Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#8090 Fri, Aug 29, 3:16PM PST
((Reese- *GRIN*)) *Gods, it was -hot- in here... And the music was more like a shop full of grinders, bandsaws, chop saws, drill presses, and impact wrenches all maxed out and screaming... Beej decides he knows where it got the name 'Industrial'. He leans against the wall of this hole-in-the-wall club that his beloved- where was he, anyhow? It didn't really matter that Neets had gotten lost in the crush, they'd find each other soon enough... -had insisted they go, watching the nearly-kaliedoscopic whirl of dancers... These kids [they all seemed to be kids, barely old enough to do the two other main activites that were found here: smoke and drink] were wierd, dressing in almost solid black, relieved here and there with grey or a giddy flash of color... And their faces- So -very- pale that surely some of them had to be using makeup, even the guys... Tendrils, drawn-on or permanently inked curls of black like spitcurls wriggling from temples to bridges of noses, or just dribbling towards chin, along the side of a face... Some of them just had plain pale faces, though. Black hair, the majority dyed with roots showing, tangled and dreaded and most all looking in dire need of a thorough brushing...* ((Continued Next Post))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#8127 Fri, Aug 29, 3:18PM PST
((*Is Smooched by The Amazon* *Giggles*)) *Everyone dripping chains, jewelry, a lot of flash but little to no worth, he notes fuzzily... And the places they'd stuck said jewelry! Noses, eyebrows, lips and tongues and ears, up to and including the tiny protrusion of cartilage just in front of the ear canal... He winces at this, not even wanting to consider the odd lumpiness under the left side of a slim boy's startlingly white, damp shirt as he edges past the trader... Beej gives him a cursory inspection, discarding him as not-Neets, therefore nothing more than some stranger on his way to somewhere else... He'd been doing it all night, checking out they-who-caught-his-eye, then rejecting them in a cool, detached manner, never having been more than merely curious... He closes his eyes and rests his head against the wall, sweaty clothing sticking to him in some places, trembling a little. He was a strange combination of buzzed, euphoric, drunk and tuckered out from the night's activities... He thought they'd done rather well, trading off places to go... Neets had insisted on some metal place called MonoLogue first thing... That'd been loud, too, but a little more melodic, he thought. A giggle at that, since -normal- people disdained anything you couldn't automatically identify as four part harmony... Yup, he -was- drunk, his thoughts wandering like that... Then there'd been Al A. Ska's King of the Crabs House of 'Tones or whatever the heck it was called, all -he- ever remembered was where it was and that they had -great- bands, and pretty decent food... He wasn't hungry, yet, 'cept for one thing, but even that wasn't very pressing, at the moment...* ((Continued again))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#8151 Fri, Aug 29, 3:19PM PST
((*Simply bloomin' -adores- this intro...*)) *And then where...? Oh, he couldn't recall the name... A bluesy joint with a thick fug and wailing banshees of harmonicas, twiddly clarinets and just all manner of eddies of thick intelligent jazz... He recalled someone telling him once that jazz was for? from? the brain, and rock and roll was for... yeah, it -was- for, the groin... and another grunge-dive, this one with pingy, clangy pinball machines near the door... The Roosevelt Tea Room and Rose Club had been his choice, since somewhere he'd learned how to waltz... He sorta wished he could have a picture of that, him in his neatly hemmed grey shorts, T-shirt and boots [hat left behind so it wouldn't get lost] and Neets in all black turning neatly amongst the more genteel, formally-dressed crowd... They'd [Neets and Beej] been polite, though, and even after a few frigid (disgusted, too) looks... Off to some other nameless shack with shake-your-bones bass boost and a rough crowd at the front of the stage, lost inside the human washing machine of the mosh pit... Ouch. He'd have bruises tomorrow, for sure... But he just didn't -care-, then or now.* ((Continued again... Toldjya I had a lot on my mind...*grin*))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#8169 Fri, Aug 29, 3:21PM PST
*And some old haunt of his, it'd changed hands and was some spacy fern-bar/discotheque(sp?) combo, now, playing top-forty hits from before he was born... It was all right, but it lasted about as long as the Rose place. Bleah. Then tossed into the swirl-and-kaboom of some rat trap with hip-hop|reggae|semi-rap-or-SOMEthing... (it had been beyond his ability to define its genere) Quite spiffy... or maybe it was just the company... or the fact that there was far more alcohol than is healthy or normal in his bloodstream... Beej decides that he will -NOT- ask how his lover knows of all these places, tugging clammy shirt away from his chest, trying to cool down... And the place just before this one, all red and steamy and full of slinky horns and sizzling drums... He didn't know how to tell a Salsa from a Merengue(sp?) from a Tango (*hopes that's Hispanic, is willing to be corrected*), but loving the chill the music sent down his spine, the sheer delight in the notes as they slid into the air around him... He grins again, recalling their attempts to imitate others around them, his clumsy hips not cooperating... Or at least they hadn't -seemed- to. He simply couldn't tell, remember, whatever...Still standing there, replaying that soverysexy music in his head, grinning like the fool he could be and probably was...* ((Done))

(Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet... Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#8328 Fri, Aug 29, 3:32PM PST
~~He was drunk. Blindingly, glaringly, happily stoned out of his mind on the fiery amber liquids they'd been consuming all night long. He'd somehow managed to lose Beej in this crowd, this writhing, screaming mass of humanity all grinding to the hidden beats in their minds more than to the low-toned growling bass voice pouring from the speakers now. And he didn't -care- that they were dancing with him, over him, through and around him. he wanted to touch it, feel it all, before this night passed into the fade of days, before his youth left him and he could no longer flaunt his exotic looks amongst a roomful of broken-spirited teenagers all trying to lose themselves in the music so they could find whatever it was they were looking for. For his part, he was looking for his lover...a glass of beer in one hand, sloshing down his pale scarred arm, and his emerald hair all-but matted to his head with excited sweat, he pushed and screamed and laughed like a psychotic clown. And finally, finally, he was back in a tiny corner of the club, golden eyes red from smoke and no doubt the faintest etchings of alcoholic overindulgence, but locked on the equally blitzed face of a S'Harran trader.~~

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#8433 Fri, Aug 29, 3:41PM PST
((*Laugh* A psychotic clown? Oh me...)) *-There- he was! Beej suddenly feels incredibly old as he ponders the fact that he simply doesn't -get- this... music. All of this occurrs in an eyeblink, so there's no worry over it at all... Besides, if there -had- been any, Neets' arrival would have dispelled it. He pushes away from the wall to find himself a little more unsteady than he had been when he came over here... he stands in a strange, surfer-esque posture for a moment before reaching over to move a sweat-sodden strand of that spiffy boa hair away from those fascinating citrine eyes.... He shakes his head, at himself, his love, at nothing at all, and wonders what he was going to do next...* *Blink*

(Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet... Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#8516 Fri, Aug 29, 3:48PM PST
~~Probably the only generation gap they have then, because this music, if it can be called that, the driving, pounding, screeching mess of notes, echoes through his mind and -fits-. If he were sober, he'd stop to analyze it, if he were sober he wouldn't be in this press of flesh...wouldn't be gulping down the last of his glass and screaming in the ear of his obviously done-for partner.~~ Wanna'go?! ~~Lupine eyes close, and he licks the curve of cartilage, raising an eyebrow. Or rather, he would, if he still had the motor control.~~ ((That damn Sublime video was one! *grin*))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#8598 Fri, Aug 29, 3:55PM PST
*Whoops, someone had pushed past him, the slight jar just enough to bump him against Neets... Not that he complains at this, mind you... The music wasn't all that bad, just definitely needing time to get used to... Or something. Slipping his arms about the younger man's waist, one hand sliding into a pocket, a real giggle swallowed by the mad vibrations of the air... An exaggerated nod for Neets, shouting back* Whatever... ((*Giggle* Oh! *Remembers* The drunk-ass dad from Wrong Way, gotchya...))

(Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet... Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#8726 Fri, Aug 29, 4:05PM PST
~~Hard -not- to be tossed and jiggled and bumped in this crowd, and he wasn't exactly protesting the contact either. Dropping the plastic cup on the ground without a care as to where it skitters off to, he draws the trader into an embrace. Well...not really. Scrawny arms looped around his waist, he pulls him back and forth a little, half-remembered steps from a looong time ago. Out of pace with the rest of the arm-waving patrons, he finds a strange music of his own, and sways to it, not caring that he must look as out of place now as he did when they waltzed earlier.~~ ((*snerk* Only one of my characters could slow-dance to NIN...))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#8854 Fri, Aug 29, 4:15PM PST
((*lol* Yeah! *Considers* If it's NIN, Beej should warm up to it after a while... *Really needs to refrain from analizing her Cs in this state* *Giggles again*)) *Well, this wasn't bad at all.... The other hunger from earlier returns, a little more insistent now as the madding crowd pushes around the oblivious- well, mostly oblivious pair.... His forehead rests against atacamite tresses, beaming insanely... T'Blazes with what people thought, it was unlikely they'd be noticed much in -this- crowd. A sloppily-executed kiss encompasses most of one green brow, Beej pressing closer as someone else wants by...*

(Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet... Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#9025 Fri, Aug 29, 4:27PM PST
~~Desire heightened by proximity and that link, not to mention streams of fermented grain sizzling round in his molecular structure, his hands stray from their original course, finally finding a place to test his fingers-in-back-pockets theory. In this crowd, who's going to notice, maybe even care, about two fairly amalgamate young men? Sloppy...well, hell, his own aim isn't so great either, but he does manage, after a minute or two, to find Beej's mouth. Lost together, just like he always said. Not so bad...always dancing to a different drummer anyway, he figured they might as well just find their own band. The rustling, tinny echoes of cymbals crashing mark the end of a song, and a pause in the music altogether it would seem. Funny thing...there were his feet, clumsily dragging back and forth anyway.~~ ((*grin* *cackle* Maybe it's Closer...))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#9268 Fri, Aug 29, 4:43PM PST
((*Nods* Thomas is...sort of yelling at Cole, or maybe having a breakdown or something.... *Blinks at him* This should be interesting... I'm finishing, or trying to finish Hx3a... *Snerk* Yeah, maybe... or Perfect Drug....)) *Hum... He -knew- there was a resaon he'd stuck with the A'caillian's liquor all night, it tasted like Neets' mouth... But it ain't half as warm (tastes awful, then) or pliable or pleasent or- Their shuffling was adding to everything, and maybe they'd need an entire orchestra, or maybe just a soundcard with Bach drifting from it or maybe he'd take the lull in the music-come-noise to break away from that pale-pink mouth to mumble at a more reasonable volume- he just -knew- his throat was gonna be a stone bitch to live with tomorrow -while trying to follow the rumpled flesh of said ear* Wanna stay 'r go...? Don' really care... *Snigger*

(Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet... Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#9447 Fri, Aug 29, 4:58PM PST
~~Did he really need to answer that? Too busy, one hand, reluctant to move from the pocket of those shorts, but eager to stifle conversation with another kiss. He felt absurdly like giggling, like he was floating away, wrapped in the seductive mist of smoke and scotch and musky sweat, without even wondering why those things -were- seductive. Strains of classical or heavy rhythms of techno-industrial-gothic-whatever, even the pattering drum beats of a long-gone tribal culture couldn't equal or ever hope to surpass the swelling creature that the music in his mind had become. But he supposed he -should- answer...maybe...~~ Don' car'.. ((*laugh* oooh! Perfect Drug...*nodnod* *Wants to read such when Elvis finishes.*))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#9569 Fri, Aug 29, 5:10PM PST
((*Will inform Reese of completeness, or at least the nextly-uploaded chunk* Nodnod* *Giggle*)) *GODS but they were outta their skulls.... His feet hurt, he notes faintly, and then there was all of these people around them.... Nothing, not peppers or music or just staring at the vast expanse of blackvelvet night and the spilled diamonds of stars could match this current between them... Mildly surprised that they don't spark or something as he trails damp lips across the side of his beloved's face and down his neck, muttering his response as best he can, given the impediment to speech that kissing -is-...* Les' get outta here... *Another odd little chortle, ever the mirror|sponge...*

(Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet... Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#9632 Fri, Aug 29, 5:16PM PST
~~No...that night in the desert had been absolute peace. This was electricity. he felt like a raw nerve, exposed to an open line, arching blue light crackling between them. Moist lips pausing, dampening that place just above jaw, just below ear mumble something, and he mumbles an affirmative, wondering if he can even stumble out of the club before he's consumed by the milion volt charge shooting through his brain, much -less- work his 'fader.~~ ((*grin* Cool!))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#9933 Fri, Aug 29, 5:34PM PST
((*Is kinda stuckish, will have it uploaded in a sec* *Grin*)) *It had been... Hours of just quiet -being-, until they'd finally gotten around to watching the stars in one another's eyes.... Strangely enough, that elecricity was twining itself about his legs and slinking up spine, spreading a coolness over the back of his head... Wierd but so -very- perfect... They'll have to keep holding one another up, but they aren't going to have to walk much, at the moment... Beej, sly boy that he is, saw this coming and preset his 'fader to take them -both- back... Unfortunately, they're going to end up in the public 'fader in that back hall at Glen's.* 'Kay... *That's what it sounds like, anyhow, mouth against crook of neck and shoulder, hands moving from the pockets of those inky jeans ((*assumption made* *Can correct*)) to finish the sequence....*((*Snigger* *Rearranges the building to suit their intentions*))

(Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet... Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#10109 Fri, Aug 29, 5:44PM PST
~~He couldn't really remember much about it right now, except that it had been the best night of the whole trip, and they hadn't done a thing but hold each other. Not like now, with this raw fire-like energy resounding through the both of them. NOW they were attracting a stare or two, now that security was herding people towards the door and the spellbinding one-ness of the frenzied dance had passed. He manages, somehow, to catch the folded paper Beej pulls free of his back pocket, before leaning closer.~~ Mmmm...~~Could be another affirmative, could be a moan...hard to tell.~~ ((*Assumption right* **nods and awaits button*))

Blackwater Jones (Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet.): . . . . msg#10341 Fri, Aug 29, 5:58PM PST
((*Posted button, but if it got missed...* Just hit reload for GuldHx3a...*nodnod*)) *It certainly beat chasing sandcrawlers away from tents, or breakfast, or any of a dozen other perils that sleeping on that side of camp entailed.... He lifts his head for a brief look around... An uptight-looking security guard with a disapproving, distasteful look on his face makes him grin wickedly.... He presses the last button, pushing outward with a foot to turn them sidewise to the approaching man... Slowly leaning Neets backward in a Tango-like dip and planting his mouth firmly over his lover's as they 'fade... He'll get around to being curious about the paper in good time...* ((*Thwaps Beej* Don't do that, twit, y'might get maimed...))

(Somewhere, in a grungy little shoebox far, far away... NOT at Glens, yet... Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#10461 Fri, Aug 29, 6:07PM PST
~~Taken entirely off-guard, he loses what little is left of his shaky balance, pitching forward so that all his weight depends on Beej for support. Not so different from anything else, really. he knows they're 'fading -somewhere-, but hasn't a clue where, nor does he truly care. Losing himself in the sharp-flavored kiss he curls the hand with the bit of paper against Beej's back, scrabbling for a handful of damp cotton shirt.~~ ((*nodnod* Got it.))

Blackwater Jones (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#10564 Fri, Aug 29, 6:16PM PST
*Balance is a hard thing to maintain, tonight, as Beej stumbles back into the wall with an 'oof'.... A quick trickle of laughter, content to hold Neets up and lean against the wall, breathing fast and eyes sparkling from more than just the excess alcohol...* Fun.... *And then he's locked in a near-desperate embrace, kissing needily along jaw to mouth and giving a bit of a rumble...*

-In a back hall, Tavern- Neetlemyre Knickerbocker ((Infernally distracted, not ignoring anyone...)): . . . . msg#10629 Fri, Aug 29, 6:22PM PST
~~At least the booth is small, and tucked away...he wasn't going to...yeah, he kinda thought he was, since he was trying to get Beej loose of his shirt.~~ Yeah...ain't gonna mek't upsta'rzzz...~~Slurred, the accent is thicker than it should be, and then not there at all as he busies his teeth with the curving neck presented to him.~~

Blackwater Jones (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#10731 Fri, Aug 29, 6:31PM PST
*Not to mention so far off the beaten path that it was highly unlikely that anyone'd 'fade in.... He still thinks they oughta move, so he shimmies a bit, moving away, still leaning against the wall...* Oooh...? *Half query, half just noise at those teeth, hands roaming over Neets' back and backside, presenting a bit more of that neck to be attended to...*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#11035 Fri, Aug 29, 6:54PM PST
~~Well...maybe they should -try- to make it upstairs...really, the booth was kinda cramped, and he was begining to feel rather agile.~~ Mebbe...~~Breathless and excited, his teeth nip a bit harder.~~

Blackwater Jones (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#11217 Fri, Aug 29, 7:08PM PST
*He blinks, trying to get his brain to function correctly.... Upstairs... That'd be a good idea... Yeah... He extricates himself from the younger man, standing up straightish... He doubts that he could -carry- Neets, but he can tuck him under and arm and shuffle towards the door at the other end of the hall...* ((*Was considering having them discover a couch-containing alcove that 'most nobody else has seen* *can also go with going upstairs* *Whatever*))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#11455 Fri, Aug 29, 7:22PM PST
~~Oh hell...he didn't -want- to walk. A flash of petulance is seen, before he settles snugly under the proffered arm. Unwilling to give over in his attentions, he fumbles, finally finding the trader's hand and lifting it, bringing it to his lips as his own free hand tucks the piece of paper back in his pocket.*

