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Post by makism vandik tarasov on Nov 2, 2012 11:31:01 GMT -5
Makism couldn't help being that he was Quinn's soft spot... the Irishman had been his as well. It was killing him from the inside out, and it was starting to ache of things that were icy and dark. he would let that go... he would let it go for now.
The creature was shivering, shaking. He curled closer to the man, the water around his body growing icy cold just briefly. Makism tries to chase it away, tries to let Quinn warm his skin. If only it would work like that. His forehead rested against the pyro's cheek, lips pressing to his jaw.
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Post by tarquin finley ellis on Nov 2, 2012 17:47:38 GMT -5
Quinn did not want to admit his soft spots. He was sure he still had some of them, even if they were buried deep down and he wouldn't show that they were there. It was the crossroad choices that he had to make that told him that they still existed in some form or another. Quinn was doing what he could to break them, to cover them up until they were not longer even there at all. It was a process, and it wasn't going quite as quickly as Quinn would have liked. But as for the outside world and those that had no spots? It was only going to get worse for them.
And thankfully no one else was going to be able to get in. Quinn would have none of that. Best to be mostly on his own, to take his company in doses. Yet he does need company still, he still wants some sort of interaction with others, and that has led to today. To this game Makism and he were playing in the pool. But the cold came as the man curls closer to him, and the idea of being frozen in a pool does not appeal to Quinn. Not at all. He sends heat out to warm the water, to warm Makism, arms going around the man for now, letting Makism have this moment for now. The increased cold tells Quinn it's needed. He can deal with it for now.
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Post by makism vandik tarasov on Nov 3, 2012 0:24:29 GMT -5
Makism finds his way into Quinn's arms, tries his best to, always. It's something that he adores, it's something that he thrives on. There's a sad thing about it, especially in his attachment. He aches and he burns. As the Irishman warms, he can feel himself doing it as well. The Russian man's fingers move to trail over Quinn's lips, leaning in to take them with his own. There's a sweetness to the kiss, there's a bitterness to the kiss. It's something interesting, the way he feels it. What he fears is the emptiness from the other end.
What he fears is the lack of emotion that may come next. Makism is treading water, and while his head stays above, his heart does so just barely.
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Post by tarquin finley ellis on Nov 3, 2012 0:59:58 GMT -5
For all the heat and warmth, for all the fire that he is, Quinn has grown very cold internally. The parts that should never be frozen over. He's doing his best to push it all away, and somewhere within he knows the real way to do that would be to shove everyone that had meant something to him before out of his life and keep it that way. It would save him from any moments of feeling, from any spots being prodded at in surprise. If they weren't around, if Quinn did not go near them, then they wouldn't be able to worm their ways back in, would they? Not at all.
Yet he still wasn't willing to push Makism away physically. Not for long. Who else would be half as interesting? No one else was quite so close to the edge like Makism was. It was thrilling to see it. And Quinn takes the kiss, molds his lips to the man's and holds Makism to himself. For all the need to pull away more in the back of his mind, he was doing the opposite. But still, it lacked feeling. It lacked the things it used to be. There was no way around that right now.
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Post by makism vandik tarasov on Nov 3, 2012 1:12:26 GMT -5
He's starving. Makism is dying for the attention that Quinn is there and giving. It's driving him crazy, it's eating him alive. The creature's body forms to the Irishman's, starving as he treads water. His fingers are roaming, touching and feeling. Makism's palms smooth down Quinn's sides, moving and touching and feeling. There's a buzz that's missing... the Russian man is trying to attribute it to drugs. He wants to be able to blame it on the fact that he's stone cold sober at the moment. "You got anything good hiding in that bedroom of yours?" The creature palms Quinn's face, stroking with his fingertips. His green eyes... they burn.
