GONE MAD—

So tell me what's the news And what is it you want me to see We're lying to ourselves And dancing by the light of the screen a 1x1 rp blog

[mancandykings]

Henry Cavill Interview At The 2017 Durrell Challenge

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           Delphine’s glossed lips curved in a satisfied smile.  She liked Harper’s confidence and the self-assured nature that kept her lingering close by.  “I don’t,” the blonde confirmed with a vague shrug.  “I’m kept fairy busy with work, but it does make for lonely evenings.”  Her gaze followed the other woman’s hand down to the front pocket of her coveralls.  “It can wait,”  she assured the quartermaster before turning to retrieve a small bottle of champagne from the mini fridge in the corner of the suite.  “That wasn’t a question. If I’m offering champagne, you’re drinking it.”  With the precise movements of someone well-practiced in the art of popping corks, she opened the bottle and poured two glasses, leaving the bottle behind to pass off a full glass to her drinking companion.  “Then let us drink to weaknesses,”  Delphine said, raising her glass to clink with Harper’s.  “May we combat them. Together.”

“Work never stops for us, does it? In all fairness, I love work. Creating, explosions, acquisitions that take some of my charm? What’s not to love?” Harper knew she was talking too much but couldn’t seem to stop herself. It was all the truth anyway. She wasn’t trying to suck up to her point person. Even on the worst of days, Talio was her favorite employer. Her eyes followed as Delphine bent over to grab a bottle of champagne from her mini fridge. Her eyebrows rucked up half in shock and half in arousal at the command from the blonde’s lips. “Anything else you offer that I have to say yes to? Or just the champagne, boss?” With a small thank you, she took the glass and clinked it again Delphine’s. “You’re asking for trouble.” She muttered the words before taking a long sip from the flute. “Do you have any weaknesses we’re combating? Or just mine for now?” 

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          Lou choked on saliva that she wasn’t even aware had collected in her mouth.  Did she want to watch?  The implication was clear enough in Wesley’s voice: he wanted to know if she was interested in watching him masturbate.  In the examination room.  A crimson heat flooded her face, coloring her cheeks, and she stumbled over her words, trying to sound assured but failing miserably.  “Oh, I⏤ I think maybe you should keep that for… you know. Your private quarters.”  She brushed hair out of her face once again and wondered why the hell it was falling out of its elastic in a wave of tresses that clung to the sweat beading on her forehead.  “I just think⏤ I’m on the clock, and you’re… you’ve got a… situation that I can’t help with. I don’t think I should be here.”  Despite the long, incessant chain of words, she wasn’t sure that she was making much sense at all.  “I can get you some water, yes? Do you want water? I think we have juice, too, in the fridge. In the other room.” 

Wes had clearly miscalculated the situation. He thought Lou wanted him to take a second to relieve himself, but by her reaction -- the choking and subsequent stammering, he was way off base. In all fairness, all the blood in his body had rushed to his groin and he was still recovering from several deep stab wounds. Either way, the flush on his cheeks was now bright red and filled with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. Fuck.” He fell back on the exam table with an oof and let out a hard sigh. “I’m not doing well today. I misread the situation. I thought -- it honestly doesn’t matter.” He held up his hands and waved off her offers of water and juice. “I don’t need water or juice. It’s alright, Lou.” He finally pulled himself to a standing position and ignored the throbbing between his legs. Not bothering to be rebandaged, he threw on his shirt and headed for the door. He brushed back Lou and paused to kiss her cheek. “I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.” He often wondered why he was even allowed in public, although Apex was away from most prying eyes. “What time works for dinner?” 

[aespamedia]

That “fuckin’ nobody”… is John Wick.

John Wick (2014) dir. by Chad Stahelski & David Leitch

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          Wesley’s fingertips were warm to the touch under her scrub top, and his voice was hard as he apologized once again for his involvement in the current predicament. And then he was going off telling her he was going come if she didn’t move and she felt her face grow hot with embarrassment at the thought of him having to leave the medical ward in spare scrub pants, with his soiled jeans disposed of in a biohazard bag. “Oh, gosh,” she mumbled, slamming her eyes shut to rid herself of the thought. She only opened them when she felt his lips on her forehead, and then he was moving her, lifting her up to place her down on the ground on her own two feet. She immediately went back to work, crossing the room to collect fresh gauze before tending to him again to keep her hands moving, busy, tending to his stitches instead of the erection tenting his jeans. “Pasta is good,” Lou said, her voice thin. “I like pasta.” She cleared her throat and finished up, stepping away to toss the used fabric. “Do you want me to give you a minute? Before I apply the fresh bandage.”

