open rp post.

[executable]

leave me picture prompts, tags of your own devising, or a blank comment.

but don't say i didn't warn you.

shipping and nc-17 content is fine. i also like action, genre aus, canon compliant and canon divergent things, and pretend tdms. feel free to plurk me if you want to bounce an idea.

there is the chance i will tag slowly.

alternatively:

RANDOM SCENARIO meme

BACKSEAT SMUT meme

PICTURE PROMPT meme

Comments

[executable]

Mmf-- talking. Tyrell withdraws when muffled words hum into the kiss just as it begins to open up under him, and his hand gentles if only out of sheer confusion. He remains close, at a hover, a glacial tolerance in pale eyes as he goes silent at that question, stemming any urge to reply with the immediate confirm or deny.

As if it's interesting that Elliot is asking at all.

But not so much that he knows what the hell to do with it save for set it aside for later analysis. His study flicks down to Elliot's mouth, then back up to his eyes. "How many times would make this okay?" is desert-dry wry. No times, probably.

[sourcecode]

Elliot has no idea what it would take to make any of this okay. It's too big and strange a question for him to answer. What he does know, is that Tyrell being his long lost brother, or uncle, or something, is a hard deal breaker. So he stares into Tyrell's eyes, and presses his question:

"We met at AllSafe," he says, like he's trying to lead Tyrell along with him, half waiting for confirmation, "Then you were there for some of the meetings, then you got me in Steel Mountain, and then..." Tyrell had met with his Dad. With Mr Robot. With him, again, in secret. Elliot just has no idea where or when or what they said to each other, "...there was that one other time, and then you came to my apartment, That's how it was, right?"

He's watching for a reaction even as he asks. For any indication of Tyrell realising that he knows something Elliot doesn't. Watching for the decision to lie to flicker across the other man's expression. He doesn't pull away from the hand on his face though, even as it's grasp on him softens.

[executable]

Tyrell isn't easily led along, something about him remaining fixed and stubborn, an observer who assesses and does not react.

"I took you to ECorp," he adds. Elliot isn't backing up, and so Tyrell does not either. "You told me no."

He follows the line of Elliot's jaw with his thumb. "And that's how it was," he says, of the rest. There is a deliberate reticence to his affect, as if Elliot is going to have to work harder for more beyond a simple level-voiced confirmation with unwavering eye contact. Ice that needs cracking.

[sourcecode]

Elliot wants to nod, but Tyrells stillness, the hand still light on his jaw, makes him hesitant to do so. As if the moment has been set in glass and too much movement will break it. Instead, he exhales, relaxing ever so slightly, and his gaze flicks down for a moment.

"Yeah, that's how it was." He remembers that. Vividly. The men in black suits crossing from paranoid fantasy into reality. He almost nods, stops himself, then lets his gaze flick back up to Tyrell, "I'm not... not telling you no now though. Just-- Uh, had to think about it."

Just like he'd needed to think about it at ECorp. He gives thorough consideration to all your suggestions, good Sir.

[executable]

"Of course."

That twinge of generousity in his tone might be making fun, a flicker of it behind the ice, a subtle shift in Tyrell's white face. He could use eighty naps.

Or never sleep again, one or the other. He sees Elliot relaxing by that incremental amount, and this time, Tyrell doesn't repeat himself by leaning in. His hand leaves Elliot's jaw only to slide back, fingertips gliding over shaven hair, past his ear, settling at the back of his neck. There are times when he'd simply manhandle the object of his desire into position.

Instead, there's his other go to: the gentle and persistent application of pressure. Ushering Elliot in the form of a gentle push from the nape of his neck.

[sourcecode]

And this time, Elliot relents. Braces one hand on the dashboard, and moves forward with the pressure. He still feels a prickle of electrical discomfort in the touch, but Tyrell... as formidable and unreadable as he is, they're in this together. They're bound by their own actions, and by the strange thread of the familiar that runs between them.

So Elliot pushes down his discomfort, pauses a fraction of an inch away from Tyrell, then sinks into the other man's gravity. Kisses him, slow and soft, and chaste.

He feels like kissing a man should be harder, rougher than kissing a woman, but Elliot isn't. His lips are soft, and he's clean shaven despite looking like he's been drawn so thin he could split at any moment. Perhaps the strangest thing about the kiss, is that it's no so different from kissing anyone else he's ever wanted to do this with.