671. There Are Different Types of Love....
(Taken shamelessly from mememaker's 126. I can love you in so many different ways. Because I looooove mememaker and this was one of my favorite memes.)
This meme deals with three types of love, angsty, sweet, and twisted! Please note that there are triggers abound!
- Post your characters and include preferences (if any!)
- Others reply.
- Go to RNG and enter numbers 1-3 ( Read more... )
This meme deals with three types of love, angsty, sweet, and twisted! Please note that there are triggers abound!
- Post your characters and include preferences (if any!)
- Others reply.
- Go to RNG and enter numbers 1-3 ( Read more... )
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Sterling's sudden appearance hasn't escaped his notice, but it hasn't managed to provide him with enough reason to stop either, not with his name on her lips and her nails digging into his back, deceptively strong hands dragging him closer, marking him, maybe, but he doesn't mind, not at all. He's also aware of Sterling's eyes on him; it gives him a sick thrill, enough to send him over the edge and he buries his face in the crook of her neck with a low groan, fingers slipping between them to bring her off with him. It's more for her benefit than for his, though he'll admit to perhaps a bit more showmanship than is really necessary-- his pride won't allow him any less ( ... )
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It's fine. You were.. occupied.
[Sterling immediately regrets saying anything at all, but tries to play it off with a shrug of his shoulders and a drink of the scotch he'd stashed here for rainy days (he's always in Cass' cabin when he wants a drink; it had only made sense). His voice is breathy, low, heated and almost fluttering as it whispers over his lips, and Sterling sits there and tries to look aloof and ( ... )
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You're not wrong.
[Cas is all too aware of the change in Sterling's voice, the way his skin's flushed and the way he's sitting up just a bit straighter… He doesn't really think much of it, passes is off as a totally normal reaction to the situation-- he doesn't doubt he'd be feeling the same way if their situations were reversed.
He takes a seat next to Sterling, patting his pockets to see if he'd left anything in them-- it's only been a few hours and he's already forgotten… But to be fair his mind was occupied with much bigger and better things. He frowns and pulls out a joint; it's bent, totally useless unless he wants to re-roll it which just doesn't seem worth the effort. He glances over at the bottle on the table and the glass conveniently sitting next to it-- had he left it there? It seems likely enough and so he reaches for both of them, pouring himself a bit before settling back against the couch.]
Did you and Dean knock the shit out of each other again?
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He crosses his legs in an attempt to obscure just how hard he is in those suit pants that had once been a statement of fine fashion, but now, more than anything, are just part of the symbol of Sterling being separate from the rest of them. He might have tossed on clothes, but Sterling can still see the way his body looked, naked, graceful and beautiful.]
Mm. I swear it takes even less for him to start throwing punches these days.
[Sterling had bloodied knuckles, ( ... )
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[Rough, rough is how it's been lately. Failed missions, failed rescue attempts... Hell, even failed supply runs; there are just too many croates and not enough survivors. Not to mention the army-- they're moving closer, within a day or two's drive from the camp and the closer they get, the more displaced croates the survivors here have to put up with. Even Dean's been reluctant to lead groups out of the camp for very long; the result has been an extremely irritable albeit fearless leader and a camp full of people itching to do something. Cas has his ways of scratching that itch ( ... )
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[Because Cass had been witness to some of the occasions when he went out of his way to needle Dean. Although, in Sterling's opinion, that happened when Dean was being a low-level jerk and it simply got to the point where he couldn't help being snarky in reply. The fact that things have been rough has been heavy on them all, after all. Sterling doesn't have the diversionary tactics of sex and drugs, and so it just leads to more fights, which in turns leads him back to Cass, which is ever more dangerous ( ... )
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[And Cas understands, he does. Hell, it's not like he's never intentionally pushed Dean's buttons before. But he knows when he can do that without it becoming a true problem, without causing Dean any more strain than the energy it takes to shoot him a dirty look or reply with an equally below-the-belt remark. It's the way of things, and Cas wouldn't change it for the world ( ... )
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[It's said as admittance and confirmation, one of those things he doesn't admit to other people; most of the time Sterling acts put upon about the whole thing. However, there's always been the fact that when he stumbles into Cass' cabin, it almost never has anything to do with fixing his injuries unless there's something bleeding particularly garishly (rare since their first fights, before they'd started to learn strength and limits). It's all about drinking and languid conversation, idle aggravation of bruises.]
Sex with people I don't know the names of isn't my kind of vice.
[Violence was. Specifically violence from people better than him. Getting roughed up by bordering-irrational, attractive men that walked just the wrong side of being invincible, and seemed set on courting the impossible. Sterling supposed it was a very select stress-release mechanism ( ... )
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[His eyes drift closed as Sterling's hand slowly travels up from his knee, fingers just barely skimming and then pressing more firmly against his thigh. It feels good, and Cas is nothing if not a hedonist these days.]
And I do know her name...
[He doesn't, and he doesn't know why he's bothering to defend himself, especially to Sterling when they both know better... But without the lazy pull of drugs him his system keeping him calm, keeping him distracted, he supposes he just likes to argue.
His drink is resting on his other knee, and he lets his thumb stroke absently over the rim of the glass.]
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[It's said with a smile, with a quirk of his lips and a slow drag of his hand as there's more pressure now starting to massage into his hip. Sterling's body shifting closer so their bodies press together at their sides in a way that is at least a slight temper to the heat that skips along his skin. Cass isn't telling him to stop, not that he'd really expected he would. He almost wishes he would, however ( ... )
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[His lips part at the added pressure and he really should stop this, because--
Because why? He can't think of a compelling enough reason, really, not with the way the touching feels so good against his still-charged skin, even through the rough denim. Not that he hadn't felt good before, but it hadn't been enough, it's never enough; touch is an addiction just like any other, his body seemingly as dependent on it as it is on the drugs he's so sorely lacking right now.
No, he's not about to turn down the only high that's really available to him at the moment aside from the broken joint in his pocket. His eyes slit open and he leans into the fingers brushing over his shirt just slightly, bending to drop his half-finished drink onto the table.
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Unable to resist that urge to touch, he settles for simply trying to make sure this doesn't get out of hand. If it had been a different life, he might have thought about going to far, but that's a concept that doesn't really seem to exist any longer. His hand against his chest slowly traces up, over a shoulder, fingers trying to slip behind him to trace over that gorgeous line of his spine ( ... )
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There's something new in Sterling's gaze, something heated and interesting that Cas can't quite place. Humming quietly, he lets his hand splay, fingers creeping up Sterling's inner thigh slowly. He's half-hard again, already in that dizzy pleasure-driven place, and as he derives just as much pleasure from touching as he does from being touched, it seems like the only logical thing to do. He likes the way the expensive fabric of his dress pants feels under his fingers, even if they are totally non-functional and only serve as a barrier between him and the rest of the camp; it's soft and warmed by skin.]
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His breath catches as the other man's hand splays against his leg, slowly slipping up his thigh. Grey eyes watching blues as his other hand traces against his collarbone, dips into the hollow of his throat. Touching, and it's almost platonic, despite the shiver of want in his hands. Shifting closer, a smile curving his lips as he presses into how he feels under his fingertips.]
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If there's one thing that Cas excels least at, it's lines, where they are, how to avoid crossing them. He hadn't concerned himself with them much when he'd been an angel and he typically outright ignores them now. His hand continue to move, fingers tightening, squeezing gently at the join between hip and leg. He doesn't move any closer though, fingertips just shy of taking this any further.]
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