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SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Printable Version

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SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Blade - 01-28-2016

“Mom, I dunno. Alright? Can’t you email it to me? Maybe I can check off the ones I’ll go to for sure?”

Now was really not the time to be having this conversation.

Desmond sighed—loudly—as his mother shot of a list of events she wanted him to be around for over the headset settled over his ears. This naturally didn’t count holidays; there were always two of each of those: one for the family and one for the public. And his parents were nothing without their public events. They loved the attention, the cameras, all of it. The funny part was, they were pretty much the same people in front of the camera as they were behind it—genuinely too nice to be real. Some people thought so, but Desmond knew better. Their kindness was almost naiveté in neon Hollywood colors. At times, it was annoying, that brilliance—especially when it came from his mother.

“You have to come to the spring celebration! I miss you, Dezzy! So does your father.”

“I’m not a kid anymore. I can’t just drop everything and go to Hollywood for a weekend,” he shot back seriously as he flickered with a few dials on the ship’s panel. “I’m sorry. I have work and responsibilities. I know you get that, Mom.” Yes, this was definitely not the time to be having the chat, less than five minutes away from docking and waiting for Dudley to get off work.

“Of course I do! What do you take me for?” She huffed loudly. “I just miss my only son... He’s too busy saving the world to make time for me anymore.”

Desmond laughed this time, knowing she was teasing him. “S’not true, mom.” He said this as he sat back and allowed the auto controls to take over the docking and landing procedure. Really. He wasn’t that important. At best, an over-glorified handyman. Which was totally fine. He liked his life. But he couldn’t completely ignore his mother either. “Look, send me the list. I’ll figure it out. Promise. Alright?”

“Alright... Just be safe. You’re the only one I’ve got. I love you.”

“Love you, too,” he told her just before she hung up—still huffing. He pulled the headset off to hang around his neck along with his goggles and brushed a hand through his brown untame strands. Three years had gone by since he’d fled the coop and his mother still had empty nest syndrome.

“She’s gonna drive me crazy,” he muttered as he leaned back in his seat and rubbed his eyes with one hand, fingers then pinching the bridge of his nose. “Plumb fucking crazy...”

But, phonecalls from his mother aside... he wasn’t feeling half bad. He’d even dressed down: jeans, blue t-shirt with a Blue Beetle insignia on it, his boots, and a brown leather bomber jacket. And a belt; though, he’d left the t-shirt untucked. Which had done nothing for his nerves. He always tucked in his shirt.

He reached for his phone when it occurred to him that he hadn’t given Dudley his phone number. He sighed—again—and knocked his knuckles against his forehead a few times. “Not your brightest moment, Desmond Du Blanc. Not at all.”

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - danixiewrites - 01-28-2016

Day from Hell.

With a single bright spot that possibly wasn't as bright as he imagined--but in the moment had been pretty damn nice. Yeah, he was definitely following through on that tonight.

Dudley popped home a quarter of an hour from quitting time, landing on cracked linoleum and instantly shivering. There was cold air piping in from somewhere like a damned blizzard, and he wasn't about to track it down. Had to get back before someone snitched he'd gone AWOL--although the main culprit of that had taken off an hour earlier. Thankfully. Vanessa had hounded him for way too long about his rendezvous in the back room, and he had the sick feeling she'd helped herself to a memory or two.

It was dark because he hadn't had the power turned back on yet--it didn't matter. He knew exactly where everything was, picked around the tattered couch he'd liberated from a college curb and the empty laundry basket. An important life skill for a teleporter, but one borne out of survival for more than one reason.

He found a duffle bunched up under the corner of his unmade bed, shoved in some clean clothes from the dresser, the closet, added some...overnight essentials...and popped back to Skybux.

In front of his manager.

At least he hadn't teleported INTO him. That would've been even more difficult to explain. Particularly if their tracheas had intwined--

"Mister Sinclair," the man said, the same monotone as always, no hint as to what he was about, save the crossed arms and tapping foot. "Is there a reason why these boxes haven't been unpacked?"

Oh fuck.

"We had a busy afternoon." True enough, but also I was playing tonsil hockey and time got away from me. "Check the till, man."

"You teleported out during a shift."

For what, less than two fucking minutes?? Some of his coworkers took longer than that to smoke on the fucking roof! "I needed--" he glanced down and noted with a growing sense of horror that the zipper was still open on the bag, a hefty container of lube front and center. He didn't bother to zip it up. It was too late anyway. "Toothpaste."

