all-cf-me

[all-cf-me]

Like always, Max knows right where to touch and when, and as his hand slips between Seth's legs the old man groans with building hunger. This little banter they have never ceases to arouse him, the catty remarks and suffered, bratty tendencies even though they're both entirely aware of what this really is. Indebted gratitude, dependency, protection. Seth could get Max on his knees right now if he wanted but he'll take it slow, coaxing, a casual reentry into that space between beautiful words and binding contracts.

Seth guides Max back, blind in their tonguing kisses as he finds a wall to pin him against: it's a little harder than he intends and the impact leaves him wanting more, but he makes an effort to dial it back. "God, I missed you," he breathes, reaching to lift one of Max's legs and paw along its smooth underside. "You want me to fuck you like I used to? One more time, before you're all hot-shit with your shiny new accoutrements?"

"why do you think i stick around?" not everyone can muster an appreciation for his attitude. max is sure that seth fits into that somewhere, but even for all his flaws... the anger that he's witnessed had not been pointed toward him. he's choosing to remember that. it's easier to remember the soothing that had come after, the promises that have been set in front of him today... max wants to believe that he's worth something, even if only to someone like him. accepting the kiss feels like home, familiar territory. it's exactly what he needs right now to temper his excitement—or rather, prolong it. max knows better than most not to burn too bright, too fast. hands sliding around to feel between seth's legs, he groans needy against his lips. "you're damn right i don't," is what he says, low and seductive. truth is, he'll roll over any time... as long as it's seth giving the command. they both already know that.

[all-cf-me]

Well, this isn't good. Hunter's grip doesn't budge for anything, and Dodge can feel his strength quickly draining the more he thrashes. The ugly thing only seems to grow heavier, more daunting, and maybe under that helmet he's amused at his opponent's growing incapability. It doesn't take long before his anger ebbs into desperation, and before he can reconsider, Dodge does what he's done so many times before: he brings his wrist up to his mouth, ripping into the skin there with his teeth so that a spurt of blood leaps out of the vein to splash across Hunter's face. At this angle, Dodge is likely to sustain some injury from the acid too, but...

One second, two seconds. No sizzle, no smoke, no smell of melting plastic or flesh or yells of shock or pain. He tastes the blood in his mouth, watches it drip thick from Hunter's face, and dread sets in cold. "Oh, shit."

you don't scare me. snorting, hunter is quick to growl, "i should. you're nothing compared to me." a little man with big ambitions and nothing to show for it. he's well-accustomed to the hatred that humanity ( or those in league with them ) show for his adaptations. dodge, as far as he can tell, is just another one of them. it surprises him to have their foot come up to kick against his chest, but his armor is good for absorbing shock... and it's not a particularly strong kick, besides. "is that the best you can do?"

[all-cf-me]

To Seth's surprise, Hunter does exactly what he suggests: he takes off the helmet, stretches out the intricate parts that make up his snarling visage and pushes it into Seth's chest. He catches the thing before it can fall, taking a moment to turn it a little in his hands and peer into the inside. "Yeah, I'll take care of this for you, no problem," Seth continues, tucking it under one arm and touching the other to Hunter's shoulder (or his back, however high his arm goes without being made to work for it). "You just kick back, take it easy for a second. What can I do you for, huh? A dance, a fuck, a shoulder to cry on? No shame, hon, I get it, us tough guys need love too, right?"

slowly, hunter lifts his arms to remove his helmet, mandibles twitching. not with amusement. part of it is an excuse to put some space between him and the touchy councilor, by shoving it into his arms. if he wants to take and hang it up somewhere, as he says, he can do it out of hunter's personal space bubble. it's unfortunate that the bearded lady is as vital to his business dealings as it is. any other place sleazy enough to allow unethical, often illegal, dealings are used by specific factions. this is neutral ground.

[all-cf-me]

Jesus, this kid is something. Impish, grinning, sharp with quick retort and either blind to the world's ugliness or already becoming one with it. So young and already so entirely at-ease in a place like the Lady, paving the crooked road of his future one sharp-edged stone at a time. The perfect employee, or at least potentially: Seth loves a rebellious streak, but a healthy fear of consequence is a big part of this game, and he only has so much time to make a proper example of him before-

God. Is this what the old, perverted men in his life saw in Seth, too, all those years ago? A series of explosive chain events, cut loose too soon and left to self-destruct just for their entertainment?

