bakerstreet | Drink Me

[ Not into being affected by blue, all others are fair game! ]

Scott had been against the idea originally. This was the kind of scene that Jackson thrived under, which meant that it was almost the complete opposite of anything Scott was good at dealing with. But when his mate finally puts his foot down and insists that they have to go to at least this party, out of any of the others this year, he could really find a good reason to say no. And since it was Lydia's annual birthday blowout, the party of the year, Scott figured he had to at least make an appearance.

That didn't stop him from being completely awkward about it as they walked into the house together though, tugging at the collar of his shirt like it'd come alive and strangle him. Compared to Jackson, who looked comfortable and was joking around with some guys he didn't even recognize, Scott just kind of wandered aimlessly among the crowd, hoping that Stiles or someone would show up and they could be uncomfortable together.

He just had to remind himself that this was something he had to do for his mate. And because they were trying to be normal. They may have been put into assigned roles, but as much as Jackson's was part of who he was now, this was who he was too, and Scott probably wouldn't have liked him so much if he wasn't just a little bit of an asshole and a lot of the guy people envied. So he backed off just for the night, finding the drink and snack table and pretty much becoming best friends with it for the night.

Around the fourth glass of whatever fizzy pink girly drink that Scott had consumed (It's Lydia's party, almost every drink was pink and classyish), he was feeling pretty good. He was pretty sure the drink was still nonalcoholic, sparkling champagne, despite Lydia announcing that it was some high quality stuff, but maybe she was right because he was really loosening up right now. He was laughing, chatting it up with a few people he knew from school, and one girl even pulled him onto the dance floor for a few minutes. Once the song ended though, he only had one thing on his mind.

He needed to find Jackson right now.

So, it didn't matter that his mate was standing in a circle with a bunch of their teammates, talking about he didn't care what right now. Scott bee lines to him and wraps himself around Jackson's arm and pulling him close, resting his cheek on his taller mate's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world to do in front of their team... It wasn't, but he didn't care. He just wanted to cling and nuzzle against that arm.

Jackson was finding himself... surprisingly okay with this. With how things were between them, even if it was against everything that he pretended to be. He liked the way that Scott's hands felt on him, he liked the way he treated him, and the spark that nestled in the hormones and the chemistry. He doesn't bitch, too much, that Scott's not as into the parties that he used to have a strict attendance policy for.

But, tonight? He refuses to let Scott turn him into no-fun-Jackson. And, it's Lydia's birthday party. It's like the social event of the year. And Scott's almost friends with her, and odds say Stiles will be there too, so of all the parties that Jackson could drag him to, it's the one he feels the least bad about when he puts his foot down and demands. Of course, he refuses to acknowledge that he considered Scott's feelings in this, even if they both know better.

So, they came. Jackson's eyes sparkled as he dragged his eyes over what Scott was wearing, while he looked preppy and perfect and as comfortable as if it was the skin he was born in. He wandered, chatting up guys, slapping shoulders, accepting drinks, while quietly keeping a helpless awareness of where the Alpha was in relation to him. He found it was somehow impossible not to; he needed to know.

So, he's not surprised when Scott walks up at he's talking, laughing with their friends. Lydia, Danny, Stiles, Allison... and then Scott physically winds himself around his arm, pulling him close, jostling him just a bit as he pulls him in close, the liquid jostling in his cup, but not spilling over as Scott's cheek pressed to his shoulder. He swallowed, shrugging and trying to play it off, although Lydia looked smug, like she'd just won the fucking lottery. Fuck.

"How much have you had to drink, McCall?"

See, this is Jackson being Jackson, and not Scott's Omega that really-really-really likes the idea of nuzzling and doesn't care about spilled drinks or what Stiles thinks. Not really.

If Scott had been paying attention to the group that Jackson was talking to, he would have at least tried to be a little more reserved and subtly about things. The drink has him completely focused on his mate though, and he doesn't even care that Lydia is just smirking, Danny and Stiles' jaws both dropped, and Allison... Oh god, Allison was right there. Even after the breakup, Scott still loved her, but that was history now... But that didn't mean he wanted to rub his relationship with Jackson in her face. He didn't even notice her at all right now.

"Mm, there's no alcohol in the drinks," Scott murmurs.

He nuzzles into Jackson's arm, holding it in a way that left the other wolf's hand positioned right next to his crotch, and that made it obvious that Scott was feeling hard and needy. He keeps rubbing against him, having a hard time standing still and when he's in such close proximity to his omega.

"Come on, Jackson," He murmurs as he leans up to nip at the wolf's ear affectionately, trying to coax him to put his arms around him. He's not being particularly insistent, at least not in a dominating sense right now. He just feels cuddly and wants to be closer to his mate. He doesn't really care who watches at the moment, or that he looks like the worst example of an alpha there ever was.

"I'm not so sure about that. You ever heard about spiking the punch?"

He's doing his best to look incredulous, which is supposed to try and detract from the fact that his fingers are right by Scott's crotch, and he can feel how hard he is through his jeans. Oh, this is not going to end well. Scott's rubbing against him, almost grinding into his hand, and Jackson is trying very hard to not react.

Mostly for Allison's sake. And because he's not sure he wants Scott fucking him on the snack table as he tries to herd his drunk Alpha into a bedroom. Maybe he should start working on that. But, he's trying to not look completely guilty here.

He's about to say something when Scott nips at his ear, and he gasps sharply, a shiver through him, and what was he saying again? He's completely forgotten. He blinks and tries to regain his train of thought.

"Look, McCall, you should, uh, try eating something."

No, he's not rubbing the heel of his palm against Scott's erection, not even a little.

Scott doesn't respond to that question. He didn't care if he was drunk, though he was pretty sure he wasn't, he was finally enjoying the party, and that was something that had to be shared with Jackson, even if it looked wildly inappropriate to everyone else right now. Jackson, dressed up for the party, was just too tempting to ignore right now, and he was sure that his omega wouldn't mind too much, even as he tries to keep the peace.

"I'm not hungry," He replies a bit insistently, moving to stand in front of Jackson, trying against to get his mate to wrap his arm around him. He keeps lightly rolling his hips against Jackson's palm, sighing softly. "At least not for food right now," He leans up to press his lips to his mate's kissing him slow and leisurely.

The others are definitely all eyes on them, and Scott thinks he can hear the sound of Lydia's phone recording this spectacle. He still doesn't care though. Jackson was his, after all, so he could do this anytime and anywhere that he wanted to. "Don't make me command it."

Telling himself that he shouldn't let Scott do this, that the other boy will regret it in the morning are suddenly totally meaningless. Scott slipping in front of him, lips pressing against Jackson's own, and he can't help but murmur, shivering and pressing into the warmth of it. It's affectionate, sweet almost, and that's new, the way that there's no biting teeth... Not that he doesn't enjoy teeth and scratching and so much more very, very much, but it catches him off guard. In the good sort of way, so that when Scott offers that reproach, all he can do is sigh.

