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Author Topic: Mudslide, Part Deux [M] [Neph!]  (Read 2153 times)

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Offline Lion

Mudslide, Part Deux [M] [Neph!]
« on: November 10, 2017, 09:00:54 pm »
He was a rotten, scheming, no good dirty rat bastard of a coyote man, and if he had anything to say about it, all that would come about was something about getting his right comeuppance. What an asshole!  Who the fuck ordered like that and then came back and did more times for every subsequent meal on the menu? Only one howling, snarling, barking scumbag would dare walking into his JJs in all of Aedolis and seek his drooling revenge:

Yavul Hyakinthos and his best goddamn friend on the entire planet.

Grisham had been mad. No, no. He’d been fuming. So much so that he didn’t know if the smoke coming up from the kitchen was because the fries were burning or if it was coming from out his ears. At the end of it though, of a very long day, Grisham found he couldn’t stay mad for long. Sure he was gonna do a murder, sure he’d thought scaring Yavul endlessly on Soul’s night had been hi-lar-ious. (And it was -insert mad cackle here-). But that all could be achieved later.

How often did Yavul make the trip up here? And when he did, Grisham sure as shit wasn’t going to waste the time they could be hanging out with being made at him. That wasn’t any fun. Nope. They had a bet to settle and since his last trip to Solarta - which had it’s own unforeseen consequences - he’d stopped by the Rosco’s and ordered fifty 5 gallon tubs of that awesome lovely Solartan mud.

Realistically, Grisham didn’t measure the length of the hallway outside his door. But it was fairly straight, and the length of it was long enough to bowl a ball down, so he saw no reason he couldn’t chuck a full grown man down there. They’d do it better this time.

Coat the floor as well as the halls, and make it extra slick. So it was better to have more than less in this case. And hitting walls would not count in a do-over. It was all or nothing.

Yavul had been waiting for him at the nearby Manolins and Grisham was still in uniform. Thank fucking dragon balls today was the last day at that awful place. At the very least, he had a newfound respect for people in the food service industry, not that he ever made it his intention to treat them with anything other than just that. The rest of the squad did a remarkably outstanding job. Even if Chatterbox did eat too many fries. Even if Sparrow almost did puke on milkshake dispenser. Something about lizard meat didn’t sit well with her.

Grisham yanked off that godawful JJ’s hat and pulled open the door, splitting his face in a toothy devilish grin, snickering evilly as if he were still in his clown jester get-up. He smelled of beef and tobacco and just a hint of dandylion from his breaks, and the scent wafted up from him as he approached Yavul and slunk the JJ’s cap on his head, making a mop of that soft brown hair of his just crown down around his face like a helmet.

“So you really like to walk the fine line between life and death, don’t you Yavvy? Walking into my JJ’s and making an order like that?! The nerve!” But Grisham was all grins, and he fixed Yavul’s hair from around his ears to better adjust the cap. “That’s a good look for you. Maybe you should take a side gig working behind the counter at JJs.”
« Last Edit: December 08, 2017, 12:46:04 am by Lion »

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #1 on: November 10, 2017, 09:47:00 pm »
There was nothing on the entire planet, and those beyond, that could make a day end better than seeing Grisham grin from ear to ear. It was just downright contagious, all teeth and mischievous intentions, and Yavul couldn't help but grin right back at him. Even as that hat descended upon his head, laced with beef-smell and slightly damp from a hard day's work, Yavul couldn't stop grinning, reaching up only once to push the brim of the hat upwards and free his vision some.

"Excuse you, sir, but as a payin' customer I am entitled to have my food prepared in a manner a' my choosin'." He said, drawling along like the fanciest sonofabitch he could possibly channel, before promptly devolving into laughter, shaking his head the whole while.

"The look on your face was fuckin' priceless, let me tell you. Gods both, I wish I'd gotten that on camera!" The truth was that the 'look on Grisham's face' had been without a single doubt the most terrifying thing Yavul had ever seen in his entire life. And he'd only just recently come face to face with a blending of his deepest heart's desire and worst fear, which made for some seriously mixed feelings. Very, very mixed.

Grisham Alberich was not a man to make mad, that was for certain. It was part of the reason why Yavul had decided to fold and let the man complete his final shift in peace. Gave Yavvy some time to walk around Adstreia, get himself a hoodie (and a beautifully rosy-pink one for Grisham) and just explore. There was also the added bonus of not having to run away from Grisham while the man was wielding a 2x4.

It would have been a good death. Well worth it, Yavul decided.

"You an' I both know that'd be downright dangerous. I'd be eatin' more burgers than I'd be servin', then I'd really be a couch." He snorted, reaching into the plastic bag that had thankfully still been here when he'd come back to reclaim it. He shoved the pink hoodie into Grisham's arms, distracting him long enough to clip a matching pink daisy barrette to the other man's hat-flattened hair.

"Presents for you! Lookit you, lookin' so pretty." Yavul snorted again, already crumbling up the plastic bag the items had been in up to this point. "You should wear that t' dinner. You know, the one I aim t' win."

Because of course, there was a reason other than petty revenge to come up to Adstreia. A reason that Yavul was willing to speak out loud, anyway-- any and all other reasons could simply keep minding their own business and go about their days. But being here in Adstreia, at that time and that place, had stakes. Mighty stakes!

Yavul had made a bet, and like so many before, he aimed to win this one. Making some last-minute adjustments to Grisham's barrette, he patted his hand against the side of the man's face with a grin.

"Ready for the guitar solo?"

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #2 on: November 11, 2017, 12:41:36 am »
Ok so maybe he lied a little.

He wasn't really going to chase down Yavul with a 2x4 and throttle the poor man, although every instinct in him trembled to do just that.  PR would not be happy if he went did that. If Sparrow had gotten off lightly with that Ahh! It Burns! Hemorrhoid Cream commercial, he could only shudder at what they might have in mind for him should he assault another Pilot in public. Not to mention he was doing so much better in curbing his temper toward the people that really really deserved it.

He had a lot of marbles to crush and grind down into a fine fine dust.

But the little shit in front of him would get his soon enough. A bet was a bet, something something mudbowling. And free beer, and Grisham didn't exactly remember the parameters of what they would win or lose, but he didn't care as long as Yavul lost. Well, not his other arm. Unless he wanted a matching set.

Grisham glanced at that mechanical beast hanging off the coyote man's shoulder. A fine model, no skin, and could feel the hair on his own arm standing on end at the little zings of electricity still radiating off of it. Damn he was jealous and damn if that arm didn't look good on him. He wanted to rip his other one off so he could maybe get something else just like it.

But they'd both had their accidents enough for the year, for a lifetime and if there was one thing Grisham would not entertain was the thought of Yavul getting hurt. Even getting bowled down a shiny Royal suite hallway, he didn't plan on having him get more than a few buffs or scratches at most. That he could handle. Anything more, nope. No not gonna happen.

