One could argue that ever leaving the Stronghold, should one face the comfortable option of staying safe and behind walls of protection, was mad.
One could also make a point that even if you had to go out, or chose to for a myriad of mad reasons, you didn’t have to walk into those territories marked as death here, a hundred percent certain.
One would be correct.
But this vast stretch of roads all forking off in directions and also buildings, untouched in the sense of carrying enough loot to survive off, promised something else entirely, death with a side of discoveries.
Whether these discovery were to hold any merit depended on the success of any venture towards the place here; as Jessie recalled the couple of times he had come in here in the past, he had trust, so much, that he could very well die; yet the thought was not a weighty presence in the forefront of his head, not even as the plentiful groaning reached him from across the road, and announced to him that the infected here were very much a comfortable, and hideous presence one should respect.
Perhaps, by never coming in here.
Jessie would consider himself an idiot, a fool, but most importantly:
Not discouraged, at all.
His title of a specialist, after all, even laughable at this point as it did little to capture his military role, behooved itself to carrying plentiful other roles the military was more than happy to turn into a for-him burden.
It was.
But Jessie S. Michels failed to fuss at all; as he had made his way towards the intended target through a row of building previously charted, and known for their ever-changing number of infected, often crawling through spaces too narrow but coffins waiting for a freshly deceased form--
As he had climbed.
And walked.
And in some places run--
--his adrenaline leaving him to feel viscerally alive--
He had, indeed, just pursued that building in plain sight; an old, and quite tall once-bank of many, many floors, having once housed offices lent out to different companies in the past; that he had not found anywhere-- the records had died in whatever fire had consumed the basement years ago-- he remembered that fire.
He had not set it--
But he also had.
--he knew what he did from what he had cared, or managed to scan; he knew what he had gleaned off the view whenever in moments present he hearkened to those in the past; if he was in a position of thinking only to himself, when he wasn’t busy or drowning himself in holes and alcohol, he could tell for sure:
This here concealed treasures.
It was why accepting any kind of a mission forcing one to Main Street-- and the gorgeous, and glorious vestiges of the decrepit strewn around but fallen angels, and demons howling from their broken in windows--
Came to him without ado, without thought, with only something so very starved as self-destruction drove.
He came in here with a fondness--
With the hard beat of his heart in his chest--
And a plan on his mind, and the said building right ahead; he was on the corner of a street, facing an intersection teeming with vicious, but at the present subdued infected; level twos, he knew that.
It was noon--
While that meant he was visible to them--
They were visible to him; what he couldn’t see could damn him; what he failed to perceive killed him; what he ignored-- did not ignore him; the abyss no longer waited you to stare into it.
It was already staring back.
So Jessie collected himself, and from his position-- a little abandoned, and infected-free corner store with all the things toppled over, and littering the floor along with dried blood, soil that wandering feet had carried from outside, and once-objects of value, defeated so well by the strain of time there was little telling what had served what purpose--
From that position: he peered from behind the aisle where he crouched, hidden, mentally mapping out his next move; the bank, he knew, could be a wonderful source of so, so many things.
So many things.
So, then, what was the hold up?
A gun in his hand-- Jessie smiled: nothing.
He was just waiting for the Right Time.
Posted 05-12-2021, 01:50 PM
The town went by many names in the Eclipse, but Ares preferred avoiding it entirely. For he was skilled at hunting infected- Rabids, Stalkers, Fangs (Ares kept forgetting their Military-given names, nor did he care much to identify them as so). It was the people that he were afraid of. For the town was a known hotbed of supplies, and therefore looters eager to get their hands on them. He had caught complaints of other Eclipse looters that the Military sent soldiers there, ready to add to the already sprawling caches and warehouses owned by the Stronghold. It was a situation Ares preferred not to get involved in. He was content raiding sylvan nests or abandoned drifter settlements, excited by it even, for his rifle did all the talking.
But Niles had to get a broken ankle. And the other looters had to be out on raids. Leaving Ares, ever the excitable volunteer, with the task of collecting the scouted valuables in the large town.
Armed with a rifle, a knapsack filled with dried snacks, a first aid kit and ammo, a poorly drawn map and a surly mood, Ares ducked behind dilapidated walls and husks of buildings. For a town reputed to be commonly raided, there were still windows unbroken and items left untaken by those who knew how to find them. Ares' bag soon rustled quietly with the sound of gears and nails and batteries, things that would be useful for an Eclipse engineer.
