gasping -- dying -- but somehow still alive. This is the final stand of all I am.
last night I dreamed that somebody loved me.
no hope. no harm.
just another false alarm.
âi am not intimidating jack explains his own dick jokes i feel like i should make a psa post saying iâm a doof, really, why are people intimidated by meâ â legit verbal quote from nee [Â @messwrites @ofdoubles @pandoranbrawler ]
aka i straight-up watched them help a 5 y/o child to read its watch today
aka i straight-up heard them shriek âSTEP ON MEâ at darth vader today so loud that he legit turned and looked
aka theyâre a quality human being and this is an unapologetic ushering if yâall in their direction <3
addendum: âchewbacca touched my boob like whatâ â also a quote
UNMASKED. so Iâm out of town and actually at d/sney for the first time EVER and itâs so freaking cool already, but I had a 11 hour bus ride then gift exchanges and dinner and walking around AND basically i was planning on replies but I am the sleep instead. Iâll be around soon, Iâll try to get around to it in the next few daysÂ
     RHYS BREATHES PRAISE and it sounds like begging. the voice slipping out of his gasping, desperate mouth are molten. his words are honeyed gold ---- decadent and rich and TOO MUCH. itâs not enough to push timothy over the edge but itâs certainly got him riding it, pulsing hard and hot and desperate to pull his hand away, to shove inside of rhys smooth and easy. the heat soaking his hand feels so good around his fingers, against the heel of his hand that he grinds into rhys.Â
he doesnât let up. he GROANEDÂ deep and wild and desperate for him, eyes closed, momentarily bereft heâd planned to force rhys to ride his orgasm out with his fingers buried inside of him --- knuckles deep. he wanted to relish the shaking --- no longer a fine tremble, the way rhys eould have WRITHED when he curled his fingers. oversensitive and strung out on pleasure.
timothy had always thought heâd be an attentive lover and he was --- heâd never figured heâd be a DOMINEERING one. itâs the mention of jack that does it, the mention of a man long dead that ignites his bones and had him following the man in front of him. itâs his NEED to beat back the ghost in the room that has him bracketing rhys hips with his large hands.Â
when timothy sank to his knees on the floor he didnât hesitate, his hands gripped rhys thighs, forcing them to keep that wide splay, his mouth closed on the heat between his legs. rhys needed to be fucked out --- MINDLESS lost in sensation, so desperate that even after they came on timothyâs tongue they BEGGED for his cock. timothy lapped, broad strokes over rhysâ cunt, tasted him on his tongue and sucked on his clit. He scraped teeth over swollen flesh.Â
timothy loved doing this, loved going down on him, loved the feeling of tension in rhysâ thighs as he forced them to stay wide, felt the way he SHOOK above him. the way that he could nip with blunt teeth and force a stutter out of him. timothy loved shoving his tongue inside of him and sucking HARD on his clit, loved the way he all but SCREAMED when he shoved fingers back inside of him.Â
rhys tightened on his fingers, on his tongue and timothy fucked him hard, fucked him VICIOUS --- knuckle deep into the heat of him while his tongue traced his way through the alphabet backwards and forwards. He pulled back to stare up at rhysâ face, to watch the play of pleasure on it like lace in a breeze, shifting and beautiful. And all the while his fingers are shoving into him with a damp slap, pressing hard and DEEP and he canât help it when his voice breaks.Â
â you want my cock donât you baby ?? you want me to fuck you over this desk --- until you feel my cock filling you up, until you feel me fucking up inside you even after iâve stopped. you want that donât you ?? â
he ducked back down to suck at his clit, hand never stopping, ache be damned, âwhoâs fucking you baby ?? whoâs cock is going to WRECK you over this desk ?? câmon RHYS you canât get my cock until you cum for me. â
surrounded by his heat, the warmth of his body, the long, lean line of it, his taste on his tongue and timothy still needs to exorcise the poltergeist of JACK. still feels the need to hear rhys say it. his name, heâs HERE with timothy and not in the past, dragged in and held down by a ghost.Â
his fingers tapped out a staccato beat HOLLOW and bored, and every third or fifth tap his fingers SLAMMED down onto his desk just to watch the man in front of him flinch at the sound. the man was practically sweating bullets and he stuttered to a grinding halt when jack yawned, feigned checking his watch. oh sure, he had a watch, he looked at his wrist --- he didnât check the time. His hand slammed onto a hidden facet of his desk and the lackey went screaming into the a VOID as the floor opened beneath him.Â
âI was trying to get him to shut up --- I wasnât being too subtle about it, was I ? â
he was bored, casual respite --- chin propped on a lax hand, jack directed his gaze to the next victim of the quarterly report delivery.