Grisham grinned wider, trying to ignore the little head tingles along his scalp at the scratchy part of the barrette into his hair. Eyes flicked down to the pink sweater in his arm. Oh... oh so he wanted to play at that did he? Well shit if he wasn't going to wear it and proudly too. Grisham made a grunt and adjusted the clip in his hair, tucking the sweater under his arm.

"Well, thanks Yavul! I needed something just like this to wear to your funeral. How thoughtful," he joked, even if the thought made his guts twist unpleasantly. But even he understood it was just a joke.  Riiiiight, the bet.

He squinted his eyes, grinning against that had and taking Yavul's arm and sliding it over his shoulders instead. Grisham followed suit, with his own arm around the other's and dragged him on out of there.  "You know I've been waiting forever just to hear this," he laughed, not even batting an eyelash at the possibility that he'd lose and what was it, go to a fancy dinner?  Ah, they'd get to that part when it was all over.

Grisham dragged him out of that building and pulled the sweater up to sniff at it. He didn't know why, but it smelled good. Like new processed fabric, and plastic, and somehow like Yavul and that made him smile. It could have been a decorated fabric donut suit for all he cared, he'd wear it proudly.  But they had to get dirty right now. Later, when there was less mud involved.

"So, how's Adstreia treating you so far, other than trying to make me have a conniption in the middle of the day," he muttered conversationally, looking off to the side glance at Yavul from time to time, side-eyeing those baby blues.

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #3 on: November 12, 2017, 10:26:58 pm »
There was not a single moment that Yavul thought Grisham would actually bring him to harm, of course. Even if he was probably the scariest motherfucker Yavul had ever had the pleasure of befriending. Even if when Grisham really tried, he was probably the scariest motherfucker who had ever existed.

But if he was really willing to engage the train of thought, Yavul thought Grisham showing up to his funeral in a pink hoodie was just... the best. He almost hoped that when it came down to it, Grisham actually would.

Yavul inwardly winced at that particularly melancholy thought, and mentally shook his head. Nope, nope, away with that kind of thinking. This wasn't... the time. This wasn't the time at all, and for once Yavul just wanted to enjoy himself. Just enjoy being in the moment and not what it was or might've been or what was yet to come. No funerals for a long time, they'd had enough near brushes as it already stood.

...Maybe Yavul might light a candle or two when he got home. Throw cinnamon around. Something. Get Fortune to back off for maybe five minutes, if that was okay.

"Treatin'?" Yavul said, catching the tail end of what he should have been able to keep track of without this much effort. "Oh, I mean, lemme tell you, gettin' you t' turn downright puce is about the highlight a' my entire month."

In truth, the day had kind of... had its ups and downs. He half considered mentioning the whole fiasco with what-was-her-face-now-a-Cardinal, but found he had already exhausted the energy he had for that stupidity just dealing with it in the first place. Besides, he didn't want to spend the weekend with his blood boiling. He was there to have fun. Muddy, stupid, childish fun.

"But it's treatin' me pretty good. Cold as balls, but I guess that's what all them tea carts is for, huh? Spottin' a tourist from a mile away." Yavul let himself be pulled along, having next to no clue which direction they needed going in. He'd been there before, of course, and getting in earlier that morning had some semblance of which way was up or down, but Adstreia still remained largely a mystery.

Part of why he'd spent so much time wandering around after evacuating the JJ's; the other part was that he'd have felt painfully weird just hanging around Grisham's place all day long without the other man there. Not like he thought Grisham would mind or anything, but it just felt... this side of off, hovering around the apartment of the guy you had gone and caught feelings for. Vaguely stalkerish, he guessed. It was hard to put into words even for himself, let alone put any kind of expression out loud.

"Pretty much just spent th' day explorin'." he finally shrugged, and finding he liked the feel of the extra weight there pushing back, Grisham's arm pleasantly warm around his shoulders. It was nice, so, so nice, and it didn't even matter that there was a positive reek of fried food between them, because even that made him feel all the warmer against the northern cold.

He glanced to the side, caught Grisham's eye, and tried his hardest to tone down the internal wax-poetic. Considering the other man was an empath and probably did not really want to have to deal with the bucket of awkward that was trying to maintain a bro-tier repartee in the face of... whatever the hell Yavul thought he was doing, getting flustered over a goddamn side hug.

Okay, maybe that funeral could show up early. Just save him the embarrassment. Mm, no. Bet first, then shame-death. Right. Priorities.

Yavul shifted out from beside Grisham when they finally approached the apartment building, following him inside after a chip-scan granted them access. It was nice to get out of the cold, and Yavul sighed in relief, scrubbing at his face to get some of the numbness out of his cheeks.

"Gods both that mud's gonna feel chilly..."

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #4 on: November 13, 2017, 08:52:31 pm »
"Yeah, well, relish it. It won't be happening again."  Pfffft, puce.

Yeah, it wasn't every day Grisham would just let someone stare him square in the eye with every intention of embarrassing him, and him being thoroughly impotent from realistically doing anything about it. Haruxhir of course, did it on the daily, but that was to be expected. Yavul on the other hand had a particularly hardy set of guts that Mr. Dynamo had no choice but to respect.

Well, he had a choice, but he opted for respect. He admired that kind of moxy a great deal. Not that he had any real doubt. Yavul was ye old Coyote man after all. He was his best goddamn friend; weird how just a few months ago he probably would have just wanted to kick his ass because rowdy douchebags were annoying as shit.

They still were, but he'd come to admire the Valkyries in all their own class - or unreservedly lack thereof - they didn't need pomp or posh reverie to get shit done. Just do it. Life was too short to waste time.

Grisham had been leaning close to Yavul, letting the proximity of that hug and relishing in how it eased him. That much he could sense from the surface, how they both could just be without reservation or worrying about decorum. Grisham hadn't felt that comfortable in a long time, odd how easy it came with Yavul. That glowing emanating ease was what largely he'd picked up on the moment he'd walked into that room. And nerves he guessed.  Weird how Mr. Coyote Man could be anxious at all.

He'd be anxious too if he'd just lost an arm and suddenly was tested in playing the guitar again with your fretting hand. Grisham was actually really excited to see it and his heart rate spiked at the thought of Yavul just cackling like an unruly child, jamming to that guitar.  But a bet was a bet and no amount of sentiment would keep him from losing.

Once they were inside, Grisham carefully kept the barrette placed in his hair and staggered over to his fridge where he cracked open two beers and handed one off to Yavul. "Ok, I got fifty buckets. And most people are out, so we'll make this as fast as possible and as slick as possible."  A laugh and he clanked their glasses together and stripped out of that nasty JJ's uniform and stetched out the stiff muscles of his back.

It took a little longer than expected to get the hallway covered up, removing all the planters so Yavul didn't suffer another unfortunate mishap. Rolling up carpets until the slick wood was properly coated over with a thck and even layer of mud from end to end. Grisham grinned widely and walked back inside, propping open an unempty bucket and cupping his hands with fistfuls of mud.

