012. Fuck or Die
He'd done everything he thought he needed to make sure things went as smooth as possible between he and the Southern Sam. Knives under the sink. Handcuffs behind the nightstand. Benzodiazepine and a syringe taped under the bed. And, as much as he hated it, the .9 mm in the sock drawer. If worst came to worst, all he had to do was scream or bang on
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A beat to a song only the conman can hear starts ticking in his head, giving him a steady rhythm to work with. All those off kilter motions sudden turn liquid and smooth within him. A meditative ease to a stress filled design. As he nears the front door, the rest of the mask is pulled down over him. Eyelids lower halfway over blithe blues. His spine straightens to give him a proud air. And that wonderfully sly simper glides into place on his divinely created lips.
Soft fingers glide up the surface of the door while its mirrored twin takes a hold of the door knob. Two bits, move soundless lips. Klk. The door opens casually, leaving wide room for Cameron to linger in the frame, eyes set on the seemingly pleasant sight before him. "Oi, oi. Trolley in, Teddy."
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It doesn't take long for his shoulder to find the wall, either, right where he always leaned before. A white cotton t-shirt hugs his torso, the fabric smooth across his chest and belly, taut around the muscles of his arms. A black leather belt holds his jeans snug around his narrow hips; the boot-cut denim bunches slightly as it meets his feet. White socks, too. Plain, maybe, but he can't be bothered to find anything else. Besides, it suits him-his sharp angles, distinct features and body language more than make up for the lack of flair in his wardrobe. Hell, his haircut alone makes up for it.
The Irishman is tracked by a lazy stare, brown eyes gliding to follow him wherever he shall wander. If he happens to go somewhere that requires Teddy to follow, then follow he shall. He's willing to oblige. Obedient, even. Quietly so.
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It's really in this room that shows just how short the Irishman is. He has to reach up, even lift up onto his toes to get to the top shelf of the cabinets. It's quite a sight to see that lithe form naturally present perfect curves and angles, all covered by snug fitting clothing. His spine curves inward, bare skin peeking out from his shirt as it separates from his jeans. One foot lifts from the ground, bending up at the knee. Fruity little man.
"Ngf." God, he hates this apartment. Hop. He reaches high, because he clearly needs the glasses at the very top of the cabinet. This is completely logical. Shush it. Streeeetching. He even leans a bit forward, bottom out to the man in the living room. Yes, Teddy. Look at that ass. You're about to have that, you know. All of it if you work it nicely.
There. Finally. Two glasses. Honestly, he would have loved to have to climb up onto the counter and really work out those back arches and spreading legs. Buttcheeks, people. It's aaaaall about the buttcheeks. "You want a glass, Mister Man? I think we have juice left." Hell, might as well check.
Bending over, head half into the fridge. "Ooooo, cider!" Yep. Them some buttwigglin' right there. Apparently, he's happy to have you in the house again, Theodore. Be glad.
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Well, maybe. Time will tell.
Theodore sidles up to the kitchen entrance and watches the boy stretch from fingers to toes, his head tilted, sucking the slick inside of his bottom lip between his teeth. A throaty chuckle bleeds into his answer. "Sounds good to me." Oh, ho ho, listen to that purr-he must really like cider! Quite possibly, though, it could have something to do with that wagging ass over there. Just maybe. Good grief, this kid. He really knows how to work it, doesn't he?
The con's heavy-lidded hawk-eyes never leave the younger man's lithe figure, tracing every curve, every swell of fat or muscle, each place where that perfect skin thins out and barely covers bone. There isn't even much guesswork involved, as the snapshot of an agitated Cameron standing in the bedroom doorway, wearing nothing but a towel, is still vivid in his mind. Minus the whole... toilet plunger thing. But even that was kind of sexy in its own special way, considering where it was aimed. Heh!
His teeth graze his lip, and his restless tongue pushes its flattened tip between them, disappearing when he swallows. "You gonna keep me waitin' long?" Sez he, with a playful lilt in his tone, his mouth tweaked crooked in a rascally little smile, one cheek creased more than the other. He's probably kidding. Or not. Can you tell which?
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Tumescent and pink, his lips part to allow that studded slick of tongue to take a good long lap along his finger, gathering the stray cider. The metal ball glides along the skin, following the contour of joints and bone to the tip before his mouth encloses and seals on his finger. That little sucking motion is all for show, though. Cameron's cheeks convex inward, the soft lining of the inside of his mouth hugging his tongue and finger.
It might be a hint for something later to come. Cameron has, more or less, ignored his glass of cider when he approaches Theodore. He gives a small smack and smile of his mouth when the finger leaves his lips, lightly slicked with clear moisture. Beckoning azure eyes glide over the entire person before him, lingering on desirable sections of man and muscle.
He muses, humming his chuckle as he steps right up close to the taller, southern character. Warm digits crawl up the feel of cotton, sliding up and over swell of chest, pulling limber arms over the tilt of Theodore's shoulders. They hang over them casually, their work done to pull Cameron right up against him. "Depends on how hungry you are."
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The con finds himself taking deeper breaths through his nose, already craving more of the younger man's lingering scent. He probably tastes like honey. Or cream. Wicked little bastard... oh, what's this? He's getting his unspoken wish. It glides to him across the kitchen floor, in fact, and when those fine paws slink up to his shoulders, a keen shiver mirrors their placement along his spine. "Hmmn." His arms make an automatic movement to glide his subtle fingers along each side, from bony pelvic crests to the small of Cameron's back, where they rest, warm and heavy, with two fingers tucked into the waistband of his trousers. He makes nothing special of the gesture but savours every last inch of it.
