emptynesters | 50 years later meme

50 years later meme

Fast forward into the future of Station 72 where your character has been a part of the Hive for however many years. Are they still themselves? Have they integrated fully with the symbiote? Are they the only ones left of their brood? Have they formed other connections in their brood's absence? Do they remember anything of their life before the station? How do they relate to the other Hosts still around, or to new ones who have come in since others have fallen? What else can you come up with?

HOW TO PLAY
STEP ONE: POST WITH YOUR CHARACTER

STEP TWO: Either set up the scene or give some info of what your character is like X years down the line.

STEP THREE: TAG OTHER PEOPLE'S CHARACTERS

STEP FOUR ?????

STEP FIVE: PROFIT

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[Half a decade ago, Kavinsky snorted coke off a balcony railing not unlike the one he's leaning over right now. He has a grenade in his hand, the pin between his teeth as he waits for the ideal moment to do his part in aggravating the chaos down below.

Sam's presence acts as a cue. He lobs the grenade boldly into the fray. The pin dangles between his lips.

His hands clap over his ears a split second before the explosion rocks the building down to its foundations. His eyes are so bright they could be powered by LEDs, electric reflections of carnage transposed over pupil and sclera (the former has swallowed up his iris). Kavinsky is alive and ravenous.

He turns to Sam and the hunger eclipses everything else. Kavinsky arches back over the railing--contorting himself into an exaggerated C--and spits out the grenade pin. It sails down into the turmoil and police sirens. Before he can lose his balance and join it, he rights himself so that only his head is tipped.

It's all so fucking glorious and he has at least three dozen other people inside his skin, many of them appreciating a job well done.

He's also snorted coke off this railing, but he really didn't need to. For a while now, he hasn't needed to.

Feels good, though.

K opens his mouth to the sky, breath surging out of him in ecstatic puffs. He would eat the stars and torch the planet's triplet moons if he could reach them.]

( Time to evac already? )

[The younger man's thrall will prove infectious if Sam isn't cautious.]

[ Sam watches him, lit up from the inside out, a force of destruction and hunger, and amends his previous statement.

Kavinsky is already burning himself up.

Sam's always cautious when it comes to Kavinsky - and yet, he isn't. Five years ago he picked Kavinsky up and wouldn't let him down, tried to push him on a path with a better ending than the one he was on now, and he hasn't really put him down since. Kavinsky might snarl and hiss and tell him to go fuck himself sometimes - might make a move on him at others - but he's pretty sure that it's half for show now.

It's been a few years since Kavinsky seriously attempted to flirt with him. Which is a pity, because it's been a year or two since Sam started watching for it, ready to add an edge to the way he flirted back.

There's wind humming in his veins, roaring in his ears, and his body is still buzzing with adrenaline from the flight. It flows between them as Sam steps closer, as free with his physical affection as ever as he covers Kavinsky's hands where they're holding onto the railing. His ability activates automatically, scanning Kavinsky for any injury. ]

( Nah, we got a little while yet. Some of us wanna make sure no one's gonna be left to come after us. )

[They share the same Nest, the same found and smashed together "family." Kavinsky knows the birdsong of Sam's attraction. He's taken a shower miles away and came into his hands, distinctly aware Sam was with another member of their clan at that very moment. He's even grasped that the older man's pull toward him has transformed over time. But Kavinsky has an idea of pride; hardly his cardinal sin, but there all the same. Sam said no, thought no, a broken record on repeat. And while no has not always been an easy concept for K to grasp, it was an easy directive to follow coming from a much stronger military man.

So he gave up. Sam's pings of occasional desire became the same as idle flattery. Nice shirt. Nice ass.

Kavinsky has a torn ligament in his left leg and shrapnel lodged in the meat of his thigh on the same side. He favored the right all the way up to the balcony. Seven flights of wondrous agony.

Sam's hands are warm. Kavinsky's circulation is less than phenomenal, leaving him with icy fingers and a cold tip to his nose. He wants to curl up on Sam like a kitten, but they really aren't in the space or position for it. He turns his hands upside-down beneath Sam's, kissing cold palms to heated.

