amusebox | Open RP Post

Entry tags:

Open RP Post

↪ Pick one of my characters (make sure to specific which version) OR drop any character of yours in and get a random choice.
↪ Find a meme, roll something, idefk
↪ Or cheat and just pick something.
↪ You can also just throw a picture, quote, or whatever kind of prompt you want.
↪ Or just leave a TFLN.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Chase knocks his fingers away, mood dropping off into something pouty. No fun. He flops back down to lay on Jack's bed again, wetting his lips and watching dust motes drift about the ceiling. He could provoke the fight: he could instigate, or push at buttons until that fist with its shiny little ring came crashing down... but for all his bluster, he won't. No matter how mercurial Chase gets, Jack always seems to keep up better than most. Or weather it better, at least. Ignore it better. Something like that.

And Chase won't admit it to himself, but when he found Caleb and his Covenant, all those boys he'd called brothers, he'd coveted that. Not enough to try and earn it, of course, but he'd still wanted it.

And so here, now, it'd be... inconvenient to be in Jack's bad graces for real. He lets it go, and looks back over. "Have you met anybody here that's not? Fucked up." Because Chase really hasn't. Especially not anybody with their face.

Edited (i'm trash) 2015-02-11 08:14 (UTC)

Chase goes all petulant, and Jack can't help the small, snorted chuckle over it. Aww, poor baby. So sad, ur life so hard, weh weh. He lets out a lazy exhale as he sink onto the mattress to Chase's side, dragging a pillow over to stick between his back and the wall that he leans against at the head of the bunk. "Pout a little harder, dear, I don't think the next star system over can sense your misery yet."

He jokes, because he smiles lightly at the morose teen as he says it. Jack knows the issues Chase has aren't anything light or easily dismissed, but neither are his and neither at Bucky's. What he says is about right - everyone here is fucked up. Either joke about it or walk on eggshells at all time.

"That depends on your definition of 'fucked up'." No, not anyone with their face. Their face just has that curse, it seems.

Chase flips him off, finger lingering high up in the air for several beats before he answers. "I don't know. They have to seek it out, right? People who'll do this shit, there's enough fucked up about that." He drops his hand back down, running his thumb over the corner of his mouth. Sometimes, he thinks about the sort of person he is. Not often, but sometimes. He probably ought to feel guilty or something: instead he just feels angry. At the world, at his useless, dead father, at all the witches who got a fair shot to live out their lives because someone told them what the magic could do. He gets angry, and then he gets back to the high, and then it doesn't matter. "I bet a bunch of saps agreed to it to save their planet, or whatever." He rolls over so he can prop himself up on his elbows and look over at Jack. "I told them I'd sign twice as fast if they'd burn mine up first. Turns out, that's not really how it works."

It's so painfully easy to see that anger and bitterness boiling in Chase, too, and perhaps that's another part of the stray kitten under the bridge thing. There's a mock kissy face made for the finger Chase gives him, and snorts at the last statement.

"You're such a little charmer, Chase, anyone ever tell you that?" But he's pensively watching him for a moment, mulling over what he'd said. As frivolous as Jack acts, he's goes over what comes out of his mouth before he opens it. Unlike many here. Chase included.

"Not everyone came here knowing what they were signing up for. All the recruiters need is 'yes'. Doesn't matter what the question before it was." David, d'Artagnan, Steve. Not everyone gets that 'save your planet' speech, or any of it at all.

"But for the ones who didn't recieve full disclosure, if they weren't fucked up then, they sure are now." He looks down to Chase, watching him for a second. "Some saps have things worth saving on their planets."

'Not like us' is the part left unspoken.

"Sure, and repeatedly." Chase's cheeky grin makes a reappearance. Everyone had loved him. Hell, even everyone's parents had loved him, every teacher and coach and busybody waitress. All the little, tiny, utterly insignificant people, and always until it was just a little too late. It might be the magic, he doesn't really know. It might just have been the money and the way he used to bat his lashes to get what he wanted. Probably a little of both, honestly.

In any case, he hasn't bothered with the public face here that had once endeared people to him so easily at home. What does he have to hide, after all? Half the people can do stranger things than magic, and all of them are murderers by the end of their first mission. "Though, not lately. Maybe you should tell me more often."

He waves a finger in Jack's direction, and the ring that had been on his middle finger dissolves into a puff of smoke, only to appear unblemished loose around the tip of Chase's. He runs his thumb over the design, certainly not apologizing for the unceremonious displacement. "You've got a collection of saps." He rolls the ring over his knuckles. "Almost as big as your collection of rings."

