Violets are Blue / Roses are Red / Brother you're Mine / So get in my Bed
WHO: Mr. and Mrs. Ivan Braginsky
WHEN: ALL SATURDAY NIGHT LONG until Sunday morning (September 18/19th)
WHERE: Somewhere…comfortable.
WHAT: Anything Brother’s boyfriend can do, she can do better. Natalia demonstrates. Extensively.
RATING: A picture is worth a thousand words (nsfw, oh god, blame Brodie)
The laptop shut ominously.
Shaky fingers nervously skittered across the now closed top, tapping out a frenetic beat against the plastic. Like an interrupted record, the frantic tune was suddenly cut off as the man shoved the computer as far away from him as possible, pushing it almost clean off of the desk.
Despite the ever present financial troubles that plagued his life, he wouldn’t have cared if broke into a thousand pieces at this point. All that mattered was that the clock was ticking down and the sand in his hourglass was running out. And if he didn’t get to somewhere safe and secure within this very moment…well, he didn’t dare to dwell on the repercussions.
His eyes bolted to the fire escape, his go-to getaway route, but the queasy gurgling in his abdomen told him such ardent climbing would only end messily in more ways than one. But if not the fire escape, the only semi-secure exit, then…
He...o-oh god, he needed to get to the front door.
It was risky, and most definitely a suicide mission if there ever was one, but his stomach firmly told him it was his only option…seeing how another bedroom door valiantly perished in the line of duty the other day. Not to mention the locks on the bathroom were much too weak to ever survive an attack; so the possibility of a bolt hold was nonexistent.
If there was time for cursing, he would have done it loudly and at length, but the man forced himself to move on. Letting his regrets of not forming another back-up plan distract him was a one way ticket to disaster. He needed to act fast, but stealthily. He had no idea of the situation of the situation outside of his room, and being too reckless could prove to be just as catastrophic.
The man gingerly crept to his door, taking a deep (and possibly too long) breath and with all the self-control he could muster, silently opened the slightly destroyed door.
Silence.
Knowing better than to immediately take this as fortuitous, he waited a few beats. Once he saw nothing was lying in wait to pin him against the nearest solid surface, he took a hesitant step out of his fortress, all the while thanking whatever force out there that allowed the apartment to be mostly covered with soft, sound-muffling carpet.
When another few steps were met with nothing but stillness, he took the gambit and sprinted to the front door, agitatedly scrabbling to unlock everything - not bothering to keep quiet as it was virtually impossible. The slide and click of each one was that much closer to breathing a sigh of relief, and when the last one made that sweet, sweet sound, he almost allowed himself a giddy laugh.
Until he tried the door.
It was with a numbness creeping on hysteria that he realized that the door with-- He double-checked, yes, with all its locks undone…i-it just wouldn’t open.
He didn’t even try to keep himself in check as he desperately tried to yank the door open with all the strength he possessed, only managing to make the door tremble in its place. He didn’t let himself be deterred and he continued on earnestly. This was life and death now, and he would not, would not let a wooden door be the end of him!
The man heaved himself at the door with all the weight he had, slamming his shoulder soundly against the wood. To his wonder and elation, the paneling gave a firm crack at the assault. Heartened by his progress, he repeated the motion, the wood splintering even further and actually giving way!
But the third time that could have been the charm never happened.
A set of thin, far too pale arms wrapped around his torso like steel restraints, stopping him mid-motion and turning his already cold blood into ice. A head nuzzled against his rigid back as petite hands splayed across his chest. They stroked the soft material of his shirt in show of benevolence, before nails tinted the color of old blood raked down him in a manner that breathed possessive.
The mousetrap snapped shut.
“Hello, Brother.”
WHEN: ALL SATURDAY NIGHT LONG until Sunday morning (September 18/19th)
WHERE: Somewhere…comfortable.
WHAT: Anything Brother’s boyfriend can do, she can do better. Natalia demonstrates. Extensively.
RATING: A picture is worth a thousand words (nsfw, oh god, blame Brodie)
The laptop shut ominously.
Shaky fingers nervously skittered across the now closed top, tapping out a frenetic beat against the plastic. Like an interrupted record, the frantic tune was suddenly cut off as the man shoved the computer as far away from him as possible, pushing it almost clean off of the desk.
Despite the ever present financial troubles that plagued his life, he wouldn’t have cared if broke into a thousand pieces at this point. All that mattered was that the clock was ticking down and the sand in his hourglass was running out. And if he didn’t get to somewhere safe and secure within this very moment…well, he didn’t dare to dwell on the repercussions.
His eyes bolted to the fire escape, his go-to getaway route, but the queasy gurgling in his abdomen told him such ardent climbing would only end messily in more ways than one. But if not the fire escape, the only semi-secure exit, then…
He...o-oh god, he needed to get to the front door.
It was risky, and most definitely a suicide mission if there ever was one, but his stomach firmly told him it was his only option…seeing how another bedroom door valiantly perished in the line of duty the other day. Not to mention the locks on the bathroom were much too weak to ever survive an attack; so the possibility of a bolt hold was nonexistent.
If there was time for cursing, he would have done it loudly and at length, but the man forced himself to move on. Letting his regrets of not forming another back-up plan distract him was a one way ticket to disaster. He needed to act fast, but stealthily. He had no idea of the situation of the situation outside of his room, and being too reckless could prove to be just as catastrophic.
The man gingerly crept to his door, taking a deep (and possibly too long) breath and with all the self-control he could muster, silently opened the slightly destroyed door.
Silence.
Knowing better than to immediately take this as fortuitous, he waited a few beats. Once he saw nothing was lying in wait to pin him against the nearest solid surface, he took a hesitant step out of his fortress, all the while thanking whatever force out there that allowed the apartment to be mostly covered with soft, sound-muffling carpet.
When another few steps were met with nothing but stillness, he took the gambit and sprinted to the front door, agitatedly scrabbling to unlock everything - not bothering to keep quiet as it was virtually impossible. The slide and click of each one was that much closer to breathing a sigh of relief, and when the last one made that sweet, sweet sound, he almost allowed himself a giddy laugh.
Until he tried the door.
It was with a numbness creeping on hysteria that he realized that the door with-- He double-checked, yes, with all its locks undone…i-it just wouldn’t open.
He didn’t even try to keep himself in check as he desperately tried to yank the door open with all the strength he possessed, only managing to make the door tremble in its place. He didn’t let himself be deterred and he continued on earnestly. This was life and death now, and he would not, would not let a wooden door be the end of him!
The man heaved himself at the door with all the weight he had, slamming his shoulder soundly against the wood. To his wonder and elation, the paneling gave a firm crack at the assault. Heartened by his progress, he repeated the motion, the wood splintering even further and actually giving way!
But the third time that could have been the charm never happened.
A set of thin, far too pale arms wrapped around his torso like steel restraints, stopping him mid-motion and turning his already cold blood into ice. A head nuzzled against his rigid back as petite hands splayed across his chest. They stroked the soft material of his shirt in show of benevolence, before nails tinted the color of old blood raked down him in a manner that breathed possessive.
The mousetrap snapped shut.
“Hello, Brother.”