#did they just call her an alky x
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criminalmindsgonewrong · 2 years ago
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WEAKNESSES: WINE
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boreothegoldfinch · 3 years ago
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chapter 5 paragraph x
Of my classes, English was the only one I looked forward to, yet I was disturbed by how many of my classmates disliked Thoreau, railed against him even, as if he (who claimed never to have learned anything of value from an old person) was an enemy and not a friend. His scorn of commerce—invigorating to me —nettled a lot of the more vocal kids in Honors English. “Yeah, right,” shouted an obnoxious boy whose hair was gelled and combed stiff like a Dragon Ball Z character—“some kind of world it would be if everybody just dropped out and moped around in the woods—” “Me, me, me,” whined a voice in the back. “It’s antisocial,” a loudmouth girl interjected eagerly over the laughter that followed this—shifting in her seat, turning back to the teacher (a limp, long-boned woman named Mrs. Spear, who always wore brown sandals and earthtone colors, and looked as if she was suffering from major depression). “Thoreau is always just sitting around on his can telling us how good he has it —” “—Because,” said the Dragon Ball Z boy—his voice rising gleefully, “if everybody dropped out, like he’s saying to do? What kind of community would we have, if it was just people like him? We wouldn’t have hospitals and stuff. We wouldn’t have roads.” “Twat,” mumbled a welcome voice—just loud enough for everybody around to hear. I turned to see who had said this: the burnout-looking boy across the aisle, slouched and drumming his desk with his fingers. When he saw me looking at him, he raised a surprisingly lively eyebrow, as if to say: can you believe these fucking idiots? “Did someone have something to say back there?” said Mrs. Spear. “Like Thoreau gave a toss about roads,” said the burnout boy. His accent took me by surprise: foreign, I couldn’t place it. “Thoreau was the first environmentalist,” said Mrs. Spear. “He was also the first vegetarian,” said a girl in back. “Figures,” said someone else. “Mr. Crunchy-chewy.” “You’re all totally missing my point,” the Dragon Ball Z boy said excitedly. “Somebody has to build roads and not just sit in the woods looking at ants and mosquitoes all day. It’s called civilization.” My neighbor let out a sharp, contemptuous bark of a laugh. He was pale and thin, not very clean, with lank dark hair falling in his eyes and the unwholesome wanness of a runaway, callused hands and black-circled nails chewed to the nub—not like the shiny-haired, ski-tanned skate rats from my school on the Upper West Side, punks whose dads were CEOs and Park Avenue surgeons, but a kid who might conceivably be sitting on a sidewalk somewhere with a stray dog on a rope. “Well, to address some of these questions? I’d like for everybody to turn back to page fifteen,” Mrs. Spear said. “Where Thoreau is talking about his experiment in living.” “Experiment how?” said Dragon Ball Z. “Why is living in the woods like he does any different from a caveman?” The dark-haired boy scowled and sank deeper in his seat. He reminded me of the homeless-looking kids who stood around passing cigarettes back and forth on St. Mark’s Place, comparing scars, begging for change—same torn-up clothes and scrawny white arms; same black leather bracelets tangled at the wrists. Their multi-layered complexity was a sign I couldn’t read, though the general import was clear enough: different tribe, forget about it, I’m way too cool for you, don’t even try to talk to me. Such was my mistaken first impression of the only friend I made when I was in Vegas, and—as it turned out—one of the great friends of my life. His name was Boris. Somehow we found ourselves standing together in the crowd that was waiting for the bus after school that day.
“Hah. Harry Potter,” he said, as he looked me over. “Fuck you,” I said listlessly. It was not the first time, in Vegas, I’d heard the Harry Potter comment. My New York clothes—khakis, white oxford shirts, the tortoiseshell glasses which I unfortunately needed to see—made me look like a freak at a school where most people dressed in tank tops and flip flops. “Where’s your broomstick?” “Left it at Hogwarts,” I said. “What about you? Where's your board?” “Eh?” he said, leaning in to me and cupping his hand behind his ear with an old-mannish, deaf-looking gesture. He was half a head taller than me; along with jungle boots and bizarre old fatigues with the knees busted out, he was wearing a ratted-up black T-shirt with a snowboarding logo, Never Summer in white gothic letters. “Your shirt,” I said, with a curt nod. “Not much boarding in the desert.” “Nyah,” said Boris, pushing the stringy dark hair out of his eyes. “I don’t know how to snowboard. I just hate the sun.” We ended up together on the bus, in the seat closest to the door—clearly an unpopular place to sit, judging from the urgent way other kids muscled and pushed to the rear, but I hadn’t grown up riding a school bus and apparently neither had he, as he too seemed to think it only natural to fling himself down in the first empty seat up front. For a while we didn’t say much, but it was a long ride and eventually we got talking. It turned out that he lived in Canyon Shadows too—but farther out, the end that was getting reclaimed by the desert, where a lot of the houses weren’t finished and sand stood in the streets. “How long have you been here?” I asked him. It was the question all the kids asked each other at my new school, like we were doing jail time. “Dunno. Two months maybe?” Though he spoke English fluently enough, with a strong Australian accent, there was also a dark, slurry undercurrent of something else: a whiff of Count Dracula, or maybe it was KGB agent. “Where are you from?” “New York,” I said—and was gratified at his silent double-take, his lowered eyebrows that said: very cool. “What about you?” He pulled a face. “Well, let’s see,” he said, slumping back in his seat and counting off the countries on his fingers. “I’ve lived in Russia, Scotland which was maybe cool but I don’t remember it, Australia, Poland, New Zealand, Texas for two months, Alaska, New Guinea, Canada, Saudi Arabia, Sweden, Ukraine—” “Jesus Christ.” He shrugged. “Mostly Australia, Russia, and Ukraine, though. Those three places.” “Do you speak Russian?” He made a gesture that I took to mean more or less. “Ukrainian too, and Polish. Though I’ve forgotten a lot. The other day, I tried to remember what was the word for ‘dragonfly’ and couldn’t.” “Say something.” He obliged, something spitty and guttural. “What does that mean?” He chortled. “It means ‘Fuck you up the ass.’ ” “Yeah? In Russian?” He laughed, exposing grayish and very un-American teeth. “Ukrainian.” “I thought they spoke Russian in the Ukraine.” “Well, yes. Depends what part of Ukraine. They’re not so different languages, the two. Well—” click of the tongue, eye roll—“not so very much. Numbers are different, days of the week, some vocabulary. My name is spelled different in Ukrainian but in North America it’s easier to use Russian spelling and be Boris, not B-o-r-y-s. In the West everybody knows Boris Yeltsin…” he ticked his head to one side—“Boris Becker—” “Boris Badenov—” “Eh?” he said sharply, turning as if I’d insulted him. “Bullwinkle? Boris and Natasha?” “Oh, yes. Prince Boris! War and Peace. I’m named like him. Although the surname of Prince Boris is Drubetskóy, not what you said.”
