the crown jewel of the Golden Peacock out. The casino glitters from top to bottom, shining brighter than diamonds, rubies, sapphires, opals! Party-goers are shiny and glamorous with picture perfect makeup, fluttering gowns, and sharp suits. Card tables are packed and the slot machines are a-ringing as guests play, play, play! Prizes, luxury, booze, attractive people, it's the place that everyone wants to be at.
Those people being dragged inside by some invisible force...? Silly, they were so excited to come that their bodies moved before they realized what was happening. Those are struggles of joy and definitely not the casino's infamous ghost hands dragging unwilling guests to the party at the behest of the house. Look, they're literally hurling their bodies at the card tables with unrestrained glee!
All clocks indicating day hours and night hours have been removed from the casino. Once a guest has entered, their Watch will jam, making it impossible to keep track of the time. You don't need to worry about that tonight.
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's January event.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header. This month we also have an ongoing ATP / EMP where players can connect. Please feel free to utilize this for all of your peafowl needs!
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort!
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
( a small breath, half-amusement, half-irritation, spared over the lip of his glass--there's barely another mouthful left, but he tips it back anyway, lets the alcohol burn down his throat. )
I doubt it.
( it's not that he's looking to pick a fight, but he's never been the type of person to temper his blows, either. he doesn't know what a 'suit activation' means, though he's gathered, from the way that he's seen others weaving around the party, that it has something to do with this 'card value' assigned to every guest. he's seen strange tattoos that come in four distinct symbols: and it's not like he doesn't know the suits in a playing card deck are one and the same.
but then--his gaze slides, notes the way that the stranger's collar is undone, the way he drinks a bottle of water; it makes him look back to his empty glass, setting it down on the bar. )
What should I be expecting, then? ( a roll of his gaze again, up towards the other--and it flickers again, from his hand up to his face. ) Why aren't you drinking like everyone else?
( is that part of it? maybe he shouldn't have trusted the bar after all. )
[sounds like a mirror, albeit quieter with less words. he said those same words months ago, snarled back in anyone's face who attempted to warn him about the payments. what a surprise someone else new has the same damn reaction.]
Che. I said the same thing.
[reality's a bitch and he fucking hates it plenty. without knowing if this guy's been around for a few days or is drinking off the first hours of his existence, it's not his problem to coach him in results. even now, wheels spin behind those dark eyes. he rejects it with a defensive dismissal, but he's thinking about it all the same. good, someone who takes a warning seriously rather than recklessly charging into the unknown. he'd been the same, dismissive, but listening...
turning back to the casino, he leaves his focus on other people, brows furrowed above a face radiating "don't fuck with me" vibes to anyone who might be looking for some fun. bristly ass wallflower, this one.]
Depends on your suit. They all end up screwing with your head and body, making you go crazy until you fuck around with someone.
[that's the nice way to put it, each suit has its own preference. he's disgusted with his own: spades. as for the other question-]
( his mouth twitches, the beginnings of a frown--and rather than turn towards his helpful companion, he instead twists to face the bar again, gripping both hands around his empty glass. it's a frustrating thing, feeling particularly helpless; it's not something that he's wanted to entertain, something that he's pushed down under adamant declarations of intent, and revenge, and that even if something felt impossible, that he would somehow manage it at any expense. from the way he's understanding things, it seems the only way out is through--and that's one of the last things he's wanted to do.
what the hell is he supposed to accomplish, with something like that? it feels too egotistical to assume that he'll be able to control something controlling him; it's not like he has anything but his own stubborn attitude to depend on, and even that can only go so far.
so, it's with some measure of disdain, that his gaze centers in on that stupid vibrator, again. )
Fucking around is for losers, too. ( quietly, as though he can just hear denji's wailing in his head. ) Are you offering?
( how the hell else is he supposed to get through something like this? it's not like he can go up and down the bar, or up and down the party, waving the toy around like a white flag; so that means his gaze is now rooted on this stranger's face, even as he's turned away to watch the party move. a quick refusal is expected. it's what he would do. )
[he makes no effort to meet the other guy's eyes, counter rim digging into his back as he glances to a slot machine going wild. no such luck for jackpot, but a free turn isn't the worst payout. leaving the newcomer with time to mull over information. some people here said everything, pouring their brains out into your face like a firehouse to the mouth. so much crap the only way to process it is by shutting your brain up and letting it bounce off until you're ready. or it rams itself inside so hard there's no ability to reject it anymore. he'd rather one at a time, as needed. even if it's more frustrating the longer it takes.
months in this place is enough to pound in the sorry truth "going home" is not an option unless you play the shitty game. he's not made peace with his reality so much as angrily accepted it on his own terms, heels jacked into the ground and jaws set in stubborn refusal to do anything this place wants him to do. unless he's good and ready. maybe it means nothing in the long run, but to him, keeping even some semblance of control over his own life is more important.
he snorts in agreement with the guy's quiet tone.] No shit.
[lifting the bottle to his lips again, he almost spits a drink right back inside.] BFFftt-! [seriously?! after that kind of refusal, straight up asks him that?! he rags the back of his hand across his mouth, angry scowling and shoving the bottle to the side so he's not dripping on himself.] What the hell, Topknot?! Lead into it at least!
[granted, then he'd have gotten mad it took the guy so long to shut up and spit it out! lose lose with him. he grabs a napkin, tells the bartender to fuck off (she's giving such a disdainful look), and wipes his hand clean. tch.
... but-] If it'll keep you from going nuts, fine.
[he doesn't want to see anyone ravaged like that.]
( it's not just the bartender that's giving the stranger a look of disdain--he's wearing it himself, eyes narrowed, mouth twitched into disapproval; rather than say a word, he reaches across the bar for the small stack of napkins there, palming up two or three and dabbing them, silently, on the bar. there's only a little bit of backwash spray there, maybe a dribble from the bottle, or the other's sleeve--patiently, and without another word, he holds them up in offer. doesn't matter if the guy takes them or not, he'll keep his hand poised there.
he's too used to having to clean up after two slobs--well, a slob and a half, given that he'd at least managed some kind of peaceful coexistence with the former before the latter showed up.
the surprise that he isn't told to just fuck off doesn't linger on his expression, but it does flatten, and he straightens in his seat, abandoning the napkins so that he can reach a palm out and cover the width of the vibrator box. his fingers curl around the edges. )
It's Hayakawa. ( he's not going to let someone else just blandly call him topknot for months. ) Hayakawa Aki.
( dragging the box back towards himself, he pushes off the bar stool to stand-- )
So? Where do you want to do this? ( there's a little wave of the box in indication, as if the other could have possibly forgotten. ) It would be embarrassing for you if we did it here.
[if these two keep giving him the stink eye for almost choking on his water, he's gonna slam a grenade right in their faces! he swipes some of the napkins offered and assists in wiping up the bar; at least most of it was out towards the casino rather than spewing all over the fucking lacquer. despite the bartender's distaste, she at least offers a glass of water, which he uses to punctually clean up the bar's surface. he'll even use some disinfectant spray if she's really gonna go off on him. takes only a minute to get all that cleaned up, quick and efficiently.
leaving a mess behind for someone else to clean up would only piss him off. he finishes by wiping off the bottle, then downs the rest of it and tosses it into a recycle bin behind the bar rather than asking the bartender to do that for him. he can handle his own trash, thanks.
as much as he wants to tell him to fuck off, he's been in this place too long now to carry the same hostile aversion he arrived here with. knowing full well what the suits can make a person do, learning there's only a few hours before they activate from the toy makes him more lenient.]
Uh-huh. [topknot it is. oh, so he's really ready to get this over with right now? making to swivel off the stool, he pauses at the retort and shoots the hunter a glare.] Like you're gonna be fucking happy to do it! [calling him out on his own embarrassment. but a tilt of his head indicates one side of the casino.] Follow me. There's rooms in the back.
( it's repeated like he can't quite believe it--like he's skeptical, eyes narrowed, but his savior here starts to move before he can question it. obviously, this guy has been here longer than he has, so he knows more of the layout of the place; already, he can tell that this place is rather large scale, that this huge ballroom of tables and sofas and bars and games can't possibly be the only place inside. the elevator ride up from the garage had been proof enough. just how sprawling is this place?
with his lips pursed, he follows after his companion. with the vibrator box at his side, he uses his free hand to push past others, gently elbowing this way and that in order to keep on the heels of the other.
which makes him realize: )
You didn't tell me your name. ( mildly, once they've cleared some of the crowd--this must be where some of the rooms are, given that there's more than one hallway here, and the noise from the party isn't quite as oppressive. )
Or do you not want me to know?
( it would make sense, given what he presumes he's about to do to this person. yes, he has absolutely no plan to use the vibrator on himself. )
[a hotel. rooms exist in great number within such places. his skepticism rolls off his back to the floor, left in the wake he expects the other man to follow. months ago, he was the one not knowing a damn path around this place, having to be escorted by a weird or unsavory characters, before branching off map in hand for personal exploration. makes his skin crawl to realize he's been here long enough to become another victim's tour guide. getting back home, freeing the other captives, feels like a goal lost in shadows far above his head.
he turns his body, shoulder first as a wedge through their crowds. pushing one to the side, then the other, a steady stalk carrying him over plush carpet and past one luxurious table of people losing money after another.]
Bakugo Katsuki.