the skag practically EXPLODED at the force of the bullet tearing through it. fuck that was hot. not the shreds of tough hide and bloody viscera -- no jack was into a lot of things but not that. he preferred his flesh lumps to be more connected and in very SPECIFIC places. no --- what was hot was the whipcrack of the bullet coming from the chamber, the recoil that tightened his whole body on reflex. the DEVASTATION and the complete decimation --- THAT ? that was hot.Â
âoh, b a b y d o l l talk about more bang for your buck. that is sex good.â
THERE WAS A SILENCE to pandora. something that was more often then not broken by cracked laughter or a PIERCING scream. the thunder crash of a bullet.Â
pandora fucking sucked --- it was the handjob of planets, sure it was nice in a MINDLESS KILLING sort of way but everyone knows thatâs not exactly what anyone is here for. anyone who WASNâT a agent orange reject bandit was there for one thing only. ERIDIUM and all the vaults that came with it.Â
â oh ! I shot the BITCH out of him. did you see his head ? it was like PBBBLTT-- ! â
the person in question was the now bloodied and.....well to be honest their head looked like a crushed watermelon with some macaroni salad in there for texture. the scientist hadnât been working fast enough. Jack leveled a grin at the person whoâd just entered --- the blood on his face was warm but otherwise ignored.Â
UNMASKED. sorry I havenât been around I started a new job and Iâm tired all the time and Iâm going on a trip to disney for the dirst time ever tomorrow and uh. Iâm a mess but I still love Tim Tam and Jack donut worry.
PANDORA WAS HARSH. itâs sun was a fucking ball of noxious gas and fire that beat down so hard against the hard packed dust and clay of the world that it burnt the brains right out of some of the worldâs unluckier inhabitants. the people of pandora were harsh, tough and dried up, barely holding on as they worked their way to dried-up HUSKS. and as if things couldnât get worse the planetâs wildlife was practically bred to tear into soft human flesh.Â
the only thing the the barely notable marble had going for it was the ERIDIUM shooting through it like a vein of diamonds in the bedrock of a mountain. NEARLY impossible to get to, but oh, the sweet rewards once you DID.Â
jackâs feet touched down and he was already coated in the dust that seemed to choke everything for miles, that never seemed to stop. he was sweating, one of his few concessions to being human, to being less than a HERO or a  g o d. his grin was too wide on his lean face, it had the effect of making him look like a predator preparing to swallow his prey whole.Â
â  this shit hole never fucking changes.  â   he covered his eyes, shielded them from the sun,   â oh donât be like that NISHâ donât act like you havenât MISSED good oleâ jack.. itâs okay. you can admit it --- the worldâs just not as HANDSOME without me.  â
    belatedly, rhys thinks to note all of the blunt force timothy exhibits in these moments, unlike the USUAL softness in him. sharp GROWLS, grabbing, greedy, SELFISH hands pushing and pulling at rhys. so very reminiscent of things rhys has been trying to forget, though lately heâs felt more like a prisoner in his own body than a willing participant. lately heâs been having nightmares, lately heâs been CRAVING things, lately heâs been⊠NOT HIMSELF, either, just like timothy. so he isnât thinking much of it, when maybe he should.
    itâs that HORRID, DISGUSTING nickname that does timothy in. not the way he guides rhys down to the floor and in between the filthy spread of his legs, or even the way he licks at rhys and grinds so forcefully against him prior to that. itâs the way his words curl over his tongue like it isnât TIMOTHYâS, but JACKâS, and jack isnât who rhys wants right now. fingers dig violently into timothyâs knees through the fabric of his pants, nails jabbing IN. meeting timothyâs eyes, scowling at the smirk on his face that sits oddly, out of place and REHEARSED, gentle kiss be damned in its wake, rhys is a hiss of anger and frustration.Â
     âDo NOT call me that.â barbed words, a snakeâs tongue forked on hysteric anger as his heart jackhammers. he slides his hands up and makes jerky work out of timothyâs belt, his fly yanked down in much the same way as his pants following it â - FURIOUSLY, tugged all the way down to pool at his ankles. mismatched eyes meet mismatched eyes, daring timothy to treat him like heâs just another person to put an act on for. heâs NOT, goddamn it, and timothy will do well to remember that. they have not climbed the ranks of the entire goddamn GALAXY just to get here, just for timothy to smirk down at him like THAT, like rhys hasnât SEEN the way he screams himself awake at night. like rhys has never done the same.
