#i have no intention but to be entirely professional about the whole thing outwardly

[starbuck]

i’m actually totally mentally fine now because a hot old man likes and respects me and hyped me up to rest of the community 😌😌

[poeisatransfemmelesbian]

I’m writing a fic where I have a chapter in Kunikidarling’s pov, and I was wondering if you have any tips on that

Hmmm I guess it depends on what he's doing. I haven't written him much, but when I have it's been him dealing with the consequences of being around Dazai and absolutely despairing.

I apologise in advance because this turned into a mini Kunikida character analysis (?)

I need to read the Dazai's Entrance exam light novel at some point, but from what I've read from Untold Origins he sees flashing lights/passes out from stress (mainly dazai induced, but lets be honest he's probably under constant stress)

From that, I think it's safe to say that Kunikida shows how he feels outwardly/experiences physical 'symptoms' of things (eg the passing out) a lot. Like, when he got that phone call from Dazai in the OVA to say the person who made his notebook was visiting, he started excitedly pacing around (and absolutely stimming), so he absolutely reacts physically to positive things too

I've just started thinking about if Kunikida had cataplexy, and how interesting it would be to make that a part of his life. I know this isn't what you're asking about exactly but shhh:

"Cataplexy is the term given to sudden muscular weakness triggered by strong emotions such as laughter, anger and surprise. The loss of muscle tone that occurs may range from a just-perceptible weakening of the facial muscles through weakness at the knees, to total collapse on the floor. Speech may be slurred, and eyesight impaired (double vision, inability to focus) but hearing and awareness remain undisturbed." (From the Narcolepsy UK website)

Oh! The whole Dazai torture rant! He'd absolutely have an unhinged inner monologue. If I were to write something from his POV I'd make him think of creative ways to get rid of people (like how Fukuzawa wanted to throw child Ranpo into the ocean). In his rant he mimed choking Dazai, so it'd be entirely possible for him to accidentally catch himself throttling the air when he's stressed

Tbh it seems like while he wants to make sure his environment is controlled, he isn't that good at keeping his emotions dialed down (and he shouldn't need to. Let Kunikida be expressive). Spiltash called him autism coded I think, and I 100% agree.

And ooooo how he speaks! People acted surprised when he told Atsushi to grow some wereballs, but that wasn't the first or only time he's said something harsh like that (let Kunikida say fuck 😔). Whether or not it's intentional, he's quite blunt with his words and is NOT afraid to say something potentially 'rude'. This reminds me of him a lot:

Like yeah he's absolutely professional and I think he speaks quite formally, but he would absolutely tell someone to shove a pencil up their ass

Ahhhhh I don't know what else to add. A strong sense of morals with set expectations, blunt communication, really good with kids, physically expressive so easier to describe actions-wise.

In conclusion, good luck and just put your entire kunikidussy into it!

[loving-villanelle]

Y'know what's getting to me over this whole "Jodie and/or Sandra feel this way about the show/finale/ending or Jodie and/or Sandra are complicit with the show/finale/ending because they said X Y Z" bullshit?!

I've 'said' and 'behaved' outwardly in particular ways as a closeted queer for over thirty years for a whole clusterfuck of reasons and I promise you that most of the time it has in NO way every really truly reflected how I ACTUALLY feel! And in fact I expect is why the majority of people in my real life probably still believe to this day that I'm straight.

Just because people may say or behave a particular way about a thing doesn't mean that's how they actually feel.

Now I'm in no way suggesting that the various things certain anons have suggested somehow prove this is indeed how Jodie and Sandra feel about the show isn't a possibility.

I'm just saying that people often say and do things to protect themselves - for personal reasons and professional reasons.

Frankly, how they feel about the ending - for better or worse - is entirely their own business.

And EVEN if they did think the ending and fate of their characters was absolutely perfection itself, I don't think that automatically equates to them somehow knowingly or intentionally being complicit or part of the BYG/homophobic narration going around (whether or not that is in fact accurate in itself - people can make bad writing and storytelling choices without INTENTIONALLY gunning for the gays! Sometimes it really is just ignorance or subconscious bias - not making excuses for it, not defending it, nor am I saying that wasn't the case at all and they were, I'm just trying to offer an explanation and playing devil's advocate).

I wish people would just back off Sandra and Jodie for how they may or may not feel about the ending. They're professional actors who I expect want to enjoy a career beyond Killing Eve, and so being seen to publicly bad mouth your past employers would not fare well with potential employers! Even with the best intentions it could be career suicide. I would never blame them for publicly keeping their cards to their chest over this because regardless of how they do feel about it, there will undoubtedly be backlash from one side or the other.

We'll probably never ever know the full truth behind how they feel and I'm totally fine with that.

It's THEIR business. Just like me being queer and how I deal with it is mine.

Right like I knew just from the pre-season interviews that whatever fresh hell Killing Eve was going to give us, it wasn't going to be good. I have spent 3 seasons watching Sandra and Jodie be excited and smiley and giggly while hyping up the forthcoming season. None of that was present in the s4 promotions. The only time we saw that side of them was when they did the game night with Josh Horowitz and got to spend some time not having to talk about the upcoming season. I've never heard Jodie say "mmmmm" so many times in my life. I've never heard Sandra sigh so many times in my life. I've never seen them both take such ridiculously long pauses before answering a question. And I've never seen them both cringe so much or make facial expressions that were anything but encouraging. I kept saying "Thank god for them because like...I'm genuinely prepared for the season to be shit now!" Lmaoooo the joke was on me, because I still wasn't prepared for just how absolutely trash it was! But I had already gotten that impression loud and clear from Jodie and Sandra before the season ever even began

I honestly never expected Jodie and/or Sandra to say much on the finale, no matter how it ended. My opinion on that hasn't changed just because it ended so much worse than we could've possibly imagined. I knew from the pre-season interviews how they felt. There wasn't much to expand on outside of that, especially when they can't speak openly about it. So I'm not surprised that we haven't heard anything from them, nor did I expect any different. Killing Eve is over. They have other projects. This was one show in their filmography of work. We may be stuck on it, but it doesn't mean they are or that they have any obligation to be. The only positive thing Jodie and Sandra EVER said about the finale is that they got to be together and they were really happy about that. There's really nothing else to be said, so they are moving on and I love that for them because really...they don't owe anymore of their time to a show that was never able to do them or the talent they brought to the table justice

[musette22]

Body Politics

Read on AO3

Paring: Chris Evans x Sebastian Stan (Evanstan)

Word count: 9.4k

Rating: E (so 18+ only please!)

A/N: Okaayyy! So it took a while, but I finally wrote the thing based on this prompt (which I unfortunately accidentally deleted, but I saved the prompt itself):"hello! I saw some pics of chris with various politicans for his new project and thought about a stucky/evanstan fic in which chris/steve wants to film a clip with a newly elected senator who turns out to be bucky/seb and chris/steve just can't deal with the hotness." 

It’s… a bit longer than I intended it to be - surprise! As always, I’ve posted it to AO3 and I’d recommend reading it there because it really is quite long (that’s what she said). Hope you enjoy the filth 💖 N.B. I know you asked for Senator Sebastian, but it seemed to fit better with the story to make him a Representative instead! Hope that’s ok!

Body Politics

Chris has done dozens of these videos by now. In fact, he did two of them just this morning. He knows the drill, he knows what he’s doing, there’s really no reason to be nervous anymore. And yet, as per usual right before he’s going in, his anxiety is peaking, causing him to feel jittery and queasy, and like he’s suddenly forgotten everything he’s supposed to know about the American political system.

God, he’s going to make a massive fool of himself. What the fuck was he thinking? Should’ve just stayed in his lane, like plenty of people told him to. He sighs at his reflection in the mirror, splashing his face with cold water in the hope it will help him focus.  

“Ready?” Mark asks him, as soon as he steps out into the hallway where Mark had been waiting for him.

“Absolutely,” Chris nods, all put on confidence and ease which he definitely isn’t feeling. “Let’s do this.”

Mark is well aware how bad Chris’s anxiety tends to get before this sort of thing, but he doesn’t comment. He knows Chris will be fine as soon as the cameras turn on and he can stop being Chris Evans, meatball and anxious mess, and start being Chris Evans, movie star and aspiring politician – or, as most people view him, real life Captain America. Chris doesn’t mind that image so much. He’s proud of what he’s done with the character and besides, Steve Rogers is a better man than he’ll ever be. Sometimes it’s a little frustrating when people seem to be more excited about meeting Cap than about what it is Chris is there to discuss with them – things that are important not only to him personally, but to the fate of the entire country. But on the flipside, his Cap persona has opened a lot of doors for him, and that makes the occasional flare of irritation more than worth it. Politicians and civil servants are just people too, after all. Well. Most of them.

Today, Chris is meeting with Democratic Representative Sebastian Stan. Stan is quite new on the Hill, and Chris was doubtful whether meeting with him would be worthwhile. But Mark had said he’d heard good things about the guy, plus he was willing to meet with them, so Chris had decided to give him a chance. Since it was all quite last minute, he hadn’t really had time to do much research on Stan and just read the notes that Mark had sent him earlier this morning. 

Chris was impressed with the guy’s resume, and despite his usual nerves he was quite looking forward to speaking with him. It was undoubtedly going to be better than interviewing some stuffy old Republican. Again. Chris is well aware that he signed up for this whole bipartisan thing himself, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t occasionally get the urge to throw hands when he hears someone like Ted Cruz or Dan Crenshaw spout their conservative bullshit.

Chris walks into the office that’s set up like a small film set: two simple folding chairs set up on a worn rug in front of some antique, mahogany cabinets, giving the appearance of nonchalant sophistication. Next to the chairs are some studio lights and reflectors, and two cameras, one behind each chair.  

Mark takes a seat on the far end of the room, there to observe and chime in if necessary, while Chris hikes up the knees of his dress pants before sits down on one of the folding chairs. He crosses his legs, tapping his pen against the papers resting on his knee while they wait for Representative Stan to arrive.

After a minute or two, the door behind Chris opens, and he gets up, ready to greet the Representative. He turns with a smile, which freezes on his face as he comes face to face with the guy he’s supposed to be interviewing.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous.

The thought flits through Chris’s mind, unbidden and very, very inappropriate, under the circumstances.

It’s true, though. Standing before him, wide smile on his face and his hand held out expectantly, is a man who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the kind of red carpet that Chris frequently finds himself on, too. Chris’s body moves on autopilot, greeting Stan and shaking his hand, while his brain produces nothing but static, helplessly stuck on a litany of holy shit he’s gorgeous what do I do what do I say.

Representative Stan is dressed in a perfectly tailored, aubergine suit, his chestnut hair slicked back in a way that could’ve seemed skeevy, but instead looks sleek and sophisticated. His steel-blue eyes are bright and intelligent, but there’s a glimmer of something almost mischievous in them, too – as if Stan knows something Chris doesn’t and he may choose to waylay him any minute. Stan’s jawline and cheekbones could cut glass, and his mouth… Chris has to make a conscious effort to look away from his mouth, or this could get really awkward really fast.

It’s only when both of them have taken place on their respective folding chairs and Gino, their camera guy, asks them if they’re good to go, that Chris’s brain decides to cooperate again. Not fully, but just enough to be able to focus on the questions he knows he needs to ask. He clears his throat and plasters on a smile, hoping fervently that he at least outwardly appeared like he knew what he was doing while he was inwardly busy having a melt down over a pretty boy.

He shakes himself. It isn’t just a pretty boy. Sebastian Stan is a United States Representative. One who is now looking at him expectantly from the chair opposite, ready to answer Chris’s questions about healthcare for all, gun control and gerrymandering.

Oh, Christ.

Stealing himself, Chris nods at Gino, signaling for him to turn on the cameras. He takes a deep breath, and starts.

“Representative Stan, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for sitting down with us today and for agreeing to answer some of my questions.”

“Please, call me Sebastian,” Stan replies, smiling. “And the pleasure is all mine.”

Chris swallows, trying hard not to get stuck on the word pleasure or the way Sebastian’s slight New York drawl sounds coming from that beautiful mouth, and asks his first question. “Sebastian. Could you tell me, in sixty seconds, what your stance is on gun control?”

---

Representative Stan’s – Sebastian’s – answers are all incredibly thoughtful yet to the point, and with every reply Chris feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into a state of despair. He’s pretty and he shares Chris’s opinions on basically everything? This guy is trouble. Heaps of it.

When Chris asks question four, he almost falters when he thinks he catches Sebastian looking him up and down, gaze lingering for a moment on his hands and shoulders. But surely that’s just wishful thinking? Just in case, Chris quickly checks Sebastian’s left hand: no ring. When he meets Sebastian’s eyes again, the corner of his mouth ticks up into a hint of a smirk, as if he knows exactly what Chris was doing.

Immediately, Chris feels his cheeks heat up. Not for the first time in his adult life he’s grateful for the fact that his beard covers most of his face. He clears his throat again and sits up straighter, trying to appear as if he’s listening intently to Sebastian’s next reply instead of freaking out about the possibility that Sebastian might be interested back. Just the idea makes Chris feel too hot under the lights suddenly, his collar too tight around his neck.

He holds it together relatively well for the remainder of the interview, only tripping up and staring at Sebastian’s mouth as he talks maybe two or three times, and honestly, he kind of feels like he deserves some kind of medal for that. When his final question, regarding constituencies, has been answered, Chris represses the urge to sigh in relief. As soon as the cameras turn off, he reaches up to loosen his tie just a tad, needing to get some air.

And, lo and behold, Sebastian’s gaze tracks the movement, before settling on Chris’s mouth for just a moment. A thrill of excitement runs through Chris’s body, head to toe. Is he reading this right? Fuck, he hopes he’s reading this right.

“Thank you, Sebastian,” Chris says, standing up and watching Sebastian do the same. “This was all very interesting. It’ll be a valuable contribution to A Starting Point, I’m sure.”

“Not a problem,” Sebastian replies pleasantly. “It’s been very” – he pauses to lick his lips, not breaking eye contact – “enlightening.”

Oh, boy.

Chris holds out his hand again and Sebastian takes it. There’s no mistaking it now: the handshake lasts too long for it to be entirely professional and there is definitely more eye contact than necessary. Chris’s heart is beating in his throat by the time he finally pulls his hand back, daring to subtly let his fingers brush Sebastian’s wrist. He watches in satisfaction as Sebastian’s eyes darken a fraction, a spark of heat flashing through them before he smiles pleasantly again and turns around to thank Gino and Mark.

Chris internally slaps himself in the face. Jesus, this is such an inconvenient time and place to develop a crush on someone. Still, he already knows he’s helpless against Sebastian’s charm and he’ll probably spend the next few weeks or so pathetically (and unethically) watching the footage they just shot and daydreaming about all the things he wish he could’ve done to him. It’s just not fair for someone so smart and dedicated to also be this hot.

When Sebastian turns to him again, Chris valiantly pretends he’s not in the middle of a mental breakdown and gives him a smile.

“So, Chris,” Sebastian starts, pensively rubbing his chin. “Can I call you Chris?”

“Of course,” Chris hastens to assure him. “I’m just regular old Chris.” Regular old Chris? Pathetic.

“Okay then,” Sebastian replies, and his eyes are dancing. “Chris it is. So, I’m sure you’re busy, but I’d love to pick your brain on something. I wonder if you have a moment?”