"Yavul. Strip," he ordered and wiggled his hands spoopy like to do just that. "Gotta slather you full of mud." Wow he could have sworn he turned the AC in here because it was feeling a little hotter than usual.

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #5 on: November 14, 2017, 02:25:46 pm »
Oh, good, they had bumpkin first aid. Yavul grinned his thanks at the beer, taking a good deep swig while Grisham spoke, sputtering a bit at the idea of just how much mud this was going to be. Fifty buckets, god-damn! Well, maybe Yavul wouldn't need relief from friction burn after all. Relief from being a thirsty idiot, he thought while very pointedly not watching that JJ's uniform come off, that he could still use. Yup. Just drinking beer. Which was rapidly dwindling. Yup.

They definitely had learned their lesson from last time. Not the lesson of "don't use hallways as a mudslide" but more "make sure there's less shit for you to eat on the way down." By the end of the preparation phase, Yavul was spattered with little flecks of drying mud, his own hands caked in the stuff. At Grisham's command, he gave a little snort, pulling his shirt up and over his head and using that to wipe the mud off of his hands, digging into the grooves on his metal one to wipe away the worst of it.

His pants-- recently rescued from a bar wall-- were next, though he didn't use those as an impromptu washrag, instead folding them down next to his guitar case for safekeeping. Left in nothing but boxers and goosebumps, Yavul clasped his hands behind his head, keeping those dry so as to not completely muck up his guitar. Last thing he needed to do was have the thing slide right out of his fingers. He was already gonna need to wash the strap.

"Mud me!" the Valkyrie said with a grin, well aware of how ridiculous this all looked and loving every second of it. It reminded him of the sort of mischief he'd get up to as a kid, before the war, before his leadership responsibilities,  before everything. His squadron was a right bunch of little imps, sure, but there was always that line between Commander and subordinate that just... vanished when it came to Grisham. Perks of matching rank, Yavul supposed. No need to stand on decorum.

Which was good, because "decorum" had absolutely nothing to do with anything they were about to do. Neeko, bless his poor patient heart, would have had a stroke. Harley would probably have found it all amusing, so long as he didn't have to do any of the attached paperwork. Or cleanup.

Yavul had been right, though-- the mud was not friendly, and he sucked in a breath at first contact. At least the chill helped keep him focused, and not let his mind immediately spin out into the gutter like it so desperately wanted every single time Grisham scooped more mud onto him. What was he, a teenager again? Good gods both.

Gingerly stepping back to the far end of the hallway, Yavul pulled out his guitar and settled the strap over his false shoulder. He'd had to get a longer chord just for this, but the coolness factor of surf-sliding down a muddy hall and riffing the whole way was just too good. His face was already sore from grinning so damn wide, and he plucked a decidedly bumpkin-y tune while he waited for Grisham to get into place.

"All right, all right! You ready to lose, Grimbones?" Another couple plucks against his strings, and Yavul backed up, bent his knees, and took off, rushing at the long stretch of muddy flooring.

At first, it went really well! His right foot almost slipped out right from under him, but he managed to keep upwards long enough to start playing, fingers flying over the board like they were still made of flesh and bone. Yeah. Yeah, he had this, he could still--

In his excitement, he almost didn't notice that his feet were getting too close together to support his balance. In his excitement, Yavul overcompensated the correction, and in his excitement, lost his footing entirely. Heels suddenly at waist-level, the rest of his lower half followed suit, the Valkyrie landing hard on his back with a loud "WOOF".

Yavul slid forward a few more feet, before finally coming to a stop. And it was only after a few seconds that he moved, fingers touching the strings to pluck that bumpkin tune again.

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #6 on: November 15, 2017, 11:19:10 pm »
What? What was that? Some kind of bumpkin-y "F-You" just before Yavul was gonna hit the skids. Grisham made a snort and took his place holding his beer in one hand and leaning lazily where he could best view Yavul during his performance of a lifetime.

Well, he'd let the old coyote man have his time to shine in the limelight. A double or nothing bet was on the line here, and free beer. Lots and lots of free beer. Part of him wondered if the brews here in Adstreia would even compare to the ones in Solarta. Ehhh, probably not, but preparing for any eventuality was Grisham's business. Blech, thought, he didn't much care for the thought of losing.

His brow furrowed and he held his breath, watching and waiting until he shot off from his starting place and...

"Well, ain't I a sonuvabitch," he tsked hard and grit his teeth, half scowling when he heard that guitar successfully screeching along and those metal fingers flying across the fret board expertly and while he was scowling the moment he saw Yavul lose his footing, Grisham rushed off from down the hallway and shoved off, half skidding down that muddy hallway.

He stopped short, sliding on his own barefeet and leaned over his friend, who still then! plucked that tune. Grisham scoffed and that scoff gradually faded into a full on cackle, throwing his head back and everything. "Holy shitcakes," he snickered and knelt down, getting knees full of mud and reached down clasp arms around Yavul's torso, hooking them just under his arms and minding the metal bits on his left side to hoist him up against his legs.

"You all right, amigato?" he laughed, snorting a little. "At the risk of you breaking your fucking neck, I'll say that's a resounding fucking win. Did you break anything you don't mind losing?"

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #7 on: November 17, 2017, 04:06:00 pm »
"Pride, dignity, a sense a' self-confidence what stems from bein' able to do stupid shit and pull it off," Yavul listed, counting on his flesh and bone fingers with each instance of what had been broken. His face split into a wide grin, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter all his own as he waved off the concern. He was, after all, enjoying Grisham's amusement way too much to be worried about the state of his fragile tailbone.

Still, that didn't mean he was ready to try and get up just yet. The mud had gotten absolutely everywhere after his slip-up, and Yavul wasn't exactly in the mood to deal with the awful sensation of mud in his boxers as well as a smarting back. Besides, this was a much better option, just laying amidst the gigantic mess he and Grisham had made. And what a glorious mess it was, deserving of anthems and odes and long, sweeping epics. A testament to the absolute insanity Adstreian PR would likely develop in short order.

Didn't stop it from being funny any.

Yavul settled his hands back to the strings, and strummed a few notes. It was idle noise, nothing that meant anything concrete, but that was okay, too. Par for the course, whatever that meant. Still, Yavul couldn't help a little frown, staring up into those upside-down stormy blues, the crackling notes fading away after a time.

Yavul opened his mouth, took a breath as if to say something, before letting it out in a low laugh of his own, slowly pushing his hands underneath himself to better sit up and not just lounge against Grisham's legs all evening. The mud was really goddamn chilly, and while Grisham seemed content to concede him the win, Yavul was pretty sure that didn't extend to being made into a pillow for the rest of the night.

