mixedinterpretations

[mixedinterpretations]

meme weekend 》 🍵 Do they prefer to ask out a partner or be asked?

Gus would prefer to be asked, because he gets a little shy about cutesy dating and romance stuff! But he will, if he's in a good mood or really feels strongly about it!

LOVE & SEXUALITY Q'S - ASA // VAL // OZ // GUS 

[mixedinterpretations]

Gus laughs, leaning back into the bench. "I figured whoever you were looking for had a more important reason to keep you than me!"

He has no problem having this faux argument back and forth with a stranger - Gus has been drinking too, and he's feeling better with the promise of late-night garbage food. Which he still hasn't taken a fucking bite out of.

Gus is still holding out the few dollars expectantly. "Go on then, get all the hotdogs! Eh... I think that'll just buy you one, though. And my hint, which sounds as good as gold at this point. Call me invested."

"And you couldn't even lie!" Tristan exclaims, shamelessly appalled.

It's stranger than an offer for a drink, but perhaps not strange at all, given New York. Why the fuck n—"I want aaaalllll the hotdogs."

And he's also a little drunk.

"Nice try cherry pie, but I don't give away my secrets that easy." Beat. "A hotdog gets you a hint, that's it."

[mixedinterpretations]

ღ for tristan

Sexual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Romantic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Aesthetic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Sensual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Emotional attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Intellectual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme

Send a ‘ღ' to get rated on attraction: ASA // VAL // OZ // GUS // ASH

@tristanzaire

[mixedinterpretations]

ღ - Mira

Sexual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Romantic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Aesthetic attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Sensual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Emotional attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme Intellectual attraction: none | very low | low | medium | high | very high | extreme

Send a ‘ღ' to get rated on attraction: ASA // VAL // OZ // GUS // ASH

@miraxzhang

[mixedinterpretations]

......

The ache is tenfold within Gus. He shouts and starves for Dom's touch in the same breaths. He's angry at him. Pissed that this man has shown his face after 5 years and set his skin on fire again. But this time the hands move in a different way. The patterns are lustful and needy as Gus had wished, had dreamed of.

Fuck. He's bitten and laved at, old scars explored with tongue - and Gus grips onto him when he can think beyond the pleasure, beyond the shift and sway of palm against his backside and the push to the bed.

And he drops back onto it. Hands slip down and he helps work the belt off, until he's nearly naked on the bed. This is new. Dom's seen him in many instances - bloodied and bruised, crying. His old uniform stuck to his sweat-stained body. Shaking, fed water as if it was his last drink on earth... not like this. Not wanting, excited. Chest heaving from need. He pushes that thin fabric off his hips, down and off. Until he's naked on the messy bed. Exposed. Gazing up at him with chocolate brown eyes. Holding his arms out, almost... kindly.

Come here, then. And see all of me.

.

tempestuous dark eyes grow blacker, devour every inch of gus' skin he's afforded. there's an ache in him, in his core, and he realises benignly that he's just as needful as the other, just as undoubtedly touch starved. they mirror and oppose each other.

"some of my best," his head tilts, a little coyly, "you were... so receptive, even then," it's not disingenuous, domenico spits it like a compliment, as if being divine in suffering was a praiseworthy trait. he catches the shirt and casts it aside, contributes to the mild disarray of the vehicle.

he readvances, this time his tongue and teeth seek the skin of gus' chest, of his neck and shoulders, hand moving to feel the curve of his ass, the planes of the body. he minded them back towards the bed, waited until he could tell that gus would be safe, and pushed him down a little too roughly onto the mattress. he felt at gus' hips, lifted them as he tugged them free of fabric, stripping gus down with a practiced finesse, leaving him just short of completely exposed. that, he wanted gus to do. "off," he murmured, "i want to see all of you,"

[mixedinterpretations]

👌 (someone muse has met once but won't forget)

Up until about a few days ago, that was Domenico. Someone who was part of the group that held Gus (and his partner Graham) hostage, but also the one who treated him with the most 'kindness'. He only knew him for the 2 days he was there, but Dom's face and presence has stuck with him for these past 5 years. The one who shot Graham, the one to allow Gus to live. @paledhorse

[mixedinterpretations]

He's stumbling along, even into his own vehicle that he's spent ample time in. Gus should be focusing on who's around, if someone saw him - his intern left alone to pack up... but instead, he's being kissed. Falling back into the RV with the door closing behind them.

