Cowboy Night
WHO: Schuldig (colpevole) ; Axel (fireveins) ; those who show up (full list to come!)
WHAT: Cowboy Night!
WHERE: The Warrior Princess
WHEN: Friday night
WELCOME TO THE WARRIOR PRINCESS.
[ooc: Hey guys! This is an open thread, and the reason I'm putting it up now is so that everyone who wants to participate will have a chance to do so at their leisure, and work ( Read more... )
WHAT: Cowboy Night!
WHERE: The Warrior Princess
WHEN: Friday night
WELCOME TO THE WARRIOR PRINCESS.
[ooc: Hey guys! This is an open thread, and the reason I'm putting it up now is so that everyone who wants to participate will have a chance to do so at their leisure, and work ( Read more... )
Well, shit, he just hadn't been expecting that: hadn't been expecting the guy to talk to him (they never really talked, however often they both sat there with their drinks and Badou's ashtray full of cigarette butts) and, more to the point, hadn't been expecting that having someone talk to him right now would be exactly the distraction that he needed.
He turned his head slowly to look at the American and got the feeling that the timing of the compliment hadn't been an accident. Or maybe that was just what two people did when the guys next to them leaned across the bar to kiss: make small talk. "Heh," he said, pausing to take the cigarette from between his lips, "Thanks-" And really he'd been about to blame Schuldig for all the hat's hideous leopard-print glory, when the conversation to his left demanded his attention again.
Gojyo. Oh. Well, shit. Badou swiveled in his barstool, cigarette firmly between his lips again so he could take a good deep draw. Shit, he should have guessed that, right? Gojyo-Schuldig's friend. Or "friend…"
Badou was never actually too sure which, and it's not like it was the sort of thing he'd ever come right out and asked about.
But he was supposed to be happy to meet this guy. Right? Was that how this went? Shit, he felt like he needed a fucking script to read from, someone to tell him his lines. "Uh, hey," he managed, which was really about as articulate as he felt.
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Anyway, he got the feeling that if he'd wanted another drink at that precise moment he'd have been shit out of luck. The most interesting scene was unfolding next to him.
It was weird. He couldn't have explained why he cared, except that-well, he couldn't explain it. Best to leave it at that.
"Are we doing introductions now?" He interrupted, smoothly changing stools to sit in the unspoken "reserved" seat between Badou and himself. "I'd hate to miss out on the opportunity to make new…friends."
Crawford had a way of letting the proper words linger in the air for a moment, so that they didn't really sound like the proper words at all, but some kind of secret code that he was using.
What the fuck was he doing?
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"So then..." His eyes traveled over towards the dark-haired man. Not Italian; too much accent. Oh fuck, he knew that accent, come on, which one was it... Oh, of course, one of those Americans who could say the key phrases with a flourish and then trip up on conversational phrases. So, a little perturbed, Gojyo jerked his other thumb in the American's direction. "Either'a you know him?"
Come on, introductions were supposed to be done by a third party, someone had t' know 'im, otherwise he was just bein' rude. But then again, since when was that news in a bar fulla' foreigners?
[[OOC: Italia = Italy; Buona sera = Good evening]]
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There was something about Bradley Crawford-like how Schuldig couldn't read him at all, for example-that was unsettling. But he was kind of distracted right now.
Hadn't Gojyo and Badou met before? Of course they hadn't. If they had, Schuldig sure as hell would have been there. Maybe it was just assumptions: Schuldig had known them both for so long that they'd become integral parts of his life; he just figured everybody knew everybody else and that was that, like the cast of some overcomplicated sit-com that he was totally the star of, by the way. But of course that was dumb, and they didn't know each other, and now was so not the time-but it was the time he'd been given, apparently, and they'd all make do. Sure! They'd love each other, or something. They had a lot in common actually, and they were both fucking hilarious, and...
"So this is like the Brady Bunch," he said, voice dry. "Anyway, Gojyo, Badou, Mr. Brad Crawford. Welcome to the Warrior Princess. May I take your order?"