“So what’s your first language? Ukrainian?” He shrugged. “Polish maybe,” he said, falling back in his seat, slinging his dark hair to one side with a flip of his head. His eyes were hard and humorous, very black. “My mother was Polish, from Rzeszów near the Ukrainian border. Russian, Ukrainian—Ukraine as you know was satellite of USSR, so I speak both. Maybe not Russian quite so much—it’s best for swearing and cursing. With Slavic languages—Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, even Czech—if you know one, you sort of get drift in all. But for me, English is easiest now. Used to be the other way around.” “What do you think about America?” “Everyone always smiles so big! Well—most people. Maybe not so much you. I think it looks stupid.” He was, like me, an only child. His father (born in Siberia, a Ukrainian national from Novoagansk) was in mining and exploration. “Big important job—he travels the world.” Boris’s mother—his father’s second wife—was dead. “Mine too,” I said. He shrugged. “She’s been dead for donkey’s years,” he said. “She was an alkie. She was drunk one night and she fell out a window and died.” “Wow,” I said, a bit stunned by how lightly he’d tossed this off. “Yah, it sucks,” he said carelessly, looking out the window. “So what nationality are you?” I said, after a brief silence. “Eh—?” “Well, if your mother’s Polish, and your dad’s Ukrainian, and you were born in Australia, that would make you—” “Indonesian,” he said, with a sinister smile. He had dark, devilish, very expressive eyebrows that moved around a lot when he spoke. “How’s that?” “Well, my passport says Ukraine. And I have part citizenship in Poland too. But Indonesia is the place I want to get back to,” said Boris, tossing the hair out of his eyes. “Well—PNG.” “What?” “Papua, New Guinea. It’s my favorite place I’ve lived.” “New Guinea? I thought they had headhunters. “Not any more. Or not so many. This bracelet is from there,” he said, pointing to one of the many black leather strands on his wrist. “My friend Bami made it for me. He was our cook.” “What’s it like?” “Not so bad,” he said, glancing at me sideways in his brooding, self-amused way. “I had a parrot. And a pet goose. And, was learning to surf. But then, six months ago, my dad hauled me with him to this shaddy town in Alaska. Seward Peninsula, just below Arctic Circle? And then, middle of May —we flew to Fairbanks on a prop plane, and then we came here.” “Wow,” I said. “Dead boring up there,” said Boris. “Heaps of dead fish, and bad Internet connection. I should have run away—I wish I had,” he said bitterly. “And done what?” “Stayed in New Guinea. Lived on the beach. Thank God anyway we weren’t there all winter. Few years ago, we were up north in Canada, in Alberta, this one-street town off the Pouce Coupe River? Dark the whole time, October to March, and fuck-all to do except read and listen to CBC radio. Had to drive fifty klicks to do our washing. Still—” he laughed —“loads better than Ukraine. Miami Beach, compared.” “What does your dad do again?” “Drink, mainly,” said Boris sourly. “He should meet my dad, then.” Again the sudden, explosive laugh—almost like he was spitting over you. “Yes. Brilliant. And whores?” “Wouldn’t be surprised,” I said, after a small, startled pause. Though not too much my dad did shocked me, I had never quite envisioned him hanging out in the Live Girls and Gentlemen’s Club joints we sometimes passed on the highway. The bus was emptying out; we were only a few streets from my house. “Hey, this is my stop up here,” I said. “Want to come home with me and watch television?” said Boris. “Well—” “Oh, come on. No one’s there. And I’ve got S.O.S. Iceberg on DVD.”
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back-and-totheleft · 6 years ago
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The Vices of the Knife
OS: I dealt with marijuana, I thought, effectively in Platoon, and I said so at the time. I said, “Look, this weed is a good thing. And it was a good thing in Vietnam.”
MH: Did you get stoned in Vietnam?
OS: Of course I did. Many times. Why? The first fucking time, in the rear. Because naturally, the first line of attack is [you shouldn’t smoke as a soldier because] you're putting other lives at risk, you're a bad soldier, and that wasn't true. We did it at the rear bases when we were not really in jeopardy except in the case of an incoming mortar or rocket or something. It was always in the rear because it was the only place we could relax. You didn't want to do it in the field because it would smell. People would [notice], and you had a lot of lifers in the field, not too many, but you had a few. You had assholes, you know, people who were, they called them alkies — they just liked alcohol. Going back to the war on drugs — as you know I got busted when I got back, with Vietnamese weed, actually coming back from Mexico. Isn't that bizarre? I was in the early Pre-War on Drugs. Nixon called it that in '71, that was when they were cracking down, partly because of the Vietnam thing, because a lot of guys were coming back high and fucked up. But not all of them. [....]
OS: No. I'll go back to your softball question, which is why I started this [new project]. I'm fascinated to know who I am. OK? And I don't know. And I grew up, let's call it brainwashed, like your Obama, from 1946 to 1968. Brainwashed. I mean, I had history a certain way, and I read it, and I believed it. My father was a Republican — a very intelligent man, well-read, quoted Shakespeare — but he definitely believed the Russians were out to conquer the world. And then under that basis, among other problems, I went to Vietnam because I felt we were doing the right thing. I served, I saw horrible things. I saw things I was disgusted by, but I didn't understand them. Just because you see something doesn't mean you can understand it.
MH: What were those things?
OS: The overall nature of the bombing. The way the racism kicked into the village. A part of my tour was going into villages, looking for weapons, doing things to villagers, checking them out, patrolling them. Sometimes we'd kill them. I got into this in Platoon. But you know, most of my time was in the bush where I didn't see many people. But what I saw was disgusting, in the rear base camps, where you were, you saw a lot of — I don't know what you call them…
MH: Like indentured servants? I saw that in Iraq. Non-Westerners there to support the U.S. military presence — either local Iraqis or foreign nationals, shipped in from Pakistan and the Philippines and places like that.
OS: We had the same issue in Vietnam. In the Army in the States, when you do basic training, you do your own fucking laundry, your own kitchen duty. Then you go to Vietnam. Well, we're hanging out, it's cheap. So all of a sudden you see all these Vietnamese are walking around the base in the rear, and they're doing your laundry. They're doing everything. They're selling everything. So something is fucked — you know damn well.
-Michael Hastings interviews Oliver Stone, “The Vices Of The Knife: Oliver Stone Talks Politics, Weed, And The Potential Petraeus Coup,” BuzzFeed News, November 5 2012 [x]
Note: Michael Hastings was a war correspondent for Newsweek and later a BuzzFeed News editor who covered the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. He also wrote a memoir about his fiancée, National Democratic Institute employee Andrea Parhamovich, who was killed when her convoy was attacked in a 2007 ambush in Baghdad, Iraq.
Michael was a vocal critic of the Obama Administration and the federal government’s policies on mass surveillance. He was killed in a car accident on June 18, 2013, eight months after this interview was published. Due to his investigations into several sensitive subjects which are briefly mentioned in this conversation - including the CIA - some have alleged Michael’s death is suspicious, although his family disagrees. The FBI released its file on Michael Hastings after an FOIA request four months after his death. Regardless we lost one of the great reporters when Michael Hastings died. Read more about Michael’s life here.
