"You've reached the inbox of Jeremiah Gottwald. I'm unavailable at the moment, but leave a message and I'll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you."
[McGillis folds his arms back at Jeremiah and elects not to answer. Because he's feeling petulant and also because it was obvious. It's big, it's ugly, and he doesn't want it next to his beautiful Bael. The whole thing should speak for itself and so McGillis doesn't bother to clarify. But he will continue to throw his weight around like he owns the place as well as the pilot.]
You are burdensome and bothersome.
[And he's just going to push him into that bar and...
[Well then. Maybe he just has volume to his advantage. Jeremiah budges against the force of it still, but he leans his weight heavily into that offending hand, letting it do some of the work in resisting for him. Seems the images in his medical file had at least held some accuracy after all, his own relative strength in carrying his remaining implants around still a bad benchmark without context for what he can actually do.]
Some would consider that a measure of effectiveness.
[He clearly does. It's not smug, not like last time, but he's smiling again all the same.
[Pain in the ass noble and his pain in the ass implants. But McGillis can at least recognize a losing battle, or a battle best waged elsewhere, so he heaves a heavy sigh and surrenders—at least for the moment. He didn't forget that look and that lecture and he won't forget Jeremiah's refusal to appease a bully, although a bit of reluctant admiration was creeping in.
Drumming fingers on that broad shoulder, McGillis gives the matter some thought. And then opts for a different strategy.]
Move it for a square.
[The strategy in question: the bully will propose a reasonable trade.]
[His proposition, because that's precisely and exactly what it is, flies over his head at first. What, move it over for... no, that's not an unfamiliar hangar term. An item.
The connection doesn't take long, and the lightbulb goes on by way of his raised brow, eye a little wider.]
... for that? [Just to move his Fortress? Was that really how so many people used sex here, not just for sustenance and supplies but to end disagreements? Well. No point in wasting his shock over it once his brain accepts yes, really, because McGillis had been just as unflinching about the rest of it when they'd first spoken.
Under his sleeve, his wrist burns hot under the pull of his bracelet. Jeremiah's still looking straight ahead, at this strange, demanding man. Still every inch as handsome as he'd been when he'd first been accosted. The tighter lines of his current garb certainly do him further favors. Ridiculous that his mind sways in that direction, but then again, they're not on a crowded beach anymore, and McGillis's hand still feels heavy and warm.
The hangar is big but empty, save the two of them. Plenty of hidden corners and shadows to get lost in. Jeremiah's gut tightens.]
Very well.
[There's still a pinch to his expression, a dubiousness to the unknown that's only natural. He's got rust to shake off, and McGillis still troubles him, but he agrees. Unfortunately, the last few times he's tried to peer at his own set of squares, Jeremiah couldn't stomach looking for long, so his memory of what terrible roll of fate he's been handed isn't very fresh. Pushing up his jacket sleeve to reveal his bracelet, Jeremiah hazards one last unsure glance at McGillis, as if he needs a warning of what he'll see before the display turns on and he pulls up the card.]
[Bad luck, Jeremiah. Still very much a predator on the hunt, McGillis smells that shyness and so regains all of that ego. The tight line of his mouth, previous tilted down and into a frown, flips into something much sharper. That sickle sharp smile, which was arguably worse than a grimace, followed by a press of his body to the one that refused to budge—at least not much.
And no, that skintight suit didn't hide a damn thing, not a single curve of that flawless figure.]
I thought you heeded my warning, little noble.
[So much for doing better. This looked a lot like doing worse, not that he was about to complain. McGillis pages through the card, hemming and hawing at each square. Judging each and every one and making certain that Jeremiah can see it and hear it. He earned every ounce of ostracization and more for that little stunt on the beach.]
Multiple orgasms? Can you really make a man come that many times...?
[...goodness, this man was something like shameless.]
[Little? Ooh, that draws a scowl, but no words to acknowledge it. The truth to that is all the more evident when he's held to the other man like this, but Jeremiah refuses to be cowed. He's been the smaller party enough before, even if that's even further back in his history. He can handle himself just fine. What's unfortunate is how tempting it is to lean into, pressing one of his thighs a little more firmly where it meets McGillis's, the swell of his bicep significant against his own.
A heeded warning only guarantees acknowledgement. Jeremiah would never bother giving word that he'd comply.
And those rations? Yeah, not as safe as he'd hoped, once he got hungry enough to turn to the dilapidated trinket from their last encounter. He's managing fine, really, as much untainted food as he can get and reasonably justify eating at once, then supplementing the rest when his stomach begins to ache. Initiating physical contact like this is a mistake for maintaining his patience. Thanks, for that.]
"Multiple" only means two or more, there seems no requirement. [Nor does the "more" part sound impossible. Surely if he can make a woman do it, he can push a man to that limit, too. His face isn't without a flush, but he persists, tone quiet but fairly even.] You haven't known me behind closed doors yet, so don't assume.
[How cute, trying to school a former slut on how to be a slut.]
You misunderstand, Jeremiah.
