meme posting acct (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
meeem) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
bakerstreet2018-03-31 04:03 pm
meeem) wrote in bakerstreet2018-03-31 04:03 pm
Entry tags:
the morning after meme
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ a meme
→ COMMENT WITH YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME, FANDOM, AND PREFERENCE.
→ PICK A CHARACTER YOU WANT TO TAG AND HIT UP RNG (01-10), OR CHOOSE A SCENE OF YOUR OWN.
→ PLAY NICE; NO WANK, FLAMES, OR GENERAL HUMBUGGERY.
( keep in mind that sexual scenarios are the basis of this meme! please enter with caution )
┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈ the scenarios
① BREAKFAST IN BED;
your partner is up and about -- maybe dressed, maybe not -- and in the kitchen. what are they making you? could it be... grilled cheese?
② HIT ME BABY;
they're such a peaceful sleeper. a peaceful, sexy sleeper. actually there's too much of that sleeping happening. why don't you wake the up, world's kindest alarm?
③ ESCAPE FROM AZKABED;
you wake up to find they're rummaging about for their clothes, about to leave. why the rush, can't you convince them to stay?
④ THE AFTERNOON AFTER;
and the evening, maybe even the morning after after... hours have passed but you just can't leave each other! or maybe one of you just won't...
⑤ HANGOVER FROM HELL;
there's a tiger in the closet, a baby in the bathroom, and a total stranger curled up beside you. who is this person beside you, smelling of tequila and regret? do they know any more about what, or who, went down than you do?
⑥ WET AND WILD;
don't feel too lonely waking up by yourself -- the shower's on and the sound of water falling is mighty inviting. why don't you get cleaned up -- or down and dirty all over again?
⑦ I'LL SLEEP WHEN I DIE;
sleep? what is this sleep thing you speak of? dawn's breaking and neither of you have gotten a wink, or want one. who's ready for round xxx?
⑧ A BITTER PILL;
turns out the reason you scored wasn't your sparkling wit and magnetic confidence. your partner had an ulterior motive -- they already knew it and you're about to. recon? revenge? rebound? tag and find out, if you can handle the truth!
⑨ THIS ISN'T MINE;
that sleepy person in your living room had a great night -- with your roommate. well, might as well get to know each other while you're both there, right? ... right?
⑩ WILD CARD;
roll more than once and combine scenarios, choose your favorite, or make up your own!
Marcel Verlinden | OC
⑩
Marcel's still waking up. They've got one dog on the floor, another (the tiny one) by the footboard, and really, when did he end up living with so many fucking animals? He smiles lightly, sidestepping the German Shephard's wagging tail and holding out a cup for Marcel to take, if the man can be bothered to move far enough to the left to accept it. Considering the night they've just had, one could probably forgive him for wanting to move as little as possible.
His smile widens a fraction at the thought. Raising an eyebrow, he clears his throat.]
Are you going to just make me stand here?
no subject
He's lying on his back, flexing his hips every now and then to take some pressure of his butt cheeks, because his ass feels pretty raw after the pounding JL gave it last night. Beyond that, the barest physical awareness of the aches and the buzz of sex, he's actually only half-awake, listening in on JL's trip to the bathroom and then into the kitchen. The man's better make him some fucking coffee.
At the question that follows later, in the meantime he was probably dozing off, Marcel cracks one eye fully open, glancing up at the offered cup, it steams like an old locomotive and he proceeds to open the other eye as well, so he can run both of them up and down JL's naked front. He can still kind of feel the coarseness of the hairs against his fingertips, can't he - it's something like a photographic memory, but with sensations rather than visuals. For some reason it only applies to JL, too. Marcel grunts, reaches for the cup and with a little effort, he manages to push himself up into a seated position without spilling any of its contents, good going, buddy.
When he retorts, his voice is hoarse:]
Be a little patient with my backside, okay, fucking hell.
no subject
Didn't hear you ask for any patience last night.