[something about this guy feels strangely "normal" and he isn't sure he likes it. glitz and glamor wash past them in a sudden change to straight lines, diamond patterns on the floor, a built-in railings running the wall in golden definition. and multiple doors. not a single one directly facing another, as if this affords some sort of privacy.
fingers wrap around a questionably-shaped knob and he pushes the door open with a lumber inside.] Take a look around. It should be- [empty? hardly. uh-] -clean.
( bakugo katsuki: a japanese name. which would normally give him some measure of comfort, but after everything that's happened here, he somehow doubts that this 'bakugo katsuki' comes from the same kind of japan that he does. no one here, as far as he's been able to tell, seems to come from the same kind of japan that he does. so he lets the name roll over in his thoughts, quiet, solemn, as he looks at the rows of doors. it's a little--disgusting, in a way, to think that the whole point of this place is to facilitate the sort of thing that he would have lived his whole life without knowing, or caring about.
with a harder grip around the box, he follows in after bakugo into the room of his choosing. at least it's empty in the sense that they're the only ones in it: but it's the sight of everything else that makes his lips press together, smothering an agitated sigh.
why would he expect anything different? the room is gaudy, glitzy, and ugly, lined with shelves upon shelves of all kinds of things, the sort of items that would be prevalent in a love hotel, maybe--bottles of lube, boxes of condoms, other toys, other clothes, towels and food and anything else that could possibly be a thought for someone's arousal. )
...On the bed, then. ( he says, though it's hard to say whether that's a question or a command; he tosses the box onto the end of it, already starting to shrug out of his suit jacket. ) I'll watch.
( isn't that good enough? voyeurism at its finest? that should satisfy the bullshit conditions of this place. )
[he can't read minds, but it's not hard to fathom what swims through aki's head as he trails behind the entire sordid lead. gaudy golden naked figures lounging in the rims of gambling tables, phallic symbols woven into carpet patterns, a questionably-shaped doorknob leading into one room among many in a hallway seemingly dedicated to engaging in perverted pleasures with a perfect stranger at the behest of some unknown entity. yeah, confusion, anger, disgust, wariness, and everything else he felt when he walked down a similar hall towards sandy beaches, listening to the most fucked-up introduction in his life.
letting aki pass him, he shuts the door and clamps out the noises beyond their room; it locks on its own, like a damn "occupied" stall. if only this was nothing more than stupid hotel room. instead, the trappings and trimmings scream a love hotel fucked a royal palace and shat out this glittering erotic monstrosity. he brushes by aki once more, shoulder first, and invades the room proper, as if that would somehow make things easier to accept.]
Huh? [red eyes peer over his strong shoulder, veiled in shadows of his bangs. this guy's gonna kick crap off by ordering him around? lips twitch in a snarl and expose a scoff dismissing the entire suggestion.] Get your eyes checked. It says you have to use it. [arguably... he cants his head towards the bed, as if answering aki's question/command from earlier.] You're on the bed.
( cool and calm are easy enough, when everything just feels like some kind of sick joke. it's not like it matters what happens in front of him. he's seen the worst of the worst, and some blonde bombshell spread out on the sheets of a lackluster hotel bed touching himself isn't going to be some sort of eye-opening, awe-inspiring experience. it's not going to be the kind of thing that he blushes over, not going to be the sort of thing that will scar him or bother him going forward; it's perverse, and a sick joke for the resort to be forcing it on either of them, but like those smutty magazines that denji brings back to the apartment, it's not going to be completely out of line. arguably, the guy in the room with him is more attractive than any of those busty girls anyway.
but being challenged--better, being corrected by this kid isn't something that he's going to take sitting down. his temper gets the better of him, a small flash of it, jaw lining up as though he has to clench his teeth around the first words he bites back. )
No one said-- ( he starts, stops, then corrects himself; he elbows out of his suit jacket, tossing it onto one of the tables--a few bottles of lubricant wobble and topple over beneath it with the weight. ) No. Alright. I have to use it.
( pointedly, he's still not getting on the bed. instead, he's reaching down to take the box up again so that he can flip the flap at the top and open it. )
So, I'm using it on you. ( icy, now, like his personality hasn't defrosted, but rather, hardened over. ) Lie down.
( a crumple of the packaging, and he frees the stupid vibrator from the box; immediately he's peering at the base, feeling over the buttons there as though to teach himself what each one does before he's put to the test--in an instant, his gaze snaps back up to bakugo, impatient. ) Now.
[there's a lot more here that's going to feel like a sick joke. this bastard really thinks it's able to force these kind of situations without some push back? he the man in front of him refused to engage in the demand, he would've supported him all the way. curt support, but support nonetheless. instead, he took the demand seriously and now they're levying this crap between them like two stags preparing to charge a power play. of course he doesn't have to obey or engage with this! he could walk the fuck out that door and slam it behind him, leaving aki to handle the mess on his own. except the requirement's with "another person" and he already warned the newcomer of rebellion. possibly in light of what some villains claim, he has no intention of seeming a hypocrite. resigning himself to partnering up doesn't mean he's lying down and taking orders though!
teeth grit within his cheeks, jaw visibly setting in combined defiance and irritation. maybe it's a tiny victory, but one all the same, seeing aki bite back his words and renege on his previous demand. petty compromise at least, bubbling in his throat and twanging the v lines on either side of his throat.]
Duh. [with that out of the way, he rolls his shoulders forward and shucks one out of his dinner jacket. heavier fabric slides down his arms, catches at his elbows on one, and scuffs over his palm heel and fingers of the other. a quick snare at the collar behind him hangs it up on two fingers so he can tug the other arm free, eyes never leaving aki's decision not to get on the bed even as his jacket wrought catastrophe on a lube bottle setup.]
WHAT?! [who the hell gave him permission to suggest something like that?! goddammit, that's not how this was supposed to go! even as the box flicks open with a clatter of cardboard and plastic, he's scouring it in hope it might be mockingly double sided. no such luck.] Don't order me around!
[this bastard! his expression boils at the follow up clarification before stomping over to the bed and flopping down hard atop it, arms splayed out and knees bent over the rim. fuck, he's not helping anyone ever again!] You ever seen one of those before? [head propped up, glaring down his chest at aki.]
( the gaze that's lifted, again, to watch bakugo is narrowed--like he's considering biting the hand that feeds him, just like he always does. )
It's a vibrator. ( snappy, matter-of-fact, as if to say: there's nothing more to it than that, is there?
but the experimental push and feel of the buttons on the base tells him that it does take, at least, some familiarization. one for the vibration of the larger part, one for the vibration of the stupid little rabbit ears. his lips threaten to curl in dismay; pressing the buttons again just seems to rev up the speed, and there is a light sheen of embarrassment as he silently holds each button down, killing the movement in each piece respectively. well, whatever. it's not like it took that much to get used to it.
he's not an idiot, which means that even as bakugo's spread himself out on the bed, he knows it won't be that easy. with the vibrator in one hand, he moves towards where he'd dumped his jacket, jaw set as he rifles around to find a bottle of lube that's unflavored, water-based, something that he thinks won't cause them any trouble. how the hell did he get from hunting devils to hunting for lubricant? it's embarrassing--and for good measure, he snags a box of condoms, just in case, moving towards the bed so that he can line up all the items on the side table like an offering.
his head tilts, a considering, silent stare: )
You won't be comfortable this way. ( one of his hands lifts, gesturing out with an open palm--ever the nag. ) Lay down properly. Do you want me to take your pants off?
( he's trying not approach this clinically, but it's hard--inexperience wars with his usual attitude, making it hard to even look at bakugo's face, now, focused instead on trailing down the length of his body, assessing. )
[this bastard things he's scary? a gaze sharp enough to cut through weaker idiots slams into his own glaring retort, lips peeling slightly back and showing his teeth.] Tch, so you're not a complete fucking prude. [hell if he knows what this guy's aware of. snarking at him eases his temper even a fraction.
jamming his elbows into the bed props him up so he's not wrecking his neck muscles for views. the hell's this guy doing play with the damn thing? does he have to know ever stupid button combination? forcing him to sit here and observe while his patience erodes with every curious wiggle or prod. he swallows despite himself, red eyes locking on the toy's jamming mass quivering at one end, overshadowing two smaller bits he'd rather shove up aki's nose at the moment. only an idiot would mess the guy's shyness flicker cross his face as he handles the toy like some damn novice.
of course he's got the damn lube. why the hell does something about aki feel familiar? maybe a similar age? or his quiet impassive expression covering a flicker of naive expression. grumbling to himself, he drops his head back between his shoulders, glaring upside down at headboard and painting looming "skyward" behind him. really should pounce him and use the damn toy on his squirming ass. a rattle of cardboard hauls his head back up, and he wrinkles his nose at aki's plastic-covered rubber. seriously? placing them down as if it's some kind of stupid ritual.
properly?] Goddammit, stop acting like some damn doctor! [sheets husk, the mattress whispers, and he hauls himself up by sheer abdominal wall alone. only to snag aki's shirt (or tie) with one hand and swiftly yanks him forward. doesn't care if he trips, flails, or stumbles, so long as he gets to shove his mouth against the hunter's and kiss him hard.] Do it properly or I'll cram it right up your ass, Virgin.
