"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."
[It's easy to spot the figure in white standing before his unit. The hair is the next giveaway, and as Jeremiah makes his way through the hangar, he steels himself. Of course he'd be found here, of course his title in his world would suggest he too would pilot a mobile suit. It doesn't bolster his confidence, however, to justify the presence. Either way, he's in the path between Jeremiah and his machine, so confrontation is inevitable.
Not nearly as protective, deeply unconcerned for the Siegfried's chances of being hijacked, he simply stops behind McGillis rather than demanding explanations.]
Good morning, Brigadier General. May I assist you?
[A little stiff, but not impolite. It had never been his intention to get off on the wrong foot, even if he's still minding their proximity with a wary eye. What he'll get, in turn, remains to be seen.]
[Good morning to you too, then. As if it's a surprise, given their last meeting, that he wouldn't bother. McGillis just looks pissed off, an anger already incited before he'd made eye contact with Jeremiah at all.
His presence may not be welcome, but the initial source of his mood, his emphasis, makes itself clear.]
It certainly is.
[Jeremiah looks to the hull, gleaming where the light catches on the edges. The massive, conical Slash Harkens are tilted inwards, cutting a smaller profile without full room to spread, but even then she looms while his feet are on the ground, full and imposing.
Go on, then. He's not speaking further, and clearly there's some opinions to be had.]
[No opinions, just orders. Which he freely spits out.]
Get it away from my Gundam.
[Except given their last meeting, he was fully aware that Jeremiah was unlikely to comply—or at the very least question the necessity of said order. So he works his jaw, tries to bite back the urge to just shoot the pilot in the head and be done with it, repeating himself with a bit more decorum. But just a bit.]
Move it with all due expedience and I will forgive the transgression.
[Once again, the generous general, ever so charitable and ever so wise.]
["Transgression?" Oh, wonderful. Jeremiah does spare a glance to the mobile suit next to the Siegfried, shining in more tasteful whites and blues. So that's a Gundam. Nearly a match for McGillis's suit, he notes. It's a stunning machine, but he doesn't mention it now.]
Where the Augur chose to dock her was beyond my control. [But it had been where he'd returned it after finally, finally getting a taste behind the controls again. Jeremiah'd been hoping to pick up where he'd left off, but he guesses he's doing this instead.]
After the next time I sortie, I shall park elsewhere.
[And while Jeremiah was no slouch in the physical department, McGillis has the height and the size advantage. Drawing himself up and drawing too close and baring teeth that were too much like fangs. Just like last time, as if poised to deliver yet another nasty bite—all pain and no pleasure. Utterly aggravated, McGillis just looms and expects that his demands will be met.
Which of course means that he will make those demands again.]
You will move it and you will not disturb me for the remainder of the day.
[His boots are the same as he'd worn the other day, and whatever difference McGillis's state of dress makes doesn't seem to matter. He's right there, rising past Jeremiah just enough that he has to look up when he's this close.
Jeremiah still doesn't like it.]
I will move it when I choose to.
[He doesn't report to you, Brigadier General. The tone of one won't work here. If anything, he's fairly sure he's just going to leave, return at another time when this ill-tempered man was far from sight. The Siegfried could remain as she was, for now.]
[He might. Jeremiah's muscles remember their training, but his strength has been sapped from him, and McGillis has him on mass and volume. It's a risk he'd take, even if he can't trust what his bones could truly stand up to right now.
Crossing his arms, he offers no haughty tilt of his chin, no sneer, even if he wants to. He just stares right back.]
What about my machine bothers you so deeply, McGillis?
[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.]
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Not nearly as protective, deeply unconcerned for the Siegfried's chances of being hijacked, he simply stops behind McGillis rather than demanding explanations.]
Good morning, Brigadier General. May I assist you?
[A little stiff, but not impolite. It had never been his intention to get off on the wrong foot, even if he's still minding their proximity with a wary eye. What he'll get, in turn, remains to be seen.]
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Is this thing yours?
[Because it had better not be, you smug son of a bitch.]
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His presence may not be welcome, but the initial source of his mood, his emphasis, makes itself clear.]
It certainly is.
[Jeremiah looks to the hull, gleaming where the light catches on the edges. The massive, conical Slash Harkens are tilted inwards, cutting a smaller profile without full room to spread, but even then she looms while his feet are on the ground, full and imposing.
Go on, then. He's not speaking further, and clearly there's some opinions to be had.]
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Get it away from my Gundam.
[Except given their last meeting, he was fully aware that Jeremiah was unlikely to comply—or at the very least question the necessity of said order. So he works his jaw, tries to bite back the urge to just shoot the pilot in the head and be done with it, repeating himself with a bit more decorum. But just a bit.]
Move it with all due expedience and I will forgive the transgression.
[Once again, the generous general, ever so charitable and ever so wise.]
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Where the Augur chose to dock her was beyond my control. [But it had been where he'd returned it after finally, finally getting a taste behind the controls again. Jeremiah'd been hoping to pick up where he'd left off, but he guesses he's doing this instead.]
After the next time I sortie, I shall park elsewhere.
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You will move it now.
[And while Jeremiah was no slouch in the physical department, McGillis has the height and the size advantage. Drawing himself up and drawing too close and baring teeth that were too much like fangs. Just like last time, as if poised to deliver yet another nasty bite—all pain and no pleasure. Utterly aggravated, McGillis just looms and expects that his demands will be met.
Which of course means that he will make those demands again.]
You will move it and you will not disturb me for the remainder of the day.
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Jeremiah still doesn't like it.]
I will move it when I choose to.
[He doesn't report to you, Brigadier General. The tone of one won't work here. If anything, he's fairly sure he's just going to leave, return at another time when this ill-tempered man was far from sight. The Siegfried could remain as she was, for now.]
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[Just a friendly suggestion for a friendly man.]
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Crossing his arms, he offers no haughty tilt of his chin, no sneer, even if he wants to. He just stares right back.]
What about my machine bothers you so deeply, McGillis?
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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?]
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
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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?]
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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.
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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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.
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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.]
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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.]
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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.]
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