#feels like being drunk off sangria in high school hanging out with your friend’s cool older sister

[harringrovetrashrat]

I Do Bad Things When I’m Jealous (And I’m Jealous)

They’d been at the party for only an hour and Billy was bored. Despite the thumping music and absolutely horrible “sangria” provided by the house, the party was not hopping. In fact, Billy had been able to see clear across the living room. He’d agreed to join Steve for a party at his friend Robin’s, and Billy had been blinded by brown doe eyes and forgotten why he Did Not like hanging with art majors. They were weird, uppity, and just all around awkward pretentious nerds. They had good weed at least. Billy had found the smoking room and planted himself there.

Billy took the joint from some chick with bright blue hair and sucked. He breathed deep, letting the smoke fill his lungs, a nice warm weight that burned in the best way. The smoke curled out of his mouth slowly before he exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring. He took another puff and then passed it along, trying to smile as non threateningly as possible. He wasn’t sure he succeeded, seeing as the guy gave him a wary look, but took the joint nonetheless. Billy tapped his fingers anxiously on his knee before standing. He hadn’t seen Steve in a while and he was bored and stoned and not drunk enough, and he needed some fucking attention.

He gave a two fingered salute, a wink, and a Hargrove Tongue Waggle, tongue piercing on full display, and revelled in the way nearly everyone’s face turned red, for a myriad of reasons. He closed the door softly behind him, snickering when he heard their voices start all at once. Hushed and intense and fucking hilarious. Billy was an asshole, he knew that. A lot of what he did came off sarcastically, and he just had the face of a Bitch. So it made him hard to interpret, and exactly the kind of guy that bullied these kids in high school. Which brought mixed feelings. Billy couldn’t help but mess with them a little bit.

He licked his lips and made his way through the kitchen towards the back hall, trying to remember which room was Robin’s. He didn’t have to go far because he saw Steve in the corner of the living room, on a loveseat, smiling and talking with a guy who was getting entirely too close. Billy sucked on his teeth and tried to control his breathing. Steve was gesturing animatedly, oblivious to the way the guy’s eyes were roaming��too far down, the way his hand kept getting closer to Steve’s knee, and Billy clenched and unclenched his fists.

Now, he’d been working on it. Been trying to control how he let it affect him, but Billy still got jealous. Really fucking jealous. The guy seemed to be ignoring the hickey he’d left on Steve’s neck and Steve still wasn’t getting it and Billy saw red. He was across the room in seconds, looming over the two of them, eyes and teeth glinting.

“Billy!” Steve slurred, smile wide and he reached out for him. “There you are!” The guy shot him a dirty look, but faltered when he actually looked at him. Billy knew he was posturing a bit, chest out, teeth bared, but this fucker had the audacity to try something with his boyfriend, so he figured if any time warranted posturing, it was now.

“Here I am,” Billy replied, not taking his eyes off the guy. “Who’s your friend?”

“This,” Steve said, “Is Adam. He transferred from, uhm, sorry dude I forget which school.” Steve laughed sheepishly and rubbed at the back of his head. Adam blushed as he watched and Billy licked his lips. “He’s also gonna be joining the social work program here! Isn’t that cool?”

“Who’re you?” Adam asked, voice also slurred, side eyeing Billy’s jacket and boots. “You don’t look like an art major.” Steve laughed loudly and Adam smiled, leaning in and resting his hand on Steve’s knee. Billy flared his nostrils and tried to remember the conversation he and Steve had had about trust and letting Steve handle himself.

“Billy and I’m in the Physical and Occupational Therapy Program,” he sniffed. Adam rolled his eyes and smirked.

“Well, unless y’all are leaving, Steve and I were having a wonderful conversation,” he slid his hand up Steve’s thigh and Billy’s breath stopped, “And I’d love to get back to it.”

Billy wasn’t really thinking anymore. That’s why he grabbed the guy by the scruff of his neck and dragged him away, Steve calling after him. That’s why he ignored the guy’s protests and each dude, what the fuck, shoving him out onto the front lawn.