Ill mood evaporating as his haul grew, he became hopeful, even rethinking his opinion on the old town. And then he saw that little corner store, name stretched out across the front so scratched up and filthy it was ineligible. Not that it mattered for Ares, who struggled even reading the texts that buzzed on his comm.
The only forms of light were cast through windows fogged with dirt. He shifted around the scattered items, trained feet light and purposeful. Aisle after aisle, he stared into the darkness, trying to pick out shapes that formed slowly as his eyes became accustomed to the dark.
It was after the fifth aisle that Ares sucked in a breath, as he saw a figure crouched at the other end. He quickly stepped back, in hopes that whoever that body belonged to had not seen him. After a few, silent moments, the looter peeked around the corner, concluding that the figure had, to his relief, not noticed him. He first assumed it to be infected, and his fingers were already wrapped around the hilt of his knife. But, peering narrower, closer, he paused. The stance- it was sure, steady, but not predatory. Too relaxed to be an Infected.
"Oh shit," Ares whispered under his breath. He took another step back, hastily, heart pounding. However, in his zeal to get out of there, his step was careless and his foot met something metal and cylindrical. It rolled out beneath him and he fell, back first, onto a pile of something loud. A piercing clang punctuated the air, disrupting whatever idle silence hung in the tiny store.
He may not tell immediately, but he feels it anyway; it’s all about the gut; it clenches, and he tenses-- he watches the floor then, seemingly captivated by the dance of the light in here, the lazy stretch thereof broken by the indubitable evidence the windows are in a sorry, even if unbroken state for some or several; dirtied, and ugly, and everything in here telling of concerns once fought in past, and surely failed.
But he does not react; as the air shifts a little bit, as the shadows also shift a little bit, Jessie remains concealed, bated breath but not really; he’d be a fool to actually deny himself a mouthful of oxygen-- it would make the next few mouthfuls, see, rapid and likely made in noise. He will avoid that.
So he waits-- waits, thinking to himself this would not be an infected, for if he’s right and his sixth sense has noticed someone around, the infected would have since launched an attack.
But eventually, he cannot be too sure; it’s just in the hyper-vigilance, in the years he’s spent doing this that’ve allowed him to unconsciously obsess over everything-- a man who knows that the dust will stirt if there is some motion; who knows that the winds may move on their way, fueled by the nature, but there’s also human motion--
There’s this idea of not being alone.
It’s scary, and even twenty years of being a military person cannot weed out the fear--
They’ve just learned him not to mind it.
But then--
Sounds and Jessie panics.
He doesn’t shoot out of his hiding spot, instead quickly shuffling to come out on the other end of this decrepit aisle, standing up only after a few steps are taken to aim his gun at that person, that youngster--
Now sprawled on the floor, surely an idiot.
“Idiot,” Jessie cusses because--
Well, duh.
Then, his stomach clenches; he doesn’t wait to peer out through the windows-- he doesn’t walk to the door and gaze onto the streets to check if the infected have heard the noise.
He knows they have.
So-- in a moment of significance, Jessie S. Michels makes a decision.
He runs out to the other.
“Quick,” he hisses, his eyes wide-- but also calm; the gun’s no longer pointed at the other, and Jessie’s rushing to help the other get up to his feet, his heart pounding hard when the growling approaches.
“Ahhhhh, fuck me and call me Sally, we got visitors. C’mon, you young fool, we’re partners in crime now.”
A fact punctuated by a rabid smile-- his cheeks are flushed as if he’ll chuckle awkwardly next--
Really, who'd blame him now.
Posted 05-16-2021, 08:32 AM
In the dimness and haze of dust, Ares could just make out the shape of a slender object pointed towards him, a shadow that looked very much like a gun.
Yet that was not what caused his stomach to drop, heart to race, panic to bead on his forehead in droplets of sweat. It was the din that erupted form the quiet that he created, the alarm to all Infected that "hey, some idiots alive here and laid out like an tempting, delectable meal, come one come all!".
That was what distinguished the figure in front of him from the beasts out there. That, maybe, the man could see the fear flash in Ares' eyes. That he felt sympathy and not hunger for the momentarily vulnerable youth, frozen at the tip of his gun. And the other felt something, for the gun lowered and the man extended an arm out to help Ares, which the looter took expediently as soon as the shock of his mistake evaporated to lucid survival.
