bakerstreet | (no subject)

THE LAST [X] ALIVE MEME

Everyone likes to think of themselves as unique, but what if you weren't just a bit different. What if you were the only one like you at all?

Well you'd end up in a sexual scenario obviously. Lets find out what one.

Instructions:
1) Post your characters, their canon and your preferences. Make sure to note if there are scenarios you aren't into, some of these could involve non-con, dub-con, incest, pregnancy etc.
2) Either roll up two numbers or pick a pair that you like, reply to other comments. Alternatively use your own comment to provide any number of short introductions to scenes you would like to play.

First, what are you the last of?

1. The last of your sex. The battle of the sexes had to end one way or the other. And you are the lone remnant of your side. Maybe it was a virus, radiation from space or a purposeful purge, but you're the only one with your genitals left.

2. The last of your species. Your mother? Dead. Your father? Dead. Your siblings? Dead. Everyone who shares your genetics right back to the last time the evolutionary tree branched? Dead. Except for you. Welcome to the 'good as extinct' species list, buddy. Don't matter if you're a human, vampire, unicorn or panda, you're all there is.

3. The last of your organisation. If it was the noble empire that ruled the world, the brightest band of stars of the musical world, practiser of a now lost art or the criminal association that terrorised the innocent, they're all gone but you. By assassination or accident, you're the only one carrying the (literal or metaphorical) mark identifying you as the last of the world famous group.

4. The last of your home. Remember that sleepy old home town of yours? In that lovely home country? Possibly on your beloved home planet? Well, you're the only one that does. If it was war, an accident or just the passage of time, you're a refugee who can never go home.

5. The last of your lineage. Congrats. You're so orphaned you don't have a trace of any family anywhere. Unfortunately, it turns out that your bloodline is kind of important. Maybe you're royalty or the heir to an enormous fortune, maybe your family has been prophesied to overthrow the Dark Lord. Whatever floats your boat.

6. The last...whatever. Sorry, didn't catch that. You're the last whatever you want to be.

Oh, so you're the last [X]? That sucks. So what's happening now?

1. In hiding. There's a reason you're the last, after all. Something nasty went down and you're hiding from the consequences. Sadly, the time has come for your secret to be revealed. If you're confiding in a trusted friend or you slipped up and are being blackmailed, you two now share a secret that links you together.

2. Milking it for all it's worth! Yeah it's sad and lonely and all that, but it's also a way to cash in. You control the only supply of whatever you are and demand is high, baby. You're famous and loving it. And look at all those groupies you've got without competition getting int the way...

3. Not quite the last. You've been alone for a long time now, without anyone who can really understand what it's like to be you. Good news! You're not as alone as you thought. Turns out there's another last [X] out there. Through fortune or active searching it's time for you to meet and emotions are guaranteed to run high.

4. Rebuilding. Just because you're the only one around doesn't mean you have to be the last. Could be that you're spending your days in a laboratory under going attempts to artificially increase your numbers...if you want to or not. Even if they can't biologically help, a certain doctor might have been a shoulder to cry on too. Could be that you're looking for that first apprentice you'll use to recreate your once proud group. Or you're just trying to spread your genes the old fashioned way, all day every day.

5. Getting even. Your [X] is dead...murdered... And someone's responsible! You've dedicated your life to justice or revenge. But once you've got them in your sights, something happens. Maybe killing them isn't enough and you need to humiliate them first. Perhaps dedicating your life to someone has created some odd feelings that have mixed with the feelings of the sex drive you suppressed getting this far. Or even worse, they've turned the tables and you're the one who is on the receiving end. They could always be feeling guilty and you could forgive them too...

6. Something else. You're probably more creative than me. Come up with something cool, why don't you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[A sheaf of papers falls to the floor with a quiet rustle as his bad hand clumsily knocks into one of the piles. She'd pulled the knife out so quickly that he'd missed where she was storing it, and now he wonders what part of her body had warmed the no longer cold blade.]