His manager twitched. Not his lips. His whole body. "We're running low on supplies and they're not easily accessible for the night shift. It's not their job. It's yours." He paused, a look drifting over the crates. "Unless you don't want it anymore."

He fought the urge to punch him in the face, because yeah, lights in the apartment meant he needed the fucking paycheck. "I'll get started."

"You'll finish it. Every box, Mister Sinclair. And no, I'm not paying you overtime, but you at least won't be fired for leaving the premises on the job." He walked woodenly away and Dudley cursed under his breath.

If he rushed, it would set a new precedence for how long unpacking and putting away this shit was supposed to take. Bad in terms of raising expectations for his normal shifts. But if he didn't--fuck it. Dudley zipped his bag and dumped it by the loading bay then sliced open several boxes in quick succession. He sure as shit wasn't hanging around here any longer than necessary, not with a date night on the horizon and Desmond pulling up at any minute.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Blade - 01-28-2016



Desmond eyed his texts briefly, thumb scrolling through and hitting the touchscreen. Nothing interesting... mostly a few messages from his friends bothering him about a new movie. One or two that knew about his situation with Dudley were asking if he’d actually ‘made a damn move’. Desmond snorted and closed out the texts. They’d find out eventually, he was sure. But not tonight. So he left the them unanswered and put a note up on his social media about being MIA for the night—possibly tomorrow. Which.... could come back to bite him in the ass if any of his friends decided to hoof it over to his place in the next day and a half. He really should have asked if Dudley worked tomorrow...

He looked at the time before tucking his phone away. They hadn’t discussed whether he’d wait for him outside or... go in. Desmond had a mind to play things safe; discretion was the better part of valor, after all. But when he looked out the front window and didn’t see anyone even wandering out back he frowned. He’d purposely not parked where he had earlier, not wanting to take up space for other delivery vehicles—possibly. And... he had arrived a little early. So... to wait or not to wait?

With a shrug, because he wasn’t in the mood for patience, he decided to at least step outside. He popped the side door and hopped off onto the metal deck outside the coffee shop. Then he shut the door and hit a button or two on a pad before turning towards the back entrance, hands shoved into his jacket pockets. Wind briefly tousled his hair, making him push it out of his eyes with a huff before he got close to the back door. The open back door. It was usually opened, he guessed. Not his style, but it was a coffee shop with semiregular deliveries and—.

"You'll finish it. Every box, Mister Sinclair. And no, I'm not paying you overtime, but you at least won't be fired for leaving the premises on the job."

Desmond stilled, eyes narrowing as he stopped before stepping into the doorway. He knew that voice, vaguely. Had met the proprietor once or twice when he’d needed to sign paperwork—six month contracts—for the deliveries. He’d never totally pegged him for a top notch asshole, but he’d also never really liked the look of the guy either. Reminded him too much of a slimy and way too intelligent lab assistant from a horror flick.

He waited until he heard footsteps carry the other man away; they were too heavy to be Dudley’s. And.... there was also the cursing. Dudley cursing. And the rapid sound of boxes being sliced open. It would have made Desmond smile, but he was too busy frowning. He didn’t like the idea of Dudley being bullied by a jackass boss who didn’t think someone who acted and looked like Dudley didn’t know the law. Or maybe he did and just assumed there was nothing Dudley could have done about it. Desmond felt a prickle along the back of his neck—Silver Spoon Syndrome, as he liked to call it—and shook his head. It was easy to get upset when you had a safety net, when you didn't really have to worry about not having money if you needed it--truly needed it. It'd be nice, Desmond thought, to not have to worry about needing that net one day. To not have it; to not be too afraid to go without it.

He might not like what had been said, but it wasn't really his place to attempt playing white knight either. He didn't really know if Dudley would like that. And Desmond really didn't know how long he'd keep his job after that either. He was totally not going to be responsible for getting his date fired, evil boss or not.

So, Desmond put on his best smile, washed away the frown as best he could, and stepped into the doorway to lean into the frame. His hands were still stuffed in his coat pockets as he gaze landed on Dudley. “...Need help?” Because it seemed like the most obvious question to ask, and, the easiest to way to—maybe—make Dudley’s night marginally easier.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - danixiewrites - 01-28-2016

Why couldn't he have shown up at 9 like he was supposed to? Fucking managers, man! It'd have been too late to reprimand Dudley then, since a couple of decent folks on night shift would've covered. It wasn't like he left a load of boxes for them to deal with all the time--or any time in the past several months, come to think of it.