These thoughts set upon Seth so unexpectedly, so heavily that, in a rare turn of events, his easy smile falters. He frowns a little, looks, really looks into Marton's pretty, devilish face before straightening away from him. "Just... keep it professional, huh?" Seth turns away, then, pulling the leather jacket closer around his shoulders. "I'd hate to fire you for something dumb like that."

once he's finished cleaning up he finally turns towards seth, placing both hands on the edge of the counter so he can lean against it as well. "why don't we skip the drink part altogether and you let me do it in your mouth?" inappropriate, weird and frankly, disgusting. all perfect words to describe marton as a person. still, he has a flirty smile on, and a gaze that is both serious and teasing. he never knew whether their banter was just banter, or whether one of them would actually act on whatever thing they had between them, but it was part of the fun, wasn't it?

"what if I say the idea of being caught by the world's best boss and facing the consequences of me being a bad boy is exactly why I'm breaking the rules?"

[all-cf-me]

"Hell, you can set up shop right in my club. A cute little booth, a pretty little apron, the whole nine." Though it's entertaining enough watching her lay out each dough strip with attentive consistency, Seth finds himself watching the blush warm up her cheeks and ears instead - it's one of those things he looks for in people, a sure sign of susceptibility to charm and flattery. Not that he necessarily intends to do anything with it, but it's useful to keep in mind.

Seth can't help but scoff a bit at her answer, though, absently tracing little designs into the flour dust at the edge of their workspace. "Baby, no offense, but sounds like you were on the wrong side of food service," he says a bit wryly. "Taking orders, getting refills, working for tips... you need to be the one making this shit."

❝ only a little. ❞ she's trying to be generous, though the smile that lifts the corners of their lips betrays their true amusement. the dough is laid out in narrow strips, settling against the parchment with a careful hand. " thank you. " her gratitude, and the flush of pink that dusts over her cheeks is as sincere as it gets. " truth? i did. " its time for honesty as simple as it seems, now, as she twirls the strips of dough into careful circles. " i was a waitress, before i was this. it was nice, but, i think the food industry made me a little miserable, my heart belongs with the silver screen. there's an exclusive, for you. " the irony of silver isn't lost on her, that if the name held true merit, she'd likely destroy it. they pause, shrugging. ❝ but i'm a big fan of your work, so — if you ever need a caterer, especially of the cinnamon roll variety, i'll make an exception to my no food industry rule. just for you. ❞

[all-cf-me]

It's not often that he keeps an eye on the door, waiting for a guest to appear, but he knows Fins well enough to realize the big softy will need an escort upon arrival (in every definition of the word, if they're honest). If Seth isn't there at initial door-crack to offer an arm and convince him it's a good idea, the big lug might just bolt, and then where would he be? No, someone big and scary and impressive will be at this party... Seth's reputation depends on it.

The communicator on his wrist vibrates, a subtle notification that someone has tripped the motion sensors just outside the penthouse. Seth is an arc of water in his haste to haul himself out of the hotub, grabbing a towel in one hand and a stein of piña colada for his guest in the other. Just as the door is pushed open he's standing in it, grinning up where he knows Fins' face will be. "Jaws! The shark-man of the hour, come on in, I'll-"

It's not Fins. Seth finds himself looking up into a featureless, masked face, all dingy colors and thick, muscular limbs and a chest so broad he's worried it won't fit past the threshold. He's given pause, admittedly, and something like concern flickers through his mind as he thinks about Fins' whereabouts - hell, from the way this guy carries himself, he might've killed Fins and plans to continue his murderous rampage with the poor saps at this party - but then, Seth's grin sharpens. Opportunity knocks but once.

