You Don't Know Me; You've Just Seen My Penis.

Franklin Kennedy Hart. 39. Vertical Farm Tech. Ex-Green Beret. Really screwed up in the head and... well, everywhere else.

[sucksroses]

jfc-its-felix‌:

dorianpurcell‌:

Dorian growls at the intruders and considers calling 911. Franklin’s family in particular would love to deal with that news. “Down the hall. It’s labeled Garbage Shaft. Can’t miss it.” 

Since Franklin looks just as confused to be here, Dorian focuses his glare on Felix North, the thorn in his eyes. “Why did you drag him here?” he asks, tossing his phone on the couch as he goes to the mini bar to grab a drink. “I’m not offering you any, because you’re,” Dorian lifts one finger — the middle one — at them, “not wanted, nor are you going to stay long,” he adds and lifts the index finger, to count the second reason for his faulty hospitality. Hopefully that’s straightforward enough. “What, you found out one of you gave clamedia to the other? Wasn’t through me. I had a check last week.” 

@jfc-its-felix​

Dorian and Franklin clearly know each other, which in hindsight, is hilarious. Felix had in no way planned for said hilarity, it’s just an amusing byproduct of his want to screw with Dorian’s day. It’s even funnier when Franklin tries to apologize.

“Wasn’t me. It was probably one of your skanky models,” he says flippantly in response to Dorian’s question, blatantly ignoring everything else Dorian said in favor of making his way into the kitchen. “Fridge is through here, Frank,” he calls. “Oh, and didn’t I mention? I’m Secret Service. Dorian’s the mouthpiece of evil, as you probably already know. That’s how we know each other.”

He takes the bag of alligator meat off Frank, and sets about removing things from Dorian’s fridge to make room. Goodbye, beer. Goodbye, fancy looking salad. “So how the fuck do you two know each other?” Felix asks cheerily. “Is it the same way I know both of you? Wink.” He actually says it out loud, which is horrendous in at least three separate ways.

@sucksroses​

@dorianpurcell

“No, you didn’t, actually,” Franklin grumbles, following behind the smaller blond. This administration seems to have an odd amount of homosexuals working within it (and for it) and the soldier has a difficult time understanding why either man would wish to associate themselves with such a horribly homophobic party. At least, Felix seems to not share the President’s values, judging by his little title for Dorian. “The mouthpiece of evil,” he repeats, grinning. “Accurate.”

With every slightest bit of movement, gator blood fell off his hunting clothes and onto the floors and cabinets around him. He considers undressing for a moment, at least removing the first layer of clothes just to stop the spread of blood, but he’s quickly distracted by the sight of alcohol. And since their sexy but cranky host refused to serve him a drink, Franklin helped himself to one of the beers Felix pulled out, leaning back against.

“Yeah, actually. Knew him for all of five minutes before nagged me into fucking him.” He pulls the cap of the beer off and downs most of it in one go because really, that was the only way he could probably stand Purcell for longer than half an hour. “You two aren’t... married, are you?” Because that would be one hell of a scandal he’s gotten himself into, and really, he couldn’t wait to see those headlines when word gets out. “You argue like it. It’s very cute. Didn’t realize this administration was open to hiring LGBT couples-- especially gay couples with an open marriage.”

[sucksroses]

jfc-its-felix‌:

dorianpurcell‌:

@jfc-its-felix & @sucksroses

Nothing in life has prepared Dorian for this moment. Nothing could. 

There are layers of wrong when he opens the front door. Firstly, no self respecting adult should ever have to get out of bed well after midnight, so they can check who is abusing their doorbell. Secondly — it’s bad enough to find one fuck-buddy / ex hookup / one time bang waiting on the other side of the door, but two? That enough causes Dorian’s eyes to squint. That and the light from the hallway.

Then there’s the blood. 

Lots of it, covering most of the two idiots Dorian has had the pleasure of sticking his dick into (sometimes repeatedly). And it’s precisely because of that dick-sticking action that these fuckers now thought Dorian owes them some favor. As if. 