Well, damn. Maybe Chris won’t just be daydreaming after all.

Chris nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Sure, yeah. No problem. You were my last interview for the day anyway, so I’ve got time.” He looks at Mark, who’s standing over by the doorway. “Are you okay going ahead without me? I’m not sure how long this will take so there’s not need to wait around for me, I guess.”

Mark, who, unlike Chris, is not an idiot, looks far too knowing. “Absolutely. You take your time, Chris. Do what needs to be done, and all that,” he grins. “I’m gonna head back to the hotel, got plenty of work to be catching up with. I’ll see you later.” Turning to Sebastian, Mark adds, “It was a pleasure meeting you. Take care. Be safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Sebastian replies, giving Mark a playful wink.

Mark turns to smirk at Chris one more time before he grabs his briefcase and heads out the door behind Gino and his assistant, leaving Chris and Sebastian by themselves. The sudden silence is a little stifling, and Chris is the first to break it.

“So…” he says, like an idiot.

Sebastian inclines his head with a smile. “So,” he replies, looking back up at Chris from under his eyelashes. “My office is a little further down the hall, if you want to follow me. It’s not much, but at least it offers better seating than a couple of folding chairs.”

Chris laughs, a little louder than the comment warrants, but he’s nervous, okay? He’s not sure where this afternoon will take him, but he sure hopes he’s not reading this wrong and Sebastian isn’t going to break out some official documents for them to discuss the moment they step into his office.

Sebastian leads the way through a maze of corridors, occasionally raising a hand in greeting while Chris tries to keep his head down. He doesn’t mind being recognized or stopped, usually, but he’d rather not have to chat to some random stranger while he’s on his way to what is potentially a really hot and really inappropriate hookup. He gets a few looks, but he keeps his gaze fixed on Sebastian’s back, and fortunately it isn’t long before Sebastian opens a door on the left hand of the corridor, gesturing Chris inside.  

It’s just a normal Capitol Hill office; not too big, all white walls and dark wooden furniture that’s seen better days but that still does the trick. The window looks out onto a lawn, high enough up to ensure no one is able to see inside when they look up on their lunchbreak walk. Sebastian’s desk is littered with papers, most of them organized into neat piles and held down by paperweights. A man after Chris’s own heart.

The door closes behind them with an audible click, and Chris stills. His instincts tell him to fill the silence with mindless chatter, but he knows he’s likely to say something embarrassing that could well end up jeopardizing this whole rendezvous. So he bites his tongue, and waits for Sebastian to speak first.

Sebastian takes his sweet time – whether because he doesn’t know what to say either or to rile him up, Chris isn’t sure.

“Take a seat,” he says eventually, gesturing to the sturdy, armless chair in the middle of the room, about two yards between it and the wooden desk near the window. Chris, starting to wonder if this is going to be just business after all, does as he’s told, expecting Sebastian to take place behind his desk.

Sebastian doesn’t. Instead, he perches on the edge of his desk, one foot on the ground and crossing his wrists on his left knee. Chris is having flashbacks to being called into the principal’s office, only much, much better.

“I really do admire your initiative and ambitions with this website,” Sebastian says, sounding genuine. “It’s always a risk for someone from the entertainment industry to venture into politics and usually I’d say it’s not a great idea.” He pauses, and Chris fights the urge to squirm in his seat. “But then, usually,” Sebastian continues, “people are after some kind of power or influence, whereas you’re concerned with making sure people are informed enough to vote, and vote wisely. I think that’s a very admirable aspiration.”

Chris sends Sebastian a grateful smile. “Thank you. A lot of people think I’m just sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong and I should stick to acting, but I care deeply about these issues. My career has afforded me a platform, an opportunity to make my voice heard, and I can’t not use that opportunity to try and make a difference.”

“That’s exactly it,” Sebastian agrees. “Sure, you’ve got a famous face and name, but you’re not taking advantage of it. You’re using it to do some good. And, um –” He pauses, biting his lower lip around a smile and tilting his head a little to the left, before finishing, “Well, let’s just say I think that’s very sexy of you.”

Chris barks out a surprised laugh. “Glad to hear it, Rep- Sebastian,” he corrects himself. Gathering his courage, he deliberately, slowly lets his gaze sweep Sebastian’s form, head to toe and back again. “And as it happens,” he goes on, deciding to throw caution to the wind and just go for it, “I think you’ve got many excellent qualities yourself.”

A slow smile spreads over Sebastian’s handsome face, lighting up his features and momentarily stealing Chris’s breath away.

“That so?” Sebastian looks down at the floor for a moment, then looks back up at him through his eyelashes – to devastating effect. Chris is pretty sure he lets out a quiet gasp, his heart tripping over itself in his chest.

Jesus Christ, where is his cool when he needs it? Or his game, for that matter.

“I’ve gotta say,” Sebastian continues, head still cocked and fixing Chris with his gaze. “You’re not at all how I was expecting you to be.”

“How were you expecting me to be?”

“I don’t know.” Sebastian gives him a considering look. “Less down to earth, less likeable, more Hollywood?”

Chris huffs a laugh. “Yeah, people usually tell me I’m a little disappointing in real life. Shorter than they were expecting, not as muscly, etcetera etcetera.”

Sebastian frowns, a little wrinkle appearing on his brow that Chris immediately wants to smooth out with his thumb.

“Oh no, I don’t think you’re disappointing at all. You’ve exceeded my expectations, if anything. I figured it probably took tons of make up to make you look as dashing as you do on screen, but if anything I think you’re more handsome in real life.” Gesturing at him, Sebastian clarifies, “The beard, the waist, the shoulders – it’s… quite something.”

“Oh,” Chris says intelligently. “Thank you.” He winces. “I mean-”

“You’re cute,” Sebastian interrupts, grinning.

“I –” Chris falters again, dropping his head into his hands. “Fuck, I swear I’m usually smoother than this.” He looks back up at Sebastian a little sheepishly. “You just kinda caught me off guard. I guess you surpassed my expectations, too. I wasn’t expecting a Representative too be quite so…”

“So?” Sebastian prompts, still watching him closely.

“Gorgeous,” Chris breathes.

This time, it’s Sebastian who sucks in a breath, his eyes widening just a little. It’s small, almost imperceptible, but Chris is watching him closely so he notices. Seems Sebastian isn’t quite as unaffected by all this as he first appeared. That knowledge makes something in Chris’s chest loosen, helps him regain his footing a little.

Keeping his eyes locked with Sebastian’s, Chris slowly uncrosses his legs, planting both his feet firmly on the ground. Sebastian’s eyes drop down to Chris’s lap before they flick up to his face again. His perfectly white, straight teeth – more Hollywood than Capitol Hill – sink into his plump bottom lip, right hand dropping to his waist to casually unfasten the button on his suit jacket.

For a few seconds, neither of them speaks or moves, the tension in the room almost palpable now. Chris suppresses a shiver when Sebastian slowly gets up and walks over to him with an air of a predator approaching its prey.

Unconsciously, Chris holds his breath, then lets it out again in a rush when Sebastian plants his hands on Chris’s shoulders and proceeds to straddle his thighs, sitting down squarely in Chris’s lap.

Chris makes a sound, somewhere between surprised and helplessly turned on, his hands flying up to rest on Sebastian’s waist. “Whoa, I- okay.” He swallows nervously.

“Okay?” Sebastian checks.

Chris nods, a little too quickly to be suave, but hey, this is kind of an unusual situation.

Sebastian relaxes infinitesimally, the only sign that he’s not quite as confident here as he appears to be. “God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes drifting over Chris’s features.

From up close, Chris can count Sebastian’s eyelashes, can see the hint of a stubble on his jawline. He’s intoxicating, and Chris doesn’t dare move an inch as he lets Sebastian study him. Finally, after he’s looked his fill, Sebastian’s gaze comes to rest on Chris’s mouth. His tongue, pink and wet, flicks out to wet his own lips, and Chris’s mouth starts to water. He aches with how much he wants to kiss that pretty, pouty mouth.

After a long, loaded moment, Sebastian leans in, his breath ghosting Chris’s lips for a second and making his heart race in anticipation, before he finally presses their mouths together.

The kiss is soft, lush, almost sweet. Chris holds his breath, his stomach flipping like he’s some kind of blushing virgin being kissed for the very first time.

Then, Sebastian makes a sound – a tiny, throaty noise that’s almost a moan but not quite, and something inside of Chris snaps. He groans, parting his lips and urging Sebastian to do the same, and then they’re kissing, hard and openmouthed. Chris slides one hand up Sebastian’s neck, burying his fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. Sebastian moans for real this time, hands smoothing over the fabric of Chris’s suit jacket, lingering on his shoulders and arms.

“Fuck,” Sebastian mutters against Chris’s mouth, squeezing his biceps. “So fucking hot.”

Chris is used to being called hot, of course. It’s inescapable in his profession. But coming from Sebastian, quite probably the sexiest man on God’s green earth, the words mean a lot more than they usually do. It emboldens him enough to wrap an arm around Sebastian’s waist and pull him closer against him, pressing their groins together briefly.

“Uh,” Sebastian hiccups, pulling back a fraction to look down at Chris. His pupils are blown already, lips reddened and spit slick, and Chris wants. He wants this man so much and he hardly even knows him.

“God, look at you,” Chris breathes, staring in something close to awe. “Pretty as a picture, sittin’ in my lap.”

Sebastian swallows, his eyelids fluttering at the compliment, and then he slowly and deliberately grinds down. Both of them groan at the friction, Chris’s own hips jerking upwards of their own accord, and Sebastian does it again, simultaneously leaning down to capture Chris’s lips in another kiss. Soon, they’ve found a sort of rhythm, their hips rolling in time with the slow, luxurious thrusts of their tongues into each other’s mouths. It’s intoxicating - the smell of Sebastian’s aftershave mingling with fresh sweat and arousal making Chris’s head swim.

Already, he’s uncomfortably hard inside his slacks, the need to rut, to seek relief, becoming almost unbearable the longer they spend slowly grinding together on that office chair.

“Sebastian.”

Sebastian hums, dragging his mouth over Chris’s cheeks before taking his earlobe between his teeth, worrying it gently. Chris makes a pitiful noise. He throws his head back automatically, inviting Sebastian to attack his exposed neck next. Licking along the tendons that stand out, Sebastian presses wet little kisses to his throat and jaw, too much and not enough at the same time. It’s like Sebastian has a map to all of Chris’s weak spots, like he’s trying to tick them off one by one until he reaches the spot marked X.

Just when Chris thinks he’s going to have to beg him for some relief, Sebastian pulls back, placing one more lush kiss on his lips before he climbs off Chris’s lap.

On instinct, Chris’s hands fly up in a gesture of surrender. “I’m sorry,” he says, panting slightly. “Did I-“

But before he can finish his sentence, Sebastian has quickly taken off his suit jacket and thrown it carelessly to the side, sinking to his knees in front of him. He pushes open Chris’s legs with a hand on either knee, a question in his eyes as he looks up at him.

“I hope you’re alright with this, because I really wanna suck you off.”

Chris does absolutely not squeak. “Yeah, I’m – I’m alright with that.”

“Excellent,” Sebastian grins, feral and beautiful. Slowly, he runs his hands up Chris’s thighs until he reaches his belt, opening it quickly and efficiently. Chris lifts his hips a little so that Sebastian can pull down his slacks just enough to reveal the bulge of his erection, the tip, red and already wet, peaking out over the waistband. Sebastian let’s out a low whistle. He reaches up to press his palm to Chris’s dick through the fabric, squeezing lightly as if to get the measure of it.

Chris inhales sharply. Somehow, Sebastian looks even better from this angle than he had before, and he watches Sebastian’s every move with lidded eyes. “C’mon,” he murmurs, hoping he’s not overstepping.

Sebastian’s eyes snap up to his face, the look in his eyes is downright predatory. “You want it?” he asks, squeezing Chris again and licking his lips.

Chris can’t help but roll his eyes a little. “You know I do, Congressman.”

“Oh, that do it for you, huh?” Sebastian sounds amused, that cheeky twinkle appearing in his eyes again that gets Chris’s pulse racing.

“You do it for me,” Chris replies honestly, reaching down to card a hand through Sebastian’s hair. “I’ll admit it’s kind of hot that you’re in politics and have a lot of the same opinions as I do. But to be honest, if you’d been working at my local gardening center, I’d still have done a double take. You’re just really fucking gorgeous, Sebastian.”

Sebastian looks at him with big, round eyes, his mouth hanging slightly open. He swallows once, then licks his lips. Hoarsely, he asks, “How are you real?”

Before Chris has had a chance to reply, Sebastian is taking him out of his underwear, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock, and taking him into his mouth. Chris groans loudly, his mind blanking out for a second at the exquisite feeling of Sebastian’s hot, wet mouth around his dick.

“Jesus, fuck.”

Sebastian pulls off for a moment, just long enough to mumble, “Language,” before he reapplies himself to his task.

Blinking through the haze of pleasure, Chris stares down at him. “Did you just..?”

Sebastian just moans around him, but his eyes are laughing. Chris can’t help it – he laughs too, out loud, the sound quickly turning into another moan when Sebastian takes him deeper still. He swallows him down, all the way into the back of his throat, making himself gag a little. Pulling back to gulp in a breath, Sebastian keeps his slick, red lips wrapped around the head, gently suckling while his hand grips him with the perfect amount of pressure as he strokes along Chris’s shaft.

Chris hopes he’s not overstepping when he brings his right hand to Sebastian’s head and slides his fingers in his thick, chestnut hair, tugging at it experimentally. If the sound Sebastian makes is anything to go by, he’s more than alright with that development. Chris curls his fingers, messing up Sebastian’s perfectly styled hair and reveling in the effect it has on him, the way it seems to make him sloppier, more desperate.

Sebastian lets him fall from his mouth for a moment to lap at his shaft, before mouthing at the base of it, burying his nose in the coarse hair there. Chris isn’t sure what it is about that particular gesture that hits him, but suddenly the urgency he feels intensifies threefold. He gives Sebastian’s hair an unsubtle tug, pulling him back down, and Sebastian happily lets himself be steered, taking Chris into his mouth once more and beginning to suck him off with renewed vigor.

Sebastian’s mouth is exquisite. Chris has never felt anything quite like it, and it’s not long before he’s a panting, delirious mess. “Oh god,” he breathes, “if you keep that up, I’m not gonna last long.”

Abruptly, Sebastian stops what he’s doing, looking up at him with slightly wild, dark eyes. A gossamer strand of saliva still connects his wet, reddened lips to Chris’s cock.

“I want you to fuck me.”

The words ring out loud and clear in the otherwise silent room, and Chris blows out a quick, steadying breath. He strokes Sebastian’s cheek, thumb trailing over his slightly puffy lower lip.

“You have no idea how much I want that,” Chris says regretfully. “No idea. But I wasn’t exactly anticipating this to happen today, if you know what I mean.”

Sebastian’s eyes light up. A moment later, he’s getting to his feet and hurrying towards the built-in cabinet near the window. Chris watches in confusion as Sebastian produces a black, leather gym bag and rummages around in there for a second, reemerging with a triumphant sound.  

“I’ve got stuff.” Sebastian sounds a little breathless as he holds up a packet of condoms and a small bottle of lube.