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But there was a moment-right about when Gojyo called him "the guy you came t' Italia with"-when his gaze flicked over to Schuldig, and this little scrap of doubt began to yammer and gnaw, because he didn't know what Gojyo knew about how Schuldig had come to Italy, didn't know what Schuldig would have told him, how he'd spun it. Didn't know whether he'd chosen to talk to Gojyo about all those things that he hadn't talked to Badou about in years, or well…ever.
Anyway, what was he supposed to say to that? 'Oh yeah, you're the guy in all those movies-you know, the ones that he and I don't talk about because what exactly are you supposed to say when you find out that someone who was your… someone like that wasn't actually dead but just exploring a new career in the porn industry?-"Oh, hey I really liked that shot of your ass"?'
But then-shit. Americans. Did someone breed those guys for timing, or what? Because there was the voice from his right, and he could feel the change in proximity, and Badou didn't actually have to figure out what to say, because Gojyo was already asking about his usually-silent drinking associate beside him.
Badou swiveled his head to look at Crawford-he had to lean back a little and look over his shoulder to manage it, because he was on the side of Badou's bad eye-and he quirked a little smile. He didn't know why the man had picked this moment to start talking, but he was really thankful that he had. No matter what the other two thought.
Bradley Crawford, eh? Well it looked like Mr. Crawford had managed to find the release valve that let the pressure out so Badou could breathe right again, could give a snort of laughter at Schuldig's Brady Bunch joke, roll his eyes, and say, "Go fucking dance or something, yeah?"-all of which he did. Probably, he thought, they could all use a little bit of breathing room for a moment anyway.
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"Nice to meet you all," he murmured, smiling at Badou before taking a long swallow of alcohol. Some small part of him-the shit-eating bastard part-was enjoying this quite a lot. Damn. Maybe he would have to get out of the house more often, if it was going to lead to this. So much better than prime time television.
He still didn’t know what he was doing, particularly, throwing himself into situations without calculable outcomes. Was it just the entertainment factor? Had he really gotten that bored in this city? Whatever. Crawford didn't like not having the answers to things, but he also wasn't one to question things endlessly either.
"So that hat," he said, returning to a familiar topic with a familiar face. "What'd you do, bring down a leopard in the Serengeti?"
Great. Apparently tonight he was making jokes. Hilarious, just fucking hilarious. Maybe all the Greatest Hits from the Wild West were making him punchy.
Yeah, that was it.
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Basically, he was pumped.
"Here, hang onta' this for me, boys." Gojyo shouldered out of his massive coat and left it on the stool next to Badou, where his drink was also waiting on the bar.
Now? Now he was ready. Bare-chested, ponytail tied tight, cowboy hat on, and black pants. Hell yeah he was ready to get this party started.
He offered his left hand all gentleman-like and lead Schu out to the dance floor, anywhere in the middle they could find room. Then, he lifted his arm up and let Schu spin underneath of it until his back was against Gojyo's front. One hand on each side of Schu's hips now, he let them just move for a bit, which was okay because the song was streaming into a new track.
Gojyo made sure their feet were staggered so they wouldn't step on each other's feet. This was the part where they found their rhythm - like it'd take more than 5 seconds, right? - and then Gojyo would let Schu turn around so they could really get into it.
It was impossible for Gojyo to not get into the music even as they walked over - every step Gojyo made was a step in time to the music - but now that their feet were stationary, it was their hips that he made sure moved to the beat. Left, right, left left, right. Every once in awhile he'd bring his hands up under Schu's - stretched out away from both of them - and snap his fingers a few times before his hands found their favorite spot again, resting on Schu's hips. No matter where his arms were though, his upper body moved too; sometimes just his shoulders - angling down left, then rolling back to the right, and repeating the motion - sometimes rolling his whole body and transferring the wave-like motion to Schu's body as well.
But for the moment... for the moment, Gojyo just wanted to keep the slow pace going - slow by comparison of where they'd go in a minute - and remind himself to never, ever be so stupid again as to even dream that Schu might... The very idea that he'd almost lost Surefire's friendship...
