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Two for one (Intro // Evented // Aphro'd)
Dec. 21st, 2009 08:36 pmAnother hotel room. There have been so many that they're starting to run together. J doesn't remember getting to this one. He doesn't remember checking in. Maybe he wasn't paying attention...except he's always paying attention.
That isn't important now, though. Not really. There's work to do. They need money if they're going to do some long distance traveling. Real money. So, they're falling back on an old con, it seems. J will be the bait, he'll lure in 'johns' and then he andMitch Bruce Zach will mug the poor, horny bastard and toss him, rolling him for all his cash with pictures to use as blackmail to keep the guy from going to the cops.
This seems different, though. Is this still a con? It's all a little blurry. They haven't tried this game since a knife widened J's smile. Why are they going to now? There must be a reason and he just can't remember right now. Though...he's wondering if the plan is still a mugging. J's body is warm, his head is fuzzy, the blood is rushing from his brain, and this room seems awfully fancy for a set up.
He sits on the end of the bed and the sheets feel really nice. Satin slips between his fingers as he grips the edge of the mattress, bare feet digging into thick shag carpet. J's jeans feel far too tight and he reminds himself that he has a butterfly knife in his pocket if things go too far...but now he's not sure what he wants to happen when the john comes in. He also reminds himself that "Zach" is waiting in the bathroom. Surely his friend will stop things from getting too far, even if J can't trust himself to do the same right now.
[[OOC: Both genders welcome. Setup for 3 ways with J here and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
andthethrill. There's a risk of a little violence with your sex were J is concerned. All Batman canonmates welcome, especially 'self-cest' with older versions of these two.]]
That isn't important now, though. Not really. There's work to do. They need money if they're going to do some long distance traveling. Real money. So, they're falling back on an old con, it seems. J will be the bait, he'll lure in 'johns' and then he and
This seems different, though. Is this still a con? It's all a little blurry. They haven't tried this game since a knife widened J's smile. Why are they going to now? There must be a reason and he just can't remember right now. Though...he's wondering if the plan is still a mugging. J's body is warm, his head is fuzzy, the blood is rushing from his brain, and this room seems awfully fancy for a set up.
He sits on the end of the bed and the sheets feel really nice. Satin slips between his fingers as he grips the edge of the mattress, bare feet digging into thick shag carpet. J's jeans feel far too tight and he reminds himself that he has a butterfly knife in his pocket if things go too far...but now he's not sure what he wants to happen when the john comes in. He also reminds himself that "Zach" is waiting in the bathroom. Surely his friend will stop things from getting too far, even if J can't trust himself to do the same right now.
[[OOC: Both genders welcome. Setup for 3 ways with J here and
andthethrill. There's a risk of a little violence with your sex were J is concerned. All Batman canonmates welcome, especially 'self-cest' with older versions of these two.]]OOC: A Mitch and J soundtrack
Nov. 14th, 2009 05:50 pmI'm going to post songs here that fit these two and their story. I'll add to it as I think of things or Mitch-mun does. If anyone else wants to reply with suggestions, link lyrics and an mp3, if you can.
So, in no particular order...
Soundtrack
Leave a Scar - Marilyn Manson
Undisclosed Desires - Muse
Dark Blue - Jack's Mannequin
Dead Meat - Sean Lennon
Stockholm Syndrome - Muse
How We Operate - Gomez
So, in no particular order...
Leave a Scar - Marilyn Manson
Undisclosed Desires - Muse
Dark Blue - Jack's Mannequin
Dead Meat - Sean Lennon
Stockholm Syndrome - Muse
How We Operate - Gomez
Smile, and the world smiles with you.