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  timothyâs mind was DOMINATED by the thought of just how good rhys looked on his knees on the cold expensive floors. the defiance, the sheer pride and anger in his eyes made his breath catch, already labored, when he looked up at him to spit words coated in venom. that look was HEATED anger and hurt and pride coalescing into something that had timothy dropping his voice into something like a whisper. something PRAYERFUL.Â
â oh, baby, baby, baby, no, no, no, n o. baby, youâre perfect.â
his hand tangled in rhysâ hair and it soothed, GENTLED, cupped his jaw and cradled his cheek, warm and real and almost unbearably TENDER. his finger traced the shell of rhysâ ear with a tremor. when he threw his head back on a clench toothed gasp he all but yanked his hand away, left it hovered inches from rhys, clenched into a tight fist.
his breathed hitched on a GASP weak and low, his hands spasmed and clenched hard on empty air before one shot out to cup the nape of rhysâ neck ENVELOPING, grounding, controlling. for all his harsh words the soft line of his mouth had Timothy fighting to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of pleasure.Â
but oh. oh.Â
timothyâs eyes slammed shut at rhysâ words, his head thrown back and his throat a long lean arch of DESPERATION. after that everything is a blur. timothy grips rhys like he wants to make a home in his chest if he could just get close enough heâd climb inside and live WITHIN him, like perhaps he already has and is just looking for the chance to return there.Â
his hand gripped rhys tight around his THROAT, the soft skin there against his calloused fingertips, the blunt edge of his nails leaving barely there crescent moons in him, MIRRORS of the more permanent tattoo gracing the hollow of shoulder and neck.
everything is slick and hot and the air feels heavy, damp with the gasp of their breaths, the room feels RICH, weighted, the overheated heart of a faberge egg, opulent and decadent and unimportant in the wake of rhys fingers pressed tight around him and his lips stretched around his cock and the world narrows with hypersensitivity to the way that rhys is touching him. the way rhys is FORCING him to acknowledge that heâs desired. him, not jack.Â
timothy lawrence is WANTED.
he pulled rhys up, gently, guided him to look up at him and meet his eyes, hand around his throat and hand in his hair. timothy TUGGED him up until he could kiss him. slide his tongue into his mouth deep, and filthy, nip at his swollen lips. finally. FINALLY presses his mouth to the small damp, hollow juncture of shoulder and neck, sucked away the crescents he left behind. BRUISED the pale skin and sunk his teeth in.Â
he licked at the ache and pressed kisses to the hollow of his ear, breath soft and words almost unkind.Â
â so good baby, so, so good. youâre so perfect for ME.â
he wants to WRECK rhys, make him gasp and moan, leave him a quivering mess that canât do anything after but let timothy hold him. wants to press until heâs wrung out and exhausted unable to do more than GASP his name. so he talks. pulls rhys up and forces him to straddle his lap again, bare cock pressed into the fabric of his EXPENSIVE slacks.Â
he bucked up once, the fabric smooth and harsh and not ENOUGH, not when he wants to feel skin against skin. His hand left rhys hair, cupped his crotch through the pants and PRESSED hard, rolling, before his hand all but tore the fabric open. his fingers dove below the waistband and he MOANED even as he sucked marks into the flesh of RHYS neck.Â
rhys was hot and WET against the pads of his fingers, and timothy made quick time in rubbing slick and almost frictionless against the bundle of nerves he knew would make rhys TREMBLE against him. he wanted to TEAR sounds from his throat, wanted pleasure to melt his bones.