Is this any way to treat your employer? [His voice is equally low, a soft rumble in his throat against the blade's discomfort. It's a minuscule movement, but he actually presses closer. He's only ever felt truly alive doing two things - fighting and fucking. Lately he hasn't been doing much of either, and the possibility of a fight, even one that's not life threatening, makes his blood run just as hot.] I dare you to slice me open.

[ She refuses to have her character questioned in this matter, her breathing quickening along with her rushing heartbeat. She can't decide what's more infuriating, the fact that he doesn't seem at all bothered by the threat or the fact that he rises to meet her halfway, hips rising off the desk and canting into hers almost suggestively, until there's barely an inch of space between them.

If she was a mere girl, the unspoken challenge would be enough to make her blush, but her expression doesn't shift as she replies, a mirror image of his words, almost taunting. ] You're not just my employer.

[A smile curves his lip at her response. His own breathing sounds too loud in the silent room of a dead man he's not sure he even loved, and he tilts his head, pressing slowly into the blade. Her eyes are so bright up close, so full of fire, her hair like the purest gold. They all remind him of Cersei, yet they couldn't be less alike.]

You're not afraid of me. [She never has been. His words come out in a low murmur. The knife hurts, a pleasant sharpness against his skin.] So what is it exactly that has you afraid?

[ The knife doesn't retreat, but it doesn't press forward either, lingering in the space between. If she pulls it back now, there will be little more than a red line across his throat that will slowly fade with time. Any harder and it will break the skin, have the taste of his blood on the blade. She snarls, a subtle curl of her own mouth, and refuses to back away. ]

And you think I'll tell you.

Why wouldn't you? [It's both sarcastic and genuine at once. In one swift motion, he jerks forward with just enough control to let the knife just barely break his skin. A drop of blood wells onto the blade. It feels like a twisted sort of release, to shed blood even if it's his own.] Who would you tell if not me?

[ She hadn't meant to hurt him, and her surprise shows that, a widening of her gaze when he presses forward to force the blade into his skin, red welling up against silver before slowly trickling down the line of his throat. She pulls her hand away, holding the knife in a clenched fist that still trembles.

When she kisses him, there's a different kind of bite in it, aggressive hunger in the way she nips forcefully at his lower lip, sudden and sharp. ]

[He's expecting it, but her warm mouth still comes as a sort of surprise. He's fairly adamant in his denial of feelings, but this still feels like it's been a long time coming. It makes sense, even if the two of them don't. He cranes his neck up to push into her kiss just like he'd pushed into the knife, hot and hungry and slightly bewildered but still welcoming.

His good hand grips the edge of the desk, and his hips close the space between them, pressing against her. He bares his teeth when she nips at his bottom lip, his body responding eagerly even though she's not Cersei. She's not what he knows. She's different, completely uncharted territory, and maybe that's what makes this so exciting, especially after the light has been dimming in his life ever since he shattered his hand.]

Not so bad now, is it? [He drawls it out, a complete slave to his need to be a smartass. He lets go of the desk and places his hand against the curve of her neck instead, and he's not sure why he's surprised to find her skin as soft and feminine as he imagines any woman's would be.]

[ She doesn't completely know what's possessed her, but there's a flutter of sensation in the very core of her that sparks into life the moment her mouth collides with his - and there's no sense in calling it a kiss, really. It's more like a war of mouths, a silent sparring, lips and teeth clashing the way blades do, tongues wrestling. She tastes heat and scotch and finds herself momentarily breathless when his hips lift off the desk to press directly against hers, leaving no space leftover.

The knife slips from her hand to clatter against the floor, forgotten, and she tilts her head back when his hand smooths over the slender curve of her neck. Despite her harsh angles and lanky frame there are still some parts of her that are undeniably female. No doubt he can feel the quiver of her pulse beneath his fingertips. ]

Shut up. [ Her hands find grips in the fabric of his shirt and she yanks him up against her again, covering his mouth with hers. ]