As usual, Taega doesn't argue. It's always been this way, to one degree or another. Cam is all about work. Taega is all about play, even though that play tends to align with his work. Still yet, it hadn't taken an hour for them to get home and Cam had already switched out of his best-friend mindset and back into the businessman one. "Yeah." Taega says with a frown on his lips, chasing a palm along his throat to get a feel for the grainy stubble. "I'm sorry about that." Even with the pet names and the friendly concern, he doesn't look sated. He doesn't have what he wants. "I just don't remember things so good when you're not around to run me through it." He brushes past his partner and flops down on the couch with a heaving groan and a hiss from the cushions. He doesn't drop the look, saying that he's ready to get down to business, but he can't help but feel cheated.
D'awww. Cameron crawls from his spot to the corner, letting and arm reach out to pet at the other mans knee. "Sweet'eart, it's not that bad." He's a terrible liar around Taega. He knows it's wrong to even try. "We just gotta work on it some more. D'as all." Pat pat.
That arm retreats back to his nearly bare backside, itching a bug bite near the crease where his leg joins at his bottom. There's a fine little snap of elastic as he plays with the white waist of his laundry fresh bitchpants. "Wha's it you're 'avin' the most trouble with, ducky? It's not too complex, is it? I can refine it if'n you'd like."
Sigh. He doesn't like that look. Makes him feel slightly guilty for burdening Taega with such things. "We can work this out. You an' me."
He forces a smile too weak to pass as anything but fake, even for someone who smiles as seldomly as Taega, and nods blankly at the petting. "Just the little details." There's an empty exhaustion to his mannerisms, perhaps from being locked in the apartment for so long. Perhaps from doing what they've been doing for so long. In any case, it slows him down enough to put an uneasy little frown back onto his face. "I dunno. Stupid shit like that."
That fake grin makes his own comforting smile fade into a pout. He's trying. The blond crawls up into a sit, hugging a knee to his chest. Those crystal blues examine the other, silently begging for him to crack a genuine grin just for him. That little treat of friendship. Again, Cameron offers his warm smile to Taega. "Aye, aye. We can work on those
( ... )
Life never started in a rising scale, just barely balancing on a point of chaos and order. If Cameron tried to step out from his fated position, the scale would tip and the people on the platform, Taega being one of them, would tumble off into whatever horrible life reality would punish him with. If the blonde ventured to far the other way, the lever would roll and everything he knew, everything he thought was real, would become off kilter, leaving him with a shattered hope for survival
( ... )
Perhaps it was the most beautiful part of their friendship. Cameron strives to put them on that imaginary plane between where they are, where they can fall to, and where they want to be and Taega supports him, oblivious to all the variables. Unaware of the fact that if they fall, it's over. Prison. Mafia rule. There are worse, but he doesn't dwell on them. He doesn't pay any more mind to it than he does to his job, killing at the quicksilver whistle his partner sends
( ... )
It's moments like these that make all the pain, all the stress and fatigue, all the building insanity of each job, each heist, completely worth it. It's not just for money. It's for them
( ... )
Thrall to this moment. To this animal. To this fragile body that he, like an animal all his own, protects to every end. Ironic that, in King being, he was subject to another golden crown. His very own misplaced heart, against instead of inside his chest, breathing slowly and humming the noteless song that belonged to him and him alone
( ... )
Again, his breath is beaten from him, this time taken along with the sharp pain of his teeth clamping down on his tongue. The blonde winces and seethes in his accent of discomfort. Both hands take up the mans wrist, purely for support. He really doesn't feel like flopping sideways like Miss Magdalen, who's known for her dramatic fainting spells
( ... )
His senses come roaring to an alertness he hadn't put to use in longer than he's truly accustomed to. Weeks, maybe. Days. Whatever the case, the mortal edge tears through the surface at the corner of his mouth, slitting his lips out into a sadistic smile. He can hear the vessels swelling at the points where bloodflow had been stopped, swelling out and moaning in agony before bursting all together. He can hear every individual fiber severing straight through to the marrow and joining the stomach-turning chorus of snapping bone. He can smell the cupric red flooding out of where his foot had come down to stomp directly through the angled leg, once threatening and now twisted. All at once he can feel, taste, smell, hear, see it.