Chris grins, raising a single eyebrow.

“I’m a single, gay man,” Sebastian explains, rolling his eyes. “I do go out occasionally, you know. Plus I used to be a boy scout. Always be prepared, and all that.”

“Hey,” Chris says, holding up his hands. “I’m not judging.”

“You totally are,” Sebastian snorts. “You should stop that and fuck me instead. Deal?”

Oh, but Chris loves this. He loves the banter, the way the extreme sexual tension of just moments ago has shifted into something more lighthearted, though still undeniably charged. It’s been a while since he’s had anything more than a one night stand, and those typically leave little room for levity, in his experience. Usually, people are so preoccupied with the fact that they’re sleeping with Chris Evans, Captain America, and so desperate to please him, that it almost becomes a little off putting.

With Sebastian, there’s none of that. Yes, Sebastian’s clearly very attracted to him, but he doesn’t hesitate to crack a joke or make a smartass remark. Chris admires that kind of self-assuredness, that independence, if you will, while he also manages to make it clear how much he wants this.

How much he wants Chris. And the feeling, Chris thinks, as he slowly lets his eyes trail up and down Sebastian’s slightly disheveled form, his entirely mutual.

Purposely lowering his voice, Chris says, “Take off your shoes, socks and pants.”

A visible shiver runs through Sebastian at Chris’s commanding tone.

Chris smiles wolfishly. “That’s what I thought. Today please,” he adds when Sebastian doesn’t move immediately, just stands there like he’s frozen.

Sebastian jerks into action, going over to the desk where he puts down the supplies before turning back to face Chris. Slowly, he starts to toe off his shoes, which he kicks aside, followed by his socks. Chris watches intently as Sebastian’s hands drop to the buttons on his slacks, unbuttoning them one by one before hooking his thumbs in the waistband and pulling them down, past the modest swell of his ass. They fall to the floor and he steps out of them easily. Chris’s eyes glue themselves to the bulge in his dark grey briefs, where a wet spot has formed at the front. Next, he lets his gaze trail over Sebastian’s long legs, elegant and yet with firm, muscled thighs that Chris would love to feel wrapped around his waist one day. Or his head. He’s not picky.

Sebastian just stands there, letting himself be looked at, seemingly savoring the attention. Finally, he reaches up to loosen his tie, deftly pulling it off and dropping it. He starts unbuttoning his dress shirt, next, but Chris stops him after he’s opened the last one.

“That’s enough.” He goes to sit up a little straighter in his chair and beckons Sebastian closer. “Come here.”

Obeying beautifully, Sebastian walks over to him, but not before snatching the condoms and lube off the desk. He comes to stand in front of him, holding Chris’s eyes and waiting for further instructions.

“Take off your briefs.”

Sebastian lets out a shaky breath. Slowly, he slides his underwear down his legs and steps out of them. His dick isn’t too large, but it’s pretty, and makes Chris’s mouth water instantly. Reaching out, he puts his hands on Sebastian’s hips. He darts a quick glance up to his face to check if this is okay, when Sebastian just bites his lip as he looks down at him with a heated look in his slate grey eyes, Chris lowers his mouth over Sebastian’s cock.

He lets out a pleased little hum at the taste of him on his tongue, swiping it around the head to lap up the precome that’s gathered at the tip. Sebastian moans beautifully, hands resting on Chris’s shoulders, fingers digging into the muscle.

“Chris,” he breathes, letting his head fall backwards. Chris looks up at him through his lashes, marveling at how pretty Sebastian looks even from this unflattering angle. He bobs his head and sucks him off with relish, taking him down over and over, until Sebastian’s thighs start to tremble.

“Please.”

Chris pulls off with a wet sound. “Please what?” he asks, voice even rougher than it was moments before.

“I need –” Sebastian whimpers, hips jerking, and Chris thinks he knows exactly what he needs.

He sits back against the back rest and pats his lap. Sebastian takes the hint immediately and climbs on, straddling his thighs. His flushed, leaking cock presses against the front of Chris’s dress shirt, sure to leave a stain, but Chris couldn’t care less. He’s got a lap full of mostly naked Sebastian; he does not feel particularly worried about dry cleaning right now.

Chris allows himself a moment to take Sebastian in. With his flushed cheeks, and dark eyes, glossy with arousal, he’s breathtaking. His hair is mussed and his toned, tanned torso visible through the gap in his opened dress shirt. His cock is hard and flushed, the base surrounded by neatly trimmed pubic hair. Sebastian’s been biting his lips, it seems, because they look extra red – a little raw from the way his teeth have been worrying at them while Chris sucked him off. Needing to taste them more than he’s needed anything in a while, Chris leans in, wrapping an arm around Sebastian’s waist and pulling him into a deep, hungry kiss. He runs a hand along Sebastian’s long legs, which are remarkably smooth, like the rest of him. Sebastian balances a line between strong and elegant, and Chris is mesmerized by it.

“God, you’re stunning,” Chris rumbles, trailing a hand from the hollow of Sebastian’s neck all the way down his chest, abs, and then bypassing his cock to slide around to his backside. He grabs a handful of that small but perfectly formed ass and kneads it. Sebastian’s breath hitches, and Chris splays his hand over Sebastian’s tailbone before he deliberately dips his middle finger between his cheeks. When the tip of it brushes Sebastian’s smooth, tight hole, Sebastian gasps, his pupils dilating impossibly further until there’s barely anything left of the beautiful ocean blue of his irises. Their gazes lock while Chris gently teases at Sebastian’s hole with his finger, rubbing little circles there that don’t do a thing yet to loosen him up but that have Sebastian squirming in his lap nonetheless.

It takes approximately a minute of this before Sebastian breaks, whining in the back of his throat in a way that Chris is pretty sure is unintentional.

“What is it, baby?” The endearment is out before Chris can check himself, but the way Sebastian shivers against him shows he doesn’t exactly seem to mind it. “You need something?”

“Yes,” Sebastian breathes.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want your fingers in me,” Sebastian answers instantly, though the way his voice trembles tells Chris it’s harder for him to say it than he’s trying to make it appear. “Please.”

“Anything you need, baby,” Chris assures him, leaning in to steal a kiss.

He takes the lube from Sebastian’s clenched fist, popping open the lid and reluctantly drawing his hand back from Sebastian’s ass to coat his fingers in the stuff. They’re back a moment later though, slick fingers rubbing over Sebastian’s hole with intent, before he starts to work the tip of his forefinger slowly inside. Sebastian sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as Chris slowly slides his finger in deeper, his mind bombarding him with signals of hot, tight, wet that go straight to his already rock-hard cock.

He can’t wait to be inside Sebastian, but first, he needs to make sure he does a thorough job opening him up. The last thing Chris wants to do is hurt him. In fact, he’s already ready to fight anyone who ever hurt Sebastian in the past or is planning to in the future, and he’s rather not have to kick his own ass.

“More,” Sebastian demands. His tongue darts out to lick his own lips, and Chris’s cock twitches at the sight. Lining up a second finger next to the first, he slowly presses it in as well, carefully stretching Sebastian’s tight entrance, readying it for his cock. Just that thought alone is enough to make Chris’s brain short-circuit for a second. Sebastian rests his forehead against Chris’s, his breathing picking up, but it doesn’t sound like he’s uncomfortable. So Chris doesn’t stop, instead slightly spreading his fingers to gently pry him open further.

“You’ve got – big fingers,” Sebastian pants, rocking back on them just a little.

“Sorry,” Chris says guiltily.

“No – ah. That’s, that’s really not a bad thing.”

Chris smirks. “I see. You want more?”

“Yes, please,” Sebastian breathes, the last word fading into a moan when Chris adds a third finger to the first two.

“There’s a good boy,” Chris says, kissing Sebastian’s cheek almost sweetly. “Asking for it so nicely.”

Sebastian sighs contently, melting a little further against him. Slowly, Chris starts to slide his fingers in and out while Sebastian’s fingers dig hard into Chris’s biceps. Since Chris knows sometimes the discomfort of the initial stretch can cause an erection to flag, he brings his left hand to Sebastian’s cock to stroke it tightly, just until Sebastian’s eyelids start fluttering from pleasure instead of tension.

Chris keeps him on the edge for a while, aware that he’s probably done enough to prepare him, but unable to stop staring at Sebastian, where he’s open and wanton and beautiful in his lap. It’s only when Sebastian whimpers and buries his face in Chris’s neck, breath hot and moist on his skin, that Chris remembers he’s working towards something here.

“Shhh,” he coos, rubbing Sebastian’s smooth back with his free hand. “It’s alright. I’m gonna give you what you need, okay?”

Sebastian nods shakily, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Chris’s throat.

“Please,” he pleads, somewhere between sweetly and desperately, and Chris’s heart does a funny thing inside his chest. He has to kiss Sebastian again then, deep and slow and consuming, swallowing his beautiful moans as he crooks his fingers inside of him to makes him cry out softly into his mouth.

Finally, Chris makes himself pull back, pulling out his fingers and wiping them on the bottom of his own shirt.

“Okay,” he says, feeling a little unmoored and shaky himself. “Alright, stand up for me, honey.”

Sebastian does, climbing off Chris’s lap, and standing there on slightly unsteady legs, like a baby deer, waiting to be told what to do next.

“Take off the shirt and bend over the desk.”

It’s an order, but Chris watches Sebastian’s face carefully so see his reaction, ready to propose something else if he isn’t comfortable with this. He needn’t have worried. Sebastian instantly turns around, all but ripping off his shirt and then pushing aside some of the papers on his desk before bending over it. He keeps his legs straight, making his ass stick up in the air a bit as he presents himself for Chris’s hungry gaze.

For a moment, Chris can’t believe his luck. He came here today with a purpose; to work on his project, his brain child that he cares about a lot, and it had gone well, and that was all Chris has hoped for from today. To find himself in this position now, with the most attractive man he’s ever seen laid out before him like some sort of fata morgana, patiently waiting for Chris to fuck him stupid, that’s something he could never have anticipated. It’s better than anything he could have dreamed up.

“Jesus,” he says out loud, too caught up in his feelings to have much of a brain to mouth filter left. “I can’t believe I got this lucky. Look at you.”  

“Chris,” Sebastian says, sounding a little impatient now. Which makes sense, considering he’s naked in his office on Capitol Hill, draped over his own desk, while some actor guy with his pants open watches him from a chair.

Chris shakes himself and finally gets up. Taking off his suit jacket, he drapes it over the back of the chair, and calmly turns around. He walks closer but still doesn’t touch Sebastian, just stops a few feet away. Something tells him that despite Sebastian’s impatience, he probably quite likes being on display like this. Feeling bold, Chris decides to take it a step further and test him a little.

“Show me,” he says.

Sebastian goes still. “What?”

“You heard me,” Chris repeats calmly. “Show me.”

Chris thinks he hears Sebastian murmur a curse, but then he lifts his arms and brings them to his ass, grabbing his cheeks and parting them, spreading himself open for Chris’s inspection. Chris can’t help the soft groan that escapes him at the sight. Reaching out, he smooths his palm over Sebastian’s lower back, then over the curve at the top of his ass, thumbing him open a little bit further.

“Fuck, that’s pretty.”

And it is. Sebastian’s pink hole is wet and slightly relaxed with how long Chris just spent fingering him. It makes Chris’s mouth water. He briefly entertains the thought of eating him out, but then Sebastian makes another impatient noise, wiggling his ass a little.

“Come on,” he pleads. “Do it, Chris. Just- please.”

A new wave of arousal washes through him, fast and strong, making him feel a little lightheaded.

“Okay, yes, I’m – Fuck. Just one second.” Chris doubles back for the lube, then grabs a condom and prepares himself as quickly as he can with his shaky, fumbling fingers. He positions himself behind Sebastian, his clothed thighs pressing into the back of Sebastian’s bare ones. With his left hand, he grips Sebastian’s hip as the other lines up his cock, resting the tip against his entrance.

“Please,” Sebastian repeats, sounding more desperate than ever, and then Chris is pushing forward, slowly sliding into the warm, welcoming heat of Sebastian’s body.

He grits his teeth to stop himself from moaning too loudly. Despite the thorough preparation, Chris’s brain whites out for a minute at how tight Sebastian feels around him because of his muscles clenching instinctively at the intrusion. Sebastian is making aborted little noises that could be pleasure or pain, and once Chris’s brain comes back online enough to register them, he leans down over Sebastian’s back to press a kiss to his spine as he fully bottoms out. He stays there for a moment, trying to keep his breathing even and kissing up on Sebastian some more in an attempt to distract or comfort him, whatever it is he needs.

But it must not be as bad as Chris thought, because it’s only a couple of seconds before Sebastian starts to push back against him.

“I’m good,” he says hoarsely, “you can move now.”

“Oh, thank god,” Chris sighs. He pushes himself back up to his full height and draws out a few inches, groaning at the drag of Sebastian’s inner walls around his cock before pushing back in. He means to go slow, to let Sebastian adjust, but it feels so good that he can’t help but slide in deep and stay there for a moment, drawing tight little circles with his hips that have Sebastian shuddering below him.

Unable to help himself, Chris pulls back and snaps his hips forward again forcefully, burying himself deeper into Sebastian’s welcoming heat. Judging by the sound Sebastian lets out, he does not mind. In fact, as Chris starts pumping his hips and driving into Sebastian over and over again, Sebastian starts to become louder and louder, moans and curses falling freely from his lips.

Chris adores every single sound Sebastian makes as he lays into him, but part of him is still conscious of the fact that they’re at Sebastian’s place of work. The door may be locked – at least, he hopes it is – but he doubts the room is soundproof, and he’d never forgive himself if their little tryst ended up jeopardizing Sebastian’s job or reputation in any way. Since Sebastian doesn’t respond to Chris’s pleas to keep it down, Chris doesn’t see any other option than to bend forward and put his hand over Sebastian’s mouth, muffling his cries.

“I’m sorry,” he says, genuinely regretful. “If we’d been somewhere private I’d’ve let you be as loud as you want, sweetheart. But this is your office. We don’t want anyone to hear us, do we?”

Sebastian moans in a way that Chris thinks could mean that he in fact does want everyone to hear them, but while that may be true in the moment, Chris is pretty sure Sebastian would regret it hugely after everything was said and done and the whole wing knew of their sexcapades. So he keeps his hand where it is, even if it impedes his freedom of movement a bit.

When he feels Sebastian lick at his palm, Chris’s first thought is he’s just being a brat, but when he does it again, Chris takes the hint. He takes his hand off Sebastian’s mouth and puts his fingers to his lips. Sebastian immediately takes them into his mouth, lips closing around them as he suckles them like he’d sucked on Chris’s dick before, making content little noises.

“Oh, baby,” Chris groans, rolling his hips again as he feeds Sebastian his cock and his fingers at the same time. “You just needed something to suck on, huh? Being fucked not enough for you? You wish you had my cock in your mouth, too?”

Sebastian whines around his fingers, and Chris rewards him with an extra forceful thrust that has Sebastian scrambling for purchase on the edges of his desk.

Just so he can draw this out as long as he can, Chris takes it down a notch, slowing until he’s just leisurely sliding in and out, making his strokes long and deep and getting Sebastian to sigh in pleasure below him. Part of Chris wishes he could just stop time right here, stay suspended in this moment in time forever, buried inside in the most stunning man he’s ever had. Not that he’s had all that many men. He’s definitely bisexual, but he tends to lean towards women a little bit more – at least, he thought he did.