Slobbering growls punctuated the air, first faint for only the most keen of ears to hear, then crescendoing. From the chorus, Ares could tell that there would be too much for only two to take on alone. Well- he'd been in worse situations.
"Right behind you, Sally," Ares responded as he pulled the pistol from his belt holster, unconsciously skipping over the insinuation of the first part of that statement. Both his hands tightened around the grip, though sure and loose enough to mark Ares' comfort and skill with the weapon.
Panic did not wrest Ares for long, for his sharp eyes detected a viable escape route. He tugged on the other's sleeve to get his attention and whispered, "There's a window in the back we can sneak out of."
It was high, too tall for either Ares or the other man to slip through alone. They would have to hoist each other up. He looked to the other, waiting for his approval for the plan, or an alternative method. An orchestra of grunts and snarls marked the urgency of his decision. Tag : Jessie Michels
Posted 05-24-2021, 07:02 AMThis post was last modified: 05-24-2021, 07:06 AM by Ares Wheeler
The hand was grabbed-- ha!, he thought to himself, victory attained--
He did not let the relief stay him.
Only-- anchored in getting them out of here, he helped the other get up, already grinning to ear as if he believed that to be soothing; maybe, he did; as their hands separated, he looked down the other reflexively-- as well.
Sized the man so to speak, reading his body frame, his muscle mass-- the feel of him and the injuries as well--
--such a quick survey, efficient as dark hell.
Before: up his gaze went, and unabashedly, he beamed.
“Aw, you flirt.”
And turned for the exit-- stopping at the tug--
He knew that one: hard for one to scale, even if he had done so before; hard, better in two--
The beam did not falter.
“After you.”
He followed after the stranger where they rushed; where they walked; harried to be gone and yet cautious not to cause more noise--
Such a creeping, such an uncomfortable exit, knowing every second mattered; every bad step could kill them; a single wrong choice and they died here.
And they had to creep.
But creep they did.
To the back of the place that retraced Jessie to his origins-- the saw him back where he’d come through first and he found a familiarity in this approach-- until the window came in sight, sprawled tauntingly too high on the floor; Jessie pressed himself to the wall immediately:
Fingers twined; his crouch low anything for the momentum to come--
And his eyes expectant, encouraging in a dangerous, and laissez fair cheer as if all too used to madness like this; all too addicted in some measure, as necessitated by the world that faced you with few options--
--so very used, and so very s m i t t en.
Posted 05-24-2021, 07:17 AM
His cheeks glimmered hot at the statement of "you flirt", the first meaning of the statement, that he so conveniently ignored, dawning on him. His protests were drowned by banging on the front windows.
]The man crouched before the window, conceding that perhaps this was the most viable option. Pride about his quick thinking flared in Ares for a moment, but the sound of claws scratching against polyester walls hastened his step as he holstered his gun.
He could see the shade of the other's eyes through the dusky haze, teased by the striking rays cast by the high window. They were blue, but not a commonplace hue. They almost glowed in the dark space. Yet now was not the time to admire pretty eyes and Ares stepped on the other's offered hands that pushed him towards the window.
The lock mechanism was commonplace and easy to maneuver and, as quietly as he could, he pushed the window out. Crisp wind hit him in the face, a stark contrast the stuffy, dusty air inside the dilapidated building. With both hands gripping the edge of the windowsill, he pulled himself up and out.
A lesser man would have left the other and ran. Or maybe, a smarter one, for even as they conspired to escape together, there was no way to trust the other. Neither thought passed through Ares' mind, as he turned and leaned back into the window. He stretched an arm down and it hung for the other to take, his other hand gripping the side of the wall to support himself. There were flashes of movement from behind and snarls that rang loud and clear, signaling that the Infected had found a way in. Ares' eyes flashed with urgency.
"Sally," he hissed, resolute in that that was the other's name. He pointed a finger past the other's head. "Behind you."
From his vantage point, he could spot a shadow, moving and creeping in the dim. It was vaguely human shape, but even a novice adventurer could notice the besital way in which its back bent and its eyes glowered. It had not spotted Sally, yet, but should it turn its head to the left as it sniffed hungrily, it would surely notice the morsel dangling from a window. Tag : Jessie Michels
Posted 05-25-2021, 08:38 AMThis post was last modified: 05-25-2021, 08:41 AM by Ares Wheeler
For a moment he was looked at; for a moment he was seen; for a moment he had a look questioning-- do you, too, find them inevitably blue; such a lingering kind of a shade--
Do you.
--such a memory to stow late at night.