[Because of course he did. All brawn, no brains, these uptight nobles and their uptight morals. Morals which Jeremiah would be without, soon enough, as confirmed by that mischievous spark in those green, green eyes. And by how he purposely pushes forward, presses in, stripping Jeremiah of any possible escape routes and making him feel every nuance of muscle.
And all because he refused to move his hulking beast of a mobile suit. Maybe he'll regret it, but then again...]
I was asking if you could satisfy me that many times.
[...maybe not. He may have been an awful man but he was promising an awfully good time.]
[This time around, he's not offering resistance. Jeremiah fits against him just fine, his own weight shifting to meet partway. A heavy thrum settles in his hips, but he's not so desperate as to do anything. Instead he settles his hand, the one not currently displaying his card, to McGillis's back, anchoring himself more firmly into place.
It's nice, really. He feels like he's pouring off heat already, whether or not it passes through his suit, though he can feel it reflected back on his face. It's comfortable to be held, also claustrophobic to suddenly be so close. Without a discussion already at hand, he might have been tempted into kissing him, to take another shot at that sinful mouth of his. It may easier than looking in his eyes bare inches away and seeing the depths of his intent.]
Is that your vote? [Jeremiah's still got the final say, but his tone is genuinely asking. Pulse running hot, fast; having options like this somehow makes it all the easier, all the worse. For all his pride, he knows when he's well-matched, or more likely, outclassed. Jeremiah may boast and crow all he likes, but he'll get caught in a lie if he's reckless. He's sure he's capable of making McGillis orgasm more than once, but could he satisfy him? His expectations?]
I imagine I'd enjoy trying.
[It's cagey, but as honest as he can get, his eye flickered back downwards. There's not a lot he can stand to consider for long, not here and now, so his options narrow down pretty quick. Jeremiah doesn't have to look back up to think once again of his lips, curled in a smile. God, his face has gotten hot.]
I would gain greater satisfaction from an orange peel.
[Coincidental turn of phrase, truly.
Unlike Jeremiah, who looks liable to overheat at any moment, McGillis demonstrates admirable temperament. Beyond cracking wise, he seems genuinely interested in the contents of Jeremiah's card. While still irritated, it wasn't as if that initial attraction had faded. And he had been just as irritated with Gaelio at the beginning, masquerading as Vidar, and now...
Well, Jeremiah was no masked man, that's for damn sure. But it stands to reason that maybe, just maybe, he deserves a second chance. As Jeremiah scrolls through the options and lands on another square, McGillis has to laugh—and this time it isn't at his expense. He really couldn't escape that kind of fate, not with Vidar, not with Jeremiah, and not with anyone else. At least he could be proud of such a talent, far more useful here than back home.]
Is that what you want...?
[No, Jeremiah, it's not hard. Quite the opposite.]
[Coincidence that still earns a look, though more from the insult than its bewildering specifics. The marks are adding up, but Jeremiah folds that, too, away for the moment. It just doesn't feel worth arguing.]
It is.
[Simple as that. His face is still flushed, yes, but his tone holds. Shrinking violet isn't his usual state, it feels... far too vulnerable, even momentarily. Maybe he does carry a measure of nervousness after being away from this for a time. Not just from another human's touch, but from an energy like his. One that really will lay him out and swallow him up, if he lets it, if it gets the better of him.
For the duration of a few stolen moments, today, it might prove favorable.]
I'll take that chance. [Jeremiah's eye flicks to his lips, lingering for a spell.] You've got quite the mouth, I'll concede my curiosity.
[And that kiss was only a taste, of course, but it was enough.]
[McGillis regards Jeremiah with a neutral sort of expression, then lifts his chin and reminds him with all the imperiousness of a proper noble:]
Disrespect me a second time and it will be your last time.
[And more than a sexual exchange, that was taking an awfully big chance—the chance that he wouldn't wind up bitten by the man and in a much nastier way.]
[The crane of his neck, once again, feels wrong. It shows in the knit of his brow, but he's done fighting it. It's all part of the dance at this point, Jeremiah's less and less concerned the longer he's here, pressed close and wanting. He'll suspend those seemingly-despicable traits, his modesty and his composure, more than capable but not always as willing.
McGillis turned cold on him before, but Jeremiah had closed up first, pushed him away. This time can be different, even if he might still get bit.]
Understood.
[He's remained calm, though it's softer. It's still not an apology, but more than a simple heeding.]
[It really was like a dance. More specifically one to appease an affronted party, who was sick to death of dealing with damned aristocrats, of lumping on the charm to secure their funds or their support for the future. Not that he needed it anymore, but those days and those memories weren't too far behind and Jeremiah had unwittingly served as an unpleasant reminder.
But while he was a petulant man, he wasn't unreasonable. So as Jeremiah signals his agreement, McGillis seems to finally let the matter go.]
Making me work for my meal... that doesn't feel fair at all.
[Although that was a half-hearted complaint at best, as he soothes his hands on either side of Jeremiah's face.]
Seems it would've been less trouble to ask for the fish.
[The ice still feels thin, for all that McGillis is still touching and offering every step of the way. So possessive, tenuous. Now that he's made room for it, Jeremiah feels no spark of recoil, only the warmth it draws to the surface.