The Valkyrie commander wiggled out from beneath his guitar, holding the instrument up nice and safely high away from the mud as he slowly got to his feet, using Grisham's shoulder to balance himself and nearly eating mud again despite it all. Good gods both, they were going to actually break their necks at this rate.

Worth it.

Yavul grunted as he stood, rubbing at the space on his back where he impacted, but satisfied that it was nothing terribly lasting. A cold beer held to his ass and he'd be right as sunshine. He unplugged his guitar, and began to extricate the wire leading all the way back to the start from the mud most of it was now buried under. Woof, but if he doubted he'd be able to use this one again. He hadn't even considered the mess. Still. Worth it.

"Fuck, it's all under my damn 'roos, that is downright un-goddamn-pleasant."

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #8 on: November 19, 2017, 10:02:54 am »
Grisham never did make much fuss about the ruination of objects and furniture, of clothes and old things that had worn and broken down with time. Some things just couldn't be salvaged, old couches needed to be replaced with new ones, and broken marriages were far too cracked to put the pieces back together. In that reflection you didn't see yourself, but maybe the person you used to be. It was just a veneer then, the outer layer that the rest of the world saw, and the souls inside that shell wanting nothing more than to be free.

At that point the veneer couldn't be salvaged.

For the first time in years Grisham could say that every smile he had was genuine, even the ones where he was cackling madly at nothing more than a bad joke, the nonsense in between just filler until the next bad joke. A small jolt sunk in through his stomach, heat touching his eyes at that chilly mud, made even chillier by the northern Adstreian cold. Poor old coyote man, he distantly thought, even if it was just a bit warmer in here than the rest of the building.

Weird, someone needed to check the main filtration unit here in this hallway. Grisham mumbled something inaudible about taking a crack at it later himself. It was worth a shot. Or maybe he was getting sick. Maybe they both were since Yavul felt really warm too.  Yup, nothing a few glasses of brandy and some more beers wouldn't solve right up. And it'd be the right way to end the night after a week long's punishment of JJs.

Grisham stayed where he was on the ground until Yavul was up, eyes flicking to muscles of that back. Yeah he was definitely getting sick, pulse was spiking something awful too. Grisham stood carefully and once they were both safely back on the precipice of his apartment. Grisham waddled his way back to the fridge and popped open too more beers, snorting immaturely at the muddy 'roos comment.

"Worth it!" he snorted and although the horror show outside would have to be cleaned up he slowly tucked that thought away for later.  Well, still, it was probably best to at least cover it up, the deep cleaning could be attended to after they had their victory drinks. Grisham carefully - very in that regard - slipped out and rolled the carpet back over the mess. Perfect, nobody would notice. The...decorative hallway plants were still stacked around his living room making his apartment look like a jungle.

Grisham snorted louder that time, cackling a little. "This reminds me of that photoshoot for Edge magazine I did where I was all slicked up with mud," he laughed. "That was fun, even if they wouldn't let me pick the other 'roos. Needed something just this side of revealing they said."  Grisham shuffled over to a dresser by the far wall of the living room, just beside the television and he pulled out a copy of the cover, glossed over with lamination for posterity and he presented it to Yavul, holding it against his chest.

"Hell I'll throw this in along with a case of beers!" he was positively vibrating with glee and he shuffled over to Yavul and gently held it out for him to examine. "It's not a 'Mr. Dynamo.' But it's still Dynamo. I want you to have it. You won that shit fair and square coyote man." Grisham's heart was pounding in his chest again, that pulsation making everywhere else throb and he didn't know where to tuck his hands, instead opting to fold them in against his chest, one hand under his opposing arm.

"Are you hungry?"  The question had come out with a curious note, inviting, and his darker blues met Yavul's pale ones. "Because I have left over pizza in the fridge. Victory beers too." Yeah he needed something to do with his hands; being idle made them itch, made them want to fling mud at Yavul's face.  Was he bitter that he lost - again? Rat bastard did seem to have all kinds of luck when it came to these foolish bets.

In fact that thought alone made Grisham's eye twitch as he set the pizza in the microwave and he casually meandered over to a bucket of mud that he'd convenient left open in case they didn't have enough. But they did. Just super casual-like and held that clump in one hand before he promptly spun on his heel and launched it right at Yavul's face. There, how was that for luck.

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #9 on: November 20, 2017, 02:42:31 am »
Just this side of revealin’, huh? Sounds like some ulterior motives t’ me.” Yavul said with a grin all his own, doing a kind of bow-legged sway through Grisham’s jungle living room to prevent getting the mud anywhere else. It was already beginning to dry, of course, thinner patches cracking with every movement, but the bulk remained, making each step around the potted plants more than a little… unpleasant.

Still, despite his internal complaints, the mud was more than a godssend when Grisham picked his way back over with that magazine cover, Yavul gingerly taking hold of it by the edges to prevent any harm coming to it. He couldn't help himself-- his mouth turned wide, grinning ear to ear as he looked down at the oh so serious look on photograph-Grisham’s face, and wondered just how much of that had been at the direction of the photographer. Probably somewhere around fifty-fifty, if he had to guess, mind awash with all the posing and maneuvering and mud-smearing that likely occured… and Grisham likely grumble-grunting the whole time. Unlike the “Mr. Dynamo" cover, it seemed here that Grim hadn't been allowed a special survivalist cigar, and this amused Yavul to no end.

But oh, gods both, the angle of the shot was… something to behold. Mm-MMM. It was hard to tell which was his favourite between the two different photoshoots, heat prickling along Yavul’s skin the more he considered just how much he actually appreciated Wardrobe’s final choice. Well done and accolades all around.

It was definitely the better prize against free beer, and as a man who regularly drunk himself into a stupor, from Yavul this was saying something. He looked up from the photographic rendition of those blue-greys to the real deal, his grin widening even further to see just how gleeful the big, bad Mr. Dynamo looked. Somewhere, some traitorous thought process considered just how handsome Grisham looked when he smiled.

Woof. Okay. Reign it in there, coyote man.

Pizza proved a viable distraction, however  and Yavul carefully placed his beloved prize aside where it wouldn't get lost amongst the living room plantlife.

“Shit yeah, I'll take some piz--"

Splat.

Yavul closed his mouth into a tight line, though it was far too late for that; the mud had smacked him dead center in the face, splattering over his chest and shoulders from the impact.

He reached up with his flesh hand and scooped up the worst of the remainder, levelling a mischievous glare in Grisham’s direction.

“Oh, ho, that how you wanna be, rocket man?” he growled, before flinging the mud in his hand right back.

Cackling low and wild, Yavul darted to the side, ducking low as he scraped more mud off himself to pelt in Grisham’s direction.

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #10 on: November 21, 2017, 02:20:06 am »
Yes, that was exactly how he was gonna be!

Yavul was content to take his winning - even if Grisham conceded this one - and run with it, the the least Grisham could do was throw mud back in his face and be as grumpy about it as possible. Although, it was kinda hard to show just how grumpy he was through the mad cackling he was unleashing at the way the mud splattered all over Yavul's face!