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Post by tarquin finley ellis on Nov 3, 2012 1:20:44 GMT -5
He doesn't try to move away as Makism's body all but forms to his, just keeping his arms in place, keeping the warmth there for the cold creature who seems to need it. Quinn likes the touches right now, the way he feels as if he's being adored by those hands all over him. It's an ego thing, mostly. He wants it. Quinn always seems to want more these days.
Anything good in his bedroom? Quinn has to smile. He can't help but to smile at what has just been asked and the first thing that pops up in his mind. Typical Quinn, that's for sure. "I'm quite fond of my bed, to be honest." A bit of a joke, though it's pretty true anyway. But Quinn knows what it means, what Makism is asking. "As for drugs, I do have coke, perks, some x...." He adds after a moment, shrugging.
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Post by makism vandik tarasov on Nov 3, 2012 1:30:51 GMT -5
It depended on the day, really. Either the men would be good for each other... or they wouldn't. The building up, the ripping down... what was that? It was something that they seemed to be unable to help... a vicious cycle that went round and round. Makism could be in love and Quinn couldn't. It was plain and simple, was it not? Things weren't so black and white any more, and that was the striking thing. It had hit the Russian man hard, right in the gut. It had hurt him.
"You sharing?" The words grace his lips with a certain darkness, a certain weight. They're heavy, that's for sure. His lips press to the skin just below Quinn's ear, snaking down his neck. Ego stroking. Teasing.
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Post by tarquin finley ellis on Nov 3, 2012 1:40:05 GMT -5
Moods came and went, and that was true for Quinn. Some days he could tolerate more; he could be calm and playful, maybe bordering on nice. Other days he was sharp and cruel and cutting with words and actions, the need to push away. It was a vicious cycle, how they reacted to each other, both the good and the bad clashing, never knowing where it would end up, how it would go. There was pain and it was something that Quinn was doing everything he could to try and avoid. It didn't always work. It wasn't always easy. Even the cold couldn't numb everything.
Quinn can hear the tone of the words that Makism uses, the question that has come. His eyes close at the press of lips, and it works, this teasing and stroking of his ego. He can't help that. On the matter of the drugs, it's simple and doesn't matter too much to Quinn. It really doesn't. there's always more to be gotten. "If you'd like, sure. What's your poison?" There words are even, and Quinn still doesn't open his eyes, just pressing the man to himself and moving to shallower water with only feet and sense of direction to guide him there.
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Post by makism vandik tarasov on Nov 3, 2012 1:46:19 GMT -5
The Russian man couldn't help but smile into Quinn's neck. They manipulated each other more often than not. They had become something dangerous, a force to be reckoned with. It was interesting the way some things worked out... it hurt, the way things worked out. He was still here, his fingers still danced across the Irishman's skin. Today was a good day. What would it be tomorrow?
It didn't matter. Never would it matter, so long as they decided to live in the moment. For now, each monster would live in his own moment. The Russian man's fingers danced across Quinn's neck and down his shoulder, simply feeling. "Coke is always good, so long as I don't have to be alone." He isn't thinking when he speaks. Makism's words are more telling than he means for them to be but still he clings to Quinn as he drifts.
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Post by tarquin finley ellis on Nov 3, 2012 1:58:07 GMT -5
Just another day, and danger was always lurking, no matter how good it was, how even minded Quinn ended up at any given moment. The switch could just as easily be flipped, and then it could go to a much darker place. Not that there was all that much light in the spot they were in right now anyway. Quinn doesn't seem to mind, he works with the dark and it folds and curls around him like a cloak. There have been so many changes in so short of a time, though it had been awhile since the start of it now... This was it, this is what they had left. Quinn was okay with that. For now.
And perhaps it's because Quinn wants Makism to be more like him that the possessive spark stays, but it doesn't strike out. He knows there are secrets and scents surrounding Makism that don't make him happy; but he isn't asking. It's better not to know, not to feel any of it. He shivers at the fingers dancing over him, and his eyes open, head turns, tilts to look at the man when words come. "I'll do a line too." He says simply, and he releases Makism, moving away and swiftly vaulting out of the pool using the edge of it. It only takes a few seconds for his skin to heat up enough to dry, and he waits there to help Makism dry off when the man hops out of the pool.
