rebel just for kicks.

Pullin' down backstreets, deep in your head, slippin' through dreamland like a tourist

[sebastianvb]

†   ╼    pullin' down backstreets, deep in your head ( slippin' through dreamland like a tourist ) , you've had too much of the digital love, you want things you can touch. make it feel like a movie you saw in your youth. make it feel like that song that just unopened you . ( you see pink and gold, you see in airplane mode ) ; you float in the pool where the soundtrack is canned, you go ask your questions, like: what makes a man?

sebastian van buren. written by lenny .

intro + wanted connections + pinterest + playlist

[irigy]

if his eyebrows could raise any higher at the sound of that description, they would. instead, there are two kinds of voices in javi's head. which is, to be sure, quite normal compared to the usual amount of voices. one is heavily agreeing with the younger man and the other... well the other is sounding alarms. not to mention all that rambling about emojis. javi can barely put together a smiley face himself. he can't even imagine whatever seb could be talking about, and the confusion basically has his eyes unfocused, giving the other a blank stare for a moment before he snaps back into reality. "huh? okay, okay, how 'bout we stop degrading my friends and instead focus on something better. like your face." he reaches over to gingerly pick a lost little eyelash off sebastian's perfect cheekbone, then holds it up by his lips. "make a wish." but he blows the wish away before seb could even make one. just to spite him.

soon enough, seb is touching him, and all he can do is pull him closer, ignoring the flashes of cameras. "maybe because you're misbehaving." and javi wouldn't have him any other way. "I like you better without a shirt."

[sebastianvb]

Oh, he shouldn't mindfuck him like this—but that lost look in his eyes is so endearing; like he's running difficult calculations in his head, all the cogs and wire spinning in different directions. Sebastian's gloved palm comes to grab his jaw, greedily taking more than he should, sinking his fingers into the hollows of his cheeks—he doesn't say anything, just stands there for a moment, smiling impishly like he's something entirely harmless rather than a grenade held between his fingers. "You're so cute..." he has not single clue what the fuck he's on about, does he? "I'm your friend." he leans in confidently to remind him, that boyish, cocky grin unwavering, infused with enough confidence to challenge the sun; Isn't his light so much brighter? What's a five billion years old star compared to him? "And I'm so much cuter than all of your other friends... you should totally just—ditch them for me." it's only partly jest, and Javier should know better than to think so; he runs a hand through his hair and a cinnamon tuft falls over his pale forehead as he closes his eyes—he opens his mouth, and Javier blows on it first, leaving him utterly indignant. "Hey!" he bites back a laugh. "I can't believe you that... I was gonna wish for a pony," his adonian nose crinkles in jest. "You—owe me a ride, mister."

He takes the opportunity to lean more of his weight on him, his head tilting in that kittenish way it does. "What? I can't... talk to people who are working, now? That's just... classicist," thinly veiled amusement bleeds into the delicate edges of his mouth. "You know, I'm not so sure I believe you... you've had every opportunity to take advantage of me and yet here I am... all virginal and shit."

[irigy]

javi knows a thing or two about what's illegal and what isn't. annoying sebastian, in this case, is very much legal. in fact, it is a requirement. it's too much fun. besides, javi needs to bite back every once in a while, doesn't he? it's only fair. "the coven, is it?" it's got a nice ring to it, actually. "yes, your dad's here. you should go talk to him." it's half joke, half actual advice. he likes telling seb what to do, but he knows that 99.9% of the time it's going to end up with him saying no to him.

"sebastian," he's really trying to keep his expression as emotionless as possible, but he really can't help the amused smile creeping its way up his lips as he leans in closer to hiss an endeared "behave," through his teeth.

[sebastianvb]

Sebastian nods too confidently, not so much as skipping a beat. "Yeah, you know..." he sways his head to and fro. "—you're Nancy, 'cause you're the unhinged hot one. Tristan's Sarah, 'cause he looks like he can't do shit, but is probably the one in charge... and my dad's Bonnie, 'cause everyone's surprised he's still alive by the end of the movie." the dimpled, impish smile on his lips as he says that tells him exactly how proud he is of coming up with that analogy. All on his own, mind you. "I have! I sent him like... three emojis yesterday," which is more than his one night stands get—and they actually put in a lot of effort into making him happy, unlike his dad. "Don't worry, though... I'm pretty confident he can't figure out what 'index pointing at the viewer, pinching hand, eggplant' actually means." does he even know how to use emojis?