The left hand reached across Schu's waistline to grip the other hip while his right hand traveled up Schu's chest to rest on the left shoulder. His head fell so he could press his lips to the left side of Schu's neck - Surefire was in his element now, wasn't he? Same as Gojyo, who could slip into Neroli? If he only knew Surefire's real name, he'd have said it right then, right there. He settled for kissing Surefire's left ear and whispering, "Let's burn this place up, you'n me."
After a moment Gojyo let go of his dance partner and ran both hands down the sides of his arms, urging him to turn around and continue the dance.
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But, of course, if he was going to choose someone to dance with to set the standard, then he was sorry, girls and boys: that someone was Gojyo. It was circumstance, partially, but circumstance meant a lot to a person like Schuldig, whose entire life had been predicated on lucky accident. Providence, a religious man would call it.
Simply put, Gojyo and Schuldig had starred for fucking years in porn together. They knew every rhythm of each other's bodies down to the very last drop. There was no move one of them could make that the other couldn't physically anticipate, just enough beforehand to adapt. It had become something of a science, actually; all that time showing up to work and getting naked and trying to make sure they each looked just as good as the other without outshining each other-it'd trained a second instinct into Schuldig, an instinct not just purely about bodies but also about Gojyo. Gojyo's body.
And dancing-well, dancing was what they did now instead of the porn, wasn't it? And even if it wasn't as often as it might've been-it should be more often, Schuldig thought, feeling the sudden rush of just being on the dance floor with Gojyo behind him-there were some grooves a body never un-grooved.
Schuldig was, in some ways, a natural follower; if a leader set the pace, then that was the partner for him. There was an art to following though, which required the intrinsic ability to surrender, and Schuldig could only surrender to a select few. He could've been a fucking rock star on the dance floor with anyone in this building, but with Gojyo it was a different story entirely. A whole. Other. Level. The difference between fucking amazing amateurs and the professionals.
Gojyo was warm, and Schuldig wished, briefly, that he wasn't wearing the heavy cowboy shirt; but whatever, it was part of the charm. He fell into the rhythm even before he was out on that floor, and as soon as he felt the shift in Gojyo-turn around and face me, baby-he was so there.
This way, they could look at each other's faces, look into each other's eyes. Eye contact was fucking important, okay? Even if you looked away, lost momentarily in the music, you always looked back; even if there was hair in your eyes, even if you were getting flushed and a little dizzy, that was the place you always came home to.
It was more intimate than the porn. It was all them, operating under their own directions, at their own pace.
"Fuck," he said. "I fucking love this song."
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For example, the instant that Schu turned around, Gojyo backed off a little. The reason? Because they had to be allowed to let loose some energy for a bit before they could move back towards one another, grinding for a bit, but then moving away again to repeat the motion. No matter how much you wanted to be near that other person, there was only so much dancing you could do pressed up against another body. That was the toning down part. Thus, when you moved away, you had to get all that energy out of your system so that being close was your resting period.
Sure, Gojyo would toss his head, make his ponytail sway, close his eyes, pump his fists, weave around, but he was really just getting into his own world where all that existed was the music, the floor, Surefire, and him.
That was the other thing amateurs just couldn't do - they were always too conscious of everything else, the people watching, the song changing, how much they were drinking or smoking, or even what time what it was. None of that mattered to Gojyo, to Neroli. His whole body was at work - arms up in the air, head swaying this way and that, shoulders rolling in tandem or not, and hips shifting in every direction. Some of the time, his feet just dug into the floor, grounding the rest of his body, but then he'd get the urge to move around some more and he'd step forward or backward, cross and spin, or just bounce on the balls of his feet then the soles, back and forth.
Ah but grinding against Surefire was fun too. It wasn't like it was a challenge to figure out Surefire's rhythm, but it was fun anticipating it and matching the movements as a mirror image. Neroli's left hand kept seeking out Surefire's right hand, moving it to wherever felt right for the beats in the song - Neroli's shoulder, his hip, chest, even jawline - and that left the right hand to stay right at Surefire's hip and feel out the next movement - would it be a pop to the right? A roll forward? Time to separate again?