“Billy!” Steve called out the door, voice tight with annoyance. “Babe!” Adam furrowed his brow.

“Babe--?” Adam cut himself off with a yelp as Billy grabbed his collar and yanked him face to face, baring his teeth in a deadly smile.

“Go back inside, Steve,” Billy called back, not taking his eyes off Adam. “Boy’s gotta learn what happens when you touch other people’s boyfriends.” Adam’s eyes widened before he let out a bark of laughter.

“You’re dating this fucking tool, Steve?”

“Ooh,” Billy heard Robin say from behind him, “Bad, bad move, my guy.”

“See,” Billy said, pushing Adam back some more, but not letting go of his collar, “Imma let that one slide, m’kay? But only because I’m feeling so fucking generous tonight.” He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned his head with a frown to see Steve frowning right back.

“Babe,” he warned softly. “He’s not fucking worth it.” Adam bristled and Billy just scoffed. Steve sighed and gave Billy’s elbow a small tug. “Come on, we talked about this.”

“Yeah,” Adam sneered, “You talked about this, Billy.” Steve shot him an angry stare.

“Dude, shut the fuck up.”

“You’re seriously more into this fucking violent asshole than me?”

“This ‘fucking violent asshole’ is still right here, fuckwad,” Billy snarled. He did shove Adam away, releasing him from his grip. With a dramatic show, he smiled at Steve and stepped back. “There,” he drawled. “I let him go. I’m trusting and being nice.” He was about to head back towards the house when a fist came towards him. He jerked back and it caught the edge of his jaw, though it barely even made him stumble back.

Robin whistled and Steve cursed to himself quietly.

Billy turned slowly, a feral grin stretching across his face. Adam looked shocked, like he hadn’t expected himself to do that, and he stepped back as Billy surged forward, tackling him to the ground. Someone, probably Robin, cheered behind him, and he let the anger that had been swelling and stewing for the past hour at this stupid party out. He punched Adam once, twice, and was gearing up for a third when Steve grabbed his arm.

“Billy!” He pulled at his arm, finally tugging him away as Adam curled in on himself, nose bleeding and eye already starting to swell.

“You’re fucking crazy!” He screamed, struggling to get up.

“You wanna bet? I’ll show you crazy, you stupid fuck!” Billy shouted back. Before either of them could continue, Robin tossed a jacket at Adam.

“Dude, I’d just leave now,” she warned.

“You’re taking his side?!”

“You’re both idiots,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I’m not taking anyone’s side except Steve’s. And you felt him up pretty blatantly without checking to see if he was actually into it, so.” She shrugged.

“Y’all are fucking-- Ugh! Whatever!” Adam shoved his arms into his jacket and flipped off the entire house before stomping off down the street. Robin watched him go before she shooed everyone back inside.

“Alright guys, show’s over!” She called. There were hushed whispers, but Billy ignored them in favor of turning to Steve. Who looked unhappy.

“Baby,” Billy began, but Steve held up a finger.

“We have talked about trusting that I will say no--”

“I know, and it’s not that I just--”

“Then what is it? You know I love you and would never even entertain one of these fucks, so why?”

“Because,” Billy grit out, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. He was usually a little more drunk when they talked about this stuff, because it was still hard to talk about feelings, but he swallowed and, “You’re probably the best thing in my life and I’m used to losing those.” He sniffed, looking away from Steve because it was easier that way. “And I just want everyone to know that… That you picked me. That I get to have this because you--” He cut himself off and hunched his shoulders in, feeling uncomfortably bare. Steve gripped his chin, forcing him to tilt it up. Billy still couldn’t meet his eye, looking away.

“Babe.” Steve’s voice was soft, which was the only reason Billy dared to look up. His eyes were gentle, lovely, and he had a small smile on his face. “You’re fucking ridiculous, you know that?” Billy shrugged, looking away again. “No, no look at me,” Steve cooed, kissing his cheek. “Of course I picked you. And just know you’re giving me permission to be all over you at any given moment.” He smiled against Billy’s mouth before kissing him. It was gentle, but heated, Steve slowly swiping his tongue against Billy’s, his breath hot. He pulled back and smirked.