"I should call Friday back." He had a couple of voicemails on standby, some fun gigs lined up for the weekend if he was interested. They might not all have been like the last one. "Take care of the bills in one go." Wouldn't have been so vital to keep his employer happy then. Except that each one was a one-time thing. Continued income meant food that didn't smell of coffee beans, not just electricity and running water. "Lights. Yeah, lights'd be nice. A fucking microwave option."

Dudley was too busy grumbling to hear Desmond's offer. So when he yanked plastic-bound stacks of cups out of one box and whirled ferociously around with one bag in each hand, muttering under his breath something that sounded a little like a mantra and involving lightbulbs, he jolted in surprise. Desmond...and how the fuck long had he been standing there, watching?

Ah hell. Bad enough he'd gotten ripped by his boss, who wasn't even supposed to be in until 9. Bad enough his boss couldn't *not* know what plans he'd delayed by making sure he stayed after. If he saw Desmond...

"Hello to you too," he said, the stiffness in his shoulders ramping up another notch despite his efforts to loosen up. It wasn't Desmond's fault that he was trapped working after the clock would run out--there were two tongues involved in that (those) kiss(es) and he could have chosen to abandon Vanessa at the insanely busy counter to deal with inventory at any point...if he'd truly been the epitome of an asshole--and he didn't regret a second of it. Refused to, and in so choosing, he also refused to aim any of his present morose mood in the other man's direction. Dudley froze for a second, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Have a bit more to shelve, as it turns out...gonna be running a bit late."

He lifted one shoulder. "If you don't want to wait that's fine. I understand."

Dudley gave him his back then, because he'd noticed the other man had changed into something that looked a bit more comfortable and he couldn't deal with that along with the 'whatever, see you another night maybe' rejection face to face. Best if it was clean, like ripping off a Band-Aid. He paced across the room and ripped the bags open, stacking cups on cups and shoving different sizes into their slots. Then it was back to the boxes.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Blade - 01-28-2016

Desmond’s brows rose as he watched Dudley stomp around the back room, grumbling about lighting and... a microwave? Friday? He blinked once or twice and tried not to let it show he was worried, that his heart had opted to twist just so. Not because he was upset at being ignored... but rather because... well, it was one thing for someone to be short on money, but was another to not have enough to pay the bills. Despite what he’d told his mother, there had been weeks—months even—where he’d lived on the gross-ass noodles because it had been a matter of pride that he avoid depending on his parents too much. There had been days when he hadn’t had any power at the warehouse because he’d needed the gas to get back and forth to work more than he’d needed the lights. Well... in the first year. Now he avoided that problem by being off grid... somewhat.

He didn’t think that was one of those things he was supposed to hear though, not with the way Dudley was looking at him now—bags of cups in his hands and a stiffness to his shoulders. Desmond kept the smile in place anyway—determined. “Ditto,” he said in response to the hello. It was probably best—for now anyway—to pretend he hadn’t heard anything. He knew from watching Dudley that it wasn’t usually a good idea to poke a sore spot once it was wide open. Ok, well, half of this was guessing—but it felt educated enough.

In other words: Desmond would bother him about his asshole boss and bill-grumbles after he’d wound down a little with a full belly, a few beers, and a comfy place on his couch. Or bed. The bed would be fine too.

And then Dudley said something that made him chuckle—just a bit. “Worth the wait.” And then he pushed off the doorframe, pulled a knife from his pocket, and reached for a box as he flicked the blade out. There was a chance the Dudley’s boss could come back, but Desmond figured he had a good excuse lined up if it became an issue. “Sooner you’re out of hell the better." Besides, he hated the idea of Dudley working for free for that jerk for even five minutes.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - danixiewrites - 01-28-2016

Worth it? The corner of his mouth tilted upward, trapped somewhere between a little sad and a slight smirk. "You don't know that," he said, tearing into a box of corrugated coozies. "It could be a hor--" Dudley cut himself off as Desmond pounced on a box of his own. With a dismayed shake of his head, he pulled out the cardboard circles. This was a bad idea, such a bad idea. Shortening his time-to-done, wrecking his work average, speeding up his chances of getting out of here without any more snide marks on his backside.

He didn't know whether to kiss Desmond or kick him out before someone saw him and wrecked them *both*. He'd never forgive himself if the other man lost his contract because of him. Screwing up one life--his own--was enough.