Bwahahahaha!

He snorted with glee and completely forgot about the pizza in the microwave. Which was good in hindsight. It was the only spot in this entire apartment that wasn't about to be covered in muddy warfare. All was fair in it wasn't it?  Grisham was too busy cackling loudly when mud came flinging his way and pelting him flat and hard in the chest. What!

"LUCKY SHOT COYOTE MAN!" Grisham growled and immediately took the whole bucket that was next to him, not even bothering dodging the pot shots that Yavul was content to take. He wanted to play, oh he'd play all right!

And with a might fling of his arms Grisham had one hand on the bucket's handle and another at the bottom of the bucket and launched it up and over to the couch where Yavul was hiding, and down on him would rain the unholy terrors of a mudflung aerial assault. Grisham cackled again and almost slipped where the mud had caked on after Yavul scraped off more and flung it at him.

"There's only so many places to hide," he growled aloud, ducking behind a set of three large potters, dragging another bucket with him along the ground and his hands moving deftly to open up the seal.

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #11 on: November 21, 2017, 11:01:07 pm »
"Lucky shot the fattest part a' my ass!" Yavul crowed back, near barking with laughter as he bolted for cover. The couch, of course, was the most viable option, being of a good enough height to keep even Yavul's considerable frame from being terribly exposed. It still left the problem of ammo, and with some semblance of desperation he began to scrape at his legs to get the half-dried mud off his thighs and into respectable mud-balls.

"What's a-matter, Dynamo? Can't get your old bones movin' enough t' make this a fair fi--AAYE!" Yavul took the brunt of the wave of mud with a loud yelping sound, the cool substance hitting his bare skin with a loud splat, followed by several more as Yavul shook his head violently to get the worst of it out of his face without sparing his scraping efforts.

Oh, oh, it was on. Grisham had made one crucial miscalculation, and that was giving Yavul more ammo. He dropped low, scooped up mud, and flung it hard at the trio of planters Grisham had chosen to hide behind. Rinse and repeat and rinse and repeat until once more, Yavul was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Er. Or in this case, the bare floor.

Yavul launched over the couch back then, grabbing up one of the large cushions and holding it up like a shield. He needed to get to one of those spare buckets, and so he began the slow, slippery journey to gather up a bucket of his own. He made a mad dash back to where the couch could help shield him, slipping here and there and thankfully still having that couch cushion to use as a kind of bumper so he didn't crash headlong into the couch in question.

Bucket opened, and thus freshly armed, Yavul began to return fire in earnest, cackling the whole time and not minding that he kept getting slapped with mud every time his head crested over the safety of the couch. He really needed to fortify, start building up his defenses, and so divided his attention between throwing mud and gathering up the couch cushions to be a better shield.

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #12 on: November 22, 2017, 07:34:34 am »
"What's a-matter, Dynamo? Can't get your old bones movin' enough t' make this a fair fi--AAYE!"

Now that was the beginning of a lovely crescendo of sounds that made Grisham execute a splitting grin in sheer satisfaction. Why the heck not, since Yavul was getting so cocky even with what little mud he had. Even the vague realization that he'd given him even more mud to throw didn't ease the amount of satisfaction he got from hearing that yelp, and semi-musical splat that followed. Some blessings didn't wear disguises.

Between snickerings, and trying to find the best cover possible behind those huge round planters, Grisham felt the sting of mud several times over that splattered between them, and his face was littered with that cold wet gray, and he could taste the bits that entered his mouth. He was gagging and spat out the minerally dirt. "EUGH!" Not even the cigars he'd been sneaking that day had made him hack up his robolungs so hard. 

"I'll get you for that!"  Cue gratuitous empty threat. Check. Let enemy reload and reinforce their position. Check. Rain unholy fire down on them that they couldn't prepare for.  The moment Yavul popped over that couch to gather up a bucket for themselves, Grisham didn't even care, and flung as much mud as he possibly could at he exposed portions of his legs, and....his muthafuckin' couch cushions!!!!

Rat Bastard!  Grisham soon found his own bucket empty, and he cursed at having exhausted his own ammunition, but the buckets there were plenty.  All he had to do was get to them. Yavul's position had given him the couch and a loveseat in the corner, and the fucking coffee table. These planters didn't protect from jack shit. Behind him, an eye to the bedroom door and he slipped back quickly, not even thinking or worrying about how stupid it really ones to yank off the sheets of his mattress and with a grunt, pull it up and shove it through the door, gripping the top edge of it.

It barely breached the door way - barely.  But it was huge enough to give him cover and he dragged it across the mudstained flooring toward the ammunition stores, taking a bucket in hand, hooking it on one arm, and gripping a second one, and keeping that one in hand, while his roboarm snagged at the top of the mattress and dragged it back to his bedroom door.

The only fair game he'd allow was the exposure of the buckets. And maybe that wasn't the best plan because after fifteen minutes of robbing the nearby loveseat of cushions, Grisham had made himself his own planter-bunker fort and walls of his apartment looked like it'd gone through the best part of a mudcar rally. End on end, there were handprints, feet prints, and far-off flunged mud stains in that dilapidated mess of an abode.

Grisham didn't care, he played to win.  And he knew that he couldn't stay hidden behind cover for very long. The mattress was in fucking ruins. Yeah there was no saving that thing.  It was here and now. One mudding to end all muddings.

Grisham's posture as crusted over with drying bits of mud and the pants he'd been wearing and undershirt sagged with the weight of it. The only thing not covered in mud was underneath and well maybe his eyeballs. He could still feel the muddy flavoring on his tongue here and there. Eugh!  He peeked out from the portion of his cover and when it was a little too quiet over there he knew that was the moment to strike. Couldn't have Yavul rearming himself yet again, even if there was but one bucket left in the corner.

Grisham ducked out and ran for that bucket, the last one. The mudbucket that would end this awful battle.  But the moment it was on his hand, he didn't run back into cover. No, he snatched the lid off and made for Yavul's bunker, spying that opening and making a dash for it. Grisham pried off that cushion and shoved himself inside, throwing the contents at ye olde coyote man at point blank range.
« Last Edit: November 22, 2017, 07:46:11 am by Lion »

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #13 on: December 07, 2017, 08:08:04 pm »
Yavul would have been lying if he weren’t a little bit proud of using the couch cushions as a temporary shield. It was part of the Valkyrie MO, after all, and while some nagging part of him chided after ruining another man’s upholstery, the rowdy dog in him just kept barking madly in triumph. Hah! See Dyna hit him now!

Except by the time Yavul was done fortifying his position, Grisham was… gone. He blinked, eyebrows knitting tight over his eyes, suspicion in every line of his being as he poked his head up and around looking for the Hellion commander, a fistful of mud at the ready.