Oct. 13th, 2009 12:38 amThe night was long and peaceful. Maybe more than any J has had in a long time...maybe in all of his life, if you don't count being drugged as 'sleep'. The injuries and shock are partially to blame for the deep sleep, of course, but this isn't the risky coma of post-shock. It's the first conscious orgasm he's head in years, probably the most healthy he's ever had, and a warm protective body wrapped around him. One he doesn't trust not to hurt him, no, but trusts not to leave him or expect anything of him. Everything before the hotel is flashes, still images, and vague fuzzy memories, at best. All he knows, when he wakes, is things have changed. Everything has changed. And he's in pain.
J wakes with blood in his mouth and old memories with the same bitter, copper taste still lingering in the back of his mind. Jeannie. Making himself disappear. Everything that came after. It smells like sex in the room. Of course it does... He rubs his face and his palms run over the bandages and stitching and snag. It pulls, he hisses, and he begins feeling over the wounds. It's...there's so much...
He slides out of the bed. Away from Mitch. Away from more contact than he's ever just allowed before. J feels weak and dizzy when he gets to his feet. He needs to get some water, something to eat, get his strength back up. He puts a hand on the wall and makes his way to the bathroom. He's naked and his thighs feel sticky as he walks. He doesn't know how to feel about that. He knows what he did --or, what he let Mitch do-- and knows he normally wouldn't. He also knows he enjoyed it.
Once he gets the bathroom light switched on, though, there are more important things to worry about than what a little sexual deviancy means for their friendship. As he blinks the blur from his eyes and adjusts to the harsh white lighting, he sees the bandages, the exposed stitching, and the blood soaking through gauze to make a wide, red smile on an otherwise tired and miserable face. ...His face is ruined... His mouth is torn apart in three directions. A wide, broken smile ruining what he never saw as other's did but knew were angelic features.
'You're so beautiful. Like an angel.', she told him. Now he looks like a monster.
He screams, pulling at the wounds and prompting them to start bleeding again.
"No! No no NO!!!"
Huge cracks spiderweb across the glass under J's fist and his blood trickles down from his knuckles, following the paths of the cracks. His image splinters with the glass, showing multiple of his newly mutilated visage.
'...Like it's my fault? it's because he's a fucking monster, Caroline, and monster's don't have feelings! What, d'you hear that you fuckin' little monster? Jesus, look at 'im! He doesn't even care! He knows what he is. Don'cha? Just smilin' like it'll make it all better. Yer mom's cryin' because of you! You need t'smile bigger than that!'
A big red smile made of blood and wounds belies his sadness and rage, not matter what expression he tries to make. A big, stupid, fake grin. There are tears streaking down his cheeks and he realizes his throat is hoarse, so he must have screamed more times than he's aware of. He brings his bleeding hand up to his face and smears the blood across to more exaggerate the smile, nearly from ear to ear, and replaces his own screams with loud, manic, laughter he feels powerless to stop.
J wakes with blood in his mouth and old memories with the same bitter, copper taste still lingering in the back of his mind. Jeannie. Making himself disappear. Everything that came after. It smells like sex in the room. Of course it does... He rubs his face and his palms run over the bandages and stitching and snag. It pulls, he hisses, and he begins feeling over the wounds. It's...there's so much...
He slides out of the bed. Away from Mitch. Away from more contact than he's ever just allowed before. J feels weak and dizzy when he gets to his feet. He needs to get some water, something to eat, get his strength back up. He puts a hand on the wall and makes his way to the bathroom. He's naked and his thighs feel sticky as he walks. He doesn't know how to feel about that. He knows what he did --or, what he let Mitch do-- and knows he normally wouldn't. He also knows he enjoyed it.
Once he gets the bathroom light switched on, though, there are more important things to worry about than what a little sexual deviancy means for their friendship. As he blinks the blur from his eyes and adjusts to the harsh white lighting, he sees the bandages, the exposed stitching, and the blood soaking through gauze to make a wide, red smile on an otherwise tired and miserable face. ...His face is ruined... His mouth is torn apart in three directions. A wide, broken smile ruining what he never saw as other's did but knew were angelic features.
'You're so beautiful. Like an angel.', she told him. Now he looks like a monster.