( it's the tie that's caught in bakugou's hold, an immediate yank that has the material tightening--it tenses, grips, squeezes in at his throat, but the reaction is precisely what bakugou wanted to begin with; his weight pitches forward, a knee caught against the edge of the bed before it slides to catch him on the mattress. is this really doing it properly? agitated, his breath wheezes out for a moment before he can steady on one palm and one knee on the bed; it means that bakugou ends up crammed onto his back again as their lips touch--and it's such a foreign feeling that he almost wants to pull back again, tented down still by the grip of his tie.
it's not like it's an insult. who else would he have fucked around with before this? he can't fight the accusation, but it pisses him off anyway; his mouth fits harder into the kiss, forcing bakugou's head to the pillows, and the hand that isn't planted to the bed lifts so that he can peel bakugou's fingers back from around his tie. if he doesn't want to let go, then he's getting some of those fingers broken.
by the time he can really breathe again, it doesn't matter--his air's taken by the kiss instead, and when he tears back away from it, his hand's already loosening his tie, tugging and untangling the knot so that he can slip it apart and toss it aside. it doesn't necessarily bother him, but it's more to not give bakugou the means to yank him around again.
--which means he's also lifting up a hand to pull the band out of his hair; it collapses down around his face, curved around his ears, and he flicks the band onto the nightstand for somewhat dubious safe-keeping. )
You really just make out with anyone, here? ( softly, his eyes narrowed down at bakugou--the hand not holding himself up on his knees moves to slink down bakugou's shirt, already starting to tug it up from where it's tucked in, fumbling with buttons one-handed. ) No preference...?
( maybe that question betrays his mild curiosity, a little. )
[maybe he shouldn't wear a fucking tie in the first place if he doesn't want someone choking him by it. the damn thing's a tempting leash no matter who wears it. it gets the reaction he wants, a shin knocking on mattress rim and sliding knee first even further. leaving aki more or less half-knelt over the blonde's hips. properly? probably not. but it's better than some clinic-cold half-assed attempt at giving him a goddamn physical with a shitty pink toy! shoved onto his back once more, fist purposely looping silk fabric around its girth, he leans into the kiss, free hand gripping aki's bedded knee and thigh in the process. lips to lips, feeling his startled breath parting them without any attempt to kiss back, but they're still soft.
until he finally kisses back. fuck, much better. aggression, challenge, burning off stupid nerves and unsure feelings. pressing into his mouth, not caring his head's shoved into a web of creases in the pillow. tch, only when he feels how determined aki is to get his fingers off does he bother easing his hand off the man's tie, half-tempted to ignite an explosion and make the point moot. guess he's got a reason though. choking and all.
it springs free of his fist with a husking whip of cloth, bringing a wicked smirk to his lips as he watches in smug victory the other man pulling his damned noose off his neck. smart choice. he would've grabbed it again. now let's see how he does with his shirt getting yanked around next time. he curls his fingers, dragging them down aki's thigh in a mixture of feeling him up and impatient demanding. damn, this guy's solid under his prissy clothes.
he quirks a brow when topknot vanishes and aki's hair collapses surprisingly fine and lush around his head and face. hmph, guess he would've pulled the stupid thing out eventually anyways. at least the band would've ended up on his wrist if he had. now it's on the nightstand. who knows if it'll stay there.]
Hell no. [snarled, defiant, and sincere.] Only people I want to. [arching slightly, he lets his jacket fall open and bare the material of his shirt, all the while reaching for aki's front and one-hand skilling his buttons open as well. tempting to rip them, but he has a feeling the man's as likely to get pissed about that as he'd be. unlike aki, he doesn't untuck it first, content to unbutton it all the way down to his pants, then go for his belt and fly as an "excuse" to get the trapped material. preferences?] Plenty. You're checking some off now.
( there's a small breath through his nose, irritated, but he doesn't say anything at first--mostly because it's bakugou's hands that are getting in the way, skimming down the front of his shirt like he has more practice with this than he expected. the buttons fall apart easily enough, and he's just barely managed to get halfway up bakugou's shirt in return; annoyed, he straightens himself up onto his knees, stretching back as though to put his chest more further out of bakugou's reach. straddling his lap, he now has both of his own hands ready to start, with more nimble attention, unbuttoning the whole row until bakugou's shirt splits at the collar; he pushes the fabric aside.
it's easy enough to move on auto-pilot when it's quick like this, a little messy--doesn't give him much time to think about anything, except that for some reason, there's something he's doing that's enticing enough to the stranger beneath him to let him continue. respecting a challenge, responding to it, is easy, but maintaining some level of arousal would be difficult if it were just that--curious, then, that it doesn't seem to be a problem here, for either of them. he'll waylay his own interest; he doesn't want to have to admit to it.
once bakugou's shirt is splayed open, either half pushed to the side with his jacket, he slides his knees back a little, enough that he can move his own hands to bakugou's belt; his own is still half open, fly partially dragged from bakugou's earlier movement. )
What's on your list? ( mildly, matter-of-fact, as he snaps bakugou's belt open, reaches for the heavier end and drags, pulls, snags it up from his belt loops until it's all pulled free; he throws it onto the floor by the bed with a soft thump. ) Tell me.
( absurd, to wonder about a stranger, but bakugou is--interesting. strong, definitely, judging by his muscles: by his grip, by his hands, by his attitude. he can't imagine being that confident in his emotions to snap and yell and brandish them so clearly--or at least the more obvious ones. and like an afterthought, he pauses so that he can shrug out of his own shirt; it puts his own scars on display, but he doesn't care. the last thing he wants to do is get his clothes messy enough that he doesn't have anything else to wear once they're through.
with that in mind, his hands hook in again at bakugou's waist, strong fingers peeling down around his pants and underwear, taking as much fabric with him as he can. )
[ignored completely. one button after the next twists and reverse-knots through its buttonhole. halfway down, he starts flicking the material open once the plastic round's made the other side. baring aki's chest more and more with each deft twist. not bothering with a second hand because it's a little too damn focused on squeezing the other man's thigh and drawing patterns on his upper leg. a soft warning growl rumbles in his throat as aki dares to move, thumb and fifth finger splayed in pinch on either side of his knee. but when he does little more than bring his other leg up to join the party, straddling his chest, the blonde relents and returns to his work. che! too late to take his chest out of reach when he's already down at his stomach! "nice try" is written all across his face, in the hook of his mouth's corner and dip of his inner brows.
his collar's shoved open, baring the hard bones of his clavicles and the top half of a large messy scar blown open over the center of his powerful chest. he shrugs a shoulder, irritated at his jacket clinging to him when his shirt's getting pushed apart. damn thing, snagging at his elbow and falling back towards his neck the second he moves his arm again. he gives up after a few attempts and with a deft tug, pulls aki's shirt from the hem of his pants. mutual success, his own shirt thrown open and flanking his muscular core with garish red material and highlighting a notable puncture scar torn through his abdomen on the lower right side.
a finger notches in aki's belt, preventing him from scooting any further back without him tugging his belt and fly open. a clink of metal and hiss of leather earn him the former, but the latter's left only half sprung, splayed in a v above his groin. then drops his arm with a grunt of impatience as aki works on his belt.]
Nothing boring, lame, weak, or stupid. [never said he'd answer in detail. as soon as his belt's slithered free and discarded to the floor like an abandoned serpent, he quickly shoves the toe of one annoying dress sneaker (they exist, sue him) and kicks it off with a deft digging press. aki takes a moment to shrug off his own shirt and any thought he had to sit up and divest his own gets snagged at the sight. corded muscle, impressive definition, scars denoting battle, this guy's seen some shit in his life. heh, something tells him aki had no intention of stripping down before he grabbed his damn tie earlier. now he's doing exactly that.] Someone not afraid to show some damn effort.
[dropping back to the bed, he arches his hips with a grunt, fingers gripping at the sheets as his pants yank and shuck down his hips with a hard, skilled pull. cock flopping back against a chiseled v of his pelvis, he tugs a knee up to help aki strip the material off his limbs. a quick twist and he hauls his shoulder and arm from his jacket as the other man deals with his pants and boxer briefs. bringing into view his own scarred shoulder from under the shirt, a second wound torn front to back. his tongue sweeps between his teeth as he works his other arm free, shucking his shirt and jacket as his eyes lock on aki's pants as if they're some kind of prey to devour. before reaching out and hooking his toes into the flared v of his fly, then shoving down to drag aki's pants towards his knees and thigh.] Off. You're overdressed.
( it's rare that his attention is devoted to something other than what he's decided to focus on: which means he's stunned, a little, when he realizes that he's gotten bakugou stripped down and he's barely paid any attention to the way that he's now the one that's overdressed.
it's not because bakugou is the most stunning person he's ever seen in his life, though he's definitely stunning enough that he isn't lacking in arousal, or interest, his breath passing from parted lips in a bit of a pant from both the effort and the odd flare of desire that he usually keeps smothered down enough not to notice. but bakugou's scars are worse than the ones that he wears, bad enough that it hardly looks like he would have survived them--and what does that mean? he's already given up hope that bakugou could be from his japan, despite his name; but still, there has to be some sort of deal that bakugou has with something, somewhere, to allow him to still be breathing even with those severe scars.
he wants to touch them, feel the way they curve, try to discover without word what caused them--but there he goes, caught up in it enough that it's a frown on his features when he feels the touch, the command to strip the rest off. )
I'm boring. ( --is what he says instead, though he does lean back, shifting on the bed so that he can skid out of his dress shoes, slip out of his slacks, discard his belt and his briefs over the edge of the bed without worry; he's nothing impressive to look at, in his own opinion, but being naked doesn't matter to him, really. especially since the point of this isn't necessarily pleasure, so much as--
well, that stupid toy, which means that his weight shifts, putting himself along bakugou's side, rather than straddling over him. one hand palms the mattress, the other reaching for the vibrator; he sets it on bakugou's stomach so that he can claim the bottle of lube, next, before settling. )
But not weak or stupid. ( does that get him a half-pass? he almost smiles, the look there in his gaze and then gone again; he's carefully opening the bottle of lube, a considering glance between the toy and bakugou's face, and he's trying not to be clinical, since it pissed bakugou off, which means the words are a little quiet. ) Do you want me to stretch you, or not?