âyou feel so good rhys, so fucking right, and that feels good, doesnât it baby ?? my hand feels good on you, making you fucking SHAKE for me.â
he sunk a finger into the heat of him and dragged rhys into a kiss, tongue fucking into his mouth the way his fingers CURLED inside of his body and played him like an instrument. the way he slid his thumb against the bundle of nerves in a counter rhythm to the way he FUCKED him.Â
whatever tenderness there was BEFORE timothy was ruthless now, fingers drawing out slowly, slowly, until he could feel rhys clenching around the barest tip. he sunk back inside ROUGHLY, a hard thrust that buried his fingers in to the knuckle. the confined space of rhys pants made it difficult for him, but timothy wasnât going to stop until rhys was SOBBING hand cramping or no.Â
âthat it, RHYS, thatâs it, you FEEL that ?? feel me fucking into you, nice and EASY, youâre taking it so well baby.âÂ
Janeyâd be the first to admit she liked running from one catch-a-ride to another, doing the basic maintenance that came with, well, doing basic maintenance on the catch-a-rides. She was starting to get the hang of this planet, she thought, though the dust made her cough and the vegetation made her sneeze sometimes and she still caught herself looking up when she dropped her tools sometimes.
    The point was, though, she was humming pretty damn loudly on her way to her next stop, and getting pretty damn close, when she saw something pretty damn unusual. The unusual thing that she saw was a singular human being, wandering in much the same direction as she was. Curiouser and curiouser.
  So, being as Janey was a generally helpful and âwell, I could always drive awayâ individual, she started to slow as she got closer to him, leaning out of the runner to holler, ââ Oi! Walking guy! Alright?!â
Timothy had hoped, initially, that the dust kicked up by the cruiser and the bandana half obscuring his face would stop anyone from seeing him, he wasnât particularly keen on hiding out in the half dark of the setting sun. Didnât feel like running or shooting or all of the stupidly ATHLETIC things heâd forced himself into being able to do just to survive in the WILDS of Pandora.Â
  Timothy was all set to RUN even if he hadnât really WANTED to when the voice made him freeze.Â
âJaney ?! Howâd you get off Elpis ?! WAIT. youâre ALIVE ?!â
UNMASKED. okay but on a serious note ! Iâm actually doing replies tonight and intend to roll out some starters, I had my first day of work today and it was 9 hours of staring at a computer screen, if I donât get around to slapping up some starters I promise theyâll be done this weekend. love yâall
under the cut is a list of people I owe starters to just so that yâall know I havenât forgotten about you. if youâre not on this list but should be, shoot me an IM, or shoot me an IM to plot regardless.Â
xoxo gossip nee
@betterhealing owed a starter from Jack / Tim / August
@firstdegreefraud owed a starter from Jack
@bonafidegrit owed a starter from Jack
@glassesbrc owed a starter from Jack
FORREAL THIS TIME: replies coming soon, I was putting it off until my new laptop came in, but itâs a day late, I SHOULD be able to pick it up tomorrow. love yâallÂ
    timothy is gun metal and explosives, carefully articulated strength and power, a sea of things that rhys has SWORN himself off of for proprietyâs sake. this, though â - this show of dominance, this act of timothyâs with hands wrapped around rhysâ wrists like he OWNS him. an anchor to keep rhys from getting lost, floating away on the thrill of power coursing through his veins: thatâs what this is.Â
    AND RHYS HAS TO WONDER. how much of this IS show, and how much of it is something ELSE ?? his heart flutters in its cage, his stomach does a well-practiced flip-flop, and his mouth runs drier than he thinks itâs ever been. even choking on pandoran dust heâd never felt this absolutely breathless, mouth gaping as his eyes drift down to timâs mouth. not for the first time, but this time it feels different.Â
    a gentle, testing tug proves that timothyâs grip is JUST as firm and un-budging as rhys had expected it would be. no amount of swallowing restores any moisture to rhysâ mouth, not with timothy holding him like this, not with timothy this close in his space, looking at him with those eyes, and rhys is dimly aware that he STILL hasnât given timothy a proper response to his question.
     âAlmost,â he whispers, âItâs almost perfect.â and then heâs surging forward before he can stop himself, before he can talk himself out of it AGAIN, because this is different, different, different than any time before it.Â
    the taste of timothy is unlike anything rhys has ever experienced before. a mouth sweet like candy, not something heâd have imagined for someone wearing THAT FACE to taste like, lips soft, but firm, giving under rhysâ pressure as he leans in and in, pressing them close, presses his hands to timothyâs chest and grabs fistfuls of the manâs shirt to keep him in place as rhys takes his mouth hostage. he doesnât even bother trying to free his wrists from timothyâs hold, loving the heat of it, the CONTROL etched into the fingers locked around rhys, just takes that grip with him as he steps back and yanks timothy along with him.