Being here now, with Sebastian, he genuinely can’t imagine wanting anything else ever again. Which is… something to be examined closer when he’s not balls deep, perhaps. To stop his mind from overthinking, Chris changes their positions, pulling his fingers from Sebastian’s mouth and ignoring his protests. He pulls him upright by the shoulders, plastering his clothed chest to Sebastian’s naked back.

“Oh,” Sebastian breathes, lifting his hands to grab at the arm that Chris wraps around his chest.

Chris buries his face in Sebastian’s neck, dragging his lips and beard over the sensitive skin until Sebastian is squirming against him. Chris groans in Sebastian’s ear, tongue darting out to lick around the shell.

“You feel so good around me, sugar,” he praises, free hand dropping down to press Sebastian’s leaking erection against his belly. “You feeling good, too?”

Sebastian shudders against him, clearly torn between whether to press back or push forward into Chris’s hand. “Please, please, can I-”

Chris hums, shaking his head. “Sorry, honey. Not yet.” He slides his hand down from Sebastian’s clavicle to his pectoral, flicking experimentally at his left nipple with his thumb.

“No, no, unnghh,” Sebastian moans, letting his head fall back against Chris’s shoulders.

“Ohh,” Chris chuckles, charmed. “Sensitive, huh? How’s it feel when I touch ‘em? Feel good?” Not waiting for Sebastian’s reply, Chris takes the hard little nub between his thumb and forefinger and tweaks it lightly.

“Oh fuck,” Sebastian curses, jolting like he’s electrocuted, before panting, “Do that again.”

Chris doesn’t have it in him to deny Sebastian anything right now, so he repeats the movement and tries not to come on the spot from the way Sebastian’s ass tightens around him when he does. In his experience, most guys’ nipples aren’t all that sensitive, but from Sebastian’s reactions, is sure seems like he’s a nipple kinda guy. Which works out perfectly, because Chris is too. He’s already dying to suck on them sometime, scrape his beard over them, worry them between his teeth and find out how far he can work Sebastian up just from playing with his pretty nipples.

When Sebastian whimpers and sighs, yes, please, yes, Chris realizes he’s said all that out loud. And even though this might just be sex-drunk ramblings, Chris’s heart leaps at the implication that there might be a next time.

Keeping up a steady pace, Chris continues to fuck into Sebastian from behind while he rubs and pinches at his chest. He relishes the high-pitched noises that fall from Sebastian’s lips seemingly without conscious thought: he’s lost in it, just like Chris is lost in him, and it feels so fucking good.

Finally, when he feels the tell-tale tightening in his balls, Chris almost reluctantly pushes Sebastian away from him, down onto the table. He’s loath to let go of him, would much rather keep him close, but he’s conscious that he’s not hitting the spot in that position, and he wants to make this as good for Sebastian as he possibly can.

With a hand on his lower back, Chris presses Sebastian down as he starts to finally give it to him properly, pulling almost all the way out on every stroke before plunging back in. He chances a look down, mesmerized at the sight of his cock sliding in and out of Sebastian’s hole, which hungrily draws him in over and over again. There’s something almost obscene about the fact that Chris is still fully clothed, just his dick out, while Sebastian is gloriously naked, unabashed and wanton, letting himself be taken.

“Oh Jesus,” Chris pants, crazy with it, his body feeling loose and too-tight at the same time. “You’re so fucking hot, you’ve got no idea. Driving outta my fucking mind, sweetheart, Christ.”

“Harder,” Sebastian pleads, trying to muffle his cries in his own forearm. “Fuck me harder, c’mon.”

A haze comes over Chris’s brain, the only thing he can see and feel being Sebastian and the buzz in  his veins, the pleasure coiling in his gut, so close to release. He grabs Sebastian’s hips and pulls him back against him every time he fucks into him, and suddenly, Sebastian’s moans change. They become higher and breathier, littered with aborted curses, and Chris knows he’s hitting the spot.

“Like that, baby? You like it like that?” Chris doesn’t care that he probably sounds like a bad porno right now, his entire consciousness filled with the scent of arousal in the air and the slick, filthy sounds of their bodies joining mixed with obscene moans.

Sebastian isn’t much better, anyway, keeping up a near constant litany of Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes, in time with his beautiful, naked body being shoved up and down the table with every forceful thrust of Chris’s hips.

“Oh god,” Sebastian gasps suddenly. “I’m gonna come, I’m gonna fucking come.”

“You’re – like this?” Chris asks incredulously. “You don’t need me to-?“

“I need you to keep going,” Sebastian groans. “Just like this, don’t you dare fucking stop.”

“Yes, sir,” Chris grits out. Truth be told, he doesn’t think he could stop now even if he wanted to. He’s so close.

Sebastian seems to finally have lost the capacity for speech altogether, the little breathless ah, ah, ah, sounds that Chris punches out of him the only thing he can manage.

“I’m guh-” Sebastian tries futilely, but he doesn’t get further than that.

“Now,” Chris orders, aiming another trust right into Sebastian’s prostate and grinding down on it, his hips flush with Sebastian’s ass. “Come for me, do it.”

And Sebastian does. He keens, body seizing up, clenching tightly around Chris’s cock. Chris’s hips stutter, wanting to keep thrusting, but it’s too much. Before Sebastian has even finished, Chris’s orgasm slams into him like a freight train. He comes with a long, drawn out moan, losing all sense of place or time as waves of pleasure wash over him, cock pulsing as he fills up the condom with his release.

Chris isn’t proud of it, but he more or less collapses onto Sebastian’s back when he starts to come down, his heaving, dress shirt-clad chest against Sebastian’s sweat-damp back. Chris presses his lips to Sebastian’s shoulder blade, panting against his skin as he catches his breath for a good few minutes.

Finally, his softening dick slips out, and Chris is forced to get up. “Give me one second,” he murmurs, looking around and spotting a box of tissues that’s fallen to the floor. He quickly removes and ties off the condom, wrapping it in a tissue and tossing it in the trashcan, along with the one he uses to clean himself. Next, he tucks himself back into his pants and zips them up, before he grabs another hand full of tissues. He cleans Sebastian up carefully, mindful not to be too rough with his undoubtedly sensitive, softening cock.

“You okay?” Chris whispers, gently stroking the slight curve of Sebastian’s hip.

Sebastian just hums in reply, not showing any inclination to get up of his own accord. He seems pretty out of it, honestly, so Chris helps him up and then guides them both to sit down in the chair again. He pulls Sebastian into his lap, against his chest, the contrast between their states of dress even starker now than it was before. Somehow, Chris is a little moved by it, by how much Sebastian seems to trust him, even if he barely knows him. It makes him tighten his grip instinctively, murmuring praise and endearments into Sebastian’s hair as Sebastian’s head lolls back against Chris’s shoulder.

After a few minutes, Sebastian starts to stir, blinking open his eyes and shivering a little. Chris pulls him closer still, rubbing his hands over Sebastian’s arms and legs in an attempt to warm him up a little.

“You with me again?” Chris asks quietly, lips brushing Sebastian’s ear.

Sebastian swallows, then gives a short nod. “Yeah.” His voice comes out thick, so he clears his throat. “I’m- I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to let myself go quite so much.”

He sounds embarrassed, and Chris won’t stand for that.

“Are you kiddin’ me?” He grabs Sebastian’s chin, turning his face so he can pull him into a kiss. It’s soft, sweet, without much intent, and Sebastian hums into it. “You were perfect,” Chris praises as he pulls away. “You are perfect.”

Despite the fact that he’s been naked all this time, this is what makes Sebastian blush, and Chris watches the color appear in his cheeks with delight, chasing it with his lips and nuzzling Sebastian’s hot cheeks.

“You’re pretty fucking amazing yourself,” Sebastian breathes. He turns into Chris further, lifting a hand to run it first through Chris’s beard and then his hair, tugging him down for another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, and Chris lets himself melt into it.

“I couldn’t believe my luck when you looked at me like that, earlier,” Sebastian confesses, speaking against Chris's lips. “Never woulda thought you’d have been into guys, let alone that you’d be like this.”

He doesn’t have to specify what he means by that, because Chris understands. He never thought Sebastian would’ve been like that, either.

Chris gives a small shrug. “Yeah, I’m bisexual, but I don’t flaunt it. ‘Cause, you know – Hollywood.”

Sebastian hums. “Yeah, I do know,” he says, before adding, “Capitol Hill,” by way of explanation.

A giggle bubbles up inside of Chris that he can’t quite stop in time.

When Sebastian raises an eyebrow at him in question, Chris blurts out, “We just fucked on Capitol Hill.”

Sebastian laughs, bright and happy, resting his forehead against Chris’s. “We sure did, sweetheart.”

He probably shouldn’t push his luck, but Chris has never been very good at keeping his feelings do himself. Before he can question it too much, he says, “So, I know it’s all backwards, but… I’d love to take you out for dinner. If – if you want.”

A sweet, fond smile spreads over Sebastian’s face. “Well, as it happens, I could really go for a burger and a beer, right about now.”

Chris groans, squeezing Sebastian’s waist. “If only you could be naked for the whole thing, and it would be perfect.”

Sebastian laughs. “Maybe on our second date. If you’re lucky.”

It Chris crosses his fingers behind Sebastian’s back, no one needs to know.

Read (and comment?) on AO3 - Thank you! ❤️

[new-endings]

The Nice and Accurate Guide to Courting

Ch. 1; ao3 

Chapter summary: in which Crowley learns and yearns. 

“And in reality, it was probably here where Crowley fully and undeniably faced the ill-tuned music that he fell treacherously and helplessly in love with the Principality Aziraphale— who wanted nothing more than peace and was willing to marry off the prince to one unlucky and unhappy Archangel to achieve it.” 

Step 2: Gather Intel:  

The castle wing generously bestowed to Crowley and the rest of his Legion was lavish in its towering ceilings and ornate tapestries; pristine in its Heavenly whites and creams and the dutiful servants keeping offending grime away; and above all—it was spacious­. Wide and echoing. Fit for royalty, one might say. So, it was quite understandable how it really chafed away at Crowley’s (remaining) patience (and sanity) to find Hastur and Ligur squirreled away in his quarters.

Again.

Yes, he understood that they may be his footmen, but this was also precisely why Crowley tended to “disappear” for hours (even days at a time) in his own abode in Hell’s Kingdom.

Crowley paid little heed to Ligur’s scrutinizing gaze as he approached the attached study; to do so would show weakness before his subordinates and that was a decidedly unwise thing to do given his current position.

The position being smuggling another one of Hell’s scarce literary publications for his Guide’s reading pleasure.

But it was Hastur that broke the silence with a sly grin and a meaningful look as he eyed what was in Crowley’s hands. “Another tome, Prince Crawly?”

Well. Some greeting to your Prince. Crowley shot him a scowl. “Another remark out of you and you’ll crawling back to Hell.” Nevertheless, Hastur looked nonplussed as always so Crowley shrugged; he’ll get back at him later for that. “Besides, this is payment,” he protested. More so for the Angel’s delightful company than any real progress in his princely responsibilities, but they needn’t know that bit.

“Payment to the Guide assigned to you by the Queen herself?” Ligur added with a derisive snort. “Ah yes, what a great boon to have this queer Bird in our midst.”

“A Bird in hand is worth two in a bush,” Crowley assured. Not that he would even entertain the absurd notion of replacing Aziraphale as his Guide. “Nothing wrong with a little encouragement.”

Ligur was decidedly unconvinced. “You two spent the last week traipsing about every fine eatery in this God-be-damned Kingdom. I think he’s plenty encouraged.”

“Ah, but perhaps not in the manner the Prince would like?” Hastur said with gleaming eyes.

Crowley didn’t outwardly flinch. Of course he didn’t. “He’s—” lovely to be around. “More than entertaining—”

“But not quite like the rest of your toy soldiers, eh Your Highness?” Ligur remarked with a sneering curl of his lips.

“Certainly treats him better than his own lot!” Hastur supplied with a chortle, sneaking a conspiratory smirk at the other. “Looking to nest with this particular Bird before gettin’ shackled to the old ball and chain?”

And that’s when Crowley decided he’d had enough. “Bah. No need to be so crass.” He waved the insinuation off, wishing he could do the same to the twin annoyances holding in snickers and rude gestures at his expense.

It really wouldn’t do to have them meddling in his personal affairs.

And yes, his blooming—whatever it was he had with Aziraphale—was most definitely personal.

Crowley cleared his throat. “His company aids in getting accustomed to being flocked by other Birds.” A bit of a lie, but what’s the harm in that?

Aziraphale was hardly like the others. He was an oddity, certainly, but a rarity with his unabashed enthusiasm towards his indulgences, his general love for his comforts and all matter of life around, the soft glow about him, such a stark contrast from the lurid light and air of sterility the others exuded.

But that was why Crowley liked him so much. He gave a brief hum. “Though I suppose I am curious.” And a grain of truth to really throw them off— “Why, indeed, send such a queer Bird to sort me through this whole mess.” He’d meant the question to come out—detached. Perhaps just a bit pensive. But it didn’t. “Out of literally anyone else.” It came off rather hopeful, wishful.

Apprehensive. It’s not so often that my luck happens to turn out all right. Makes a Demon all sorts of anxious, Crowley thought.

Thankfully, it seemed neither of the two picked up on it. “If he can put up with the likes of your company, why not? Besides…” Ligur eyed the tome in Crowley’s hands. “He’s certainly got you on your best behavior.”

There were several responses Crowley could have chosen. He could have denied it of course, playing deeper into the Demons’ hands at his own expense. He could prove them wrong—which in all intents and purposes would have been the more entertaining option, especially if he could pin the ensuing trouble he’d been itching to cause on to them. Or he could have played the Royal Card—remind them of exactly who they were serving: rotten branch of the Royal tree or not, Crowley was their Prince—at the cost of letting them know deep down, that perhaps yes, maybe Crowley did care a bit more for his Guide than what was probably, Demonly, comfortable.

Instead, he opted for a scoff, a one-worded rebuttal, and a suave saunter as he exited the room. “Nonsense.”

He had no remark, however, for why he took the tome with him as he headed off.

He was already late in meeting Aziraphale as it was.

.

Why was it that whenever one was late, it couldn’t be for a few seconds—or even a few minutes?

Some impassable obstacle just has to miraculously (or cursedly, really) manifest to snowball a small hindrance to an entire ordeal.

And that entire ordeal came in the form of a balding Bird with an insincere smile, just outside his quarters. “Prince Crowley, if I could have a moment of your time?” Crowley frowned all the while and didn’t relent his pace. “I couldn’t help but overhear, Your Grace—”

Right. The halls echoed, after all.

Crowley did his best to pay it no mind, already picking up his pace, legs widening their stride. A scan to his side and—yep. It*** was following him. Fuck. After a tick or two of silence, Crowley sighed. “Our people have long lost Her Grace—no need to address me as such.”

“Right. Of course,” it replied easily. “Sandalphon, Prince Crowley,” it greeted, though it did not offer its hand as customary for other Birds. “You have questions, I’m to understand? About the Principality Aziraphale.”

That gave Crowley pause. “Principality, you say?” His Guide? The book-hoarding, sweets-loving, sunshine-smile Aziraphale— a warrior?