People are screaming. Cheering.]

( Wanna be my getaway jet? )

[ Some part of Sam knows what Kavinsky does, some times, when he's with another member of his brood. They're all so close, bound by more than brood bonds, and somehow Sam's found his place among them. He knows what they all share, can feel the echo of it in his own mind. Sam told Kavinsky no so many times - and eventually Kavinsky listened. Maybe that's what triggered the start of the change in the way Sam regarded him, proof that Kavinsky could follow orders.

These days there's other directives that Sam would be more than happy to get Kavinsky to follow.

His left hand lets go of Kavinsky's to rest on his hip, just for a moment, hitching up his shirt just enough that his thumb can stroke over bare skin. ]

( Yeah, I'll take you flying. )

[ He's in no hurry, though. Now he lets his fingers dip below Kavinsky's waistband, slides his hand around so he can thumb at the button on his pants. ]

( You wearing underwear? Gonna have to get your pants off to take that shrapnel out either way, but figured I should know what I'm in for. )

[Kavinsky laughs, tight and tense in the back of his throat. Sam's hands take liberties, resting on his hip before slipping their fingertips beneath the beltline of his jeans. Nearly any other man, and Kavinsky would take the hint--run all the way to the bank with it, if they were his type. But the line in the sand that Sam drew has withstood the flow and ebb of time. There are long hours K forgets who he is and borrows Sam's memories, yet he can't trust he's reading him right now.]

( You know I can't get in the guerrilla warfare mood if I'm not going commando. )

[Not the truth in the strictest sense; things started off hectic that morning and Kavinsky also neglected to put on socks.]

( You're not going to let it wait, are you?)

[He loses the uncertainty quickly; it never fits him well. Sam's in the way, but Kavinsky wriggles his fingers between the older man's and his fly. He'd rather be the one to take any chances with the zipper opening against his bare flesh.]

[ Sam should have figured that out months ago, honestly. That if anyone was going to be the one to step over that line - to erase it completely - it was going to have to be him. But it isn't until now that it really hits him, and it makes him smile with slow, pleased affection.

Tonight's as good a time as any. ]

( You know me better than that. )

[ Of course Sam isn't going to let it wait. He hooks his thumbs back under the waistband of Kavinsky's jeans as he waits for him to unzip them, and then tugs them down, careful over his injury. He leaves them just above Kavinsky's knees, running his hands back up Kavinsky's thighs.

The calluses on his hands from dozens of different kinds of guns are rough, he knows, but his palms are warm and his touch is gentle. He brackets Kavinsky's body from the cold wind on the balcony, until there's barely a handful of inches between them, until he's close enough that he can press his lips to Kavinsky's temple. There's a brief pulse of warmth from his symbiote ability, soothing away some of the pain without quite healing yet. ]

( Relax. It's gonna hurt worse if you tense up, man, trust me. You know I'll take care of you. )

[ Sam doesn't need to see where the shrapnel in Kavinsky's thigh is - he can feel it. So he doesn't pull back as his fingers close around the metal, gently working it free. ]

( Sounds familiar. )

[Kavinsky opts not to elaborate, though he knows exactly where he's heard that before. Namely the first time he let loose and slept with another man. As early as the second, he scoffed at gentle words and made his less savory preferences clear. The sting of bitten nails and the blunt press of teeth did so much more for his arousal than condescending kindness. But Sam is fucking with him, not into; if he wants to pepper Kavinsky with sweet words, he's earned the right a long time ago.

No matter how conscious Sam is about easing down his pants, Kavinsky hisses as the material peels off of his skin. Blood had matter the denim down, fusing over time to the torn flesh. He grits his teeth and his lips pull back to show them. He grins through the pain.

As always, the hum of Sam's power is both welcome and not--soothing to a fault. Kavinsky relies on his ability to bear things. Comfort comes with a price.