"Of course not," he breathes against his Alpha's lips in a way that tries to be affectionate, a little apologetic. The last thing he needs is to turn Scott from fluffy-adorable puppy mode and into growly Alpha that would shove him to the floor and fuck him here and now and Jackson would have no hope of taking this somewhere missing Lydia and her camera. He curls his arms around him, nuzzling his cheek into his shoulder.

He knows they're being watched. The two co-captains of the Lacrosse team? Yeah, of course everyone is all eyes on deck. And, as Jackson loved to point out -- he was everyone's type.

Scott's glad when Jackson goes along with what he wants and puts his arms around him. The alpha wolf just hums appreciatively giving Jackson another quick kiss before finally releasing his arm and wrapping his around the other wolf, burying his face into Jackson's neck and breathing in his scent, sighing softly with the exhale and resting his head against his shoulder.

"Thank you," He murmurs. He tries not to use the threat of using his status to force Jackson to do anything. He knows that the other has his pride and doesn't like it, and, really, Scott doesn't want to use that because he likes Jackson. He wanted the other wolf to want him because he does... Not because Scott tells him to.

Scott still couldn't care less that everyone was watching them, and more people than just Lydia had their phones out. In a way, he wanted this. Jackson was everyone's type, and he was Scott's... So the alpha felt no shame in pressing his lips to the omega's neck affectionately for all to see.

"I love you, Jackson."

Jackson would like to pretend that just wrapping his arms around Scott doesn't overly affect him, that it doesn't make his heart lurch when their lips touch again, but it does. They're so close his senses are filled with the smell of him, the scent of Alpha that shivers through his body. There's a slight hint of a smile as Scott's head leans on his shoulder, and he's almost forgetting that everyone's watching with his ,ate so close and so affectionate.

He murmurs in sweet acceptance to that breathy thank you that Scott breathes between them. It wasn't that he didn't want to, he was really just trying to keep his Alpha from doing something he'd regret, and really? If Scott doesn't care, it's not like Jackson's going to bother playing the righteous one. Even if this is not how he'd planned on coming out as gay to his friends.

And then Scott says it and his world stops. It tumbles off it's axis and he's left wide-eyed and open-mouthed before he manages to look at him, meet those puppy eyes and swallow. His mind is suddenly racing, and the terrible thing is? He does. He really does. He doesn't know what he'd do without him. He bites his bottom lip briefly and then leans in, brushing Scott's lips with a kiss.

"Love you too."

Scott probably would have cared a little about doing something like this out in public right now, but he was feeling so good right now, Jackson felt strong and solid against him while at the same time like he was just meant to pressed up against him like this, and the drinks he had were lowering his inhibitions enough to make the other things far more important than personal appearances.

And when Jackson says those words back, Scott's heart skips a beat and feels tight in his chest. Alpha or not, Scott was still the dopey, lovedrunk puppy that he always was, and hearing Jackson say those words back to him, for the first time... Well, there's no other reason to explain the way Scott is looking at him with a huge grin on his face... Or why Lydia makes an almost squealing sound as she's gotten the whole confession on video.

Without another word, Scott's arms move to Jackson's neck, and he pulls him closer for a deeper kiss, this time a lot more needy and aggressive as his tongue pushes past Jackson's lips to explore his mate's mouth. The rest of the world was completely forgotten to hims right now, and after a few minutes of making out, he finally pulls back and leans to whisper in Jackson's ear, though he's speaking nowhere near as quietly as he thinks he is.

"We need to go. Right now."

Jackson is quietly aware that Lydia is watching, recording, and that unlike most of the onlookers and friends snapping pictures, she's not going to assume that he's the one bending over for McCall, not going to think that when Scott says we have to leave now it''s because he's desperate for Jackson's cock. He knows they'll have to talk about it later, or there will be no end to the stash of photos and videos on her phone and he's not sure he'll be able to put up with the litany of her smug looks. However, at the moment he's still reeling and breathless from the kiss, the way it's harder than before, needy and possessive and Jackson wants more, and that's why he really can't be bothered to care what Lydia or anyone else thinks

Of course, it would have been nice if Scott had said that quietly enough to not get picked up by Lydia's phone. He's not sure they're that lucky.

Maybe Scott's rubbing off on him or maybe this has just gone so far he can't be convinced that anything he does fucking matters, but he curls an arm around Scott, leaning in for a kiss, open-mouthed and inviting. And then, he tells himself, then they can leave. He just needs to feel him, taste him again, and he nibbles on Scott's bottom lip, fingers sliding down through fabric, and just needing one more moment of reassurance, of hands against his body and lips against his. And then they can slide out to his car, head back to his place and secure themselves some much needed privacy for what comes after.

Namely, the sex.

It probably wouldn't be long before the internet is coated with them and blog posts about how Scott McCall craves co-captain's cock, but Scott really couldn't care less right now. People could believe whatever they wanted about them, all that mattered was the he and Jackson had their roles to play and he each other. What they did behind closed doors was their business, and whatever people thought of them... Well... Maybe it could be a gift to Jackson. The guy had his pride, and becoming an omega left that shaken. He and Scott were doing the right things sexually, but he wanted to let Jackson keep his pride.

And Scott's genuinely happy that Jackson pulls him closer for another kiss, taking advantage of the invitation to explore his mate's mouth eagerly. He wanted Jackson to want this, to want him, and he wanted it to be more than just because their instincts forced them to. He wanted Jackson to want him because it was really what he wanted, and in the interest of making sure that he didn't feel like nothing mattered, he was trying to give his omega a little more freedom... Even if he was constantly worried that another wolf would try to fuck him if he wasn't around to stop it... He was worried Jackson might not be able to say no to them.

But right now, he's just happy being with Jackson like this, feeling his body and tasting his lips. It's so hard to resist his mate, and they needed to get to the car as soon as possible, because Scott was already trying to start unbuttoning Jackson's shirt.

Jackson murmurs as Scott takes him up on that wordless offer of wanton, parted lips. He wanted this, if he was honest with himself, which he wasn't always. He liked the way it felt when their mouths pressed together, the way Scott kissed him hard and insistent and biting and like he was afraid of letting go. He wasn't exactly the only one, either. Jackson liked him. He wanted him aside from being in heat, aside from the way the scent of him filled his senses and made him crave McCall. There were other moments too, like when he'd see him across the Lacrosse field, or with that doofy grin in last year's Lacrosse photo. And he wanted him. He liked his rough hands and rough words and the way it felt as Scott pushed into him.

It's when Scott's fingers start unbuttoning his shirt that he realizes he's delayed too long, and he's pulling away, grinning, pressing a nearly chaste kiss to Scott's lips before he's nudging him toward the door. "C'mon," he insists with a heat in his voice that hints he wants this as much as Scott, if perhaps a bit less drunkenly. He doesn't do anything to discourage Scott's hands from his shirt, but he rather hurriedly works on moving them through the crowd of people with their cellphones and toward the car. In terms of other people getting their hands on him, the only ones he really had to worry about were their friends; everyone else smelled weird. It was hard to define, but something his wolf defined as simply not-pack. Of course, during his heats, nothing mattered except heat and body and Alpha and filled with cum. But every other night of the month, he was mostly sensible, and there weren't many wolves that smelled right to his senses.