That's an exaggeration. Jack has a ridiculous number of rings, considering where they are and what they do.

"Maybe I should shove my foot up your ass more often." So dry, as he glowers at the ring now sitting on Chase's finger. You're touching his shit, son. That needs to stop, and the unamused look Jack is shooting him is saying about as much.

Still, for the moment, he listens to what Chase is babbling about, head giving a slight tilt to one side, though his expression remains a trained sort of blank that looks mostly effortless. Extinguishing physical reaction is something Jack had worked at his entire life. At this point, it is effortless.

"And much like my rings, they're very pretty yet more often than not useless." Not true, but you wouldn't be able to pick that up off of his voice or demeanor. The saps Jack has collected have done more for him than anything his father ever taught him - the entire apathy act included. But Jack isn't stupid. Assigning real value to them in front of Chase isn't something he's interested in doing. However, he does narrow his eyes at the fact Chase decided to pick on them specifically. "And, like my rings - not something I like being touched."

Snatching at Chase's wrist now, and dragging his hand back towards him. However, he isn't taking the ring off, just being handsy and peeved.

Chase laughs when he nearly gets yanked off balance, splaying his free hand out across the sheets to compensate for losing the other elbow's support beneath him. Jack's got that self-destructive streak that's almost as wide as his own, it's not hard to recognize, but something in the way he's not afraid to push Chase around even though he knows what Chase can do to him with barely a thought... it's a little sliver of normalcy. Strange, and almost nice. Just the smallest taste of someone knowing him and not turning around and running.

It'd certainly be the smart thing to do, but yet here he is.

"And yet here I am." Chase wiggles his fingers so that the ring falls more firmly down over the first knuckle (though it rests atop the second), lips parted and watching the lines of Jack's face intently. He wants to see where he can push that will go too far, exactly, but he also doesn't want to face the consequences of finding out. It's too late to stop himself right now, though, "touching."

Jack's face might not give it away, but it doesn't have to, because they all do for him: all of his saps. They keep coming back to him, so they have to be getting something in return, right? That's how it works. Chase is pretty sure.

After a long, drawn out moment, he licks his bottom lip and twists his wrist so that he can reach up with his thumb and slide the ring up off his finger to drop it into his palm. He offers it back, like he always ends up doing somehow with Jack. Giving in, and coming back, even if he doesn't recognize it.

"You're pissy today."

Edited (boo, words) 2015-03-01 10:51 (UTC)

Jack's features seem to be completely disconnected from the rest of it. Simply a blank slate, unaffected by whatever is going on in his head, whatever's being said, indifferent to every small piece of the world around him, including the boy longuing around on his bed. The ring drops into Chase's palm and Jack's eyes lower eventually to regard it distantly.

"I'm pissy everyday."

He mumbles in a deadpan, distracted more than anything else as he looks at his doppleganger's palm and the ring sitting innocently in the center, before his lips finally pulls into a smile, and his fingers move from his wrist to pluck the bit of jewelry away from him.

"Good boy." With all the patronizing tone within it, though, as the one hand pulls the ring away, the other moves forward to grip in the front of Chase's shirt, dragging him over the space left between them. Probably actually making him crawl a little if he wants to not flop his face directly into Jack's chest. The ring itself gets dropped onto the floor nearby the bed - it was always more the principle than the object. Well, it's a lot the object, but he has fucking 16 of them, okay, he's not worried about one getting floor-dust on it. The free hand moves back to Chase, cupping the back of his head to guide him closer to Jack's face.

"There are easier ways to get attention."

But this works too. Proven enough in how Jack dips his head, pressing lips to Chase's that isn't particularly chaste, but isn't incredibly heated. More languid, like there's all the time in the world to sit here and nip teeth at Chase's lips, curl his fingers into his hair and gradually pull and twist at the strands.

Chase grunts in surprise, dignity briefly abandoned in the confusion of the sudden switch as he does crawl to avoid getting a mouthful of Jack's shirt. He catches on quickly enough, though, and all at once he forgets about the rings and the saps and all that's left is the feeling of lips and teeth and fingers in his hair.

Turns out, he hadn't pushed too far, he'd pushed just enough. He likes this attention, definitely a lot, and if Jack isn't careful he's definitely going to be keeping it in mind for the future.

For the now, he twists enough so he can swing one leg over Jack's own and straddle his lap without breaking the lazy kiss, and then both of his hands braced on the wall on either side of the prince's head to box him in. When the pressure at the back of his head where Jack is twisting his hair becomes just enough to sting, Chase lets out a low noise deep in his throat settles his weight onto Jacks thighs.