Blackwater Jones (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#11601 Fri, Aug 29, 7:31PM PST
((*Whines* *Hates choices, flips a coin* Heads, upstairs, tails, couch... *Says this with a completely straight face* *Bursts into giggles a moment later*)) *Well, he'd be happy to oblige Neets, but he really would rather get them to...wherever they were gonna end up with as few injuries as possible.... He turns his captive hand around, attempting to caress that elfin visage, finding that half-closing your eyes -really- didn't make it easier to walk... his shoulder brushes a wall and he corrects their course, the hand at his beloved's hip slides up under that black shirt...*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#11893 Fri, Aug 29, 7:53PM PST
~~Walls...somewhere, when he quit giggling (and was he really giggling out loud or was it just in his head?) he recalled that walls were solid, and therefore a bad thing to walk into. Slightly coherent, he also seems to register that kissing fingertips, even sucking on them gently, can be done with that warm hand in its new position. Really, it was amazing the things he found interesting when he was trashed. Oh...now tickling his ribs like that just wasn't -fair-, not when they were coming to the end of the hall and he couldn't reciprocate for fear of ripping thin cloth...no, it's not -that- thin, but at this point, he's not so sure he trusts himself...~~ ((*snickers* *A LOT*))

Blackwater Jones (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#12131 Fri, Aug 29, 8:09PM PST
*It must be aloud, because Beej can hear it, too sort of... Maybe it was just his ears ringing... Actually, walls could be helpful when you're terribly distracted by a moist heat sending goosebumps up your arm... Case in point- managing to open that door without losing much contact, turning in the direction of the stairs, or so he thinks, keeping that shoulder brushing against the wall... -He didn't mean to tickle, not really, just wanting to feel that ridged skin under his fingers... It would not do at -all- to rip brand new clothes, not at all...* ((*Sniggle*))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a back hall, Tavern-): . . . . msg#12459 Fri, Aug 29, 8:30PM PST
~~The giggling makes his lips tickle as well, and the alcohol seems to have heightened his senses...he would almost swear he could feel ever tiny ridge of the trader's figerprints, taste the faint saltiness of his skin. Maybe he could. Maybe he was making the whole night up. No...his feet hurt too much, slopping around in his half-laced combat boots, and the now-tickling, now-caressing fingers running over the raised lines of scarring on his ribs are too hot, too firm to be a dream. Ripping... shredding undoing buttons...whatever it would take...he wanted them OFF, and soon.~~ ((*WEG*))

Blackwater Jones (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#12779 Fri, Aug 29, 8:50PM PST
Ow! *He muffles cursing mixed with laughter, looking down to see what he'd barked a shin on... A coffee table. Well... An expanse of shadows catches his eye... He didn't recall seeing this particular alcove before... Who gave a damn? Everything seemed a little magnified, or maybe he had gotten smaller...? He doesn't worry about it, half-dragging, half tumbling his lover and himself onto the broad, slightly dusty cushions of the couch hiding in those shadows... Both hands up under that shirt now, kicking at his boots, growling at the younger man... Trying very hard not to give into the growing sense of -now|now|now-...* ((*Can probably stay 'til 12:00 PST...))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#13387 Fri, Aug 29, 9:32PM PST
~~Brief concern at the muffled exclamation of pain, his hands growing somehow softer, caressing gently before realizing Beej was alright. The faintly musty odor of the dark corner assualts his flaring nostrils as they crash-land on the dusty divan. He can't decide if he's half-on-top-of or half-buried-under his lover as they burrow into the satin brocade cushions, only knows that he's tangled up again, arms and legs in a crazy knot of fumbling desire. -Now|soon|please- racing like rivulets of ice water down every tingling nerve, his mouth seeks out and finds an earlobe.~~ ((BuggerybloodyHELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! *Thinks this somehow more effective than screaming SHIT!!!!!!!! over and over.* -If- I ever get this motherfucking post through, count me as gone. The phone lines are going staticy cause of a storm, and I'm afraid they're going to fry my modem. *Mutters something about stupid phone companies who would rather run a completely new digital phone lone from the pole than replace existing wire IN a house.* I'll TRY to get back later, if not, we'll pull a time warp the next time you CAN play and finish this up, or do it through e-mail or something. If I manage to get back on, I'll e-mail you Elvis. *SIIIIIIIIIIIIIGH*))