Birds often didn’t give Crowley a good feeling—save Aziraphale, of course—but this one was particularly unpleasant. “Indeed, but by title alone.” Crowley didn’t like the way it seemed far too excited to share whatever it had to say: “His ranking—is…In a dubious state.”

And there it was.  

Crowley gave it an unimpressed look. “Is it now.”

Unfortunately, the Bird was simply undeterred. “Oh, yes.” It nodded, almost somber. “He was an absolutely adequate warrior. Lead his own platoons during the wars past—”

“Aziraphale?”

Crowley knew he made a fatal error from the wide grin spreading across its face. It leaned in, whispering low. “He even served as Archangel Gabriel’s subordinate.”

It all suddenly clicked into place. So that’s why he’s so familiar with the Archangels.

This was…indeed quite valuable information. But even then—Crowley couldn’t see it. Aziraphale obviously didn’t want war—seemed to be wholly devoted to the cause of keeping peace between their kingdoms—at least, when Crowley wasn’t purposefully distracting him with little gifts payments and banter. He had thought that perhaps the Angel had been too soft for war; he never considered the possibility that perhaps he was softened by it instead. Still, it wouldn’t do well to have a little chinwag with someone so eager to defame his Guide. Especially with a being that knew full well his relationship with Aziraphale.

The professional one, anyways.

And Crowley had to remember to keep playing that part. “Well, it seems they brought the right person for the job, then,” Crowley responded, almost testily. He knew what the Bird was baiting him for, but Crowley wouldn’t comment on the status of Aziraphale’s title. To do so felt like a betrayal to his Guide—and to do such an incredibly thoughtless sort of thing that would no doubt place Crowley far from Aziraphale’s good graces.

Not that Sandalphon needed encouragement in the first place. “Oh agreed, Prince Crowley. It’s certainly a mutually beneficial little arrangement. Well of course, Aziraphale has everything to gain from it anyways.” This Bird was more than content to sing like a canary. It gave a wheezy chuckle. “Probably begged the Queen herself to allow him some task to prove his worth to her again.”

Crowley made a show of rolling his eyes and heaving an exasperated breath. “Are you content to prattle on about another Angel’s business to anyone who pays you mind?”

It backed off, raising its palms in an inoffensive manner. “I’m merely giving you some insight!” It gave another slimy grin. “You asked a question, after all.”

And damnit all questions were always Crowley’s favorite weakness. He gave one, hard look at the Bird before relenting, carefully keeping the uninterested façade. “All right. I’m listening.”

“Rumor has it—” It gave a cruel smile. “—that he was dishonored and stripped of his flaming sword. And no one knows why—save for the Queen and Aziraphale himself.”

There was a beat of silence before Crowley’s resolve further buckled. “A flaming sword, you say?” he asked evenly.

And how Crowley detested that wicked sheen in its eyes. “Yes. It flamed like anything.”

Again—quite a bit to take in. There were several methods and modalities available at Crowley’s disposal to respond to this influx of information. He could very well give a curt nod and leave it as is—allow the Bird to believe he ruminated the information for a moment—just a moment—before tossing it away as just a fanciful fact. He could very well thank the Bird for the interesting intel, perhaps even bait the being into telling him more—but honestly, even the offhanded thought made Crowley’s stomach churn in a way that wasn’t even remotely pleasant, so that was obviously off the table.

So, wisely, Crowley settled for a derisive snort. “Ah. Must have been impressive, especially to give such a dangerous weapon to a pacifist,” tone disbelieving, uncaring. “But if he no longer has it, then this information really serves no purpose to me. I’d be more concerned were it the case that he possessed such a weapon and used it in an untoward way against myself or my Legion.”

“Err…I suppose…” It responded cautiously, perhaps unknowing of whether or not to be affronted by the utter disregard for what it had known to be reality-shattering knowledge.

And perhaps—in a way, this information was.

But it would take a lot more than hearsay to change how Crowley felt about Aziraphale. “And you say these are—” He gave it a scrutinizing look. “Rumors, is that right?”

Sandalphon startled. “Well, they may be rumors, but—”  

“All baseless drivel when it comes down to it.” Crowley huffed.

It must have known Aziraphale cared more for peace than winning an expensive, horrendous disagreement for power. It didn’t matter that in times past that the Angel was out there in the bastions and fortresses, armed and ready to lay down his life for this useless struggle.

To add a bit of insult to injury, for his Guide’s honor, Crowley added, “Is that everything you wanted to say?”

Who he is now is all that matters.

The Prince made a show of rolling his eyes when he was met with a beat of silence. “And to think I believed you to have something useful to tell me.”

And right now his Angel—his Guide—is waiting for him, waiting for Crowley. And damn it all, Crowley was really late!

“I—” it stammered.

Crowley turned, continuing his way as he gave the Bird a wave of dismissal. “That is all.”

.

It was quite easy to turn tail and head away from that blathering Bird and its rather rude insinuations towards Aziraphale—

But it was quite different to get away from what he’d learned. Rather, it was impossible to unlearn and unlisten to the implications. Not particularly aimed at Aziraphale, and not even the insinuation aimed at their…well.

Work relations, as it were.

Besides, it normally wouldn’t bother Crowley to hear that he was just an assignment—a woefully accepted obligation—he’s been used to that all his life. But what did bother him was that this didn’t seem like Aziraphale at all.

Granted, he’d only known his Guide for a little over a week—but Crowley prides himself in being an excellent judge of character.

Which was precisely why it seemed like this Angel was the only being he’d ever truly felt drawn to.

He didn’t know everything about the Angel, but he felt like he had one of the most important basics down: the Angel loved his comforts. He loved his fine wines and lazy afternoons, cozy reading nooks and buttery pastries. He hardly seems like the type who’d thirst for blood for his scorching, battle-ready blade. It was quite like a adding a tomato to a fruit salad: you know it’s a bloody fruit, but it doesn’t quite fit the description, nor fill the role.

The thing about these niggling thoughts, however, is that the harder one concentrates on not thinking about it, the harder it becomes to ignore. And it’s hardly Crowley’s fault—that stupid Bird brought it up—and even now, with Aziraphale regaling to him of the Archangel Gabriel’s penchant for fine clothes—the question burned at the back of his tongue. So, Crowley did the only thing a Demon could do in a conundrum such as this:

Yield to temptation.

“Say,” Crowley interjected. “Didn’t you have a flaming sword?”

Aziraphale sputtered to a pause, a fragment of Fraisier slipping off his fork. “I—I’m sorry?”

“Yeah,” Crowley ventured, carefully casually. “Heard it flamed like anything.”

Aziraphale blinked, absorbing the words but not quite extrapolating its meaning quite yet. It’s fine. Crowley can wait.

He was prepared for the awkward silence and unrelenting tension that would no doubt follow. He was prepared for the Angel to deny it, lie with a flushed face and a nervous titter, and attempt to redirect the conversation. He was prepared for the Angel to sigh, soulful and deep, and ask who told Crowley. But Crowley, in his careless preparation to the consequences of opening this particular can of worms, forgot one, vital thing:

This was Aziraphale he was talking to. “I—I, well—uhm!” Prone to flustering. “That is…” And prone to being thrown into a prickly, nervous frenzy. “It’s—it’s hardly any of your business now!”

And prone to vehemently reprimanding Crowley about what should and should not be said in a public restaurant.

Crowley took a wary glance about them; most of the patrons and staff scurried from the Prince’s glare. He really ought to have chosen a better place to spring a question like this. “Angel—”

But it looked like Aziraphale was getting ready to leave—to flee.

And that was not something Crowley was prepared for at all.

“Angel—Angel, wait!”

But in a heartbeat or two, he’d vanished— strawberries and cream left unfinished.

.

Crowley supposed Aziraphale couldn’t be that mad. He didn’t fly off into the sunset leaving Crowley as just a sulking mote of dust behind him, after all. No, instead he simply chose to ignore Crowley as the prince helplessly, and hopelessly, trailed after him like an offending lover, ready to swallow his pride after a tiff gone awry while the Angel stomped all the way back to the castle.

“Slow down, you bloody Bird,” Crowley groaned and miraculously—

He did. He stopped right in his tracks and sat down on the stone bench overlooking the pond.

Crowley sagged against the garden bench, finding that while he was content to call out after the Guide, he wasn’t quite ready to lay out everything he felt like he should say just yet.

The prince cast his gaze to the scenery instead. The pond before them mirrored the vibrant pinks and indigos painting across the sky; the bustle of the castle and its inhabitants sounded so far away from behind the towering walls, encasing the sliver of paradise with silence and solitude.

Aziraphale had led them there, Crowley realized with a start, with the intention of talking without interruption and witnesses.

Beside him Aziraphale scoffed. “Really, Prince Crowley, to approach someone with such a personal inquiry in such a public area—”

“For the last time, Angel. Just call me Crowley.” He looked over to Aziraphale, seeing the mounting trepidation on his face and stiffness on his shoulders. But he was trying to keep the conversation open and he wasn’t running—that was better than what Crowley could hope for. “And better my asking than the other Birds,” Crowley countered. “Squawking behind your back, telling tall tales and spreading rumors—”

A pause. There went that nervous habit again. “Oh. So, you’ve heard from—one of them.” Soft, plump hands, tugging and straightening the whites and creams of his robes; delicate fingers and manicured nails, not meant to brandish swords and spill blood.

Hands Crowley wanted to take in his own, hold them still and feel those fingers curl and intertwine with his instead. “Not by my choice, mind you.” But Crowley didn’t. “The balding one—bit of a slimy fellow—”

“Sandalphon.”

“Yes, that one.” Aziraphale was avoiding his gaze, resolutely staring off into the still waters before them. Crowley swallowed and thought that at the very least—the Angel deserved to hear the truth. “Started raving about your title, or well lack thereof, and—” Quietly, gently, though it was easy enough for Crowley to say. “I didn’t believe it.” Because it was true. “Not the important bits anyways.”

There was a quick, darting look towards him and Crowley uneasily shuffled closer, facing the Angel fully.

“I know you’re a Principality—that seems to be common knowledge amongst the other Birds. But I don’t think you were stripped of your honor like that.” That response garnered him a questioning look. “At least—not for the reasons anyone else could think of.”

“What…what makes you so say that?” Aziraphale asked, and Crowley hated them all for making is Guide sound so unsure.

He gave a chagrined smile. “Do I really have to say it?” He blew a noisy sigh, hoping to ease the ascending tension with petulant humor. “You’re an Angel.” No, not like them. You’re better than the others. “I don’t think it’s actually possible for you to do the wrong thing.”

Whatever reaction Crowley was hoping for with a response like that, he certainly wasn’t prepared for the heartbreaking disbelief and awe in those Angel eyes.

“Crowley…” Neither was he prepared for that something in the quiet, tender way Aziraphale gasped his name—

—that made Crowley want to dive straight into the lake to douse the turbulent flood of warmth that sank its fangs straight into his chest, squeezing the bleeding organ with its lovely thorns.

Crowley coughed, suddenly finding his throat dry and chest pounding. “Well, my theory was that you probably didn’t even want a war in the first place—and there’s really nothing wrong with that.” Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit oh FUCK THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING— “After all this war business is utter rubbish, I tell you. About damn time we made actual efforts in forming a proper treaty. Not that I completely agree with the modality they’ve chosen to enact in the name of armistice, but—”

“I GAVE IT AWAY!”

The thorns squeezed tighter. Crowley could barely let out a wheezing, “You…what?”

Aziraphale looked absolutely wretched.

And Crowley wanted to kiss that expression right off his beautiful face.

“The sword. The one given to me by the Queen.” The Angel raised his arm to gesticulate something before giving up halfway, letting his hand fall to his lap. “Oh, what was I supposed to do? Our platoon did our best to minimize the damage, but even then, that battle absolutely decimated that village! There could have been all sorts of terrifying beasts out there, not to mention marauders and the like with their defenses gone!”

“…What?” was Crowley’s ever-intelligent reply.

Aziraphale fortunately took that as a Please, do go on, I’m ever-so-intrigued by this turn of conversation and not at all finding myself at the brink of despair at the horrific realization of my own stupid emotions.

“So I thought, ‘Well, they need it a lot more than I do right now’ and I told the village leader Take it, don’t bother to thank me!” He rubbed his hands distractedly, frantic anxiety bleeding into his voice. “And—and, the magic on it should only protect them, it shouldn’t be used to start any—”

“You…gave your sword away. The sword given to you by Her.” Crowley’s heart was hammering now, driving the pinprick points deeper, yet it did little to calm the stone-drop of cold dread at the pit of his stomach. “To protect some vulnerable people? Angel…” That’s wonderful. You’re wonderful, you foolish, lovely git. “Well, where is it now?”

“In…” The Angel floundered, gaze darting to his lap again. “In a quaint village. Hopefully nicely repaired and thriving by now.”

“Well, go get it then!” Yes, please, let’s go—run, run far, far away— “Put an end to the rumors—stick it to Sandalphon’s grubby little face—”

 --far enough that maybe then these feelings won’t reach you.

“It’s…not so easy,” Aziraphale answered apprehensively.

“Come now, Angel. I’ll even come with you—like one of our day trips!” Crowley himself was already warming to the idea. It was like a little adventure. Like seeking a lost treasure—a real one! Clearing the Angel’s name, off to conquer the Nosy Gossips of Heaven’s domains, to slay the evils of shit-talking— Prince Crowley and Principality Aziraphale—

Crowley and Aziraphale--

And maybe Crowley did want that. Maybe he did want to go off with Aziraphale, forget this Prince and Guide rubbish for just a while, escape to a small pocket in time where titles and responsibilities didn’t exist. Just them two, and a grand, old adventure laid out for them both. There were surely lots of places to see. It’s a great big world out there, just out or reach from the two borders of their respective kingdoms. The Other Side, where the maps ended but the skies continued on.

And where other lines blurred completely.

But. Baby steps. Crowley reigned himself in again, despite the frenzied beating in his chest. “I mean, you’ve been wanting to show off Heaven’s charming little towns—”

“Erm…” Aziraphale was starting to look panicked again. “That’s the thing.” He gave an anxious little smile. “It’s…not in Heaven.”

Normally, Crowley possessed a fine and rich vocabulary borne of years under strict tutelage all because his mum shacked up with the King of Hell and spawned him in the process. “What?” Today, all those lessons flew out his brain—

“It’s…a bit farther than that.” Aziraphale held his gaze to Crowley’s. “A bit further South, rather.”

—missed the pond completely and smacked straight into the white stones of the garden walls. “Angel…”

“Yes, okay?” Somehow, Aziraphale managed to look even more miserable—and dramatic, by far. “The village—my sword—It’s in Hell’s domain.” He gave an imploring and helpless look to the stone-frozen Crowley. “But shhh please, promise you’ll keep this a secret?” And just like that, he took Crowley’s hands in his own, asking, beseeching, “Just between us?”

Crowley would have confessed to all the Divines in the High Heavens that this was the moment Crowley fell—horrifically, dreadfully, disastrously, and absolutely— in love with Aziraphale. There, underneath the peaking moon and glitter of stars. In a garden, after Aziraphale shared with him his greatest burden—that this Angel had sacrificed his loyalty for love and protection for a people he did not know or understand, for a belief he didn’t know he had in himself.