Sebastian. Cue the eye roll; he flashes his palms, as if he couldn't possibly convey the reason for that tone to be taken. Hasn't he been a perfect gentleman, all night? "Why does everybody keep saying that?" he places both elbows on Javier's shoulders, leaning into him to strategically block his view. "I have a shirt on, don't I? Don't I get praise for that?"

[anaismurad]

"Whose murder?" She asks. "My morality only stretches so far when it comes to entertainment."

Your brother's around?

The right follow-up would have been something like, Which one?, but it didn't quite matter now. "Yes, and you're in his seat." A toast, offered. "So perhaps I will witness a murder, after all."

[sebastianvb]

"Ah... I think it's 50/50. On one hand my dad's a seasoned gangster with access to guns... on the other hand he's a thousand years old, so I really think I could take him if I knee his hips hard enough." a pause. "What do you think?" it's mostly jest.

He shifts then—looking down at his seat as if searching for a hidden grenade in it. "...seriously?" he looked a little in disbelief just then. Maybe there would be a murder. "...do you think they're more or less likely to murder me if I move to your lap instead?"

[irigy]

closed . @sebastianvb

the moment he sees sebastian gravitating towards him-- no, nearly skipping in his direction, javier does nothing to hide the smile tugging at his lips. he should've asked him to be his date for this. he nearly expects him to approach him with a drink in hand, ready to throw it in his face, after the whole shoe incident. instead, it's all puppy eyes and... is he wearing a shirt? for the met gala? unpredictable, as always.

"I'm working." it's a warning, but a weak one, as he looks sebastian over appreciatively. "need something?"

[sebastianvb]

What a way to deflate his cheery mood; didn't he know that was illegal in all fifty states? "Oh, boo," which admittedly, isn't the most mature reply to that—but why start now? If he's survived a shoe thrown at his head, he's confident he's resilient to survive any of his oncoming antics. "Isn't my dad here, too? I'm sure I've seen the other members of the coven around," he briefly spares a glance over his shoulder, not searching hard—he's sure the losers are bound to be roaming around somewhere. Probably in a group.

He returns Javier with that mischievous glint in his eyes, like a kitten barely keeping itself from pouncing on him. "Just... you know—delegate so I can suck you off already."

[adabasi]

Normally skittish by nature, Selim's immediate reaction is to lean over and grab a fistful of napkins from the bar; to apologize profusely, offer to buy him a new shirt or foot the bill for dry cleaning but when the other's voice leaves his mouth in a tone that he knew all too well — haughty, well-to-do, condescending — the ex-agent stills mid-reach, his arms falling back to his sides. His spine straightens, shoulders rounding as he crosses his arms over his chest, dark eyes simply watching the other as he throws his tantrum covered in some sort of sticky alcoholic beverage like a toddler at day-care. A smirk curls on his lips. "A kilo of cocaine weighs about two pounds, give or take - depending on the seller and/or supplier," Selim rocks his head from side-to-side as if weighing the possibilities. "— could be eight inches in length, 5 wide. I can't decide if I should be complimented or insulted that you think I could walk fast enough under those pre-tenses, with it up my ass, to slam into another man about my size and still be standing."

[sebastianvb]

With a slow tilt of his head, Sebastian goes still and unusually still; it's not like him to be speechless, surely this deserves some kind of award of its own. Maybe this was more entertaining than an apology, really; as much as he liked to be a dick to people, it's funnier when they don't immediately bend over.

He bites off his glove. "You know... I think that's the most long-winded way anyone's ever told me they're into anal," he mumbles, words stifled against the leather pinched between his pointy canines, fingers smoothing over the ruined front of his shirt, then starting to disrobe in a way that felt too casual for a crowded environment, before getting frustrated with the buttons and just ripping them open with a sharp tug—so much for wearing a shirt. Whatever.