Even if Neroli shut his eyes, he made sure to catch Surefire's at least every few beats, and always flashing a smile, because hell if this wasn't just as amazing as the other night - in Neroli's mind, anyway.
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Once, Schuldig had teased him-"Shit, man, you like dancing better than sex sometimes, don't you?"-and after that it was never clear to Schuldig whether or not that sometimes was totally off the money or what.
He did, though. He fucking loved it. And it was one of the greatest highs of all, dancing with Sha Gojyo, just getting to be close to all this, and getting to look at his face.
So the question was: did the night before make this better, or what? A hand on Gojyo's chest, palm flat, skin on skin, fingers brushing soft lines, without real purpose. Some abstract pattern he didn't know, just to bridge the occasional distance between them. Fuck, man, you didn't show up not wearing a shirt and then expect not to be touched, but still; there was a certain electric jolt he got from the contact that he craved and was kind of terrified all at once, and it added this other thing to the dancing, vague and uncertain. Schuldig was barely skimming it, but the rest of his thoughts were focused on what his body felt, and anyway...
It was gonna be a long night. This shit was for fun, not thinking too hard. His hair was damp against the back of his neck, and Gojyo was dancing like nothing could catch up to them, and Schuldig was only too glad to be drawn along with each rock and each roll, fitting himself into that rhythm, making his home there. For however long the song lasted.
He didn't really want it to end.
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Go figure, they had an audience, and some of them were Gojyo's own kids - actually, all twelve of them were around, watching Neroli and Surefire. That made him shiver in excitement - or maybe that was Surefire touching his chest - hell, now this was a show, something else for his kids to watch and take notes on. They had to recognize "Schuldig" and "Shagojyo", not to mention the energy between them.
Neroli leaned in close when they were grinding again, not kissing Surefire but so, so very close. Then, he leaned back, encouraging Surefire to lean forward as well, before ducking to the ground as if he'd fallen, propped up on both arms and legs. Crouching low on his legs now, Neroli slinked his way back up Surefire's body, hands wandering everywhere - legs, thighs, waist, chest, arms, shoulders - and then cradled the other man's head in both hands, kissing him excitedly.
Neroli whispered softly as he pulled away, "All eyes on you, babe."
Then they were separated again as Neroli made his way around Surefire, freeing up the space around them. Every step was on beat and his hands were in the air, clapping in time. Yeah, he did a little bit of grooving, but nothing that would draw the attention from Surefire for the moment. As he walked past each of his kids, though, he gave them a look like, This is how you do it.
Two circuits later, Neroli was pressed against Surefire's back again and reached out for each of the other man's hands to twine their fingers, crossing both their arms over Surefire's chest, and lean back, low and strained, but holding Surefire up the whole while. Yeah, that got a few catcalls and whistles - how many people could bend backwards nearly at a 90-degree angle with another body on top of them without falling over?
The downside to that was that Neroli really was working himself into a frenzy, despite his best efforts, so Surefire could probably tell that now if he didn't know already.
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He just had to show 'em how it was done, didn't he?
Yeah. This was how you moved your hips, babies, and this was how you dipped, and that was what you could do with your ass even if you were a guy, okay? And this was how to toss your hair, and this was what you did with your arms so they didn't feel all awkward doing nothing, and this was how you made your whole fucking body work that floor like there wasn't a single part of it not in communication with the other parts. He was burning up, just like Gojyo said he would be.
Except Gojyo had said they were gonna burn up the dance floor, right? It was kind of a team effort. Even if there was the occasional solo, it always came back to the pair.
Song two. "Shit, I love this song," he said, tossing his head back, all warm and wishing, fuck, that his shirt was unbuttoned. Or something. "Fuck, you just get better and better at this. You've been practicing without me, right?"
Talking was, kind of, part of the rhythm; the back of his neck was warm; he was acutely aware of all the places they touched, the vibrant energy that radiated from Gojyo's skin. All so fucking warm. And the kiss, still a secret on his mouth while the second song kept playing.
There was being noticed and then there was being seen. Right now, people were watching; but only one person, he was pretty sure, was actually seeing him. Lost in the rhythm and the motions as he was.
