multiversallogs | What a night

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What a night | OPEN

Who: inkstainedsword and ANYBODY :D
What: Aimery's got the night off, so he's going exploring and barhopping. Also POKER.
Where: In bars, clubs, or the streets between Howl Barrow, Brock Marsh, and Griss Twist.
When: Veerdi (Friday) evening->night.
Notes: This is open forever, back/slowtagging absolutely welcome, and if you want to tag but aren't sure about where to set it, just IM me or sommat and we'll make it work :3
Warnings: Mutually drunk making out, Discussions of suicide and depression

A night off meant a night out. One where he doesn't have to worry about staying sober and unoccupied enough that he can head home when called, and that meant he got to range a bit further from said home. Before leaving he slicked his hair back and dressed in his going out clothes- he made a mental note to go shopping, soon, so he'd have more variety in that, though it's not like there was anything wrong with them and he didn't expect to run into many familiar faces who'd notice the repetition. He brought his longsword along this time, too, just in case.

First he made his way to Howl Barrow, where he'd been told there was a so-called 'Queer community'. Aimery had been warned about flamboyancy but the welcoming enthusiasm and degree of... free spiritedness with regard to clothing and social norms... he found in the first club he tried was overwhelming. No, he wasn't ready for those kinds of places yet, but he found a somewhat quieter bar, had some wine, and learned a few new words (were they adjectives or nouns? he couldn't tell) then headed back along the river towards slightly more familiar, and less interestingly terrifying, territory.

Griss Twist was more rowdy in a dangerous sort of way, but with a sword and a dark bruise on the bridge of his nose from the most minor broken nose ever to ward people off (funny that it had earned him much sympathy in Howl Barrow) he wasn't worried. He stopped in a few places —including nice dance club with the most fascinatingly rapid music, he'd have to make sure to visit there again— but eventually settled on finishing his evening in a comparatively quieter bar that happened to feature poker. Aimery didn't quite remember who had taught him, but he was good, and if his "beginner's luck" held until the regulars got tired, then maybe he would be able to buy that custom sword after all.

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Jack manages to smile instead of grimace at being addressed. At least it's a common enough name.

"Hm, that's the trick." Looking well, that is. (Implying that he isn't?) But he doesn't dwell on that statement long enough to lend it clarity, nor does the lazy amusement in his expression falter. "I wouldn't have pegged this for your scene," he says more because he hadn't been expecting to run into anyone he knew than because he knows especially a lot about Aimery's tastes. "Expanding your horizons?"

"Something like that," he chuckled before holding up one finger in a hold-on-a-moment gesture then turning to grab one of his shots and hold up the glass as if to toast Jack, then downed it in one go. He shivered and cringed a little afterwards, then was back to grinning.

"I'd call this loitering at the edges, not expanding. Sometimes I just..." He shrugged, trying to find a shorthand way of explaining why he liked that Jack hadn't expected to see him in a club like that. "Sometimes I tire of wearing a suit."

Edited 2011-09-15 09:04 (UTC)

"That I can understand." It's why he's out, too, or near enough. He swishes his own drink in his glass, then tosses it back like water and adds, "Come on," gesturing to the dance floor. "You can't loiter forever." Not when you're clubbing with Jack Benjamin.

Assuming Aimery doesn't protest too much (and if he does, Jack is not above using a little persuasiveness and charm), he leads them out onto the floor. He doesn't dance with the other man, per se, save a few tips and pointers early on if needed, but he stays near enough to watch, and occasionally even manufactures something to watch, picking up women and nudging said dance partners in Aimery's direction. The physical distance keeps him comfortable, but more than that, he enjoys the exercise in self-restraint.

To a point, anyway. It's easy enough to tell, if you're paying attention, who Jack is and isn't interested in, but if that isn't clear enough, after a few more drinks and dances he swings in close to Aimery's ear and says against the lingering bass from the last song, "Come back with me."

'Back' not 'home' because the flat he intends to bring Aimery to is little more than a crash pad, a one-bedroom tucked into the forgotten corner of some nameless building. It's discreet; that is its sole purpose.