He blocks the entrance, making sure nothing in his body language indicates a welcome message. “Who’s the man on shift at the reception downstairs?” he asks first, lifting his phone in front of his face. “I have some firing to do.” 

Where else would Felix have gone after wrestling some alligators? Dorian’s place was closest, and they couldn’t exactly spend an extended amount of time wandering around covered in alligator blood.

Plus, Dorian’s place is huge. He should feel flattered that Felix dragged Franklin here.

“‘sup,” he greets, as if absolutely nothing is out of the ordinary, and pushes his way past Dorian into the apartment. For once, he’s actually careful not to track blood all over Dorian’s stupid carpet: he’s hardly dripping, it’s just sort of… on his shirt. A lot. “Don’t fire your reception dude, I intimidated him into letting us up. I think he crapped himself. Like, literally.”

And then: “Come on, Frank! Come in, and stop scaring all the nice people in the hallway!”

@sucksroses​

A look of confusion, shock, then finally frustrated resignation crossed Franklin’s features the moment Dorian’s smug mug had appeared. Of course, it’d be just his luck that Felix also happened to know the asshole. “Purcell,” Franklin greeted the man with a slow nod as he entered, two large black garbage bags in each hand.

While Felix was careful, Franklin, on the other hand, was not. “We brought you some gator meat.” He turned, holding up the bags a little higher. “Uh, sorry for all the blood. Warm water and a tablespoon of ammonia should get that right out.”

Franklin quickly ducked down to whisper into Felix’s ear, “You know him?” There was a slight edge of panic in the biologist’s voice. “Jesus, I--” he stood up straight suddenly, turning a smile towards their host. “So, Dorian, how are you? Didn’t know you two know each other. By the way, where’s your fridge?”

@dorianpurcell

[les-images-cool]

[ryangosking]

Chris Hemsworth

Esquire Singapore

[capwap]

Give me all you’ve got baby

[sacree-edition]

[fashhstardust]

[fashhstardust]

[fashhstardust]

SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE

[sucksroses]

Franklin: Hey! Franklin: How's it going? Franklin: So, I was thinking, we could meet up at the Off The Record around 2? Take an auto to the marshes, rent out a pontoon boat and go straight to hunting. Franklin: That should give us about three and a half hours to hunt. Maybe catch us two to three gators. More if we stick to smaller ones. Franklin: That sound good to you?

@jfc-its-felix

[sucksroses]

ezracastillo‌:

“Franklin Hart,”  Ezra repeated the name and wouldn’t forget it.  His ‘Army’ confirmation that left out his division or rank was a painfully obvious vagary.  Between military types, one usually jumped at the chance to specify.  Must be that sea of green, the need to make yourself an individual, even if it was among the ranks.  But Hart didn’t, on purpose.  And Ezra didn’t push him.  But he did make a mental not to check the kid’s files.  

Being a Pentagon man, after all, had its perks when it came to all military operations, including the ghost ones.

“I’m sure you are,”  Ezra said dryly, hoping Franklin would understand that Ezra would dig. If he was curious enough, anyway.

“I did like serving on a ship, but of course those all have grav systems installed.  The times we did have to go anti-grav, well if anything it was more difficult to adjust going back into the grav field than it was adjusting to no gravity.  Have you ever seen an android in zero gravity?”  Ezra smiled.  “Now that’s a sight.  I saw one freeze, and another implode.  Their humanish faces just…blank.”

Okay, yeah this guy was as weird as he remembered him being at the hookah lounge. Weird with a touch of creepy. Which was saying a lot since he was the one who had trauma-induced psychopathy (granted he was technically cured of it thanks to his neurolace).

“Jesus.” And people thought he was fucked up, but he was a veteran and maybe this guy didn’t neural implants to force his brain to empathize like he did. “Must have been early models. Aren’t they sending a whole team of them to colonize Titan for an autonomous manufacturing colony?”

Freezing in space and imploding? That was a scary thought. He may not be an android but he was quickly turning into something very similar to one. At least he knew his implants were authorized for space travel, they had to be in order to re-enlist, considering rapid deployment involved a 136,000-foot dive from space. “Man, if my medical waiver to re-enlist ever gets approved, that better not happen to me during deployment. I’m practically half machine.”