[if it's any consolation, aki's hands were busy working on someone else's clothes. unless he wants to use his damn teeth for his own, they're staying on until he's done or his partner rips them off at the same time in a tangled mess of limbs. tempting to do the latter; already half naked and his tongue won't stop fucking moving in his mouth from the sight.
what the hell's this guy staring at? his scars? can't be the first time aki's seen someone with healed wounds before. enough decorate the hunter's body to tell him that. red eyes wander between them, flicking from a cut to a curve of defined muscle to a burn to a plane of toned skin to a pale tear to a shapely arch of pelvis above the stupid hem of his pants. attractive enough he's interested in pulling everything off, screw what initial hands-off plan aki had when he first came in here. the only thanks his clothes are getting is being a tether catalyst for hauling the hunter into his space and making it clear what he wants. taking control of his own decisions. not cause the damn hotel told him to, but because he fucking wants it.]
Thanks for the warning. [boring] Prove it and I'll kick you out the fucking door. [elbows dig into soft fabric, radiating lines as he craters the bedding to prop himself up and watch a good show. shoes fall away from the bed's rim, pants slide down aki's legs, belt pulled free after the man's already slipped out of his slacks (kinda cute and stupid), and his briefs lastly, leaving him naked without seeming to care. hmph. nothing impressive. whatever he did in his line of work gave him more than scars. lines and curves of toned strength under light skin suggest an active lifestyle if not focused intent. this isn't the work of some damn bodybuilder pumping up for a stupid underwear catalog.
as aki settles on the bed, he shoves down with his elbows and pushes himself further up it, digging a heel into the mattress rim to heave himself to center bed proper. a small bounce sends his back arching for a moment before he drops flush to the comforter and stretches out, one hand gripping the headboard and pulling to stretch his arm. aki has to chase him up there if he wants to drop the damn thing on his hardened stomach. as the hunter messes with a bottle of lube, he picks up the stupid pink rod and scowls at it, inspecting the thing like it's some problem mocking his face. and tosses it to the side above his shoulder opposite aki for the time being.]
Good. [strong and smart, huh. attractive. red eyes narrow in a swift snap, catching aki's bare smile swimming through his blue irises. hmph. stretch him or not?] You're not cramming that thing in there raw, idiot. [this is supposed to feel good. he props rolls onto his side, head propped on his hand, and makes it obvious he's looking aki over. head to foot, naked and pretty damn handsome too...] Don't take too long. I'm not some damn bird for basting.
( the laughter is there, threatening, a shimmer in his gaze before he lets it drown there, not bothering to offer it breath. whatever it is about bakugou that makes him so--ornery, he's not tempted to ruin a perfectly acceptable solution to his shitty problem by pissing him off more. instead, he concerns himself with the foreign bottle, lips flattening into a line of displeasure as he pops the cap and a bit of lube bubbles over the lip of it, already sliming its way down the side. unfortunately, there's no way around it, really: this is going to end up being absurdly messy, for someone who tries to keep things in a neat little line, it's disappointing. with a slow breath, he shifts, forcing himself to sit up in order to make use of both of his hands. otherwise, it would be nearly impossible.
it's only as he sits up, bent at the middle, that he realizes he's being looked at--and where he might normally snap at someone for it, he keeps quiet, only barely narrowing his gaze at bakugou in challenge before he looks back at the bottle. it's not like he's going to begrudge him for it; he'd looked bakugou over in the same way. his hair swings, soft around his jaw, tempted to pull it back behind his ear--but he's already pooling lube into his palm, clenching his fingers into the puddle of it as though to smear it around. his thumb moves, rubs over his knuckles, splotching it between his fingers. )
I just figured maybe you were always ready for this sort of thing.
( a tease, really, though his voice is its usual soft flatness, quiet; the only hint is the way his lips twitch, like he wants to smile and bites it back. )
You seem like the type who would have many partners.
( --which is about as close to a compliment as he's going to manage, from someone saying they'd kick him out of bed for being boring. which he is.
so he shifts, turning, putting his weight onto bare knees so that he can straddle one of bakugou's thighs between them; the capped bottle gets dropped to the bed, where it slides in against bakugou's side, and he uses his elbow as pressure to force bakugou onto his back again, leaning over him. then it's his clean palm, instead, flattened to bakugou's chest, using him for balance as he twists his slick hand in between bakugou's legs. thoughtful, he reaches to curl his palm in around his cock, first--sliding up the shape of it, like he's curious, squeezing up and off at the head to run two fingers down the underside.
his expression is almost impassive; he's focused on one of the scars etched into bakugou's skin, gaze swimming there, distant, as he feels over the curve of his sac, cupped lightly around it and down again, a slick index finger that splits his cheeks apart in pursuit and hooks a fingertip in past the rim. it's only there that his gaze lifts, a tilt of his head; he tries to shake a little hair away from his cheek as his finger slides in further, testing. )
[for someone who looks like he wouldn't know a joke if it bit him in the ass, a flicker of amusement in aki's eyes shines through clearly. enough to stir a twitch in his hand as if tempted to grab the nearest pillow and slam it into his face. nothing comes of either and he relaxes his fingers onto the bed again. is he really gonna do this? let someone he barely knows finger him and use a damn toy right after? ... apparently. aki's already reached this point and he's demanded the guy buck up and get on with it. though, watching his expression twitch tiny tells of irritation as he messes with the slick substance on his fingers is funny. the corners of his eyes crimp slightly as the lid slings a bit of previously-used lube, a slight set at the back of his jaws as he's forced to sit up and use both hands, lips firming and pursing when a droplet oozes down onto his knuckles.]
You're gonna get that all over if you fuck around with it enough. [a fair warning, maybe tilted enough in taunt. fingers slowly drum against cushioned comforter, red eyes lingering on the man's body as he waits for him. handsome, quiet, focused, trained and toned, makes him wonder what aki did for a living back home. he hardly addresses his challenging glare, interest instead in picking out little details on his partner. the way his hair parts just barely at the top of an ear, or hangs lush to his jaw for a faint outline. distracting himself from the slimy squicking sounds of aki lubing his fingers up with a fisting pool in his palm.]
WHAT?! You wanna repeat that shit?! [does he look like some cheap whore ready to dick down at any time?! aki's getting a few "kicks" to the back and sides for his teasing assery! way to backhand compliment him right on the fucking jaw!] I've got standards, Topknot!
[he's getting more... some are one offs, some are multiples, no one's steady. he's not sure he'll ever have someone here who reaches the last part. not even sure if he wants to. at least aki's not keeping his silence and being a stick in the mud. at his expense. he drops his leg, or gets it batted away, as the hunter turns and promptly traps his strong thigh between his knees. he doesn't hesitate to shift his leg, knee tenting up behind the other man's glutes and-- without breaking eye contact --deliberately lifts his thigh to rest against the apex of aki's legs. paybacks for an elbow digging into his chest and putting him on his back.] Watch it.
[don't elbow him in the damn scar. it's still fresh. replacing it with his hand reveals the hero's heart's pounding within his ribs, a mix of interest, arousal, anxious, anticipation. a low breath escapes his lips and he tugs his head up so he can stare down the sculpted length of his torso, eyes narrowing as aki's hand vanishes behind his twitching arousal and opened legs. his free one spreads to the side on instinct, hooking at his knee when warm fingers wrap around his dick. a low grunt escapes his mouth, hips lifting into his touch, an impressive stretch of inches and girth throbbing against his fingers and palm. like a damn sculpture, winding up the shaft and exploring his shape before pinching at his head and earning a sharp gasp. he presses his thigh firmly to the inside of aki's thighs, nuzzling at his hanging balls and sensitive skin as if trading for that stroke along his urethra tract.]
You're pretty focused... [eyes trained on his scars, clashing with a hand cupping at his sac until the smooth skin shifts with his orbs inside and is left glossy from lubrication before they'd dropped to hang against his perineum. he barely get the strange sensation of a finger playing between his glutes before-] unf... [-right past the clenching ring. only a fingertip, dipping inside all slick and slender, but he tightens around it without thinking. further in, first joint, second... his cock jumps against his adonis belt, precum beading at the tip, heated muscles inside squeezing smooth and flexing as aki bottoms out at the knuckle.] S'fine... I'm not made of glass.
( it's not clinical at all--he realizes it, with the way that bakugou moves, with the tent of his knee up between his own legs. he hadn't considered that at all, hadn't considered that bakugou would touch him, while being touched, or that he would do anything but lay there and take it; obviously he's not going to say that out loud, though the temptation is there. he might be able to get away with pissing him off with his fingers buried inside of him, but he doesn't want to take that bet. instead, his lips part with a slow breath, like he's only just realizing that his own arousal might become a part of this: that his interest is hard to hide, now, given that they've done away with all their clothes. it matters less to him, as usual, than the mission at hand--the important part is to use the toy, use it on bakugou, use it until he gets off. anything else around that is collateral damage.
the words make his gaze unlock, like bakugou's turned a key--shifting, it slides to stare down at his face, instead, as though fighting against his own worries, his own bashfulness. if he can't look at him while he's doing this, that serves as some kind of weakness, doesn't it?
with a pursing of his lips-- ) I know you're not made of glass.