His eyes slip closed first, even though he's likely the one who enjoys looking at his own face more, and his mouth opens so the tip of his tongue can catch at the part of Jack's lips. He likes the teeth, and surprisingly being slow doesn't actually make it bad (all of his encounters have been hard and hot and fast, before, because that's what he seeks out) but he wants more still, he wants for it to be hard to breathe.

Jack's lips pulls against Chase's, corner tugging into a small smirk as the younger boy crawls into his lap and contently straddles him. His hands drift, one finding the hem of Chase's t-shirt, slipping under the edge at his hip to trace along to the small of his back, dull nail of his thumb scraping against the ridges of his spine. The other smoothes down his side, over his thigh, and the curve of his ass until he grips the muscle and pulls him forward firmly.

His hips rise, grinding up against Chase's pelvis as he drags him closer, and tilts his head to deepen the kiss, lips parting and tongue pressing to slide along Chase's with a soft groan. He likes him much better like this. Quiet. Fairly obedient. In a state where Chase's wickedness actually pays off in Jack's favor.

He looks good this way too, sitting pretty and eager on Jack's thighs, leaning into him like he's drinking up the attention Jack's granting him like air. There's no doubt in how Jack finds Chase something completely fucked up, but he's messed up in such a beautiful way. Twisted in just the right ways that Jack can feel resonance in, can feel a vicarious kind of dark indulgence in, quietly and separated from. His head dips, finding Chase's throat, and his teeth scrape the skin before his lips do much more than brush against the pulse point.

Biting down against him, the whisper of softness from before has evaporated, and now there's just something possessive and dominating uncurling in Jack's chest, as he sucks up a mark against Chase's neck. He knows the witch can easily clear it up whenever he pleases, and perhaps that's why Jack's determined to make new ones each time. His fingers at Chase's back curl, digging into his skin and leaving red crescents as evidence of his touch.

"Fuck," Chase's hips buck at the feel of teeth on his throat, and one of his hands abandons the wall to fist in Jack's hair. It doesn't tug him anywhere yet, but his grip isn't gentle either, like he wants Jack to know he's not about to let him stop and pull away before he's gotten his fill of sensation. His head drops back to give Jack better access to his neck, and he starts rocking slightly, steadily, in the prince's lap. Jack likes control, that's fine, that's whatever. Chase is just greedy: he wants to feel everything, and he always wants it fast and hard and all at once. Usually the way to get that is to push his way on top and take it, but Jack gets so testy about that sort of thing.

His other hand drops down off the wall and slithers back between them, where he begins tugging at the front of Jack's shirt to pull it out from under where his own thighs have pinned it, so he can start to maneuver it up and over his head. It's not like Jack has anything there that he hasn't seen before, but he still appreciates the view every time, and it's his wont to feel skin on skin, warm and slicked with exertion. He could just magic it all off, but he's still buzzed from playing with Jack's rings earlier and this feels good too. Almost more real, somehow.

He bites his lip, where Jack's teeth were a second ago. "Come on," his voice is already rough, abs flexing as he rolls his hips back and forth in minute circles over Jack's pelvis, trying to coax the prince into hardness beneath his weight. He's young and impatient and horny, and Jack always seems to know what he's doing. Here, out there, even though he's so painfully normal by comparison - it's something Chase admires, and Chase so rarely admires anything about anyone that isn't himself. He frees Jack's shirt out from under himself, leaning reluctantly back away from Jack's nice teeth so he can bunch the fabric in his fist and start to pull, but has to stop when it catches beneath his arms. "You've got too many clothes, too."

The groan that crawls up from deep in Jack's throat vibrates against Chase's so warm skin, beneath Jack's teeth, lips and tongue, as he travels over the column of flesh bared for him to toy at. Chase is grinding up against him, and Jack makes no effort to conceal the indulgent smile his lips form against his skin, and soft, rumbling chuckle that follows. So impatient, so eager. Sometimes, he loves that about Chase. Sometimes, it's a pain in the ass. Not so much at the moment.

His coaxing, though, does meet the goal he'd been reaching for, and Jack's already feeling a pleasant ache of arousal, straining to get more of the friction Chase is supplying, and more of his exploring hands on his skin. slipping lower, over his ass, jack hooks his hands under Chase's thighs and flips him, flopping the teenager onto his back, more towards the middle of the mattress, so that Jack can crawl over him, hips at a better angle to rock down against Chase's, the firm line of his cock rutting against Chase's under him.