But he didn’t ask this; as the guy took him up on his offer, Jessie got a rather lovely view of the man’s crotch-- and by which he meant: it bumped into his face, and he kind of held back on chuckling, realizing that all things considered--
MAN.
What a position he was in here.
Maybe, even good enough to bite the other’s dick off--
Which coursed Jessie’s mind only for that delightful one moment to remind him why he’d not been promoted yet, and why it wasn’t happening far and wide--
In the future.
This here.
Then--
Jessie finally swung his body up-- allowing the momentum to near flawlessly carry the stranger’s form up along the wall, until the successful sounds of his shuffle announced him in safety-- in some meaning of word.
But--
Sally, the stranger whispered to him, and though Jessie should have been harried, though he had every reason to be--
--though he should have been grabbing the hand offered, or picking pace up ‘cause of the infected mention--
Jessie just beamed at the absolute stranger, actually wasting time.
“Aw, you called me Sally--
“You must love me,” he hurried to say (whisper), and with that he ran towards the wall, bouncing off to grab at the edge of the window-- and the other’s hand in his other, not allowing his body to drop and only pushing upwards more and more, the momentum of his motion abused, and serving him proper.
Twas as he did that, naturally, that the infected came clawing at the same wall he’d been stood at seconds ago, Jessie’s frenzied pitter patter at first fearing for him he’d been caught, scratched, bitten--
He almost scratched his neck on some spot.
Instead, scurrying to stand and grabbing the other by his waist, Jessie hurried to get them out of where--
“Oh, slut me, I keep touching you like I bought you on a street corner, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, shall we hurry? I’m Jessie.”
With that he did let the other go-- minding to wind away from here, keen to put distance between them and this shop of the infected.
Posted 05-26-2021, 01:36 PM
His heart thrummed in his chest. But not at the Infected that crept dangerously in the corner of the room. No, it was the whisper of the other man hot against his ear, the way his strong hands grabbed his waist. A vision flashed in Ares mind, and blue eyes melted into hazel, dark hair grew to blonde waves.
Ares helped pull the other up, as the telling snarl and sound of claws scratching the concrete surface of the wall precariously followed. He cast a grimace at the shadows, twitching in hunger and desperation and promptly shut the window behind the soldier to afford them some time.
"I-it's fine," Ares said, blush accentuating his freckled cheeks as he was unused to such language, especially from a stranger, though he made himself shrug off the bashfulness and secured the pistol in his hands. They made haste from the store and ensured a wide distance from the horde of Infected. The fine news was that most of the surrounding predators had been drawn to the store, enticed by the prospect of an easy meal. Their escape was clandestine and swift, though Ares only allowed himself to stop and breath when they reached a low level roof.
He planted his hands on his thighs to catch his breath, then looked up at Jessie through wavy, tawny strands.
"Ares," he answered subsequent to Jessie's last statement. He stood up and scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "And I'm the one that should be sorry. On account of almost getting us killed and what not." Tag : Jessie Michels
He could feel some hum; they were close; it could have been his own; it could have been not; but up he went and the safety, in a sense, returned: though it felt brittle but a flower, mostly when the tornado happened upon her, it was:
It existed and the window shut.
It’s fine.
Jessie beamed.
He felt so tempted to ask, deliciously, do I fluster you, but suppose out of consideration, he held back.
For another while.
He rubbed his chest weirdly when the other caught his breath; the heartbeat on him pumped the loudest, and yet Jessie inhaled and exhaled whilst standing, meditating the stress, eyes locked without mistake:
Pinned onto the other as if two daggers.
He smiled.
The urge to brush the other’s hair back came, and went.
Ares.
Jessie’s smile turned crooked at the words.
“Ah,” he said, glancing behind themselves-- at the window, some dumber infected pawed, wanting to reach their prey.
Their delicious prey.
And Jessie’s smile widened at the thought--
He glanced back at Ares.
A casual, relaxed gaze.
“Well, never mind that, it happens. Would rather it didn’t but--”
He stepped out at that, past the other as if to escape-- though only to pause--
And squint his eyes in contemplation.
“A fellow looter, huh. Want to loot something together.”
He gave a brazen eye waggle, before he looked in the direction of the bank-- right past Ares’s shoulder, through walls perhaps and brick and so: still, he looked, the suggestion, he hoped, obvious.