( a flicker of blue eyes down, purposefully dancing along the nearest scar, and then back up again. )
But you've broken apart enough times to be.
( still, he knows what's being asked of him, which means that he's shifting, twisting his hand enough to drag his finger back, despite the tighter clench that bakugou makes around it; two fingers in is just like the first, a slow descent to his knuckles and then back again, stretching the muscle there more carefully, like it's less about speed and more about success. the last thing he wants to do is have to push harder on the toy than necessary--which is why, after a thoughtful breath, he pushes in a third finger, curving them together for a little more width.
naturally, he's working his breath to steady as he continues, though this time when his head tilts, it's a curious lance of his gaze across bakugou's expression, the words parted only slightly with the effort of his fingers working inside him. )
Are you--afraid of anything? ( apparently he's not going for sexy talk, instead just airing out his curiosities--in his opinion, that's bakugou's fault for being scattered with so many egregious scars that he has to ask. ) You don't seem like--you are.
[doesn't need to say anything. even that stoic impassive face flickers telltale signs of response. a twitch at the corner of his brow when his thigh skims along the inside of aki's upper legs. the curve at the back of his jaw tightening to set his teeth and keep a gentle breath in as his balls brush against his skin. hips subtly shift forward from his knee pushing just so at rounded glutes, whether from avoidance or sensitivity he can't tell. but he's not against it. paybacks for trapping his limb anyways. red eyes hood halfway under the shadow of his choppy bangs, wandering from one tell to the other. lips parted with a low exhale, unable to hide his own growing arousal as it lifts between aki's legs and reaches for his lower rung of abs. damn. something about seeing a composed and calm guy doing his damnest not to give away how turned on he is, when obvious proof's right there in front of him. as if he's gonna let him get away with this without his own damn orgasm.
he wants him to look. dammit. snapping into his mind when his words suddenly cock aki's attention out of vapid staring and into paying attention to him. wants aki to see him and look at what he's doing to him. the way his chest rises and falls with his breaths, abs hardening as a finger nudges towards its second joint in his clenching rim. wants to know he's the reason behind that impressive member standing fully hard against aki's adonis belt and their clothes lying all over the floor. he expected a response. didn't entirely expect the kind he got. blue eyes dropping, locking into his scar, an answer before he meets his gaze again. in response, his chest twitches up with ah flippant scoff.]
I've broken myself over and over and over. All to get stronger. So I can win. This crap's just one more step on the ladder. [telling aki he doesn't have to worry and treat him like a fragile cracked bowl. the man shifts, his hand twist, his finger pulls backwards, and--] ngh! [--he clenches around it stubbornly, surprised at how much he wanted it to stay in there. no time to snarl more than a quivering upper lip before aki's introducing two digits to his rim, twin uneven bumps prodding for a second until his body gives way and his chest arches with a harsher gasp.] -fuck! [they're in, both of them, stretching him open and pushing slicked velvet around him. nails, first joint, skin, second joint, skin, knuckles, slotted between his cheeks and pressing to his hole.
he grips at the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets, leg sliding back and forth between aki's thighs in a counterbalance of touch to touch. third finger! it burns and he pulls his head to the side, teeth grit and teeth bared in a snarl over his own shoulder. head flares in his cheeks, pink blooming under his eyes, and he instinctively spreads his free leg further on the bed to alleviate some pressure. balls dropping between his thighs and resting on he perineum as his body seizes up around aki's fingers. dammit, it feels this good already, this strange at the same time. those three things curl inside his tunnel and he arches his chest up, spine bowing from the bed with a sharper exhale. only falling down once he eases his fingers back out a bit. brows knit together, then lift as relief drifts across his face, a hard cringe easing into smooth.
at least until aki decides to ask that banger of a fucking question.] Who the hell asks that during a fuck?! Of course I'm not! [he is, he's human, but he hides it well.] Tch. Fear's admitting you might lose.
( the answer, as testy as it is, actually makes him smile--and he doesn't hold it back, feeling his lips stretch to meet the shape of it. it looks like something that he rarely wears, and maybe that's because he rarely meets someone with the same sort of bullheaded passion that he has, deep down: that failure isn't an option, that fear is admitting you might lose. even if it's his life on the line, even if he has to give it up to accomplish it--none of that matters, and the fact that it's taking some stranger in a multidimensional love hotel of sorts to match his determination feels funny, in some way, like some kind of sordid irony. this is the last place that he wants to be, and yet he's found someone who understands him better than most of the people back home could even hope to try.
but it's true, too: who the hell asks that during sex? unbidden, his breath escapes in a raspy chuckle through his nose, like he just can't help himself; his wrist twists, another gentle probe forward with the ring of his fingers, arching further inside bakugou without warning. )
Sorry, do you want me to be talking sexy? ( he waits a beat, his weight shifting, a curl of his fingertips up before straightening them back out again. ) I don't do dirty talk.
( but his perversely good mood seems to be prevailing, at least, when he draws his hand back, careful of the stubborn tightness around his knuckles; by the time he's curled his hand back, popped free of that ring of muscle, he's reaching it upward, snagging the atrociously pink vibrator off bakugou's stomach to slowly haul it down. between his legs, there's another sticky puddle of lubricant, some of it dribbled onto the sheets, some of it errantly flicked onto bakugou's inner thighs--he's still doing this one-handed, smearing the shaft generously.
with a roll of his eyes, annoyed, he has to tear his gaze off bakugou's heated face, looking down instead to make sure that he's thoroughly slicking up all parts of the damn toy, before he shifts, adjusts, holds the base and twists until the cold head of the vibrator presses pointedly to bakugou's hole, though he doesn't turn the power on just yet. instead, curious, he watches, at least as much as he can, as he eases and shifts and rocks the vibrator inside, letting just the tip of it fit for a moment, allowing bakugou's body to react before he tries going farther. if he positions it right, he thinks those stupid bunny ears will end up nestled around bakugou's sac; but he'll have to see how much bakugou squirms, first. )
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
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I doubt it.
( it's not that he's looking to pick a fight, but he's never been the type of person to temper his blows, either. he doesn't know what a 'suit activation' means, though he's gathered, from the way that he's seen others weaving around the party, that it has something to do with this 'card value' assigned to every guest. he's seen strange tattoos that come in four distinct symbols: and it's not like he doesn't know the suits in a playing card deck are one and the same.
but then--his gaze slides, notes the way that the stranger's collar is undone, the way he drinks a bottle of water; it makes him look back to his empty glass, setting it down on the bar. )
What should I be expecting, then? ( a roll of his gaze again, up towards the other--and it flickers again, from his hand up to his face. ) Why aren't you drinking like everyone else?
( is that part of it? maybe he shouldn't have trusted the bar after all. )
no subject
Che. I said the same thing.
[reality's a bitch and he fucking hates it plenty. without knowing if this guy's been around for a few days or is drinking off the first hours of his existence, it's not his problem to coach him in results. even now, wheels spin behind those dark eyes. he rejects it with a defensive dismissal, but he's thinking about it all the same. good, someone who takes a warning seriously rather than recklessly charging into the unknown. he'd been the same, dismissive, but listening...
turning back to the casino, he leaves his focus on other people, brows furrowed above a face radiating "don't fuck with me" vibes to anyone who might be looking for some fun. bristly ass wallflower, this one.]
Depends on your suit. They all end up screwing with your head and body, making you go crazy until you fuck around with someone.
[that's the nice way to put it, each suit has its own preference. he's disgusted with his own: spades. as for the other question-]
Getting wasted's for losers.
no subject
what the hell is he supposed to accomplish, with something like that? it feels too egotistical to assume that he'll be able to control something controlling him; it's not like he has anything but his own stubborn attitude to depend on, and even that can only go so far.
so, it's with some measure of disdain, that his gaze centers in on that stupid vibrator, again. )
Fucking around is for losers, too. ( quietly, as though he can just hear denji's wailing in his head. ) Are you offering?
( how the hell else is he supposed to get through something like this? it's not like he can go up and down the bar, or up and down the party, waving the toy around like a white flag; so that means his gaze is now rooted on this stranger's face, even as he's turned away to watch the party move. a quick refusal is expected. it's what he would do. )
no subject
months in this place is enough to pound in the sorry truth "going home" is not an option unless you play the shitty game. he's not made peace with his reality so much as angrily accepted it on his own terms, heels jacked into the ground and jaws set in stubborn refusal to do anything this place wants him to do. unless he's good and ready. maybe it means nothing in the long run, but to him, keeping even some semblance of control over his own life is more important.
he snorts in agreement with the guy's quiet tone.] No shit.
[lifting the bottle to his lips again, he almost spits a drink right back inside.] BFFftt-! [seriously?! after that kind of refusal, straight up asks him that?! he rags the back of his hand across his mouth, angry scowling and shoving the bottle to the side so he's not dripping on himself.] What the hell, Topknot?! Lead into it at least!
[granted, then he'd have gotten mad it took the guy so long to shut up and spit it out! lose lose with him. he grabs a napkin, tells the bartender to fuck off (she's giving such a disdainful look), and wipes his hand clean. tch.
... but-] If it'll keep you from going nuts, fine.
[he doesn't want to see anyone ravaged like that.]
no subject
he's too used to having to clean up after two slobs--well, a slob and a half, given that he'd at least managed some kind of peaceful coexistence with the former before the latter showed up.
the surprise that he isn't told to just fuck off doesn't linger on his expression, but it does flatten, and he straightens in his seat, abandoning the napkins so that he can reach a palm out and cover the width of the vibrator box. his fingers curl around the edges. )
It's Hayakawa. ( he's not going to let someone else just blandly call him topknot for months. ) Hayakawa Aki.