[ryangosking]

Chris Hemsworth

Tag Hauer ‘Museum in Motion’ Australian launch 06/06/2018

[glamoroussource]

Chris Hemsworth photographed by Alasdair McLellan for GQ Magazine - 2018

[sucksroses]

jfc-its-felix‌:

Felix doesn’t understand. Why wouldn’t people think that shit is a great idea? Clearly Franklin is just meeting the wrong people if they literally run for the door the second he brings up alligator hunting.

“Next weekend’s fine. I’ll bring my own hardware.” He doesn’t actually have appropriate alligator hunting guns, but he can sure go out and get them. Felix takes the guy’s phone and taps his name and number in, already planning what sort of guns he needs. “You can get a beef jerky bouquet if you want, as long as I can bring a pink shotgun with heart decals.”

Franklin's hand had found its way over his chest. "Are you psychic or do you just happen to accidentally know the quickest way to my heart?” A pink shotgun with heart decals? That was both hilarious and adorable, and hell, he’d probably frame that on his wall somewhere if Felix was being serious. Sure, Felix wasn’t male model good looking, (heck, he kind of looked like of a mangy semi-psychotic chihuahua.) but the guy was fucking hilarious, so that definitely boosted his attractiveness enough for Franklin to take an interest. “I’ll message you tomorrow to work out the details.” He quickly dialed the number Felix had given him, waiting for the call to ring twice before disconnecting. “My name’s Frank Hart.”

[sucksroses]

dorianpurcell‌:

Dorian stares at Franklin and it’s obvious he’s dying to laugh at the guy. “Wow, I feel so bad for you,” he says in a voice heavy with sarcasm. What is it with most rich kids wasting their days with faux depression? Dorian supposes he got his fill of it during his short rock&roll career and thank God. He wouldn’t be able to stand himself if he busted into spontaneous monologues like Franklin. “Do you write poetry in your spare time?” because if you remove the perfect looks, Franklin is 100% pretentious twat material. “I’ll give you my number, so we can repeat that some time when we’re not so busy.”

Franklin rolled his eyes, the guy had asked and then had the gall to be an ass over his response. “Do you write love songs in your spear time? Because your sensitivity is clearly unmatched.” The blond retorted, picking up his phone to check his missed messages. “Yeah, about that. I don’t make it habit of sleeping with Republicans more than once, so I’m going to have to pass you up on that offer.” Backing away towards the door, Dorian’s tie hidden in one of his many pockets, Franklin gave the man a little wave goodbye. “Thanks for the fuck, though. I had a pretty good time.”

[sucksroses]

dorianpurcell‌:

To Franklin’s absolute shock, Dorian gives him the best sex of his life. Yes, really. It’s so good Dorian ruined Franklin for any future fucks (Felix) and it won’t surprise anyone if Franklin crawls back for more, probably hating himself on the inside for loving it so much. Sex with Dorian is a blessing and a curse in that regard.

It’s a miracle no one barges in with a Luther related surprise news that needs handling and interrupts them until they are done. Suspicious, but Dorian won’t question it. He’s busy wiping himself and offering some tissues to Franklin. “How come you never got into politics?” he asks, finally doing small talk now that his dick’s been satisfied. 

“Short answer: a combination of teenage rebellion and high school biology, philosophy, and history classes.” The blond murmurs, still basking in the post orgasm afterglow. Shifting slightly, Franklin finally starts cleaning himself off. “Long answer: I’m... genetically designed,” he admits with a slight roll of his eyes. “I realized there are only two differences between myself and an android. What we’re made out of and how we came to be.”

Pushing himself off the desk, he tossed the tissues into the nearby waste bin and started redressing himself. “So, I decided to rebel against my parent’s design and forge my own path. My mom still wants me involved, but really... now I just--” He fell silent, thinking back to how he was after the bio-attack-- before the neuro lace was implanted. He was cold, at times downright cruel, and the only time he ever found enjoyment was when those around him were suffering in some way. “I honestly don’t trust myself. Not anymore.”

[sprousehartinvestigation]

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