There was movement from back in Grisham’s bedroom, and for a moment Yavul was torn between holding his position and just bringing the thunder right to Grisham’s doorstep. But then the movement intensified, and Yavul’s eyes nearly bugged right out of his head to see Grisham dragging the entirety of his mattress out through the muddy planter jungle, over to where the rest of the buckets were.

Oh no.

Oh, hell no. Yavul wasn’t about to take this lying down, no sir, and so it was with a kind of wild, reckless abandon that he started firing again, lobbing gobs of cold wet mud over the mattress in an attempt to rain it down on Grisham from above. All he really managed to do was get mud on the Hellion’s ceiling, of course, but he was far too busy trying his damnedest to get around that mattress that Yavul didn’t quite notice he was rapidly running out of mud.

His stores spent, Yavul was finally relegated to scraping up spare handfuls where he could, laughing and snorting the whole while as he flung tiny bits and pieces of earthy mixture out, not even really aiming so much as engaging in the tried and true tactic of “spray and pray.” He’d really have to help Grisham clean all this up later, but for the moment he was just having too much fun. So much fun! Even with his hair plastered to his head and neck, even with every inch of him soaked and heavy, and even with the very real assurance that bits of grit and grain had absolutely gotten into his metal arm, Yavul was having the time of his life, the likes of which that couldn’t be rivaled no matter how—

Thap-thap-thapTHAPTHAP— Oh, fuck that was footsteps, Grisham was bullrushing him, Yavul scrambled to try and grab up one of those sodden couch cushions in time but it was far too little, far too late. Grisham upended the bucket right in Yavul’s face.

The Solartan man yelped, and then immediately regretted that particular decision, coughing on the wave of mud that ended up in his mouth. He was pretty sure he’d swallowed a good bit of it, and that alone nearly made him gag, Yavul spitting even through a wide gritty grin.

Okay, okay, that was a good one. Points given to a brave maneuver. Still, despite the resounding defeat, Yavul had one last trick up his sleeve. He reached out, his flesh hand clasping onto Grisham’s mud-soaked knee, holding him in place as well as steadying himself for what he was about to do.

He couldn’t open his eyes through all the mud to see Grisham’s face, but he could imagine it. And right then, Yavul imagined Dyna’s gruff, dirty face split with the biggest, most triumphant smile, those stormy blues glittering like the first stars on a rare, cloudless night. The mental image was beautiful, wonderful, the single most awe-inspiring thing…

And only more so because following that, Yavul imagined what Grisham’s dawning realization looked like, Yavul gripping onto his leg as the rest of him began to shake, wet hair slapping back and forth like a dog as mud went flying everywhere in a gloppy grey rain shower of terrible.

The whole thing left Yavul more than a little dizzy, and more than a little winded from all the laughing he was doing, but oh man, now that his eyes were clear and he could see Grisham’s face, it was more than worth it. Definitely worth the mud in his ass crack, that was for sure.

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [Neph!]
« Reply #14 on: December 08, 2017, 12:45:16 am »
He did his job and he did it well. If there was anything that would be plastered to his epitaph it'd be just that. He did his job and he did it well. And that job right now was to end that mud battle, and let it go down in history as the day he ruined a perfectly good mattress, but more over never grinned so stupidly in his life as he did now. Because gods all he was grinning like such a fucking idiot he couldn't have been prouder.

He didn't stop to think whether this was a stalemate or sheer victory - they'd tally that shit later - but it'd been so long since he'd felt so good. The sheer relief rolled off him in droves and he could feel Yavul's elation as well. That was unmistakable. What a glorious end to such an awful awful week. It made it all worth it, really. And if he had to do it all over again for it to end on a similar note to this - fuck yes he'd do it again.

The mud bath he'd given Yavul was very becoming and Grisham was all out of breath to cackle. The noise came out like a wheeze more like, the last bucket emptied out entirely on the younger man's face. It was a nice mud sculpture, one that Grisham would have loved to immortalize with a picture or better yet a bust of. Just settle it right on his coffee table right next to Vaas' cigar box.

It'd be a face he'd get to see every morning, every night, and the very thought made his belly to a tight flip. A knot that was abruptly shoved away the moment Yavul snatched his leg.

"FUuuuuuuuuuu," was the only wheezing noise Grisham was able to make. The only sound he muttered as he got the remnants of that mud bath shook all over him. The muddy taste in his mouth and the soil in his eyes had him rubbing hard against them, his muddy hands making scraping lines down his cheeks. The moment of displeasure was brief, his brow furrowed, and mouth pulled down into a tight frown. "Fucking asshole."

A short lived expression as he shot forward and pressed him down against the floor, his hands gripping his flesh wrist and pinning it above his head, straddling his hips and the still muddy clothes he wore clinging to every crevice of Grisham's body. His heart rattled in his ribcage, thrumming wildly with adrenaline, the excitement, the heat of the moment, and his eyes flicked down to the small lines in Yavul's face, the old ones, and the new ones - made recent by events beyond their control.  Those baby blues were practically on fire.

Grisham reached up with his free hand to touch Yavul's face, wiping away the mud along his lips and cheeks, swirling his thumb along the underside of his bottom lip. "You got any last words, coyote man?" he hissed, his own mouth roughly crusted over with grit. "On second thought, just save 'em for a rainy day. Ain't no old dogs dying today."

Grisham leaned down and kissed him, exhaling out his nose and letting that breath splay out against the still wet mud along Yavul's cheek, as he tilted his head into that kiss. He didn't even care that he tasted mud still, as he wanted only to pry open his lips, parting them with a breathy moan. 

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [M] [Neph!]
« Reply #15 on: December 08, 2017, 11:55:16 am »
Grisham made the best fussy faces. The way his lips thinned into a tight downward-curving line, the way those stormy grey-blues lit up with a smoldering agitation, the way his brows came together to complete the whole aesthetic. It was the best, and Yavul lived to stoke that particular fire into being.

Someone in an armchair somewhere with plenty of papers on this sort of behavior might have implied that Yavul just wanted to get under Grisham’s skin in an effort to elicit some kind of potent emotional response in lieu of the one he wanted, but someone in an armchair somewhere really had no lines in this particular play. Because right now, Yavul wasn’t thinking about that, or how he’d feel on the rails headed home in just a few days’ time. Right now was all about pissing Grisham off, and he was downright snorting through the remainder of his mud.

Yavul’s laughter was cut short, however, as he was shoved onto his back and pinned there, and a sudden, violent thrill raced up his spine and back down again. Grisham wasn’t scowling anymore, but that didn’t stop Yavul’s heart from trying to thud right out of his chest, a harsh, hard rhythm that was very difficult to try and get under control before all the excess bloodflow did something terribly embarrassing.