( dragging the box back towards himself, he pushes off the bar stool to stand-- )
So? Where do you want to do this? ( there's a little wave of the box in indication, as if the other could have possibly forgotten. ) It would be embarrassing for you if we did it here.
no subject
leaving a mess behind for someone else to clean up would only piss him off. he finishes by wiping off the bottle, then downs the rest of it and tosses it into a recycle bin behind the bar rather than asking the bartender to do that for him. he can handle his own trash, thanks.
as much as he wants to tell him to fuck off, he's been in this place too long now to carry the same hostile aversion he arrived here with. knowing full well what the suits can make a person do, learning there's only a few hours before they activate from the toy makes him more lenient.]
Uh-huh. [topknot it is. oh, so he's really ready to get this over with right now? making to swivel off the stool, he pauses at the retort and shoots the hunter a glare.] Like you're gonna be fucking happy to do it! [calling him out on his own embarrassment. but a tilt of his head indicates one side of the casino.] Follow me. There's rooms in the back.
[and heads off for the east side.]
no subject
( it's repeated like he can't quite believe it--like he's skeptical, eyes narrowed, but his savior here starts to move before he can question it. obviously, this guy has been here longer than he has, so he knows more of the layout of the place; already, he can tell that this place is rather large scale, that this huge ballroom of tables and sofas and bars and games can't possibly be the only place inside. the elevator ride up from the garage had been proof enough. just how sprawling is this place?
with his lips pursed, he follows after his companion. with the vibrator box at his side, he uses his free hand to push past others, gently elbowing this way and that in order to keep on the heels of the other.
which makes him realize: )
You didn't tell me your name. ( mildly, once they've cleared some of the crowd--this must be where some of the rooms are, given that there's more than one hallway here, and the noise from the party isn't quite as oppressive. )
Or do you not want me to know?
( it would make sense, given what he presumes he's about to do to this person. yes, he has absolutely no plan to use the vibrator on himself. )
no subject
[a hotel. rooms exist in great number within such places. his skepticism rolls off his back to the floor, left in the wake he expects the other man to follow. months ago, he was the one not knowing a damn path around this place, having to be escorted by a weird or unsavory characters, before branching off map in hand for personal exploration. makes his skin crawl to realize he's been here long enough to become another victim's tour guide. getting back home, freeing the other captives, feels like a goal lost in shadows far above his head.
he turns his body, shoulder first as a wedge through their crowds. pushing one to the side, then the other, a steady stalk carrying him over plush carpet and past one luxurious table of people losing money after another.]
Bakugo Katsuki.
[something about this guy feels strangely "normal" and he isn't sure he likes it. glitz and glamor wash past them in a sudden change to straight lines, diamond patterns on the floor, a built-in railings running the wall in golden definition. and multiple doors. not a single one directly facing another, as if this affords some sort of privacy.
fingers wrap around a questionably-shaped knob and he pushes the door open with a lumber inside.] Take a look around. It should be- [empty? hardly. uh-] -clean.
no subject
with a harder grip around the box, he follows in after bakugo into the room of his choosing. at least it's empty in the sense that they're the only ones in it: but it's the sight of everything else that makes his lips press together, smothering an agitated sigh.
why would he expect anything different? the room is gaudy, glitzy, and ugly, lined with shelves upon shelves of all kinds of things, the sort of items that would be prevalent in a love hotel, maybe--bottles of lube, boxes of condoms, other toys, other clothes, towels and food and anything else that could possibly be a thought for someone's arousal. )
...On the bed, then. ( he says, though it's hard to say whether that's a question or a command; he tosses the box onto the end of it, already starting to shrug out of his suit jacket. ) I'll watch.
( isn't that good enough? voyeurism at its finest? that should satisfy the bullshit conditions of this place. )
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letting aki pass him, he shuts the door and clamps out the noises beyond their room; it locks on its own, like a damn "occupied" stall. if only this was nothing more than stupid hotel room. instead, the trappings and trimmings scream a love hotel fucked a royal palace and shat out this glittering erotic monstrosity. he brushes by aki once more, shoulder first, and invades the room proper, as if that would somehow make things easier to accept.]
Huh? [red eyes peer over his strong shoulder, veiled in shadows of his bangs. this guy's gonna kick crap off by ordering him around? lips twitch in a snarl and expose a scoff dismissing the entire suggestion.] Get your eyes checked. It says you have to use it. [arguably... he cants his head towards the bed, as if answering aki's question/command from earlier.] You're on the bed.
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but being challenged--better, being corrected by this kid isn't something that he's going to take sitting down. his temper gets the better of him, a small flash of it, jaw lining up as though he has to clench his teeth around the first words he bites back. )
No one said-- ( he starts, stops, then corrects himself; he elbows out of his suit jacket, tossing it onto one of the tables--a few bottles of lubricant wobble and topple over beneath it with the weight. ) No. Alright. I have to use it.
( pointedly, he's still not getting on the bed. instead, he's reaching down to take the box up again so that he can flip the flap at the top and open it. )
So, I'm using it on you. ( icy, now, like his personality hasn't defrosted, but rather, hardened over. ) Lie down.
( a crumple of the packaging, and he frees the stupid vibrator from the box; immediately he's peering at the base, feeling over the buttons there as though to teach himself what each one does before he's put to the test--in an instant, his gaze snaps back up to bakugo, impatient. ) Now.
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teeth grit within his cheeks, jaw visibly setting in combined defiance and irritation. maybe it's a tiny victory, but one all the same, seeing aki bite back his words and renege on his previous demand. petty compromise at least, bubbling in his throat and twanging the v lines on either side of his throat.]
Duh. [with that out of the way, he rolls his shoulders forward and shucks one out of his dinner jacket. heavier fabric slides down his arms, catches at his elbows on one, and scuffs over his palm heel and fingers of the other. a quick snare at the collar behind him hangs it up on two fingers so he can tug the other arm free, eyes never leaving aki's decision not to get on the bed even as his jacket wrought catastrophe on a lube bottle setup.]
WHAT?! [who the hell gave him permission to suggest something like that?! goddammit, that's not how this was supposed to go! even as the box flicks open with a clatter of cardboard and plastic, he's scouring it in hope it might be mockingly double sided. no such luck.] Don't order me around!
[this bastard! his expression boils at the follow up clarification before stomping over to the bed and flopping down hard atop it, arms splayed out and knees bent over the rim. fuck, he's not helping anyone ever again!] You ever seen one of those before? [head propped up, glaring down his chest at aki.]
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It's a vibrator. ( snappy, matter-of-fact, as if to say: there's nothing more to it than that, is there?
but the experimental push and feel of the buttons on the base tells him that it does take, at least, some familiarization. one for the vibration of the larger part, one for the vibration of the stupid little rabbit ears. his lips threaten to curl in dismay; pressing the buttons again just seems to rev up the speed, and there is a light sheen of embarrassment as he silently holds each button down, killing the movement in each piece respectively. well, whatever. it's not like it took that much to get used to it.
he's not an idiot, which means that even as bakugo's spread himself out on the bed, he knows it won't be that easy. with the vibrator in one hand, he moves towards where he'd dumped his jacket, jaw set as he rifles around to find a bottle of lube that's unflavored, water-based, something that he thinks won't cause them any trouble. how the hell did he get from hunting devils to hunting for lubricant? it's embarrassing--and for good measure, he snags a box of condoms, just in case, moving towards the bed so that he can line up all the items on the side table like an offering.
his head tilts, a considering, silent stare: )
You won't be comfortable this way. ( one of his hands lifts, gesturing out with an open palm--ever the nag. ) Lay down properly. Do you want me to take your pants off?
( he's trying not approach this clinically, but it's hard--inexperience wars with his usual attitude, making it hard to even look at bakugo's face, now, focused instead on trailing down the length of his body, assessing. )
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jamming his elbows into the bed props him up so he's not wrecking his neck muscles for views. the hell's this guy doing play with the damn thing? does he have to know ever stupid button combination? forcing him to sit here and observe while his patience erodes with every curious wiggle or prod. he swallows despite himself, red eyes locking on the toy's jamming mass quivering at one end, overshadowing two smaller bits he'd rather shove up aki's nose at the moment. only an idiot would mess the guy's shyness flicker cross his face as he handles the toy like some damn novice.
of course he's got the damn lube. why the hell does something about aki feel familiar? maybe a similar age? or his quiet impassive expression covering a flicker of naive expression. grumbling to himself, he drops his head back between his shoulders, glaring upside down at headboard and painting looming "skyward" behind him. really should pounce him and use the damn toy on his squirming ass. a rattle of cardboard hauls his head back up, and he wrinkles his nose at aki's plastic-covered rubber. seriously? placing them down as if it's some kind of stupid ritual.
properly?] Goddammit, stop acting like some damn doctor! [sheets husk, the mattress whispers, and he hauls himself up by sheer abdominal wall alone. only to snag aki's shirt (or tie) with one hand and swiftly yanks him forward. doesn't care if he trips, flails, or stumbles, so long as he gets to shove his mouth against the hunter's and kiss him hard.] Do it properly or I'll cram it right up your ass, Virgin.