Wes knew Lou enough that her mind wasn’t on the pasta. But she was always profession, it was amazing to him. It took all his energy to remain still on the exam table. If he had been new at Apex, he would have already thrown her on the table and had his way with her. Jaw set, he kept his eyes shut so he didn’t do something stupid. He thought about different types of pastas and what exactly he could make. Instead of discuss what she’d like, he decided on surprising her. When she was finished cleaning him up, he finally opened his eyes at her question. Clearing his throat, he sat up a little straighter and ignored the aching in his pants. “Do you want to watch?” The blush crept up his neck. Wesley was never shy about sexual situations, but this new era with Lou had him a little uncertain. His voice was steady and he made eye contact with her. 

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          A light blush crept up on Harper’s features and Delphine couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “You’re blushing,” she cooed, moving her gloved hand to brush at the quartermaster’s cheek, feeling warmth despite the fabric separating her thumb from the flushed skin. “A good look on you.” Delphine allowed her colleague to withdraw from her. The French were notorious for what the others on the team called a “touchy-feely” approach to relations; she took no offense to their jokes, preferring to embrace the physicality respective of her roots. The bumbling mess Harper had become likely had to do with said touchy-feely behavior. She knew of Harper’s taste for their gender, much like her own, and while there had been past incidences of flirtatious behavior between them, Delphine had tried her best to remain respectful of the woman, to never put her in a position of discomfort. Not intentionally, anyway.

Her gaze traveled the room, trying to follow Harper’s sightline. “Yes, I’ve decided to hang it in my room. It will be safer there. I don’t do much entertaining beyond this room.” Her voice was clear and concise; she did not want any implications to be made, though she knew the nature of such a statement would be inevitable. “I can have it moved in there later. Don’t worry about it. You did the hard part; your job is done.” Truthfully, she didn’t want to dismiss the woman, and so she offered: “Would you like some tea? Or perhaps champagne?”

Harper quickly turned her face into Delphine’s touch. She wasn’t used to such beautiful women reaching out to touch her. It usually took some glam time and the quartermaster to actually leave her lab. It also helped if she hadn’t singed off her eyebrows or mad a complete idiot of herself. She would call herself absentminded and that was her being kind. But her boss was cooing at her and touching the blush on her cheeks and Harper was worried she might pass out. “Anything looks good on you, so I guess I trust your taste.” She slammed her eyes shut and exhaled hotly at her stupid, dreamlike comment. 

Of course Delphine wanted to hang the painting in her room -- a place Harper had been wondering about since she’d be hired on. “You don’t?” Her tone was inquisitive and gave her a small glimmer of hope. Apparently Delphine didn’t entertain much in her bedroom. It wasn’t like Harper had a steady influx, just her hand and her other favorite pussy, her orange tabby, Garf. “You sure? I don’t mind. I designed a handy hanging tool.” She slapped her front pocket to indicate where the little device was located. “But if you’re offering champagne, I won’t turn you down. But full disclosure, champagne is a weakness of mine.” 

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          A deep shudder tore through Lou’s body, forcing her to pause for air. she was overwhelmed by Wesley ⏤ as she always was ⏤ and the carnal knowledge that his cock had stiffened under her weight did not help the tortuous process of extricating herself from his hold. But first, she needed to breathe, to find her balance, to find a way to move without toppling herself over the side of the examination bench because she was dizzy, drunk on him. “No, I’m sorry. I should be doing my job.” Despite the resignation, she didn’t move to climb down from his lap, instead staying put, afraid to create any more friction against him as his hand groped at her. “Surprise me,” she rasped out, looking down between them to check on his wound, fearful he had incurred additional damage during their… well, make out session. (Thankfully, he hadn’t.) The term seemed juvenile in Lou’s head, but it was fitting. She felt like she was twenty again with him, reliving the years lost to textbooks, sleeping with the town bad boy. He was an awful influence on her, luring her outside of the professional boundaries she had set for herself, but he made it so easy, with each boyish grin he flashed her, each flirtatious text he sent her, and each orgasm he gave her. 