Yavul’s metal hand lay useless at his side for a moment, before moving up to settle against Grisham’s hip— a minimal attempt to help steady the man lest he slip in all the mess, maybe, but probably a lot more to do with a primal need to touch him as much as possible. The Valkyrie swallowed, hard, some soft sound escaping him as Grisham cleared away the worst of the mess on his face, and oh gods both but the way he growled those words down at him just set every last nerve ending on fire. Winter? North? Cold? What cold, everything was suddenly so warm, his head was swimming, his pulse was hammering—

And then Grisham kissed him, and whatever was left of Yavul’s pride jumped right out the apartment windows, never to be seen again. Because he suddenly didn’t care about embarrassing, a low needy moan echoing Grisham’s own as he moved into that kiss, tasting mud and grit and cigar smoke and loving every last goddamn minute of it. Without thinking, his free hand slid up to the back of Grisham’s neck, desperate to keep him right there.

Yavul pushed up, trying to get at more of the Hellion, their lips meeting again and again in between little gasps for air. And gods both, Yavul loved it, loved this, mess and mud and grit and all.

When they did part, it was only by the barest amount, Yavul grinning wide mere millimeters from Grisham’s mouth, and rather overly tempted to give them a nip just to be mischievous. And so he did. Several times.

“I dunno, there, Dyna,” he said in between two particularly insistent bites, “I got a lot t’ say.”

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [M] [Neph!]
« Reply #16 on: December 08, 2017, 01:29:01 pm »
The scowls would be in short supply this evening it seemed. Too bad, so sad. Them's the rules that no one had control over. Maybe deep throated growls, maybe little huffs of breath that Grisham somehow managed to splay out through flared nostrils the moment Yavul's lips met to his. No resistance, no need to stand on ceremony. In the quiet of that apartment, it just the two of them, and the awful horrific remnants of muddy warfare.

The sounds he made, the needy moan made Grisham's gut do another flip, heat pulsating in his lower belly and directing itself southward. From where he was pressed against the old Solartan wild dog, he felt that hardness pressed against his hips. Well, now, what did they have here? A sudden interloper on their taste tests. It wasn't just the mud now was it? Because they were both absolutely trashed from the looks of it.

Green hair matted to his forehead, his back was already starting to itch from where the grit was crusted against his spine, having gotten past the defenses his shirt had posed. Clothes that he was starting find were very confining in a time like this.  Grisham growled lowly at those lip nips, only then reminded of the small scars on his own face, of the small marks of the strife in years gone by. Marks that Yavul never fixated on, or if he did he'd never made Grisham embarrassed by them.

A shudder rolled down his spine and he hummed lightly, loosing his hand from Yavul's face to reach down and feel against that particular interloper. He gripped it firmly, pressing his thumb to the base of it, nipping back at Yavul's lips. "Well, I can tell. I think it's gonna be mouthful from the feel of it," he panted, grinning and kissing him back with another heated breath.

Grisham pulled away, grunting with some reluctance because if Yavul didn't have the best lips he'd ever tasted he didn't know who did. Sitting up gave him a wonderful view of that old Solartan. Not too old, and Grisham knew that despite the missing arm - or maybe because of it, time treated him very well. Browned skin, tanned nicely, pulled over not-so taut muscle but the strength was there, apparent, and he let his hands slip down to admire it, dragging his fingers along his ribs until they reached the waistband of his boxers.

He'd sat back far enough to pull them off, guiding them off Yavul with a heavy rise and fall of his chest. Gods he was gorgeous. Just like he was in Amristah, just like he'd always be. The mud may have gotten into some of the crevices, in the spaces along his hips. No matter, Grisham idly brushed away the dried bits, bringing his face down and leaving a trail of wet kisses in the exposed skin between the mud.

Fingers wrapped around that tender cock, turgid and hot, and he gave it a few teasing strokes, and casting a brief glance to Yavul's blues, the heat from his face practically setting them on fire. Grisham flicked his tongue out to the tip, kissing at the head, testing the waters with a taste along the veins on its underside.

"Still got something to say, coyote man?" he posed the question not really expecting an answer, slipping the head just passed his lips, applying teasing pressure.

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [M] [Neph!]
« Reply #17 on: December 10, 2017, 01:31:21 am »
There was nothing about Grisham that Yavul didn’t absolutely adore. Splattered in mud, scarred and ashy and grumpy from a long day’s work, marked and burned and partially made of metal— all of it simply came together to make Grim, well… Grim. Even the mud was somehow so very him— so serious at first glance but really Dyna was just a kid at heart, playing pranks and pulling stupid goofy shit like an impromptu mudfight.

And gods both, he was beautiful for it. Something rolled through Yavul, making his ribcage shudder and his heart feel overwhelmingly light. The lack of breath made him dizzy, his vision tunnel, pupils blown wide as he gazed up at Grisham and Grisham alone.

Shit. Fuck. He had it bad.

The hum above him brought him back down to Aedolis, just in time to watch as Grisham’s hand slid down, feel the path of his fingers between them, and moan in utter delight as he gripped him through his boxers. Yavul couldn’t help himself. He clung to Grisham and bucked his hips, though for how pinned he was beneath the older man there wasn’t far he really could move. His flesh hand flexed, clenched and flexed again, wanting to actually feel Grisham’s hair beneath his fingers instead of just a vague sense that was what he was feeling.

Robotics just never were quite the same.

He kissed Grisham in earnest, as if that would somehow make up for not being able to sink both his hands in mud-soaked hair, as if it didn’t make up for it a hundred-fold. Every moment like this made up for every moment it felt like Yavul’s hands were pinned. More than made up for it, if Yavul’s nigh instantaneous excitement was anything to go by. Speaking of which…

The Valkyrie blinked as Grisham pulled away, growling out a low protest for just a moment because no, no, he wanted a lot more of that— at least until he caught on to what Grisham was up to. Yavul bit down on his lip to keep his noise of approval at a minimum, lifting his hips just enough to let the Hellion slide his boxers down and off. It certainly was a relief in more ways than one, the mud having easily soaked the fabric and was just this side of really uncomfortable. The secondary relief came from the sharp thrill at just how Grisham was looking at him, such that Yavul felt his head swim from all the heat in those grey-blues. It was dizzying, and for a moment it felt a lot like Yavul had forgotten how to breathe. Stormy seas.

Gods both but he had it bad.

“Dyna,” he hissed, legs twitching with every touch to his aching cock, tensing as shocks of pleasure sang up and down his every nerve ending. Shit but Grisham’s tongue felt good. Hands free to roam where they would— Grisham being as thoroughly occupied as he was— Yavul slid them through mud-stained green hair, careful not to pull too hard. Just enough to rub at his scalp, convey even part of the sheer magnitude of what he was feeling.

Not like he wasn’t busy vocalizing exactly that, regardless. Because as it turned out, Yavul had quite a lot to say. His head fell back, against an errant couch cushion, that sliding out from beneath him as Grisham moved his lips over his cock just right, sending the coyote man into a soft arch as he clung to the Hellion.