He was smirking, giving his mate a look that was all sexual, all desire and need.

Usually, with the two of them, Scott was the one who had a bit more of a grip on himself than Jackson, especially the closer they got to the omega's heat cycle. Right now though, Scott was completely lost in his emotions and his desire to be with Jackson. It was more than just an alpha and omega dynamic, more than an instinctual lust whenever he was around the omega. Scott loved Jackson. Despite their status, right now he was looking at the omega with pure adoration. It was the stupid, dopey look that he used to get whenever he looked at Allison. It showed him just how much he loved Jackson, like he could just envision the rest of their lives together.

And, of course, there was unadulterated sexual desire for Jackson too. How could he not look at the perfect godlike teenager with lust. He wanted him, now more than ever, and it was better because he knew this wants Jackson going into heat or him going into rut. He wanted Jackson, and he knew that it was all him, and Jackson was reciprocating that.

Right now though, that desire might be more problematic than anything though, especially since he didn't feel like waiting until they made it back to Jackson's house. So, despite the fact that he was sitting in the passenger of Jackson's very expensive Porsche, Scott's having a hard time keeping his hands off his boyfriend in the driver's seat, trying to get Jackson's pants open while they pulled out of Lydia's driveway.

[ canon or modern!au ]

[ Cesare nearly chokes on the sweetness, covering his mouth with his fist so as not to cough at her. It would not do. It would not do to disrespect her thus.

The sugar burns in his throat as he holds in his breath and wills the pain to fade, setting the now empty glass away to buy himself time. He makes sure the fit has passed before his lips, ever stoic and menacing, tweak into the softest smile at his sister as he reaches over to pinch her cheek playfully. ]

That glass may have been meant for you, my love.

[ She manages to keep a straight face, braves through for about a moment before she bursts into giggles, the sound brighter somehow the drink that once filled the glass. ]

Why? Because I am sweet?

[ she reaches with a thumb, wipes the corner of his lips before placing it on her lip. ]

You have sweetness in you Cesare; perhaps I wished to remind you of that.

[ He grins at the swipe to his lips, teeth and all, his laughter catches in his throat but that is not matter, hers sound more beautiful anyway. It isn't true anyway, he is the bitterness to her sweetness, the dark to her light and he is content with his lot in this instance. ]

That must only be your imagination, sis, a trick of the light.

[ there is a truth here but as most truths, it is a flawed one. She would name them both sun and moon; one more radiant and the other more solemn but both two sides of one coin and both creatures of shadows. ]

Then come closer, let me observe more carefully.

[ And how can he say no to her now or ever? He takes his time to walk toward her, taking a seat beside her and leaning close, close enough to see each of her pale eyelashes. ]

Well?

[ she observes him at length, face entirely neutral as she inspects every line in his face, the shape of his eyes and their shade even though she already knows them by heart. She places two fingers under his chin to tilt his head just so the right, hums in thought like a critic before a work of art and then; ]

But there it is, Cesare and I was not mistaken. Sweetness. Would you like to know where it is hidden?

[ canon or modern!au ]

[ The only problem with London bars is that they tend to be filled with London people — men, more specifically, who seem to have trouble understanding the rules of personal boundaries. The club that Morgana's brought them to this time is sleek and modern and hip; a recommendation from one of the artists fitting an installation at her gallery. Really, what more should she have expected from a overpaid Tate artiste? By now Gwen should have learned of Morgana's love-hate relationship with her clients.

And speaking of Gwen. Morgana's eyes flash sharp over the rim of her asymmetrical glass. Her lover looks delectable tonight — she's attracting a lot of attention, both male and female, and a part of Morgana is proud to see others appreciating her for the natural beauty that she is. The other part, of course, wants nothing more than to tear out their throats in a shower of fleshy red. ]

Enjoying yourself?

[ Morgana's lips curve into a tight smile. They're a plum-wine red tonight, which compliments her ivory shirt and glossy black pencil skirt, and high stiletto heels give her a couple of inches of extra height. Her free hand strokes over the back of Gwen's neck as a pearl of heat settles between her stockinged legs. Gods, how she wants her, and she leans close to murmur against her ear; ]

You look ravishing tonight, darling.

[ Morgana is a sophisticated creature by nature. Everything she does speaks of natural elegance and grace, she folds one leg over an other and while it would look perfectly ordinary coming from anyone else, she makes it look like a dance, something royal and aloof; she sips her drink, emerald in color and she looks like an avenging goddess, something sharp and demanding and wonderfully strong in her. She fits this scene well and Gwen would envy her if she didn't love her without bounds.

She was uncertain about this, Morgana is all elegance and Gwen cannot be that for the world in her simple dress of black cotton and lace but it turned out to be alright, more than alright with Morgana's fingers pressing into the skin of her nape, her lips playing the part of the most teasing ghost near her ear. Something had come upon her tonight and Gwen isn't quite sure what but she is not complaining. She is always unexpected, Morgana, she whirled into Gwen's life only to build them anew and Gwen falls apart beneath her and twists around her whenever she sees her. Tonight is not different and she lets her thumb brush over Morgana's cheek, the other rubbing circles on her back. ]

You're one to talk.

[ and she presses her lips to the corner of her moth, tastes the lip gloss there. ]

I couldn't look away from you if I wanted to.

Good.

[ Which is a relief to say the least. There's a playful edge to Morgana's tone now, although it should be more than clear that she wants all of Gwen's attention for herself tonight. She's always been a little possessive but there's something intensifying it tonight: the heat on the air, perhaps, making the other patrons confident and bold, or perhaps it's the combination of alcohol after a long day at the Tate. Who's to say. All that matters is that Gwen's lips are tempting, oh so tempting set so close against her own, and Morgana presses her hips even closer just to feel her gorgeous curves. ]

I don't think I could bear it if you looked away from me tonight, Gwen.

[ And she means that. The hand at Gwen's neck strokes again, this time with just the very tips of jet-black nails, before skimming around to settle itself low on her neat waist. Morgana smiles, sips her drink, and leans close to steal the breath from her lover's lips; ]

I want you all to myself.

[ she is only half aware of glances thrown their way, it's hard to pay attention to that with Morgana pressing into her, with the smallest scrap of nails that has Gwen bit her lip against a small gasp and then Morgana leans closer and Gwen is truly lost, her lips part at once to allow her in, her hand brushes through Morgans's hair and her words barely register in her mind between the taste of Morgana's drink and her lipgloss but when they do settle in, she breaks the kiss to press her lips to Morgana's jaw. ]

You already have me.

Well. Not yet I don't.

[ Her tone is suggestive, and she flashes Gwen a fey little smile. ]

But I will. Several times, in fact, before the night is over.