[Spoken with a hint of humour, the most he can manage right now with his mind and his body still so utterly, utterly sated. God, they had two amazing fucks last night and before that, really, it's been what - five days since last time? Sliding beneath the covers, he somewhat-accidentally kicks Bastard in the process, sending the small dog scurrying towards the floor. It's not that he doesn't like the dog, he just doesn't love it and when you think about what he'll do to those he loves...
His smile grows thinner. Brow furrowing, he reaches for his coffee and takes a large sip, deciding to drown the thought as quickly as possible. Besides, it's not like Marcel ever breaks. He's not made of glass.]
no subject
[He follows JL with his eyes, while the other man walks around the bed and slides in beneath the covers again. Next to him. This bed is like their throne. Today, it's their fucking stronghold. He smiles sharply, edges a bit to the right, closer to JL and focuses his attention on the coffee, noting only out the corner of his eye, while he drowns the first mouthful, that JL kicks Bastard down the bed, it's the same fucking battle every Saturday morning and since Bastard is a Chevalier and JL's got a gun, Marcel knows whom he should put his money on to come out the winner.
The dog will live. At least.
The coffee is strong, but sweetened where it washes in over his tastebuds and he drinks from the green-painted ceramics cup three times before turning his head and giving JL a direct look. At this time of day, before all the formalities and shit, he's still got his five o'clock shadow intact and looks pretty good in it, too. They had a wild time last night, two shags in a row and here he was thinking...]
Aren't you getting too old for these double fucks, huh?
[It's the closest thing they get to praising each other's efforts in bed, they aren't girls. They don't talk about fucking, they just do it.]
no subject
You're the one moaning, aren't you? Besides, you're older than me.
[Next to him on the bedside table, his phone blinks, not for the first time this morning. It's only rarely on mute - debates in parliament merit one exception, Friday night without plans another. But the flash of the screen draws his attention in any case; Anisette of the CDP, it seems, wants his attention. Happily, she can wait another few minutes while he drinks his coffee, stretching his legs out lazily and poking Marcel's foot with his toes. Poke! It's a cold foot, seeing as Marcel's blood circulation is terrible as soon as you venture south of, well, his dick. Apparently, excessive taekwondo combined with too many gang fights and broken extremities will do that to a man.]
no subject
When JL pokes his foot with his toes, he bangs it carelessly into the side of the other man's, their toes colliding clumsily and if he hadn't kicked so much butt in his life, it would probably hurt, but Marcel is used to kicking through brick, JL's foot no matter how gigantic it is, it's like a replica of his fucking spirit, won't exactly be the source of any noticeable pain. With JL, it's always a matter of having had it worse, because Mr Foreign Minister is a fucking standard in and by himself, right? Right.]
True.
[He lifts the cup to his mouth again, takes a sip without making too big a fuzz of how his asshole feels too big and too small at the same time. Somewhere above his left shoulder blade there's an itchy sort of pain mixing into the palette as well. For fuck's sake... He frowns and turns his face away, trying to glance down his own back, but even he isn't that flexible.]
Did you bite me, you fucking shitwit?
no subject
Possibly.
[His mind momentarily snaps back to their second round. Him, pounding Marcel's arse hard enough to make the bed-springs creak - the bed's not old nor particularly worn but well, they had places to go as per usual, didn't they? He doesn't want to get overly romantic about it because it wasn't, it was hard and rough and probably painful, and yes, he's left a set of tooth marks across Marcel's left shoulder so clear and sharp that someone could probably use them to identify his burned-up corpse if need be. He's not counting on it, of course. Marcel's got his back and he's got Marcel's.
Quite literally, too. ]
Seeing as you don't remember, I shouldn't admit anything.