“Right. Your bandages. I’m sorry.” A gloved hand moved to her forehead, brushing back stray strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail. Meeting his eyes, she asked: “Am I okay to move? Or do you need a moment?”

For some unknown reason, Lou didn’t remove herself from his lap. The familiar, warm weight of her only made it harder to concentrate. When she spoke, he understood what she was trying to do, but he was high on the taste of her. “I started this whole mess to be fair.” His voice came out gruff and he knew he would be happy to die here on this exam table with Lou on top of him. The hand under her top kept stroking at her soft skin. He was no angel, despite his effort. He wanted to dip his fingers down the front of her scrub pants to see the effect her had on her, but it was a terrible idea. Especially when she met his eye as he thought it. “Quit apologizing.” He grunted out the words between clasped teeth. “If you don’t move, I’m going to cum in my pants, Lou.” He tried a breathy chuckle, but it only sounded strained. 

Without allowing her time to fret, he leaned forward to kiss her sweaty forehead and then gently placed her off his lap to a standing position. He leaned back on the exam table exposing his chest to her so she could finish. His eyes slammed tightly shut so he couldn’t see the red of her cheeks or the way she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “Sorry. Again. It’ll go down on it’s own.” He was talking mostly to keep his mind busy as her hands were drawn back to his incisions. “How do you feel about a pasta? I can’t royally fuck that up.” 

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          “Thank you.” Delphine beamed as she took the spare set of gloves Harper had produced from her pocket and slipped them on with the excitement of a child on Christmas morning. Her Christmas had come a few days shy of the real thing, and she was most certainly not a child, but the excitement remained: pure, unadulterated joy. She was already mentally mapping out where in her suite she would hang the old painting when the redhead began to tear lightly at the brown paper that surrounded the frame. “This is remarkable,” she whispered, moving to stand next to the other woman as the painting was unveiled, one of the first pieces he’d painted inspired by his love of ballet. The impressionist had always been one of Delphine’s favorites, for his vivid depiction of movement and the female form, and now she had a piece of his work for herself.

Drawing Harper close, Delphine embraced her in a celebratory hug before drawing back to kiss both of her cheeks, faire la bise. She looked from the woman to the painting and back again. “I don’t know how you did it, and I don’t want to know, but I cannot thank you enough.”

Harper wasn’t exactly sure what to expect. The job with Talio had taught her to stay on her toes and expect the unexpected. But having the French woman kiss both of her cheeks after a warm hug wasn’t something she was prepared for. It may have been cliche to have a crush on the boss, but it wasn’t something that could be avoided. Not at this point anyway. Her cheeks flushed almost as red as her Christmas themed hair. “It’s best if you don’t know, Del. Trust me.” She cleared her throat a few times before her eyes glanced back at the painting. It really was beautiful. She knew a little bit of this and that that she picked up over the years, but art wasn’t one of her strong suits. “You don’t need to thank me. It’s my job and I’m happy to do it. For you. Or anyone else. Because it’s my job -- like I said.” The flush of her cheeks got worse and she turned her body away so Delphine couldn’t see it. “Do you know where you want to hang it?”

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          The mere sound of Wesley’s moan was enough to push Lou further than she wanted to go in the moment, but she had to be strong ⏤ somehow, some way, dredging up every ounce of willpower that existed in her small frame. Saying no to Wesley Bishop was a challenge itself, but saying no when she was settled in his lap, one hand palming her ass as the other wandered up the back of her scrubs, was entirely another situation. “Wesley.” She repeated his name as if to summon the part of her that was certain: she would not sleep with him again until they had gone on a date. At least one, though another fragment of her conscience said two, at least, just to prove to him how serious you are. She kissed him again, hoping to be rid of the desire burning in her cheeks with one last press of their lips, but found herself hovering close, her eyes fluttering shut. “Wesley.” Lou hissed his name as she tightened her grip on his shoulders, willing herself to keep herself still despite his insistence to push his hips up into her. “Wesley, please.”