His hands are big, protective. Capable of harm as well, that he's already seen.]
No doubt it would have. [There's amusement in his eye, but it's overshadowed by the heavy-lidded want growing ever darker. Not as if this is a bad compromise, he thinks.
Jeremiah finally flicks off his bracelet, the weight of confirmation settling heavy and urgent. His hand finds McGillis's shoulder, just near his neck, fingers curled over the muscle to press in, urging him closer. He can't kiss him first this time, not when he's being held like this, but the impetuous demand for it still sits fat on his tongue.]
[McGillis just thins his eyes at that spark of audaciousness.]
Still bossing me about, I see...
[Because when you were a whore for hire, you tended to get really good really fast at reading body language—and Jeremiah was behaving like the boss, like the biggest man in the room. Unfortunately, it appeals to McGillis on a baser level, even as he reasserts himself by way of wedging a thigh between Jeremiah's legs and closing the gap for the beginnings of a kiss.
Although "kiss" was an awfully generous term. It was more like drowning, like being dragged beneath the surface, forced under and with an insistent hand. With much greater strength than before, McGillis shoves Jeremiah to the nearest guardrail, propping his back against the bar. Ordinarily he would hook around a hip and take himself for a ride on a nice big cock, but...
Well, maybe some other time. For now, he honors their agreement and warms Jeremiah up, making things almost unbearably hot.]
[Agreeing each step of the way, yet he's somehow managed to remain a thorn in McGillis's side. He almost laughs at his impossibility, but he's already swept up in the dizzying depths of his touch, reaching in with complete abandon.
It shuts him up at first, being kissed so deeply so fast, but the invasion between his thighs urges a soft sound right back out of him. Jeremiah lets himself go down, opening to the touch and reaching back, settling his hips to fit together. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, but he can't resist the urge to surge back up into that hair of his. It's not the same with gloves, the locks nearly slip right through his fingers unless he holds on properly.
Jeremiah doesn't pull, though, just holds on. McGillis backs him to the rail and he just grunts softly through his nose, a faint, dulled clunk when his spine hits metal, even through the layers of his clothes. Which, frankly, are definitely too much at this point, but he'll suffer a moment longer to keep from pulling away. Opening the floodgates is dangerous, it's never not dangerous, because Jeremiah will dive in every time the water looks good. It's exceedingly easy to end up lost.
Canting his hips slightly, Jeremiah presses back, curious as to what there is to feel through his suit. The garment is frustrating in a sense because it's hard to get the leverage he wants with no excess fabric to wrap in his fist, but the tightness offers no barrier to mapping every curve of his muscle, his bones.]
[This close, he really was a beautiful man. McGillis has devoured his fair share of nobles—sometimes for diplomatic ends, sometimes for fun—but Jeremiah has a bit of bite and that intrigues him. Even as he was being eaten, he was an active participant, pushing back and showing off his own teeth. It intrigues him and it incenses him, like cracking a whip at an irate bull.
Working his leg like a wedge, his knee grazes that sensitive groin, rubbing steady circles around the area. Moaning into their not quite kiss, McGillis does away with any pretenses and shoves his tongue into Jeremiah's mouth. And he fucks it, relentlessly, with the full power of a domineering general. Tries to choke him, tries to bend him to his will, to force his submission.
Yet he will also submit, if only in his own way. As Jeremiah seeks contact, McGillis leans into his touch. The skintight suit hides little and McGillis hides even less; he allows Jeremiah to feel out the sweep of his chest, his taut belly, the jut of his hips and the curve of his thighs. He was a well-built specimen and seems to know it, especially between his legs, especially that cock.
To which he laughs, heady, between every gasp for breath.]
Such a shame, little noble...
[An absurdly large man and in every possible way. Slowly stirring to life, McGillis presses the shape of his stiff cock to his hand.]
[The last of his usual restraint slips away when the pressure targets itself directly between his legs, McGillis's tongue once more in his mouth. Pleasure runs like a shot of lightning, so fast it's hard to tell where it started and where it reaches last. He can't help the incremental stutter of his hips, right into that firm, broad muscle.
How telling. The drugs and the missed time are still there, urging him, but it's the force of nature standing before him that's doing him in most of all, only making his want grow. Literally, no doubt he can feel that by now, no trappings in Jeremiah's standard method of dress to conceal it. For every misstep, every slight, he'll have to just show his sincerity other ways, with his body. It's in the mindful grip in his hair, his lips ravenous but letting himself be kissed more than lead it. His hands, however, only press more firmly when he feels McGillis's weight in it. It's still so hard to actually grip anything, so he doesn't stay put, instead trying to map everything he can. The firm give of muscle is so good, though different through the unfamiliar suit, wrapped around springy and tight.
This nickname really leaves something to be desired, but he'll leave it if it doesn't prod that terrible ego for a while longer. A discussion for another time. He's busy cupping the swell in McGillis's suit, now that he's been properly introduced. Stroking slow, but squeezing firm enough, feeling out as much as he can. His words come out hushed, still panting.]
That may take too long to prepare for.