He leans into the taller man, pressing his face into his shoulder. The shrapnel wriggles to the surface, then clinks against the balcony floor as K's body rejects it.]

( Prettiest fucking nurse I know, man. )

[ It's not that he doesn't know any other way - it's just that it's his favorite, murmuring kindnesses and appreciations and promises on what he's gonna do, mixed in with taking someone apart piece by piece. He wonders if Kavinsky will squirm when he holds him down and mouths affection across his skin, bets he'll look so damn gorgeous if he does.

Sam heals him just enough that they both have identical wounds on their thighs, as though the shrapnel had grazed them both instead of buried itself in Kavinsky's leg. He could heal it all, yeah, and part of him is tempted to - but he doesn't like pain the way Kavinsky does, and Sam'd rather not be in danger of ripping open a healing wound on his own leg with the kind of thing he's looking to get up to.

He also knows just how to mix the sting of teeth and the press of palms, rough and gentle, never enough of either one and too much of both. He thinks - he's pretty sure - it was something he knew before the Station, but he's only gotten better since.

So his fingers drag over the newly healing gash on Kavinsky's leg, feather light across the skin of his inner thigh, skipping up to push under his shirt, resting warm on his rib cage. ]

( Damn right. ) [ You like what you see?, he doesn't say, because he's known the answer to that for years, but it drifts through their bond anyway. He feels up Kavinsky's ribs, pressing in a little as if he's checking for the slide of bone against bone, making sure nothing's broken. ] ( That the only place you got hit? )

[Less selfish members of the Nest would refuse Sam's help, knowing the symbiote would wound Sam in turn. But Kavinsky has had his protests fall on deaf ears before. Besides, his chances of escaping the planet without an assist--especially while injured--are slim. Misato's pragmatism wraps around him like an old and tattered cloak; he doesn't say or think a word as Sam does his work.

Before he was chosen by the Hive, Kavinsky lived a life of distraction. Loneliness gift-wrapped in constant motion, a raging storm of a crowd, and all physical vices consumed at once. Elements of that old life remain, persistant as cockroaches. They scuttle about, fearing the days when someone like Sam steps in and treats K to something better.

They are connected.

Kavinsky sucks in a breath so fast his chest aches. It's count to his nature to continue leaning in and worrying his nose into Sam's shoulder. Soft, physical solace feels like a brother to weakness. This must be Sam's influence.

He shudders; the fingers climbing over his body eke out a chuckle. Was he always ticklish, or is that a broodmate ruining his reputation?

Another swift inhale, followed by what they both expected. He shoves back, setting his weight on the railing.]

Don't get me all excited.

[The distance of spoken language tastes unnatural travelling over his tongue. Thick and waxy. The cocaine isn't enough to calm his nerves when Sam has him half disrobed.

Beneath them, hundreds of feet below the balcony, other people know exactly what they want. Mostly, it's not to die.]

[ In this case, Sam's grateful for Kavinsky's sense of selfishness, for the echo of Misato's pragmatism. It makes it easier for him to just do his job, to take care of Kavinsky the way he wants to take care of him.

Well. One of the ways he wants to take care of him.

There are so many things that Sam wants to show him, that Sam's always wanted to show him. How many better distractions there were, how much less lonely he had to be. It's gotten easier, the closer they've all gotten to each other, the stronger their connections grow, but even now it's rare that Kavinsky lets himself have comfort like the way he leans in to Sam's shoulder. His eyes slide shut, just for that moment, and he presses a kiss to Kavinsky's temple.

He presses forward when Kavinsky shoves back, not chasing after him so much as moving with him, because yes, they both expected it. Sam's always been free with his physical affection, albeit never quite like this, but it's not the first time that Kavinsky has shoved back away from it.

It could be an accident that his uniform-clad leg settles between Kavinsky's - and honestly, it kind of is, though that doesn't mean Sam isn't going to take advantage of it, shifting his leg so the fabric catches over Kavinsky's bared cock. His hands splay across Kavinsky's chest, thumbing over a nipple before he lets the blunt edge of his thumbnail press against it. ]

Why not?