[He moves his foot out of the way, his toes smarting from Marcel's counter-attack. Don't mess with a triple-times black belt. Shifting, he sits up more fully, props a pillow behind his back and picks up his phone. For a moment, he just sits there without looking at the display, enjoying the scent of coffee, the slight twitch in his muscles from the night's exertion. Apparently, they were right when they proclaimed sex to be an efficient type of exercise. No doubt, at least Marcel's arse will agree. The rest of him, not likely - just one of Marcel's regular work-outs would probably leave any normal person half-dead.]
no subject
Marcel half-grins, giving up on trying to catch a glimpse of JL's tooth marks, instead returning to his coffee just in time to see JL pick up his phone. Work time, then, it's fine. Blindly, he reaches out with his free arm, fumbles over the nightstand on his side for his phone and finds it with the tips of his fingers, twirling it into place against his palm and lifting it up to check. 52 unanswered texts and 11 missed calls, three - he scrolls through the list - from the same dealer downtown, fuck him, if he's had trouble with Timm again.
Raising an eyebrow, he glances over at JL again, his smile taking on an edge. They're both busy individuals, the Foreign Minister and him, Guifford, security guard, but their kingdoms do exist within the same world, right, they're breathing the same fucking air. Sometimes, like last night, they're even breathing each other in and it's so good, all his muscles still feel tired and sated and jelly-like. Who cares about some dealer downtown anyway, when Marcel got laid.]
If you tell me what's going on at your end, I'll tell you what's going on at mine.
no subject
[For a long moment, he doesn't offer any further answers, busy filtering through e-mails and texts from Friday night, many of them international. Domestic correspondence usually relates to parliament (quite a few from CD politicians, a few from his own people, one from the old man himself, one from the leader of Greens, one from... Potos, ugh, really?), whilst everything else is a colourful mix of business and politics. The legitimate kind. For other business-related endeavours, he'd need a different SIM-card. Instead, he clicks open Anisette's text message, gaze running over it quickly and a small smile forming near the corner of his mouth.]
Apparently, I'm wanted for a date tomorrow evening. Anisette Robert clearly doesn't want to spread her legs for any of the old fools within her own party - can't say I blame her.
[To be fair, she isn't actually asking for a date but rather, a professional meeting (with dinner included) to discuss an upcoming proposition, some info she's snatched from members of the Opposition. Probably wants to make sure she's got back-up in case parliament goes insane one day and decides to side with Potos and his band of idiots. But like most others, he knows that she's split from her husband earlier this year and if he can't find a way to take advantage of that, he truly has grown old.]
no subject
Face going blank, he listens to JL's little introduction, finishing his coffee in two small, lukewarm mouthfuls. He purses his lips and glances down at his phone, reading his text messages slowly, because he's not exactly a shark with words, unless you think of him ripping the long strings of letters apart with his fucking teeth. That he could do. Easily. Nothing of what's gone through the systems last night seems very urgent, but there's news from Filip and news from Filip are always interesting news. Memorizing the text takes him a couple of seconds extra, before he returns to JL's pick of topic.]
She needs her pussy liberated, obviously.
[It's not that he doesn't get the underlying political currents that will send waves through Parliament via a date like the one JL's talking about; as Guifford the Bodyguard, Marcel listens in on enough backstabbing to put the underground to shame and warns JL of whatever he picks up in time, it's just that right now he doesn't give a rat's ass. His muscles still feel dull and unresponsive. His asshole still feels raw.]
no subject
Jean Louis remembers well what people thought about Marcel, what they thought they knew just by looking at his built and judging his slow learning pace. It didn't take long for the two of them to team up with regards to Marcel's school work, Jean Louis reading the texts aloud for him at his own pace and training his own reading skills simultaneously. Marcel went to class, read the texts aloud slowly, carefully, without his teachers ever realising that he'd memorised every single word, from start to finish.
For a long moment, Jean Louis just watches him quietly, thinking back on his previous comment. The blankness of his reply, the almost obvious detachment. Eyebrow going up slowly, he puts his coffee away and leans in far enough to rest his chin on the other man's broad shoulder, a would-be sweet gesture that mostly just gives him a better angle for catching a glimpse at Marcel's phone. He wipes a few long bangs away from his face, his warm breath ghosting over Marcel's neck and collarbone.]