[ A promise she intends to keep. As soon as Gwen indicates that she'd like to leave Morgana plans on sweeping her back to her penthouse apartment: a nightcap, perhaps, as they watch the lights of the city from the balcony, or maybe she'll simply entice her into bed right away. All that matters is that Gwen knows how much she's wanted — needed, even, because tonight she's the air in Morgana's lungs and the beating of her heart. Everything is for her. ]

You're the most gorgeous woman in this bar, you realise.

[ She chuckles softly before leaning down to catch Gwen's lips in a sultry kiss. ]

I dare say everyone else is quite jealous of me.

[ she stirs something in Gwen, Morgana does. A woman of routine, Gwen has somehow found herself in a spiral of unexpected dates not to mention feelings and she melts in Morgana's arms, moans her approval into her lips, arches into her lips and her words still play on her mind and Gwen loves her a bit too much, a bit too deep. She draws it, every kiss Morgana gives her because Morgana is something else entirely and Gwen fears that she'll disappear with a blink of an eye. ]

Morgana.

[ she looks aside before remembering she said she won't and shifts to look at her again, cheeks flushed and bottom lip worried between her teeth. ]

I think I've seen quite enough of the glamorous night life -

[ dazzling and exciting but not tonight. ]

[ And that's all the cue Morgana needs. She teases for a moment, her gaze affixed on Gwen's as she takes an indulgent sip of her drink, before placing the half-finished cocktail back down on the bar and plucking her lover's from between her hands. That's set aside too — who cares that they cost a good twelve pounds each — because what Gwen wants, Gwen will have, and Morgana couldn't be happier. ]

Then let's make ourselves scarce, shall we?

[ She slips her arm through Gwen's easily to escort her out to the queue of black cabs. As the pass through the sea of bodies Morgana nods at some, greets others, because a woman in her position at the Tate doesn't make it there without keeping a wide, at-arms-length network. When they're finally in the cab Morgana laughs lightly, relieved to be leaving; ]

You'll stay the night, won't you?

[ Her hand drifts to Gwen's leg, sliding up over her knee to stroke her thigh. Damn the driver, and damn propriety. ]

I want to wake up with you, Gwen. Preferably in the middle of tomorrow afternoon.

[ Gwen wonders if they talk. If, after they leave, this flow of faces and cocktail dresses and ties call her, what? Morgana's consort? Lover? If they do,, she can only guesses they make certain Morgana doesn't hear about it. Gwen thinks her to be the world's most amazing woman but even she knows it'll be very stupid to get on her bad side.

she slips out of her shoes as soon as she slides into the car, silently cursing the day she decided to try heels.

Morgana drank half a cocktail, Gwen drank nothing but she feels drunk, feels the pleasant buzz in her blood, the unmasked excitement, the feeling that the night is endless, that she'll miss work tomorrow. This happens a lot more often lately and some of her coworkers raise their eyebrows and she shouldn't be encouraging this but she presses her face into the crook of Morgana's neck, breathes her heavy perfume and laughs into the skin there. ]

Yes, yes, of course.

[ and she has a feeling she'd say 'yes' to whatever Morgana would say right now but she feels young and in love and Morgana's fingers ghost above her skin, making Gwen squirm, press her lips to her neck. ]

Edited 2013-06-22 17:44 (UTC)

[Alex is on a need-to-know basis for this mission. The target is someone called Moriarty, the easiest bait to lure him out is called Holmes, and the weak point for Holmes is this man.

Who happens to be a massive sucker for a pretty face, so even though she's fresh out of Division training, they've sent Alex on the mission. There's back-up, of course - and then beyond them, in the shadows, Nikita is waiting and ready to blow the entire thing apart. Because need-to-know naturally included locations, and even if they're a long way from New Jersey, that's all Nikita needs.

Alex has snared John Watson and sweet-talked him into a bar, hoping to loosen his lips with alcohol and sweet smiles to avoid the seduction angle altogether - nothing against him, of course, they're just loathsome missions. She thinks he's cute enough, in a geeky sort of way.

In fact, after a sip of what was supposed to be a non-alcoholic drink, she thinks he's irresistible. Her legs are crossed demurely at the ankle, very high heels hooked into the crossbar of the stool on which she's sitting, but she can't stop herself from shifting one to curl it around his and stroke his calf with her silk-stockinged one.]

[John had gone to the bar to relax maybe pick up a girl, anything to get away from Sherlock who is in one of his moods. John of course being the sucker for a pretty face is interested in Alex almost instantly.

Oh good this is going better than he thought, of course he didn't spike the drink he would never do such a thing. He just grinned like a moron when he felt her leg against his.

He learned forward a bit reaching out and pushing some of her hair behind her ear.]

I do believe you are flirting with me Miss....not that I don't mind.

[His touch is electric, sending a deep shiver down her spine. What is this? She's got way too many balls in the air to be getting distracted by the third rung on the ladder she needs to climb. He's for information, nothing mo -

- oh, but it does feel good, in a way nothing has for a very long time. After so long wearing masks, playing a million roles in a show that sometimes feels as though it'll never reach its final curtain, she just wants to let go. Do something for herself instead of the cause. And the horror brought up by that thought is so quickly drowned out by another wave of arousal that she finds herself grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.]

Why are we wasting time with flirting, then? [Her brand of aggressive isn't quite at Adler levels, but it's well beyond what he's probably used to, even if this isn't usually how it expresses itself.] Let's get out of here. Now.

[Only finished up end of S2!]

Edited 2013-06-22 16:33 (UTC)

[ooc: Would you be interested?]

[ completely. i have personal preferences for 1, 5, 6 and 9, but i find the rest pretty ageeable too. :) ]

[ooc: I could see 5 and 9 mixed all too easily together, each drinking one.]

[ that works for me. i can see natasha in either role with either drink, so i can work around what you choose. ]

[ooc: I could see all too easily both of them getting back from a mission, stressed out, coming back and considering who they work for, something as strange as finding 'booze' SHIELD's messed with... I think going with Clint drinking 9 means Natasha gets many rounds. :3]

It's been a long two weeks in Tangier. It all ends with a warehouse full of biotech exploding behind them, and while they don't take the blunt of the damage, it's enough that they're locked up into a decontamination suite. Natasha's worked with Clint long enough that nakedness isn't really an issue, so they take the stupid decontamination shower and are given standard-issue SHIELD gear, down to sweats and shirts and underwear. 48 hour quarantine, and all Natasha wants to do is sleep in her own bed.

Still, she's a little too tired to complain that she doesn't even get to wear her own clothes. There had been some drinking, too, though Natasha can't seem to remember anything wrong about it. She's sitting on the couch and has ended up with Clint's head in her lap, the warm way her fingers skim through his hair something she blames entirely on the alcohol.

And, actually, now that she looks at him, she suddenly feels a surge of... something.

His eyes are closed, and for all intensive purposes, one might have guessed Clint is asleep. Natasha, however, would know better. In a place he doesn't have full trust in, SHIELD or not, where he knows cameras are following him, he sleeps like a cat at best. The feeling of her fingers in his hair is enough to calm him though, someone he can trust. His feet are planted against the opposite arm of the couch, long toes exposed and flexing slightly. All he needs is the cat's twitching tail to complete the picture.