Posted 05-28-2021, 02:40 AM
The man looked ready to part ways. Ares had a hand reaching for his rifle, ready to brave the broken carcass of a city once more, when he heard the man stop and speak. He paused, flashing green eyes at the other, before his gaze trailed to where the other's eyes pointed. It was a striking structure in that it was not so dilapidated as the buildings around it. Disregarding the vines the crawled up its walls and the moss that had grown between the brick crevices, it was in good shape and might have made a sturdy base for a drifter or two.
Ares looked back at Jessie. His heart should have thrummed in excitement at the prospect of exploring an unknown structure, but instead Ares gripped the handle of his rifle apprehensively. Strangers in a strange setting always set Ares' nerves off and there was something eerie about this particular building.
"You know what's in there?" he asked, attempting to keep the wariness from his voice. In truth, he would have liked to barge in with the other, who had proven his trustworthiness by aiding Ares in their escape rather than shooting the youth and looting his corpse while he was still splayed on the ground. He already felt he had something to prove to Jessie, that he was not some bumbling idiot that set alarm bells ringing wherever he went.
But the question still hung in the air, along with the rhythmic thrums of the Infected banging the window behind them.
Even so, Jessie stood his post, feeling like the seductress snake that had beguiled Eve and her husband.
He felt it--
It was like alcohol.
He smiled.
Even as the other clutched his rifle hard-- even as he appeared fearful for all the reasons right, even as Jessie calculated how the other’s knuckles paled, where the blood rushed instead, where it thrummed, hungry, yet not endless-- he continued to stand where he did, by now so sure of being a snake in here that their private Eden of death and blood should abruptly erupt in treasures and troves.
He looked it.
It was why he faced Ares.
Why he stood them in a very vis-a-vis way, face to face, chest to chest; his own blue, burning eyes promising something like danger, and adventure, and maybe not coming out alive.
Yet the heart of his hummed hungrily, yet his blood roiled quietly, and Jessie clenched his fists.
“Yes,” he replied-- with all the confidence-- he grinned the part.
Then, he made a mistake. A potential one.
He approached.
His hand also clutched the other’s rifle, not at all to rip it from the other’s hold, but almost to reach for that unwilling olive branch between their persons, leaning in all conspiratorial, and promising like the snake he was, after all; and if the snake from the tale of Adam and Eve had been the Devil, indeed, then Jessie looked the part exactly, much shimmer of (violent) delights and their (violent) flavors shown in his eyes.
“Come,” he beckoned, eyes wide; brows arched up; his grin honest.
And large.
“We’ll take a gander,” he promised, “split the loot.”
Eh-- they could.
Could.
He squinted in tease-- and appeared to move the rifle only a bit to the side, except his hand slid down--
To touch Ares’s, fingers upon fingers and the distance feeling gone.
It was not.
"And if we're fucked, well, I got some explosives on me too so-- we'll go out with a bang."
It was not a promise one should make.
Yet he made it-- all paired with a teasing brow waggle, and that purely beckoning, come hither expression.
Posted 06-08-2021, 04:17 AM
This man screamed danger. Sure, he had helped Ares escape the abandoned building and they fled together. And he did not shoot Ares in the face when the looter was spread helpless on the ground. But Ares wondered if such a fate were preferable to the trouble Jessie suggested they got into. It was those telling blue eyes, vixen and shadowed, the true intent buried under layers of temptation.
Jessie took a step forward and Ares took a smaller step back, clutching the rifle even harder, those years of training to hold the gun with comfort gone as Ares looked an unfamiliar opponent in the face. Jessie reached forward and Ares gripped the gun harder. But, to his surprise, the other's touch was gentle, as he urged the younger man to lower it. Ares, unwittingly, obliged, wide green eyes staring wide the other, unsure of what to make of him.
Ares jumped in his frozen skin when he felt the man's fingers brush his own. They were hot and humane, unlike the smooth, cool surface of the weapon in his hands. Preferable to the rifle.
What would Ettie do in a situation like this?
Ares could only imagine the smooth-talking Eclipse Boss negotiating with the other. Perhaps convince him to split the loot in his favor, 75-25. Or to leave whatever allegiance Jessie pled and instead serve the Eclipse. Ares so desperately wanted to be like his idol and friend. To make him proud.