Blackwater Jones (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very-shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#13766 Sat, Aug 30, 10:19PM PST
*A fleeting curiosity regarding the couch, then lost in his lover again, a soft mumble as his ear is ensnared by that toasty mouth... His back arches a little, one arm moving to wrap about Neets' waist and hold him tight against hips that suddenly have a mind of their own...* Mmmph... *In response to the wash of -want-, wanting more his ownself, other hand groping for buttons- whose? He doesn't care, giving another soft little moan...* ((Looky, I can post IC...*grin*))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very-shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#13897 Sat, Aug 30, 10:26PM PST
~~Warm questing lips move from the too-soft earlobe back to the harder line of prickly stubbled jaw, not caring about the soft abrasion of his face at all. His own drunken movements grandiose, not-so-skilled but still seeking the outlet he finds in his lover's pleasure, his slender hands work just-so over already damp fabric, teasing and lifting to more fervent need.~~ ((*snigger* Very good! Your mother and I are so proud...*giggle*))

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#14590 Sat, Aug 30, 11:07PM PST
*Nuzzling against that smooth face, reveling in sensations... Every nerve-ending was singing, as if they'd absorbed every drop of music the two young men had heard tonight and stored it up somewhere, only to be loosing it in a icy/firey trail down his spine and into his belly... Hands -under- Neets' back pockets, pressing into flesh, breath rough.... His mouth simply presses, opens, closes, just -moving- against the side of the younger man's face, tongue slipping out on occasion to catch a bead of sweat... Some odd little bit of his brain that still works properly manages to convince the -rest- of his brain that this would be a good time to see how quiet he could be...*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very-shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#14715 Sat, Aug 30, 11:17PM PST
~~Rememberance flickers, flares like a fire fed new wood as he recalls another night of music, strains of violin intertwining with slow movements... a crescendo of touches. Now his head whirls, here a touch of the low, growling seduction of bass across a sea of kohl-lined faces, there the spicier beat of salsa and now the stately flare of that waltz. Too much...it should be discordant, but it flows from him as he presses fingers into the tiny concavities between ribs. Salt and spice and alcohol invade his mouth as his tongue darts over his lover's barely-bearded chin, licking a path down to his throat.~~

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#14945 Sat, Aug 30, 11:35PM PST
*A hiccup of breath and a pearly string of breathless laughter as those dexterous digits tickle a bit... He shifts again, fumbling at more buttons as he does... murmuring softly to himself or his beloved; song lyrics, nonsense, drunken abandon melting his thoughts and letting them drip from his tongue... Speaking of tongues, he tries to catch Neets' in its way by, tilting his head back... A hand slipping along the edge of bifurcation, making faint forays...* ((*Blinks* *Giggles as she's proud of working 'bifurcation' into a post*))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very-shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#15206 Sat, Aug 30, 11:52PM PST
~~He would hiccup, but that would mean taking a breath, and that's too much of a bother now. Maybe...well, he might just be persuaded to taste that eager mouth... Never the garrulous sort, he remains silent but for his sharp, uneven pulls of dank air as his elegant digits sweep lower, almost roughly running over the jutting plane of hipbones and lower still.~~ ((*blinks* *Had to look up bifurcation* *Still wasn't QUITE sure what Elvis meant, but has a clue now.* *Is going to need a better thesaurus...*))

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#15597 Sun, Aug 31, 0:17AM PST
*A soft groan at those hands, arching his body slowly and kicking at fabric tangled about his feet... He obliges the kiss by opening his mouth as wide as he can, filling his mouth and nose with 'Neets'... -now|now|^^Kitten...?^^-, fingers exploring further, as gentle as his kissing is rough...*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#15778 Sun, Aug 31, 0:29AM PST
~~Fumbling towards ecstacy...the title of an album Neets wouldn't recognize and certainly doesn't care about right now. Tongue grooving, smoothing over hard teeth and soft caves of moist skin, he makes a quiet sound, the indistinct rumbling purr almost lost to him. -Nownownow|Beej- and even that reply, fuzzled, muggered...stained with an alcoholic residue that he doesn't find at all distasteful. His smooth form rippling in response to inquisitive hands, he can do little more than return the frenzied zeal.~~