He wants to complain about the forty-eight hours, to bug someone until they give up and let them out, but instead he's just downright too tired and the couch is surprisingly comfy.

She feels it too, that tired, relaxed feeling. At first Natasha's sure it's the alcohol, but the more she stays here, combing her fingers through his hair, the more she feels... it's not anger. It's not anger, but it carries the same intensity. She shakes her head, trying to clear it out. It's just leftover adrenaline. It happens sometimes.

Her fingers tug lightly on his ear, her smile hidden in the sound of her voice. "Don't fall asleep on me yet, Barton."

"Mmm, why not?" A single eye cracks open, peering up at Natasha with an expression somewhere between a tiny smirk and a 'why are you waking me' glare. "We've got forty-eight hours to burn and sleep," interrupted by his own yawn, which he barely manages to cover in time, "...sounds like a pretty good way to do some of it."

He's faking it, a bit, to play with her, but only a little bit. Sleep does sound good.

It does, but that's not quite what she wants. Natasha's hand is still in his hair, slow and warm with her touches. There's no smirk in her voice, just a mild, thoughtful expression, but anyone who knows Natasha (and Clint does, plenty) will know that there's nothing subtle about it.

"I can think of some better things to do," she says with a shrug, looking down at him with a fond kind of expression. It's a face she'd never wear if it wasn't just the two of them, private. "Unless you want to stay clothed and sleepy." And that part is definitely more of a challenge.

...Not at all what he was expecting.

Clint lifts a brow up at her, but there is the subtlest shift of his head, leaning into her touches. He feels sleepy and warm, but her suggestion sends a bit of blood heading south.

Whatever their relationship is, as twisted and confusing and wholly strange it is, he wouldn't ask for anything else. In their work, anything like love and affection are weaknesses, dangers, and to take them on means wanting the other enough to handle those problems. They've figured out how to balance whatever this is between them, something comfortable if irregular.

But this is almost public for her to mention that, and it sends a thrill through him. "Mmm... I could be convinced to rethink my sleeping plans." Now a far less subtle press of his head against her hands, body stretching out so his calves end up on the arm of the couch, a touch of stomach showing as his shirt rides up.

Something comfortable if irregular. Natasha would be the first to admit that that's the part that keeps this going. That if it was something they kept with them all the time, came home to each other and slept in each other's beds, then that would be where it gets too much. Natasha wouldn't know how to be that. But she does know how to be this, how to be what Clint needs and what they need from each other in their little times in-between missions.

She doesn't love him, but she does love him in her own way. Maybe that's enough.

Natasha smiles clearly this time; finds herself wanting to touch that sliver of skin. Later, she thinks, and gently cups the back of his neck, urging him up. "Then come up here so I can convince you."

It is enough, though he wouldn't have admitted it. They are what the other needs when things fall apart to their worst. They have no idea how tested that will be, someday.

"As you command," he says jokingly. Clint lets her urge draw him up, folding his legs under him and coming up, his own hand coming up to touch her cheek as he leans in to kiss her.

(Later, a lot later, when his eyes have stopped being blue and Natasha can breathe again, she won't know what to say. She won't know what to do. It'll be tough, and someone they love will die, and-- And it'll be tough. It always is.)

She's smiling when he kisses her, though she's quick to melt into it. The hand stays there, curled around his neck, and even though it was more of a joke there's something appealing about the sentiment. Natasha thinks of adrenaline and alcohol; it has to be, because she's not the type to do this in a decontamination suite.

"I expect," she murmurs between kisses, her brow arching at him. "Full participation, Barton. No rewards for half-answers."

(They'll survive - because that's what they always do. They'll keep fighting and afterward, maybe Natasha will hold him through the guilt and nightmares of having betrayed his allies, friends, and the people closest to him.)

Maybe without the drink in him, he would have noticed a little more easily that no, Natasha isn't. Or more like, he would have actually acted on the brief surprise he felt moments before. He laughs quietly at her words, thinking of them in play, and murmurs against her lips. "Mmm, punishment for no answers?" Playful, simple.

"Punishment for no participation," she corrects, though the way Natasha acts is a little different, a little looser. She presses a kiss to his jaw, lets her hand curl around his shoulder in a way that's firmer than she usually would, tilting her chin so her mouth can angle against his in a way that fits better.

Then, suddenly as anything, Natasha smiles a little too sharp. "Unless you want that to be the main attraction."

Clint is getting into it, his head tilting to allow her mouth better access, eyes half closing as his hands come to her hips, playing over the curves.

Then she drops that bombshell and he pauses, physically and mentally, before pulling his head back with a questioning expression. "...main attraction?"

They've gone down that direction a little over the years, but never called it anything. When they needed something less gentle and the other could give it. They could surrender but it's never completely; they always have fight in them.

"Would you like to?" Times like this, Natasha likes to ask -- likes to turn her training off and rely on the fact that it's Clint, and there's nothing here to be afraid of. Her thumb shifts, running over the cut of his jaw, her smile soft but promising too. And it's not Natasha if what she's promising isn't dangerous.

"Maybe it's the adrenaline, but I want-" She stops, briefly shaking her head, like she needs the physical tic to stop herself. Her thumb pulls at his lower lip. "I want to make you mine. Just for now."

His lip shifts down just enough to catch her thumb, pulling it into his mouth and sucking gently on it. I want to make you mine. Those words do terrible, wonderful things to him, making them less the threat they could be because blood pools south and his body responds for him.

"Whatever you need," he says to her, fingers tightening on her hips.

Her expression shifts, something a little more coy about it. She leans in, close enough that their lips almost fit together, murmuring soft and quiet as her hands reach for the hem of his shirt.

It's not about need, really, just a base kind of want, though when it comes to Clint maybe that means it's a need, too. "I'd use you however I want, in every way."

Clint would have said that somewhere buried in this, it was a need as much as a want. They both need their releases every so often, and it needs to be with someone they trust enough to make it happen.

Natasha's words go right through to his groin, sending sparks that make him twitch below. He lets her go for his shirt, body lean and long, while he licks his lips and says, "you've got me for forty-eight hours, 'Tash." Permission, though he had no idea just how far it would go.

"Good." She skims her fingers up his sides, mapping out the plane of his chest, over muscle and the cut of his hip. There are scars there, some of which she's sure she's given him, some that he took for her, some that she was too late to take -- it happens. It's like a timeline, reaching back into the past to relive every bloody moment.

Shifting around, she gently places her hands on his chest, pushing him down onto the couch, settling into his lap a little too snug to be by accident, the apex of his hips catching against the button of his fly. "Then I better get started."

Not that she carried any less scars, for the same reasons, for years beyond his understanding. Natasha carried secrets in a deep well not even he knew the depths of, scars made long before he was born even though everything told him that she was younger than he.