"Something you only bitch about when they're in your way." And not when Chase is stealing things from his closet to wear around as he pleases. Still, not something Jack's interested in arguing about, given that he's helping Chase to drag his shirt off, before moving to strip the younger one's t-shirt from him, hands immediately falling to his bare chest once it's done. Similar as they are, there's still such stark differences. Chase is still soft, slim, and unmarred. Pale. Athletic, but not with the kind of hard edges and wear that Jack's body has, from so many years at war, and the gap of age that shed anything that looked so youthful from his frame. Jack dips down, licking along a collarbone and biting against the muscle of a shoulder, before he finds and nipple to play at, rolling the bud between teeth and swirling his tongue over it. Meanwhile, his hand is busy trying to pry Chase's jeans open. Much as he's appreciating his body, Jack hasn't ever really been known for great patience with these things either.

Chase makes a noise of protest as he gets dumped onto his back, but the teeth in his shoulder and the hard dick rubbing up against his own push away any real complaints. His hips roll up clumsily and insistently into the new angle of contact, even as Jack's mouth finds his nipple and his fingers try to undo his jeans, pinning his hand uselessly between them.

Then Chase's fingers twist in Jack's hair again and he laughs, breathless and heated, unable to argue with his point (because it's true.) He uses his grip to pull Jack's head back up and away from his chest so he can kiss him again instead, biting at his bottom lip and then licking his way into Jack's mouth. It's not enough to draw blood, but damn if it doesn't feel like a near thing. "I got it," he promises when he stops to breath again, when the strain of denim trapping his cock against the weight and warmth and friction of Jack above him drives him to distraction. His eyes flash red and gold, a ring of fire from the pupil that burns out the iris and the whites, and suddenly both of them are naked and there's a haphazard pile of pants and shirts strewn about the floor, joining the fallen ring that Chase has already all but forgotten.

The magic in his veins makes him fumble instantly for their dicks, wrapping a hand around both of them together and tugging them as his mouth falls open and his hips jerk up erratically. He lets go of Jack's hair and grabs his bicep, just so he has something solid and steadying to hold onto. "God," he bites out instead of moaning, and this is usually where he'd flip them both over and take what he needs, but like always with Jack, he won't push he prince too far, he won't piss him off more than is amusing but safe. But he will make demands: "Would you just fuck me already?"

Sometimes, Jack fucking loves Chase's powers. He wishes he had an easy button for disrobing that fast too, but, whatever, just means he'll have to keep fucking Chase to enjoy it. Not that he's opposed to that. The teenager is writhing around under him, desperate for more friction, more sensation that Jack's keeping from him, because he maybe loves this sort of game. Holding something Chase wants and making him play nice to get it. When the fabric between them is dispelled away, though, Jack's caught a bit off-guard, and that hold slips, with a shuddered gasp, their skin meeting hot skin, and Chase's throbbing cock being pumped against his own.

Chase's tongue pries Jack's lips to part, and there's a surge of heat in him, and roughness that has him kissing him back, head tilting for better access with teeth and tongue both demanding and consuming. By the time Chase starts cursing about not getting what he wants, Jack's got one hand tangled up and pulling in his hair, and the other pressed down on his hip, holding him steady.

"Maybe if you stopped squirming for two seconds, I could." He says, albeit with a smirk, only a second or so before he's pulling up from Chase, using the hand on his hip to flip him, stomach down. Pelvis pressed against the mattress, Jack's knees frame Chase's thigh, and he has one of the witch's arms pinned to the small of his back. Nothing damaging, but enough of a grip that it ought to hurt just the right amount.

"Can magic yourself slick too?" His voice comes rough, impatient, before he bites down on the back of Chase's neck, leaving a mark. As much as Chase is a fan of pain, Jack isn't a fan of trying to do with just spit. And it feels gross. But that's about all the prep Chase is likely to get. As he's waiting for an answer, his hips, lining his dick up perfectly to the seam of Chase's ass, rock, grinding against him.

That twinge of pain races up his arm and sings in his veins, and Chase's mouth opens against the sheets, muffling a sharp intake of breath, and a needy little noise besides.

Only-- "What?" Chase almost lifts his head back up to be appropriately indignant over the sheer absurdity of the question because seriously? Can he magic himself slick? But, then the sting of teeth on his neck steals the air out of his lungs, and the feel of a heavy, warm cock sliding up against his ass distracts him.

Fuck. Fuck, okay, he'll... think of something. He has to think of something, because he wants this now, no more waiting, or he might actually come with his dick trapped between his stomach and the mattress, empty. Embarrassing. The fingers of his free hand grip at the sheets tightly, and he lifts up his head enough to look to the side, where the bed meets the wall. Of course he knows where Jack keeps his bottle of lube, because he's a nosy little fuck, and also because it just seemed like it might be pertinent information at the time. Wetting his lips, he only half-considers his sudden plan before deciding to go with it.