“Oh, fuck, Grisham,” he was pretty sure he was babbling, repeating himself over and over and potentially not even in a shared language at all, but the way Grisham’s tongue pressed against him had him seeing nothing but sparks. Who cared if he made any sense in the process? “J’ai envie de toi.”

After all, tone said far more than the words themselves. And Yavul’s tone was low, full of gravel and utterly unmistakable, staring down at Grisham and trying to commit every last line of him to memory. Because if he were to ever go blind he wanted to make sure he could remember how good the other Commander looked right then.

Offline Lion

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [M] [Neph!]
« Reply #18 on: December 10, 2017, 10:11:13 am »
Yavul's small noises, his moans, and the little muscular twitches he made in response to Grisham was enough to send chills down a man's spine. That deep rumbling timbre, whether if was virtue of being Solartan he didn't know, could inspire fear when angered, inspire others in a rallying cry, or be utterly wanting by nothing more than a simple change of tone. He wanted to hear that moan again and again, and see how he could make that lovely voice alter and change.

Grisham poised himself with one hand firmly planted on the ground and the other his palm gripping Yavul’s hip, shuffled far enough down as he was to keep himself in place.  The coyote man sure got vocal right when Grisham thought his voice was going to be snatched away. Which was absolutely not at all exactly what he wanted. Nope, not in the slightest. He didn’t want to hear him cry out his name at all, or bury his fingers in his hair, or grip him as if he were the only tether anchoring him from this world and the next.

Or however many worlds there happened to be at any given time… The only world that mattered at all to Grisham right now was the one right in front of him, and Yavul’s body splayed out beneath him.

What would have been a mild sensation of metal fingertips against his scalp was immediately exacerbated by the heat that had flooded his face.  Grisham moaned softly around him, bobbing his head at the note in Yavul’s voice. The fingers in his hair encouraged him, feeling those appendages tangle in his muddy locks, taking him deeper into his mouth until he felt him at the back of his throat. Grisham eased himself, controlling his breathing and taking what didn’t fit between his lips with the hand he had gripped Yavul’s hip with, squeezing and stroking before slipping a hand just underneath to gently massage at his balls.

“J’ai envie de toi.”

He didn’t stop, although those words gave him chills, and he breathed out through flared nostrils against his cock. His eyes flicked up, momentarily meeting his, darker blue eyes to lighter ones, and seeing Yavul there so vulnerable, aching for him, sent a thrill through Grisham that had him pressing hard against the fabric of his pants.  Stupid pants.

He pressed onward, swallowing hard when Yavul finished, and lathering him clean once he was done. “Say that again,” he grumbled, sitting up and pulling his shirt off himself, the scars and burn marks, and the faded tattoos along his chest and sides stretching taut over firm muscle. He was so much paler than Yavul, but flushing heat brought color to that palor, and a green hairline decorated the center of his chest and flowed down his abdomen, his heart rattling inside his chest as if it were about to burst.

“How bad you want it? Because you got it bad, amigato,” he purred, crawling back over Yavul, the taste of his come still heavy on his tongue. Droves of lust radiated off him, sheer primal need that Grisham could melt and fall right into. “So very bad, coyote man. Gotta grip you by the scruff.”

A devilish grin and Grisham hooked an arm around his neck, pulling Yavul up into another hungered kiss, nipping at the other man’s bottom lip, and his other hand fumbling with the button and zipper of his own pants. He might have been more focused to take them off if Yavul wasn’t so goddamn distracting. And nope he didn’t mind in the slightest.

With some success he managed to undo the bindings and broke the kiss long enough to sit up on his knees and pushing his pants and underwear passed his hips, freeing his girth. He didn't always sport boxers, freeballing it on a work day wasn't quite that comfortable. He wore a gray set of boxer briefs, pushing them passed his thighs, cool air grazing him and making every muscle tense.
« Last Edit: December 11, 2017, 07:11:22 am by Lion »

Offline nephero

Re: Mudslide, Part Deux [M] [Neph!]
« Reply #19 on: December 11, 2017, 10:10:40 pm »
   It was the eyes that did it.

   Yavul had been set to snap already, cock throbbing with every little movement of Grisham’s tongue, his toes curling as the Hellion moved over him, that beautiful mouth having him see sparks. He had been close, so, so close, pressure building and building until he was so sure he’d break, and then Grisham looked at him.

   And Yavul couldn’t help himself. He came with a shuddering moan, though even that wasn’t enough of a relief, the sight of Grisham swallowing around him sending sharp zings of sensation up his spine, leaving Yavul flushed and wanting more. Because damn, if Grisham didn’t look good like that, all downright predatory stares and—

   ”Say that again.”Yavul shivered at the command, rendered mute for a moment as Grisham sat up and peeled off his shirt, revealing that network of scars and tattoos that Yavul loved to know so well. The Valkyrie licked at his lips, a slow grin overtaking him as he followed that trail of green with his eyes, pointedly staring at where it disappeared below Grisham’s waistband.

   “J’ai envie de toi,” Yavul repeated, tone low and soft as his fingertips ventured over Grisham’s sides, ghosting against the hair on his abdomen before simply hooking his index fingers into Grisham’s pants, “sitoplé.”

   His heart was hammering in his chest, a wild drumbeat against his ribcage as Grisham moved above him, and Yavul was so sure he’d burst when the older Pilot drew him into another soul-searing kiss. The taste was jarring, but fuck if Yavul cared, moaning with every scrape of teeth against his lip. It hadn’t been very long, but already he could feel those familiar beginnings of desire. Well, he wasn’t that old yet, it seemed.
   
   The thought had him feeling downright cheeky. And so when he felt Grisham struggling to get his pants open, Yavul did his damnedest to give him a reason to want to get his pants open— he clung to Grisham’s shoulders, his flesh hand leaving little crescent-shaped indentations where he dug in blunt nails, all the while drawing the other man down into kiss after steamy kiss, murmuring more and more in his hometown tongue, sure to pepper in Grisham’s name as often as possible and as needy as possible.

   By the time Grisham sat up, Yavul was already hardening again, flesh twitching as those mud-caked pants were pushed down and over his hips. Yavul’s mouth went dry, suddenly overtaken by the impulse to flip them over and return the earlier favor. Because hot damn, Yavul wanted him, wanted all of him, his flesh hand sliding between them to take hold of Grisham, fingers wrapped around his cock and giving him short, even strokes. Or as best he could manage at that angle.

   With a quiet hum, Yavul moved to rectify that matter, his metal arm wrapping around Grisham’s shoulders to pull himself up and into the other man’s lap. Yavul rolled his hips in a slow grind, shivering as every little movement had him pressed against Grisham and vice versa, shocks of heat pooling in his abdomen and just rendering all prior reservations moot. He didn’t even care how he looked, panting and desperate and hair clinging to his face and neck, all he wanted was Grisham.

   “So, so bad,” he growled, staring right into those darker blues as he did, “So very, very bad. Dyna…”

 

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