“Yeah…” Crowley squea—no, no, that was not a squeak damn you. He hastily cleared his throat, covering those soft hands with his own. “Yeah, no worries there.” He met Aziraphale worried eyes evenly and vowed: “I promise. You have my word, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale slipped his hand out of from Crowley’s and Crowley’s stupid brain had the fucking audacity to think the appropriate response to that was to instinctively whine at the loss of contact.

Aziraphale, luckily, did not take heed of this offense. “Thank you…” he breathed, shoulders sagging, as he held his hand to his chest. Crowley wondered if the Angel’s heart was beating just as obnoxiously as his. “And…thank you, for. Well...” If the Angel’s heart mirrored his own. “It’s nice to finally get that off my conscience, really.” The Angel gave a tired laugh, one that didn’t really meet his eyes, one that sank and fell flat on itself. “I always did worry if that was the best course.”

“Like I said, Angel.” His hand came forward, floundering before finding its way to the slope of Aziraphale’s shoulder. “I’m not sure if it’s actually possible for you to the wrong thing.” You’re too good for that.

Too good for me, a dark, traitorous thought echoed back.

Crowley would decree that it was here, beneath starlight and Aziraphale’s sunbeam smile that Crowley would embark on the path of rewriting his own stars for a change. He knew that he was endangering his entire Kingdom and the Kingdom of Heaven by choosing Aziraphale, despite his royal obligations— but he’s a risk-taker with a lot of imagination. He doesn’t know how to persuade two kingdoms to accepting his choice—if that could even become a possibility at all.

And if not…

Maybe running off wouldn’t be such a bad option.

Running off—together.

But—baby steps. Firstly, he must start with getting Aziraphale to accept his courtship.

Speaking of which… “Oh! This is for—you.” He reached into his pocket, wriggling the tome out from where it had been jabbing him while he ran after the flighty Bird. “I brought you a little something.”

There was that smile again. “Crowley, this is—oh my…” The one that likely damned him from the start. “It’s lovely—”

Crowley attempted a scoff, though it likely sounded like a sputter. “It’s a rather sad and dreary one, written over a millennium ago by a rather sad and dreary fellow. I thought it’d be right up your alley.” He watched carefully from the corner of his eye, seeking any discomfort from Aziraphale, any sign that the gift was not to his liking, not to his standards, not up to par with what he deserved. “Always preferred the funny ones myself.”

“I’m honored.” But he could find none. Only an excited smile and eyes of far-off skies poring over the text; just the look of an Angel utterly enamored at the prospect of reading a new tale, exploring another world within the confines of word and mind.  

And in reality, it was probably here where Crowley fully and undeniably faced the ill-tuned music that he fell treacherously and helplessly in love—this moment where the evidence stared back at him so boldly in his face, that he realized the extent of these rather inconvenient feelings he had towards the Principality Aziraphale—the Principality who wanted nothing more than peace and was willing to marry off the prince to one unlucky and unhappy Archangel to achieve it.

Because damn it he wanted Aziraphale to look at him like that.

And upon accepting that foolish thought as truth, it all came crashing down in that very instant.

Fuck. I love him.

 ------------------

Fun fact: Sandalphon’s pronouns in the book and script are “it/its.”

Thank you for reading~ 

[jq37]

i know you posted your thoughts on the big arguing scene in “we need to talk about pete” but i was wondering if you were going to post a full breakdown? that episode was a lot and i love hearing your thoughts on eps. ignore this if you have done a breakdown and i’m dumb and just missed it lol

**spoilers for the war of bugs and rats and we need to talk about pete**

What’s up denizens of Magic NYC? Now, I unfortunately live in normal NYC where I have to pay bills and stuff so I’ve been MIA with recaps for the past few eps but, no sweat. We’re gonna do a double feature of the above two eps and then I’ll group in the last battle episode with the upcoming episode. So lets catch up on what’s been going on in The Unsleeping City There’s a LOT to get through so vámanos y'all.

First up, we have our big bug fight in Queens, which Sophie enters with a camelback full of box wine because Emily is Emily.

“I’ve heard of gentrification but this is crazy!”

Brennan enjoys making those gross, chittering, bug noises way too much.

Have we talked about Pete’s cowboy hat? Because, for real, what is up with Pete’s cowboy hat? It seems absolutely apropos of nothing. Was he just like, “Sick,” and he decided to wear it everywhere? That seems to be how he makes all of his decisions.

“Butthole 2: Electric Boogaloo.”

Emily clocks the cat *immediately*. Like to the point where I’m almost thinking, “Did this cat exist before Emily mentioned looking for one?” And I want to say yes because La Gran Gata seems very fleshed out, specific, and intentional. But folks, we are living in a post-Avanash world so idk what to think. (Edit: The cat does have a mini now that I’ve gotten to that but idk, that insert shot could have been shot post ep so like, who knows?)

Anyway, Emily’s entire mission objective immediately becomes saving this cat she’s vaguely aware of.  

“5E you crazy.”

The Cast, Knowing Emily just rolled a 25 and still has a 1d8 Bless in Her Back Pocket if She Needs It: Brennan, Just Ask.

The horror on Emily’s face when she realizes that she just called an attack on the cat cocoon.

So Emily goes off on a very Emily side quest to rescue a random cat but happens to unlock a very cool NPC–La Gran Gata–who is like the spirit of all the bodega cats out there. Sophie immediately calls upon the entirety of her limited Spanish skills to try and make friends with the cat, and succeeds.

The, “To arms, to arms my brothers!” thing kills me every time. Are all rats just Like That? Is that what they’re like when they’re out and about too?

Kingston rolling a nat 20 to literally walk across the store is wild.

Oh also, Pete failed a wild magic surge roll which just lets him fly. So far, those wild magic surges have really been working out for him.

Anyway, Bug Boss Becky turns Ricky into a “buff-ass” dog.

Zac playing dog-Ricky with almost exactly the same self-awareness (or lack thereof) as normal-Ricky is so funny. He’s an Akita and I was expecting Dalmatian but that makes sense too. Ricky, the very good boy, attacks Becky and–as a Sentinel–stops her in her tracks.

Emily does a ton of damage and Brennan, about to describe her attack, is like, “Are you still drunk?” Emily shuts down the opportunity to look cooler and is like, “I am a messy, drunk bitch. Describe that.” Emily isn’t here to be cool. Emily is here to roleplay.

I had never heard the word brindled before now and Brennan uses it to describe two separate animals in this ep.

Siobhan rolls a nat 20 to dispel magic on Ricky which is objectively good but also I would have loved for him to be a dog a little longer. Also, this moment makes me really, really want to get some backstory on Misty. Like, clearly there are some serious Fae Shenanigans going on with her and I need specifics yesterday.

Also, Ricky comes back with pointier ears and wolfier senses and I’m just picturing Channing Tatum in Jupiter Ascending.

Before I forget, Sophie, Pete, and Misty yoink magical items from the magic bodega within the bodega La Gran Gata opened up. Sophie’s is a magic ring that amps up her punches. Misty took a mirror and Pete took a grill (like for your teeth). Not sure what those do yet.

The fact that this whole fight wasn’t under the Umbral Arcana and there are people out there that remember is a little concerning for me. I can’t quite tell if it’s the sort of thing that will come back or more of a warning of what can happen if the U.A. goes down again.

Post-fight, Sophie asks La Gran Gata for mismatched David Bowie eyes like the cat has. Siobahn goes, “That’s what you’re gonna ask? You drunk bitch.” But Sophie has her wish granted. I’m sure that won’t raise any questions with people who have known her her entire life. 

“She’s gonna fuck that cat.”

So the fight’s over and they realize that the Key to the City is missing which I can’t imagine is a good thing.

This brings us to the RP ep, We Need to Talk About Pete, which picks up directly where the previous ep ended.

Ally and Emily go for the exact same joke of getting Guinness’s post-fight. Kingston–as a medical professional, Vox Populi, and sanest adult of this troupe–loudly objects (smacking the beers out of Pete’s hands multiple times) and wants to know what the hell is going on with the bugs they just fought.

Sidenote: Sophie took a level in Warlock with La Gran Gata as her patron because of *course* she did. I wonder if this was the plan from the beginning or if Emily was watching all her friends spellcasting and started getting the jitters from magic user withdrawal.

Murph’s “What?” face when Emily says, “I’ll be waiting, but not in an impatient, desperate way,” is gold.

They search the bodega and find a thing of 1000 Hour Energy and Kugrash gives it to Ricky over Pete’s objections. They also find Holy Grail Laundry Detergent (Kingston pays for it), The Grill I mentioned earlier (Kingston hates this), and this bagel. 

All the magic users show up. Alejandro wants an explanation pronto and everyone points a finger at Pete who explains everything in his typical, nonchalant, vague, kinda spaced out way which Alejandro is not digging at all. He starts to go off on the enormity of the situation and Pete starts dropping acid.

I’m gonna stop here for a sec to talk about how Ally is playing Pete. There are moments when I feel like Ally is doing something as a comedian for a bit. And there’s kind of a sense of, is this funny? Obviously. But what are the in game implications of this move? Like the running joke of Pete constantly being high on something is funny, out of game. But,  in game, it’s massively concerning. And I’m really curious about where Ally is choosing to draw the line between doing the funny thing and doing the prudent thing. I almost said the in-character thing but Ally made a character so consistently bonkers that whatever he does could plausibly be the in-character thing. Pete is kind of a massive disaster.

Anyway, Alejandro drives home the point that Pete’s actions have consequences and have caused actual deaths at this point. Pete’s magic is internally going wonky as he gets more distressed (I really wanted to see a wild magic surge fail here but alas). But he’s still outwardly like a 4 on the giving a damn scale when the situation is a 13 out of 10. Pete is only half listening to this because he’s halfway out the door, smoking. Alejandro plans with Kingston to discuss Pete later.

Misty, always sowing seeds of chaos, suggests Alejandro stock up on Juul pods before they stop selling them completely. Kingston hates this (this is basically his mood for the episode).  

Outside, Pete gets a text from Priya which ends with them planning a meet up for later after leaving her on read for a while. Pete dips without saying anything to anyone but Kingston who ignores him (and also Sophie who Emily hilariously guilts Ally into including out of character). Dipping on the conversation about how to fix YOUR mess isn’t the wisest move but Pete isn’t the wisest guy.  

In the meantime, Ricky does the Twilight Bark to summon a dalmatian (yes!) to help him find the stolen key to the city. Kugrash turns into a busted ass dalmatian who has trouble keeping up.

Ricky doesn’t have the plate mail armor that usually makes a Paladin so unstealthy but he is so hot as to have the same lack of stealthiness which is one of my favorite adaptations of the game for this setting. Anyway, Ricky does the superhero thing of running through the city, helping everyone with a problem along the way, and loses the key in the Financial District which smells like death (feels about right).

Siobahn playing Misty as, “Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t realize it was Emma Lazarus,” when, in reality, she was the first person who made the connection was great. S/o to ppl who separate player and character knowledge. Misty partied w/ Emma of course because she partied with every historical figure that’s passed through NYC since she showed up.

Post adventure, people need to go to their day jobs. Misty has a +10 to performance but rolling a 3 is rolling a 3. It’s not her best work. Later, her assistant brings her holly, silver, and assorted other stuff which sounds like Fae BS if I’ve ever heard it. Misty cuts her off before she can elaborate more. I know we’re getting a secret spilling episode next time so I’m really hoping we get some Misty lore because she is being frustratingly cagey. She talks so much but says so little that means anything.

Kugrash sneaks into his son David’s house (while Emily learns a rat fact she clearly didn’t want to know) and Murph  and Brennan tag team go for the proverbial emotional jugular.

Murph rolls a nat 20 on his investigate and so he gets a lot of his old files and puts together that Robert is Robert Moses–a famous historical figure in NY who I actually heard about for the first time very recently. Or maybe I should say infamous. He did a lot with NY infrastructure–especially highways–(Emily connects this to the Highway Hex immediately) and he wasn’t exactly the warm and fuzzy type. His bread and butter was working the system. There’s a Pulitzer winning book called The Power Broker about how he was able to amass power and influence. I don’t know enough about NY history to run my mouth off about the guy but the little I do know is in character with his T.U.S. incarnation. Also, just FYI, irl this dude died in the 80s. So, you know. That’s interesting.

Brennan, I guess: Why invent new bad guys when history is full of terrible people I just have to give magic to?

Brennan, continuing his tradition of letting people get emotionally destroyed by nat 20s, has Murph find a crushing letter from David to Kug which was never mailed.

Note: So, as I was writing this, my video timed out right at the line, “I don’t expect this letter to find you before my funeral,” which is kinda good bc idk if this is what I need at 1 AM. Anyway, back to the pain.

The letter reveals that David has devoted his life to stopping crooks like him (Kug) and that he’s mostly upset about how his leaving has affected the younger, more fragile Wally.

“I leave the letter because I’ll remember it.” Yeah I bet you will.

It looks like Kug is gonna confront Wally next ep which I am now even more excited to see.

So let’s move onto the SECOND big gut-punch of the episode. Kingston goes down to the station to give a statement about the Santa Incident. He sees a shit elemental in a lineup which isn’t super relevant to the main events but I can’t not mention something like that.

Anyway, guess what? Kingston’s ex (Liz) isn’t dead! She’s an attorney for the justice system of The Unsleeping City and she’s pissed the hell off. During their interview, he stops the tape recorder to cuss out Kingston for going on a “date” with Misty and for getting her involved in all the magical junk which means she has to do things like fingerprint shit elementals instead of being on track to be D.A. like she originally was. The way she described it made it sound like she was press ganged into it which seems like it shouldn’t be how this works, you know? Is there no blue pill option here? Also, not to be all grass is greener but I actually am a lawyer in NY (closer to Kug’s job, minus the crime) and I would swap with Liz in a heartbeat.

The fact that anything Kingston says as Vox is per se admissible is a cool detail. 

Sophie fights an old man (Jackson) in a CVS and joins a monastery which sounds like a shitpost but it isn’t. With La Gran Gata’s blessing she is now a member of the Order of the Concrete Fist.

I saw the Staten Island joke coming the second Brennan started talking but it was still hysterical when it landed.

At the same time, Pete is getting knuckle tats because, sure. And he also goes to see Priya who I am baffled was with him for any length of time. Maybe it’s the artist thing?

Also, Sophie keeps postponing her meeting with Mario which is concerning to me. The story is still happening when you’re not interacting with it. Brennan specifically said when she texted him that she got no response which doesn’t make me feel good about what’s going on with him.

Ricky has three super jacked, fratty firefighter bros, all named John who are like woke as hell. I wish I could follow the dude around for a day because every single facet of his life is wild.

Well, this episode promised we were gonna talk about Pete so let’s talk about Pete.

The gang, sans Pete, meet up with the magical powers that be to discus the destruction the newest Vox his leaving in his wake.

Sidenote, wild that Sophie has been magic for like 15 minutes and got to go to this meeting.

Alejandro wants to know what the plan is for if Pete’s powers go off the rails again. Kingston, who has clearly seen Old Yeller, offers the most drastic solution immediately: if it comes to it, we take him out. (Cut to Ally’s “Yikes” face). Kug, Sophie, and Ricky push back on that.

Misty, hilariously (and also suspiciously), is mainly concerned about NY because she needs theater to keep happening. This woman is chaotic something and I’m not convinced it’s chaotic good yet.