[It's not going to work if he just slicks up and sticks it in, that's for sure. Jeremiah's absolutely not patient enough for that much preparation right now, not what it would take with him so out of practice. Will it even fit in his mouth?]
God. [Jeremiah sighs it, slipping out before he can stop. He grips a little firmer, carefully. Wanting. Not necessarily for his specific words, just wanting him.]
[So weak and so fast. It would have been a bit disappointing but McGillis recognizes that not every man was a sexual guru; he also recognizes that some were more sensitive than others and apparently that was the case here. For a moment, he draws back. Just a little, just enough to appreciate Jeremiah in all his stuttering glory. While he wasn't anything like soft, he can at least admire that unusually striking appearance, those crisp clothes which compliment a cocksure attitude. Running fingers through the fancy sweep of hair, which drop slowly down.]
Careful now. Wouldn't want you to lose it, long before you ever get near my mouth.
[Allowing Jeremiah a moment to catch his breath—or at least try—he angles his mouth away, bites like before but not so brutally. More of a curious nibble as he alternates between nipping and sucking the soft flesh above the jugular, where he could bleed out. All the while, he rocks into that steady grip, moaning with every squeeze and stroke. His fingers hook into his belt and unwind it without even looking, the sign of a true prodigy, then sneak beneath his layers to travel up that toned torso. And naturally, he doesn't get far before he runs into a speed bump.
Or rather he figures out what made him so heavy, not that it took a particularly brilliant mind.]
Prostheses...?
[It could have killed the mood, but to the contrary, McGillis seems fascinated. So much so that he tries to strip his coat to get at the pieces of interest.]
[It's different when McGillis's strike hits its mark so cleanly, but the stakes aren't the same either. Just as he can't hide his current weaknesses to touch, to another human's warmth, he can't hide anything else. Certainly not from someone who would take and take and take with so little regard, simply because they desire it.
He's actually grateful. Having to lay it all out spares him little time towards wringing his hands. Jeremiah's more reticent simply because he'd been enjoying himself, but. Well, the sudden, adamant curiosity bolsters him, even if it's daunting to face in turn.]
Ah... yes, that. [Yes, "that," like he'd ever forgotten it would come up with the next person to see or touch him without clothing. Jeremiah sighs a little through his nose, pulling his hold away so he can extract his arms out of his jacket, which he really could have removed himself, come now. He lets it fall away in a stunning display of poor etiquette, either to hang from McGillis's grip or onto the floor, and... well. It's gonna take getting through more layers than that to get to revealing his back in full.]
I don't mind, if you'd like to see it.
[He's saying this as he's already stripping his gloves off, already figuring McGillis's hands will continue their path regardless. His cravat is the next to go.]
[Cool, just use him as a coat hanger. That will definitely help with the whole "asshole noble" image.]
Do I look like a maid to you...
[McGillis grumbles, as he acts exactly like a maid and proceeds to fold that jacket and drape it over the guardrail. Fortunately for Jeremiah, McGillis prides himself upon fastidiousness, so he doesn't really mind so much. Especially with the promise of a lovely show, which has McGillis easing up a bit on that mean streak and looking a little excitable at the prospect of a prosthetic.
Kind of like patting a feral mutt on the maw. Still chancing a nasty bite, or rabies, or both, but every boy was a good boy deep down. Sometimes you just really had to dig deep.]
And I command all sorts of men, so it isn't something new.
[...you're not fooling anyone, McGillis, not with that wagging tail.]
[Your fault for getting grabby, McGillis. Should have let him deal with it himself.]
No, but thank you all the same.
[And he means it, simply as he says it. The other man's irritations towards the prim and proper clearly haven't stopped him from having manners, even if he constantly twists them when and as he sees fit. The cushion his coat forms on the railing makes a good place for him to lay down his paired gloves. Pulling the untied cravat out from his collar, he smooths it over with his hands to fold a few times, before setting it there as well.
For a second there he'd wanted to be rash and careless, but there's been a shift, like the storm inside McGillis altered course. The heat in his eyes is there, but it's deep, tempered with a strange patience. Jeremiah doesn't slow his movements, though neither was he hurried to start, working the topmost clasp on his vest apart.]
I see. [The closure pops open, and he reaches down to the second one. Perhaps the movement is a little more deliberate than usual.] ... it's not common, where I come from.
[He's not the only casualty of war who came out the other side with metal in them to keep them whole and moving. He may be the only one who was also turned into a lab rat, though that may be less evident to McGillis's eyes.]
[This wasn't just a noble by trade, he realizes, but a noble by blood. And a few things click into place for McGillis, as he was raised alongside a fussy little brat and learned all of his little proclivities. How he liked his tea and how he loved his dessert; how he would walk and talk and treat the servants; how he was waited on and doted upon and offered every advantage.
All in service to society, to the weak and the downtrodden—the very essence of noblesse oblige. To some extent, those people couldn't turn it off. They were born into privilege and bred for power and would never know how to live without either one. They never had to fight for food or fuck for money and they never had to grasp it, the idea of a bigger world beyond their own.
But with a body like that, this man must have....