“Wanna get the fuck outta here?” Billy whispered against his ear, gently nipping at the lobe. Steve’s breath hitched and he nodded quickly.

“Lemme just say bye to Robin--”

“She’ll understand, come on.” Billy tugged Steve away from the house with minimal effort, smiling at the peal of laughter Steve released as it echoed into the night.

[radiojamming]

How about lawyer John pre-cult going to his choice Atlanta nightclub minding his own until he notices some scumbag guy harassing a girl at the bar and decides to intervene and square up to him while tipsy because John throwing a few punches is steamy (which naturally leads to something more steamy) 😏

wooooof this got long, and hopefully the exposition doesn’t drown out the rest of it. OTL also, i made up the nightclub but the area is real! 

uh, warnings for drug mention, lotsa alcohol, and douchebags being douchebags. also some sliiiight NSFW. 

- - -

It’s the kind of night that John calls ‘rinse and repeat’; the same order of business that plays out every time the firm wins a suit or gets a payout. Half the firm goes out to some knockoff Applebee’s for Kahlua Mudslides or fruit cocktails, and the other goes to the Royale in Midtown. John is in the Royale group, for lack of better drinks anywhere else. There are only so many times he can handle someone shoving every picture of their kids in his face while a pair of ladies pretend to get drunk off sangria of all things. At least the Royale bartenders know him by face and by tab, and know better than to water his drinks down.

The Royale is the kind of nightclub Atlanta pretends to be proud of. It’s located on what was once the lobby floor of an upscale hotel that went under in the 1980s after some mismanagement and a declaration of bankruptcy. The Art Deco lounge was a siren song to a league of gentrification-happy property owners, and the Royale shimmered out of its tarnished state, LED converted chandeliers and obnoxious music at the ready. 

John doesn’t mind it so much, other than the clientele. He knows half of them by face, and the other half by name. Business cards are shuffled around at the same rate as personal phone numbers and come-hither glances. It’s the playhouse of all the city’s proverbial crème de la crème; high-end and high-risk lawyers like himself mingling with giggling socialites, powerhouse politicians who still look like they’re under 40, investors who reek of tax fraud, and every last person in Atlanta who can wield a Centurion Card without flinching. He’s been to parties with these people, slept with a few of them, and has seen them at their sparkling best and their sickening worst. The blackmail value of these people is so high that John could amass enough hush money to retire to a castle in Switzerland with money to burn.

He sits at the bar, eyes slowly going back and forth between the aquarium in the wall and the displays of his coworkers. Antony with his thinly-veiled cocaine addiction is sidling up beside one of the daughters of a Georgia state representative, loudly talking about a civil case that he apparently won single-handed. Caitlyn (still working on her divorce papers at lunch breaks) is hanging over the shoulder of a platinum blonde woman in a Marilyn Monroe dress, and cooing at the woman’s husband as well. Andy and David R. are nowhere to be seen (and no one is shocked). It’s a typical display of the rinse-and-repeat.

The music is already helping to drill the hole in John’s head that he’ll feel tomorrow morning, and John grits his teeth before downing the rest of his Sazerac, ignoring the fact that he can’t feel the burn of it anymore. He starts formulating his excuse to leave when he catches something on the other end of the bar.

Of all the people he works with, the one he can’t stand worth a damn is a trust fund bottom-dweller named Brendan. He’s the pinnacle of the Ivy League mom-and-dad-bought-me-this-degree hierarchy, getting through school more on the virtue of his family bank account and charitable donations than by any work he actually did. He still has a keychain from his old fraternity hanging on his Aston-Martin keys, which he makes a show of flaunting in front of his newest victim. And John hates every inch of him, from his slicked-back son-of-a-Republican blonde hair to his Paul Parkman wingtips. Brendan’s obviously gotten a few drinks in him, and the poor girl he has cornered looks like she’d rather be on the other end of the country. She’s one of the few that John doesn’t recognize, wearing a black dress from Nordstrom Rack and a pair of plain black heels that are scuffed on the edges. Only her handbag is designer, and John has the feeling that it’s a secondhand kind of thing, or something she borrowed from a friend. She’s certainly pretty, but in a way that isn’t achieved by Botox or makeup applied with a butter knife. She’s paid attention to her appearance, no doubt, but there’s something organic and authentic to her, which means that she’s attracted the human tilapia known as Brendan like some kind of catnip.