I showed you mine - now show me yours.
no subject
JL's head is a firm weight where it comes to a rest on his shoulder and his breath ghosts, warm and wet, over Marcel's collarbone, up his neck. Fuck. The tinkling in his groin returns full force. He shifts slightly, lifts the shoulder beneath JL's chin to accommodate the angle of his jaw. They're two big fuckheads next to each other, aren't they? You have to wonder, how they make room, how they're not taking up each other's space. Hey, it's called dedication. It's called respect. Big words and big things, but they're also aiming to take over a fucking big world, they need to keep the proportions right.
He swipes back to Filip's text that he'd just finished, when JL made his royal-ass entry. the philosopher's thinking: he wants to mix lepers into the luxembourg market, Filip writes and uses the code for general black-market pharmaceutical products, lepers. He angles the screen so JL can read for himself, at the same time laying out the problem:]
I'd heard rumors that he stashed expired Viagra somewhere. Didn't know what he needed it for.
[They've had problems with Erwin since the beginning, since they killed de Groot and someone else needed to take over the Dutch underground - or well, parts of it, because Augustus and Pilate needed their spoils of war, of course, they were fucking due. So, now they're constantly running around after some sniveling bastard who thinks he's deserved the whole fucking kingdom, even though Marcel and JL only took what was theirs. Hey, they're generous that way.
Marcel turns his head slightly, his cheek sliding over the side of JL's face and his lips colliding with the other man's nose, because it's so damn huge. He breathes in, breathes out - then draws back to cast a glance at JL's face, close-up.]
no subject
He breathes out slowly, feeling calmer right now, at this very moment, than he has for several weeks, maybe more. Erwin be damned.]
Really. [He reaches out, running his fingertip up and down the screen, reading the message over again, eyes not really seeing the screen so much as following the movement of the visuals. His voice remain quiet, though there's a flat edge creeping into his tone.] Tell me again why we'd rather play with him than a gangwar, Marcel. The Italians are laughing at us at this point, it's fucking embarrassing.
[His jaw tightens at that last sentence, words in Luxembourgish coming out almost like a snarl.]
no subject
All of this runs through Marcel's mind while JL bitches in his usual way about the Philosopher and it isn't because Marcel doesn't care, it's just because JL already knows why they're keeping their swords sheathed and their guns quiet, okay, it's because they don't have the manpower yet. What JL also knows is that it's only a matter of time and effort. They'll get there and they'll kill Erwin off for good.
Until then, he's got plenty of time to stare at JL's features, the way he tightens his jaw and speaks like an epic phone sex session gone horribly wrong. His voice all growling and dark and assertive like shit. Shit. Narrowing his eyes, Marcel doesn't even consider it for a second, but does at least let him finish talking, before he leans in and sucks the other man's lower lip into his mouth.]
no subject
As if reading his train of thought, Marcel leans in after a few long stares and catches his bottom lip. Sucking it into his mouth. He feels his whole body stiffen, thoughts completely and utterly derailed and for a moment, all he can focus on is how hot and wet the other man's mouth is, the slight pull on his lip, the warmth of his mouth. Fuck. Okay, so getting angry about Erwin is quite frankly a useless endeavour and he shouldn't be wasting his time with it, point taken.
Leaning in closer, he runs his hand over Marcel's collarbone, up and around his neck to the back of his head. Fingertips sliding over his shaved skull, he presses their lips together and pushes his tongue inside - nothing half-arsed about this, especially not if it's supposed to distract him from thoughts of bloody, terrible revenge.]
no subject
Parting his lips, he lets JL's tongue inside, feeling the rush of expectation gathering between his legs, he's half-hard in the blink of an eye as is his fucking way, shit. Reaching up with the hand closest to JL, he aligns his fingers with the flatness of the other man's chest, across the expanse of ribs, close to his side, so he can easily slide his hand around and curve them across his upper arm, tug, tug. Come here, weakling, it says as he pulls JL with him down into a more reclining position, his ass screaming the entire way as he drags his ass cheeks over the mattress. He doesn't break the kiss, sliding his tongue wetly up along the underside of JL's own, claiming and taking.
With Mr Fucking Foreign Minister lying halfway on top of him, Marcel's ass still feels raw and the fucking excitement isn't exactly making his lower body seeming any less active, but whatever.
YOLO, right?]