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bapyess1r · 4 years ago
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Sunny Daze
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WARNINGS: cursing and violence
Pairings: Rafe x OC
Tags: @desertvvitch
Chapter 17
Sunny’s POV
“I swear to god it’s this way!” I yelled as Rafe raised his gun at me. We’d been traveling for an hour just about and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could give them the runaround. We’d climbed a lot of rocks, stumbled aimlessly through the jungle, all beneath the beating morning sun. To be honest, I wasn’t exactly sure which direction they took. We stood now at the cliffs where I last saw the brothers and looked around me worriedly. ‘Maybe they climbed more rocks that way…. or maybe-’ I was pulled from my thoughts as Rafe grabbed a handful of my hair and shoved me face first against the vine covered wall. I cried out as he pressed the gun to my head again.
“I’m beginning to think that you don’t value your life-” He seethed in aggravation. I raised my hands helplessly as I tried to come up with something.
“No I do, I do! I just… I…” My plea began to fade as I noticed something right next to my face peeking between the vines. “If you could ease that piece off the back of my head, I think I mighta just found somethin’…” I said. He narrowed his eyes at me and huffed before backing away from me, his gun still pointed in my direction. I took a deep breath as I pulled apart the vines before me and sure enough, painted in what seemed like old blood was Avery’s sigil with an arrow pointing to the jungle path. “Here… this was where I saw them last- right here.” I grinned.
“Nadine, be a dear and take a quick look for me. Let’s see if our little redneck Princess is telling the truth.” He ordered with insult. I looked back at Rafe with a light snarl as Nadine shoved her way through the small crowd of mercenaries to peek into the jungle.
“Orca, Knot- with me.” She said, cocking her gun and the two mercenaries did the same as they followed her into the jungle.
“For your sake, I hope they find something.” Rafe commented unnecessarily. I rolled my eyes and placed my hands on my hips tiredly. I thought maybe I could get to him a little bit now that he was somewhat alone. With a confident sigh, I leaned into the wall.
“I’m sorry about leavin’ you at the auction. For what it’s worth, I had a great time-”
“Shut it-”
“But I mean it!” I smirked as I very slowly eased my way over to him. The soldiers around him began to raise their guns at me but Rafe raised a hand to halt them and let me run my hands down his stomach for a moment. “I mean…. imagine if we actually got the chance to finish the night…” I moaned to him with a Cheshire smile. I let my fingers hook into the front of his belt and my hips sway a bit as I spoke. His ears turned a faint shade of pink as he looked at me. ‘Now you have him…’ I thought to myself. He leaned into me as he whispered to me, looking into my eyes with that soft boyish expression from when we first met.
“Yeah, it would’ve been fantastic…” he said in a rather innocent tone before I heard the click of the gun near my head. I sighed as the darkness returned to his eyes. “Not that you’d ever know.” He said with a small smirk before stepping away from me with his gun still pointed. “You’re goood. Had we been on the same side, I’d almost fall for it. Matter of fact, outta the kindness… of my heart, I’m willing to give you a chance.” He said simply as he lowered his gun and approached me. He wasn’t very tall but he towered over me, just the same as any man normally would. I chewed the inside of my cheek and looked up at him boldly. His green eyes seemed to search my face with just a sliver of hope.
“Join me. I’ll make sure you’re well compensated, armed to the teeth, and you’ll get a decent cut of the treasure we find here today. You’d also be working rather closely with me…” he began but I wasn’t sure what he was getting at. Was he offering me a job or a chance to choose him? “I take good care of my team, Sunny. And I could take care of you, too...” He said to me in a tone that was very out of character for him. I smiled at him before inching closer. My voice changed into something deep and hateful as my brows furrowed.
“I’d rather eat a bowl of chitlins that’s been sittin’ in the sun for weeks-” I snapped before the back of his hand came in contact with my face. I squealed as I held it under the pressure of my fingers, shaking.
“You will… show me some form of respect.” He stated firmly as he looked down at me. Just as I looked up, Nadine had returned from her brief scout into the jungle with a bright smile on her face.
“Rafe. She was right.” She said and a faint splash of relief hit me. His eyebrows raised as he looked at me.
“Pity we aren’t on the same side. I’d be congratulating you.” He commented as I continued to massage my jaw.
“Why? I wasn’t the first to find it.” I frowned.
“If we get to this treasure first, no one will have to know that.” He said before grabbing my elbow and forcing me to my feet before pushing me towards the jungle. “Walk.” He ordered me as he glanced at Nadine. “I want teams covering all borders and exits. Make it very hard for them to leave. I’ve got a bone to pick with those two.”
We walked for a few minutes, following Nadine until the trees and vines had become eroded houses. We were barely touching the outskirts of the colony. I gasped, looking around as we had come to a thick brush. She pulled apart the plants to reveal a massive untouched city. Some of the buildings were barely holding up but others were still standing with minor damage. The way the fog touched the tops of the moss covered buildings ahead made it all seem so dreamlike. I could only imagine the looks on the brothers’ faces. The look on Sam’s face... “Libertalia…” I murmured to myself. I couldn’t believe I was actually here. All this time and I was finally laying eyes on the lost pirate colony. I let my mind imagine civilian pirate families walking to the local market, men running the taverns, gambling in the streets, doing whatever pirates did back then. People were walking the same path I was on hundreds of years ago. I chuckled as I realized some of Sam’s enthusiasm for pirate history rubbed off on me. I watched as Nadine and her team stepped out first.
“Shall we?” Rafe gestured as he drew back the plants for me and I stepped through cautiously.
“So now what? I gotcha here to Libertalia. I dunno where Avery’s treasure is hidden. I didn’t catch the details…” I said as he came in after me, his eyes taking in the wonder of the lost pirate colony.
“You, my dear, are now leverage. They won’t get in our way if we have you. I’ll make goddamn sure of that.” He replied, admiring the scenery with a smirk.
“It won’t work…” I mumbled.
“Come again?” He asked, sharply snapping his gaze towards me. I didn’t mean for it to actually come out of my mouth but he had already heard me. So I ran with it...
“It. Won’t. Work. Bitch boy.” I said, audaciously. He narrowed his eyes before stalking toward me slowly.
“And why the hell not?” He growled, calling my bluff. I scrambled for a reasonable answer up until I realized I had stuck my foot in it.
“Because! Because…. Ummm……” I crossed my arms and bit my lip hard, avoiding his rather harrowing gaze. When I couldn’t answer, he leaned forward and whispered low enough for the two of us to hear. His green eyes darkened as he held my gaze, strongly. “I am this close to just putting a bullet in that pretty head of yours enough as it is. Don’t. Push it.” He said. I stared at him, flaring my nostrils. I didn’t dare flinch in his sight. “Restrain Ms. Spurrs, please. Find somewhere to keep her until we get a camp set up.” With that, he walked away to explore a bit. One of the mercenaries grabbed my arm and his comrade tied my wrists together again. I grunted and rolled my eyes as the men led me away to the nearby stocks.