But none of it matters right now; they had survived the mission, and both had a goal in mind right now that had nothing to do with their past or future, just a present between them. The pressure of her body against him forces a groan from between his lips, his hands folding behind his head for a moment with a playful smirk on his lips. "What will you have me do?"

It's not often she matches it, that free-falling playfulness. She lifts her hand, slipping two fingers past his lips and into his mouth, eventually trailing them down his bottom lip, his neck, his chest. All the while she smiles at him, leaning closer. Natasha doesn't always bother with the pretense -- sometimes the sex is too rushed and too hurried and too intense for it, no more room in their lives for something light-hearted. But right now, for some reason, feels- it feels important. It's what she wants.

"I was thinking it was more about what you wouldn't do," she murmurs, her hands reaching to pop open the button, skimming her nails down his navel. "Like stay still. And don't move."

This bit of playfulness is highly encouraging, shown by the pulse where their bodies meet, the smile staying on his lips as his hands shift to remain permanent. "And what if I don't?" he challenges, responding as ordered for now, however.

What drink would you recommend?

[It's the first time she's been in this bar and Bela planned to ask the first person she came across. Purely to see what reaction she would get, be it positive or negative.]

[He's simply here to confirm his conclusion that the bartender is in fact sleeping with the owner whose sister was killed by a copycat serial killer two days beforehand. Oh, he knows, has known. But Sherlock has a need to prove himself right even if the evidence has already told himself.

He's momentarily distracted by the brunette who he surmises just at a glance deals with antiques. He blinks once.]

Oh, I'm not drinking.

[He would be on the right track with the antiques but it's the type of antiques she works with is the more interesting part.

Bela looks disappointed at his response but it's brushed off quickly enough as she glances at the drink list to decide for herself. Eventually, she settles on something orange and when it is served she takes a sip before observing him for a moment.]

Even if I were to buy you one?

[He sighs, looking back at her. There's enough aphrodesiacs in the air to keep him interested.]

I don't drink. [He raises his glass, coke in it.]

Fair enough. I can respect that.

[Bela gives him an appraising look as she takes another sip.]

Then I hope you don't mind a little company? [A smile and then she extends her free hand towards him.] Bela Talbot. A pleasure, I'm sure.

[He's already making deductions about her in his head, ticking off the things he can't unsee. He does shake her hand though.]

Sherlock Holmes. Pleasure.

[While she may not be aware of what he's doing, Bela is making her own observations about him. Quietly.]

So, Mr. Holmes, what brings you do this bar if you don't drink? A coke can be bought at any corner shop and yet, here you are.

[Well at least she's entertaining him. He's curious about what he can dig about her, so he'll engage her.]

Observing. [His eyes move to the bartender on the other side of the room.]

She's sleeping with the owner. Who is married. She also seems to be suggesting to me she wants to sleep with me. [He's a master at body language.]

[Bela follows his gaze to the bartender and leans in a little closer to listen.]

The second part isn't surprising. You are quite attractive. [A smirk.] But indulge me if you please-how did you come to the conclusion that they are sleeping together?

[She helps herself to more of her drink, taking a small sip.]

Her perfume. [Though the woman's 'attractive' remark does have him looking closer at her. She is his type, decently intelligent, classy, and has a domineering personality.]

It's a rare bottle from southern India. I noticed the empty spot on the owner's wife dresser. Her daughter told me what used to sit there. Now Ms. Swans could have stole it herself, but the girl does not have the intelligence high enough to know how expensive that perfume is. No, the owner gave it to her probably after he killed his wife.

[Bela is attentive throughout his explanation, becoming more interested in the story as time wore on. It could be a ruse of course but at least it's entertaining.]

Oh, the plot thickens. A torrid affair and now a murder. [She places her glass down.] So, why did he kill his wife? What was his motive?

She found out about the affair. [He points back at the woman.] Seems our bartender likes to be watched while she does the deed. Left tapes of her all over.

That was careless of her. [She looks amused.] What do you plan to do now? Confront him? Because I'd love to observe.

Some people like the appeal of getting caught in the act. As if it's taboo to watch another. [He takes a sip of his coke.]

Unfortunately he's not here, and I wouldn't want to tip him off before the captain sees him first.

I can't fault others for what gets them off. I'd just prefer it if they kept it to themselves. [She downs her drink.] Apart from the person I'm sleeping with of course.

[But back to other things. At least for now.]

Have to do things by the book, yeah? A wise decision in this case.

I prefer to not let rampaging sociopaths loose on the world. [He gives a nod before smiling.]

So what sort of antiques do you deal with? [Yes, he knows you didn't tell him that, but he's assuming there's a bit of illegal activity there. Granted, he can't say much. He used to have a heroin problem and all. But so long as she wasn't masterminding a plot with murder, fraud, and multiple other felonies, he'll let you go.]

And I'm right in assuming you want to sleep with me, yes? [Blunt.]

[Considering the fact that she made no mention of her career, the question catches Bela off guard and she hides her surprise well before replying to him.]

The kind that are said to have curses upon them. Strange antiques, the ones that you wouldn't find in your typical auction house. [All right, so it was partially true because the objects she dealt with were odd, she just wasn't going to delve into how she acquired them. Nor any crimes she may have committed in the process.] There's a market out there for them.

[To his second question Bela smiles playfully.] The thought had crossed my mind. I'm curious to see and experience what other forms of stimulation you're capable of- apart from mental of course.

Curses? Like voodoo? [Because he's looking at you like you're now an idiot for believing in it. Unless she's selling fakes and letting people fall victim to their own stupid beliefs.]

Sex stimulates my brain as well. I've often done my best work after it. Though I should warn you, it is not any sort of quick thing and I prefer-- a type of woman. One I believe you could be.

None of its real. I just help people to believe and most of them do already; which makes my job a lot easier.

[The money she made was worth it but she still kept under the radar as much as possible.]

Could be? If it helps to support the idea that I am that type, then I can tell you I have great stamina and an apartment just around the corner from here. If you need any more persuasion, I will happily do so.

So you're a good con artist. [Not an accusation, a compliment if anything.]

If you're propositioning me, there's no need. I'm already interested.

That would be a fair assessment. [And Bela is going to take it as a compliment.]

I'm very pleased to hear that. Just tell me when you're ready to leave and we'll go. The sooner, the better I should think.

Now would be perfectly acceptable. [He puts his drink down and throws a few bills on the bar before looking at her.]

Then let's go. [Bela smiles when he looks at her, leading the way after a moment or so. She's slow enough to make it easy for him to catch up on her.]

[He shoves each hand into his pockets and follows her lead easily enough. His manner is calm, slow even. He walks behind her, her pace slow.]

[It's a nice evening outside, even with the slight chill in the air. Bela feels a little buzzed from the alcohol but overall, she's clear-headed and knows what she wants. After a few minutes she looks over her shoulder at him.]

You're awfully quiet.

It says nothing of you. I find idle chitchat boring. We both know what we want. Though if you prefer to talk, we can. [He shrugs.]

[He had a point, that she would agree with.]

I've always liked someone who is straight forward with what they want and you are a prime example of that. Just thought we could learn some more about each other on our way to the apartment.