The vibrant, clear blue of his eyes drag over Selim languidly, with the kind of appraisal usually reserved for his father's groupies. He squints then, a hint of playfulness twinkling dimly in his eyes. "C'mon. It's just eight inches man... what are you, a pussy?" he manages with a half serious expression, throwing his damp shirt over a chair with a wet slap, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves as he slowly works his jacket back on; and yes, he does think he's very funny. "I've met too many OnlyFans models not to believe in the resilience of the human body... call me naive," a tight lipped smile, then. "Is that what you're doing? Getting cute guys wet to promote your handle? I'm appalled."

[adabasi]

( open to all / met gala ) Whether badged and vested, wired, or sporting event attire as he was now, Selim had never been a stranger to high profile events. While not his first with Tristan by his side, as he walks through crowds, for the first time in a long time, he finds himself checking over his shoulder, counting exits, visually patting down every one who came into close proximity to him or anyone who he now considered family — he knew where they set up, his former colleagues — on roof-tops, in the sidelines, dressed in all black, wired to the nines, holding negative and sometimes sick opinions of normal people. It's how one clocks him that unsettles his stomach this time - the more that he closed cases as a private investigator, the more eyes of his former colleagues fell on him. Were they worried, he wondered? That the next name brought to light would be their's?

Lost in thought, uncomfortable under the gaze of a 'security' guard, his paranoia solidifying the importance of retirement, he runs straight into another guest.

[sebastianvb]

The drink splashes over his shirt which—he had actually bothered to wear for once. Look where it got him. Noted: no more shirts for the next event, being shameless was a look easier, clean-up wise. He felt all sticky now, and not even in a good way.

Were they just letting everyone in, these days?

"—Fuck's sake," Sebastian barks in that irritated, clipped tone, alcohol splashing off his fingers with as he shook his hands, stepping backwards to look at the mess that had been made of him and back at the man with those cold, piercing blue eyes.

"What the fuck is the matter with you?" Was he stupid? Why isn't he getting him something to dry himself off with, already? "Could you maybe, I don't know... fucking look while you're busy honing in your brooding skills? You look like you got a kilo of cocaine stashed up your ass, Jesus Christ..."

[anaismurad]

@sebastianvb setting: the met gala

"Sebastian," she calls from her seat, holding a hand out. "You can come and sit with us."

The Murad table was reserved each year; astronomical donations will get you there. Such privileges also offered toward the Morgans, she supposes. Would there be a seat for him there? Anaïs wasn't so sure.

[sebastianvb]

She doesn't have to call twice—but then again, she never does. He's too happy to be rescued from a passive aggressive night of throwing jabs at his old man and his bimbette. "My hero," he taunts, sliding into the seat as if it had his name on it, a leg folding over the other nonchalantly as he leaned back, skimming her with his eyes rather shamelessly. "I'd praise you for preventing a murder, but I think it's too early... your brother's around?"

[anaismurad]

It's hearty, and warm, and self-satisfied, the way she laughs. Yes, of course Anaïs knows she's cool — though it's not a word she'd use, if describing it herself.

"What it would be, is scandalous," she tells him. "Like... Henry of Navarre and Margaret of France. Inês de Castro and Pedro of Portugal ." A jaw-dropping affair; a marriage carried out in secret. A corpse, crowned as queen. "Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn."

Following the historical comparisons however, it's indisputable that she would be much more of an Elizabeth — the first, that is. Avoiding marriage as a means to maintain political control, in whatever shape it may take.

"I have never met a man worthy of marrying, Mr Van Buren." Beat. "And you, of all men, should know I wouldn't even consider such a proposition unless they're on their knees," — both, begging — "offering something that I can decorate my hand with."

And yet, a scandal sounds like great fun. She's witnessed her brothers spear-head them many times. As with anything, Anaïs would bet she could do it thrice better than they.

Slowly, her smile widens. An underground adventure — the gentlemen's club. Illegal this, illegal that. What a smarmy, precious thing her Sebastian is. "...Now you're speaking my language." She might still have to teach him how to fold his tongue around a word or two. "Deal." Her hand shifts in his, not into a shake exactly, but something else. It's fierce. It's final. "Let's go and take what's ours."

[sebastianvb]

He leans in to listen, his lips curved into an amused shape. The way he listens to her, it's like the world slowly fizzles out in the background, and her voice is the only discernible sound in a crowd.

