a text a day.

[madscenes]

TEXTING MEME
You’ve got your TFLN, you’ve got your sexting, now here’s the meme for all those gen texts, phone calls, voicemails, pictures of your cats, and whatever else your little heart can come up with, because who doesn't like a little old fashioned friendly texting. (Or enemy texting, if that's more your bag.)

instructions: What it says on the tin! Leave a comment with your character, include preferences, a start, absolutely nothing or whatever you want. Run around and reply to others. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Comments

[whelm]

only if you drink me after

[stunglasses]

Only if you bring me that spare suit.

[whelm]

done deal

[stunglasses]

See you in five, latte.

[whelm]

cute

[stunglasses]

( do you perhaps wanna do a thread? no worries if you're not interested but i figured i'd ask before throwing you a starter! )

[whelm]

[ i was going to pm you this very same question, yes! absolutely! please and ty! ]

[stunglasses]

[ To be fair, he still wouldn't call it a distraction.

Merely the wrong place at the wrong time, or maybe the wrong order at the wrong time, because waiting for the annoyingly specific cup of coffee for his lazy partner means being at the counter to pick it up, and it's not the girl's fault, he thinks, she must be new. But her shoes slide against the polished tile and her words tremble with the order number, and then the entire cup comes skidding across counter, the lid snapping open and plastic giving way to milk and ice and one and a half pumps of vanilla and espresso, and to his credit, he doesn't even let out a sound of dismay. He just stands there for a moment, wondering if this means he'll have to pay for dry cleaning, or if he can mop up the spill and salvage the clothes enough to be worn the next day.

She's nearly tearfully apologetic, maybe out of fear for the man who stands at least a foot taller than her, with glasses blocking his gaze from truly falling on her; and he feels guilty, even though it's not his fault at all, and gets bundles of napkins to start wiping up the mess despite her obvious protests. Mostly he's just aware of how ridiculous he looks--and smells, once he's back in the car and heading to the office again. Beeping through security again. Standing in the elevator again, where someone side eyes the still-wet sleeves of his suit, or maybe it's the fact that he smells like cake frosting, but either way.

There's an embarrassed flush to his expression once he pulls open the door to the meeting room and finds Reno there waiting for him, and he sets down the drink carrier, one-handed, onto the wide table.]

Latte for my latte. [ He says, playfully deadpan. He won't even waste spilling it on Reno, as much as he wants to.] Did you wait long?

[ He's trying not to smile as he starts to shed his jacket then and there, carefully undoing the buttons to start to peel it off his shoulders. Part of him wonders if Reno sat here the whole time, sulking over his flirting, which definitely didn't happen though the girl did give him some discounted receipt and her name, stuffed into his pocket. But he finds that's just another one of those charming things he likes about Reno. It's oddly nice, to feel wanted enough to warrant a flicker of jealousy, and he'd probably worry about the same thing in reverse. With more of a right to--Reno's a talented flirt.]

[whelm]

Are you blushing?

[ Which is what takes priority the moment he looks up after the drink carrier is set down, glancing up with a grin wide enough to choke an imp. Not the absurdly cute statement nor the way the man smells like his aftershave sprinkled over something overly sweet but the uneven blotch of red high on his cheeks. It's a sight he's familiar with though it doesn't usually accompany a coffee run.

Reno doesn't really have a jealous streak, it's more a marriage of the ornery and the obnoxious, but the thought that Rude might still be flushed over some clumsy barista has him somewhat agitated — though it may only be the lack of caffeine in his system.

He reaches for the coffee and flicks the carrier hard, not watching it balance precariously on the edge of the long table because Rude's taking off his jacket and he swivels in place to watch, kicking long legs up onto the chair next to him, sinking a little down where he sits. ]

Ages. [ Blatantly exaggerated, he kicks one ankle up over the other, sucking a mouthful of hard-earned milk and syrup through the straw. Rude taking off a layer of his suit might be equivalent to the scant espresso in the plastic cup that he grips, letting it dangle from his fingers as he holds it off the side of the chair's arm rest by a few fingers now, bordering on pointedly careless.

He cocks his head to one side, thoughtfully: ] Huh. You smell nice.

[stunglasses]

No.

[ And if he were Pinocchio, then his nose would be growing, too.