John edges closer, sensing that this might be one of the few times he can put Brendan in his place without repercussions. No one can talk him down from warding a drunk guy off a girl who just wants to leave. It’s the perfect excuse.

“–back at my loft. It’s only a five minute walk from here,” Brendan says, grinning with his too-white smile. “It’s a Jackson Pollock original.”

The girl leans away from him, trapped between Brendan and a plush barstool. The only way out is to vault over it or knee him in the groin. John kind of hopes she goes for the latter.

“That’s cool,” she says, trying her best to be civil. “Listen, I, uh, really have to–”

Brendan’s completely deaf to her, because of course he is. “And there’s this really great sushi fusion place down the street,” he says, like this girl isn’t struggling to gymnastically bend her way out. Then, John sees Brendan’s hand go for her waist. “But we can always stop by the loft first. Check it out. You know.”

The girl’s eyes go wide, and she’s rendered totally speechless. When Brendan tugs on her like he’s going to swoop her away, John about sees red. All it takes is another eight seconds of conversation.

“I really don’t want–”

“Come on. Let’s go,” Brendan says, grinning like she’s agreed to marry him.

Before John can think, he’s got his hand on Brendan’s wrist, squeezing harder than polite company usually vouches for. 

Brendan stares at him like he’s never seen John before, like John’s a cobra already rearing up and preparing to bite him. John can feel him try to pull his wrist away, but John doesn’t give him an inch.

“Duncan,” Brendan says in surprise. “Uh, nice to see you. I was just on my way out.”

John doesn’t greet him, or do much other than try to snap his wrist with one hand. The most he gets is a flinch. “On you way out alone, I’m guessing,” John says, as conversationally and casual as he can. 

Brendan looks to the girl, who in turn looks like she’s watching a car accident in real time. “No,” he says, trying to keep his smile afloat. “We were about to head out. Me and, uh–”

The girl’s expression goes from shock to straight-up defiance, and John immediately decides he likes her more than anyone else in the club. “I didn’t tell you my name,” she says firmly. 

John grins despite himself. “But I bet you he told you his name fifty times, and the names of his parents.”

“And grandparents.”

Brendan’s face goes to indignant fury. “We were leaving, Duncan,” he says, his voice starting to curl with a snarl.

“Yes, we were.” John yanks hard on Brendan’s wrist, causing him to stumble away enough for the girl to squeeze past him. By now, they’re making a scene, and John’s fine with that.

Brendan almost pulls his arm out of his socket wrenching his wrist out of John’s grip, and his face is changing colors at a fascinating rate. “What the fuck is your problem?” His voice is already slurred by whatever lightweight cocktails he’s put away.

“Nothing,” John replies nonchalantly. “But you were causing a problem for her, so I decided to step in before you did something really stupid. Not like you don’t do enough of that on your own, but I thought I’d save her the trouble.”

Fortunately, Brendan is drunk enough that he ends the situation himself, deciding that apparently the smartest thing he can do is take a swing at John. All John has to do is side-step and hold his foot out at the right angle for gravity to do the rest. Brendan hits the floor without having the forethought to put his hands out to break his fall, and John swears he hears something crunch. He smiles as Brendan tries to roll onto his back, blood already trickling from his nose. John decides he’s going to savor that particular image for awhile.

A bouncer is already on his way over, wrenching Brendan up by his shoulders like he’s a toddler mid-tantrum. Brendan might be swearing, but it’s hard to tell between the drunken slurring and the sound of him trying to talk through a broken nose. Either way, John just keeps smiling and smiling as the bouncer drags him out, and smiles as the club tries to pull itself back together.