There was a market for that sort of thing. Illegal parts, bought and sold, grafted onto skin and usually with horrific results. All for a fetish, all chasing a cheap high. McGillis can't imagine that Jeremiah chose that fate. He's still fascinated, of course, but it's more of a muted expression. Touching his fingers to the misshapen pieces, he keeps his thoughts to himself.
Then he bends his head, presses his mouth to a bit of metal, and kisses it as if to say it doesn't bother me at all.]
[The last clasp comes undone, and he shrugs off his vest with an easy shift of his shoulders. Folded and away it goes. Jeremiah regards his shirt, his fingers pausing at the first button for just a second before he works it open. The rest of the buttons go quickly, and once it hangs open, he shrugs the fabric off. Refreshing, really, after how overheated one can get in all those layers.
From the front, he looks utterly normal. Toned, not with the same impressive curves as McGillis, obvious even through his suit, just cut in a smoother, slender profile. Jeremiah turns to the side as he sets his shirt down, then rotates most of the way around to show. The only metal aside from the mask on his face sits along the length of his spine, diamond-shaped panels in an interlocking row of burgundy. Near the middle sit a trio of orange ports in a vertical line, at least an inch in diameter. Somewhere for something to plug into, not just for cosmetic appearance.
He can see in his periphery, at least, as McGillis reaches. There's no flinch when his hand meets him, the resistance noticeable even if he can't feel the actual touch. He's far from the first person to touch this, obviously, but in this context it doesn't feel strange for a lover, nor clinical as the scientists were. The kiss that follows isn't tangible from his lips alone, but there's the whisper of his hair, the warmth of his face sending tingles through his skin.
Jeremiah turns to look more fully over his shoulder, curious for a glimpse of those poisonous eyes. What he finds is unsurprising, but it still makes the set of his shoulders relax a little more. He hums, just a wordless acknowledgement for now, arching closer to the touch.]
[He might've been surprised by it, but he wasn't disgusted by it. Despite what McGillis may have claimed, treating sex like a transaction was abhorrent. It made him feel cheap, as though he had been thrown back into that filthy brothel—just another whore for hire as opposed to a self-made man. And Jeremiah, for any and all faults, had at least made the effort to accommodate his curiosity, even though it wasn't strictly necessary. It couldn't have possibly been the first time and it absolutely wouldn't have been fair to stare. He's still a human, not a circus freak.
But even so, he can't quite resist the urge to touch. He does try to strike a reasonable balance, though, aiming for respectful admiration. Skimming the tips of his trim nails over the grooves and understanding the purpose for those ports at once: he was part of a machine. Definitely a pilot and likely a little more than that, given the intricate nature of the circuitry and its design.
...he was an experiment.
What a troubling time for such a revelation. Rather than ruin the mood, he simply states:]
Let me look at it later.
[Not quite venomous, actually the opposite—a subtle invitation to a proper bed.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
You are burdensome and bothersome.
[And he's just going to push him into that bar and...
...push him into that bar...
...huh. Why was he so heavy?]
no subject
Some would consider that a measure of effectiveness.
[He clearly does. It's not smug, not like last time, but he's smiling again all the same.
It may get him just as far.]
no subject
Drumming fingers on that broad shoulder, McGillis gives the matter some thought. And then opts for a different strategy.]
Move it for a square.
[The strategy in question: the bully will propose a reasonable trade.]
I will allow you to choose, within reason.
no subject
The connection doesn't take long, and the lightbulb goes on by way of his raised brow, eye a little wider.]
... for that? [Just to move his Fortress? Was that really how so many people used sex here, not just for sustenance and supplies but to end disagreements? Well. No point in wasting his shock over it once his brain accepts yes, really, because McGillis had been just as unflinching about the rest of it when they'd first spoken.
Under his sleeve, his wrist burns hot under the pull of his bracelet. Jeremiah's still looking straight ahead, at this strange, demanding man. Still every inch as handsome as he'd been when he'd first been accosted. The tighter lines of his current garb certainly do him further favors. Ridiculous that his mind sways in that direction, but then again, they're not on a crowded beach anymore, and McGillis's hand still feels heavy and warm.
The hangar is big but empty, save the two of them. Plenty of hidden corners and shadows to get lost in. Jeremiah's gut tightens.]
Very well.
[There's still a pinch to his expression, a dubiousness to the unknown that's only natural. He's got rust to shake off, and McGillis still troubles him, but he agrees. Unfortunately, the last few times he's tried to peer at his own set of squares, Jeremiah couldn't stomach looking for long, so his memory of what terrible roll of fate he's been handed isn't very fresh. Pushing up his jacket sleeve to reveal his bracelet, Jeremiah hazards one last unsure glance at McGillis, as if he needs a warning of what he'll see before the display turns on and he pulls up the card.]
no subject
And no, that skintight suit didn't hide a damn thing, not a single curve of that flawless figure.]
I thought you heeded my warning, little noble.
[So much for doing better. This looked a lot like doing worse, not that he was about to complain. McGillis pages through the card, hemming and hawing at each square. Judging each and every one and making certain that Jeremiah can see it and hear it. He earned every ounce of ostracization and more for that little stunt on the beach.]