He screams, pulling at the wounds and prompting them to start bleeding again.
"No! No no NO!!!"
Huge cracks spiderweb across the glass under J's fist and his blood trickles down from his knuckles, following the paths of the cracks. His image splinters with the glass, showing multiple of his newly mutilated visage.
'...Like it's my fault? it's because he's a fucking monster, Caroline, and monster's don't have feelings! What, d'you hear that you fuckin' little monster? Jesus, look at 'im! He doesn't even care! He knows what he is. Don'cha? Just smilin' like it'll make it all better. Yer mom's cryin' because of you! You need t'smile bigger than that!'
A big red smile made of blood and wounds belies his sadness and rage, not matter what expression he tries to make. A big, stupid, fake grin. There are tears streaking down his cheeks and he realizes his throat is hoarse, so he must have screamed more times than he's aware of. He brings his bleeding hand up to his face and smears the blood across to more exaggerate the smile, nearly from ear to ear, and replaces his own screams with loud, manic, laughter he feels powerless to stop.
House of Cards
Sep. 23rd, 2009 01:53 amThe thing about robbing criminals was that it was easier, they were dumb and cocky, and generally the authorities wouldn't be notified or care. It was an excellent plan. It started with casinos and underground card games in Vegas. Roll the house for a few hundred. Cheat a few rounds at private poker games, lose a few, then switch out. Take them for a large haul, and move on. It was a good game and it was one Mitch and J were both suited to. If it was a big haul, one would spend the game out in the parking lot; listening for trouble and crippling the opposition's vehicles. There was no down side to it. Even when the mooks pulled guns, they'd be ready with a quick exit or a handy threat in retaliation... at least when J was playing the 'face' for the con. It was always his idea to push it further and for more. To take the marks for more than he or Mitch needed just to take it. He didn't care if they kept it or gave it away after. He'd put everything on the line to make sure he robbed them blind and make it clear that his life or their lives meant just about nothing to him. Every time he'd pull a table down for everything like that, they'd have to move on. There was no staying behind, then. Mitch would chastise him and call him an idiot or crazy or remind him he could have died and J would laugh. He could have, sure, but he didn't and they won.
It was several cities, a half-dozen big table games, two convenience stores, and enough time to gain a tenuous understanding of each other later when it became a problem. J went in, with Mitch watching the lot. The method, he felt, had proven itself. It was always adjusted just a little, but the same premise. He was a rich boy spending daddy's money in a big, fancy poker game. Just like in the movies! He'd lose a few hands, then take everything. If things went south, he'd have wired plastic explosives in his jacket to threaten his way out of the building and Mitch would be waiting with the car ready near the street.
This time, though, after the shouting started and things got audibly ugly inside... J didn't come out of the building. It happened much faster than usual, too. Long before the game should have been over or pockets emptied. Just a few hands in. Two guards tied the young man's hands behind his back and around the chair and pull his coat down to hang off of his tethered hands. The rigged bomb was jerked free of the coat and taken to another room to be 'disarmed'. .... Now things have become complicated.
"Hey...I thought we were just having a fun game here. That wasn't serious. It was for a party later."
The man charged with disarming it laughs from the other room and shouts that the explosive isn't even real. It's just modeling clay. He opens the door to show them, still laughing as he pulls the wires free and the small bit of real gun powder inside the fake plastiq goes off and takes off most of his fingers.
"...A surprise party."
J smiles sheepishly, but they don't seem to find it funny. The man running the game knocks the table aside and stands in front of the boy sneering at that grin. The heavy, metal hand gun is already in the gambling man's fat fist and he knocks J across the jaw with it, bruising him and dropping that smile from his face....if only momentarily.
"You think this is funny, kid? D'you have any idea how deep the shit is yer swimmin in? We were warned about you. You've taken money from friends of ours. Family. We stick up for each other, an' we don't like to see punk thugs like you robbin' our friends."