Yet his ankle is locked to the concrete and coaxed only slightly by the eager tense of a calf muscle.
"Taega." He's half-willing now, but the blade has far less to do with that than the fox might think. "I ain't a rent-a-fag, either."
"Ta, Taega." It's all he wanted. The blade retreats to stamp into the icy sidewalk so he can return to his seat on the bench and take off his skate. It was merely being used to aid in lessening the speed of which someone might pursue him. Now that that wasn't going to be the case...
Fingers tuck into his shirt, rubbing the sore spot on his chest that would have a new bruise on that flawless skin by the morning. "It's a good thing, too. You'd make a -terrible- prostitute. We're too sweet, anyways," he mentions, fluttering a playful smile at the still standing figure. "Come. Sit with me, Taega."
He pats the bench next to him, setting the earned money in the seat. "Let's discuss how you might be able to eat like a king for the rest of your life. That is, if you're man enough to stand spending an hour with a queer."Cameron shifts on the mans side, nose nuzzling the muscle bound breast of his dearest friend. The skating hand slows to lay flat against the beating rise of Taega's chest, warmed by the thmpthmpthmping skin. Voluminous lips
( ... )
Taega's face elongates as he smugly chews his tongue, finding a faceless reason for feeling as though he'd won this battle. He'd never be the type to settle with or for anyone. Maybe take a partner shortrun. One or two small scores, a big take, and a body before the cash is split. Ruthlessness is all he needs to know to get by, but some cooperation couldn't hurt. Not for now.
They stand opposite eachother like far ends of a human spectrum. One light and flirty, making particularly gorgeous eyes up at the other, harsh and animal with eyes a total perversion of that cunning beauty. Black as sin and equally troubling. He sighs thoughtfully through his nose and turns, bending at the waist until his hands find the flat of the bench and ease him down to his seat. "Speak..."Wave after wave of cool air laps over their melded bodies, warmed near to a point of insentience. It's irrelevant. All of it. Taega's hand splays against the bare floor, arm hung over the edge of the couch to accomodate the fox. The sound of the first kiss
( ... )
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That arm retreats back to his nearly bare backside, itching a bug bite near the crease where his leg joins at his bottom. There's a fine little snap of elastic as he plays with the white waist of his laundry fresh bitchpants. "Wha's it you're 'avin' the most trouble with, ducky? It's not too complex, is it? I can refine it if'n you'd like."
Sigh. He doesn't like that look. Makes him feel slightly guilty for burdening Taega with such things. "We can work this out. You an' me."
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Yet his ankle is locked to the concrete and coaxed only slightly by the eager tense of a calf muscle.
"Taega." He's half-willing now, but the blade has far less to do with that than the fox might think. "I ain't a rent-a-fag, either."
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Fingers tuck into his shirt, rubbing the sore spot on his chest that would have a new bruise on that flawless skin by the morning. "It's a good thing, too. You'd make a -terrible- prostitute. We're too sweet, anyways," he mentions, fluttering a playful smile at the still standing figure. "Come. Sit with me, Taega."
He pats the bench next to him, setting the earned money in the seat. "Let's discuss how you might be able to eat like a king for the rest of your life. That is, if you're man enough to stand spending an hour with a queer."Cameron shifts on the mans side, nose nuzzling the muscle bound breast of his dearest friend. The skating hand slows to lay flat against the beating rise of Taega's chest, warmed by the thmpthmpthmping skin. Voluminous lips ( ... )
Reply
They stand opposite eachother like far ends of a human spectrum. One light and flirty, making particularly gorgeous eyes up at the other, harsh and animal with eyes a total perversion of that cunning beauty. Black as sin and equally troubling. He sighs thoughtfully through his nose and turns, bending at the waist until his hands find the flat of the bench and ease him down to his seat. "Speak..."Wave after wave of cool air laps over their melded bodies, warmed near to a point of insentience. It's irrelevant. All of it. Taega's hand splays against the bare floor, arm hung over the edge of the couch to accomodate the fox. The sound of the first kiss ( ... )
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