aces high

finally back from leave, feels good to be back

Missed you.

missed y'too, jase. good to see you again.

#snake.exe #scales and feathers

bites you

oh hey there, darlin'. y'got plenty of a mouthful?

finally back from leave, feels good to be back

a-phoenix-must-burn

We missed you c:

#snake.exe #sorry mod got BIG burnt out

yeah darlin? ya missed me? how much did ya miss me? ;)

#snake.exe

finally back from leave, feels good to be back

(Jason places his duffel in the back of Cain’s impala as the sound of early birds and critters fill the air. There’s a morning dew that clings to his arms, making his arm hair stand on end in the chill and make him feel strangely clammy.

It didn’t matter. The object of his desire, the person who had now owned his heart for the better part of a week and some change, had been helping him pack, had been getting the farm prepared for the two of them to part from the state. Jason had found it endearing, how Cain had worried and kept checking, re checking… He could watch Cain march circles for hours. But eventually, he speaks, after taking the cigar out from between his teeth.)

You ready?

@saw-shadow-company

Cain shuts the trunk around their shared stash with a laboured grunt. It's still... unnerving, leaving the ranch. It's always hard, especially when he stays for a long time. He knows he'll miss Miss Maise Mae. Lightning. Licorice. All the other critters and creatures. And even though Ryan will take good care of them--always does, really--it's still hard to bid them goodbye.

He jangles his spurs for a second before moving to the driver's side. "Yeah, I'm ready," he says, but he looks anxiously back at the house. Ryan's already here, leaning against the porch. With his hat and the scarf, it's impossible to see his face--but that's just how he is.

Think I need to take you out to the old stomping grounds. You’d be interested in something like that?

@saw-shadow-company

oh, hell yeah, jase. what's the old stompin' grounds? where we goin'?

How’s a drive to Casper, Wyoming sound?

sounds like i need t'get my oil changed. wanna help?

Ha. Yeah, yeah.

Spend a few nights up there, enjoy the scenery. It’s real quiet, real secluded. Think you’ll enjoy it.

i trust y'jase. can't wait.

Think I need to take you out to the old stomping grounds. You’d be interested in something like that?

@saw-shadow-company

oh, hell yeah, jase. what's the old stompin' grounds? where we goin'?

How’s a drive to Casper, Wyoming sound?

#snake #broncos buzzsaws and boas

sounds like i need t'get my oil changed. wanna help?

Think I need to take you out to the old stomping grounds. You’d be interested in something like that?

@saw-shadow-company

oh, hell yeah, jase. what's the old stompin' grounds? where we goin'?

(The question of boundaries appears as muffled noise in his ears as he takes the hand on his chest as a sign to back off. Even in this strange state of- what was this, panic?- he understood the universal sign of “stop”. And stop he does.

He puts a hand to his head as he pulls away with a grunt. It’s overwhelming, in a way. He wasn’t sure how he got here. Maybe it was what was said, or how real the moment seemed to him. It made him think back- really, really think back- and the blonde head of hair was no longer Cain’s. It made him sick to his stomach. The same that bares the scars of his betrayal.)

I’m- sorry, Cain, I’m-

(It’s said as that dread and fear kept crawling more and more up his back, makes him feel the need to curl up in a ball in some dark hole. To not be touched or seen in such a vulnerable way. And he felt awful- Cain needed more than this. Something stable, something consistent in pleasure and love making. How could he have possibly thought he could provide? And why was his face wet?)

It's both a relief and a disappointment when Jason pulls away. It means he's taking what he needs--in this case, space. Distance. A lack of touch. Even if that makes Cain feel cold, raises gooseflesh on his skin, that's a comfort.

Jason knows, at least partially, what he needs. Cain can work with that.

"Lay down, Jase," he says gently, moving over on the bed to give him space. Enough space that if Jason doesn't want to touch he doesn't have to. Cain rolls onto his side, laying his head on his arm and keeping his gaze firmly on the wall. "Breathe. Get under some blankets."

Cain knows this. Knows the sickness and revulsion Jason's mired in--he's felt it himself on occasion. The disgust. The desire to rip every bit of tainted flesh off. Cain gets it. Even if he doesn't know why, even if Jason never explains why, Cain understands.

"'M right here if y'need me," Cain murmurs, with the tone one would use for a skittish animal. Because really, that's what Jason is: a shivering bunny, bloody and tormented. Hunted. Prey. And all Cain wants, all Cain needs Jason to understand, is that he's no wolf with an unhinged jaw. Cain is nothing more than a snake, too small to swallow a rabbit whole.

(Sex doesn’t come easily to Jason. It wasn’t always the case, but you become more than friends with people you shouldn’t have met, and suddenly the concept seems… crude. It wasn’t too dissimilar when him and Cain had started coming together in the night. Jason had started being taught more proper ways of intimacy, and he was more than eager to learn. 43 years of life and he’d only just started to understand how beautiful and essential lube is. Cain had his heart.

But tonight proved difficult. He couldn’t exactly describe how it happened. One moment, he was breathing heavily into Cain’s ear, muttering sweet nothings and doing his best to be more tactile- the next moment he was a deer in headlights. Frozen, still, staring down at Cain as dread and fear creeped up his spine, locked his limbs, put him into a cold sweat. He couldn’t muster anything to say, anything to think- other than fear. All he could feel was utter disgust and shame in himself. And, god, did he want to claw at himself.