I sat for a while. Humming a few tunes, looking at the Henry Avery statue that towered before me. From the corner of my eye I could see a plane swipe across the sky. I glanced at the guard to make sure he wasn’t paying attention before looking at it again. I knew that plane. It was Sully’s plane. I knew it wasn’t coming for me but still I felt a sense of relief. I began to feel a surge of confidence and a need to cure my boredom until I could get out from under Rafe. If I ever got out. I began banging my knees together and swaying my head from side to side, twisting my lips as I came up with something to say. I looked at the guard that leaned against Avery’s statue and nodded at him.
“Yo,” I called to him. He lifted his sunglasses and furrowed his brows at me. “I’m thinking of a synonym for an alcoholic beverage.” He scoffed and put his shades down again before staring off at the scenery again. I sucked my teeth and whined. “Oh c’mon! It’s been like an hour and a half! I’m starvin’, my ass hurts sittin’ on this cobblestone, I kinda gotta pee, my arms are sore, and I’m bored out of my everlovin’ mind! Humor me for a few.” I begged. He scoffed and shook his head.
“For an alcoholic beverage, you said?” He asked with the same strange accent as Nadine. I made it a point to ask about it at some point as I nodded with a small smile. “Brew.” I hissed and made a face at him.
“Nope.”
“Alky?”
“Mmm…. think big words.”
“.... libation?”
“That’s a really good guess but nah!” I smirked as I watched him scratch his beard in thought.
“I’m stumped. What’s the answer?”
“Inebriant.” I grinned. And he flexed his lip nodding his head. “Your turn! Think of a synonym and I’ll guess it!” I watched as he rattled his brain, tapping his fingers on the hilt of his gun.
“How about ‘annoying’?” He said with sarcasm. I truly sat and pondered answers though.
“Vexing, tiresome, bothersome, irksome, inconvenient, plaguy…. punchable?!” I listed off several words before he’d had enough.
“All of those things are what you are right now.” He told me. I pouted dramatically.
“Now that’s just rude-” I began when I heard a loud bang and several gunshots in the distance. The guard raised his gun and searched around before pressing his finger into his ear comm. He nodded repeatedly as he listened to what he was being told. I leaned in like an idiot, trying to hear what was being said before he gave a “yes sir, on my way.” He walked toward me suddenly and grabbed me by the arm, lifting me to my feet. “Hey bud, you mind tellin’ me where we’re goin’?” I asked with a nervous laugh.
“Boss man needs you with him.” He told me briefly. My heart sped up its pace at the mention of Rafe.
“What does he want with me?” I asked with a bit of panic. I hadn’t given much thought to what would happen next. When he didn’t answer me, my breathing became staggered.
He took me quite a distance around the city, the sound of explosions being heard the closer we got to our destination. He took me through a cave in the mountain that one of the buildings sat on. It was dark and damp, lit up with site lamps and mercenaries were posted throughout the tunnel until we reached what I could only assume was the new camp Rafe set up. There were crates and maps spread all over the place. A laptop sitting next to all the tools and artillery. A beautiful view of Libertalia could be seen from the opening that displayed a sunlit cliff. There was a lot of racket going on above us and dust fell every time a bomb sounded. My brows knitted together as the guard pushed me towards Rafe and I fell to my knees. Another explosive went off and the entire cave rumbled, bits of rock falling around us. Rafe rolled his eyes as a bit of dust sprinkled onto his black tee shirt clad shoulder. He brushed it off in annoyance before walking towards me.
“What’s happening?!” I yelled above the noise.
“If it’s this noisy usually it means either we’ve found something or someone’s making trouble.” The noise settled after a few seconds and all I could hear was the building creaking and cracking above the cave, pieces of wood crashed on the mossy stone cliff. “Considering I didn’t get a call about any new artifacts, I’m assuming it’s your laughable excuse for friends. But don’t worry. Nadine will make short work of them and then I can resume my search-”
“You underestimate just how good they are, Rafe. And that’s where you’re gonna fuck up.” I snapped, staring him in the eyes. He balled up his fists like a child again.
“I hope she kills them both.” He retorted with a smize. I took a deep breath, choosing to believe that the universe wouldn’t let that happen and that by the grace of God-
“Ah! Shit…” I heard a voice grunt as three bodies fell to the ground on the cliff outside of the cave. I gasped when I noticed two of those bodies belonged to Nathan and Sam. Nadine had fallen across from them and her gun slid an equal distance from the three. Nathan tried his best to race to the gun but Nadine brought a strong kick to his ribcage. Sam and Nadine both leapt for the gun but Sam got to it first, raising it as they stood. “You’re fast… but you’re not that fast.” He said, aiming the gun right at her head. Nathan rose to his feet, clutching his side as Nadine stared down the barrel of the gun.
“Sam, just leave her! We gotta go now-” He said as he tried to approach his armed brother.
“Let’s go. Time for you to be useful.” Rafe said to me as he grabbed me by the arm hard enough to leave a bruise. He and a handful of mercenaries ran out to the cliff to stop them. In a panic, I watched as Sam grabbed Nadine, holding her hostage in his robust arms, pressing the gun to her temple as she raised her hands helplessly. He was an entire head and shoulders above her and his arms were the size of her head so it was definitely difficult to free herself. She pursed her lips and tightened her face as the gun dug into her temple. ‘He wouldn’t really… Would he? Not like this…’ I thought as the mercenaries filed out before us, pointing their guns at them.
“Woah, woah, woah- let’s just…. everybody calm down. We can talk this out-” Nathan started but Sam’s sense of survival was too heightened at the moment to notice his brother’s attempt to keep them alive. He was being reckless again.
“Everybody put their guns down! All of you! Now!” Sam roared. I’d never heard him speak in this tone before. The look on his face was something neurotic. Rafe just laughed.
“No.” He said simply.
“Rafe, watch it! This guy’s on edge-” Nadine grunted as she tried not to move against the gun.
“Oh don’t worry, Nadine, these guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood. It’s just not their style.” Rafe said a little too calmly as he appeared from the cave with his hand still gripping my arm.
“You willin’ to bet her life on that?” Sam growled, having not noticed me yet. Rafe smirked before bringing me into the light.
“Are you willing to bet her's?” He said, roughly shoving me to the ground before them. The moment Nathan’s eyes met mine, I began to burst into tears. Sam’s face paled as he saw me crawling on the ground towards them. Nathan pulled his knife and immediately cut me loose. I could hear Rafe’s gun clicking as I hugged him tightly. When I turned to look at Rafe, he was pointing the gun dead at me. “Go ahead. Shoot her.” He egged him on as he adjusted his aim to perfection.