Anyway, I already did my big write-up on this part of the episode, but I’ll say it again: Kingston is right. He’s harsh but he’s right. This is some Phoenix Force BS that’s happening and do you know how that arc ends (the OG one, not the million other Phoenix Sagas that have happened since)? It ends with Jean Grey killing herself so she doesn’t lose control and eat another planet. Ricky is too dangerous for his own good and he doesn’t seem to have the emotional maturity to care (or at least to care at the correct level). Like, he was a drug dealer when this started which is already not ideal. He caused a huge mess and then just bounced without trying to help fix it. He thought that a week was enough time for human casualties to be water under the bridge. Frankly, not considering the nuclear option and just having to figure out if killing him is something the group is willing to do on the fly would be the more irresponsible option.

And not including Pete in the discussion would bother me more if he hadn’t openly blown off every serious discussion people have tried to have with him so far. If he’s not going to take things seriously, it makes sense they don’t invite him to the serious discussions.

The version of this story where Pete accidentally gets a bunch of people killed, finds out what he did, cries about it for a full day, and then finds out they’re talking about possibly killing him is a story where Pete is more sympathetic imo. But still, finding out that people talked about killing you under any circumstances has got to be rough.

IMO, the order of things that should be done right now are (1) putting magical training wheels on Pete, (2a) getting Pete trained or his powers transferred if it’s possible/he wants out, (2b) either way, getting Pete into therapy (like, he needed therapy before he got magic. now it’s just a matter of life and death–besides just his own), (3) talking to Pete again about the stakes and telling him point blank but not in while heated that there’s the possibility of a scenario where his powers go out of control and you have to understand that at that point it’s a matter of saving as many lives as possible. Like, Kingston can say, with conviction, “If I go rogue, you should do the same to me.” They’re in the same boat. Kingston’s just been rowing longer. Well, similar boats anyway. I imagine the Vox Populi powers are less inherently chaotic. And maybe the knowledge that a nuclear option is on the table would make Pete not want the job or want him to have his powers muted or something. Cool. Then you have that discussion at that point. Just, these are the conversations that need to happen. And maybe his own mortality will be the thing that helps get Pete’s head in the game. 

What jewel did Ale take out of his pocket during this conversation? Taking note of that. (Juul, not jewel. Duh. Thx thethief )

Pete gets in touch w/ Alejandro’s granddaughters who tell him that Alejandro’s still pretty pissed (which is surprising to Pete but like, bro. People died). Then, Robert shows up to sweet talk Pete and show him the video (that he somehow has) of Kingston talking at the Pete Meeting. When I was watching this the first time I was like, “How long before this blows up in their face–oh, almost immediately. Cool.”

He takes Pete to his vampire nightclub and hits him with Pete’s own “I didn’t create the demand” line that you just know Brennan put a pin in to hit Pete with that Uno Reverse card.

Robert tries to get Pete to summon Nod and then just does it forcibly with some kind of blood magic when Pete is hesitant. Pete wild magic surges, kills a bunch of vamps, and Nod (super injured by being in the waking world) teleports them both to the subway.

The group (including Alejandro) meets them there so they can catch the L train to Nod but Epona shows up. And you already know from Fantasy High that Brennan is on the ACAB train (or is that AFCAB?). Epona is now wearing a crooked badge–crooked badge for a crooked cop. She wants Nod. No can do. The gang gets ready to–to quote Mr. Cubby-make some bacon while Alejandro tries to cast a spell to summon a train to Nod (the place not the person).

So I’ll see y’all next time (whenever that is) for some subway fighting and some backstory unlocking! 

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

Meeting Len Cariou

Featuring Len Cariou

I work at the Coconut Grove Playhouse in Miami, Florida, acting in their Education Tour. Not a big deal in the grand scheme but for me this is a dream come true. I'm 26, so to be performing at a paying job with real professionals with a legitimate, well-respected and renowned theatre is wonderful. Anyway, we had a Meet and Greet, where we meet the people involved in the theatre and in the main stage production, the musical 'Passin' It On.' One of those actors was Tony Award-winning Canadian actor Len Cariou.

I had always liked Mr. Cariou as an actor, was energetic and with that classic, old time Broadway voice, delivered his songs with conviction. He seemed like such a powerful and sexy man to me and, although he never outwardly appeared so in public, I had a feeling that he was a red-blooded ladies' man as well, a real lady charmer. And he would certainly be able to charm the pants off of me. I laughed to myself as I thought just how true that was!

We're going around the room, "So and So, blah blah blah" and all of a sudden I hear "Len Cariou, actor, Passin' It On" and was so star struck. I quickly spun around and the gray haired old man got my full attention. He was dressed casually in dark trousers with a sky blue jacket, and a loose collared shirt. God, he's sexy for man of 70, burly, at 5'10" with blond, grey hair. In a word, gorgeous. I restrained myself from running to him and telling him how much I admire and respect his talent, what an honor it was, because I seemed to be the only one who was going all fan boy over him (though everyone applauded when he introduced himself). I even moved closer to him in order to get a better view of him.

As he came near me, he looked directly at me. Caught gawking at him, I blushed. His weathered, tan face broke into a faint smile as the stage manager lead Len around the room. Feeling like my erection might be seen; I decided to head to the stage area to adjust myself. Once there, I decided to take it all in with me acting in a big play, in a grand theater, with big names actors to work. Then I was absorbing it all in when BAMM! I ran into someone. I automatically raised my arms up around them to keep from knocking them down, which caused their bodies to be crushed up against each other. I nearly gasped out loud as I felt the bulge of his dick pressed against my abdomen, causing my already hard dick to leak.

"Excuse me, young man" and I turn and Len Cariou standing right there!

My eyes flew to his face as he keep his balanced by grabbing my shoulder, insignificant little me! I had to force myself from doing a fan boy "squeal", at least for the moment (I have to be a Big Boy about this). I quickly stepped back from him, dragging in deep breaths, trying to calm down and willing the erection to go away. All we could do was stare at each other, as I tried to deal with the overwhelming feelings of lust. I spoke first, with my voice shaking from the torrent of emotions coursing through my body.

"Oh, I'm sorry, was I in your way?" I said.

"Oh no, you're fine. I just want to get the feel of the theater before I perform." He said.

"Don't let me bother you, go right ahead." I responded.

I watched Len for fifteen minutes or so, as he walked around the stage, admiring how handsome the old man was. I thought, how many chances do I get to talk to an accomplished, Tony Award-winning singer/actor, let alone someone famous I wanted to fuck. Would he hate me if I shook his hand and just told him how in awe of him I am? I finally gained enough courage to walk over to him.

“I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Cariou. But do you have any advice for a young actor getting started in the business?” I asked him speaking fast as his presence made me nervous.

"It was just tough getting there, that's all, 'cause you rehearse and rehearse, and you change and change. That's the exhausting part. Once you're up and running, it's just a piece of cake to me. You know exactly how much energy you need; you know what it costs you. It's in your body and in your voice, and you can do it forever." He said stepping towards me.

“It's plenty of work, but with the right woman you'll be fine. Are you married?” He suddenly said, catching me off guard.

“No . . . my friend share and I . . . the apartment. He’s visiting friends in New York.” I said before I could catch myself.

“Oh! I see.” The old man said. Suddenly he was looking at me differently. His eyes seemed to stare at me as thought he was looking at me through a magnifying glass.

“I see you walk the stage before a show too.” I said to change the subject.

"Yeah, I guess it helps me get a feeling for the show, if I walk the stage before hand." The old man said as he started walking around the stage.

I was following behind him watching every move of his shapely body, and I couldn't find any way to get the images of what I wanted to do to his body out of my mind. I was so caught up in an image at that moment that he didn't realize Len had stopped and turned around to face me. I noticed the patch of gray hair sticking out of the top of his blue knit shirt. I must have stared at his gray chest hair a little too long.

"What are you doing?" The old man asked.

"I was just checking your junk out." I blurted out without thinking.

Len’s eyebrows narrowed as he looked at me.

"Sorry. It's a thing I do, but I'm kinda disappointed."

"I thought a handsome man like like you would have something huge." I suddenly found myself telling the old man.

"Of course I do." Len answered in a defensive tone.

"Well that's what any guy would say." I added, tensing up not knowing what his response would be.

“Hell, I can prove it! Len said then shocked me by starting to unbuckle his belt. I watched in growing excitement as he pulled down his beige shorts and exposed his white jockey shorts.

My breath became suddenly rapid as I watched him jerked down his jockey shorts exposing his full crotch to my view. And what a view it was! He was correct in claiming to have a big one as he had a nice, thick uncut dick resting on top of a set of huge bull sized balls.

“See!” The old man said in a loud voice. “Nice big cock for an old man.”

I couldn’t stop myself from stepping closer to him as I stared intently at his thick soft dick and big balls.

“Beautiful!” I mumbled as I found myself dropping to my knees in front of the old man.

“Wow, I bet your wife loves to get some of that.” I said as I glanced from his thick soft dick up to his stern face.

“You’ve got a big dick. Can you still get a hard on?”

“Hell yea!” Len said in a thundering voice.

“I still jack-off every now and then. The damn thing stays hard half the time.” He answered without making an effort to pull his shorts up.

As he spoke, I slowly moved my face toward his crotch expecting him to stop me at any second but loving the moment anyway. And sure enough when my lips came within an inch of his big limp foreskin draped dick he suddenly jerked back slightly.

“What are you doing?” He demanded. “Hell, I’m not gay.”

I glanced up into his big blue eyes.

“Let me suck it” I said.

Len stared down at me without answering, as though he was thinking over my request.

“Please.” I said, trembling with excitement.

“I am not gay.” He repeated but this time his voice was soft and carried a sexual charge. Then he reached down at grabbed his thick dick and started waving it back and forth.

“This is a big dick for an old man, isn’t it?” He said with a hint of pride in his voice.

“Huge!” I told him. In truth I've had bigger but he truly had nice thick cock and if I was going to get a chance to suck it. I had to jack-off his ego first.

“Just let me kiss it.” I pleaded as I leaned forward.

I expected Len to protest but as my lips moved closer and closer to his huge dick head he held his position. Then my moist lips touched the big head of his dick. Len moaned. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took his big dick head entirely inside my mouth.

“Oh! GOD!” He exclaimed when I started sucking gently on the head of his dick.

“Hell that feels wonderful.” He added as he suddenly reached down and grabbed me behind the head with his huge, weathered hands.

Then he was suddenly pulling my face toward his crotch and forcing his swelling dick down my throat.

“Take it. You wanted it. Now take that whole damn thing!” He said in an almost angry voice.

I had no choice. It was swallow the old man’s dick or choke. My desire to please the Tony Award-winning performer cause me to a swallow inch after inch of his thick dick down my throat until my lips were pressed against his pubic hairs. He held my face to his crotch until I gagged before he pulled my head back. Then he started moving my mouth up and down his thick dick shaft as he fucked my mouth like he was fucking his wife’s pussy. I took his plunging dick and made love to it with my tongue as the old man repeatedly shoved it down my throat and pulled it quickly back out.

“Damn, this is hot!” Len called out excitedly as he fucked my mouth faster and faster. “Get ready. I’m going to unload! Damn! Here it comes!”

Then suddenly the old man pulled his dick out of my mouth and shot his huge load of white cum onto my face as he held my head in front of his squirting dick. His load of cum was dripping down my chin when he released me and stepped back. He glanced down at me and wasn’t smiling as he quickly pulled his jockey shorts up and followed that motion by putting back on his black slacks. I quickly reached into my back pocket of my shorts and pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the cum off my face as I got to my feet.

“Guess I should be going.” I said as I cleaned the last drops of cum from my chin.

“Yea, someone might come by, I got other things to do and my wife will be looking for me.” Len said still glaring at me with a suddenly unfriendly stare.

“Ok, see you.” I said as I headed toward the back stage.

The old man didn’t respond as he hurried back to the party. As soon as I was back stage, than as I recalled how handsome Len was and I jacked off into my hand. I still can believe I met freaking Len Cariou and I blew him. Lucky me.

[idolapps]

into the new world - girls' generation

OOC INFO

NAME/ALIAS, PRONOUNS, TIMEZONE: EJ, female, est

RESERVATION: pristin

MEMBER PROFILE

FACECLAIM: kim mingyu (seventeen)

NAME/STAGENAME: lee taehyun

BIRTHDATE/AGE: april 6, 1994 / age 22

COMPANY/POSITION: leader, main rapper, lead dancer of 360°Z 

HEIGHT/WEIGHT: 185 cm/68 kg

TRAINING PERIOD/JOINING YEAR: training period: 3 years

INTERESTING FACTS: His fans adore him for his “tsundere” character. Having attended an elite boarding school in the States where he studied Mandarin for 6 years, Taehyun is highly skilled in English and Chinese. He’s also a skilled basketball player. He knows how to play piano and guitar, and although these skills are rarely used in performance, he finds them useful in composing.  

STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: 

(+) RAP&DANCE – taehyun’s capacity as a rapper and dancer certainly satisfies and mostly exceeds industry standards and beyond. having first developed both skills as self-taught endeavors, his flow, style, rhythm, and choreography are individually unique and distinctly natural. although his deep register and long, lean frame were birth-given virtues, the intensive training he underwent through his time at galaxy has refined and polished his skills in these areas.

(+) COMPOSITION – besides writing his own lyrics, taehyun has produced many of his own beats, mixtapes, and songs throughout his musical career. from being a teenager pursuing a hobby, an underground artist vying for recognition, and a galaxy trainee striving to stand out, he now regularly contributes to his group’s releases to whatever extent he may. in fact, composition and producing are areas in which he seeks to improve his skills the most, especially as his career progresses.

(+) PROFESSIONALISM – despite having debuted not too long ago, taehyun is exceptionally professional, a great advantage for someone in the entertainment industry. he’s very good at maintaining a positive public image, as he regularly monitors and keenly perceives what fans, the media, and the public want from him. furthermore, he has a knack for picking up social cues and reading people, seemingly always knowing the right thing to do and say at any given time – useful for interviews, variety shows, and extricating himself from tricky situations. though he denies it, he is a bit of a perfectionist and will do a quality job with whatever is assigned to him.

  (–) VOCALS – singing has never been his standout talent, and he acknowledges it. sure, he can do the rapper-singing thing (e.g. drake), but that’s about it. he’ll gladly leave the singing to the vocals.

(–) COLD REALIST – simply put, lee taehyun is a perfect example of a boy who grew up too fast. perhaps you can blame his past, but he’s a cynic and harsh realist. some have labelled his insensitivity to others’ emotions as a symptom of some sort of psychopath, but trust me, he knows and understands very well how you’re feeling. he just doesn’t see why he should cater his behavior to your emotions and whims. there won’t be any “dreams come true!” or “I want to inspire people through my music!” cheese coming out of this mouth. he didn’t cry a single tear after his debut showcase, and although it’s been less than a year, he’s already over the rookie’s honeymoon phase of his career. he’s not heartless or mean – just a hard, cold realist. the world’s not all fluff and kittens, so should he pretend that it is?

