tampered | Log: Static

Log: Static

When; No Self-Control Day
Rating; R for drug use
Characters; Frederick Abberline (

bloodyuseless) and Jack Sparrow (

13_year_captain) to start, open to more later.
Summary; No impulse control means liquor, drugs, and sex. Also violence, but Frank's not the sort to punch out anyone he doesn't hate personally.
Log;

Frederick stumbled away from the 'computer' thing, draining the last of his drink. The bottle was only barely touched, and still so very full - gloriously strong. His vision was already doing incredibly strange things. He'd wait like a good boy, though. He was raised right, damnit, and you always shared when you said you would. The only problem was, that the angrier he got the more his thoughts replayed things from his past, the more he saw Victoria - he needed to be very drunk, or very high, or both, or unconscious - he just needed to stop. The rage at first was so strong he screamed to himself until he felt a pull in his throat, and then turned to the bottle.

He heard a noise at the front, a sort of offbeat pawing, and somehow made his way to the door. His hair was disheveled and his tie undone (his jacket had vanished some time ago), and he swayed a bit as he opened the door. "Hello darling," he deadpanned. Fuck but the man looked exactly like him. How awkward. At least I'm not dressed like a bloody circus trick, he thought.

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"Could sing you the same song about being 'married to the sea' that I use t'stop women's complaints, but s'not so simple as that." He let himself relax back into his seat and kept his half-lidded eyes fixed on Frank as he took a long drag from the pipe. "Truth of it is, I won't be tied to anything that isn't going to move at my pace and with my every whim. To that effect, I have my ship -or did- and the clothes on my back, along with what I can easily carry. Any woman that would be as constant as a possession would be a slave. And I'd have little interest in her. Savvy?" Jack let his head loll back and grinned merrily at the ceiling. "Marriage is a fine and honourable thing for a man who holds still."

Another good puff of the opium and he held it out for sharing. "A climax of fatal magnitude, exhaustion and over exertion, torn apart by lovers sent mad with lust...it all sounds worth the loss." Jack opened his eyes slow and looked Frank over, letting a slow and sly grin spread on his lips. "And jus' what sort of man is it you'd like to be stuck under?" Jack chuckled and took a long drink that finished off his glass.

The other man nodded a bit, sipping his drink idly as relaxed on the sofa. "Holding still... would have been beautiful..." he again trailed off. He didn't know what he should continue that line of conversation, because then he'd start talking about Victoria, and he didn't like that. It hurt ... it would always hurt. He felt like the words might rip themselves from his lips, but he was already floating enough that he felt too lazy to act on the impulse.

"Hm now, excellent question," he conceded, taking the ~~unfortunately phallic~~ object from Jack after setting aside his cup. "Nobody horrid, or ugly, so you're out, mate." He shot the man something that might be considered a smile before taking a long drag.

Jack let his companions wistful musings on marriage slip by him, having no real desire for hearing Frank pour his heart out. He'd had enough of ill memories and unpleasantness. Now he was more concerned with the lack of women, thus far. Though, it was not a problem that could not be worked around.... You learn that sort of lesson on a ship.

He pouted and gave a sour and insulted look at being rejected outright before even finishing in his propositioning. Jack was soon smiling back at his double through the smoke, though. "Which is it I fall under? Horrid or ugly? 'm all you've got to look forward to given a few years and a less dandy life, you nancing fop. Wouldn't be so critical if I were you."
With a laugh, Jack turned to put his back to the arm of the sofa and toss a leg across Frank's lap as he stretched out.

"What're you..." Frank looked down at the limb in his lap, momentarily confused. The opium was starting to kick in heavily - it seemed his tolerance, while still impressive, was not quite enough to keep him coherent. "Fucking..." muddy, dirty boot on his pants. How rude. He wrangled the leather thing off and let it fall to the floor.

