(no subject)

[lolawolf]

The Abrupt Kissing Meme

 

 

Plain and simple: your character is being kissed. Abruptly. How did this happen? Were they talking too much to the point where it was the only way to shut them up? Was someone bidding adieu or just not able to hold in their feelings? Or was this some CPR class gone bad? More importantly—how do they react?

How this works:
→ Leave a comment with the usual information in the subject line: character name, fandom. Any preferences, including what you don't want, should be included as well. Congratulations, your character is being kissed by whoever tags them!
→ Tag around.
→ Feel free to roll RNG (1-9) if you cannot come up with scenarios of your own.
→ Have fun, and be excellent to each other!

• 1 — Simply put: I like you. (You may or may not know this already.)
• 2 — I did it to shut you up. (It worked, didn't it?)
• 3 — I've always been curious... (About what it'd be like to kiss you.)
• 4 — It was an accident! (I totally tripped!)
• 5 — Farewell. (I may never see you again and...!)
• 6 — Taunting. (Bet you didn't see that attack coming didja?)
• 7 — CPR (You were asleep and you suddenly woke up..?)
• 8 — No more waiting! (Ain't nobody got time for that.)
• 9 — Fuck da police. (In other words, the random/whatever option.)

Comments

( 009. ) sorry i only seem to tag you on this meme with drunks

[sexeyes]

[ he doesn't do breakups well. for someone who's rather careful about the way he acts and the way he presents himself, he certainly gets reckless when he powers down the screwdrivers with such merciless speed. he just — it's a lot to deal with, so much information to process even if it was something he could see coming from miles and miles off. it was so obvious, but still so stupidly brutal. he wishes he could click his fingers and make all the memories, good and bad, go away. erase people from his mind, from his consciousness. he's bottled up the tears because that's just stupid, even though he knows tomorrow's inevitable hangover will make it happen. he can blame it on the headache.

still, alcohol doesn't really change him that much, besides making him more abruptly impulsive. brash rather than smoothly charming. that's why he just walks over to this young man and smacks one on him. a tug at the hem of his jacket, a little more forceful than intended, purely by accident and by alcohol laden momentum — brief, but perfectly clear in his intentions. beau's teeth graze his lower lip, his eyes half lidded and looking almost a little sleepy. when he pulls back, his mouth spreads into an impossibly lazy looking grin. ]

Don't suppose I could buy you a drink, could I?

[ were he capable of retrospect at this moment in time, he would have reflected upon the fact that this would probably be one of the easiest ways to unearth a random stranger's latent homophobic and end up with a black eye. mind you, beau's overly confident of his gay/bi/open minded-dar at the moment. he doesn't care if he's wandering into trouble. ]

ew

[broil]

[Why Petre's here by his lonesome is no big mystery. This is just a city of thousands out there where one god or another is worshiped; Diana and Petre have therefore swooped in for information and to search for a Messiah, Saint, possibly even a God itself to lock 'n load and blow some brains out. The Devil's Messiah and her trusty Demon sidekick deserve a break every now and then, so they part ways for the night and he makes his jolly old way to the nicest looking bar he can find.

He's got a cigarette in his hands. He's just about one of a million in this bar, if the smoke fogging up the air's anything to go by, neon lights humming in the dimly lit environment, just about inviting people to go to one another and -

Well. Abruptly kiss them wasn't what he was thinking, more along the lines of hitting up an inanely friendly conversation in hopes of exchanging numbers and fluids.

(Ew, Petre.)

Petre doesn't jerk, he just makes a face like he's been asked to choose between two oddly looking dresses for the night, blinking at Beau while the cigarette burns away between two fingers, elbow resting on the counter.

Someone tastes like drunk. He likes that very much. Makes them all the more suggestible. Makes him all the more suggestive.]

No. [His lips are neutral, slowly curling into a small smile. It makes him look like a schoolboy, honey-gold hair slicked to the side.] You should buy me a drink.

well then

[sexeyes]

[ it's kind of funny because beau can be terribly guarded about even his short term entanglements, but everyone has their slips. not that he could ever imagine what the background of this particular individual might be, regardless of the fact that he works for a literary agency and spends at least 75% of his time reading. his imagination somehow manages to hit a total standstill when it comes to real life. something about being a little overly cautious about letting himself run away with the ideas of romance he often comes across. it's no wonder he can't hold onto a relationship.

he flushes with pleasure at the positive response, tipping his head to one side in a way that simultaneously makes him look coquettish and innocent, allowing himself a little huff of laughter as he straightens up the hem he disturbed. the movement is slightly apologetic, a sort of unspoken "i'm not usually like this", if only in approach. ]

What're you having?

[ the taste of smoke lingers pleasantly on beau's lips. he's always rather liked smoking, in a strange, roundabout kind of way, since he'd never really been a smoker himself. the smell doesn't bother him much, and he almost likes being immersed in the dreamy haze. it probably makes him a little strange, but he doesn't care. he remains firmly planted in this stranger's personal space, making no effort to take any steps back, lose any of their proximity. ]

[broil]

[It's only his eyes that move; he doesn't lower his head or tip his chin when Beau's hand moves to fixed what was displaced. The kiss might as well have just been a friendly hello, but it was nice and sloppy enough that it left Petre wondering what else they (he) could get away with. There's still some reading of this young fellow he has to do - see where corruption will tug at his chest the best. Lust's an obvious one, but there's some other kind of potential there.