Gus makes a noise against his mouth. Tries to find purchase against Dom's body. Some place to put his hands. Those broad fingertips hold him in place as his lips and tongue are claimed - and that scar that goes from upper lip to under his nose, mostly hidden by his facial hair... he can feel him trace it. What he did to him... cut him open to show teeth and gums...

"They're... all still there..." Gus's voice is half pissed, half pleasured. His hands moving to his own shirt. Helping get it tugged open. Beneath it are more - a few bullet wounds from the other men who'd been there. Wounds Domenico had nursed. Old scars on his shoulders, his back. Neck. "You... came to see your work after all this time, didn't you?" Gus is nearly hissing. The venom taking over his tongue briefly. As he throws the shirt into Dom's arms. It doesn't matter how angry he sounds - he's still hard, he's still eager. He still wants it.

hands entwined in hands again—dom permits the other to guide them to the rv, watches in patient amusement as gus struggles to get the door unlocked, eagerness paramount. leans in towards his ear, “relax,” breathed placations, “we have time,” 

as if to contradict himself, the moment the door opens, he reclaims control—steps into the vehicle, taking gus inward by the wrist. he’d never been inside, but he’d spent many days watching gus’ comings and goings from the place, navigated it with lax ease. 

kisses him again the moment they’re tucked away from prying eyes, more fervent, more demanding than before, fingers cupping gus’ jaw, thumb tracing patterns into his cheek, along the scar at his mouth, nearly hidden by his scruff. intends to stagger him, pulling a little too hard at gus’ shirt, teeth on lips, worrying the tender skin.

[mixedinterpretations]

👄 + Gabriel Morelos

"I just don't... know what the hell is going on. Why does he even want to talk to me again? Why can't he just leave me alone? Haven't... hasn't this all been enough? I was doing fine." @samemiistakes

send a ‘👄 + character name’ and my muse will talk about that character - ASA // VAL // MARS // OZ // GUS // MAL // ASH

[mixedinterpretations]

Right. The RV. Closer, sitting in the parking lot... it has a bed. A comfortable one, too. Gus's hands splay flat against the other's chest as he seems to think about it.

"Haven't had time to clean the RV much..." He mumbles, though he's already leaning towards that choice. His hands move back to fix his belt. Hard to shift away when the other's right up against him. But the warmth, the closeness, even while intimidating, sets his skin on fire in the nicest way.

He swallows. "...RV, then." He says after a moment of hesitation. He could even just say no. No, he can't do this. Not with him - not with his tormentor, a murderer. He could leave with some dignity. But instead, he's slipping a hand into the other's. Almost sweetly, almost kindly. Pulling him along to the parking lot, to the old RV he bought after he sold Graham and his apartment. Fumbling with keys to get the damned thing open and unlocking it after a bit of a hard time.

he’d forgotten in the time that had passed how responsive gus was to sensation—good and bad. how easily domenico could play him like an instrument, tug at his strings and his keys until he gave way, that malignance inside of him demanded to be fed by each noise he could entice.

a low chuckle, a noise from the depths of his chest, watching gus return to himself, remember where he was, what was at risk. of course, he wanted to say, of course i know, why do you think i’m holding back, “i know where your apartment is.” he noted, a little flatly, “i also know what you drive,”

he was giving gus a choice—something simple, to pass over the control for something inconsequential, to keep him grounded and present. dom could have easily made the decision for him, but watching the gears churn within the other offered something more.

[mixedinterpretations]

yes or no: is chelle the prettiest princess?

Obviously she's a wonderful girl. Could she be any cuter? "Yes!"

YES OR NO - ASA // VAL // MARS // OZ // GUS // MAL // ASH

[mixedinterpretations]

He's swimming in emotions that border on opposites - the feeling of disgust at himself, and the pure want and vicious lust that tears him apart. And it's this man that has dug his claws in. From 5 years ago, they haven't tugged free of his skin, and now he sees him in the flesh again. And he wants him.

What a dizzying thing it is, to be so wanted. To be chased for years and watched and hunted down. Simply because he's wanted. Maybe even needed. Gus is lost to these thoughts as fingers find him, as his clothing rustles off of him and a commanding mouth bites and teases.

The words spark both pleasure and embarrassment - and they remind him he needs to speak. He's been too busy gasping, moaning. Thinking about dirtying his knees on the bathroom floor. "Wh- of course I care, I..." He drops his head back, somehow managing to glare up at him. "I just... I just got back... if you've been following me for years then you know I need this job." Gus points out with his own huff. Then he's reaching down to try and pull his slacks up. "You... already know where my apartment is then?"

stain-glass starvation—-they’re both trapped somewhere between saint and sinner, something volatile and unloved colliding with benevolent loneliness. domenico’s hand quickens, tightens from a whisper-touch to firm, guiding motions. 