He shouldn’t enjoy watching people bleed that much.

And then the girl walks up to him, no worse for the wear except the slightly harried look on her face. She smiles at him, shy and almost apologetic. “Thanks,” she says quietly. She reaches up and tucks some of her hair behind her ear. “I, um, really thought I had that under control, but obviously I didn’t. So, thank you.”

The slight adrenaline rush is still running laps through John’s head, and he laughs and shrugs. “No problem. I’ve always wanted to do something like that to him. It was bound to be sooner or later.”

She laughs as well, and it’s not forced or faked. She sounds authentically relieved, and John think the little thrill that goes through him might be the last vestiges of his good morality congratulating him on doing a Boy Scout-level deed. Then, her expression becomes a cross between relieved and sheepish. “Hey, it’s cool if you don’t want to but, um… Is there– Is there any chance you might be able to walk me out to my car? It’s just in the lot across the street, but I think I’m still a little jumpy. I think I’d feel better if someone was out there with me.” She pauses then, eyes going wide. “Oh! I mean, unless you were planning on staying here. I don’t mean to yank you away or anything. That was stupid of me.”

The grin on John’s face is starting to hurt, and he can’t remember the last time he felt this happy. Not even a victory in court can compare.

“It’s fine,” he says. “Lead the way.”

- - -

Her hands have already completely ruined his hair, and John couldn’t care less. His hands are on the underside of her thighs, holding her up against her cheap dark green Honda. She moans against his mouth, sighing dreamily when he bites her bottom lip. He leans in close, smelling the orange blossom scent of her Lancôme perfume (from Macy’s, he’s guessing), before he kisses over her jugular, imagining he can feel the rush of her blood under layers of skin and muscle. 

He hasn’t wanted someone so badly in ages. She kisses him like she’s desperate, like she’s still working off the nerves from earlier. And she kisses him like she means it, not like she’s trying to find something or someone to put between her legs for the night. If she is, she’s damn good at hiding it. Her breasts push up against his chest, her heart fluttering against him, and he’s entirely prepared to just do the job right there in the parking lot, for all of Midtown Atlanta to gawk at.

Only some tattered remainders of propriety stop him from doing that, even though he’s already between her legs. He pulls away just enough to talk, although their noses are brushing against each other and he can feel her breath on his cheek. His eyes flicker up to hers, and he tries to absorb the color into his brain as much as he can, to remember and use later when it’s just him and his hand.

“What’s your name?” he asks, and laughs as soon as she does. “Sorry, I thought I’d do one better than Brendan.”

She leans in and kisses him again, but it’s the slow, lingering kind. It’s almost like a thank you condensed into a kiss. Then, she laughs again. “Just call me Rook,” she says softly. “It’s what’s on my business card.”

“Just Rook?”

“For now.” Her hands comb through his hair, undoing it even more. When she kisses his cheek, he’s one hundred percent sure that she could do whatever she wants to him and he’d thank her for it. She leans in close, mouth against his left ear, and kisses just underneath before saying, “You stick around until tomorrow morning and you’ll get my first name with it.”

“That better be a promise.”

“It is, John Duncan,” she says against his jaw, and he can feel her smile against his skin.

[dannymolloy]

1. Pick one of your muses.

2. Fill in the questions/statement as if you are being interviewed for an article and you were your muse

3. Tag 10 people to do this meme, (repost, don’t reblog) Tagged by: @amadeo-child-of-the-renaissance TAGGING: Tags don’t work and lazy so just copy/paste if you feel like it.