"Yes! Exactly... Except we're prettier and... better," said without an ounce of self-reflection, but unwavering certainty. "What do you say? Wanna challenge the Roman Catholic institution with me?" he's batting those sooty lashes up at her, like it's a serious offer; it might be, just a little bit. But only if she says yes. "C'mon.. I promise I'll never try to have you beheaded." he flashes a lopsided, boyish grin, demanding nothing other than unconditional, unrelenting attention, until he's nauseous with it—and isn't that so little to ask for?

"No such animal," Sebastian whispers in quiet, taunting agreement, pearly incisors peeking through the the edge of his smile. "That's just a myth perpetuated by us so we can trick you, don't fall for it... unless—it's from me, then you should fall for it." he flashes his palms, subdued but not surrendered. "Alright, alright… fair enough," he concedes. "I hear you. Next time I propose," —and there will be a next time, "I promise to do it properly… on my knees, with a ring so obscenely expensive it will have these guys crying about it for weeks," a pause. "Though... just for the record, what do we like?" he asks as if they're a singular entity, merged somehow. "Are we more… Grace Kelly or.. Jacqueline Kennedy?" that's very is important information—he's taking mental notes.

"Aha! I knew you were a troublemaker, Anaïs Murad," it excites him, and it relieves him—because suddenly he's not thinking about anything else other than the obscene ways they could entertain themselves tonight. His smile widens, his arm—carefully this time—finds its way around the loop of her waist to lift her off ground. This floor was too dirty for her shoes, anyways. "Now, that's the spirit!" he hums in compliance with her mischievous spirit, mindful not to jostle her as he makes his way out. "Let's misbehave, then," lucky for him, drugs, drinks, and somewhere better and brighter to go, were always just a phone call away. "I might have something in the car—strictly for emergencies, of course."

[irigy]

"takes one to know one." javi wouldn't be where he was if he wasn't at least a bit of a masochist, sure. he also wouldn't be giving this much effort into dealing with sebastian, also true. but here's the thing. he doesn't mind it. he's not upset about all that venom he spat in his face in the midst of a drunken, sorrowful rant. he didn't lose his temper back there, when he shoved seb against that wall. no, it was all a calculated move to shock the younger man's system enough that he'd snap back into reality. and he needed discipline. whether he'll remember it in the morning or not is uncertain, but javi is happy to teach him over and over again. besides... he saw that spark of intrigue in those pretty blue eyes. he knows what that was about.

the image pops into his mind again as he feels the cold, wet strands of hair against his neck, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens. "since you were ten? y'know that's incredibly fucked up, right?" he tries to concentrate on keeping the conversation going, but the hand on his thigh is making him think about everything else. "seb..." his head tilts slightly, giving him more space to place his cold kisses over.

he can't tell him to stop. but he also doesn't want to tell him to be careful, considering if they run into police and get pulled over, they'll be in quite the trouble from the illegal firearms in that guitar case in the backseat. he can't possibly disclose that information to sebastian now, can he? not after that tantrum. perhaps when they arrive back home. he gasps when he feels teeth gingerly sinking into his jaw, pulling his shoulder up with a laugh. "I will not be seduced by a shoeless man! we're almost there, just sit tight, baby."

[sebastianvb]

"I'm not a masochist, I just have daddy issues..." he pokes the side of his face with his finger as if testing the resilience of his cheekbone while simultaneously nagging for attention. Those shiny blue eyes squint, looking harmless in the dark, which he most certainly was not. "What's your excuse, old man?" The words drag against his tongue, but he always likes to think he makes intoxication looking charming. He's irresistible, isn't he? That's why he can get away with everything he does. He threw a shoe at him, and he's still coddling him, taking him home, in his car. The disagreement seemed to have faded in the back of his mind in a blur, along with the rest of his reservations.

Sebastian laughed in that boyish, careless way he did, as if it was so funny, as if he didn't have a single worry in the whole wide world, which Javi knew by now not to be true. "Yeah, yeah... bunch of losers, who gives a shit..." they'd all die to switch places with him for a day, isn't that what his fans always said? He nips at the skin, tempted to draw blood. There's nothing about Sebastian that screams tough, but there was an edge to him, wasn't there? Something reckless, dangerous, lurking behind all the charm and confidence. He didn't want to be cruel to Javi anymore, though. It wasn't fun, at least not right now. He liked being coddled.