It’s when he hesitantly tries to keep going that he feels a cautious hand on his chest and realizes any words Cain says sounds as if Jason was pulled into water. Muffled, incoherent. And he curses softly, ducking his head down to breathe, but nothing seems to work.)

@saw-shadow-company

Cain notices it immediately.

He notices when Jason's hips stutter, when he pauses and goes still. At first, Cain doesn't quite realise why--partners have stopped to tease him before. Make him beg. Draw it out.

But that--that doesn't feel quite right.

When Jason tries again is when it clicks for Cain.

"Oh, hey, Jase, easy," he groans out, a shudder running up his spine as he reaches a hand back to stop him. Blind, fumbling, his palm presses on sweat-slick skin. Jason's skin is almost clammy under his touch. "Easy. Take a breather, lovebug."

Jason's always a bit odd about their extracurriculars. He's forbidden Cain from looking at him. From facing him. So, despite how desperately he wants to see Jason's expression, check in on how he's feeling, Cain continues to face pointedly away.

"Jase? Do y'know what you need? Touch or no touch?"

(Jason presents the tiniest of bugs on his finger to Cain, the fondest little smile on his face as he watches it crawl around.)

Pirate bug. Hide what’s in your pockets.

(It seems his sense of humor has started to shine through just a tiny bit, even if delivered in a monotone and dry manner.)

@saw-shadow-company

Cain cranes his neck to see, watching the tiniest little tyke skitter on Jason's fingertip. Doesn't look more than a little speck to him.

"How'n the hell can y'tell somethin' that tiny?" He asks, bewildered as he lets out a light chuckle. As if to prove his point, he squints and tries to get closer. "Maybe I need glasses. Yer sight's better'n mine."

DOOMED YAOI HAPPY ENDING??!!?.!?

[ tee hee ]

#cd c://ghost/#for now.

a-phoenix-must-burn

Phoenix can’t help but roll his eyes, an affectionate smile crossing his flushed face. “Flatterer,” he says, nudging Snake’s chair with his shoe. “You’re just worried I’ll outshine you, even with all your glitter.”

Fake it til you make it, right?

He shifts in his seat, trying to subtly adjust the leather pants that he has on. Other than that, he’s just wearing a plain black shirt that does absolutely nothing to flatter his form. Maybe that’s for the best.

Before Phoenix can say anything else, a certain someone walks through the front door of the strip club. He lets out a small, relieved sigh and perches on the edge of his seat.

“You’ll never guess who decided to show up. Think he’s going straight to the VIP section instead of lingering, thank god.”

The less time the target spent in the general area, the less time that Phoenix and Snake had to dawdle and keep themselves busy until they could find an opportunity to corner him.

#snake.exe #scales and feathers

Snake's expression morphs in an instant from his relaxed, comfortable smile he uses around those he's closer with to a more carefully neutral one. Something still friendly, still approachable--because that's his role, after all. To be approachable.

His eyes trace their target with the focus of a snake in the grass. Watches as he eyes up the men on display already. Watches as a disappointment and disinterest settles in. Whatever his taste is, his preference, he must not see it on the floor tonight.

Good. It means their approach won't be entirely unwelcome.

Snake nods his head as the man slips into the VIP rooms. "That's our cue, darlin'," he murmurs, just low enough for Phoenix to hear. When he stands, he does so with a stretch, one designed to flex all his toned muscles and glimmering skin. He's designed to be desirable--and he hopes he's to their mark's taste.

And if he's not? Phoenix will be.

Leave it to the man upstairs--he knows that he's doing.

Mmm.

(He’s already yearning for the warmth and weight of the other man to return. Too little time spent together. Truthfully, it could have been eternity and it would be too little time.

The rest of Jason’s life was measurable. He was terrified of such a wonderful commitment, but. God, how he wanted to be so selfish with him.

And he hums. The smallest smile on his lips. It couldn’t be helped.)

Best you shower and change. You.. worked hard. I can get the kitchen set.

(The bed is already so much smaller without the other man occupying it. God, how’d he get this way? Craving Cain like a touch starved mad man. Maybe he was.)

Cain's a bit shameless as he strips out of his jeans, letting out a groan of relief when he isn't strangled anymore. He tosses them into the hamper before giving Jason a small smile over his shoulder.

"If y'hadn't just taken one, I'd offer t'wash yer hair," he teases a bit as he pauses at the bathroom doorway. "But I'll be back soon, awright? 'N then we can talk about what y'want fer dinner. Personally, I'm thinkin' some kinda pasta."

And he closes the bathroom door behind him.

If he leans against the door and buries his face in his hands, flushed and heart racing, that's between him and god.

a-phoenix-must-burn

“Seems counterproductive,” Phoenix mutters, his eyes lingering on the stage before he catches himself again and looks down at his lap. “Buyin’ a watch just to not use it. I hate rich people.”

A hand is scrubbed over his face and he takes a deep breath. For some reason, Phoenix is feeling out of his element. He does under cover stuff all the time, this is no different, so why does he feel like it’s his first time all over again?

The fabric of his shirt is itchier than normal, a choice Phoenix made purposely to remind himself that he’d have to take it off eventually. What fun is a stripper that doesn’t show a little skin?

Despite his better judgment, Phoenix speaks again, trying to soothe himself with some kind of joke. “You think I should take my shirt off now, or should I wait for later?”