"M'not a nancing fop," he grumbled. He was a bit touchy about that sort of thing - after the ordeal with Cleveland Street, he'd never been entire sure about himself... that night... that boy... no. No no no, not thinking about that. No. This calls for more absinthe, and he takes another drink.

Frank's behaviour was more than a little amusing to the pirate. Jack made the decision then to try and have his fun here, as the alternative was leaving and wandering the streets and...there seemed to be gunfire ringing out outside.

"Oh, aren't you? ... My mistake." He leaned far to the side to fill his glass again, nearly rolling off of both sofa and companion in the process. Due to the clear peril of the task, this glass ended up with far less water and sugar than the last. Jack took a long drink and was left with a suffering soured expression for a moment from the taste. "Ugh...hell...evil stuff."

A second leg flopped up onto the inspector's lap and Jack held his boot up for the man. "That one... remove it as well." If his companion fancied undressing him, than he was welcome to continue. Jack removed his hat and set it to rest on the back of the sofa.

"Suppose I'll bloody have to," Frank grumbled, and yanked off Jack's other boot, sending it off to join its mate. Of course, then he was left with two pirate legs in his lap and he wasn't having that. "Excuse me," he began, raising one eyebrow archly and pointing at the problem, "I am not a fucking footstool."

He pushed at Jack and flailed about, moving until he ended up laying half on top of the other man, and nose to nose with his drink. "Oh, thank you." He took an awkward sip, and then collapsed.

Jack smiled as his orders were followed without question. Then Frank fell atop him and began thieving from his drink and he couldn't help but laugh. Oh this was delicious and hilarious. He took to petting Frank's hair.
"Very welcome, Frederick..."

His hand slid slowly down to cup against that cheek shaped so like his own and move his thumb in small circles over the smooth skin. Jack wonders if he ever truly looked that soft. He certainly never looked so serious as this man seemed to so often.

Frederick blinked a bit at Jack, wondering at the contact. The other man... it was strange, looking at him. The hair and the tan and the teeth were not what got him, but the lines on his face... smile lines. He wondered what it would be like to have that sort of life. Would he look anything like that, if... Don't think about her.

He took another deep drink before setting his glass aside (a task which took two tries to get it balanced on the table). Jack raised his brows to the way his strange mirror reflection was looking at him.
"What is it, mate? Something catch your eye?"

Something certainly had Jack's attention. With no ability to hold back, Sparrow leaned down and claimed a kiss from lips the same delicate shape as his. His hair fell around both of them until he pulled away, grinning wide and self-satisfied.

Frank looked particularly startled, and moved back a bit, confused and visibly flustered. He'd kissed another man, once. One of the boys who sold themselves - completely unthinkable and illegal, but he'd spent all night sitting with him, just talking. Talking about how his nature was against the law, and that he'd been forced into this.. Abberline hadn't been able to put those poor boys through the hell of exposure to nail those Free Manson bastards (even though they'd been given an out anyway ... typical). He shouldn't have... they shouldn't have...

"Fuck."

He leaned forward and kissed Jack harshly, one hand fisting in his shirt.

"Not a bad idea, rea..."

Jack was caught off guard and silenced when his shirt was snagged and lips were pressed suddenly back to his. This was a rather fortunate, if unexpected, turn of events. He gave in to the kiss completely and one of his ever-busy hands moved down to pull open the buttons of Frank's shirt.

Frank had no real idea what he was doing. Lips and teeth an tongue and -- god, what was he doing? He reached up to hold Jack's face in his hands, the familiar-yet-not shape both foreign and comforting.

With a little awkward wrestling, Jack managed to get Frank's shirt open and began the task of moving it off of the man, though he was only willing to give up the touch of one hand at a time.

When the task was done, Jack pulled away to look at Frank and run fingers over the man's exposed skin. He'd almost forgotten what he looked like unscarred.
"Smooth as a babies arse, aren't you?" Jack laughed and pulled Frank close again, using one hand to work at pulling his own shirt away. This trick was not working very well.

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Log: Static

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