checkmate.

under heavy construction.

[opportuniist]

like for a starter, lemme break yo tag babies.

[livrogne-r]

 it’s not like he’s expecting a kiss. but it’s not like he’s opposed. he’s been sitting, sunk into his lowest thoughts, without a friend to coax him back to joyfulness. that’s until there are cherried lips pressed to his own, a mirror to something he knows, dark pangs in his chest and a better desire than one he’s felt of late. healthier.

       (  had  he not  himself,  been  such a  flirt,           perhaps   he  would  not  have  grinned           and bit down on his red lips, raising an           eyebrow and finding hold on his waist.  )

❝ i should remember a man like you, but i’m afraid you must have slipped my memory, surely we must have met before — you seem… familiar. ❞

[opportuniist]

     Montparnasse leaned against the arms around his waist as if he had nothing to lose; falling back instead on knowledge and instinct he had gathered from being raised on the streets, it was inherently animalistic -- basic survival 101. Predators were less likely to hunt for prey that didn't have much more to offer than bloodied kisses and simple flirtation; he knew you couldn't gain a damn thing by robbing a man with nothing in his wallet and so he played broke.. God only knew that he possessed enough experience to give the performance an authentic flair. He would play the victim if he had to, the lush, the whore -- Montparnasse had no aversion to dumbing himself down if it meant keeping himself safe.

     Cerise lips pressed together in a pout that was both instantaneous and devastating; pushing back against that familiar chest gentle and angling his head to the side thoughtfully. ”I make a lot of friends.” He purred dishonestly as if the other could have been one of a million, as if he had every right to feel slighted that his familiar stranger had even contemplated the possibility of forgetting his face. ”-- in fact, if you keep me much longer I'll be late for one of my playdates.” It was important that he set the precedence early. That he was always the one being kept around, the one being desired.

     He took a calculated step back and offered his bruised hand to the other as if he was doing him a favor, ”Montparnasse.”

[opportuniist]

     There was blood on his lips when he pressed them against another mouth, bruises on the knuckles that he uses to wrap around a collar and pull -- all at once becoming hidden by the warm ( surprisingly pliant ) body covering him, blocking him, from plain sight. There were also better ways to cloak oneself but Montparnasse was still a young man, a boy really, still prone to bouts of extreme theatricality and more than that.. used to getting what he wanted. And he wanted to be hidden from the positively brutish goons running past them presently; lips slotting against lips more instinctively than anything else ---- holding onto the other's shirt to keep him from pulling away prematurely. This boy that feels familiar, something Montparnasse blamed on the liquor and ash he brazenly licked from the other's mouth -- icing on the cake, he thought.

     When the proverbial coast was clear the career criminal pulled back, gave the other a demanding nudge, hands dripped down to the drunkard's chest -- smoothing out the wrinkles he left behind with a lavish wink ( well calculated, really, it was better public thought him a harmless slut than what he really was. )  ”Hmm, I'd offer to have your shirt dry cleaned but I can't see it doing much good.”

[opportuniist]

     ”Whoever said that diamonds were a girl’s best friend obviously hadn’t contemplated the potential of me in that Cartier number.”

     Pale eyes, almost glacial in nature, flickered up from the cabinet he had been lusting over – in the best of taste, naturally. Montparnasse had never been one for window shopping but the day was young and the prospect still high; he smiled like there was no one in the world he would rather see presently and turned up his nose with a quaint shrug of those slim shoulders. ”—suits me, don’t you think?”

[opportuniist]

     The weather that afternoon was abnormally warm, balmy and contagious, the sort of sunshine that crept up and dripped into one’s flesh just to say fuck you. It brought out skin and legs; shorts crawling higher and midriffs daring to expose themselves chaotic and distracting in a manner that would whet his appetite if he weren’t already in a state of deluded grandeur —  still, he had time to kill, frozen yogurt slipping down an alabaster web of skin between cigarette long fingers that he chased with his mouth absent minded and bored. Everything felt damp from the warmth of the afternoon; like the apex of a girl’s thighs or the way his forehead felt when he developed fevers, beading over his skin in transcendental little drops.

     He felt high, transcendental — floating, up & up & up until he met the gaze of someone he had never seen before.

[bellvas]

             lost the battle, win the war      bringing my sinking ship back to the shore                                     starting over, we’ll head back in                  there’s a time and a place to die but this ain’t it

[opportuniist]

   The interaction began with a slight advantage, a point in his favor, a ploy that he could make the most of -- Montparnasse was all too aware of who the young man was but didn't know if his identity was known, he knotted matchstick fingers in his lap and flashed a devastating smile the rich boy's way. He couldn't explain his loathing for the one she referred to as Monsieur ( in today's age.. Monsieur! ) but he knew that it wasn't something going away in the present future, leaning forward while he gave a nod in the direction of someone petite and blonde. ”---- she's very pretty,”

   ”A bit out of your league, hmm? Oh, but girls do so love underdogs nowadays.”

[izzyhill]

[opportuniist]

↳ "Sometimes bad things happen to good people."

[opportuniist]

     Montparnasse would never be able to understand it; the way that she looked at him, the way that she spoke of him, when she thought that no one was around to see or hear it. He would never comprehend how someone so devastating could be so pitifully sad – how someone so knowing could be so stupid. She wanted prince charming? Fuck that, fuck prince charming; Marius Pontmercy was nothing more than another guilty, rich boy and if there was one thing that could make the career criminal see red it was guilty rich boys. Montparnasse had built himself out of nothing at all, with broken parts and an expired warrantee, and surely that meant he was better than that oblivious, lovesick, puppy dog.

     ”Stop staring.” He snapped coolly, crossing his cigarette thin legs gracefully as he angled his head to toss cerise pout Eponine’s way, Montparnasse huffed impatiently while he brought willowy fingers up to smooth out wrinkles in his trousers that weren’t really there. ”It makes you look terribly plain.”

[opportuniist]

like for a starter, lemme break yo tag babies.