“You kill me, you and Sunny will both die-” Nadine bargained but Sam was too fidgety and paranoid to hear it.
“Shut your mouth!” He grumbled anxiously to her as he shoved the gun into her head again. Rafe and the mercenaries began to close in on us slowly.
“Sam…” I murmured. This wasn’t him. It couldn’t be.
“Not another step!” He shouted. Rafe gave a sinister smile.
“You mean like this?” He teased, taking another step forward. Sam growled as he let his finger ghost over the trigger.
“Sam, put the gun down!” Nathan pleaded but his brother still ignored him.
“I warned you…” Sam said darkly.
“DO IT!” Rafe snapped, trying to call his bluff.
“Sammy, no!” I shouted as Nathan leapt at him. My hands covered my mouth as a single shot fired. He managed to pull the gun from her head and out of his hand just in time, releasing Nadine from Sam’s grip as he gut checked him. He raised the gun, hanging it loosely on his fingers to show surrender. To show peace.
“It’s fine! It’s okay!” He said, tossing the gun towards Nadine. “It’s done… see?” Nadine stared at him leeringly, her eyes never leaving him as she picked up her gun. She gave Rafe an angry expression.
“‘Don’t worry, Nadine. It’s not their style.’” She hissed at him as she walked over to the enemy line. Rafe shrugged.
“What can I say, sweetheart? I didn’t think he had it in him-” he chuckled but Sam curled his fingers into a strong fist and snarled.
“You don’t know what I got.” He said roughly. Rafe chuckled as he walked over to him and did something I never expected. He brushed the dirt off of his shoulders and patted his chest with a smile.
“Samuel, you alright?” He asked with derision. Sam avoided his gaze and Rafe snickered as a darkness clouded his eyes. “I mean… I guess you knew this day was coming, right?” He snarled before taking the hilt of his gun and striking it across his face causing the larger man to fall before him.
“Rafe, stop it!” I exclaimed, lunging towards him but Nathan put an arm in front of me to keep me back.
“Hey! Take it easy! You already got us…” Nathan pleaded as Rafe raised the gun at him a moment. I was shaking, watching Sam holding his nose as he crawled on the ground. This simple treasure hunt had turned out to be something much more dangerous. People had tried to kill me before but this was something different. “You’re a businessman, right? Let’s make a deal.”
“Oh! Oh yeah, a deal? Love to hear what you have in mind!” He snapped, kicking Sam in the side harshly. He cried out in pain, clutching his side in pain as he laid in the dirt, attempting to get up a second time. “You go ahead. I’m listening.” He said pacing slowly in front of us. I ran to Sam’s side and he groaned as I lifted his head in my lap.
“Are you okay?” I asked him, pushing his hair off of his face.
“What are you doin’ here, Sunny?” He grumbled. I chuckled nervously for a moment.
“Whaddya think, asshole? You know I never listen.” I said sweetly. He sighed as he tried to catch his breath.
“I wish you had for once…” he mumbled, his expression giving me a moment of a certain hidden softness but I caught it. I looked at Nathan as he tried to negotiate with the enemy, helping Sam up as I did. Nathan reached out to pull me beside him protectively as he spoke.
“We’ll help you find Avery’s treasure.” He said.
“And in exchange, I let you live?” Rafe asked as he peered at us from the tip of his structured nose.
“Yeah…” Nathan breathed. “That and a small cut.” Rafe just laughed heartily as he looked at his crew before bringing his gaze to us.
“The gauchos on this guy, huh?” He snickered, gesturing to him.
“Just enough to buy him his freedom.” I added, stepping up. Rafe stares at me a moment in confusion.
“His freedom?” He asked. I nodded vigorously but Sam put a hand on my wrist carefully.
“Sunny…” he whispered roughly. Nathan held his hand up to Sam to quiet him so he could agree with me vocally.
“Yeah. He did some hard time- our time. And the guy who broke him out, Hector Alcázar? He owes him a lotta money.” He told him. Rafe waved his hands about and shook his head.
“Woah, woah- what the hell are you talking about? Hector Alcázar died in a shootout in Argentina like… six months ago.” He chuckled before gesturing to himself. “I’m the one who got Samuel out.” My heart seemed to cease beating for a couple of seconds as a swarm of butterflies crowded my nerves. I knitted my brows together and stared at him.
“Excuse me…” I reacted with annoyance, snatching my wrist away from him. A wave of awkwardness crashed over us as Nate and I looked at his brother. Sam couldn’t even bring himself to look either of us in the eye. He kept his gaze fixed on the cracked dirt beneath our feet. Rafe gave a silent chuckle as he looked at us all like he was in an arena.
“Oooohhh….” he snickered. “What did he tell you- Sam, what kinda story did you cook up?” He asked in amusement as he approached him. Sam wiped a bit of blood from his forehead with a defeated sigh. “You lied? To this lovely woman and your own baby brother-”
“We’re wasting time!” Nadine shouted.
“Just a second.” Rafe snapped, giving her a hard side eye. He turned to us to enlighten us with the truth of the situation. “You see, I never stopped looking for the treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends, y’know? And then I hear our dear ol’ Samuel Drake- an authority on Avery- is alive and...somewhat well.” He said. Sam kept his eyes on the ground in shame as he spoke. I only grew angrier as he explained, my lips curling into a snarl as I stared at him. “There was no breakout. I bribed the warden and your brother just waltzed right out the front gate.” He took a few steps towards Nathan, absolutely loving the internal pain he was causing. “Your brother spent the last two years looking for that second St. Dismas cross and you know what? He did it all with me.” He smirked. Nathan shook his head as he looked at him, completely heartbroken.
“Nah… No that’s bullshit-” Nate growled and Rafe just chuckled.
“Sam? You care to refute?!” He asked as Sam continued to wipe the leaking blood from his nose and forehead. I took several steps away from Sam as he brought his gaze to me. If he lied about this, who knows what else he lied about.
“Sunny… I-” Sam whispered to me again, trying to grab my hand but I snatched it away.
“Don’t touch me…” The words left my mouth before I could even think as I hugged myself. He took a step towards me apologizing but I avoided his touch.
“Sunny, I’m sorry-”
“Mm mm.” I hummed, shaking my head as my nostrils flared. Sam’s eyes dropped as he sighed in panic before looking at his brother. The one he hurt the most. He took a deep breath before trying to make his case.
“Nathan-”
“No…” I could see the hurt in my best friend’s eyes as he looked at his older brother like a confused child. His baby blue eyes would always tell me what he was thinking. “No you didn’t…”
“Nathan, that treasure was ours- it was always ours-” Sam said approaching to place his hands on his shoulders but Nathan shoved him off.
“I left my life for you!” He snapped. “I….” He was so angry, he didn’t even have the words. Rafe laughed devilishly in amusement at the rift he drove between us all as he clapped like a seal, witnessing the drama unfold.