The blond works his jaw, trying to get it to click back into place and feeling for if any teeth were knocked loose. He finally fixes his eyes back on the fat man --though he's also watching them haul off the bleeding victim of the explosion with some amusement. Maybe it's the latter that makes him smile so big.
"James...Can I call you James?... You...you really need to relax. You're gonna have a heart attack like this, big guy. ... Why don't you go ask my friend for the money back? I'm sure he'll get it for you... To be honest...I'm really not worth much dead."
He's struck again for his smile and this time it busts his lip, but he's hoping to at least have reminded them he's not alone. After all, Mitch has a gun on him. J can't take it in and it's just for 'emergencies'....Well this ought to count.
"Jimmy, do you want me t'go after the other kid?" One of the other players chimes in.
"Yeah. Get 'im in here...and shut this shithead up fer chris'sake."
"You got it." He punched the kid for good measure and pulled a large hunting knife from its ankle sheathe. "I oughta cut yer damn tongue out. We just gotta find out if they want us t'kill ya here or if we need t'drive ya out t'the desert so they can have the pleasure."
"Are you going to leave us for the coyotes and vultures? I'm really very scared."
"Open yer goddamn mouth again an' I'm shovin this blade down yer throat!"
It was several cities, a half-dozen big table games, two convenience stores, and enough time to gain a tenuous understanding of each other later when it became a problem. J went in, with Mitch watching the lot. The method, he felt, had proven itself. It was always adjusted just a little, but the same premise. He was a rich boy spending daddy's money in a big, fancy poker game. Just like in the movies! He'd lose a few hands, then take everything. If things went south, he'd have wired plastic explosives in his jacket to threaten his way out of the building and Mitch would be waiting with the car ready near the street.
This time, though, after the shouting started and things got audibly ugly inside... J didn't come out of the building. It happened much faster than usual, too. Long before the game should have been over or pockets emptied. Just a few hands in. Two guards tied the young man's hands behind his back and around the chair and pull his coat down to hang off of his tethered hands. The rigged bomb was jerked free of the coat and taken to another room to be 'disarmed'. .... Now things have become complicated.
"Hey...I thought we were just having a fun game here. That wasn't serious. It was for a party later."
The man charged with disarming it laughs from the other room and shouts that the explosive isn't even real. It's just modeling clay. He opens the door to show them, still laughing as he pulls the wires free and the small bit of real gun powder inside the fake plastiq goes off and takes off most of his fingers.
"...A surprise party."
J smiles sheepishly, but they don't seem to find it funny. The man running the game knocks the table aside and stands in front of the boy sneering at that grin. The heavy, metal hand gun is already in the gambling man's fat fist and he knocks J across the jaw with it, bruising him and dropping that smile from his face....if only momentarily.
"You think this is funny, kid? D'you have any idea how deep the shit is yer swimmin in? We were warned about you. You've taken money from friends of ours. Family. We stick up for each other, an' we don't like to see punk thugs like you robbin' our friends."
The blond works his jaw, trying to get it to click back into place and feeling for if any teeth were knocked loose. He finally fixes his eyes back on the fat man --though he's also watching them haul off the bleeding victim of the explosion with some amusement. Maybe it's the latter that makes him smile so big.
"James...Can I call you James?... You...you really need to relax. You're gonna have a heart attack like this, big guy. ... Why don't you go ask my friend for the money back? I'm sure he'll get it for you... To be honest...I'm really not worth much dead."
He's struck again for his smile and this time it busts his lip, but he's hoping to at least have reminded them he's not alone. After all, Mitch has a gun on him. J can't take it in and it's just for 'emergencies'....Well this ought to count.
"Jimmy, do you want me t'go after the other kid?" One of the other players chimes in.
"Yeah. Get 'im in here...and shut this shithead up fer chris'sake."