The carrier catches on the edge of the table and he just barely has the reflexes to catch it before it falls to the ground; he's not about to leave any trash in the room, not for them to get scolded about it later. Granted, maybe Reno could do with a little scolding, but he could do without the headache of trying to get him out of it. Small crisis averted, he folds his jacket gingerly, draping it over the back of the chair closest to him.

There's the whole width of the table between them, and Reno's already slouching down into his chair like he belongs there; Rude presses a hand against cool, polished surface and leans his weight into it, the other reaching up to stubbornly adjust his glasses. He doesn't want to tell Reno that whatever he's thinking is wrong; that he's flushed from the embarrassment of being stared at, more than anything else. It's unnerving from strangers--he almost prefers to be the type to blend back into the wall. That's why having Reno for a partner is so lucrative.

At least the coffee seems marginally good enough, in that one precious moment of silence where the straw goes between Reno's lips and Rude has the good grace to at least pretend like he's not watching him, or, arguably, his mouth.

He clears his throat. ]

I smell like dessert. [ Dryly, a hint of discomfort in his voice--he lifts the hand from the table so that he can touch at the collar of his shirt, turning his head in to give it a testing sniff.]

And if you can smell it from all the way over there, I should hit the showers.

[ Conspicuously absent, he realizes, is the supposed spare suit.]

[whelm]

Yeah, you could do that. [ There's a caveat in his tone that suggests but I have something better in mind and even without Rude's years of experience translating what Reno says and what he means, it would still be obvious. There shouldn't be anything particularly funny with Rude being so discomfited by having coffee dumped on him, something just annoying enough to set off even the most evenly tempered of people but it's just amusing enough to see the man awkward and uncomfortable in his suit.

It's not how he prefers to watch him squirm so instead of expanding, Reno stretches out his arm to set the coffee some distance away before balancing himself with one palm on the table. Kicking the chair his feet had been resting on, he swivels his weight and hops up ass first on the table in one swift motion; a maneuver done so quickly and with some degree of grace that he manages not to make it look utterly absurd. Someone less leggy, less quick, would have almost certainly ate shit.

He pulls himself across the table between them until his legs dangle off the edge on either side of Rude and it's only because his mind is decidedly less idle now that he doesn't think to be annoying enough to slap the drink carrier off the table for good measure.

There probably is a spare suit the right size tucked away in one of the surrounding, infrequiently used rooms only Reno never suggested he was going to track it down. Reno knows it's likely just as he knows their morning briefing has been cancelled, a memo and a quick rundown sent out to their phones. He doesn't know if Rude knows but he doesn't ask, either. ]

But wasn't Plan A me licking it off you? [ With a lopsided grin that suggests he's both serious but ready not to be taken seriously, he reaches to loosen Rude's tie with one hand, the other slipping to his hip, hooking a thumb into the waistband of his trousers, tugging him closer. ]

[stunglasses]

[ The chair makes some god-awful sound when it squeaks and spins, slightly, from the effort of Reno's legs kicking at it, and he should have expected the move, where Reno's hips hit the table and his long legs come spiraling over the other edge like the entire thing is just some silly vault in a marathon race; he slides across it the way that a predator might come, slowly, in towards his prey, and he doesn't really mind it because these are the kinds of things he's had years to get used to. They don't even faze him anymore. He stands there, patient, like he doesn't want to know what might happen if he steps outside of the breadth of Reno's arms; doesn't want to be reeled in by the length of his tie and choked until the collar comes loose.

There's also just this enticing air about his partner that seems impossible to escape from--the room closes in like the center of it is Reno and that smile on his face, all lopsided and warm, where he sits on the edge of the table and Rude's forgotten all about that drink carrier now when he's pulled in by the waistband of his pants and Reno's hand reaches up to start to loosen that knot at his throat.

A glance, spared through his glasses, towards the wide windows of the meeting room; they should pull the blinds shut, though he imagines that might just be part of the fun. It annoys him that he even thinks that; maybe they've been spending too much time together. Reno's full of these bad decisions and he's supposed to be the one to reel him in; or indulge him, apparently.

Placated, his hands press down on Reno's thighs, less of a balance for his weight and more because he wants to fit his fingers around them and squeeze, slide up from his knee towards his hips and push them further apart, fitting himself in right against the edge of the table between them. ]

I assume there's no meeting. [ He says dryly; his phone had pinged with messages other than Reno's, sure, but he'd been in such a disarray that he hadn't even thought to check.]

Which means we have the time. [ And he's not going to deny that having Reno's tongue on him is anything short of desirable.]