Multiple orgasms? Can you really make a man come that many times...?
[...goodness, this man was something like shameless.]
no subject
A heeded warning only guarantees acknowledgement. Jeremiah would never bother giving word that he'd comply.
And those rations? Yeah, not as safe as he'd hoped, once he got hungry enough to turn to the dilapidated trinket from their last encounter. He's managing fine, really, as much untainted food as he can get and reasonably justify eating at once, then supplementing the rest when his stomach begins to ache. Initiating physical contact like this is a mistake for maintaining his patience. Thanks, for that.]
"Multiple" only means two or more, there seems no requirement. [Nor does the "more" part sound impossible. Surely if he can make a woman do it, he can push a man to that limit, too. His face isn't without a flush, but he persists, tone quiet but fairly even.] You haven't known me behind closed doors yet, so don't assume.
no subject
You misunderstand, Jeremiah.
[Because of course he did. All brawn, no brains, these uptight nobles and their uptight morals. Morals which Jeremiah would be without, soon enough, as confirmed by that mischievous spark in those green, green eyes. And by how he purposely pushes forward, presses in, stripping Jeremiah of any possible escape routes and making him feel every nuance of muscle.
And all because he refused to move his hulking beast of a mobile suit. Maybe he'll regret it, but then again...]
I was asking if you could satisfy me that many times.
[...maybe not. He may have been an awful man but he was promising an awfully good time.]
no subject
It's nice, really. He feels like he's pouring off heat already, whether or not it passes through his suit, though he can feel it reflected back on his face. It's comfortable to be held, also claustrophobic to suddenly be so close. Without a discussion already at hand, he might have been tempted into kissing him, to take another shot at that sinful mouth of his. It may easier than looking in his eyes bare inches away and seeing the depths of his intent.]
Is that your vote? [Jeremiah's still got the final say, but his tone is genuinely asking. Pulse running hot, fast; having options like this somehow makes it all the easier, all the worse. For all his pride, he knows when he's well-matched, or more likely, outclassed. Jeremiah may boast and crow all he likes, but he'll get caught in a lie if he's reckless. He's sure he's capable of making McGillis orgasm more than once, but could he satisfy him? His expectations?]
I imagine I'd enjoy trying.
[It's cagey, but as honest as he can get, his eye flickered back downwards. There's not a lot he can stand to consider for long, not here and now, so his options narrow down pretty quick. Jeremiah doesn't have to look back up to think once again of his lips, curled in a smile. God, his face has gotten hot.]
Oral would be simple enough.
[There, was that so hard?]
no subject
I would gain greater satisfaction from an orange peel.
[Coincidental turn of phrase, truly.
Unlike Jeremiah, who looks liable to overheat at any moment, McGillis demonstrates admirable temperament. Beyond cracking wise, he seems genuinely interested in the contents of Jeremiah's card. While still irritated, it wasn't as if that initial attraction had faded. And he had been just as irritated with Gaelio at the beginning, masquerading as Vidar, and now...
Well, Jeremiah was no masked man, that's for damn sure. But it stands to reason that maybe, just maybe, he deserves a second chance. As Jeremiah scrolls through the options and lands on another square, McGillis has to laugh—and this time it isn't at his expense. He really couldn't escape that kind of fate, not with Vidar, not with Jeremiah, and not with anyone else. At least he could be proud of such a talent, far more useful here than back home.]
Is that what you want...?
[No, Jeremiah, it's not hard. Quite the opposite.]
Fair warning, I will ruin you for anyone else.
no subject
It is.
[Simple as that. His face is still flushed, yes, but his tone holds. Shrinking violet isn't his usual state, it feels... far too vulnerable, even momentarily. Maybe he does carry a measure of nervousness after being away from this for a time. Not just from another human's touch, but from an energy like his. One that really will lay him out and swallow him up, if he lets it, if it gets the better of him.
For the duration of a few stolen moments, today, it might prove favorable.]
I'll take that chance. [Jeremiah's eye flicks to his lips, lingering for a spell.] You've got quite the mouth, I'll concede my curiosity.
[And that kiss was only a taste, of course, but it was enough.]
no subject
Disrespect me a second time and it will be your last time.
[And more than a sexual exchange, that was taking an awfully big chance—the chance that he wouldn't wind up bitten by the man and in a much nastier way.]
no subject
McGillis turned cold on him before, but Jeremiah had closed up first, pushed him away. This time can be different, even if he might still get bit.]
Understood.
[He's remained calm, though it's softer. It's still not an apology, but more than a simple heeding.]
no subject
But while he was a petulant man, he wasn't unreasonable. So as Jeremiah signals his agreement, McGillis seems to finally let the matter go.]
Making me work for my meal... that doesn't feel fair at all.
[Although that was a half-hearted complaint at best, as he soothes his hands on either side of Jeremiah's face.]
Seems it would've been less trouble to ask for the fish.
no subject
His hands are big, protective. Capable of harm as well, that he's already seen.]