It took all of Wesley’s self control to stop. It was the incessant way Lou said his name. She stayed close, but she was willing him to stop. Every cell in his body was screaming at him to continue -- to nut up and shut up no matter how bad the pain. But he wanted something more with Lou. He had downloaded the stupid poem and gotten the nerve to actually read it to her. He’d even splurged for flowers -- shitty wilted, ugly flowers, but he had never bought flowers for anyone. Her voice saying his name over and over drew his mind to all the lazy mornings he’d convinced her to stay in bed -- cock half hard and his mouth filled with the taste of her. His name ringing in his ears and her hands nestled firmly in his curls. He groaned as he tilted his head back, hardness now painful beneath his jeans. “Okay, okay.” He panted out each breath and tried to regain some control. “I’m sorry, Lou. I missed you, but I’ll behave.” His grip on her ass tightened for a second before he let go. “What do you want for dinner then? Might as well finish patching me up while we’re here too.” 

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          Harper Kennedy was the best at what she did ⏤ or at least the best that Delphine had encountered. She always managed to get her hands on what it was that the team asked for, no matter the rarity of the item or the difficulty of procurement. The Frenchwoman would be lying if she said she hadn’t placed a few requests with the smaller of the pair just to test her. The Degas painting had been one such request, a test of her connections, and Kennedy had passed with flying colors. 

“Chair,” Delphine called out, indicating the piece of furniture in the woman’s path. She moved to Harper’s side to guide her, hand light on the now-redhead’s back to guide her. “You can set it on the table. Let me get my glasses.” When she was confident that the quartermaster had found her way, Delphine stepped away, moving to her desk to collect her specs. “I can’t believe you got it. I mean, I can, you have been famously proving me wrong since you came aboard, but this…” With her glasses snug on her face, she clapped in excitement and stepped forward to watch the unveiling. “Please, unwrap this magnificent gift. I cannot wait any longer.”

Heeding Delphine’s instructions and the burning touch on her lower back, Harper was able to steer the painting to the table. She laid it down gently, not needing the ghost of Degas to haunt her. She had done a lot of shady dealings in her day, especially over the last two years with Talio, but a ghost hadn’t been part of the package. Wiping the gloves off on the front of her shirt, she took a step back and sighed. It was hard to make eye contact with Delphine -- not because she was the boss, but she had this aura about her. Harper had spent a good two months studying auras and what they meant. It was all bullshit, but her boss was a bright green. It sometimes hurt to look at her. Harper imagined it had a little to do with how beautiful the woman was too, but she tried her best to keep that part to herself. 

Reaching into her back pocket, Harper produced another pair of white gloves. “Just in case.” Once they were plucked from her fingers, she carefully unwrapped the painting. She was careful along the edges and balled up the brown paper and laid it on the table. “What do you think, boss? I had to promise a few things, but the look on your face makes it worth it.” 

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          Wesley lifted her as if she were made of air, pulling Lou’s entire body up onto the examination bench to rest on his lap. The gauze fell from her hand, lost to her diverted attention, which fell squarely on him, with his large hands roaming down her back as he pulled her against him. “I don’t care where we go. I’ll go anywhere. I’ll even eat your food.” Lou sighed wantonly, knowing there would plenty of time for this later, once they had a chance to go out on a proper date. But in the moment she couldn’t resist, not with his hand cupping her ass and his hips rolling up to meet hers. Her scrubs began to stain with a mixture of blood and saline ⏤ something she would worry about later, at another time, when she wasn’t flush against his bare skin, her gloved hands holding onto his shoulders. “Promise?” she whispered against his mouth, daring him forward.

Suddenly, the pain didn’t even matter. It only heightened the way Lou settled into his lap, her gloved hand against his bare skin. She was the best doctor Apex had ever had -- her bedside manner impeccable. At least in Wesley’s opinion. The whisper against his mouth drew a moan from his lips. He was weak when it came to Lou. “I’ll cook you anything you like. But we gotta work up an appetite, right? I’m pretty sure that’s just science.” He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as kissed her harder, more teeth and a little sloppy. Maybe the whiskey was hitting him harder than usual, but he had a feeling it had to do with the tiny doctor in his lap. “I promise, Lou. I’ll do whatever you say.” His voice dipped as his fingers rucked down the back of her scrubs -- eager to touch bare skin. “What’s your first instruction?”