Aimery's brief resistance to dancing was due his thinking they were to dance together, though once on the floor he caught on. He'd danced with women on his own earlier, but dancing while Jack looked on and made subtle, implicit suggestions as to how and with whom by guiding them to him, was different from that. He was no exhibitionist when it came to real intimacy (was actually horrified by the notion) and leading them on by dancing so interestedly made him feel ever-so-slightly guilty, yet it was absolutely worth it; that smooth directing and the looks he and Jack shared over shoulders and glasses seemed like long distance foreplay to him, something new and exciting when compared to the usual drunken flirting and blunt invitation.

So when Jack asked him to come back with him, Aimery nodded wordlessly, then took his dance partner by the hand and kissed her knuckles in goodnight and apology (and because he wanted to kiss Jack yet understood it would likely break the rules of whatever game they were playing) before following him out. Aimery was quiet and kept his hands to himself on the way, too, playing along, and that they had an actual destination was a welcome, pleasant change. Alleys wouldn't do for Jack's apparent need for discretion and Aimery wasn't about to complain.

"This place is lovely," he commented as he followed him inside. It really was beautiful, it's reason clear enough given their circumstances, and he couldn't help but smile at his own lightly flushed reflection as he headed over to the couch to lean one hip against it slightly, steadying himself. A moment of unsureity hit and he tried to cover it by casually unwrapping his scarf from around his neck and wetting his lips with his tongue, then turning his gaze to Jack and asking, "Bedroom?"

Jack was clearly so much better than him at one night stands... but boy did he want to learn.

That Aimery is both aware of Jack's little game and willing to play along earns him more points in his favor than he knows. It's habit by now to simply do these things – get friends drunk, throw women at them, ignore how questionable a practice it is to treat said women like accessories and men like his own personal eye candy – simply because it numbs the ache, but the friends in question aren't always aware of the part they play. He likes it, though, when they are.

After clicking the lock shut on the door, he strolls along close behind Aimery, his eyes following the other man's movements in the mirror. (It's there for a reason, after all.) Now that they're no longer in public, Jack is not only uninterested but apparently incapable of keeping his hands to himself. One moves to catch the end of Aimery's scarf, 'helping' get rid of that, head tilted and eying the newly exposed stretch of skin like he has plans for it (...and for the rest of him).

-Oh right, talking. "Upstairs," he replies without any immediate sign that he plans to move that direction, but after a beat he does, hooking a finger between the bottom two buttons of the other man's shirt to tug him along.

Oh, Aimery liked that look. With the low neck of his shirt and no scarf to cover it, there was plenty of skin for Jack to look over, too, smooth and pale apart from one small scar and the upper edges of another, much larger one. Their visibility didn't bother him; he was too focused, too eager —to a degree that usually came well after clothes had come off— to worry about how his various scars might affect Jack's perception of him. Besides, those were battle wounds, marks to be proud of even if he couldn't remember all the details of their acquisition.

His smile broadened when Jack tugged him along, he hesitated long enough to pluck the scarf from Jack's grasp and carelessly discard it behind him on the couch (not like he'd be needing it anytime soon). Then Aimery followed him closely, trailing his hand up the other man's arm a ways then back down to lightly cup the hand holding his shirt. It was Jack's place, Jack's game they were playing, and he was trying to let him lead and pace them, but from the way Aimery leaned in, watched Jack more than where he was walking, and the eagerly-tentative I'm not holding it here but fyi you don't have to let go pressure he had on Jack's hand, it may have been clear that he had half a mind to get things started on stairs instead of waiting.

Aimery's self control lasted the stairs before he stopped in the hallway outside the bedroom. He stepped in towards him, not quite pressing against but moving closer to, and raised his free hand to stroke along Jack's jaw with one finger, making sure his face was turned to him, then leaned in for a heated kiss. Like his others, it didn't bother him that the scar along his wrist was in plain sight due to the riding up of his sleeve- at that moment it was nothing more to him than some kind of seam running up the inside of his arm.