His eyes light up again, reds and golds, then black: a pretty show, considering what he's about to do. He's never actually tried anything like this before - aside from not being able to so openly use magic before, he usually also tops, because as much as he enjoys this he's not generally prone to just letting people push him around like he lets Jack - but as always his thinking and his ability to slow his own roll is clouded over by his desires, his needs. He drops his forehead back to the bed, biting down on his lips in concentration and-- oh, there, he teleports a generous portion of the lube straight from the hidden bottle into himself.

He gives a hard jolt as soon as he's finished, his whole body protesting the strangeness of the sudden invasion. God, it's cold; colder than he expected, somehow, but even that gives him a sorta heady rush and he releases the sheets, groping blindly back until he can get a good grip on the muscle of Jack's own ass and pull at it insistently. "Done, come on. Fuck me."

Nothing is ever more funny than Chase's indignation, and he can probably feel Jack's lips at the back of his neck pull into a wide grin. Now he definitely wants Chase to do it, if nothing else, just for the absurdity and insult of using such immense power for something like lubing yourself. Look, it's a life skill, okay? It'll make masturbation easier later. He'll tell him that sometime after. When he doesn't have his cock sliding between Chase's cheeks, head bumping against his hole with a want to just spear into him.

He lifts his head, though, as Chase looks to the side, submitting to doing this little trick for Jack, because he wants to see. He loves how his eyes light up, like fire eating away at his iris and shadow swallowing it all up. Menacing, maybe, but Jack thinks it's fucking gorgeous. Not to mention, hot as hell. He's trying it, though, and there's a gleeful kind of self-satisfaction in that. In the fact that Chase will do near anything Jack asks him to, regardless of whatever complaint he makes. There's a kind of dependency in that that Jack gets off on to a shameful degree. That is, if Jack felt shame for having power over people, ever.

Soon enough, the way Jack's grinding himself against Chase's ass becomes much smoother, slicker, and he knows Chase figured it out, dragging a half gasped chuckle from him. "Good boy."

Complete with cute little hair ruffle and all. But Jack's just as impatient to get this thing going as Chase is, moving press his free forearm to the bed near Chase's head, and press the rest of his weight against the arm he still has pinned to the small of his back, as he lifts up his hips. A moment of careful angling, to line himself up, and then, in one smooth, firm, not exactly slow roll of his hips, Jack's cock sinks forward into the hot, clinging, velvet soft channel of Chase's body. So fucking good, without the stretch, going all at once to the hilt, feeling Chase's body throb around him and twitch, adjusting to the intrusion. Jack finds himself lowering, forehead pressing to the back of Chase's shoulderblade, as a stuttered, breathless moan is punched from him.

"Fuck..." So eloquent. Not like he's worried about Chase of all people judging him for it. Already, he's moving, not in fast, punishing strokes that he'll get to later, but near all the way out and all back in, trying to recapture that first moment, savoring it, as his fingers twist tighter on Chase's wrist, pleasure like scalding heat spreading through him just under his skin.

Chase makes a choked out sound against the sheets, arching his back first and then forcing himself to relax back onto the mattress. God, but it's different than when he's made it work with spit and a prayer before. There's no drag and burn, just a sudden, pushing fullness, slick and easy and it still hurts. In a different way, though: a better way, more... solid, almost, with the added bonus of less waiting and adjusting. The stinging pain shooting up his arm from his trapped wrist, pinned under Jack's weight, make him dizzy with want - need - and before he knows it he's making a whole litany of noises. Wet gasps and shaky grunts and low, ground out curses every time Jack slides back in as far as he can go. He's never been a particularly quiet person, after all, and he's never had a whole lot of self-control.

Jack really knows how to push his buttons, though.

His free hand flops back up to grip Jack's bicep for purchase, blunt nails digging crescent moons into the skin, a small and petty revenge for the hair-mussing and condescension earlier. It's difficult to rustle up too much anger over that, though, with the heat of Jack's breath against his back and inside him so far that he almost can't tell where Jack ends and he begins.

But it's slow for a few strokes too many and Chase starts to get his breath back, enough to turn his head to the side again with a sharp, unsteady laugh. He's going to have to reach down and grab himself soon, jerk himself off, even though they just started: it's so much, the magic under his skin and the heat pressing down into it. His brain is short-circuiting, just like he likes. Thank god for teenage (lack of) refractory periods.

He shoves back with his hips, as well as he can, pinned like he is. Trying to dictate the pace: trying to speed it up. "That-- all you-- got?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Open RP Post

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