He slouches, chin perched atop his shoulder; the hand on his thigh pauses briefly. "What? You can't multi-task?" he squeezes his thigh, and then stops again, his eyes felt like playful, glittering blue jewels in the dark, pushing boundaries and testing limits for fun. "Too late..." he sing-songs playfully, imbibed in ego, rubbing his knuckles against skin of his jaw, wanting to.

[sebastianvb]

closed starter for @fatexcfxophelia

He slips into the empty seat next to her, heavy lashes halfway obscuring those sharp blue eyes, radiating too much confidence for his own good. His dark cinnamon dark, soft and careless—falls just slightly out of place, as if it'd been designed that way, like it was made for someone had run their hands through it, like he never bothered fixing it, because he just expected someone else to.

"You know, it's not that I don't enjoy being stalked..." he starts, his voice low, inviting banter—fingers curled under the jut of his chin, batting those gauzy lashes at her like something harmless, betrayed by the cocky, impish smile that toys along the sharp edges of his mouth like a spark, waiting for a dose of gasoline to be ignited. "But at least let me buy you a drink first."

[heath-morgan]

closed starter: heath + sebastian / @sebastianvb

location: random bar ( manhattan )

the place is too polished for comfort - glass, steel, everything reflecting back at him like it's asking questions he doesn't want to answer. heath's already there, standing instead of sitting, jacket still on like he might leave if this turns into something he can't control. people don't request meetings with their fathers, they text, they avoid, they circle around things, but seb asked, formal as hell, and that's what’s got him off balance. heath checks his watch, then his phone, then nothing at all, jaw tight, running through every possible version of this conversation and hating all of them. when the door finally opens, he doesn't move right away - just watches, sharp, assessing, like he's trying to figure out when his son stopped being someone he could read

by the time sebastian's close enough to speak, heath already shifted into something steadier, something controlled, but there's a crack in it if you look too hard. he drags a hand over his mouth, exhaling slowly, then nods once, like he's bracing for impact "alright" he says, voice lower than usual, in a way he can't quite hide "ya don't usually go schedulin' time with me" he gestures vaguely, not quite sitting, not quite standing still either, restless energy sitting just under his skin "what's goin' on?"

[sebastianvb]

The door opens with a quiet, deliberate push of his shoulder, like he owns the room—or at least refuses to admit that he doesn't. He lingers just inside the threshold for a fraction too long, letting his eyes skim through the crowd, disinterested, for the most part, until he lands on his dad.

He's draped in something overpriced and expensive, he always is, the tailored coat draped over his shoulders not worn properly, just resting there as if commitment to proper structure is beneath him. Crisp shirt, open at the throat because he says he can't breathe with anything around his neck, his skin littered in a constellation of bruised purples and fading reds, dressing up self-destruction as self-indulgence to make it more palatable.

The sunglasses stay on to cover his dark circles, and drop a little down his nose as he sits down, slouching, smiling up to his dad in such a careless the contrast between them feels grating. "Well, I didn't realize you were so busy before, I guess," he tilts his head just slightly, that hollow smile still in place. He likes to waste his father’s time, after all, and he's very, very good at that.

"Mm..." he agreed faintly with a hum, watching him to see what he'd do; he looked restless at least. "Just wanted to see if you'd show up, really," he smiles wider, impish, like he's teasing—but maybe there's a shadow of truth there. "I was thinking... you're getting old," it does give him an almost sadistic kind of satisfaction to say it. "Got me feeling all sappy and shit... just wanted to wish you a happy birthday. You got any big plans? Celebrating it with the gang or?"

[whisperinheels]

Valentina paused under the edge of the awning, gaze dropping to take in the state of him, soaked, disheveled, and very clearly not winning whatever battle he’d picked with the night. A quiet exhale left her, something between amusement and disbelief.

“Dios mío…” she muttered under her breath before stepping closer, heels careful against the slick cobblestone.

“Sebastian,” she said, voice cutting through the rain, calm but pointed. “Of course it is.” Her eyes flicked down briefly, noting the missing shoe, then back up to his face. “The city didn’t rob you, cariño, you likely misplaced it somewhere between bad decisions.”