"You...carry a blade around like some badass hoodlum slash treasure hunter slash scientist slash sky pirate, is that it?" The smile widened that time, just enough to show humor instead of his former griping. "I...thanks, man."

A first. It tasted funny in his mouth, but he couldn't figure out a way to retract it. Not when he felt like Desmond was being so cool about this, and literally helping to bust him out of an actual hell.

And he didn't have to. That was the thing. It was a little thing, but it meant...a lot. Desmond could have just stood there, out of sight in the doorway, not risking his own ass to shave a few minutes off how late they'd be to kick off this date-thing. But he was here. Helping. Even though Dudley *never* would have asked him to.

Dudley shook his head again and the strain in his muscles eased a little more. Had he actually considered the night might turn out an abysmal failure? Things were improving in strides already.

Two more boxes in quick succession, and then he had to deal with sorting some syrups for the back fridge. There was a lot of pointing, for the things where it was obvious how they'd fit in their spaces. The rest he did himself as Desmond unloaded the order. By the time they'd dug through each container and put everything up, Dudley was in a much better mood. He tossed his apron onto the stand and hooked his fingers in the straps of his bag. "Let's get this date on the road. So to speak." Dudley loped toward the back door, then held it open for Desmond. "After you, sweet cheeks."

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Blade - 01-28-2016

Dulled amber and emerald orbs caught the way Dudley smirked, the way the expression was twisted with a bit of sadness. He also caught the way he cut himself off as if startled by Desmond’s actions. It was cute, whatever you wanted to call it. Cute enough to bring a little color to his face again, to make things twist in the pit of his stomach, and to make him laugh nervously at the mention of the blade—at calling him a sky pirate/scientist/treasure hunter. At least he wasn’t pegging him for a watered down Indiana Jones. Archaeology was cool, but he wasn’t sure it was for him. At least not in the ‘Let’s go explore this rad cave!’ kinda way. Maybe in another fifteen years if he caught a strange bug and had the money. His own money.

He was still blushing, red splashing just under his eyes and over the bridge of his nose, as Dudley thanked him. That kind of reaction was probably going to take a while to stop—maybe. But at least it was easier to speak. Less nerve-wracking that Dudley would say no, or flat out laugh at him. Confidence—mostly restored.

“I carry around a lot. Too much,” he admitted, sighing not in dismay but acceptance. “Two semi-autos—because it’s Las Bellenas—a knife or two, hammers, Phillip’s heads, wire cutters... I think I have a pipe wrench in my ship.” He blinked, thinking that one over and then just scratched his head. “Been a while.” and then he shook his head, smiling. “And ah... y-you’re welcome.”

Desmond had a broad idea of why Dudley was so prickly; and by ‘broad’ he meant very little aside from passing observation. Always at work; always with customers; always with co-workers... Dudley didn’t have patience—probably. But Desmond imagined there was more to it than that. Just like there was more to him than the Du Blanc name, estates, and lifestyle he wanted to earn under his own keep. Or maybe an entirely different lifestyle; he could earn that instead.

Didn’t need Love Money, as much as he appreciated the parental sentiment—the allowance he did his best not to touch. He really did.

But he wanted to know more about Dudley. Why he was so angry all the time and what was going on beyond those pretty blue eyes.

By the time Dudley was tossing his apron up Desmond was stretching, reaching up with his hands and interweaving his fingers together so his palms faced flat and upward. The action drew up his shirt and revealed a bit of tummy. “Sure, Blink—Blinker?” he asked, smiling as he stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and slipped out the exit. “Flicker?” God, there had to be better terms for a teleporter. Maybe he’d run it through an internet thesaurus, he considered as he moved toward Lucy.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - danixiewrites - 02-01-2016

"I guess stuff like that comes in handy when you can't just pop," and he snapped his fingers in between box openings, "somewhere else. Don't much have to worry about muggers. Or whatever it is you're worried about miles above the ground in Lucy."

It was Lucy, right? Dudley scratched his head. Yeah, like the song. The blue fluffed under his fingers instead of meeting the absent movement with stiffened peaks. Damn it anyway. Desmond had had a chance to clean up but here he was, about to head on their date smelling like the inside of a coffee bean with his usual spikes looking deflated as a week-old birthday balloon.

"Pigeons toting lasers or some shit," he finished quickly, dropping his hand to the top of the next box.

Because Desmond was right: it was Las Ballenas, after all. Who the fuck knew what would spring up as an experiment out of the college grounds--or city proper?