[It isn't a one-sided street. Despite being the king and judge of his own kingdom, Kavinsky has found himself wanting to do something for Sam. His affection comes in waves--this time a gift he made in his sleep, the next time invaded space and vicious compliments. Sam's status is continually checked during missions he helps supervise while Kavinsky waits for the outcome after placing his bombs. They don't normally end up together like this when Sam is prime offense and Kavinsky is dynamite--you know, literally--support.

But Kavinsky wants to see Sam flushed and breathing at the end of things.

He often forgets the boy he told it's "just us" in a dream in Virginia. He'll never forget each place Sam heals him. He becomes frustrated when his broodmates borrow the memories.]

Fucker--!

[Half-declaration, half-groan. Sam's thigh rubs at his dick and tells a story of power squats and ten mile runs. Kavinsky's grown, but he's his mother's son; slim and heavy-eyed. He can't be sure Sam will even feel it when instinct clamps his legs around the one making nice with his cock.]

I'm serious. Keep it up and I'm gonna...

[As far as threats go, it doesn't have much steam to it. K wraps his hands around Sam's wrists with all the force of a one-winged butterfly. This is a test he will inevitably fail.]

I'm high, man. I'm so high.

[He means that this isn't funny. He means Sam is going to make him hard.]

[ Sam has never needed Kavinsky's gifts, though he doesn't turn them down. But he's taken Kavinsky's affection in any form that it comes, been content with his company and satisfied in every moment that Kavinsky stays alive. In the little ways he's chilled out, over the years, in every moment that he feels something that could be considered contentment coming from the kid.

Well. Not a kid any more; he hasn't been a kid for a long time. But Sam's only wanted Kavinsky to be happy.

And maybe somewhere down the line he's wanted Kavinsky to let Sam make him happy, somewhere across all the times they've kept track of each other in battle and all the different injuries Sam's healed, the times they drank or smoked or watched movies together, the times Sam sat with him while he came down, and once or twice, when Kavinsky fell asleep in Sam's arms on the way home from a mission.

Sam likes the way Kavinsky fits in his arms, honestly. And he likes the way he fits against him right now, slim legs and long fingers. He doesn't take his hands away when Kavinsky grabs his wrists, but he doesn't try to keep exploring, either. ]

I can fix that.

[ There's the tiniest pulse of his symbiote ability, sending warmth through Kavinsky's veins, though he doesn't actually take away any of the drug. He would, if Kavinsky asked - Sam's grown used to feeling the effects of whatever drug Kavinsky's on over the years, even if Kavinsky no longer needs the constant stream of them.

But Sam's got another offer for him, and this time he pinches Kavinky's nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger as he shifts his leg again. ]

I could take you higher.

[The sirens are screaming louder, giving voice to the internal alarm bells tearing away at Kavinsky's last reserves of decency. All his hard work--every time he told himself to back off, Sam wasn't going to bite at his bait--was for nothing. In the end, fate has their balls squeezed into a collective vice. Here they are, on a balcony, here Kavinsky is, wanting to hump Sam's thigh and pant every obscenity he knows into his ear. After years of travelling through the deepest reaches of space, his dictionary of alien slurs has grown extensively.

He won't be healed or sobered up. Kavinsky needs the coke to keep his skeleton from clawing out of his skin and racing down the winding stairs he took great pains to climb. Sam has led him into a trap and is pinching his nipple as the door shuts on K's new cage. Another connection he couldn't track or control, because Sam was lying through his teeth and biding his time.

It's like being dragged by his ankles into someone else's dream.

The nipple between Sam's fingers could carve K's and his initials into an oak. In a word, it's hard.

And it's not the only thing.]

Do it.

[Prayer or command, Sam will have to decide for himself. Kavinsky keens in a fretful hiss between his teeth. He releases Sam's wrists and brazenly ties his fingers up into the front of the man's uniform. He jerks him closer, sucks up his air.]

Show me what you got, Wingman. I was starting to think you couldn't get it up.