She reached out, plucking the useless cigarette from his hand before he could keep fighting a losing war with the weather. “And this?” a small shake of her head. “Not happening tonight.”

Her expression softened just slightly, though the edge never fully left. “Can you stand, or are you planning to live here now?” she asked, already slipping off her coat to drape it over his shoulders despite the rain. “Because I’m not explaining to your father why I found you like this.”

[sebastianvb]

"...Mm-mm... now, those are not shoes meant for helping." he noted, before anything, probably because that's where his eyesight was for most of this conversation—until he reminded himself he knew how to lift his head. Right... motor functions. Fun.

A cheeky smile then, aimed upwards as he lets the rain fall over his forehead without any attempt to shield himself; he'd lost that battle awhile ago, as evidenced by the glittering droplets hanging on the edges of his sooty lashes. "The one and only..." the thought gives him pause, just briefly, and his nose crinkles playfully. "Well, sort of... definitely the prettiest, though... don't let tonight fool you." Definitely him.

Yeah, she was probably right... why would they steal just the one pair? It was probably in a club somewhere, its name long wiped from his memory. Those big doll eyes stare up at her, blue, clear like reflective glass, blinking as if unwitting as she swiftly pulls the cigarette from his lips, leaving a pout in its place instead. "That was so mean," he accused halfheartedly. "I can't believe you'd take away my only joy."

"It is very cozy... with some plants, maybe..." the rain feels like a sharp slap to the face, and sharpness of his tongue is cushioned by a drawl of inebriation as he stifles a humorless laugh, and really—if only because he doesn't want her twisting her ankle trying to help him off his miserable state, he grudgingly decides to cave. "Yeah, alright..." he presses his scrapped his palms against the wet cobblestone, wobbling to his feet in shaky legs, using the wall to steady himself. "Well, that would require him to climb out of his girlfriend and ask, so... you should be peachy," his bluebell eyes tentatively flicker sideways, looking borderline apologetic. "Can we just... keep this very pathetic run-in between us? Actually... between you, really. I'm not sure how much of this I'm gonna remember."

[elizabeaufort]

⸻ Elizabeth managed to escape from her four babies. That's when she decided to meet with Sebastian… They've known each other for a while by now; she was still a stripper when they met. It's been two years since she quit stripping, now having her own business, and back to doing some modeling work, and performing, the latter was a tad complicated to get back to action, mostly because of her personal issues at home.

This is when she saw Sebastian; she waved timidly, greeting him before taking a seat in front of him. ❛ Sorry, they really enjoy hearing the bedtime stories. And they did a lot of mess today, these boys are going to kill me. ❜ The only twin who didn't give too many migraines was her only daughter, Lilou.

@sebastianvb

[sebastianvb]

"Hey," he did a double check before putting down his phone, taking his sunglasses offer for a warmer greeting than he's used to, flashing that billion dollar smile of his like he didn't have a care in the world. "I was starting to think I was gonna have to sweep in in a helicopter Mission Impossible style and kidnap you for some grown up time," he's only partially kidding—he done enough skydiving to feel confident enough he could drop directly into her window with some luck. Death had a habit of ignoring him, as Sebastian liked to say.

"You know, we should take those boys out for laser tag, sometime... I think we can take them... what do you think?" He measures it in his mind briefly before swiftly concluding they'd have them both tied up and held hostage before lunch. "Alright, maybe not—probably not, but we'd die with honor." he slid a coffee her way, his own (his second one today) was already in his hand, if you could even call that sugary, caramel-ridden monstrosity a coffee. "Coffee?" he offered, though he'd evidently already bought an extra one, predicting she might need it. "Yours is normal, no sugar high for you, I promise..."