Slamming the door behind him instead of giving Desmond a yay or nay on the nicknames, Dudley followed him aboard his ship. Trying not to stare, staring anyway. He'd only ever seen the outside--shiny enough--and the back holding area, which was now vacant of boxes. He'd never had an excuse to look closer, and hadn't had the time to needle the delivery guy with questions about fuel usage and how well it handled.

He didn't now either, despite the closer look at dozens of what looked to be *actual* bells and whistles. With work off his shoulders, he had less of a need to sate his curiosity and more of a need to shake off every single fucking ounce of stress. Immediately. Pizza and beer would be a good start, but who knew how long they'd be in the air or how long it took to cook pizza from scratch--not microwaved or ordered in--which was apparently the deal for this date.

Dudley frowned. "You drink beer, right?"

A wish flitted through his head that he'd thought to grab the six-pack which was pretty much the only thing sitting in his languishing fridge. Should still have been cool, even with the power out, as he'd packed it with ice and the thing was airtight. He knew he was supposed to be humoring Desmond for the ride--it was proper for a date, he figured. And since he didn't know where the other man's warehouse was, necessary. It wasn't like he could do it once the ship moved. If he tried to jump home and then back he'd probably wind up in a vacant cloud.

As far as burning energy went, sky diving via an ill-timed 'port wasn't on the list.

Sex could be. He shrugged, trying to ease the stress from his shoulders in small, nonchalant movements and feeling awkward as hell standing next to a guy he'd only started to get to know and thinking about the lube in his bag.

After pizza. Dinner first. Maybe some talking. Desmond's lips against his own, his fingers plundering his hair...

With the recent memory of their steamy kiss flooding to the forefront of his mind, Dudley decided to ask about the ship after all. "Does this thing have an auto-pilot?"

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Blade - 02-01-2016

Desmond wouldn’t know first-hand how handy it was to ‘pop’ to once place or another, but he could agree that it was probably easier. He wasn’t sure if teleporting would help him get work done better, but it would help him get it done faster. There were jobs that required him to have a lot of tools on hand; being able to blink into his ship and then back to a given work area with whatever he needed... yeah, that’d be nice. Laser pigeons? Not so much.

He smiled anyway, mulling it over, as he hit the numeric pad on the side door; the sound of a mechanism unbolting made itself known just before Desmond pulled the handle and opened it up. Once they were both in he slammed it shut with an uncomforting clang of steel on steel. The brunette winced almost immediately; that totally sounded like it wasn’t broken. And then he was taking a seat in one of two chairs stationed in front a large front window and panel of half steel, half brass, half wood, and all dials with digital feeds and glass covered bits.

The inside of Lucy wasn’t anything particularly amazing. A lot of metal plating and not a lot of comfort, but Desmond didn’t use her for that. Mostly deliveries and work. So it didn’t much matter. There were cabinets in the back for storage, both built into the walls above and some that were on the floor that doubled as seats—like foot lockers with old cushions on top. You could tell they had been used for seating at one time because of old and worn belting hanging from the walls near them.

As Desmond mulled over the lack of comfort Lucy offered he heard Dudley ask about beer. “Usually, yeah. Depends on the type.” He hit a few buttons in quick succession and listened absently as Lucy’s engine started up and she prepped for departure. Then he looked over at Dudley. “I bought some... if that’s what you’re worried about...?” he decided to half ask. “Or did you want something else...?” His brow knit as he paused to consider that, leaning over the panel and half sitting. He didn’t peg Dudley for a wine drinker, but everyone was a little unpredictable these days. Desmond’s mother, for one, all class and shine and diamonds and pretty blond petite, enjoyed a fat cigar now and then.

Go figure.

He shook his head, not wanting to worry about his mother at that moment; even if he had been talking to her all but less than an hour ago. As Dudley’s asked his next question Desmond was inputting commands on the keys in the panel; at the same time, Lucy was lifting and unclamping from the metal platform. “Uh... yeah. Why?” Green-yellow hues followed his own fingers and glanced at a screen.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - danixiewrites - 02-02-2016

Dark already. Seemed like he never got outside when it was light anymore--into work before dawn, out after dusk, and on the days he wasn't working he was sleeping in. Maybe he shouldn't be so quick to want to leave his first air-bound vehicle, but the need to do anything at all but wait around--to burn off some aggression, to fucking *move*--clawed at his insides. It was like that after work more often than not. Rather than bone-weary exhaustion, he had too much pent-up under his skin.