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          The quiet rapping at the door drew Delphine out of her reverie. She had been engrossed in her debriefing report that she hadn’t heard it at first. But it persisted, much to the determination of the individual on the other side of the door. Collecting herself, she stood and crossed the room, double-checking the monitor perched on the wall to ascertain the identity of her visitor outside before switching it over to the generic Talio Corporation logo. The locks yielded without effort, and she opened the door to find Harper Kennedy there, toting a very large paper-wrapped item, hands gloved for extra protection: the painting Delphine had requested, an obscure Degas piece from his earlier days. Glee colored her face with a pink tinge, and she smiled broadly at the other blonde. “I’ll be damned,” she uttered, words formed by the deep French accent that clung to her voice. “You found it. Please, come in.” She stood aside, holding the door open for the woman to enter. 

“Of course I found it, boss.” Harper didn’t hesitate to step inside Delphine’s suite. The painting was large, but not overly heavy. The sheer size alone made it difficult to maneuver to the right door, but at least it gave her a reason to yell at anyone in her way. Procuring things people on her team wanted or needed gave Harper a sense of joy. It was the little things like an expensive, obscure painting and the joy on her boss’s face that made her line of work worth it. “I can’t believe you had any doubt. I didn’t trust any of the idiots in transportation to deliver this. Plus, I wanted to surprise you.” She worked her way into the room, her fingers maintaining a steady grip on the frame. The gloves were for once the brown wrapping paper came off, but she wanted to err on the side of caution. “Now, where am I heading? Might want to call out obstacles too. I’m not fucking this delivery up.”

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          Lou kept her head down, eyes trained on the lacerations, determined to focus on the task in front of her instead of the flirtatious comments dripping from Wesley’s soft, supple lips⏤ Dammit. It was so easy to fall into his gossamer traps. She pursed her lips and shot him a look of dismay when he admitted to conspiring with Ronan Murphy, the team’s quartermaster, who had gained notoriety for toeing outside of the line. “Oh, I’m going to have words with Murph. As for you,” she said, prodding his uninjured shoulder with a gloved finger, “follow my instructions. I’m the physician, not our beloved Irish imp downstairs. I mean it, Wesley.” Lou flashed him her sternest look, and lowered her gaze as she continued to work, cleaning up his wound.

Her hand stilled when he made mention of going down on her and she forced herself to keep at the cleaning process, swallowing hard as images of their last encounter flickered through her head, visions of dark locks brushing against the inside of her thighs, his smile surfacing between her legs, lips moistened by her arousal. “Wesley,” she said slowly, her tone laced with warning. But he was intent on playing with fire, as always, His large hand circled her wrist first, then her entire hand, dwarfing it in his grip. The space between them was closing now as he drew closer and kissed her, biting teasingly at her lower lip. Her synapses were firing at an accelerated rate, her mind buzzing, her face flushed with desire. “I think I can make time for that,” Lou said in a hushed voice, following him as he leaned back. “But on one condition: You listen to me. Follow my instructions. For your care.”

His lips hovered against hers unwilling to pull away. If she wanted to end the kiss, she could, but Wes had spent far too long away from them. He knew he was having an effect on her -- she always did the same to him. Her warning tone did nothing to phase him. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her up on the exam table with him. It was clumsy and awkward and he was sure he wasn’t doing any favors for his wounds. But the need to feel her flush against his body. “Where do you want to go? I can cook for you. I’ve been practicing.” He had, here and there. It never hurt to have that particular skill set. When he was younger, it was mostly thrown out take away meals in the local garbage. When he got older, frozen meals for a pound. 

Pulling away slightly, he licked at his own lips. “Yes, ma’am. I can’t deny you when you get all bossy like that, Lou.” One hand slipped down to her ass as he rocked his hips up into her. “I promise to be a good boy and follow your instructions and only your instructions. No matter what Murph says.” 

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↪ WEISS 💬 DAVIES

ulla.weiss: is typing...

ulla.weiss: You must like being insulted if you still try to go toe-to-toe with me.

ulla.weiss: I can break it down better in person. Tick, tock.

maddox.davies: is typing...

maddox.davies: I might be into it. I don't know why I tell you anything.

maddox.davies: I feel like I'm going to get burned again.