[irigy]

it would only be sebastian, and no one else, to quote romeo and juliet after such a scene. javi only read the play later in his life, as he didn't much appreciate his education when he was young. perhaps that is why he still remembers the lines. but it doesn't matter. his hands flex, fingertips buzzing from the way he touched sebastian just a moment ago. even if he was meant to be touched with nothing but a gentle caress, and javier did exactly the opposite of that, he still finds himself wanting more.

keep it together.

once they're both in the car, he runs his fingers through his wet curls, pushing them back and away from his face, silent as seb muses in the passenger seat. after a moment, he reaches over to the glovebox, opening it and pulling his emergency pack of cigarettes out. he lights one up himself, then hands it over to sebastian. "I do remember." he finally says as he starts driving, slow as to not disturb sebastian in his already fragile drunken state. "but that's just all it is. a story. and this is real life." he glances over at him, "you'll be alright, angel. I'll take you home, take care of you. okay? mango's missed you anyway." there's a pause, as he focuses on the road, contemplating whether to keep talking or not. "...you understand why I didn't tell you, right? it's not something you blurt out on the first date... I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

[sebastianvb]

It's deeply infuriating in all the ways there is to be—he feels like he has his teeth latched to his arm, and instead of hitting him like he deserves, Javi has decided to stroke his hair to soothe him instead. What kind of masochist is he? The blue watercolors of his eyes feel like they're gonna stream down his cheeks, against the lashing rain and city lights flashing behind Javi's window, he looks like the painting of a very sad, sad boy, all blue eyes and wet lashes downcast on a sullen expression, his hair is drenched, and dripping down his jacket, his cheek is squished against the passenger seat in an unflattering way because he refuses to sit straight.

The alcohol holds some of the numbness in and he hopes it won't leave him too soon, sobriety is an welcome companion tonight, even if Javi, as much as he wanted to deny it, isn't. He hates the immediate comfort those words bring him, and the way they come from the least person who should be offering it so carelessly. "...Mango, huh?" he teases, and brings himself a little closer, seeming to have softened, at least momentarily, tucking his pert little nose to hide into the crook of his neck as if seeking warmth. "You're such a masochist..." he's one to talk, he knows; but being hypocritical has never made anyone wrong.

"It's okay... I get it, you hate me... everybody hates me, you guys ain't special... they've had websites for that since I was like, ten," at least he was half-honest, which is more than he could say for his friend, or his father. Out of everyone, he owed him the least, and he gave him the most; he isn't really the reason why he was in this state to begin with, is he? Not really... not for the most part. But he's just going to pretend it is, because the alternative is just too damn depressing. "But you miss me too..." he slid a hand over his thigh, a low, purring sound vibrating against Javier's throat as the sly shape of his mouth pressed there, climbing up to his jaw with kittenish kisses, where his teeth came to clamp down mischievously.

[irigy]

there's only a mildly amused "okay," escaping him under his breath, hands tucking into the pockets of his jacket as he keeps watching the younger man showcasing his ugliest side, calling him all sorts of things he has absolutely no right to. is it bad, how he almost reminds him of himself? younger, dumber, louder, looking for a way to let out his anger, no matter who he throws his shoe at. which, by the way, lands about a two feet away from javi.

he lets him rant along, not taking any of it to heart, but committing each word to memory anyway. he could disagree. he could mock. it would be all too easy, wouldn't it? but who wants to argue with a drunken, miserable, shoeless man in the middle of the street? he's too old for this shit. "are you finished?" apparently not, as sebastian continues, closing in on him.

and that's when the alarms go off in his head. it's all instinctual, really. that chaotically wired brain of his remains as it has always been, no matter how much javi pumps himself with meds. it is bound to break every now and then. are you gonna shoot me? is the last thing he hears before he hisses, "alright, pity party's over." a forearm presses into sebastian's chest, and javi shoves him backwards, until the kid's back collides with the wall once more with a wet thud. his free hand clasps over his jaw into a firm grip, fingers digging into his cheeks as he leans in so that sebastian can hear him clearly.

"check that attitude of yours before you talk to me. try that shit ever again and you are going to get something that's a lot worse than a bullet through that pretty forehead of yours." his voice is low, and gruff, like rock grating against rock. "I'm not playing games. I'm not here to hurt you. if y--" want to talk about sad little lives, look into the fucking mirror, is what he meant to say. still, he doesn't finish. "get over yourself." he lets go of him, turns around, and walks towards his car, stepping over the shoe. "and get in the fucking car, sebastian."