"Cool. Saves me a trip." He gave a sharp nod that Desmond wouldn't be able to see, given he was staring at a whole lot of gizmos.

With a passing glance at the other chair, he wrinkled his nose. Nope, no desire to sit his ass down. "So how's this work? Seatbelts fastened, tray tables in upright position? Or's this fine?"

He moved to stand beside Desmond's chair and stared out the massive window by way of distracting himself from thinking about the top of Desmond's head, the mussed, dark hair a little lower--FUCK.

Just like it had in the back room at work, Dudley's brain wouldn't quit giving him fantasy fodder. More fucking against walls, only this time they were steel and there was enough kink involved to fill a damned mile high club wishlist for a month. He shifted his hips toward the other chair. Soon he was going to have to turn around just to avoid a scene. It wasn't like the things in his head were options. Here. Now.

The kiss was one thing; his own optimism, packing his duffle, was another. There was definitely interest, like a spark to dry kindling once they'd gotten hands on one another the first time and bound to be explosive the second. But he wasn't sure how much attention Desmond had to give to the ship to keep it in the air. That avenue of burning off steam might very well be a non-starter, so it was pointless to pursue it. A sigh left him and he curled his fingers into the back of the seat. Holding himself still, trying not to let his unrest, or his libido, show.

Just fucking enjoy it. First time on one of these things. Don't fuck this up by--

"Yeah? Hum. Autopilot." The left-field question had surely been influenced by his thoughts, and now that he had an affirmative answer Dudley's cock shot up like someone had raised the fucking gate at a rodeo. He licked his lips, glanced over at his date.

Desmond was still musing over controls. Sweetly distracted, and Dudley's fingers twitched with the urge to give him something else to think about.

As the ship jolted and swayed upward, Dudley shifted toward the front window again. His hand released the back of the chair. Slowly, carefully, his fingers threaded into the dark hair that beckoned. Gripped hard. "Let me know when you can turn it on."

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Blade - 02-02-2016

“You’re fine where you’re at,” Desmond replied. It would probably be better to put seat belts on and all that jazz, but this high up, at this time a night, didn’t make it a real big deal. There wasn’t much of a risk of running into other ships. Maybe a super, but it was on them to get the hell out of the way as it was easier for them to maneuver than it was for Desmond. Any higher or lower, regardless of the hour, and they’d have to buckle up. The brunette did it out of habit and because a lot of his other jobs had him hitting the ground at one point or another. “I’ll let you know if you need to buckle in,” he felt the need to add on the trail end of those thoughts.

He’d been doing fine since he’d arrived to get Dudley. There hadn’t been much, if any, stuttering or too much blushing. It helped that he could keep part of his brain occupied, that he had with the boxes and the unloading and now with the ship itself. It also helped that he’d overcome a major hurdle in just asking him out. Still, butterflies and nervousness kicked back into semi-high gear once Dudley stepped over towards his seat; close, closer than passing motion and closer than simple ‘comfortable spacing’. The heat was creeping back up his neck and a trail of tiny invisible feet were dancing along his skin, creating an anticipatory path of something he didn’t have a name for.

Desmond swallowed once and lifted his gaze to look out the front window. He didn’t really need to, per se, but it helped relieve some of the tension to look on at the expanse of clouds and night.

He wasn’t stupid; he knew what he’d been angling for with the cute barista the moment he’d agreed to keeping the delivery gig for a bit longer. Maybe something more. Maybe. But starting off with something a little heavier felt real fucking good insofar as the sex-fantasy part of his brain was concerned.

He took in a deep breath just as he moved to turn off the auto-pilot he’d had on for the undocking procedures. One hand was on the yoke as the other moved to hit the required controls to do so. Though... that’s when he felt fingers lacing through his thick brown strands--gripping. Desmond stilled, for a moment too shocked out of his own thought processes. His fingers hovered, unmoving, over the buttons as Dudley spoke words that shouldn’t have sounded a little like warm chocolate to Desmond.... but did anyway.

“...I ...I haven’t turned it off...” he murmured somewhere between the moment he registered that his heart was running a race in his chest, and, he was just as fucking hard as he was earlier that day.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - danixiewrites - 02-02-2016

"So it can find its own way home?" he pressed, releasing then gripping the hair harder between his fingers, urging Desmond to look up. "And you don't really need to be sitting in that chair, yes?"