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↪ WEISS 💬 DAVIES

ulla.weiss: is typing...

ulla.weiss: You said it.

ulla.weiss: Well I did say I was working on something. Did it occur to you that code might be code for something else?

maddox.davies: is typing...

maddox.davies: You are insulting me and also turning me on? Are you training me like Pavlov's dogs?

maddox.davies: What's it code for? Break it down for me. I'm simple.

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↪ WEISS 💬 DAVIES

ulla.weiss: is typing...

ulla.weiss: At least I have something worthwhile to say.

ulla.weiss: Sounds fake.

ulla.weiss: Don't forget to knock, Mad Dog. 🙃

maddox.davies: is typing...

maddox.davies: What are you implying? Nothing I say is worthwhile?

maddox.davies: Why do I need to knock? What are you doing?

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          Lou pulled on a pair of disposable latex gloves as she crossed the room and Wesley sat himself on the examination table, emitting a hiss of pain as his weight settled unceremoniously on the bench. “Watch it,” she cautioned, biting back a smile that threatened to spill across her face when he made a remark about removing his clothes. “You’ve never needed to be asked before, why start now?” It was friendly ribbing, the kind of lighthearted bantering they typically exchanged. Although she remained focused on being a professional when she was on the clock, it was impossible not to fall prey to his charms or his humor, and they had struck up a playful balance over the course of the year she had been treating him.

She didn’t have to ask him to undress, but he did anyway, used to the routine. With his shirt discarded on the bench behind him, he leaned back and let her work. She stepped closer and examined the bandages, noting where blood had leaked into the dressing, and nodded to acknowledge his numerical pain ranking. Seven was higher than she was hoping, but not out of the realm of reality, given the seriousness of the injury he’d sustained. “Still taking your medication as directed?” 

Lou began to peel back the paper tape gently before ripping it off in one swift motion and balling it up to deposit in the waste bin. Better not to prolong the inevitable. The wound had begun to heal around the edges, the skin showing signs of regeneration, but it still had some time to go, even with Murph’s cell regeneration serum applied. “Stitches look good, but no rigorous exercise yet.” She palpated the skin around the lacerations, observing the tenderness, and reached into the nearby cabinet to retrieve saline and a gauze pad to clean up the crusting blood. “Have you already picked the flavor of lollipop you want today?” she teased as she dabbed at the skin, removing dried blood from his chest.

He knew she was trying not to smile as if it would stop egging him on. Lou was shit out of luck. Now that Wes could breathe, she was in for some shit. “Maybe, but a man likes to be asked sometimes. I’m not just a puppet for you.” He closed his eyes as she began to study the wounds. He didn’t want to see the look on her face when she saw something she didn’t like. The wounds smarted, but it wasn’t the worst thing he felt. The deep wounds just took longer to heal than a normal graze. Even with all the high tech equipment Apex had access to his body still wanted to take its time. 

At her question about the medication, he cleared his throat and allowed his eyes to flutter open. He looked at her, struck by her beauty like he so often was. He might lack manners and most of a moral compass, but Lou still did something for him. She deserved far better than the mess of a man in front of her, but Wes was selfish. “As directed? Well, however Murph directed. Which I have to say, you two should work together on that. He has some great suggestions.” He cleared his throat again and readjusted on his hands. 

A small yelp left his lips as she ripped off the bandage. He deserved it and wasn’t going to complain. But all the hair on his body made the tape hurt every time. “You guys don’t have access to better tape? With all the money Apex throws at us?” Luckily, he words gave him some relief. He let out a soft sigh and let his head drop back. He hadn’t done anything stupid enough to reopen the wounds. Not even the stress and poem had fucked it up. “No rigorous exercise?” The disappointment was evident in his voice as he opened his eyes to look at the ceiling. “I can settle for going down on you until I’m better.” He tacked on the thought nonchalantly. 

He let his head come up as she started to clean his wounds. It was tender, but her touch didn’t make the pain any worse. “You know, that’s always the hardest decision when I have an appointment with you, but I have decided on something.” He brought his hand up to encircle her gloved one. “You.” He moved forward feeling the saline trickle down his chest as he moved, but it didn’t matter. He brought his lips onto hers biting at her bottom lip as he moved back. “Can I take you to dinner?”