He'll see. Petre puts the cigarette out, crosses his arms over the counter and turns his head lazily to the other man.]

Get us six shots of tequila and ask me three questions.

[sexeyes]

As you might be able to tell, I hardly need more tequila shots. [ not said in a tone that suggests he is adverse to this idea, all the same. he leans in to the bar, catching the bartender's attention quickly (the place is mercifully at the ideal "not too full" capacity, which means there's plenty of people with whom to mingle and ordering drinks isn't a total nightmare). when he turns back to the other man, his expression is questioning. ] Do they have to be interesting questions?

[ he tilts his head, curiously. ]

Do you ask me questions, too?

[broil]

One thing at a time, my friend.

[He's smiling openly, picking up the first shot that makes it to the counter.]

Just ask me whatever you want. I give you an answer. You have to guess if it's true or false. If you get it right, I drink the shot. You get it wrong, you drink.

[sexeyes]

What can I say, I've a tendency to get carried away. Impatient, me.

[ his eyes narrow somewhat beseechingly for a moment, turning his expression into something more intense than necessarily required for the situation, like he's overly concerned about choosing the right kind of question (which he is). and just as quickly, he relaxes again. ]

Let's begin with something simple. What's your name?

[broil]

Bruce.

[He smiles easily. True or false, boyo.]

[sexeyes]

[ beau barks with laughter, shaking his head. ]

Oh my god, you don't even remotely look like a Bruce. I say lie.

[broil]

What, are you insulting my mother or something?

[He looks genuinely offended, too.]

Like Bruce isn't a good name?

[The pause between them is tense. He may not have pulled off that lie, but he's still a rather good actor.

Then his expression breaks into a grin, and he downs the drink.]

Next.

[sexeyes]

[ if he succeeded in tricking beau into thinking he was genuinely offended, beau doesn't seem to show it, even if he was very briefly terrified on the inside. he grins again, though, pleased with himself when the shot is taken. ]

Oh, believe me, when it comes to mothers making bad decisions in terms of names, I know all about that.

[ he quietens, thinking. ]

How many others have you played this game with?

[broil]

Zero. You're the first. I literally just thought of this game right now.

[Truth.]

[sexeyes]

[ this answer requires a little more consideration, up until the moment that he shakes his head again. ]

Nah. I reckon you've whipped it out a few times before.

[broil]

[And this time he picks up the glass to hand it over.]

Sorry, you're just that special.

[Drink up.]

[sexeyes]

Really? [ not quite so secretly, beau looks a little pleased, even if his tone is sardonic. ] I'm so flattered. Bottoms up and that.

[ he takes the glass, throwing it back without so much as a flinch, though the corner of his mouth twists a little with the burn of alcohol down the back of his throat. ]

[broil]

I'm full of ideas. You might just figure that out if you stick around long enough.

[he's full of smiles, too.]

Last one, go.

[sexeyes]

Incentives, incentives.

[ he draws out his next question deliberately, both for effect and not knowing whether it's beyond obnoxiously cheesy. the line seems so fine, sometimes. ]

Are you going to come home with me tonight?

[broil]

If you play your cards right, stranger. [he does have standards, okay.]

[sexeyes]

[ oi, look at how pretty he is, your standards can take a hike ]

True.

[ he grins, because he'd like it to be so, and nudges a drink in the young man's direction with a raise of his eyebrows. ]

[broil]

[could still have a small dick

Petre drinks it up with zero issues. Once the shot is down, the claps his hands and rubs his palms together. His turn.]

Worst lay you ever had.

[sexeyes]

[ his dick is fine, thanks, but relevantly enough, ]

Er, let's see. French fellow — which ruined so many teenage fantasies — all schmooze and charm, and a grower, not a shower, I'll give him that, but fell asleep about ten minutes in. After twenty minutes of really wacky foreplay, no less. Woke up when I slapped him, had the cheek to ask me who I was.

[broil]

[He's barking out a laugh, because Petre's imagination is a vivid one and that just strikes him with the best and worst mental images ever. He hopes the guy had a shitty hipster mustache.]

Fuck, I hope it's true.

[sexeyes]

[ now it's beau's turn to laugh, tipping his head back a little with genuine mirth. ]

God, do you think that's bad? Nah, not even close, that was like. Child's play. Worst time was in fact when some bloke in Hackney threw up on my dick. [ he's drunk enough not to care about imparting this information, alas. ] Drink up.

[broil]

[LAUGHING EVEN HARDER

like throwing his head back and making hideous noises]

This is the sweetest shot I will ever have in my life.

[DOWNS IT SO HAPPILY. Makes slight hissing sound.]

Okay. Best lay.

[sexeyes]

You're welcome. Now you'll never ever find a reason to consider your own sex life as mediocre or suffering.

[ there's a slightly more thoughtful pause here. ]

Up in the air. Had a lot of good times, none I can call the best.