Edited 2011-09-29 23:01 (UTC)

The tiniest smirk curls at the corner of Jack's lips, watching the delicate balance of Aimery's self control, and when it breaks that seems to spark something in him. Much as he does like to take the lead, it's the combination of that acquiescence and the hint of a challenge that Aimery (and more than a few before him, one in particular) presents that gets him. He leans back into the kiss with a sudden hunger, the hand that had been only lingering at the front of his shirt now working open buttons and sliding in across the exposed skin.

He doesn't see the scars – he'd noticed the one on Aimery's chest and hadn't been bothered by it, but as the rest become visible, he's too busy maneuvering them back into the bedroom, the sharp edges of his more dominant (and frankly intense) side starting to show. More tactile than visual now and too focused to bother with details regardless, it doesn't occur to him to even glance at Aimery's wrists.

It does, however, occur to him to grab one, a playful grapple as he pulls back half an inch to breathe, his thumb pushing the fabric away to travel up the long stripe of raised skin–

–until he realizes what it is.

His stomach tightens.

"Fuck–" He jerks back like he's been bit and pushes Aimery away in the same motion, tension snapping through his muscles. That's– suddenly he isn't thinking or breathing right, just cursing under his breath and backing away.

As Jack started unbuttoning his shirt, Aimery let go of his hand and draped one arm around his neck, moving the hand that had been stroking Jack's chin up into his hair. He let Jack guide them into the bedroom and direct their bodies while Aimery tried to dominate their kissing- he had an oral fixation and knew well how to use his mouth and tongue to drive himself and his partner to pleasant frustration, while on the other hand backing around in the dark, in a strange apartment, with his eyes closed, while drunk and aroused, was not his specialty. Let them both focus on what they liked and were good at, he figured, and Jack certainly seemed to be good at leading.

Then one moment he was grinning against Jack's lips and peering at him with heavy lidded eyes, and the next he was roughly shoved away, making him stumble back, blinking in shock.

"Jack?" he asked, voice thick with confusion, giving not one moment's thought to the way his sleeve was shoved up or how his shirt hung open so that most of his scars were on display. "Are you alright?"

"Don't," he snaps, raising a hand to warn Aimery off, whether or not the other man had even considered approaching. He can't keep the arm steady, and it's hard to tell if that's a sign of vulnerability or hostility. (Or both.) Pulling both arms back in to hide it, he rakes his fingers back through his hair, yanking on the ends.

This would be easier if he wasn't already drunk. If his head wasn't already a mess of deeply repressed want finally unleashed, his carefully constructed restraint already in shambles. What capability he has for self-control is now scrambling to catch up, reeling from the abrupt change of gears, and there's nothing else to anchor him.

His eyes stay on Aimery. Looking at the scars, all of them but that one in particular, and then at the rest of him, too. It's so obvious, he doesn't know why he didn't think– not that Aimery bears much physical resemblance, but Jack has his habits, his preferences, that instinctive tendency to zero in on certain qualities in a person and respond in a certain way. It's the same pattern. He sees someone out of their element and he has to charm them, seduce them, build up their hopes and dominate their attention – and be able to cut them down to nothing again when he's done. Just like Joseph. It's just like Joseph.

He feels sick. "I'm fine."

That warning bark was enough to make Aimery hold up his hands and take another step back, his calves bumping into the bed and stopping further retreat. He stared back at Jack, confusion turning to deep concern mixed with fear. Was it him? Had he done something? His first thought was his castration- had he been so fixated on is mouth and hand that he hadn't realized where his other hand had gone- No. No one had had a problem with that so far, and surely if it was that, there would've been more anger than hurt on Jack's face.

Aimery grabbed the edges of his shirt and covered his chest back up in case that was the problem, folding his arms in front of himself almost protectively. Not that Jack could hurt him even if he wanted to. That realization helped, wiping away most of his fear (Aimery could walk away at any time, Jack had no power over and couldn't touch him unless he allowed it) and giving him the courage to ask, albeit hesitantly, "Are you? Did... did I do something wrong?"

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What a night | OPEN

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belated edit cos i realized this tag didn't really... do... anything.

trigger warning: suicide

trigger warning: suicide

trigger warning: suicide

trigger warning: suicide