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Post by makism vandik tarasov on Nov 3, 2012 2:03:31 GMT -5
The creature shook slightly as he makes his way out of the pool, leaping just slightly. The creature moves with the grace of something... something monsterous. When the dominant creature isn't around, that monster comes out to play. Makism has felt it starting to come into play that he wants what he wants... and he won't quit. They match out so well. The spark that's there has been lit to oil, something that will sit and burn until someone physically takes it and puts it out.
The Russian man moves to wrap his arms around Quinn, to cling to the naked skin. Skin on skin... Makism craves it. Makism still loves it.
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Post by tarquin finley ellis on Nov 3, 2012 2:12:03 GMT -5
He watches as Makism moves, still very much enthralled with the structure of the man. But Makism has always been so very good looking, something far too appealing to not want to touch. The want is often a very raw thing, and there's really no looking past it when other things are stripped away. It wouldn't be hard at all for Makism to get what he wants, looking like that, being who he was. The man was slick, bold, persuasive. Another almost perfect predator to room the halls of this place. And Quinn watches. He can't help but watch.
When Makism's arms are around him, he presses closer, his hands rubbing heat over the body of the other man. He warms the moisture right off the skin, his teeth finding and nibbling along Makism's neck; tempting little bites and a few swipes of his tongue along the way. But once he feels the man is warmed and dry enough, he steps away and moves to his clothing, starting to put it all back on slowly. He's not in a rush right now, there's no need to be. They'll be back in his room in no time, lines out before them and then the rush of being high will come.
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Post by makism vandik tarasov on Nov 3, 2012 2:22:14 GMT -5
The creature finds his breath taken away. Quinn is long limbed, all soft lines and hard angles. It's interesting to look at, it's fun to watch. He adores the way his body flows together, the way their bodies flow together. They move and combat each other, they gel together... yet nothing can be laid on the counter. He can't bear it. There are some things Makism can't let go of, there are some things he couldn't stomach.
"Come on, I've always wanted to go streaking." The Russian man tugged on Quinn's hand, still aching as he feels what's warm and safe and comfortable... what he's missed and what he's used to.
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Post by tarquin finley ellis on Nov 3, 2012 2:34:55 GMT -5
Quinn's still aware that Makism wants more, that the man might always want more from him. But this is what he has to offer, these days of playing around and the heat. There will always be some kind of heat between them, no matter how cold Quinn lets himself get. There's no way around it, not with them being exactly who they are, knowing all that they do about each other. Some things have been lost along the way, but then there are things that have come in place of that. Better, worse; Quinn doesn't know and isn't going to try and figure out just now.
He's stopped while trying to put his clothes back on by a pull to his hand, the words that find his ears. He blinks a little, then smirks at the idea. It's quite naughty, and Quinn decides that he's all for it. So he pushes his clothes aside and straightens up; grinning at Makism with a nod of his head. "Then streaking it is." He murmurs, pulling the man close for a quick kiss before starting off, hand still in Makism's.
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Post by makism vandik tarasov on Nov 3, 2012 2:39:45 GMT -5
The creature couldn't help but want things... there would be bad and there would be worse. Better was something that lived only in delusion, did it not? He didn't want to be delusional any longer. The creature shivered at the thought, but it could easily be seen as the cold. It was generally the cold with him now. Quinn is there, Quinn can keep him warm. Makism is allowed to cling. He's made it on what he has, and it's become what he needs.
The kiss sends a spark through his body, bundling his clothes in his arms. Off like a shot the man is, giggling madly as he begins to run through the chilly fall air. It's been so cold lately, but between Quinn and the fact that he's used to it now, it's not so bad. With this pair, nothing can be so bad.
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