WHAT IS YOUR NAME? Daniel 2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME? Daniel John Molloy 3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU WERE CALLED THAT? Because my dad liked it. 4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN? Having to think about this so hard is all manners of fucked up. But I guess I’m taken but with no strings attached? Boss? How does this work?! 5. HAVE ANY ABILITIES OR POWERS? Yes. I excel in Draculaism. 6. STOP BEING A MARY SUE/GARY STU. I’m not. Not nearly hot enough and I don’t wave a shitty past around like the American flag. 7. WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOR? They call it violet all the time but it’s really just an abomination of blue. 8. HOW ABOUT YOUR HAIR COLOR? Just- this? I think Lestat called it ash blond once? That one? 9. HAVE YOU ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? Yes. I’m fairly positive my dad is still alive and so is my half-brother. Lets not start on the vampire bloodline because then you’re gonna need a lot more cassettes. Oh you don’t use cassettes....? Fuck- right. Getting old. 10. OH? WHAT ABOUT PETS? I had a dog when I was a kid. 11. THAT’S COOL I GUESS, NOW TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE. People talking about me as if I’m not there. 12. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES YOU LIKE DOING? I like to kill bad guys. Like a conscienceless Spider-Man. I guess I’m more like Deadpool. But then way less cooler.  13. EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE? Yes. Physically it’s my hobby at the moment. Mentally it just happens. I’m a shitty person. 14. EVER… KILLED ANYONE BEFORE? Yes. It’s my evening work out. 15. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU? A bat with rabies. And awkwardly long limbs. 16. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS. I can be pretty selfish. And completely losing myself in the blood. I forget who I am, where I am, what I’m doing and what I should be doing. 17. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE AT ALL? Lestat. Spider-Man. 18. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL? Bisexual I guess. Before the Blood I was mainly straight. Armand and his trickeries made me bicurious back then. 19. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL? I used to. Finished highschool. Didn’t finish college. 20. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS ONE DAY? Nah. World is better off without little Molloys. Not that thats a possibility anymore, but still. But no, I have never really been in a real relatioship that could have ended in a happy-ever-after. 21. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANBOYS/FANGIRLS? No. Although there’s a certain little lady in New Orleans that keeps in contact even though I kinda did some shitty stuff to her. I blame the Blood and none of my actual skills. 22. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF? Getting killed by those who once liked me. 23. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR? Jeans and a T-shirt or sweat shirt. 24. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE? Yes.*silence* Oh, you want names? Uh- Armand. And I really loved my grandma. The most of everyone ever. 25. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WET YOURSELF? Does blood count? This evening. 26. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? (HIGH CLASS, MIDDLE CLASS, LOW CLASS) Lowest of the lower class. I‘m scum. Down right gutter trash. *chuckles* 27. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE? I like to consider Lestat a friend. Jesse’s nice and Benji’s a wonderful kid I love to hang out with. I have two mortal friends. Rémy and Sangria. But I barely see them. Mostly because I want to have then for breakfast if we hang out longer than half an hour. 28. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE? Don’t eat it when you’re drunk.  29. FAVORITE DRINK? Blood 30. WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE PLACE? San Francisco. And being crammed in a one-person coffin with Armand. 31. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE? All the time. Armand’s a constant. Also vampire women are hot. And don’t get me started on Lestat. Or David. Goddamn... 32. WHAT’S YOUR BRA CUP SIZE AND/OR HOW BIG IS YOUR WILLY? .................You are the worst interviewer ever! How’s that a smooth transition?! You gotta stick to your topic and only veer off if the other leads it that way. I’m not gonna answer if you continue down this route. 33. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN? Ocean. As a vampire you don’t need to breathe so you can go pretty deep. One time I went so deep, my ears started bleeding. 34. WHAT’S YOUR TYPE? Blonde. Blue eyes. Good set of breasts. Confident. 35. ANY FETISHES? ...I can be quite the masochist. Let’s keep it at that. 36. SEME OR UKE? TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE? Always bottom. Taking control freaks me out. 37. CAMPING OR INDOORS? Indoors. 38. ARE YOU WANTING THE QUIZ TO END This was kinda fun. But you do need some more training. For example- on most questions I could have gotten away with just a Yes or No. You gotta ask open questions. ‘Who, What, Where, When, Why, How’ etc.But this was fun. See you next time.