tampered | Log: Ongoing

Log: Ongoing

When; Jan. 26 (night)
Rating; PG?
Characters; Open
Summary; The Inauguration Affair for the Co-Wardens blasts off with a sabering of the champagne.
Log;

[ooc: Open log for any chars who wish to attend, label threads as you wish as necessary. Let's try to keep physical confrontations at a minimum since the Police Force and Palace Staff will be providing security. Food and drink and entertainment provided! The announcement says midnight but obviously interaction can extend beyond that (backlogged, forelogged, and inbetween ♥)]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's a good habit to kick," he said with a slight smirk. He pushed away from the wall and looked up at the blond. "Exactly," he replied, coming just into Brocklehurst's personal circle.

"Do you like Washington so far?" he asked softly. He reached to his tie, to take it off his neck and slip it into his pocket.

He noticed how Styles edged himself into his personal space. Bold and beautiful wasn't he? Nicholas stuck his own hands into his pockets, still casual, almost too forward considering their presumed positions.

"I do. It's not like London, but it has the same mechanics of any civic metropolitan area," Brocklehurst nodded then gave Styles a particular look, "including little dinner parties where we're all expected to smile through our teeth at complete strangers."

It was sly, testing the waters.

Styles smirked and tossed his head up, the edge of Nicholas' mark showing under his collar. "It's a nice city. Try and take the time to get to know it. Get out of the Residence, once in a while."

He inched forward, just barely.

"Not a fan of the formalities?"

He spotted the mark and proceeded to act as if he'd never seen it before till now, in which case it served its purpose as a sign. Nicholas raised his own chin as if his collar had just tightened. He pushed off his lean but remained near Styles as he undid the bowtie.

"I have to familiarize myself with something sooner or later," the Englishman nodded, letting the strip of silk hang. He undid the top two buttons on his tuxedo shirt too... for comfort. "Hardly. I prefer being more direct when I've got an interest in mind."

"What kind of interests do you have?"

Styles smiled, slowly, knowing exactly what Brocklehurst was doing. He tugged slightly on his own collar, turning his neck away so the mark disappeared, teasing.

"A little taste of a foreign element never hurt," Nicholas shrugged casually, too casually as he dropped a glance over his own shoulder.

Down the empty hall, another corridor to the right, the indoor garden. It wasn't anything fancy, just a narrow strip of the grounds with decorative flora, a small streaming fountain, benches, and a view of the forest that grew along the north side. Ahh but where were his manners? Brocklehurst extended a hand to Styles.

"Nicholas Brocklehurst. A pleasure."

He took Nicholas' hand and shook it, their rings producing that slight metal on metal sound. "Pleased to meet you," he said, then smirked.

"Married, Mr. Brocklehurst?"

"Engaged. Yourself?"

His blue gaze narrowed on the diamonds. Neither did he release Styles' hand.

"The same." He held on and squeezed. "Tell them congratulations. You seem like a good man."

He licked his lower lip in a quick, catlike motion.

"I would, but the fact of the matter is..." he leaned inward a little more, to speak quietly in Styles' ear.

"He went missing today and I've been trying to find him all night. Do you think he might be undercover? I hear your boys in the Pentagon are good at this sort of thing."

He played the helpless Counsellor like a professional.

Styles' other hand went to the curve of Nicholas' hip - for support, of course. "Is he American?" Styles asked softly, his lips touching the curve of the other man's ear.

He certainly didn't protest the touch to his hip or the one to his ear. It seemed perfectly natural to Brocklehurst.

"I think so. He's sharper than any American I've ever met," Nicholas added to the description. "Perhaps he went this way. Will you help me, sir?"

"Styles," he said softly. "Christopher Styles."

He took Brocklehurst's earlobe between his teeth suddenly, quickly, then let go just as fast. "Apologies. What's your fiancee's name."

"Styles," he said the name like silver rolling off his tongue, and hissed when Christopher nipped his ear.

"Stars and stripes."

Nicholas leaned back to look him in the eye and smirk.

Styles only watched for a moment, only met his eye for a second before kissing him on the mouth, crashing their tongues together. "You're mine, now," he said with a hiss, gripping onto the other man's shirt collar. "Fuck your fiancee."

He pressed another kiss, furious, harsh, sweet, all at once.

"Mmff," the force of the sudden kiss took Brocklehurst by surprise. Nevertheless he returned it fully, tongue sliding into Styles' mouth, peeling back just for split seconds.

"That was my plan," he uttered before taking Christopher's mouth against his own once more. Somehow someway he started edging them both down the hall, hands in that coat, pulling at buttons, braces, hopefully without tripping.

It was like their first encounter all over again; drunk and maddening, clothes everywhere, Nicholas' skin smooth and his cock hard, their bodies mashing together like it would be the only time.

Of course, back then, it was going to be the only time. Only once had been Christopher's rule. But then the British man had called him. And that was it, he didn't have a chance after that.

Styles' suspenders came off, hanging down around his knees, his shirt peeling off under Nicholas' expert hands. "Forget everything," he said, giving the man another kiss, solid and extreme. "Your fiancee, your boss, everything."

And this time Nicholas wasn't operating under the illusion that the young handsome man under his hands was an intern. He wanted Christopher just the same, everything about him, from the day they met till now, still everything.

"All I've got is you, Christopher," he groaned between their mouths, licking the edges of Styles' sharp and biting teeth. Oops, watch the stones by the fountain, they're slippery. He pressed on, losing his dinner jacket and bowtie, towards the wall.

All that mattered was there with him, and Styles knew it. He moved them around, willing to let Brocklehurst lead.

It occurred to him there that they had never danced together. Would their first dance be at their wedding? Styles didn't know, and at the moment, he didn't care. He pulled at Brocklehurst's shirt, the buttons popping beneath his fingers.

Nicholas was leading with urgency and finesse because he knew the Palace grounds like he knew the Embassy and the Residence and Vauxhall Cross inside out. The only other place he knew better was Christopher Styles himself. The blond had never really thought about their lack of any dance experience together, never made much of it. He didn't mind it, honestly, but their wedding would have a First Dance whether Styles liked it or not.

Blue eyes caught the arch of a button falling into some of the decorative greenery. No loss. He pressed Christopher's back to the cool concrete. Kissed him. "Christ I love you," said the Englishman, passionate and honest, "and damned do I want to fuck you." His accent thickened.

Styles pulled him close and gave him a long kiss back. The words were rare, and when he said them it usually meant that something was wrong, but he did it now anyway. "I love you too," he whispered, kissing the other man, less frantic, almost subdued.

"Did you bring lube?"

Despite the usual circumstances in which Styles said those words, Nicholas didn't feel anything wrong with this situation now. He could feel it in Styles' kiss, the way his body moved under his hands, the tone of voice he used. He'd become an expert in translating Christopher's unique language. Nicholas leaned back briefly, preparing for the unfortunate blow.

"No... but I have a rubber?"

Styles froze.

He stared at Brocklehurst's face, trying to see if it was a joke.

It wasn't a joke.

He pushed the other man away. "Then we'll have to wait."

He paused again.

"Why are you keeping a condom in your wallet now, anyway?"

"I was thinking about you, sweetheart. I can't keep a shooter on me," not in a tailored tuxedo. He offered an apologetic smile at the push--wait! Nicholas arched a brow. "You were fine with a rubber in the car."

"Are you comparing the Palace to Francesca?"

Log: Ongoing

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