No doubt it would have. [There's amusement in his eye, but it's overshadowed by the heavy-lidded want growing ever darker. Not as if this is a bad compromise, he thinks.
Jeremiah finally flicks off his bracelet, the weight of confirmation settling heavy and urgent. His hand finds McGillis's shoulder, just near his neck, fingers curled over the muscle to press in, urging him closer. He can't kiss him first this time, not when he's being held like this, but the impetuous demand for it still sits fat on his tongue.]
no subject
Still bossing me about, I see...
[Because when you were a whore for hire, you tended to get really good really fast at reading body language—and Jeremiah was behaving like the boss, like the biggest man in the room. Unfortunately, it appeals to McGillis on a baser level, even as he reasserts himself by way of wedging a thigh between Jeremiah's legs and closing the gap for the beginnings of a kiss.
Although "kiss" was an awfully generous term. It was more like drowning, like being dragged beneath the surface, forced under and with an insistent hand. With much greater strength than before, McGillis shoves Jeremiah to the nearest guardrail, propping his back against the bar. Ordinarily he would hook around a hip and take himself for a ride on a nice big cock, but...
Well, maybe some other time. For now, he honors their agreement and warms Jeremiah up, making things almost unbearably hot.]
no subject
It shuts him up at first, being kissed so deeply so fast, but the invasion between his thighs urges a soft sound right back out of him. Jeremiah lets himself go down, opening to the touch and reaching back, settling his hips to fit together. The hand on his shoulder squeezes, but he can't resist the urge to surge back up into that hair of his. It's not the same with gloves, the locks nearly slip right through his fingers unless he holds on properly.
Jeremiah doesn't pull, though, just holds on. McGillis backs him to the rail and he just grunts softly through his nose, a faint, dulled clunk when his spine hits metal, even through the layers of his clothes. Which, frankly, are definitely too much at this point, but he'll suffer a moment longer to keep from pulling away. Opening the floodgates is dangerous, it's never not dangerous, because Jeremiah will dive in every time the water looks good. It's exceedingly easy to end up lost.
Canting his hips slightly, Jeremiah presses back, curious as to what there is to feel through his suit. The garment is frustrating in a sense because it's hard to get the leverage he wants with no excess fabric to wrap in his fist, but the tightness offers no barrier to mapping every curve of his muscle, his bones.]
no subject
Working his leg like a wedge, his knee grazes that sensitive groin, rubbing steady circles around the area. Moaning into their not quite kiss, McGillis does away with any pretenses and shoves his tongue into Jeremiah's mouth. And he fucks it, relentlessly, with the full power of a domineering general. Tries to choke him, tries to bend him to his will, to force his submission.
Yet he will also submit, if only in his own way. As Jeremiah seeks contact, McGillis leans into his touch. The skintight suit hides little and McGillis hides even less; he allows Jeremiah to feel out the sweep of his chest, his taut belly, the jut of his hips and the curve of his thighs. He was a well-built specimen and seems to know it, especially between his legs, especially that cock.
To which he laughs, heady, between every gasp for breath.]
Such a shame, little noble...
[An absurdly large man and in every possible way. Slowly stirring to life, McGillis presses the shape of his stiff cock to his hand.]
I really would like to fuck you.
no subject
How telling. The drugs and the missed time are still there, urging him, but it's the force of nature standing before him that's doing him in most of all, only making his want grow. Literally, no doubt he can feel that by now, no trappings in Jeremiah's standard method of dress to conceal it. For every misstep, every slight, he'll have to just show his sincerity other ways, with his body. It's in the mindful grip in his hair, his lips ravenous but letting himself be kissed more than lead it. His hands, however, only press more firmly when he feels McGillis's weight in it. It's still so hard to actually grip anything, so he doesn't stay put, instead trying to map everything he can. The firm give of muscle is so good, though different through the unfamiliar suit, wrapped around springy and tight.
This nickname really leaves something to be desired, but he'll leave it if it doesn't prod that terrible ego for a while longer. A discussion for another time. He's busy cupping the swell in McGillis's suit, now that he's been properly introduced. Stroking slow, but squeezing firm enough, feeling out as much as he can. His words come out hushed, still panting.]
That may take too long to prepare for.
[It's not going to work if he just slicks up and sticks it in, that's for sure. Jeremiah's absolutely not patient enough for that much preparation right now, not what it would take with him so out of practice. Will it even fit in his mouth?]
God. [Jeremiah sighs it, slipping out before he can stop. He grips a little firmer, carefully. Wanting. Not necessarily for his specific words, just wanting him.]
no subject
Careful now. Wouldn't want you to lose it, long before you ever get near my mouth.
[Allowing Jeremiah a moment to catch his breath—or at least try—he angles his mouth away, bites like before but not so brutally. More of a curious nibble as he alternates between nipping and sucking the soft flesh above the jugular, where he could bleed out. All the while, he rocks into that steady grip, moaning with every squeeze and stroke. His fingers hook into his belt and unwind it without even looking, the sign of a true prodigy, then sneak beneath his layers to travel up that toned torso. And naturally, he doesn't get far before he runs into a speed bump.