"You know me, I'm always hungry." As if on cue, the tilt of his head reaches just the right angle to put a gleam in one of his dust-brown eyes. "Buuut I suppose I can sit tight for a little while." Pause. A vague smile surfaces, his lip curls in over his teeth, and he hums a happy, thoughtful noise. "Hmmn... you are the most beguiling young man I have ever met, you know that?" Heh heh.
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Half-lidded blues peer up at the looming pair of an earthy hue, catching that wild spark trapped inside of them; finding that lingering stare of the beast inside of the man. Idle thoughts slowly creep along, almost urging the smaller man to try and coax the wild out, to be the instigating fox to the unknown howl of flesh and fur inside the drowning darkness. Only a little sum of willpower is needed to cause the urge to subside, instead replacing it with the reminder of his little treat. Oh, does that little note make those bare toes wiggle.
Theodore's words find him slightly flabbergasted. Deceitful? Cameron? Oh, someone is running up the understatement of the year. He'd try and act like he was ashamed of being a tease, but that would just be silly, now wouldn't it? Instead, he smirks and tucks his chin down to a slender shoulder, peeking up from beneath plucked brows to his taller affair. "Oh, Teddy. You make me saaaad. I finally come to my senses to try and make someone happy and they don't want it. I suppose it was poor of me to cry wolf-"
There's a pause in him. Wolf. In some ways, he supposes this is like messing with Taega, how the wild in him can lash out at any moment if he just shakes that fluffy tail of his enough. A bit of guilt slips. All he'd have to do is go next door and do the same for T and get almost the exact same results. "S...So many times..." His words are somewhat vacant when pushed behind such thoughts. It's easily covered, left for later.
Cameron smiles, nuzzling his nose into the con's chest to breathe in deep his scent. Theodore always had that rather distinct smell of himself that was a large part of how attractive he was. Mnn. "No need t'wait when it's a'ready yours."
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As they never last long either in consciousness or out of it, the peaceful interval Taega had been so gluttonously presiding over and softening under draws to an end and bleeds, much to his custom-jaded chagrin, into a pounding sensation behind his ears and between his eyes. He sits up and snorts, prying with lazy fingers at his eyes and at the yellow flakes that had settled into his long lashes and dashing the mucusy bits of white at the corners of his against his forearm. He pats the boys, wishing them good morning, and rolls out of bed with the soft thud of knees against the bare floor. With a tight shouldered stretch and an upward arch of the back Taega fights a yawn back with clenched jaw and feels for his boxers, finding and putting them on. The same process every morning ensues until he is decent, clad in a classy wifebeater, riled and wrinkled half-way up his stomach and a pair of jeans torn and slashed, however stylishly, unintentionally up and down the legs.
Whatever time, whatever thoughts, whatever considerations that had passed or, being Taega, not passed in the time between touching tacit toe on the bare-wood floor outside his bedroom and where he finds himself next collapses in on themselves into a mess of violently stricken nerves and hatefully conceived images. Thoughts, smells, tastes, sights, and feelings prickling up his back and neck like a wildfire to set his already throbbing mind ablaze, consummating as the soft sound of metal clattering rapidly but softly against metal. Two, cold, steel rings pressed to the napes of both men and sounded by trembling hands. The sound of the springs in the triggers whining as it fights the weight of his fingers echoes in his ears.
“Give him his rights, padre.” Might be what he says, but the alcohol in conjunction with the anger slurs his speech into an inarticulate, animal growl.
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This is a unique point in recent times, as the dripping teeth and raking claws of his lust have been temporarily eclipsed by his sorely neglected weakness for intimacy. Even if the mood is just temporary, which it almost certainly is, that makes it no less complete. Hmm. His chest rises toward Cameron's nestled face, and falls slowly; maybe he'll even go after a kiss this time.
And then? A click. One click, and his stomach jumps. Something cold touches his skin-he's never felt this before, but he sure as hell can guess what it is-and the blood drains right out of him in a sudden rush, it feels like, from head to toe. Whoosh. Like somebody pulled the plug.
His eyes snap open to show their whites, flick toward the looming presence of a third body, and... whoa, whoa, okay. This is- no. "uhh.." His throat makes a quick gulp, and through the sudden bear-trap clench of his jaws squeezes an urgent rush of breath, his voice lifting to an almost comical pitch in his sudden panic. "Cameron? Whuuut the hell is goin' on?"
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The slink of polished hi-grade metal is what makes his stomach lurch into his throat. This is it. This is going to be the moment where the wolf lashes out and bites the fox, striking him dead in the dark seclusion of the forest.
He refuses to lift his face, refuses to let Teddy see how scared he by allowing him to look into his eyes. The rest of him remains at a calm boneless extent. The tip of his nose slides across the white cotton of Bagwell's shirt until nervous sapphires shed rivulets of fear to the London Lad. What in God's name are you fucking doing?! Think, Camie. Thinkthinkthink. Quickly now. Logically.
Reasonably. Those eyes dull down into a halfway vacant stare to his partner, his Wolf. "Someone's a cranky cop." Yes, cop. "Theodore, this is Officer Grant. Whooo I decided needed to crash someplace safe after he 'ad an late night outing with 'the boys'. Work is tough sometimes. Eh, Grant?"
Those eyes continue their silent plea for Taega to lower his tools, to stop this before Cameron's grasp of the world left his fingers forever. "Silly. You shouldn't be waving those 'round. What would your Chief say?" How about I stuff your head in the fucking microwave, you terrible little git! PUT THOSE AWAY!
Guilt. That's all he can feel. Even if they weren't lovers, even if they didn't fit the standard setting of friends, this is still like cheating on Taega. They had each other and Cameron went to someone else for fun. But, I want variety. But, nothing. Where once was light, now darkness falls in the eclipse of greed and sin. Even the Good book says this.
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