    timothy looks SHELL-SHOCKED as rhys tears away and uses timothyâs hands on him to guide him around the desk, panting, chest heaving as he backs timothy up and shoves him DOWN into the chair that theyâve EARNED. itâs THEIR chair now, and what better way to celebrate this VICTORY, one thatâs all theirs, than to consummate it? when timothy has dropped bodily into the chair, FINALLY releasing rhysâ wrists, rhys looks down at him with fire in his eyes. this is everything coming to a head, he thinks, shedding the outermost layer of his suit, the jacket falling limply to the floor.Â
    rhys goes down, too, but in a different direction, descending on timothy as graceful as sinew and liquid silk, straddling him and diving right back in to continue devouring his mouth. the chair rolls back, just a little, and rhys laughs breathlessly into the wet heat between them, hands bracing on the sides of timothyâs neck as they kiss, and maybe rhys wouldnât feel so inclined to keep on and on if timothy WASNâT kissing back â - but he is. heâs giving as good as rhys is, and itâs so validating to know that rhys really HADNâT been reading things wrong this whole time.Â
     âI want to suck you off.â rhys admits as he pulls away to suck in a breath, feeling bold, pressing his forehead to timothyâs and capturing his wide eyed gaze. god. rhys just drove vasquez out of the room with words alone, and even THAT couldnât compare to how FIERCE he feels with timothy under him like this, breathing heavily, looking at him like THAT. the real power trip is all in this exchange, truthfully, and rhys has to kiss him again just because timothy isnât moving away. not that he could at this point, but rhys doesnât think he WANTS to, either. but against his lips, rhys asks, âWill you let me do that?â just to make sure.Â
            RHYS MOVED WITH PURPOSE it was a hot wet slide of mouths, slick swollen flesh pressed against eachother, tim pressed back with his whole body, pressed back and pressed tight until he felt he could taste the afterimages of rhys DREAMS. this wasnât soft melting stars or the first aching, beating, moments of a love song. Timâs hand, over large and sure curled, haphazard into rhysâ done hair, styled to perfection only to have GREEDY seeking fingers push it into disarray as he all but YANKED rhys head to fit the angle he created. to catch the blood flushed swell of his lower lip between sharp teeth, and in a move that was all TIM, lick at the pained skin, suck at the sting to soothe it.Â
   his hand FISTED in the skin tight fabric of rhys shirt and he was PULLING, pulling the lithe man closer, closer, closer, so near, dear that he felt the heat of their skin, the slick of the sweat. he wasnât desperate, not yet, but his hands grasped and pulled while his body arched forward, a warm hand moved to splay, wide and possessive over the otherâs lower back, SEARING through the layers of fabric.Â
   they were wearing too much clothes for this but when rhys PULLED AWAY, pulled back to suck in a harsh intake of breath tim swayed forward. like magnets drawn to eachother, all but growled when he was STOPPED from sinking his teeth into the pale arch of throat, the TATTOO that had so caught his attention. this wasnât ENOUGH.Â
   timothy needed skin against skin, needed to feel rhys s h a k i n g around him. had to know if the delicate TREMBLE of his eyelids would stay the pale blue of his veins or if theyâd be stained pink with his blush. he bucked up and pressed down against the arch of rhys spine, pushed them into a dirty grind at the s h i v e r of rhys voice. the words that had him CRUSHING his mouth to rhys all fierce heat and nipping teeth, a hard, vicious suck on his tongue, no FINESSE in his motions just the PURITY OF INTENT.Â
   he withdrew with one last lick to rhysâ mouth, one flick of his tongue against the sharp line of rhysâ teeth. his hand TIGHTENED in the soft mass of his hair, not much to grip, but enough, the other traveled to reinstate the hold of rhysâ wrist.Â
â   YEAH. you do that rhysie.  â
  he almost gently set rhysâ on the hard marble of the floor, looked down at him between the spread v of his thighs, and smiled. SLICK, wide, charming --- his thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth and pressed. FORCED it to sit wedged in the hinge of his jaw, the back of his molars pressing into his skin as timothy SMILED.Â
â   make it worth my while, wonât you baby ??   â
he bent nearly DOUBLE, pressed an almost t e n d e r kiss to the soft, swollen pink of his lips, the open chasm waiting for him,Â
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