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it's not like it's an insult. who else would he have fucked around with before this? he can't fight the accusation, but it pisses him off anyway; his mouth fits harder into the kiss, forcing bakugou's head to the pillows, and the hand that isn't planted to the bed lifts so that he can peel bakugou's fingers back from around his tie. if he doesn't want to let go, then he's getting some of those fingers broken.
by the time he can really breathe again, it doesn't matter--his air's taken by the kiss instead, and when he tears back away from it, his hand's already loosening his tie, tugging and untangling the knot so that he can slip it apart and toss it aside. it doesn't necessarily bother him, but it's more to not give bakugou the means to yank him around again.
--which means he's also lifting up a hand to pull the band out of his hair; it collapses down around his face, curved around his ears, and he flicks the band onto the nightstand for somewhat dubious safe-keeping. )
You really just make out with anyone, here? ( softly, his eyes narrowed down at bakugou--the hand not holding himself up on his knees moves to slink down bakugou's shirt, already starting to tug it up from where it's tucked in, fumbling with buttons one-handed. ) No preference...?
( maybe that question betrays his mild curiosity, a little. )
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until he finally kisses back. fuck, much better. aggression, challenge, burning off stupid nerves and unsure feelings. pressing into his mouth, not caring his head's shoved into a web of creases in the pillow. tch, only when he feels how determined aki is to get his fingers off does he bother easing his hand off the man's tie, half-tempted to ignite an explosion and make the point moot. guess he's got a reason though. choking and all.
it springs free of his fist with a husking whip of cloth, bringing a wicked smirk to his lips as he watches in smug victory the other man pulling his damned noose off his neck. smart choice. he would've grabbed it again. now let's see how he does with his shirt getting yanked around next time. he curls his fingers, dragging them down aki's thigh in a mixture of feeling him up and impatient demanding. damn, this guy's solid under his prissy clothes.
he quirks a brow when topknot vanishes and aki's hair collapses surprisingly fine and lush around his head and face. hmph, guess he would've pulled the stupid thing out eventually anyways. at least the band would've ended up on his wrist if he had. now it's on the nightstand. who knows if it'll stay there.]
Hell no. [snarled, defiant, and sincere.] Only people I want to. [arching slightly, he lets his jacket fall open and bare the material of his shirt, all the while reaching for aki's front and one-hand skilling his buttons open as well. tempting to rip them, but he has a feeling the man's as likely to get pissed about that as he'd be. unlike aki, he doesn't untuck it first, content to unbutton it all the way down to his pants, then go for his belt and fly as an "excuse" to get the trapped material. preferences?] Plenty. You're checking some off now.
[compared to robot doctor before.]
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it's easy enough to move on auto-pilot when it's quick like this, a little messy--doesn't give him much time to think about anything, except that for some reason, there's something he's doing that's enticing enough to the stranger beneath him to let him continue. respecting a challenge, responding to it, is easy, but maintaining some level of arousal would be difficult if it were just that--curious, then, that it doesn't seem to be a problem here, for either of them. he'll waylay his own interest; he doesn't want to have to admit to it.
once bakugou's shirt is splayed open, either half pushed to the side with his jacket, he slides his knees back a little, enough that he can move his own hands to bakugou's belt; his own is still half open, fly partially dragged from bakugou's earlier movement. )
What's on your list? ( mildly, matter-of-fact, as he snaps bakugou's belt open, reaches for the heavier end and drags, pulls, snags it up from his belt loops until it's all pulled free; he throws it onto the floor by the bed with a soft thump. ) Tell me.
( absurd, to wonder about a stranger, but bakugou is--interesting. strong, definitely, judging by his muscles: by his grip, by his hands, by his attitude. he can't imagine being that confident in his emotions to snap and yell and brandish them so clearly--or at least the more obvious ones. and like an afterthought, he pauses so that he can shrug out of his own shirt; it puts his own scars on display, but he doesn't care. the last thing he wants to do is get his clothes messy enough that he doesn't have anything else to wear once they're through.
with that in mind, his hands hook in again at bakugou's waist, strong fingers peeling down around his pants and underwear, taking as much fabric with him as he can. )
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his collar's shoved open, baring the hard bones of his clavicles and the top half of a large messy scar blown open over the center of his powerful chest. he shrugs a shoulder, irritated at his jacket clinging to him when his shirt's getting pushed apart. damn thing, snagging at his elbow and falling back towards his neck the second he moves his arm again. he gives up after a few attempts and with a deft tug, pulls aki's shirt from the hem of his pants. mutual success, his own shirt thrown open and flanking his muscular core with garish red material and highlighting a notable puncture scar torn through his abdomen on the lower right side.
a finger notches in aki's belt, preventing him from scooting any further back without him tugging his belt and fly open. a clink of metal and hiss of leather earn him the former, but the latter's left only half sprung, splayed in a v above his groin. then drops his arm with a grunt of impatience as aki works on his belt.]
Nothing boring, lame, weak, or stupid. [never said he'd answer in detail. as soon as his belt's slithered free and discarded to the floor like an abandoned serpent, he quickly shoves the toe of one annoying dress sneaker (they exist, sue him) and kicks it off with a deft digging press. aki takes a moment to shrug off his own shirt and any thought he had to sit up and divest his own gets snagged at the sight. corded muscle, impressive definition, scars denoting battle, this guy's seen some shit in his life. heh, something tells him aki had no intention of stripping down before he grabbed his damn tie earlier. now he's doing exactly that.] Someone not afraid to show some damn effort.
[dropping back to the bed, he arches his hips with a grunt, fingers gripping at the sheets as his pants yank and shuck down his hips with a hard, skilled pull. cock flopping back against a chiseled v of his pelvis, he tugs a knee up to help aki strip the material off his limbs. a quick twist and he hauls his shoulder and arm from his jacket as the other man deals with his pants and boxer briefs. bringing into view his own scarred shoulder from under the shirt, a second wound torn front to back. his tongue sweeps between his teeth as he works his other arm free, shucking his shirt and jacket as his eyes lock on aki's pants as if they're some kind of prey to devour. before reaching out and hooking his toes into the flared v of his fly, then shoving down to drag aki's pants towards his knees and thigh.] Off. You're overdressed.
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it's not because bakugou is the most stunning person he's ever seen in his life, though he's definitely stunning enough that he isn't lacking in arousal, or interest, his breath passing from parted lips in a bit of a pant from both the effort and the odd flare of desire that he usually keeps smothered down enough not to notice. but bakugou's scars are worse than the ones that he wears, bad enough that it hardly looks like he would have survived them--and what does that mean? he's already given up hope that bakugou could be from his japan, despite his name; but still, there has to be some sort of deal that bakugou has with something, somewhere, to allow him to still be breathing even with those severe scars.
he wants to touch them, feel the way they curve, try to discover without word what caused them--but there he goes, caught up in it enough that it's a frown on his features when he feels the touch, the command to strip the rest off. )
I'm boring. ( --is what he says instead, though he does lean back, shifting on the bed so that he can skid out of his dress shoes, slip out of his slacks, discard his belt and his briefs over the edge of the bed without worry; he's nothing impressive to look at, in his own opinion, but being naked doesn't matter to him, really. especially since the point of this isn't necessarily pleasure, so much as--
well, that stupid toy, which means that his weight shifts, putting himself along bakugou's side, rather than straddling over him. one hand palms the mattress, the other reaching for the vibrator; he sets it on bakugou's stomach so that he can claim the bottle of lube, next, before settling. )
But not weak or stupid. ( does that get him a half-pass? he almost smiles, the look there in his gaze and then gone again; he's carefully opening the bottle of lube, a considering glance between the toy and bakugou's face, and he's trying not to be clinical, since it pissed bakugou off, which means the words are a little quiet. ) Do you want me to stretch you, or not?
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what the hell's this guy staring at? his scars? can't be the first time aki's seen someone with healed wounds before. enough decorate the hunter's body to tell him that. red eyes wander between them, flicking from a cut to a curve of defined muscle to a burn to a plane of toned skin to a pale tear to a shapely arch of pelvis above the stupid hem of his pants. attractive enough he's interested in pulling everything off, screw what initial hands-off plan aki had when he first came in here. the only thanks his clothes are getting is being a tether catalyst for hauling the hunter into his space and making it clear what he wants. taking control of his own decisions. not cause the damn hotel told him to, but because he fucking wants it.]
Thanks for the warning. [boring] Prove it and I'll kick you out the fucking door. [elbows dig into soft fabric, radiating lines as he craters the bedding to prop himself up and watch a good show. shoes fall away from the bed's rim, pants slide down aki's legs, belt pulled free after the man's already slipped out of his slacks (kinda cute and stupid), and his briefs lastly, leaving him naked without seeming to care. hmph. nothing impressive. whatever he did in his line of work gave him more than scars. lines and curves of toned strength under light skin suggest an active lifestyle if not focused intent. this isn't the work of some damn bodybuilder pumping up for a stupid underwear catalog.
as aki settles on the bed, he shoves down with his elbows and pushes himself further up it, digging a heel into the mattress rim to heave himself to center bed proper. a small bounce sends his back arching for a moment before he drops flush to the comforter and stretches out, one hand gripping the headboard and pulling to stretch his arm. aki has to chase him up there if he wants to drop the damn thing on his hardened stomach. as the hunter messes with a bottle of lube, he picks up the stupid pink rod and scowls at it, inspecting the thing like it's some problem mocking his face. and tosses it to the side above his shoulder opposite aki for the time being.]