“Well look, if it’s any consolation, he duped me too. He pulled a Houdini, he brought you, he brought this slut, and he brought that old man back into the mix and I cannot lie, Sam, that really... pissed me off. But uh… it’s all behind us now.” He smirked. Sam’s face displayed nothing but fury and hatred for this man as he took a few steps toward him.
“You don’t deserve it…” he told him roughly. Rafe stared at him incredulously.
“And you do? Last I checked, we were all a bunch of thieves digging around where we shouldn’t…” he said as Nadine approached him.
“Rafe.” She started.
“What?” Rafe asked, snapping out of his petty instigation.
“One way or another, end it. Or I will.” She growled. Rafe nodded before stepping in front of Sam.
“Welp, you heard the lady-” He said , placing the gun directly on Sam’s forehead. A flash of panic ensued in me. I was pissed at him but that didn’t mean I wanted him dead. Nathan grabbed his brother’s arm as I jumped in front of him, bravely.
“Sunny!” Sam snapped.
“You miss one clue and you can kiss that treasure goodbye…” I said to him.
“She’s right, y’know? You said it yourself- you keep running into dead ends. Face it. You need us. All of us.” Nathan said as he walked to my side. Rafe shrugged with a hum.
“I guess you’re right…. you’re half right. I just need Sam.” He said darkly, pointing the gun at Nathan instead.
“No-” I growled as tears began to fearfully well up. Sam rushed to Nathan’s defense as his finger began to squeeze the trigger.
“Rafe, you’re makin’ a mistake!” He shouted. Rafe had already pulled the trigger, narrowly missing his target and grazing Sam’s arm instead. As he reacted to the pain, he accidentally bumped into Nathan, not realizing how close his brother was to the edge of the cliff, causing him to fall a great distance. My heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest as I screamed out for my best friend; Sam screaming out for his little brother. I saw him hit his head on a smaller cliff on the way down and we were so high up that there was no way of telling if he would even make it alive. I cried out as hot tears streamed down my cheeks and the sound of Rafe’s gun clicked once more. We both turned to look at him, still feeling raw from the fact that we might’ve lost Nathan. His gun was now pointed at me. Sam rushed in front of me, his arm protectively covering my stomach as he gently pulled me behind him.
“Hey! You keep that gun on me. She has nothin’ to do with any of this- Rafe!” Sam snapped as he tried readjusting his aim to me. But Rafe narrowed his eyes at him as he watched him shield my body with his own. “You don’t have to do this, man…” The gun began to drop as a chuckle filled his belly again.
“Oh! I see what’s happening here. Sunny, I have to tell you. Your taste in men? It’s questionable.” He whispered to me like a jealous ex.
“And if I chose you, it’d still be questionable.” I seethed, my shaky fingers gripping tightly to the back of Sam’s dirty blue collared shirt, his hand keeping me close to his sweaty back. Rafe smirked as he turned to face his mercenaries.
“Grab her.” He said, simply and they came after me just as he ordered. Sam turned us to back away from them and to keep them from getting to me, swinging a fist to the jaw of one man, leaving me wide open to be snatched up by another man.
“Get your dirty hands off her!” He snapped, lunging at the man before Nadine approached and struck him in the back of his head with the hilt of her gun causing him to fall to his knees as I was being pulled away. She kept her gun on him in case he tried anything else. I stomped my heel on the man’s foot and he let go of me for a moment. With my opportunity, I elbowed him in the nose and knee him in the gut. Just as I went to attack another, I was met with several barrels of many guns. Mostly Rafe’s, whose barrel pressed directly between my eyes, still warm from the previous shot. I raised my hands in surrender. There was nothing else I could do.
“So here’s the deal Sam. You help me get to this treasure and I won’t put a bullet in your pretty little girlfriend’s head. Sound fair? I think it’s fair.” He said to him sternly. Sam just huffed and nodded compliantly, wiping the blood off his face again. “Good. Let’s get going then. Shall we?” He said. “And somebody get him cleaned up. He looks a mess.” With that, Nadine grabbed Sam by the collar and forced him to his feet, keeping her gun on him at all times.
“Move.” She barked, shoving the gun in his back. He kept his hands up as he moved forward to follow Rafe and I, looking me in the face with a look I couldn’t bear to see at the moment. I was sad, I was hurt, I was livid. And I had a valid reason for all of these things. As the mercenaries zip tied my wrists together again, I turned my head to look at Sam with a snarl.
“You better pray to God that Nathan’s not dead.” I grumbled with a bit of resentment.
“You and me both, sweetheart…” he replied as they zip tied his wrists as well and led us to a room for holding until they could pack up around Libertalia.
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punkscowardschampions · 6 years ago
Text
Rio & Buster
Rio: *Even if he wouldn't laugh her out of here for it, (which he would), the commiseration of 'shit timing' wouldn't pass her lips. 'Cos both old enough to know better, even if she was a few months shy of his new number. Old enough to know that it was always going to be like this. Yeah, the first was usually the worst, and it would become normal as the years passed, but she was always not going to be here from now. Could get rid of a person but not their absence, standard. That was life. Not kidding anyone with that nonchalant approach though, couldn't even lean against the brick 'cos of the fucking wings. What a joke. And it wasn't JUST 'life'. It was her lack of. And all the reasons why. And how much they didn't fucking matter now. Nothing did. If Rio could make herself believe that, proper, then maybe she could feel alright about the fucked up shit she was feeling and the fucked up things she'd been doing, namely for and with Buster McKenna. Christ. As it stood though, she didn't. But feeling not alright, feeling wrong, fit the tone of tonight so fuck it, yeah? Yeah. Never mind how good he looked, and how she shouldn't even notice that but it was all she could, an unbelievably welcome distraction from the shit in her head, torturous as it was to only be looking and not touching. Whatever. They both knew they would. 'Til one of 'em came to their senses and realized what the fuck they were doing. That would be fun. But that weren't tonight. Certainly not there herself and highly doubting he was, if this getaway was anything to go by. And that was just the tip of the friggin' shitshow. So yeah, she'd put money on it. Throw money at it, if he wanted, she knew some places with low enough lighting and standards that'd fit the bill. Even get in in their costumes, fit right in, frankly...* Took your time, boy. Buster: *He'd been going through the motions, recycling behavior from nights past where he could. Taking a shot for this or getting dragged onto the dance floor they'd made for that, feeling no burn on the swallow how he should've (not even a year closer to properly walking in his dad's shoes yet like, never mind the old alkie's down his grandad's boozer) nor any awareness of his body paint being slightly sweat streaked now, as if to call out the obvious flaws deep in his chest, when really that was just more of the same bullshit and nobody here needed a sign anyfuckingway. Then again, none of them could see Buster watching Rio, waiting for the slightest indication that she was about to give into him and maintain eye contact that lasted longer than a second. What a fucking joke. He saw red in every moment she got close to somebody else, or just stayed away from where he and his friends were, playing the tease again, like he was that cunt of a kid and she could in any way go back to who she was before either. Christ's sake. But of course there wasn't a single guest at this party about to address what was missing or they couldn't have. Only the first elephant in the room, that. So there. All he could do was what was expected of him and loudly take everything that was offered, declaring it birthday's boy prerogative or some shit. Fuck it. Bonus points if in cracking open another bottle of Champagne it let him return to being numb in a gulp. After all, he'd been trained not to show any of his rage when it came to fighting for access to Jay, what was some more, yeah? No need to be a pussy. Nance was in NYC as good as alone and by all accounts she weren't crying into her cocktail. Handle it. Come on, how long had it taken him to break into a run, to show all his cards in one text? To get weak. And, honestly, how long had he been waiting for that too, not even mad it was coming, 'cause there was no blaming him for how Rio looked. Or how good it felt when they touched. The power was hers, to bring him to the point furthest from anesthetized, let her own it all. Why should he care if it was wrong, what the fuck did another mistake added to the list, matter? It was Halloween not New Years. Tonight he wasn't looking to try his best at anything new unless it made her as needy as he was, and twice as bad at least.