“not fair?” he breathes into gus’ ear before his lips are recaptured in a rapturous kiss. dovetail joints, it’s seamless completion, physical and singular worship, tongues tied.

fingers work deftly, unbutton gus’ pants and seek to wiggle them down his thighs. it’s a fantasy come alive, something domenico had brought himself off to now unfolding; the longing, longing, longing nearly suffocates him, prehistoric in nature. 

breaks them apart again, as only he can—exhales hard through his nose, a strange huff, “can i fuck you here or will it put you out of work?” a rare moment of restraint, “do you even care if you get fired, voracious little slut that you are?”

[mixedinterpretations]

He shouldn't be doing this. Uncharted territory. It's one thing to think about your tormentor years later, it's quite another to kiss him.

But it doesn't much matter what he should and shouldn't do. Because soon enough Dom's fingers have turned his head up and he's melting into the kiss he'd started but was no longer in command of. His hands slide up and over, around the man's broad shoulders to rest arms there. Keep him as close as he can.

Or does fear simply turn you on, Amado?

He shifts into him, heavy breath and stilted voice as he mumbles, "That's... not fair..." And Gus clings a bit tighter to the man's shoulder, his back. Fingers dig into his jacket and his head tilts backward as he bites at his neck. Stinging on his flesh with every scrape of teeth.

Keening. He's pressing into the hand that's already got him.

What if he had said no? Why had it never even crossed his mind to push him away? Gus finds his mouth again, more desperate than before.

there’s no shock on strong features—as if fate had been sealed the moment he’d set gus free in that warehouse, as if fate had curled up inside the two of them and begun knitting a ribbon that entwined them both.

he’d watched for far too long, knew the answer was a yes, but still needed him to confirm.

free hand comes to rest at gus’ jaw, thumb beneath his chin, tilting his head up so he could deepen the kiss, noses brushing, tongue finding tongue. it’s momentary, domenico was chasing something more than intimacy; devotion, deliverance, messianic relief, he breaks away so he can trail kisses down gus’ neck, nipping at them as he went. 

that’s what their interactions were—pain, intermixed with the briefest closeness. he wants to be the source of and the savior from destruction; the mangled roadkill of his heart beat hard against his ribcage. 

their bodies slotted together too perfectly to resist. fingers that were at his throat slide down gus’ chest; lower, lower, slipping beneath the waistbands of his clothes and furling around him in a loose stroke, “so you are at least a little happy to see me,” he murmured softly, “or does fear simply turn you on, amado,”

[mixedinterpretations]

AUGUSTUS AMADO THROUGH ROOK'S EYES....

@mixedinterpretations

[mixedinterpretations]

Gus leans into his hand, elbow still propped on the counter as he thinks about it. "You think wine can taste like cardboard? Red or white? Or both? I dunno if I've ever tasted a wine that tastes flat out like cardboard. But maybe I don't have a refined palate."

He definitely doesn't. "Oh god... could be either or. I'd rather it kept me up and let me party it up a bit, but I feel so old sometimes. It might just make me snooze before I even have time to think about it."

"No, no. Not all of them." Most, yes. But definitely not all. "You have to know what to ask for." Alex said, a smile forming on her lips as she glanced down at the wine she'd ordered. "Mine is superior, simply, because it does not taste like cardboard."

She hummed and nodded. "I suppose we are. Do you think the wine will help us with sleeping tonight, or perhaps, prevent us from getting fitful sleep?" She asked as her eyes flickered towards him.

[mixedinterpretations]

Deader than Disco. He laughs. Gus will have to remember that - it's funny and right up his alley. The man has no problem with letting them lean into his shoulder to get situated - soon enough, they're both nearly shoulder to shoulder at the crowded bar. "Must be the peanuts." Gus agrees sagely as he lifts his drink to his lips.

He doesn't know who they're talking about at first. Nor does he know why this old bald man is being pointed out to him. But Gus leans in anyways as if he's being told a very interesting secret. He just loves being included. "...yes? I think? Michael... Phelps, you said? I dunno if Michael Phelps looks like that."