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#15899 Sun, Aug 31, 0:38AM PST
Elvis:((That would be 'Pepper' by the Butthole Surfers. *blinks at Beej and Neets.* *Keeps silent upon name of band* *Does NOT snigger in the least* *Song fits too well.....*))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#15975 Sun, Aug 31, 0:44AM PST Elvis:
((*nod* That was what always made me respect her, was that she actually used her fame and fortune to help people. *gigglegrin* True...*does NOT think anyone is watching*))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very-shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#16110 Sun, Aug 31, 0:54AM PST
Elvis:((*grin* You're welcome! That was the very first alternative song that I heard..*sighs happily, thinking of how it led to all sorts of cool music* *lol* *Figured IC post was being written.*))

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#16128 Sun, Aug 31, 0:55AM PST
((*Giggles* *Thought about the phrase 'tongue-and-groove' [relating to construction] earlier*)) *Smiling around their kiss, rumbling himself, fingers pressing deep and sliding away slowly, -pleased- at his lover's shudder... He pulls himself together long enough to rearrange them, nestling himself between Neets' knees... He does nothing yet, sinking back into the torrent of sensation-only consciousness with a little sigh...*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#16230 Sun, Aug 31, 1:04AM PST
Elvis:((Yeah...they were talking about how close she was to both her sons ealier...I feel so sorry for them. *nod* he does, sort of. Both of them are very...different. *grin* I like them, for the most part. Beck's new song get's on my nerves though. *sniggers over last sent PM.* *Wonders if that disqualifies her from Mistress-hood.*))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#16383 Sun, Aug 31, 1:16AM PST
~~He gives out a whisper-like 'Ah' of pleasure, feeling the last of his restraint, willpower, sobriety, whatever...melt away like chocolate on a hot day. His kissing hungry, as though the trader were an exotic delicacy he couldn't get enough of, he finds his knobby spine arching, his whole mind and body centered on raw sensation alone.~~

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#16433 Sun, Aug 31, 1:20AM PST
Elvis:((*grin* I like Devil's Haircut...I REALLY like 'I'm a Loser'. *giggles* *Urges Elvis along the path towards Canadian rock bands.* Moist...if you get the chance, you MUST try Moist! Gasoline, Ophelia, Ressurection, revidescent, tangerine...and David Usher's voice...Wow...*siiiiigh* *laugh* Lucky me!))

It did and didn't work, in some respects. You'll see what I mean... The pertinent post has been changed in the finished version of SL27.

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#16460 Sun, Aug 31, 1:22AM PST
*Oh, and how happy he would be to be consumed by the skinny youth beneath him, since they'd finally be -together-.... His hands slink down alabaster sides to hips, lifting them from the cushion, a sharp little growl-* ((Note: This post in two parts... If you want to respond to this part and break it off [see tail end {*no comment*} of post], go ahead...))

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#16493 Sun, Aug 31, 1:25AM PST
~~Growling, purring, muttered song lyrics...touching and holding and staying melding, coming together into one being...~~ ((Naaaahhh...*giggle* G'head...*snicker*))

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#16570 Sun, Aug 31, 1:31AM PST
*Enters*

the original Lusiphur (Black-clad elvish S): . . . . msg#16641 Sun, Aug 31, 1:36AM PST
((*tries to tear MUN-eyes away from reading the posts coming from that shadowed alcove...realizes that the writing is too damned good*))Cassie]*Sighs* Yeah...it's handy at times, but I don't like to use it...and...I'm afraid it'll come between us. Especially if...*trails off, ending his sentence with a pull from the whiskey bottle*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#16659 Sun, Aug 31, 1:38AM PST
~~Sensation...pure, physical and overwhelming... Surrounding, alien, welcoming...so much more, yet dwindling to an urgent drive towards the sun itself. So warm and trusting, -love-...~~

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#16971 Sun, Aug 31, 2:04AM PST
*Oh, the onion-like layers of how everything feels, tastes, smells- run together like dye into cloth, integrate on all levels -That single pinpoint of a goal consuming all, wrapped firmly in a flannelly -Love-.... His left hand seeks out his lover's, the metal band there that discouraged several pairs of made eyes earlier sparking as it passes through a small bar of light.... This golden glimmer in the back of his head more felt than seen as he searches deeper, other hand splayed and sliding along a scarred side....*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#17132 Sun, Aug 31, 2:18AM PST
~~Yellow eyes are half-lidded, darkened to the color of beer, unfocused yet seeming to stare. His world, thoughts now faded to instincts, and instincts mere dream-gauze urges, in a drifting concerto of perception. He reaches up now, drawing his lover's thoughts closer to him as he does his half-felt shape, every nerve arcing with the electric-blue-white fire...~~