* Could've taken longer. *Such a lie, but might as well start as they mean to go on, like. There was too much painful truth in his head as it was and this was meant to be the escape he practically needed to beg for, so whatever.* Rio: *She shrugs. The 'but you didn't' barely needing to pass through her head, nevermind be said out loud. They both knew. But they both knew the less they spoke about it the better. 'Cos let's face it, if they addressed this, then there was a whole parade of the pink fuckers, (making every day a circus!), that they'd have to and all- and fuck that. Yeah, it was messed up but at least this one felt good in the moment. All that other shit was just pain, all day, all night, pure and simple, black and white. And there was no denying the fun they were having playing in the grey. Front as he was now, and she did too. But not now. Make of it what you will, boy. SO thirsty for you or just sick and tired of not getting what she wants, anything that she needs, ever. It didn't matter what he thought, really. Just that he was here. And he was. In all his glory. Literally. Catching a bead of sweat as it dripped just below his navel, tracing the runnel it had made in his golden sheen, touch light over every muscle she encountered, bringing said finger up to her mouth to taste.* Sweet. *It was the opposite, of course, salty, but still, good. Too fucking good. As much as it was meant for him, to get him on the level, a taster of what was to come; It had made her want more too. To taste every part of him, and let him taste her until they smashed into one...being, devouring each other with mutual ferocity and want and reckless abandon. Reckless was the right word. This was literally his family home and some of hers were still inside. Not to mention plenty of others who knew they were cousins. How they didn't ALSO know how badly they wanted to fuck each other senseless all the time was another matter entirely. It felt ridiculously obvious. On her part, but also his, (not sorry about it, McKenna). As if the constant eye-fucking wasn't a dead giveaway, get a clue, people. Apparently, they were so far gone, (all the way to Hell?), that they were beyond detection. Suited her in this moment. And many more, if they were being real. Still, some space needed to be made between them and the shit party. For their sake, if no one else's. Taking his hand, beginning to walk, nowhere in mind yet just the goal of being alone.* Come on. Buster: *There was no response needed to his piss poor retort, everything that needed to be said was as soon as their eyes met properly. Both lingered over it, brazen, 'cause they didn't have to steal timed glances out here in the pooled half-light, the most alone they'd been allowed to be so far tonight. Still, every thump of his heart in his ears was another tease, mocking the distance that didn't let him hear hers and he was about to do something - frankly ANYTHING - to stop the anger from taking over what senses he'd managed to keep a hold on somehow when Rio reacted first. FUCK. Whatever move he'd reckoned on her making, this wasn't it. Jesus. Buster knew that if any other girl had tried going in for this they'd have only made a twat of themselves and he'd be bent double laughing, but the sound that escaped him then wasn't. And worse, he didn't care. Let her have it. He was gonna have her first proper chance he got. 'Course the temptation (nothing like the right word for how deep the desire went to go with this specific urge immediately, but whatever) was there to pull her into what shadows he could find against the brick and fuck her right there, in an almost parallel to the first time they'd managed to go through with it, the same desperation fueling him as that fucked up day they were all refusing to think about. He was ready to pull her into him even as the muted bass put itself in competition with the girl's rapid heart, reminding Buster that he basically still had his back to the party he'd tried to turn it away from. Fuck's sake. He forced out a shaky breath, letting her take the lead the way she'd typed out she would, all the while saying a little prayer that his legs hadn't given way before carrying him to whatever destination they were gonna end up at. Had he ever wanted anyone this bad? Christ, the answer couldn't be a louder no if he shouted it out, like. Did that mean he had to lose his shit over a fingertip, though? Apparently fucking so. There was no shaking his head to clear it of these thoughts, there were too many to do anything but welcome. This here was the party for exactly that.* Where do you want me? Rio: *Rio grinned, and it actually managed to reach her eyes, headlights of cars passing doing a disservice in comparison, only twinkle found there in the green being the metaphorical kind. She almost laughed, too. Christ. That ached almost as much as it did between her legs for him. Had only been 18 days since. Wasn't that long to go without feeling, let alone expressing, any kind of joy; Calm down, like. The nasty voice in her head that had (so helpfully) morphed into Edie's, mocked that it had been a lot longer than that, hadn't it? Fuck off. Focus, don't lose this feeling. They didn't have to go far. Can't even last that long? Whore. Shut up, shut up! God, she was, would be, (happily), if it meant she could have him now. Right now. Get lost in him and how he felt and how he could make her feel, get so far out of her head it was better than any high she'd ever had- fuck. She needed that. No need to psychoanalyze it now or the morning after, like. Who cares if it was just because or because X, Y and Z? It still would be. Still was. She couldn't deny it anymore, didn't want to, especially not tonight, not now. Barely conscious of their surroundings but knowing they were about out of his nice little neighbourhood. Only seeing the world in potential places he could take her. Cutting across the dead road, so quiet and still, no traffic at this hour, opening the park gate, holding it open for him in a 'here will do' way. Her breathing was as erratic as she was behaving, frenzied, but she didn't care and he better fucking not, either, like.* Please? Buster: *Any stupid cunt looking to pull a last trick tonight would still be able to see them, but Buster couldn't have stopped himself, eager to go further in the only way that mattered, if the Garda had been dragged along into the bushes along with the two of them. Not now that he was finally able to do more than look and he knew she was craving it same as he was. 'Course with each step he'd taken from home that lead up to this one he'd convinced himself he was gonna do her exactly as she had him at first, aiming to make her beg harder, voice cracking on the rest of her words, forced out with pure need. He had form with all the other girls after all. And Rio'd be no different, like he always said, she wasn't special.* Say it again. *He'd never sounded that desperate himself though, had he? Fucking hell. Focus, come on. He stayed committed the idea of this game until his fingers had actually gone lower than hers, roughly pulling the lower half of the costume aside. Hours before he'd wanted nothing more than to touch, taste and tease, however hurried he'd have had to be, but once he was inside her, the thought of quickly pulling his hand out to put to his mouth with a smirk lost any previous appeal. No games, yeah? He'd agreed to it then, and her every reaction reinforced what a fucking great promise that'd been to make.