[sebastianvb]

The leather jacket cushions the collision against the wall, but it's hard enough to sting, to pull a grunt from his lungs and give him pause—the word vomit stops and he can feel himself sinking back into himself, like an hyperactive child slowly wearing themselves out, his shoulders slacken, he doesn't feel like fighting back—this is what he wanted, wasn't it? When he grabs his chiseled jaw, he can see the light reflected off his blue eyes so clearly, the turmoil morphing into quiet exhaustion. He doesn't look scared, not even when he thinks he might mean it—he looks intrigued, like he's found a secret red button he wants to push, the way his sooty lashes flutter down his cheeks, glancing at the shape of his lips with quiet malice. "Yeah?" he asks in that low, sweet drawl as if trying to lure him to the edge of a ship, the scolding only seemed to make him smile as if something about him had amused him enough to diffuse his tantrum, at least for now. It wasn't Javi's problem, technically. At least he had been half honest—but he made it his problem when he decided to stop, didn't he?

The last thing he wants is to sober up now, a bullet didn't sound nearly half as bad as the idea dragging himself out of bed tomorrow, with a pounding headache and a thousand voice calls and messages from people he didn't wanna talk to.

"I'm right, though..." he sing-songs to Javier, rubbing the sharp, marbled cut of his jaw where he'd grabbed it, fumbling in his pocket to pull up a soaping wet, mushy pack of cigarettes he lets drop to the floor now with an audible sigh of disappointment next. Horrible night, really, and the saddest thing is it wouldn't even make it to his top five. "My only love sprung from my only hate, too early seen unknown, and known too late... something, something, that I must love a loathed enemy... I can't remember the lines... school was so long ago," he begrudgingly followed if only because he was tired of standing in the rain, it was getting cold, and the car felt more comfortable than a random sidewalk. He presses his forehead against the window of the passenger seat, waiting, closing his eyes because the street was spinning. "...you do remember how that story ends, right?"

[irigy]

oh. well, that's not the reaction he thought he would get. all that mischievous light from behind those pretty blue eyes seems to have been washed away by the rain and whatever seb drank himself into this state with. there's something deeply sorrowful in that tone of his that javi can't help but gravitate towards. you hate me. it comes at him sharp, aiming to cut, but it finds no purchase, other than a soft hum out of curiosity. sebastian throws those intense words at him so easily, just like at the club opening, that he finds it difficult to pinpoint whether they're genuine or not.

"whatever makes you think that, hm?" his gaze drops to the foot missing a shoe, then up at those pouty lips again. for all intents and purposes, sebastian should be right about that. javi should hate him. he's a spoiled rich kid with no idea of how the real world works, happily taking and taking and taking from people much less privileged than him. and yet... when he looks into those eyes, he sees an abandoned, lonely kid on the street desperate to build up enough walls so that he'd be safe from the world. "come on," he nods to the side, reaching out to help him turn towards the car. "let's get you in the car."

[sebastianvb]

"Oh, fuck you!" it's a guttural response, spit into the pavement with all of the barely contained anger of something feral, wounded and limping away in the rain. "You're such a fucking asshole... you all are just," he makes some comprehensible gesture with his hand, which makes sense to him and only to him. His head is pounding, the sound of the rain lashing against the pavement drowning out his groan as he hits the back of his skull against the dilapidated wall, his cinnamon locks turning black against his forehead as he pushed himself onto his feet, wobbling a little.

"What? Did you and your little group of losers hear I'm the best fuck in town and all collectively decided to fuck me over at once? Well, good for you... fucking... good for you!" he clapped humorlessly, with all the gait of a feral thing on the verge of pouncing. "Fuck you—fuck you, and fuck Nia, and fucking Heath especially, and his dumb fucking child bride—" there's some more incoherent drunk cussing that's nearly impossible to make out as he clumsily takes off his other shoe to unceremoniously toss it at Javi's, and he couldn't even properly make out if it hit him or not in this horrible weather, but he wasn't even sure if he really cared.

A huff, he can feel an unflattering crease tugging between his brows as he staggers forward, taking the opportunity to use him as a supporting pillar. "Whatever... distill all your hatred on top of me to make you all feel better about your... sad little lives," there's a begrudging pout on his lips as he halfheartedly shoves him, and almost falls doing so. "But at least have the guts to hunt me out in the open, okay?" he extends his arms, goading him. "Well? Go on! I'm here, woohoo! Big bad rich boy all alone in the neighborhood!" he sing-songs over the heavy downpour, laughing. "What are you gonna do, huh? Are you gonna shoot me?"