Seeing him and feeling him, too. "Shit," he added, "baby," and what he meant was clear. Hard, huh? Okay, he could roll with that, shimmy a little closer. You know, just because he liked to be fucking difficult.
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If he wanted to be 'difficult', Neroli could play that game too.
And part of that game, now, was moving away to dance by himself for a bit, going a little crazy with the hips this time, before returning to face Surefire. Neroli made sure that their eyes met the whole while they were grinding, an extremely pleased smirk spreading across his face. His hands even went back to gripping Surefire's hips to make sure that their bodies were pressed close. Ah but sinistra wasn't satisfied with that and reached down to grab Surefire's ass instead, really rocking their bodies together in time to the music.
The cherry on top of it all? Neroli leaned in close and just hovered there, taunting Surefire as he licked his lips, I wanna kiss ya' but 'm gonna make you start it this time, babe.
Pity the second song was winding down now.
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Because, okay. Sure. He would be fucking jealous. But that was because Gojyo could dance like this, right, and any time he thought about Gojyo giving someone else this much fucking fun, he could also say, Who wouldn't be jealous?
Morons who didn't know what they wanted, that was who.
And then-Gojyo's hand. The bad hand. The one you could never escape and could never stop thinking about. "Baby," he warned, eyes flashing again. "I've only just started and you're gonna get me fired tonight, baby." If this was a game now-and suddenly it pretty much was, kind of a competition as much as it was a big damn show-then Schuldig could feel his heart race not just with the dancing but with the challenge. His lips brushed, momentary and brief, against Gojyo's, but teasing, just barely, before he drew away with everything but his hips. Then his hips, too. Being apart sucked, a momentary loss, but it was enough to come back to himself, to rein all the pleasures in. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes real bright.
"That's fucking naughty," he said, coming back close, drawn again into the field of gravity he couldn't quite resist. But it was fucking dangerous behavior here, too! He had a whole fucking night to work, into the early morning, damn it.
So naughty. Naughty was a good word for it.
And song three began.
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As they came together again, a sincere smile crossed Neroli's face. "Well, wouldn't wanna get ya fired, now would I?" It might have been happy coincidence, then, that the third song turned out to be a slow one - a real slam on the breaks from what they'd just been doing, but maybe that was why the DJ took so long to bleed the tracks together.
So yeah Neroli put his hands back on Surefire's hips, but they weren't tight-gripped or demanding this time - just a gentle touch, another place to touch the skin under that shirt. He let them just groove together, nice and slow, keeping eye contact the whole while now since he wouldn't be moving away until the song ended.
People started closing the circle back in again and Neroli knew that his time with 'Surefire' was drawing to a close for that evening; Schuldig had to be a bartender tonight, not Gojyo's personal dance partner. That was okay, though, because it was meant to be something fun for Surefire and something of an apology for Neroli. Then he remembered he hadn't actually said that yet and it wasn't like Surefire would know any other way, right?
So, as the song played through the bridge, Neroli pulled Surefire close and whispered in his ear, "Sorry 'bout earlier t'day. Fergive me?"
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And hell, there had to be some kind of competition when it came to dancing. Most of the time, a dance like that...it was for everybody else. It was just what Schuldig assumed, right, and it was why he was playing it up, and why Gojyo was playing it up, and why they were both breathing so hard and so quick right now.
So the slow song was a real change of place, and he was glad for the steady progression. If mood changed too sudden, you could find yourself mid-grind as the beat slipped. And that was the mark of a shitty DJ. Which-well, like Schuldig would allow that here, right? And certainly not for fucking Cowboy Night, which was important for all kinds of reasons, and one of them only Gojyo was privy to.
Schuldig slipped his arms around Gojyo's shoulders, almost-and maybe more than almost-glad for the moment of privacy. However private this sort of thing could be, but... Well. Relatively, anyway.
"Hey. The fuck are you apologizing for?" He was honestly surprised, eyes a little soft. "Don't even. You so don't have to, you know that, right?" After a moment's pause, he ran his fingers through Gojyo's hair, half-reassuring, half-fond. "Whatever. Really."
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