" HEY , MAN  ,   APPRECIATE YA. "    they're the image of gin - soaked gratitude  ,   disheveled and grinning.   hand reaches for shoulder ,  giving it a friendly squeeze for good measure  &  using it to retain some balance when they move to take the offered seat.  their hip still bumps with the stool,   knees with the bar.   they're getting to the point of drunk where speaking works just fine ,  motorics not so much -- body feeling like it's moving with the speed of molasses in january.   " huh,   yeah,   you're tellin' me  --  this joint is usually deader than disco.  heh.  must be the peanuts,   right? "     a beat.    her eyes,   matching the color of the stout beer the bartender sends her way,   hasn't lingered on her fellow conversationalist for more than a second.   instead,   her gaze sticks glued to a fellow sitting across from them at the bar,   wearing the kind of wallstreet - jackass earpiece that went out of style approximately ten years ago.   their voice lowers ,  subtly .   " hey,   see that guy over there?  balding,   white.   looking kinda like uh ,   michael stipe wearin' a fat suit? "

[mixedinterpretations]

i'm here because you're mine.

It hits him like a swinging demolition ball - square in the chest. Crumbling the brick that's been held together with cheap paste anyways. He can't even parse the emotion he feels. Whatever it is, it sends a current of static down to his feet and right back up.

Why now, he wants to ask. He has so many more questions. But the hand squeezes around his own, and Dom's eyes are so piercing he feels his breath leave his body. Domenico's dunked his head in ice cold water. He's still gasping to get his bearings again, soaking wet and shivering.

Break you apart. He's so close he can smell that aftershave again. Can feel breath on his cheek. Gus opens and closes his mouth but he's stunned into silence. Is that what he wants? What Gus needs? To be broken open and apart again by this man? Hacked and pruned back down to the barest of roots, and regrown fresh? Will he come back with more thorns?

Gus swallows thickly. "Then." Dangerous. Stupid. "Fucking... just. Show me." They're in a bathroom. At work. He just got off academic probation. Shit.

It might be a surprise to both of them that the ex-agent initiates. Moves until chest is against chest. Hand still tucked beneath the broader one, as he kisses him too gentle for someone like Dom. Too kind.

It's always been Gus's downfall.

gus  was  the  saint  permitted  down  from  the  cross—a  sacrificial  lamb  left  to  grow  in  pastures  unknown,  into  a  horn-headed  but  touch  shy  creature.  domenico  was  the  serpent's  garden,  overgrown  in  absence  of  mercy.  both  were  biblical  in  the  war  tug  of  inflicted  and  inflictor.  

“i’m  here  because  you’re  mine,”  he  purred,  low  in  his  throat,  you’re  mine,  i  spared  you,  your  existence  depends  on  me.  that  power,  the  euphoria  of  complete  control,  he  wanted  it  back;  the  drought-starved  eland  guilted  not  the  drought-starved  lion  for  devouring  him  whole—domenico  had  been  brought  to  heel  by  fate,  gus  could  not  fault  him  for  clawing  back  that  domination  in  pluriform.  cold  brown  eyes  blazed  for  a  moment,  “in  more  ways  than  you  know,”

he’d  take  the  lashings,  the  punishment,  just  to  carve  out  a  space  where  his  will  was  absolute—somewhere,  deep,  deep  inside  him,  the  thought  stirred  a  nauseating  discomfort,  a  reminder  that  subjugating  another  person  so  profoundly  as  he  had  was  not  for  a man  like  him  to  do.  hands  squeeze  hands,  almost  as  if  to  reassure  gus,  he  was  crossing  all  lines  that  said  he  should  be  an  observer  and  enforcer,  never  blur  the  lines  further  than  that,  but  he  was  itching  to  return  to  that  warehouse,  to  gouge  out  a  home  inside  gus’  flesh,  a  prison  for  himself.  

he  wanted  to  crawl  inside  the  smaller  man  and  eat  him  from  the  inside  out.  strip  the  fascia  from  his  bones,  and  destroy  the  brightness  he’d  never  gotten  to  the  first  time.  but  most  of  all…

“i  want  you,  amado,”  voice  a  little  too  desirous,  a  little  too  full  of  possession,  “here…  now.”  a  beat,  leans  closer,  “i  want  to  break  you  apart.”

[mixedinterpretations]

( @criminalaw )

"Oh, here-" Gus chuckles softly, scooting over so there's more room for someone to sit at the one stool left available at the bar. He saw them coming in and it's definitely gotten a little busy since he popped in for whiskey about... two hours ago? "Don't usually see this place like this. I guess it's better than the depressing empty bar cliché but?" Gus grins, leaning into his arms. He's eager to talk, mostly so he doesn't have to think about the little visit he got the other day. "At least they haven't run out of the counter peanuts."