"I need..." His voice had gotten more gravelly but he didn't dare clear his throat, as if the unwelcome sound would break some kind of spell between them. Dudley stared down at the other man and tried to rein in on the insane urge to simply haul him up and return to the embrace they'd had interrupted earlier. It was more than he had the right to--but wasn't that the point?

All of this, Desmond, the ride, the offer of pizza...all of it was more than he should be lucky enough to have. Gifts, each one, until things proved otherwise. Maybe this time when things proved otherwise, it wouldn't hurt so badly.

Right.

The shadow that rode his thoughts threatened to turn his mood from simply pent-up and frustrated to something that would lash out in its pain. It had no place here as he sure as fuck wouldn't hurt Desmond. Not now, not even if--when--the other man decided that he had an ulterior motive that would hurt him. Dudley just didn't roll that way, would lick his wounds in private, put the betrayal and his energy to use at work. Wherever that might be, because Skybux probably wouldn't keep him if he got more churlish with customers than he already was.

Friday would. But to work for Friday...He swallowed hard.

Dudley thought about letting go, walking away, pacing the cargo hold at the very least. None of those things would ruin their night. None of those things would bring him closer to Desmond. But that was the safe play, wouldn't risk rejection, wouldn't risk anything at all. And the reward wasn't there. He'd still be keyed up by the time they landed, and there was no telling what would happen to his thoughts if they were left unchecked. Stopping now wouldn't bring Desmond's lips against his own, wouldn't fill his head with more than dark fantasies and hopeless scenarios.

Needing to shake off the weight of his choices, needing to put his energy to harder use before it turned on him, Dudley tugged lightly on Desmond's hair. "There was only one good thing about today, Desmond," he said, "and if I remember right, we were rudely fucking interrupted." Another tug. "Come here."

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Blade - 02-02-2016

Desmond released the yoke and turned towards Dudley as the other man urged him to do so. His who body swiveled in the seat and one hand moved to grip the arm rest while the other was placed on a flat section of the panel. The position had the left side of his body facing the front of the ship, his right towards the back, and his gaze angled upward to meet Dudley’s oceanic eyes—ones that never seemed to fail to turn him into a warm puddle of goo on the inside.

“W-well...” he started, pink tinting his cheeks at the implications of such a question. “Technically y-yes. To a point.” Once he did make it close to home and alarm would go off to remind him he needed to guide the ship manually into his garage. “I don’t have to fly right... now,” he felt the need to add, to explain.

God, he was such a sap. One who couldn’t calm the beat of his nerves, his heart, the heat that crept from his veins and moved right into his bones, long enough to make his words sound less like a terrified kitten and more like someone who said what he wanted when he wanted it to the person across from them who very much wanted exactly what Desmond wanted.

Probably.

Dulled amber and emerald refocused on Dudley as he started to speak again, voice a bit like gravel. He was looking at him, Dudley was, with what Desmond could only classify as a parade of different emotions. They passed before his baby blues like the shifting of the tides, making Desmond narrow his own. Desire? Sadness? Regret...? Desmond resisted the urged to frown, hid away the worry in his heart at Dudley’s hesitation. It was that look again, the one Desmond had seen from time to time during deliveries—as though Dudley was caught at a crossroads leading several different ways, each one with different consequences.

...or maybe Desmond always read too much into it.

It didn’t stop Desmond from reaching out though, fingers pushing the hem of the other man’s shirt out of the way and slipping in the space between the front do his pants and his stomach. Desmond’s intention had been to pull him out of the crossroads, to bring him out of his own swath of thoughts, tugging gently with a few soft words as he’d done earlier that day. But it was in that moment that Dudley spoke and pulled him up—urged him to stand.

Desmond was blushing harder and smiling tentatively as he got up from the chair, but he didn’t remove his grip from Dudley’s pants. If anything, he used the hold a bit like leverage, but not enough to actually pull them down. His left grasped onto the barista’s bicep and he pushed himself up on his toes, chest against chest. Thick lashes, like a curtain, were half dropping over eyes that were glazed with desire—anticipation. Parted lips were brushing against Dudley’s. “Was there...?” he whispered, fingers dipping just low enough to brush the stiff base of the other man as he reveled in the way he said his name. “Several for me,” he felt need to say, lips pressing just so as he considered that list: Dudley’s mouth, his hands, his endless blue eyes, his lazy movements, and... too many to count.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - danixiewrites - 02-03-2016

As Desmond's fingers slid under the soft red Henley and khakis, Dudley wished again he'd had the chance to go clean up. He'd still have been commando, but at least he'd look and smell less like he'd been up against a mob of hipsters and lost.