You catch things most people miss. I'm curious about that.

Most people aren't looking. I am. [He looks her over again with a smirk.]

Clearly. Consider me impressed. [Bela gives him a smirk in return before looking ahead.] We should just be at my place now.

[She stops in front of a decent-sized apartment, searching for her keys in her bag to to open the door; Bela waits for him]

I aim to please. [He's being completely sarcastic, but not in any demeaning way. Sherlock just had no care for other people's opinions, though he knows he can easily be impressive.

He steps into the apartment and gives her enough time to do what she needs to do to settle into her own home before he's already pinning her to the nearest wall, intent on claiming her lips.]

[It was strange but they had a few common traits and he was smart enough to keep Bela's interest as well as keeping her on her toes.

Her hands fall to his hips when he pins her against the wall, meeting his lips eagerly in a searing kiss. Definitely no complaints from Bela with how things were going; if he didn't take the initiative, then she was planning to.]

[He's fine with initiative, however much he likes a woman in charge of him in these acts. His hands move to her sides, letting himself taste her, his senses soaking her in. She's gorgeous, and he will take every moment of this to his advantage.]

[There was a good reason why Bela liked partners who were responsive but also not afraid to surprise her. She murmurs an encouraging sound, her squeezing his hips as she tugs them against hers. Bela breaks the kiss after a moment to take a breath, lips still touching his lightly.]

[He'll let her take the lead, something that in every aspect of his life he does not do. But that's perhaps why he does this here. It's nice to give the control away, to do what is asked of him. His hands travel to her hips, fingertips ducking under the fabric of her shirt to tease at the soft skin there.]

[A good thing that Bela enjoys taking the lead when the opportunity presents itself and if he was willing then she would go along with it eagerly. Catching his bottom lip between her teeth she gives it a playful, letting her hands move from his hips to wander across his back until they rest at his backside, squeezing it gently. Bela practically purrs when she feels his fingers brush along her bare skin. She's playing cautious, deciding not to push too hard in the beginning in case he doesn't want it; a slow discovery in finding out what he likes.]

[ She smirks at him as she circles him, dragging her fingertips over his chest, his arms, his backs, her steps slow and deliberate. Blue sparks fly at her finger tips and she quirks an eyebrow, tilting her face up to look at him. She finally comes to a stop and places both hands on his chest, one on each side, then raises to her toes and brings her lips just millimeters away from his. ]

C'mon... Don't be a stiff. Play with me.

[ derek's middle name is stiff, but whatever was in the drink he'd had earlier -- why had he, when he can't even get drunk? -- was doing something and it's leaving him feeling uncomfortable in a way he normally doesn't. she's not helping, and he wonders why he isn't pushing her hands away, why they leave trails of hot skin in their wake like her very touch is-- well, electricity.

which it is. ]

I don't play. [ his voice is low, barely above a growl meant to chase her off. yet he knows it won't work, doesn't really even want it to, and instead he's inching forward, almost there yet clinging to whatever sense he normally has just as hard. ]

[Stiles wants to die.

Usually not dying is pretty high on his priorities list. Number one, actually, especially when they're on an Alpha pack stakeout in a dark club and Stiles is stuck with Sir Grumpsalot at the bar.

One drink--on the house--seemed like an okay idea at the time. And it tasted awesome, sweet and a little spicy, so it took Stiles about five minutes to polish his off, and now he has a serious problem. Which is why he wants to die.

Teenaged hormones are pretty unpredictable on a good day, but the quiver of relentless heat pooling low in his stomach is not normal. The bass pounding in his ears isn't helping, nor are the throngs of people grinding up on each other on the dance floor because now all he can think about is getting off, and soon.

Stiles doesn't know how much Derek has had, mostly because he's trying really hard not to look at him, nostrils flaring with a sharp intake of breath and dear god, Derek can probably smell him.

Freaking werewolves.]

Dude, I think-- [He passes a hand over his face, rubbing at his jaw as he tries not to focus on how sweaty he suddenly is. Sexy.] I think they spiked these.

[ it's definitely bad enough that he got stuck with stiles for this entire mess, but that he'd actually decided to drink whatever had been set in front of them? dumb move, hale. normally he wouldn't -- why waste the time or drink when it does nothing to him? -- but this time anything had been better than listening to stiles babble and bitch at him over something that wasn't his fault, so he'd downed the drink, had found it nothing special.

until now.

blood roars in his ears, leaving stiles' words barely audible above the hammering of his heart ( or is it stiles'? ), has his skin feeling too hot under layers of clothing which isn't helped by the overwhelming amounts of scents within the bar. one being very much the teen's sitting next to him. it's clouding his normally sharp senses, leaves him to blink at the sheriff's son like he's trying to decipher him -- why does he appear so different now, so good -- before tearing his eyes away, forcing his face back to that normal scowl.

he only barely even acknowledges what stiles is saying. ]

We need to leave.

[ he means to say i, but it doesn't happen and he's up a moment later, hand gripping the bar like he's grounding himself from losing it while waiting for stiles to do the same. ]

Come on. Up.

[If Derek's suggesting they book it when some poor unsuspecting co-ed could get eaten at any moment, then something's seriously wrong. Stiles makes the mistake of glancing up at him when he has that thought, and the next totally uncalled for thought he's graced with falls something along the lines of wanting Derek to eat him up.

Yep. Still wants to die.

Stiles almost manages to knock his bar stool over when he rises, jaw clenching as his shoulder bumps Derek's chest and oh my god did he do pull-ups before driving over here because his pecs are actually unreal.]

I'm gonna start bringing flasks to parties. [It's muttered under his breath, knowing without looking that Derek's right behind him as he tries to weave through the crowd to the exit but people keep bumping into him and this is literally the worst thing that has happened to him, ever.

He pauses as they reach a wall by the bathrooms, because it occurs to him that a normal date rape drug--or an aphrodisiac or whatever the fuck--shouldn't be affecting Derek unless it's werewolf strength.]

Are you seriously-- [Stiles is trying to focus just on Derek's eyes, but there's an intensity in his gaze that really isn't helping to ground him, here, chest rising and falling heavily with his breathing.] You're feeling it, too?

[ derek on the other hand does his best not to look at stiles once he manages to finally look away, and instead lets the teen slip into the crowd where he follows. what he does allow himself is to downright glare down anyone who so much as glances at stiles, let alone bumps into him. they have no right to touch is what he wants to growl, to claim and make sure everyone knows it-- but he doesn't, doesn't fucking let himself because something is wrong and it's only getting worse.

when stiles stops, derek almost bumps into him, but manages to step to the side just in time. last thing he needs is to feel the teen's form against his own ( but he wants to, the wolf that runs through the blood in his veins demands it ), it's enough to smell him from this close, the scent alluring like never before. ]

Why are you stopping?