Edited 2017-05-07 03:58 (UTC)

[ There is a part of Sam that feels almost guilty, that he's waited this long. Waited until after Kavinsky'd started to respect his boundaries, after he'd accepted that this was something that was never gonna be. It's not like Sam had planned on it, it's not like he'd been serious when he murmured for Kavinsky to check back with him in five years, but here they are anyway.

Even now Kavinsky's trying briefly to be decent, trying to be good. Oh, he was so good, and Sam really does appreciate that.

Their conversation so long ago takes on a new meaning, now, with Kavinsky's dick pressed against his thigh and a pebbled nipple firm under his fingers.

Prayer or command - Sam'd answer either one the same, really. His mouth crashes down against Kavinsky's in a kiss, a hell of a lot different from the first time he kissed the guy all those years ago. There's no easing him into it - he barrels right in, tongue plunging into his mouth as he presses Kavinsky against the balcony until he's arching back over it, just a little. ]

( You've been so good for me, baby, haven't you? ) [ Warmth curls out across their connection, teasing, like the brush of feathers over naked skin. He sucks lightly on Kavinsky's lower lip, following it up by pulling it in between his teeth. ] ( Shoulda shown you my appreciation a long time ago. )

[ He doesn't break the kiss, but he does pull one hand out of Kavinsky's shirt to curl around the back of his neck, thumb resting in the hollow of his throat, as the other trails down the kid's stomach until his knuckles just barely brush the base of his cock. ]

[Back in the day--before spaceships and metal wings--Kavinsky preferred the peace and quiet of his partners when their mouths pressed against his. Most of the time, he was forcing himself to find the pretty girl attractive, because like fuck he was going to prove his father right and be his group's obligatory fag. He suckled the lips of any girl stupid enough to get in his car and swallow his pills. It felt like the fulfillment of a contract with the ink barely dried. Everyone played their predefined roles. They didn't need the distraction of conversation.

Sam's another story from a book with five years' worth of library fees attached. It's so overdue, and yet Kavinsky had grown accustomed to yearning without payout. Unrequited lust had a bittersweet tang.

Thankfully, his ability to argue receiving exactly what he's been craving is on par with his ability to respect posted speed limits.

K tilts his head back, strengthening the pull of his bottom lip. Good of Sam not to dampen the mood with gentleness. Kavinsky rewards him with ample encouragement. Mental--]

( Put your hand on my cock. This ain't fucking Catholic school. )

[--as well as physical. Sam plays coy, avoiding instant gratification in an effort to tease. Meanwhile, K hasn't finished thinking the word "Catholic" before his hands start pawing at the fly of Sam's pants. For a man that just proclaimed he's too high to be rational, Kavinsky's fingers are awfully dexterous. Half his body hangs over open air, but Sam will soon feel that same warm breeze over his dick, granted he doesn't slap K's greedy hands away.

He says nothing about being called good or baby or both in the same psychic "breath." Sam will know how he feels by the urgency in which his partner aims to divest him of his clothes.]

[ If Sam does his job right - he'll make Kavinsky forget about all of those other times tonight. He's not planning on this being a one time thing, so it's not like he has to try to fit five years worth of payout in one night, but he sure as hell is going to try anyway.

Hopefully Kavinsky has learned not to mind constant talk, seeing as Sam doesn't even need to breathe to keep it up anymore. Kavinsky'll adjust, even if Sam has to tie him down for it.

He doesn't slap Kavinsky's hands away, but he doesn't move to help, either, mostly because he doesn't want to let go. Instead he presses a little harder with his thumb against Kavinsky's throat until there's a clear indent in his skin - not for a warning, just because. Because he loves getting to put an edge to his gentleness, and he knows Kavinsky wouldn't appreciate it otherwise.