"Heeeey, look at this fuckin' bruiser, huh?" he greets just as warmly, and though he's ready to get sliced across the jugular for it, he ventures to gently pull Jacob in with a guiding hand on his back. "C'mon in, baby, you're just in time. I love the mask, what is that, an umpire thing?" Somewhere in his word vomit Seth pushes the stein into Jacob's chest, firm and insistent. "Here, lemme grab you a straw..."

The last thing he expects to walk into is a party chock full of half-naked individuals, seemingly endless bottles of alcohol and other choice substances he doesn’t care to know the names of. A combination of the top three things he hates. Surely Fins has to be here somewhere, right? He doesn’t know who this “S” is but if it’s a friend of Fins in need of help, then it’s a good enough reason to show up. To say that Jacob sticks out like a sore thumb would be an understatement – just his sheer size alone makes his unsettling entrance to the party all the more noticeable, majority of his torso poking up from the crowd. Everyone is staring at him, he can feel it. He is already regretting showing up.

[all-cf-me]

Adonis braces him in with an arm and suddenly Dodge is concerned about how hard his heart is beating, leaping against his rib cage until he's sure the thing will break through at any moment. Or fail altogether. Maybe this would be a good time to die, slumped over in a chair in this beautiful office and this beautiful home, free from whatever embarrassing thing he'll do to ruin this beautiful, perfect moment.

The clinical pity in Adonis's tone sterilizes and kills whatever defenses Dodge has left and, now that he's forced to face his shameful longing out in the open, he finds himself wanting the doctor to become mean. Has he been good? Does he deserve this? Dread thickens Dodge's tongue and, though he wants so badly to lie, he can't stop his head from shaking. "I don't deserve it," he admits in a defeated whisper, his head tilting away from the doctor's outstretched arm. "I don't. But tell me what to do. Anything, I'll do it. I'll be good for you."

The warmth of another person is odd to feel in a personal setting still; he'd grown accustomed to Edward's brand of affection, but to instigate it with Dodge is another thing in its entirety. He does remember, though, mild chips in his bathroom, bites where acid scarred porcelain, and how exactly those imperfections came to be. He would rub his nose in it, but no, that simply doesn't work on everyone. And Adonis did love to personalize care for everyone under his gaze. Even now, he feels the man's discomfort, being so close to him. Whether it be because Adonis was his authority figure, or this incendiarything that's come to spark between the both of them, he cannot find it in himself to stop. His hands are ungloved, bare in the confines of his own home, and as he puts it on the back of Dodge's chair, locking the man in his seat, he wonders what would happen if he did touch him. "Unsurprising, Mister Ramsay. It looks like you've been aching to ask for it for a while." His hands go from the corner, slowly sliding over the wood to linger near Dodge's neck. Not touching him, of course, for that would be too easy. "Can I ask if you think you deserve it?" It's not steel in his voice, but something firm, a guiding hand to the question of it all. "Now that you ask it, have you been good enough to get it?"

[all-cf-me]

"Baby, you can be any kind of 'ex' you wanna be," Seth greets with a grin and a wink, nodding to invite Rook to the open seat at the table. His own fingers are busy with a worn deck of cards, shuffling them back and forth without even really looking - he's too busy looking Rook up and down out of the corner of his eye, his gaze lingering appreciatively on such notes as a cowboy hat and a pair of dusty boots. "C'mon and have a seat, sheriff. You a holdem or an Omaha guy? Maybe a little Caribbean stud, huh?"

@all-cf-me || Starter Call!

Sol City was built on the "ash-ridden hotbed of calamity," as Rook would say. It was no surprise to him that strange and stranger things happened within city bounds. Of course, he'd sit diligently through his boyfriend's long lectures on quantum mechanics. The illusion of time, the displacement of energy -- fancy theories seeking to explain the inexplicable. But the truth of the matter was, Rook never let all that scientific talk suck the fun out of believing in a little magic.

"Somebody call for an exorcist?" he calls. Silver rings pile over his tattooed fingers, which wrap around a half-drunken beer can. "Or was that an exterminator?"

[all-cf-me]

The noise Dodge makes is completely involuntary and twice as pathetic, a moan that's only made worse when he tries to choke it back. Ed's tongue and fingers were heaven-sent but this is perfection, feeling that thick, throbbing thing pushing into him to fill up every space until it almost hurts. There is some pain, but it only improves the experience, that stretching sting that Dodge happily uses to tether himself to real life.