[ it's a little desperate, the hint of a growl in his voice clear like he's angry with stiles for pausing. his hands flex by his sides, where he's normally calm and near stoic, he now feels like he can't sit still, doesn't want to. which is why he's moving again a beat later, though this time in the way he least wants to. derek crowds stiles further against the wall, trapping him there with hands on either sides of the teen's face. clawed fingers ground himself there, like he's both keeping the distance from doing what he really wants to, and making sure stiles doesn't get any ideas about slipping from him. ]

Yes.

[ for the first time uncertainty passes over his face, a brief flash of it that doesn't last long. he needs stiles to understand that whatever's happening, it's not out of their choice, and if they don't get out of here, derek can't promise he'll be strong enough to fight off whatever it is that their drinks were laced with. ]

Which is why I need you out of this bar.

[ outside where there's fresh air and room and-- and where he can leave. ]

[If Derek thought cornering him was going to help even a little, he was definitely sorely mistaken. Stiles' breath hitches when the claws come out, heartbeat thumping loudly enough that he half-hopes Derek will just reach in there and rip it out of his chest so neither of them have to listen to it anymore.

He feels too hot. Derek looks too hot, and Stiles wants to choke on that thought because it's taking every ounce of his control not to press up against him, rock their hips together and taste the lingering spice of that drink on Derek's mouth.]

Derek. [It's throaty, eyes half-lidded and that's not at all what he meant to say. There were quips loaded on the back of his tongue, about how hey, might be easier to get out of the bar if a human wall weren't keeping him from going anywhere, but instead his tongue is darting out to wet his lips, gaze focusing on Derek's.]

[ if derek was anywhere near his right state of mind, he might do just that. it would ease up the tension building in his body, the urge to just go for it-- and hell, he could even explain it to scott as an accident. or something.

but never mind those thoughts, he doesn't have room for them right now. the way stiles says his name snaps something in him, the drink only pushing him further as he all but snarls lowly before doing what stiles is holding himself back from; pushing closer, hands dropping as one greedily drags down stiles' chest. he doesn't know why he ever thought crowding stiles against the wall would be a good idea, only that the teen was there one minute-- stopping when they needed to get out --and looking good, like he belonged there the next.

so derek takes what's presented to him for once. ]

Shut up. [ his mouth mutters the words, no real meaning behind them, before leaning in closer, eyes red and dropped down as he's pressing against the side of stiles' mouth, a spark of something lighting in his stomach when he tastes skin. it's greedy from there, more demanding as he chases that taste, wants more as his senses fill with stiles. whatever is happening makes him irresistible and derek's long since quit fighting. ]

[It feels like there's an electrical current pulsing through his veins with each second Derek holds him here, skin crackling with heat to the point where it's actually becoming painful. He's aching for something he shouldn't have, because this is Derek, and that's about as crazy and off-limits as he could get.

And then Derek is kissing him.

It's not quite a kiss, actually. It's like Derek is claiming him, which is such a freaking werewolf thing to do and Stiles would comment on that, except that his lips are occupied with catching Derek's in an actual kiss, hot and open-mouthed and desperate. His fingers grab at the front of his shirt, twisting in the fabric to anchor himself. Unsurprisingly, it doesn't really help.]

[ Taking Erica out for a night of drinks? Probably not your best plan there, Alpha boy, but hey, she was having a good time, so who cared?

It'd been her idea in the first place, and she'd prodded at him until he agreed to help sneak her into the club. Luckily she had a fake ID at the ready because tonight she was going to test her alcohol tolerance.

She flags the bartender down and orders; a jaegerbomb for Derek and a screwdriver for her, and she grins at him as she takes her drink in hand. ] Bottoms up!

[ derek hates it, really does. but what he hates more than going out for drinks is erica moping about, so out they go no matter how he might feel about it. he's never really understood the whole bar scene, still doesn't care to... but she seems happy enough, and despite the grumpy face he gives her, derek can't deny that seeing her so does please him more than he cares to admit.

still, he downright glares at the drink before taking it. ]

Don't go overboard.

[ always in alpha mode, sry. ]

[ Erica snorts a little, taking a long pull of her drink before setting it down on the bar and coughing because holy shit that's strong. She coughs a little, cheeks flushing with the effort of it, but she's still grinning wide. ] Overboard's the whole point!

[ oh man. derek just gives her a look that spells out a grumpy seriously, the flush on her face not missed nor the way it almost immediately does something. ]

Why? Your senses are there to protect you, not to be dulled. [ even with the very fucking valid point, derek takes a drink too, expression not shifting much despite the taste of alcohol. he hasn't ever drunk much, but its still not a completely foreign taste. ]

Are you kidding? [ Erica smirks a little, finger tracing the rim of her glass as she leans on the bar and looks at him, chin resting in her free hand. ] It doesn't dull the important senses.

[ She reaches over and brushes the skin of his hand lightly. ] See?

[ he's about to ask, actually ask what the hell she's going on about, but the touch, however slight, very much answers for her, and-- well, he's not stupid. he hates how she's sort of right though, and that even the slightest of contact send tiny sparks through and up his entire arm.

still, he pulls his hand away. ]

Erica... Don't get any ideas.

[ because he won't go along with them.... or will he? ]

[ Ugh. She snorts, and finishes her drink, sending him an annoyed glance out of the corner of her eye. ] Whatever. You couldn't handle me, anyways.

Drink Me

bedelia du maurier | hannibal

Roman Godfrey | Hemlock Grove |

Scott McCall / Teen Wolf

Re: Scott McCall / Teen Wolf

pink, obviously :P

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Shinji Ikari | Rebirth of Evangelion | OTA

lucrezia borgia ➭ the borgias

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guinevere (merlic bbc)

f o u r | obviously modern!

the things you do to me you terrible woman

I do what must be done, that's all. B)

what needs to be done to undo me entirely

/carries on gently unravelling you

most rude!!

I have to be rude! It's how I show affection!

it's very endearing so it's fine

tara knowles | sons of anarchy

Dr. John H. Watson | BBC Sherlock | M/F or Sherlock(s)

just a boring ol' one.

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natasha romanoff | mcu

Alexandra Udinov | Nikita (CW) | OTA

charlie demarco | graceland

Bedelia du Maurier | NBC's Hannibal | OTA

mibu oriya | yami no matsuei

natasha romanoff | mcu

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perfect :) tell me if this doesn't work for you and i'll edit.

Works for me! Is this post or pre- Avengers?

pre work okay?

Beautifully. I love pre-stuff. ^^

:3

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I totally ship the hell out of all three of them. :3

yesss me too! ot3 ):

I have the most amazing pic of that. Hold onto thy panties. http://oi44.tinypic.com/n1pe13.jpg

omfg YES. :3

This one too. XD http://oi41.tinypic.com/ejskdz.jpg

LMAO that is so ic fml

I collect way too much fanart XD

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rose red | fairy tale au | ota

Morgana (modern au) ❧ BBC's Merlin

Arthur (modern au) ❙ BBC's Merlin

Stiles Stilinski | Teen Wolf | OTA

Sherlock Holmes | Elementary

cross-canon okay? if so, I rolled a 2

sure!

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