* Jesus. *He fingerfucked her not so she'd cum hard at least once before he did (a bonus to remember in the morning that he'd been powerless at the party, yeah, but wasn't any more, not the real goal if it had ever been.) 'cause she'd never looked as fucking good as she did right now. And after how the night had been going he'd not reckoned on feeling so fucking good himself by the end. It could be that simple if he wanted, and Christ, he wanted nothing else. Nothing more either.* Rio: *As tempting as it proved to deny him in the everyday scenarios, always impossible to resist the urge to disagree with McKenna, just for the sake of half the time; now was so far beyond the time. Pleas, begging him to touch her, to fuck her here and now, hoping people heard and saw, telling him how bad she wanted it, him. All tumbling out as if it was natural; What else would she be saying, asking, when they both knew this was ALL she ever wanted? She had no problem relinquishing that naysayer role, that game they played where they didn't want each other or this, when it came down to it. Rio found it easy, too easy if she were to think about it (which she didn't, often), easier with him than anyone else, somehow. Whatever, he could call her a whore before, during and after if it made him feel better about it. Not like she had any more satisfying answer for him as to why him, and why it kept happening. She knew it wasn't that, herself, but it'd be better if it was, so he could believe it all he liked (if only she could). Have that one for free, boy, on the house, on me. The answer seemed so obvious when he was finally inside her, dragging her out of her head, all thoughts turning into a haze of pure pleasure, only concern keeping this feeling going for as long as possible. Nothing but the feeling of it, of him, and the only thing she needed to do, her only concern, was making sure he felt as good in return.* Fuck, Buster! I need you. *About as much to tug down as she had, a nice change to unbuttoning in the dark. Keeping it simple, that's what they were doing, primal, nothing more but nothing less than fucking incredible. Sliding into position, into each other, hip bone crashing into hip bone, in one move, one moment. The hiss of sharp intakes of breath at the same time, moans matching moans and groans and grunts and praises and curses being exclaimed on the same thrust.* Don't stop. Don't. Stop. God- you're good, you're SO fucking good- *Holding onto him like her life depended on it, arms wrapped tight around his neck, pulling his head down so it was level with hers, so he could see, look straight into her eyes and see what he was doing to her. Fuck, she wanted to kiss him. Had they? Her head was swimming. Did they? Surely not, that was too much, too personal. Would make it too real. But how hadn't they, when they'd done all this, how was that the step too far? Christ, she wanted it so bad now she was watching his lips, even more than she had wanted his dick deep inside her. Wet like he'd just licked them on purpose, pink tongue poking out so fucking cute with concentration, they were full but she wanted to kiss them 'til they were swollen with her desire, bite them and pull them into her own mouth- Jesus fucking Christ...* Fuck it... *She murmured, tilting her head up to his, pulling him somehow closer still, 'til there was contact where she needed it most, moaning into his mouth, finding rhythm here to match the one below.* Buster: *It should have shocked some sense into him when their mouths collided too, that he was kissing her back as forcefully for one thing, like it was a normal thing to do never mind want from Rio Cavante. In reality, (wherein nights were spent with girls that weren't, but were instead fake from bottle blonde roots to bottle bought tan, of course) if they tried to initiate more than a playful lip bite he'd break it off with the promise of his mouth somewhere better. And when he followed through, Buster told himself he loved it, same as they did. Such bullshit. Never proved harder than now, living in a hardcore fantasy, like. But he should've learned his lesson from Chlo and yet here he was, fucking again without a condom or any intention of pulling out. Without a single thought of stopping, at any point, only the opposite. And he didn't care. God, he'd keep this going all night if he could, moan after muffled moan shamelessly letting her know it. Reminding him every second of this was actually happening, unreal as it seemed. And felt. 'Course, there was no way he could stay in their rhythm forever, but they finished together, he wouldn't let himself forget once he'd sobered up. Whatever he was, she was just as bad. Had to take what he could get the morning after, didn't he? Fuck. Don't start thinking about that already. Soft cunt. To pull the focus he concentrated on attempting to find, or at least think, of a way to clean himself off when he didn't even have a pair of socks on him. Fuck's sake. There was no time to get properly moody though, in looking around their immediate surroundings (for the first time, obviously) he had to fucking laugh. Did. Every bit of her skin that had pressed against his was streaked in gold to match his, glittering in the moonlight.* Rio: *About to ask what he was laughing at, with a bemused chuckle, when she looked down and saw the damage (or the joke) herself. All over her, like. At least she COULD see the funny side too, distance between the party and them achieved, glad she hadn't dragged him away for a mid-party quickie like she had wanted to many times over the course of the tense evening. That would NOT have been good, or a fucking laugh.* Fucking hell, McKenna! *Rubbing at the paint, to no avail, quickly giving up on that idea with a shrug.* No more paint, alright? Or, at least warn a bitch next time and I'll coordinate, yeah? Such an amateur. *She winks, fluffing her hair back up and straightening her (lack of) clothes as she walks away.* Buster: *He was tempted to fall back into familiar territory now that she didn't have her legs wrapped around him, blaming her, all bravado and 'well if you could only stay away, like' blah blah blah etc but the bullshit couldn't get past the laughter and he didn't want it to really. Not tonight. It was reaffirmed to him how much he didn't or want any of this to end yet, though it technically already had. Should've. He'd got what he wanted, hadn't he? The expectations for his birthday party had been more than exceeded, no denying it, so what? Why the fuck couldn't he play along and let her walk away? Christ, Rio was right about how amateur he was playing this now and in itself he should've fucking hated that, like. Been angry enough to turn away himself. Go home, 'cause he wasn't the one wearing the sin openly, it was her who had it pinned to her like a gold medal awarded for being some kind of sick fuck. Or whatever. But none of that happened. Buster did the opposite (becoming a habit of its own, this) keeping in step with her as she moved away from the scene of the crime as if distance made any difference to what would have to be owned. Buster shook his head, trying not to laugh again, ('cause yeah, everything was less funny when he was his own target, so try and sue him.)* Where do you think you're going? Rio: *Rio turned back to face Buster, carrying on walking, despite the darkness and despite the heels (just to show how much of a pro SHE was; it was any small victory you could grab when you were fucking up your life on such a monumental scale, yeah?), smirking, feigned innocence in the 'who me?' hand to chest mime. Standard. Had to go back to acting immediately, didn't they? Or face the consequences, and neither of them was ready to deal with salvaging from that level of fucked up wreckage, she more than reckoned.* I said I was taking you somewhere good, baby. You think that was it? *Shaking her head.* I'm just getting started, boy. *Finally turning back so she could direct them with purpose but throwing him back a coy look for good measure, making sure he was still up for it, hoping the spell didn't have to be broken yet.* It is your Birthday, after-all. Let me treat you. Keep up, though, yeah?
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