"Ed," he gasps as his really good friend pushes into him a second, a third time, and by the fourth he's rendered down into jelly. He comes with a shuddering whimper and a jerk, painting the couch cushions below him in endless sticky ropes; his head drops onto the couch's arm, and that his sweat and cum and spit can cover this much without sizzling brings a half-delirious grin to his face. "Ah, I'm sorry, I'm... ah."

the thin thread of caution he walks threatens to snap, the thick heat of dodge's lust hitting him in waves. let me take it. how could he possibly refuse such a perfect request? it lines right up with ed's own desires, the maddening pulsing between his legs. offering a last few soothing licks between dodge's cheeks and thighs, he withdraws to ready himself with a similar treatment—he has the flexibility to manage. draping himself across dodge's back, he uses one hand to brace himself against his body and the other to line him up. slowly, carefully, gently, he pushes forward against his hole. he's still tight. stretching to offer another few laps at dodge's neck, he groans, "it's okay... just relax."

[all-cf-me]

To walk alongside Ed like this is still strange, companionable, casual, as if they're just two friends catching up on a comfortable day. It's strange that they've only gotten to this point after almost killing each other; it's strange that they're walking to go get a squeaky pet toy for a grown man, and strange that they discuss Ed's self-control as if it's about quitting sweets rather than sprinting down the street naked and bloody. Ed is strange, and Dodge is strange for liking him so much.

"But doing something wrong gives you the chance to improve, too," he says, although, truthfully, he's just as adverse to the idea of being left to make a mistake. Mistakes settle in Dodge's boots like rocks, paining him with each heavy step. "I don't know either, I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry. You have your system, whatever works."

It isn't long before they arrive at the station, and their timing is impeccable: they're boarded and pulling away by rail within a few minutes.

"i'm okay with that," he agrees, easily guided through the door. just because he would like to take a toy with him all the time doesn't mean he can, he's aware of that. ed is just happy that he's allowed to have them at all—the only enrichment he had gotten in adolescence was in the bodies he had torn apart, the bones they had left behind. there's always been an instinctual enjoyment in that, but they don't last forever. if he doesn't eat it, something else will. as they walk, ed considers dodge's question with pursed lips. what a strange question. truthfully, even living out in the wastes, he had never considered a life for himself free from command. away from people, he had just been... waiting. adonis had offered him a way back into the life he knew, albeit in an improved state. "...i don't know," he admits, speaking slowly. "every time i do... that... it feels like i end up doing something wrong."

[all-cf-me]

He knows now for sure that Ezra isn't going to give up any ground; wriggling yourself into someone's bed is a good first step in becoming their confidant, but the tactic is about as subtle as a Trojan horse to men like Seth and Ezra. "Nah... I could never be bored, not really," he relents with a shrug. "You know me, just like to keep the plates spinning. Idle hands are the devils' playthings, right?"

Seth watches that snake-like tongue as it flickers out, relishing in its wickedness, and resolves that next time he'll catch and swallow it into his own mouth. "Bar duty? Baby, you'd be platinum status. Big suite with your name on the door, stocked bar, hell, you could pick and choose your bookings like you're ordering off a goddamn menu." It's the closest their conversations have gotten to the real deal and Seth's unchecked ego flares at the (however slight) chance of having even a single facet of Ezra under his thumb. Like catching lightning in a bottle. He deepens his caress, slips a thumb down that defined line between his hip and thigh and grips a bit. "I can see worth, y'know... I've got an eye for it. And you ooze worth."