"You got it." He punched the kid for good measure and pulled a large hunting knife from its ankle sheathe. "I oughta cut yer damn tongue out. We just gotta find out if they want us t'kill ya here or if we need t'drive ya out t'the desert so they can have the pleasure."
"Are you going to leave us for the coyotes and vultures? I'm really very scared."
"Open yer goddamn mouth again an' I'm shovin this blade down yer throat!"
Bad morning
Jul. 1st, 2009 01:21 amHe doesn't remember falling asleep. J was laying on the floor and became wrapped up in the loud, soothing sound of the train's wheels against the rails. He was trying to hold back being sick and it was slowly passing. The next thing he knows he's awakened by the train's whistle and a pounding pain that threatens to split his skull from the inside.
Getting to his feet involves a lot of awkward staggering as the train rounds a bend. His stomach lurches and rolls with the movement and everything is too much. He staggers to the side door of the container and knocks the latch free with a knife. He slides the door open a couple feet, holding it in place and using it to keep himself upright as he does. Sunlight pours in and blinds him as he leans his head out to be sick.
"Oh God..."
He slides down to his knees, still clinging to the door, and proceeds to heave uncontrollably, voiding his stomach and continuing even once he's been pumped dry. His guts cramp from the useless effort and his throat burns. He can't remember the last time he felt so wretched.
When he can finally pull himself up a bit and wipe his mouth, he slides the door shut to block out the damnable light. Everything is so loud. The train is too loud, Mitch is too loud. The man's breathing is infuriating. He thinks of smothering the man to stop it.
Instead he moves to a far corner of the box they're sharing and presses his face against the cool metal and into the safe darkness. He crouches down low, presses one hand to the floor, and releases the blade on a narrow switchblade with the other. There are small clangs of metal on metal in a rhythmic pattern, increasing in speed as he mumbles to himself and tries to distract himself from pain, sickness, and noise with the knife game; the blade comes down between each finger of his hand one after the other with increasing speed and stranger patterns of order.
"Shouldn't have...nnn...stupid stupid alcohol... So loud. Need to tell them not to drive so loud... Should be stopping soon. They have to stop soon. I just need water. Water and fresh air... two one five one three six two six... ow.. four one six one two five."
He's numbered the spaces between fingers and recites them off as he plays to help with focusing on it. He stabs himself between two knuckles and keeps going, even as he bleeds.
Getting to his feet involves a lot of awkward staggering as the train rounds a bend. His stomach lurches and rolls with the movement and everything is too much. He staggers to the side door of the container and knocks the latch free with a knife. He slides the door open a couple feet, holding it in place and using it to keep himself upright as he does. Sunlight pours in and blinds him as he leans his head out to be sick.
"Oh God..."
He slides down to his knees, still clinging to the door, and proceeds to heave uncontrollably, voiding his stomach and continuing even once he's been pumped dry. His guts cramp from the useless effort and his throat burns. He can't remember the last time he felt so wretched.
When he can finally pull himself up a bit and wipe his mouth, he slides the door shut to block out the damnable light. Everything is so loud. The train is too loud, Mitch is too loud. The man's breathing is infuriating. He thinks of smothering the man to stop it.
Instead he moves to a far corner of the box they're sharing and presses his face against the cool metal and into the safe darkness. He crouches down low, presses one hand to the floor, and releases the blade on a narrow switchblade with the other. There are small clangs of metal on metal in a rhythmic pattern, increasing in speed as he mumbles to himself and tries to distract himself from pain, sickness, and noise with the knife game; the blade comes down between each finger of his hand one after the other with increasing speed and stranger patterns of order.
"Shouldn't have...nnn...stupid stupid alcohol... So loud. Need to tell them not to drive so loud... Should be stopping soon. They have to stop soon. I just need water. Water and fresh air... two one five one three six two six... ow.. four one six one two five."
He's numbered the spaces between fingers and recites them off as he plays to help with focusing on it. He stabs himself between two knuckles and keeps going, even as he bleeds.