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#17262 Sun, Aug 31, 2:29AM PST
*A fleeting glimpse of those honeyamber orbs, both arms sliding up and around to hold Neets ever-closer... There -aren't- any thoughts, not now, not when that brass ring is so close... mouth near an ear, harsh whispery voice sibilant with not-words.... Teeth scrape here, brush there, then sink gently into shoulder, the unseen dam growing flimsier...*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#17347 Sun, Aug 31, 2:36AM PST
~~Silver...blinding silver light, no...gold wasn't it? No...dark chestnut...just -color-, no shape to it anymore, though his own hands seemed to do nothing more than frantically trace, discovering angles and curves and crevices. His head turns, stealing the air from the useless wending of articulation and muffling his own exultations with the slide of tongue over teeth.~~

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#17544 Sun, Aug 31, 2:58AM PST
*Maybe it was vermeil(sp?), silverplated gold... Or goldplated silver...? Beej doesn't waste any time pondering this as he returns the gaspy kiss, shivering under his love's hands, fingers digging into crosshatched, milky epidermis.... And then- Then- It all comes crashing down in a flashbulb pop-snap of gold light against the inside of his eyelids and tremors that ripple up from his toes, a quiet outcry rolls from him and nails bite into that skin...*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#17631 Sun, Aug 31, 3:09AM PST
~~There it was, there -there-, gone again, shuddering from the depth of Him, back arching again, mind lost on a million pathways of dark and light, puzzle pieces, Beej... Not minding the biting fingers, the cloying mouth, muffling, accepting the cry like hastily wrapped gift as he plunges to a core of molten ice, or freezing embers, color gone too, everything gone but THEM. Questing through it all as he dies the little death, and then going slack, falling slowly back from the hazy summit...~~

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#17765 Sun, Aug 31, 3:23AM PST
*And now, into the pleasant aftermath, comes a faintish chill, a barely-felt niggle of 'uh-oh...' But this is all pushed away by a wasted, sated brain and overflowing heart as he resettles himself alongside Neets, still keeping arms about him... Speech is unreachable, unneccesary, anyhow as drowsy -love- simmers slowly throughout....He rests his face in the crook of neck and shoulder...*

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very-shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#17830 Sun, Aug 31, 3:30AM PST
~~He would speak, would tell his beloved that they shouldn't sleep here...but he doesn't think he can quite manage even that garbled explanation. There's no need, he decides after awhile, or a second, or whatever amount of time could span in the blink of his lazily un-clear eyes. The tiny brush of -apprehension- lost on him, he turns on his side, burying his nose in sweat-smelling dark hair and sighing, too close to dropping off the edge of the world into sleep.~~

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very-shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#17851 Sun, Aug 31, 3:32AM PST
((*DOUBTS this will ever happen again.* *Very seriously in fact.* *Will keep her thoughts on boys kissin' boys t'her ownself.* *Cackles and rubs hands in evil delight at the Plot Twist.*))

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#17909 Sun, Aug 31, 3:38AM PST
*Oh, boy, was he going to pay on the morrow... He swallows from half-realized curiosity and finds his throat smoke-scratched... The tempting call of Sleep is proving hard to resist indeed, but he holds it off a moment more to mumble in a voice lilting and surprisingly musical, an unheard accent made audible by a week spent home and the drinking...* Love y'....

Neetlemyre Knickerbocker (-In a shadowy alcove. A -very-shadowy alcove...-): . . . . msg#17950 Sun, Aug 31, 3:44AM PST
~~He knew the price of a hangover, and didn't count it too high for this night, not at all. Shaking the Sandman's hand from his shoulder for an instant, he decides he likes the accent.~~ Boot'f'l...luv'y...~~And then, with a quiet sigh, he's out, completely unconcious, his back pressed snugly against the back of the dusty old couch and his front pressed against something imminently more enjoyable, his mate.~~ ~~GONE IC~~

Blackwater Jones (In a shadowy alcove. A -very- shadowy alcove... ((Damn -sloooow!-)): . . . . msg#17992 Sun, Aug 31, 3:49AM PST
*Words... The meaning, if not the actual syllables, registers with him and he sighs happily, even as Morpheus whisks him away from consciousness and he is **GONEIC**