Good. [strong and smart, huh. attractive. red eyes narrow in a swift snap, catching aki's bare smile swimming through his blue irises. hmph. stretch him or not?] You're not cramming that thing in there raw, idiot. [this is supposed to feel good. he props rolls onto his side, head propped on his hand, and makes it obvious he's looking aki over. head to foot, naked and pretty damn handsome too...] Don't take too long. I'm not some damn bird for basting.
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it's only as he sits up, bent at the middle, that he realizes he's being looked at--and where he might normally snap at someone for it, he keeps quiet, only barely narrowing his gaze at bakugou in challenge before he looks back at the bottle. it's not like he's going to begrudge him for it; he'd looked bakugou over in the same way. his hair swings, soft around his jaw, tempted to pull it back behind his ear--but he's already pooling lube into his palm, clenching his fingers into the puddle of it as though to smear it around. his thumb moves, rubs over his knuckles, splotching it between his fingers. )
I just figured maybe you were always ready for this sort of thing.
( a tease, really, though his voice is its usual soft flatness, quiet; the only hint is the way his lips twitch, like he wants to smile and bites it back. )
You seem like the type who would have many partners.
( --which is about as close to a compliment as he's going to manage, from someone saying they'd kick him out of bed for being boring. which he is.
so he shifts, turning, putting his weight onto bare knees so that he can straddle one of bakugou's thighs between them; the capped bottle gets dropped to the bed, where it slides in against bakugou's side, and he uses his elbow as pressure to force bakugou onto his back again, leaning over him. then it's his clean palm, instead, flattened to bakugou's chest, using him for balance as he twists his slick hand in between bakugou's legs. thoughtful, he reaches to curl his palm in around his cock, first--sliding up the shape of it, like he's curious, squeezing up and off at the head to run two fingers down the underside.
his expression is almost impassive; he's focused on one of the scars etched into bakugou's skin, gaze swimming there, distant, as he feels over the curve of his sac, cupped lightly around it and down again, a slick index finger that splits his cheeks apart in pursuit and hooks a fingertip in past the rim. it's only there that his gaze lifts, a tilt of his head; he tries to shake a little hair away from his cheek as his finger slides in further, testing. )
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You're gonna get that all over if you fuck around with it enough. [a fair warning, maybe tilted enough in taunt. fingers slowly drum against cushioned comforter, red eyes lingering on the man's body as he waits for him. handsome, quiet, focused, trained and toned, makes him wonder what aki did for a living back home. he hardly addresses his challenging glare, interest instead in picking out little details on his partner. the way his hair parts just barely at the top of an ear, or hangs lush to his jaw for a faint outline. distracting himself from the slimy squicking sounds of aki lubing his fingers up with a fisting pool in his palm.]
WHAT?! You wanna repeat that shit?! [does he look like some cheap whore ready to dick down at any time?! aki's getting a few "kicks" to the back and sides for his teasing assery! way to backhand compliment him right on the fucking jaw!] I've got standards, Topknot!
[he's getting more... some are one offs, some are multiples, no one's steady. he's not sure he'll ever have someone here who reaches the last part. not even sure if he wants to. at least aki's not keeping his silence and being a stick in the mud. at his expense. he drops his leg, or gets it batted away, as the hunter turns and promptly traps his strong thigh between his knees. he doesn't hesitate to shift his leg, knee tenting up behind the other man's glutes and-- without breaking eye contact --deliberately lifts his thigh to rest against the apex of aki's legs. paybacks for an elbow digging into his chest and putting him on his back.] Watch it.
[don't elbow him in the damn scar. it's still fresh. replacing it with his hand reveals the hero's heart's pounding within his ribs, a mix of interest, arousal, anxious, anticipation. a low breath escapes his lips and he tugs his head up so he can stare down the sculpted length of his torso, eyes narrowing as aki's hand vanishes behind his twitching arousal and opened legs. his free one spreads to the side on instinct, hooking at his knee when warm fingers wrap around his dick. a low grunt escapes his mouth, hips lifting into his touch, an impressive stretch of inches and girth throbbing against his fingers and palm. like a damn sculpture, winding up the shaft and exploring his shape before pinching at his head and earning a sharp gasp. he presses his thigh firmly to the inside of aki's thighs, nuzzling at his hanging balls and sensitive skin as if trading for that stroke along his urethra tract.]
You're pretty focused... [eyes trained on his scars, clashing with a hand cupping at his sac until the smooth skin shifts with his orbs inside and is left glossy from lubrication before they'd dropped to hang against his perineum. he barely get the strange sensation of a finger playing between his glutes before-] unf... [-right past the clenching ring. only a fingertip, dipping inside all slick and slender, but he tightens around it without thinking. further in, first joint, second... his cock jumps against his adonis belt, precum beading at the tip, heated muscles inside squeezing smooth and flexing as aki bottoms out at the knuckle.] S'fine... I'm not made of glass.
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the words make his gaze unlock, like bakugou's turned a key--shifting, it slides to stare down at his face, instead, as though fighting against his own worries, his own bashfulness. if he can't look at him while he's doing this, that serves as some kind of weakness, doesn't it?
with a pursing of his lips-- ) I know you're not made of glass.
( a flicker of blue eyes down, purposefully dancing along the nearest scar, and then back up again. )
But you've broken apart enough times to be.
( still, he knows what's being asked of him, which means that he's shifting, twisting his hand enough to drag his finger back, despite the tighter clench that bakugou makes around it; two fingers in is just like the first, a slow descent to his knuckles and then back again, stretching the muscle there more carefully, like it's less about speed and more about success. the last thing he wants to do is have to push harder on the toy than necessary--which is why, after a thoughtful breath, he pushes in a third finger, curving them together for a little more width.
naturally, he's working his breath to steady as he continues, though this time when his head tilts, it's a curious lance of his gaze across bakugou's expression, the words parted only slightly with the effort of his fingers working inside him. )
Are you--afraid of anything? ( apparently he's not going for sexy talk, instead just airing out his curiosities--in his opinion, that's bakugou's fault for being scattered with so many egregious scars that he has to ask. ) You don't seem like--you are.
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he wants him to look. dammit. snapping into his mind when his words suddenly cock aki's attention out of vapid staring and into paying attention to him. wants aki to see him and look at what he's doing to him. the way his chest rises and falls with his breaths, abs hardening as a finger nudges towards its second joint in his clenching rim. wants to know he's the reason behind that impressive member standing fully hard against aki's adonis belt and their clothes lying all over the floor. he expected a response. didn't entirely expect the kind he got. blue eyes dropping, locking into his scar, an answer before he meets his gaze again. in response, his chest twitches up with ah flippant scoff.]
I've broken myself over and over and over. All to get stronger. So I can win. This crap's just one more step on the ladder. [telling aki he doesn't have to worry and treat him like a fragile cracked bowl. the man shifts, his hand twist, his finger pulls backwards, and--] ngh! [--he clenches around it stubbornly, surprised at how much he wanted it to stay in there. no time to snarl more than a quivering upper lip before aki's introducing two digits to his rim, twin uneven bumps prodding for a second until his body gives way and his chest arches with a harsher gasp.] -fuck! [they're in, both of them, stretching him open and pushing slicked velvet around him. nails, first joint, skin, second joint, skin, knuckles, slotted between his cheeks and pressing to his hole.
he grips at the bed, fingers twisting in the sheets, leg sliding back and forth between aki's thighs in a counterbalance of touch to touch. third finger! it burns and he pulls his head to the side, teeth grit and teeth bared in a snarl over his own shoulder. head flares in his cheeks, pink blooming under his eyes, and he instinctively spreads his free leg further on the bed to alleviate some pressure. balls dropping between his thighs and resting on he perineum as his body seizes up around aki's fingers. dammit, it feels this good already, this strange at the same time. those three things curl inside his tunnel and he arches his chest up, spine bowing from the bed with a sharper exhale. only falling down once he eases his fingers back out a bit. brows knit together, then lift as relief drifts across his face, a hard cringe easing into smooth.
at least until aki decides to ask that banger of a fucking question.] Who the hell asks that during a fuck?! Of course I'm not! [he is, he's human, but he hides it well.] Tch. Fear's admitting you might lose.
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but it's true, too: who the hell asks that during sex? unbidden, his breath escapes in a raspy chuckle through his nose, like he just can't help himself; his wrist twists, another gentle probe forward with the ring of his fingers, arching further inside bakugou without warning. )
Sorry, do you want me to be talking sexy? ( he waits a beat, his weight shifting, a curl of his fingertips up before straightening them back out again. ) I don't do dirty talk.
( but his perversely good mood seems to be prevailing, at least, when he draws his hand back, careful of the stubborn tightness around his knuckles; by the time he's curled his hand back, popped free of that ring of muscle, he's reaching it upward, snagging the atrociously pink vibrator off bakugou's stomach to slowly haul it down. between his legs, there's another sticky puddle of lubricant, some of it dribbled onto the sheets, some of it errantly flicked onto bakugou's inner thighs--he's still doing this one-handed, smearing the shaft generously.
with a roll of his eyes, annoyed, he has to tear his gaze off bakugou's heated face, looking down instead to make sure that he's thoroughly slicking up all parts of the damn toy, before he shifts, adjusts, holds the base and twists until the cold head of the vibrator presses pointedly to bakugou's hole, though he doesn't turn the power on just yet. instead, curious, he watches, at least as much as he can, as he eases and shifts and rocks the vibrator inside, letting just the tip of it fit for a moment, allowing bakugou's body to react before he tries going farther. if he positions it right, he thinks those stupid bunny ears will end up nestled around bakugou's sac; but he'll have to see how much bakugou squirms, first. )
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