"dull," ezra snorts. "you know i don't do well in cool temperatures. i get sluggish." as if the sweltering they were all accustomed to could ever be cool... but this time of year is slightly better than others. "but what's got you all in a tizzy? too bored with office life? need a few hands to help you back into something worthwhile?" grinning, ezra is pretty sure he could think of a few things to get seth off the boring train, but it all depends on how cooperative he is. ultimately, this is a distraction. he doesn't have anything going on that he wants to share. a few personal, intimate, gratuitous bouts of violence—but certainly nothing compared to deeds past. "who says i'm the bad guy, eh?" not that he's complaining. tongue fishing between his needle-like teeth, he says, "i'll work for you, but i don't want bar duty. unless you want me drinking you out of house and home, that is. feel i've got a little more worth in me." his eyes follow the sensation of a thick, warm hand down his thigh. already, it has him stirring again. "careful, though. i might just eat you up before we get the chance to sign off on the deal."

[all-cf-me]

Before Dodge even has time to realize what happened, Jacob jumps up to his feet and starts rampaging through the living room, the early-morning silence ripped apart by the commotion of splintering wood and creaking metal. "Fucking-!" is all Dodge can manage before bolting forward to catch Jacob head-on, throwing a shoulder into his barrel-like chest and planting his feet in an effort to stop the juggernaut mid-warpath. He stands little chance against a mutant like Jacob even after a full nights' sleep, though, so the effort is in vain, and Dodge is sent staggering back against a wall with a bodily thud.

"Wait, wait!" Dodge barks above the cacophony, wondering if Jacob would survive a jolt with a stun gun or if it would just make him madder. He quickly decides he doesn't have the time to go and retrieve it and goes to plan B, taking up the mutant's ugly mask he'd removed sometime in the night and brandishing it above his head in a fist. "Is it this, do you need this?? It's right here, take it! Just stop...!"

A familiar voice pulls him out of his dazed state finally and he locks eyes with the stranger from the alleyway. Did he do this? He heaves a heavy sigh as he gazes back at his own battered body. It doesn’t hurt as bad as dying all the way, he thought. He decides to take his warning and move slowly regardless, planting his feet onto the ground to sit up. The first thing he notices is the very distinct lack of weight around his waist–his tool belt, along with all of his weapons are gone. Jacob shoots a disapproving look back at Dodge but somehow, he expects it all the same. Dodge has seen how much he can actually take so it’s no surprise to him that he’s being cautious. It’s unlike him to hold a grudge.

He places a palm on his face, already dreading the amount of scolding this guy is probably about to rain down onto him. Wait... His face? Shakily, he slides his palm against the bare skin of his face. HIS FACE!

Jacob bolts up from his seat in an instant, both his hands flying to cover his face as panic takes over him. He’s so distraught that he starts pacing around trying to look for it whilst simultaneously keeping his face covered, effectively knocking over whatever stood his way. Majority of Dodge’s furniture is unfortunately bulldozed in his frenzied wake. The more seconds pass, the more upset he gets. He starts making something akin to an upset moan and a wail. He hasn't lost his mask in decades!

[all-cf-me]

Max only keeps melting against him further, and for Seth to say he isn't enjoying it would be a bold-faced lie. Even as he gives Max a clear out, reassures him that, for once, there aren't any strings attached to this olive branch, he crosses the rest of the figurative distance, meets Seth right where they've always done their best business. There's genuine appreciation in Max's soft intonation and it strokes at Seth's narcissism with an expert touch.

"I like you difficult," Seth ventures to say, unable to stop himself as sentimentality seems to drift away and something simpler, hungrier, takes up its place. Good... letting heady flirtation back into his voice feels a lot like a cool drink after a long, hot walk. "My Max doesn't just roll over and take it like a bitch, does he? My Max knows what he likes and doesn't apologize for it." He closes the distance between them again, thumbing Max's delicate chin up towards him to find his mouth in a soft, delving kiss.

it's as possible for him to resist falling into seth's embrace as it is for him to tell his heart to stop beating—it takes more effort, more pain, than anyone is willing to bear. do you know what you mean to me, max? seth has always known the right words to say to cool his fire, known how to get right into his head. maybe a stronger man would have seen through it—whatever there is to see through—and not offered affection at all. max is tired of being strong. "i know," he says, face pressed into the crook of seth's shoulder. "seriously, i know. i don't mean to be... difficult." he thinks back to alvie's introduction, all those moments spent certain he was being replaced. turns out, seth had been putting in the work behind the scenes. max has never known him to do that—he can only imagine, then, that the sentiment behind it is genuine. "i know i wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you." pulling back, he meets their gaze with a subtle smile. "but i want to show my appreciation, too..."

