50 years later meme

[sizeofyourbaggage]

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

Comments

[100mitsubishis]

[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.

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ 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. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[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.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ 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. ]

[100mitsubishis]

[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.]

[sizeofyourbaggage]

[ 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. ]