Or rather he figures out what made him so heavy, not that it took a particularly brilliant mind.]
Prostheses...?
[It could have killed the mood, but to the contrary, McGillis seems fascinated. So much so that he tries to strip his coat to get at the pieces of interest.]
no subject
He's actually grateful. Having to lay it all out spares him little time towards wringing his hands. Jeremiah's more reticent simply because he'd been enjoying himself, but. Well, the sudden, adamant curiosity bolsters him, even if it's daunting to face in turn.]
Ah... yes, that. [Yes, "that," like he'd ever forgotten it would come up with the next person to see or touch him without clothing. Jeremiah sighs a little through his nose, pulling his hold away so he can extract his arms out of his jacket, which he really could have removed himself, come now. He lets it fall away in a stunning display of poor etiquette, either to hang from McGillis's grip or onto the floor, and... well. It's gonna take getting through more layers than that to get to revealing his back in full.]
I don't mind, if you'd like to see it.
[He's saying this as he's already stripping his gloves off, already figuring McGillis's hands will continue their path regardless. His cravat is the next to go.]
no subject
Do I look like a maid to you...
[McGillis grumbles, as he acts exactly like a maid and proceeds to fold that jacket and drape it over the guardrail. Fortunately for Jeremiah, McGillis prides himself upon fastidiousness, so he doesn't really mind so much. Especially with the promise of a lovely show, which has McGillis easing up a bit on that mean streak and looking a little excitable at the prospect of a prosthetic.
Kind of like patting a feral mutt on the maw. Still chancing a nasty bite, or rabies, or both, but every boy was a good boy deep down. Sometimes you just really had to dig deep.]
And I command all sorts of men, so it isn't something new.
[...you're not fooling anyone, McGillis, not with that wagging tail.]
no subject
No, but thank you all the same.
[And he means it, simply as he says it. The other man's irritations towards the prim and proper clearly haven't stopped him from having manners, even if he constantly twists them when and as he sees fit. The cushion his coat forms on the railing makes a good place for him to lay down his paired gloves. Pulling the untied cravat out from his collar, he smooths it over with his hands to fold a few times, before setting it there as well.
For a second there he'd wanted to be rash and careless, but there's been a shift, like the storm inside McGillis altered course. The heat in his eyes is there, but it's deep, tempered with a strange patience. Jeremiah doesn't slow his movements, though neither was he hurried to start, working the topmost clasp on his vest apart.]
I see. [The closure pops open, and he reaches down to the second one. Perhaps the movement is a little more deliberate than usual.] ... it's not common, where I come from.
[He's not the only casualty of war who came out the other side with metal in them to keep them whole and moving. He may be the only one who was also turned into a lab rat, though that may be less evident to McGillis's eyes.]
no subject
All in service to society, to the weak and the downtrodden—the very essence of noblesse oblige. To some extent, those people couldn't turn it off. They were born into privilege and bred for power and would never know how to live without either one. They never had to fight for food or fuck for money and they never had to grasp it, the idea of a bigger world beyond their own.
But with a body like that, this man must have....
There was a market for that sort of thing. Illegal parts, bought and sold, grafted onto skin and usually with horrific results. All for a fetish, all chasing a cheap high. McGillis can't imagine that Jeremiah chose that fate. He's still fascinated, of course, but it's more of a muted expression. Touching his fingers to the misshapen pieces, he keeps his thoughts to himself.
Then he bends his head, presses his mouth to a bit of metal, and kisses it as if to say it doesn't bother me at all.]
no subject
From the front, he looks utterly normal. Toned, not with the same impressive curves as McGillis, obvious even through his suit, just cut in a smoother, slender profile. Jeremiah turns to the side as he sets his shirt down, then rotates most of the way around to show. The only metal aside from the mask on his face sits along the length of his spine, diamond-shaped panels in an interlocking row of burgundy. Near the middle sit a trio of orange ports in a vertical line, at least an inch in diameter. Somewhere for something to plug into, not just for cosmetic appearance.
He can see in his periphery, at least, as McGillis reaches. There's no flinch when his hand meets him, the resistance noticeable even if he can't feel the actual touch. He's far from the first person to touch this, obviously, but in this context it doesn't feel strange for a lover, nor clinical as the scientists were. The kiss that follows isn't tangible from his lips alone, but there's the whisper of his hair, the warmth of his face sending tingles through his skin.
Jeremiah turns to look more fully over his shoulder, curious for a glimpse of those poisonous eyes. What he finds is unsurprising, but it still makes the set of his shoulders relax a little more. He hums, just a wordless acknowledgement for now, arching closer to the touch.]
no subject
But even so, he can't quite resist the urge to touch. He does try to strike a reasonable balance, though, aiming for respectful admiration. Skimming the tips of his trim nails over the grooves and understanding the purpose for those ports at once: he was part of a machine. Definitely a pilot and likely a little more than that, given the intricate nature of the circuitry and its design.
...he was an experiment.
What a troubling time for such a revelation. Rather than ruin the mood, he simply states:]
Let me look at it later.
[Not quite venomous, actually the opposite—a subtle invitation to a proper bed.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)