[all-cf-me]

The imposing stranger has a surprising amount of quickness, and it isn't long before he has a fistful of Dodge's shirt in his grasp: he fights against the hold with gritted teeth, anger whipping up his thoughts into an emboldened drone. "You don't scare me," he snarls into Hunter's unearthly countenance, his half-gloved hands finding purchase in the contours of the mutant's armor for leverage. It's obvious he's bitten off more than he can chew here, but Dodge has never been one to back down from a fight, even collared as he is... He brings up a boot to kick hard into Hunter's torso, hoping to create some space for retaliation.

starter for @all-cf-me !! ( for dodge )

hunter isn't one to take insults laying down, as this fool is quick to learn. "go on," he growls; "give me a reason."

[all-cf-me]

"Heeeey, Fishnets! Long time no see, huh?" Seth greets, admittedly a bit drunkenly... it's been a long day of council work and, so far, a long evening of socializing, winding between each table to chat up the clients there and ensuring they're taken care of. It's with this same energy that he invites himself right into Hunter's space, almost pressing up against his chest in his boozy fervor. "Hey, you know I love the mask, doll, but you let me take that thing from you, hang it up somewhere... let the old mandibles breathe."

starter for @all-cf-me !! ( for seth )

it wasn't the first time he had been inside the lady, but that doesn't make him any more inclined to remove his mask. although germaphobe would be an over exaggeration, he has no love for human... anything. especially fluids. here, there are many. call it exposure therapy. before he can take a seat, he's interrupted. staring down at the little man in front of him, hunter crosses his arms over his chest and gives his usual stare. what?

[all-cf-me]

With exceeding caution Dodge steps closer, trying not to become distracted by the errant flipping of Marton's tail... though if he's honest, the sight of it feels like he's a bull, agitated into action by the flag of a matador. "Don't call me that," he spits, dark brown eyes almost black in the dark and trained unblinking on Marton. "Save me the theatrics and get lost, Czifra, before I have you arrested."

the voice doesn't register to him at first, given that it catches him off guard, some random person talking to him in the middle of the night, though the only hint at his alertness is the twitch of his tail. guilty conscience? or rather something deeper? it only relaxes when they turn around to put a face to the growl. "sweetheart," he drawls, head tilted to the sight. "city's quite nice at night in this sector, innit? 'cept for the dickheads lurkin' in the shadows..."

[all-cf-me]

Seth comes to lean on the counter, setting a chin on his palm to watch the customer before they disappear into the crowd: they're blissfully unaware of the blessing Marton's bestowed upon them, nursing their obvious hangover with each deep drag of their tainted brew. Though his expression never deviates from his casual, entertained smile, a little relief spreads through him... it's too early for refunds or defending bratty baristas.

"You better spit in all my drinks... I like a man who puts himself into his work." It's more of a joke than anything, though he's sure Marton wouldn't be the first of his employees to try such a slight, nor would he be the last. There's a reason Seth either pours his own drinks or cracks open a new bottle entirely. One day spit, poison the next. "You're not worried at all about the world's best boss catching you breaking the rules, then?"

rings of cheap metal clink against the outside of the milk pitcher back turned to the customers behind the counter as marton is working and completely ignoring everyone and everything else other than his work. not because he's passionate about his job, no, god forbid. it's simply taking everything in their power not to turn around and throw the damn pitcher at that bitch who dared to speak to them in a condescending tone. and yeah. he does spit in the drink.

but when they turn around that flame of rage behind their gaze is all but concealed with a twitch of a smile at the corners of their lips, handing the drink over to the customer. he watches them take a sip with an amused hum, which is exactly when he hears the familiar syrupy tone of his boss.

he doesn't meet his gaze, instead he huffs and turns to clean up the coffee machine, smile this time apparent on his features. "d'ya know what...? I find it endearing that you assume I don't already overcharge." it's only that he didn't plan on sharing that extra money. "so what? y'want some too? g'na cost ya extra—"