He licked his lips again as Desmond moved as bid. Slowly enough to prove he wasn't going to be a passively obedient bystander in this mess, and that both turned something over in Dudley's chest and made his cock give a pleased jump. Desmond's other hand braced on the soft fabric covering his arm and those words were like feathers painted along Dudley's lips. No room for misunderstandings here...that was definitely need coursing between them like a feedback loop. It was about to get even hotter, and Dudley smirked as an incomplete thought about steam and that massive front window jolted into his head.

Immediately out again as Desmond slid a caress over his cock.

He hissed out a breath that ended as their lips met. Soft at first, far less violent than their initial meeting. Dudley's gentleness wouldn't last. Too much lay pent up inside, too much need, too much undirected wildness.

Dudley eased his grip with the gentle kiss, sliding his hand to the back of his date's head so his fingers wouldn't tangle in his tech. He met those half-mast spring-colored wells with a heavy lidded gaze of his own, one loaded with intent and a little bit of warning. His other arm flexed then wrapped around Desmond, palm spread wide at the base of the other man's spine. Angling them together so the both of them knew exactly where things stood. So to speak. He shifted, friction to his groin sending a keening lick of pleasure to zing through his body. Hell, this was good.

But then, things were always good before they crashed to the ground.

"Just this," he murmured aloud, blue eyes going unfocused and the hand at the back of Desmond's head clenching in untamed almost-curls.

Shifting so their bodies brushed more roughly this time, he licked across the seam of Desmond's lips. The hand threaded through waves of dark brown held fast. Relentlessly close now. More. The ship shuddered under Dudley's feet and he closed his eyes. Deeper, harder, so good, and they hadn't even gotten truly entwined, bare skin yet a commodity. Yes. More. He bit Desmond's lower lip and kissed him like he had before. Teeth and tongues and the taste of cinnamon. Sank into the kiss like it was a counterbalance against hours of piling madness on his shoulders, like the shorter man before him was a damned buffet and he was a man starved.

Fuck things going wrong. Just fuck everything. Except this. This was perfect.

RE: SciFi & Chill [Closed] - Blade - 02-03-2016

If Dudley smelled like rank coffee, Desmond had never noticed before; he’d been too preoccupied before—now even—to worry about the other man smelling bad. If anything his sense of smell was likely biased towards worse things than Skybux. Things like gasoline, engine oil, grease from a deep fryer, and even burning rubber from the occasional accident. Hair too; nothing really smelled worse than burnt hair. Though, he was close enough now, his nose rubbing along skin, that all he could smell reminded him saltwater—human sweat. Dudley’s. Nothing coated in cologne or fake fragrances.

Briefly, he wondered about that smirk; Desmond like it better than the downward turn of the barista’s lips he saw from time to time. The thought was fleeting though, as the other man hissed—making him smirk in turn—and pressed his open mouth to Desmond’s. His eyes shut instinctively and he slanted his mouth against Dudley’s—deepening it with a sharp inhale through his nose. In the next moment he sighed, moaning softly when he felt fingers brushing through his hair, a hand sliding down his back. He was gasping and his grip tightened on Dudley’s bicep as he moved forward further; one leg slid to either side of the barista’s, in effect making it so Desmond’s groin was pressing into his thigh and vice-versa.

The new position made it impossible for Desmond to keep his hand between them. He felt a pang of disappointment over that new development, but quickly got over it in light of Dudley’s cock—stiff and thick—pressing hard against his jean-clad thigh.

“Fuck yes,” he agreed against soft lips, his now free hand moving to push his shirt out of the way again as Dudley’s grip tightened on his hair. Warm skin felt smooth under his palm, his fingers. Digits splayed like a fan, moving up along the other man’s ribs. When Dudley licked, seeking his mouth again, Desmond’s mind receded slightly into heady-haze territory; had he stopped kissing him? But he felt his mind fall entirely—into the gutter and blanketed in desire—when the Dudley’s fervor moved beyond gentle and he bit his lower lip. There were so many words in that kiss, in the way the barista sunk into Desmond as if he needed him, held him as if he were going to slip away entirely.

Another inhale; another moan; nails bit into bare skin involuntarily.

He stepped forward then, not entirely meaning to, and stumbled as he tried to get closer. Desmond, for all he was good at, was simply not made for standing on his toes for long periods. This occurred to him only after he began to fall forward and put more of his weight—far too quickly—onto Dudley.