But he could only stammer out, "Al-alright." Green eyes matching those cool blue ones, unabashedly telling of his diffidence. Like a dog ready to be led on a leash. Tag : Jessie Michels
Jessie anticipated the reaction like a tiger; for a moment, and it was a wrong moment, he felt vile; a little backtracking motion from the other, the tightness of his grip on his weapon--
Fear me, Jessie thought suddenly, pretending he was troubled by this--
Fear me, he thought still, aware that the utmost kind of anger he could figure in connection with his person--
Was just understanding.
A bitter, and uncomfortable understanding he liked the tender touch of fear on him--
That he liked to think about it.
Focus and expand on it--
Thinking to himself-- thoughts malicious indeed, and yet thoughts comforting as well in the same line of picking out the milk for the weekend--
Or having sugar in coffee today--
I could hurt you.
I could really, really hurt you.
But I won’t, he thought too when the other jumped--
I won’t, Jessie thought, and he knew that to be a lie.
Alright.
Though it came out stuttered, it was one: an answer.
And so Jessie beamed, and letting go of the other entirely, he backed off into the mouth of the alley they had hidden in, a smart alcove rather, peering over the railing thereof and out onto the expanding streets, feeling dangerous.
He smiled, though.
“Come here, come here,” he urged, somewhat conspiratorial; and if Ares did come in to join him--
Stupidly, Jessie would bump hips; because hip bumping was the staple of a healthy, consenting… something.
He giggled to boot, too; appearing mischievous and like color had returned to the world once more, and there Jessie peered at Ares, curiously asking--
"So tell me, wutcha good at. Melee, hand to hand-- seduction tactics."
Like an idiot, he giggled at that.
Posted 06-17-2021, 08:10 AM
What was swimming in those ocean eyes? Ares hated this- the unknowing. And yet he could feel himself melting into that gaze. It was a feeling far from comfort. It was danger, but not the kind that froze Ares with fear. It was exciting, thrilling, the kind Ares sought, the reason he continued to lust after his leader.
Jessie let go, but it felt premature. They were not done, not yet.
He watched the man walked over the railing and lean over it, with the confidence of a king looking over his gnarled, decaying kingdom. Ares still had the rifle in hand, but he held it with second thought, forgetting it in lieu of observing the man and his chocolate locks dance in the wind.
"Come here."
Ares obeyed unthinkingly, like the man had some hold over him. Settled next to him on the railing, the broken world reflected in his green eyes that expressed wonder and fascination at how the town looked cloaked in sunlight. Grays and greens and browns, melded into one chaotic landscape.
The other bumped his hip. It bade Ares to look on the other, wide eyes blinking in surprise. He was not sure if the other man was toying with him, with how comfortable the other felt around a stranger, especially one that wielded a gun. Or if the man was just as foolish and trusting as Ares. Ares stood still, but did not tighten the grip around his gun.
The stranger asked about what he was good at. His seduction techniques. Ares flushed, an innocent shade of pink on sunkissed cheeks, and ducked his head, hiding beneath a sweep of hair.
He was definitely toying with him.
"N-no!" he squeaked. "What-what makes you say that?" Tag : Jessie Michels
At least the bump was withstood; still, the guy looked remarkably uncomfortable, which did have Jessie figuratively putting his finger on it all in the hopes of figuring it out--
Mystery, clearly, mostly as the man continued to stand beside him, all wide, green yes, and the intense blush.
And the flustered response.
Jessie giggled.
“My god.”
He’d not say anything for a while; but the few seconds of silence that followed weren’t entirely silent-- words, they didn’t appear, and yet the flush on Jessie’s cheek, the newly demure look on him--
They did all the talking.
Even the way he ducked his head.
Until whatever few brittle chuckles he’d failed to hold back were over, and yet again bump in the night they went-- or rather, just a literal bump; another case of hips meeting hips, and Jessie slanting a soothing, bewitching look at him--
“It’s okay, brother, I’m just teasing. You’re not really keen…”
Clearly thinking, he paused.
He did so only to turn ‘round so that the railing could dig into his back; he did not lean all his weight on it; already fearing that the diminished structure could buckle, he supported himself so-so against, hands gripping the wider top as well so he could watch the other--
So he could gaze at him-- almost as one would at a pretty painting.
And Ares was one.
So, sporting a weirdly smoldering, amused expression Jessie finished his thought-- sounding sly, sounding curious.
“On the, uh… sexual stuff, yeah? Virgin, saving yourself for someone, or catholic?”
By the sounds of it, he found the last one to be the most (and an only thing) insulting.
Posted 06-17-2021, 10:39 AM
Posted 05-12-2021, 01:50 PM
The old lady Abyss