(–) EGO-DRIVEN – though he doesn’t quite own up to it yet, lee taehyun is a creature of his ego. by nature, he’s not a bragger or show-off (probably because he’s self-confident anyways), but he does secretly enjoy when his ego is fed. he keeps it to himself, but he does have a habit of judging people against his own standards. at worst, he can be rather stubborn, overly competitive, and reckless in pursuit of something if it catches his attention. in his defense, he’s been rather successful with anything he’s wanted thus far, at least to what meets the eye. and for the demons he does truly struggle against, he shoves them under his ego to be dealt with later. after all, right now he’s young, talented, attractive, leader of one of the most popular groups in the industry, with thousands of fangirls screaming his name. he’s unbound and unobligated, and the future only promises further treasures – or at least so it seems.

  BIO/PERSONALITY:

Born in April 6th of 1994, Lee Taehyun grew up in a family that owned one of Korea’s most prominent conglomerate corporations. As expected, his early childhood was without a visible care in the world, golden spoon in hand, reporters and cameras shoved in his face. Designer clothes, top chefs, expensive private tutors, and trips around the globe – yet it wasn’t until age 12 that he learned who he truly was, what he truly was. Summoned to his father’s office one evening, he left as Lee Taehyun, of course the son of CEO Lee Hyunbae, but not of his wife. A bastard son, born to a woman he’d never met or seen, raised with siblings from another womb. It all made sense now, how different his “mother’s” gaze towards him was so starkly contrasting, depending on whether his father was in the room. After all, there he was – a living, breathing, talking reminder of her husband’s infidelity. But perhaps most importantly, there he was – a gigantic threat to the value of the family company stock.

Within the next month, he was shipped off to an elite boarding school in the States for the purposes of receiving an “elite education,” but it was clear to him that he was being shoved away for hiding across the ocean, away from nosy newspaper reporters and competitors who wished to see his father’s company stock falter. The moment he learned what his identity truly was, he was removed from his entire life as he knew it. However, he was compliant throughout middle and high school. Lee Taehyun became that one guy whom everyone envied but couldn’t bring themselves to hate – low effort, high grades, star athlete, had his fair share of adolescent “fun”, but never got caught. He was a real typical golden boy, but behind the scenes, he struggled with his own demons and fumbled with the mysteries he never had the chance to answer. He found solace in music (particularly hip-hop and rap) and dance, and increasingly so, he found himself in the school’s recording and studios, up late at night writing lyrics by the moonlight. Upon graduating from high school, he was shocked to be immediately pulled back to Korea to enroll in college, since his older half-brother was proving himself rather incapable of becoming heir. Again, his father whispered him false promises, that a Korean college degree would mean better “business connections.” But this time, Lee Taehyun wanted none of it. If his father, his family, or anyone at all thought they could push him away and call him as they wanted, they were in for an unpleasant surprise.

Reluctantly so, he enrolled in college, but his true energy was spent in Seoul’s underground hip-hop scene, as he started making ripples in the rap game and joined a dance crew. About a year in, he was casted by Galaxy Entertainment, though he had never had the slightest interest in an entertainment career, yet alone an idol career. He stuffed the scout’s business card away in his pile of books, but as the pressure for him to keep up his grades and intern in the office grew stronger, the more and more appealing the offer became. After all, the trainee contract provided him a place to stay, allowance for food, and the opportunity to deliver a vicious slap in the face of his father. He called in for an audition as a sign of rebellion and signed the contract as a declaration of secession. The day he moved into the trainee dorms was the last day he’d spoken to a family member to this very day.

Trainee life for him was strange to say the least. He’d grown up mostly emotionally alone and was accustomed to making unilateral decisions, not around dozens of other trainees whose desperation and stress he found draining. He hadn’t lived in Korea for the past 9 years, and he didn’t dare to tell anyone about his familial background. Furthermore, he was a rather intimidating character at first impression – towering height, tanned complexion, deep voice, sharp features. He was far from the super friendly, talkative, or welcoming type. He hated sucking up, hated the whole hierarchy of “seniors” and “juniors” – in his world, skill and ability were the only measures of status. Yet by some lucky strike, he managed to find some friends and colleagues amidst the crowds of peers he found mostly mundane and plain. Most importantly, it turned out that he was rather good at what an idol needed to do – rapping, dancing, composing. And most of all, surviving. After three years, the debut came, and although he couldn’t quite consider it a dream come true, it was a promising start.

---

Taehyun is generally cool, but not necessarily cold. His mannerisms are suave and charming, smooth talker and sharp tongue. He’s not your typical ray of sunshine, but knows when to smile and how to do it convincingly – but don’t expect much cuteness from him whatsoever. Off-camera, he’s reportedly not the most easily approachable. It’s not like he’s hostile or socially awkward by any means, but people often say he seems mature or serious for his age, and his towering height and dark eyes don’t help his cause. However, initiate interaction and he’s talented at holding a conversation, a little blunt, a little teasing, likes to keep people guessing of his true intentions. His closest friends get to see the more free-spirited, romantic side of him, but this is very rare. He’s slow to trust others, but gain his trust, and he’ll pay back with a strong sense of loyalty and justice. He’s not too outwardly friendly or warm, but still seems to know a lot of faces within the industry. He prefers to keep his public and private life separate, and it is generally hard to read beyond his placid façade.

Within his group, his general mantra as a leader is “you do you,” but the moment any of his members do anything to jeopardize the group’s success or test his patience, he’ll serve justice where it is due. He’s definitely not the warm and caring type of leader upfront, and when he takes care of others, it’s generally more subtle and behind the scenes. Admittedly, he can get a little hot-headed and cutthroat in rehearsal or training – he believes in “work hard, play hard.” Occasionally, he can be coldhearted and demoralizing, but only he’s allowed to do that to his members. He won’t tolerate anyone else disrespecting his group.

Regarding trainees, he’s probably indifferent. Chances are, he has no idea who you are – he doesn’t really strive to be a role model or a popular, caring senior. He generally won’t treat you any differently for being a trainee, and for god sake, he doesn’t want you to suck up to him, though he won’t tolerate disrespect. He has no specific expectations, but if you’re sincere, hard-working, and talented, then he’ll probably treat you well enough.

[consciousowl]

How Guided Visualization Leads To Breakthroughs

Every man worthy of the name

Has in his heart a yellow Snake

Installed as if upon a throne,

Who, if he says: "I will!" answers: "No!"

Charles Baudelaire in translation

Never even hearing of Guided Visualization Techniques, you may have recently set about to change the entire direction of your life through self-improvement, positive tapes and affirmations. Let’s say you are in sales, and have been stuck in a rut, underpaid and unappreciated. You want to boost your performance so that you will even be noticed, let alone get a raise or a career promotion.

Something comes up that decisively reverses any progress you wanted to make. You find yourself even worse off than when you began. You might suddenly lose your job while you are trying to improve yourself. Now you have to sell, not only customers, but prospective employers on why they should bother to hire someone like you.

This happened to me once. I felt that it was all futile, that I was going nowhere, that there was no point in going on. You, like me, may need something much more powerful, something that gets to your core emotions, erases all the negative programming and puts you irreversibly in touch with the Life Force.

It could be a new technology using Guided Visualization Techniques, either in a group setting, or on your smart phone, tablet or digital TV.​

What Is Guided Visualization?

Guided Visualization is essentially a waking dream, either with or without your eyes closed. It is a process that makes a compelling appeal to your imagination by calming down your restless monkey mind. That is the mind that darts about from branch to branch every five of ten seconds. You can have your mind actually work for you, rather than against you.

You could think of it as a form of meditation, not passive like TM or the momentary rest you enjoy after a heavy yoga routine. It is the active use of your imagination that brings you to a place of intense focus under inspiration, usually with a gentle, reassuring voice and deeply moving music. It can be done in a group, one-on-one with a coach, or by yourself, typically with a digital device and headphones.

With Guided Visualization, you appeal to, not only your visual sense, but also your aural and kinesthetic senses, your hearing and sense of touch. You might even appeal to smell and taste. If you close your eyes and visualize yourself cutting a fresh lemon and sucking on it, or taking a bite of a double chocolate waffle ice cream cone, you can actually re-experience it as if you were there. You might even start salivating, as did Pavlov’s dogs when they heard the bell.​

How Does Guided Visualization Work?

Guided Visualization calms you down through breathing and progressive relaxation, focusing on what you truly want, above and beyond all competing thoughts. Rather than eliminate those thoughts, it gets you to focus on the key thoughts as pictures, or as a living experience, beneath the mere words. By asking questions, or making suggestions, your guide helps you spot what you deeply feel, but have suppressed.

You then go through a process of thinking or saying, seeing, feeling and finally believing what you want. Let’s say you want to drive a brand new Tesla, but don’t have the budget to even consider it. You begin to think, “I want a new Tesla.” You might even choose the exact model and color, smell the leather and hear the horn beep. Your guide then gets you to feel what it is like to drive your new Tesla up a gently curving hill by the forest and the sea.

You get comfortable feeling as if you own it to the point where you actually believe you will have it.

If a thought interrupts your process, “I will always be poor. I can never afford anything like a Tesla,” you can tell your mind, “Thank you for sharing.” You can also consciously bring up the image of your continuing to drive a beat-up Chevy to the end of your life and mentally erase that picture.

If done well, you will unleash the powerful force of your Reticular Activating System (RAS).​

If you are intent on owning a brand new Tesla, every single Tesla on the road will pop out at you. This happened to a friend of mine who had actually worked at Tesla. We were visiting West Hollywood, where he saw all kinds of new Tesla’s, even ones that hadn’t officially gone to market.

Remove Self-Sabotage – The Key

Most of us didn’t enjoy a childhood where we could have anything we wanted, our parents totally believed us and unconditionally loved us. We didn’t typically go through school without doubting our abilities, or having all the creativity and initiative drained out of us. We rarely locked into the Significant Other of our dreams without being overwhelmed with doubts.

When you just do lip service to positive thinking, but don’t take a deep dive and deal with your shadow, you seldom enjoy tremendous success. If self-sabotage weren’t built into us, if we knew what we wanted from early adolescence, as did the great director, Stephen Spielberg, we would focus on it and be highly persistent without being thrown off course.

Since this is not the case for most of us, especially those who struggle with school, job, career or finances, it is essential that we go through a high-powered training, such as those of Tony Robbins, or Landmark Education’s forum. Barring that, we need to do processes one-on-one, or with a structured approach that has us systematically tackle our fears, anger and doubts head-on.​

What Techniques Are Used in Guided Visualization?

In workshops, leaders will often have the group share their experiences, such as those where they were afraid, angry or ashamed. Every participant will share a little, and you might strongly identify with the experiences of one or another. Often there will be paired sharing, where you respond to a query: “Describe a situation in which you feel like a total failure.”

When Tony Robbins works with people one-on-one, he will get them to identify their negative voices, such as “You’ll never amount to anything.” He will have them say it, and then ask them how it makes them feel. Very often the participant will start crying. From there, Tony will ask them to hear the voice in their mind’s ear loud and clear. They are then advised to gradually turn the voice down until it is muted. The affirmative voice overrides the negative one.

Often a guide will demand that you dream big, far beyond anything that you ever imagined before. For example, you are asked to visualize addressing a coliseum of 100,000 people and facing the fear, with your heart pounding wildly. You find the inspiration to speak to them passionately and elegantly. They burst out with spontaneous applause for 20 minutes, and won’t let you pass them by without hugging you. How does that make you feel?​

Breakdown or Breakthrough?

When I took the Landmark Forum, they concluded the incomparable training with a discussion around breakdowns. Whenever you embark on changing the world, you will, almost without exception, experience major setbacks and reversals, sometimes to the point of breakdown. For example, a seemingly happy marriage degenerates into a shouting match over a major misunderstanding.

The Landmark leaders remind the participants that you can’t have a breakthrough without having a breakdown… that breakdowns go with the territory. Most of us, when things stop working, conclude that something is wrong with us, or that there is someone “out there” doing something to me. A breakdown can be seen as an integral part of expanding your life.

You can’t have a breakthrough without having a breakdown!

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Whenever you have a breakdown, take a deep breath and start looking for a breakthrough. It will most certainly be hiding behind the curtains. As Dr. Martin Luther King put it, “Take the first step in faith, you don't have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.”

You may get to the point where you actually welcome breakdowns, in that they remind you that you are alive, learning and growing. The current breakdown is a sure sign you are about to undergo a major breakthrough. If you think of what makes life most worthwhile, you will find that much of it is in the breakthroughs we experience.

What Types of Breakthroughs Are Possible?

Financial:  You are struggling paycheck-to-paycheck, when suddenly you receive a windfall inheritance.

​Professional:  You are working as a software engineer in a stifling bureaucracy when you run into a hot new startup that wants to bring you aboard as their CTO with a generous starting salary and full equity.

Social:  You have tons of business acquaintances in meetups and professional associations, but, as a single professional, you feel like a pariah on weekends and holidays when suddenly you meet a beautiful young lady who is smart and wants to share her life.​

Physical:  You have a chronic health issue, such as diabetes, for which you have been told there is no cure when you suddenly find a diet that you truly enjoy and nutrients that make a decisive difference in your blood tests.​

Intellectual:  You are mid-career, and beginning to get listless about your earlier passions, such as art, music or literature, when you run across an affordable venue, such as The Great Courses, that lets you learn at your own pace with world-class instructors.​

Creative:  You have always wanted to write a book, but you don’t have a clue how to begin, when you run into a world-class writing coach that puts you in a highly resourceful state on a predictable basis.​

Spiritual:  You look outwardly successful but inwardly feel empty when suddenly you run into an interfaith group with a contemporary outlook that puts you in touch with the divine as an irresistible loving presence.​

Global:  You feel with increasing gloom that there is nothing you can ever do about the rising tide of religious terrorism when you bounce into a welcoming group people from a different tradition that are actively attempting to bring the world together, such as any number of enlightened Sufis.​

How Two Masters of Visualization Can Transform Your Life

Vishen Lakhiani and Lisa Nichols are two of the world’s leading motivational and inspirational leaders. They came full cycle from early promise to abject failure to a sudden transformation. Highly successful, loved by hundreds of thousands of people, they have literally gone broke and were at their wits ends before things suddenly came together. They devoted over a decade to studying consciousness, and ways that they can impart their breakthroughs to others.

Vishen was a failed software engineer who dropped out of Microsoft, tried his hand at telemarketing and was nearly thrown out of his apartment. He happened to sign up for a structured meditation course that opened up new worlds. Vishen immediately began succeeding in sales, dropping his software career and pioneering a transformational educational company now earning over $100 million.

Lisa started out as a single mother in South Central L.A. who could barely afford to feed her baby. A confluence of circumstances emerged where she became a renowned author, and then one of the featured speakers in Rhonda Byrne’s phenomenal documentary, The Secret. Out of that exposure, Lisa went on to build her own company, speaking around the world and took that company public.

Together, Vishen and Lisa will give you a no-nonsense online course around guided meditation expressly designed to turn people’s lives around. They take a 360-degree, multidimensional approach to inducing global changes in the lives of their students. No one can listen to either of them for even five minutes without being riveted, and often driven to tears of love and joy. Vishen has passion, and Lisa has the spirit. They will push you to dream faster, further and greater than you thought possible.

Now you can invite them into your home and have them lead you to a life far beyond your wildest dreams.​ Click on the image below to get more details.

How Guided Visualization Leads To Breakthroughs appeared first on http://consciousowl.com.