Sam's dick is already half hard when Kavinsky frees it, and he rolls his hips slow and easy, rocking Kavinsky's body against the railing he's trapped by. ]

( So demanding. You in a hurry to get this over with, huh? Way I see it, we got all night. ) [ He does drag his hand lower, though, palming over the head of Kavinsky's cock before he gets a good grip on it and starts stroking. ] ( How about this - I'm gonna jerk you off nice and slow, and you can tell me if you wanna come like this or you wanna wait for something more. Better make it good, though, 'cause it's the last time you're gonna get to make the call tonight. )

[ He's got two plans for how he wants to spend the rest of the night with the kid, and both of them sound pretty damn great to him. Might as well let Kavinsky pick, even if he doesn't exactly know what he's choosing. ]

[The way Sam sees it is ludicrous; the only way they could spend the whole night together would require the fight down below metamorphose into a war of attrition. That, or they could begin act two after a brief intermission in which they'd abandon the planet. Kavinsky snorts as he allows his thoughts to stray--only for a second--to how the hive would take being subjected to that. He can practically hear the yowling already. But they'd enjoy it, too. We always do, Kavinsky thinks, right before Sam does as he's told and touches Kavinsky's dick head on. Assuming there is a God, He must have made extra time for Sam's making; he's so hot Hell has to be colder to compensate.

K's high, now fueled by more than what he took off the railing, stutters when he's given options followed by what sounds suspiciously like a threat. Heat coils around Kavinsky's spine, descending to his tailbone after taking a pit stop at his gut. He's followed Sam's orders in the past, but only for missions where K was an asset due to his supernatural talent and eagerness to cause commotion. No one ever wanted K to put together a strategy. The same is being asked of him now: trust Sam to come up with a viable plan, pick the weapon that'll get 'er done.

No. Kavinsky lunges forwrad, snapping his teeth like anything he can do will intimidate Sam into taking it back. K knows best he's all bark when his cock's finally getting the attention it deserves. At the same time he shows off his incisors, upper lip curled, Kavinsky humps his dick up into Sam's hold.]

( Hey--fuck you. I'm making all the calls, man. Bend over. )

[Lest Sam think he actually caused an upset, K issues his demand without removing either of his hands from Sam's crotch. His fingers sample skin in taps and strokes; he learns Sam's shape without ever giving him a fist to fuck. It's the coke mixed with an ingrained series of behaviors that promise death should K ever go too still.

Another explosion blisters the sky behind Kavinsky orange-red-white. He's made less human in its glow, and there's no question of whether that's how he'd prefer to be seen.]

Edited 2017-05-14 06:09 (UTC)

[ All right, all right, maybe not constant all night - but that's exactly what he's gonna be angling for. Their part in the fight is done, no reason not to spend the rest of it like this and then pick right back up once they're back on the Station.

He can feel the way his words spread heat in their wake, grins at the way Kavinsky bares his teeth in response. Sam knows Kavinsky now, has too much of him under his skin and in his mind, and between the teeth snapping and the roll of Kavinsky's hips, Sam knows which one he's gonna listen to. ]

( That's how it is, huh? You know exactly what you want? )

[ The too light touches are exactly what Sam wants right now, honestly. He likes it, the here and there grazes of Kavinsky's fingers, enough to keep him interested but not much else. Still, he pulls his hands away, but only enough to start pushing Kavinsky's shirt up. Sam tugs the front half over his head, hooks it behind his neck - and leaves it there, distracted.

He gets his mouth on Kavinsky's neck, teeth grazing sharply down the line of his throat before he kisses his way back up. He doesn't have to take his mouth from Kavinsky's skin to talk, but he does anyway, because he wants to see the way the explosion lights his boy up. And wonders briefly if Kavinsky would protest that, would mean it if he did, but decides he doesn't care. There's admiration obvious in his gaze. ]

Look at you. [ It's a low murmur, rough with desire and the fact that he just doesn't talk out loud as much as he used to. ] The fire's got nothing on you.

[ Then he turns his attention back to Kavinsky's shirt, pushing it down over his shoulders - and aiming to use it to pull Kavinsky's arms behind his back, to hold it tangled around his wrists. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

50 years later meme

let's just put up warnings now--sex, drug use, K is a monster

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