#blondie post.

[monstyrigone]

@wihlted pops the cherry.

"you think you're the first motherfucker to make that joke? to point it out, whatever you're about to justify it bein'? you ain't. and you ain't gonna be the last, neither. get it out'cha system now, 'fore my patience is thinner'n it already is."

[monstyrious]

@enchaentales continued from here.

as she turns in the arms that she has moved around herself, he is all grins, - teeth and all. something he has not truly been in decades before her. she squeals that he's gross, and he is laughing in return, coming down to meet allie at that halfway point between them so she does not have to stretch as far to get to him. "if i'm s' gross, why're ye laughin' s' hard?" he huffs, faux and jesting, at her while he gives her sides gentle little pinches and shuffles himself closer into her space.

[monstyrigone]

@wihlted ♥

"what's that?" it's a half rhetorical question, his hand coming forward to touch at the pamphlet in her hands, start to take it from her so that he can get a better look at the front page. "yer not seriously thinkin' a' doin' this, are ya?"

[monstyrious]

@blckfckinmsk sent : i've got a feeling that won't go away . (blondie)

"then i's pro'lly somethin' ye shoul' listen t', eh? if it ain't leavin' ye, there's a reason." he nods a bit with one of those half glances that doesn't really meet their gaze when it comes back from bouncing off to the side a little. "what're ye gettin' this feelin' 'bout? anythin' i can help with?"

[monstyrious]

@enchaentales continued from here.

there's drink in his system and it's colliding head-on with the medication he knows will not work as effectively if he drinks more, and thus, when allie drags him out onto the dance floor, he risks the embarrassment of white boy dancing over the fear of overreacting if someone else were to touch her the way she guides him to as they flow with the music.

the music that pounds in his chest and his skull alongside that of his heart, pumping harder to make the blood flow faster as he does his best to ignore the way other people look at her. it doesn't take long to be wholly distracted by her himself, her body pressed against the front of his own as she nudges up on tip-toes to steal what is rightfully hers in the form of a kiss. at least, that is what he assumes she is going for, when she isn't.

she nips at his neck, nestles in the side of his visage so she can whisper into his ear as he bends down to meet her, and the way she speaks of goading him as she continues to do so — before she has much opportunity to do more than ask that question, he's leading them out.

his focus has now shifted into maintaining the relatively cool and collected version of himself that the public sees, because whatever is stirring in the pit of his stomach is not a friendly beast. it is possessive, curling his fingers into the side of her dress in a way that makes one or two bystanders raise worried brows only to note that the girl on that arm is tickled pink to be exactly where she is.

and so when she is placed into the passenger side of that white seventy-nine firebird, already beginning to pitch a fit that he can feel stirring between them when he slides into his side and rumbles the engine to life, he's fighting that beast instead of simply pushing it back into its cage.

they can't do anything here, but he doesn't want to wait until they get all the way back home, either. he knows that is the case for her, too, before she even begins to speak her grievances out into the air. the sleeves of his nicer dress shirt are rolled up, buttoned into place, but strained by the way his forearms flex, left hand on the wheel and right on his leg with the elbow on the console between them.

if i go left up here, there's a long stretch of road with no street lights or houses.

her hand is pulling his over into her lap, drawing him from the mental mapping he's trying to work through to find them a spot where interruption won't cause him to combust, between the alcohol flowing in his blood and the general anger that comes with such a thing. he's glancing over to her, noting the very faint pale blob between her feet that can be nothing other than the panties he'd watched her pull up her stalks earlier in the evening with envy for their cotton.

please.

fuck the wooded path.

he's pulling the firebird over onto the side of the road, dark enough and abandoned to the point that he no longer cares if the odd car might whizz by, going too fast and caring too little to stop and see what's going on in that front seat.

allie crawls over almost as much as he's pulling her, cranking the seat back as far as it will go to give them enough room for her to fit between him and the wheel after he's thrown the fucking thing in park. where she immediately finds his mouth, he returns the kisses he'd expected — wanted — earlier, slipping his tongue between her lips to taste the drinks that had flown like water all night long. in the same breadth, he's pushing her skirts up, frustrated with his own choice of jeans for the lack of real ability to feel her as she grinds against him.

please comes again, and he's ahead of her this time, already trying to fumble with the ribbons and strings that make up the corset-like backing of her dress that he knows she likes, thus doesn't want to sacrifice. but the beast wins. the anger wins. muscles tighten, fabric tears, and though it's going to need replacing, that's for another time.

it's slid off her body, tossed into the passenger side, and his palms are gliding over her once more as she slips her own hands up beneath his button up, nails snagging lightly on the tiny rolls of where his skin comes over itself. but she's still wearing a bra, and it's in his fucking way. what little patience had been depleted by the attempt to save her dress comes out in him simply grabbing either side of the garment's clasp and yanking, snapping the fragile metals so he can pull it off her as well, tossing it into the backseat.

with her now fully bared atop him, he can focus, watch the way that as she rocks and grinds against his jeans, she leaves darker wet marks that allow him to almost feel the heat that is radiating off her, almost as much as it does him.

angus is reaching up, taking his time with the buttons of his shirt solely for that singular brain cell still operating on logic that says she'll need something to walk into the house in so they don't have the cops called on them, if this doesn't spur that enough. each button takes an eternity, but soon enough, the white under-tank is all that separates his chest from hers, where his palm slides up between her breasts to set on her sternum, then further, finding her throat not to grasp, but to gage her breathing.

"keep goin'," he mutters, slouching just a hair in the seat to give her better leverage and more space to grind while he watches, twitches under the denim that cages his length from her. his focus is so honed in on the way her pussy rubs on him that he's shuddering, shaking some beneath her.

[monstyrigone]

@kuhlgirl sent : “They call you blondie but you’re not blonde.” She stares directly at the writer before staring back up at Blondie.

hello darkness my old friend plays behind him, but of course he's the only one that can hear it. inner monologue type shit. he just stares at her. the writer is giggling like a fool, but blondie is staring directly at her, leant back in his seat with that expression of pure unamusement on his face. "it's cause a' the band." his arms fold. "but what if i was blond? would it make any difference?"

[monstyrigone]

@kuhlgirl sent : i'm sure it's nothing. ( blondie )

"ya can say that 's much 's ya wanna, but it ain't gonna change the fact that it is actually somethin'." the man's hands come up to run through his hair, surprisingly intact after that he's just lit up the poor little coffee shop because he hadn't allowed himself to walk away when several small annoyances stacked one atop the other.

they'd had to leave before authorities showed up, but now he's going to have to do a ton of paperwork and carry the guilt of lost lives. "tell me it ain't reasonable t' hide away in m' apartment fer the next three years."

[monstyrious]

@rosewiltd liked for a starter.

he's leaned back in the old rocking chair that barely supports his weight, though not for lack of effort, with one ankle kicked up over the other knee, and a guitar tucked into his lap that he strums at idly with no real intention or attention paid to it. when corrine steps near him, though, his mind zooms back into the moment and blondie glances up at her with a faint, but present smile.

"get it all squared 'way a'ight?" he asks, making the chair bobble back and forth now that he's returned to humanity, though his fingers are still aimless. "should nae be much a' an issue t' be out here fer jus' a few days, righ'?"

nebraska, where he's got his little plot of land and home, where no one bothers him because they don't want to be bothered either. a chance to get away from things, if only for a short while.