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 ♥)]

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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?"

"No. Absolutely not."

He straightened his clothing a bit though the buttons couldn't be saved. "Will you let me do it at home," Nicholas asked, hardly pathetic but his request wasn't a joke.

Styles straightened his own and pulled his coat closed.

"Of course. When there's lube and I can feel you hot in me." He ran a hand through his short hair and looked around. "Let's go home."

"... Tosser."

Christopher's words got him hot and bothered, as were their intention, Nicholas was sure of it. He closed his jacket, buttoning it then sliding his arm around the brunette's waist. "All right, I'm sure my fiancé would love to join in," he gave Styles a kiss to the jaw.

Styles still got jumpy about contact in places that were considered "public", but he didn't push away this time. Instead he smiled up, just a bit. How was it possible that this man entered and claimed his life the way he did? It made him drunk, almost, dizzy with gratitude, even if he showed it oddly.

"I think he would."

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Log: Ongoing

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck

To the North Deck