In the Land of Gods and Monsters ✥ Booker DeWitt & Jack Wynand

[falseprophet]

❝In each of us lie good and bad, light and dark, art and pain, choice and regret, cruelty and sacrifice. We’re each of us our own chiaroscuro, our own bit of illusion fighting to emerge into something solid, something real. We’ve got to forgive ourselves that. I must remember to forgive myself. Because there is a lot of grey to work with. No one can live in the light all the time❞

Comments

[falseprophet]

You're not a man of many words. [He has no qualms about placing his palm against the small of Jack's back. What is shame in a place like this? There is no god to judge, no wandering eyes to smite you. It was the freedom of the elite.

But you know what they say: when everyone is free to do as they want...really, no one is.

The hand dips down just a little -

What's the harm -?]

[unkindly]

Never saw the need for more.

[He raises his eyebrows at the touch, but says nothing against it. He's finding he's not opposed to the idea or the contact.]

...YOU ASKED FOR IT.

[falseprophet]

Well. No more words, then -- [He moves like a sudden wave of water crashing over the sand. Instantly, his face is in Jack's face (for lack of better phrasing) and his fingers grip that stern jaw, angling it towards him.

Booker kisses him like a punch in the teeth.]

I SURE DID

[unkindly]

[Jack freezes in shock for a moment. Once he comes to terms with what's happening, he has about a split second to decide whether to push Booker away or let it happen.

He almost pushes him away.

But the kiss, harsh and violent as it is, feels far more right than Jack could have ever guessed, and before he can actually make a conscious decision, he finds himself leaning into it and kissing back.]

[falseprophet]

[Booker has little appetite for foreplay or for teasing. He shoots straight in every manner of the term. This man is a temporary thrill and nothing else (so he tells himself). Let's keep it that way.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, the first few buttons of Jack's shirt slide open. It's nothing dramatic; in fact, it's subtle and oddly suave. Surprisingly enough, Booker puts very little thought into it all; seduction came easy for him. It employed a kind of physicality that allowed him to go somewhat numb, to not have to think much at all and simply allow his body to agreeably register every motion without comment. Action, reaction. Such a simple process. No more thoughts of foreshadowed doom, of civil war, of revolution. No blood, no prophecy. Just the most basic lusts of mankind.

It was freeing.

Booker bites down upon Jack's lip, hard enough to mark it but not nearly enough to break the skin. So what if other people might be watching? Discretion isn't exactly Booker's more admirable characteristic.]

[unkindly]

[No.

No, this is too much, too far for being out in public. Jack doesn't mind the kiss, in fact, judging from how his blood is pounding in his ears and his breath is quickening, he's really enjoying it, but if this is going to continue or go any further (and Jack is finding that he doesn't mind the idea of it going further), they need to go somewhere slightly more private.

Jack might not be very subtle, but he's certainly not an exhibitionist.

So when he feels his shirt coming undone, and Booker bites down, he pushes him back with a strong arm and plants a hand around the man's throat.

His eyes burning, his breath fast and uneven, he stares down at Booker and hisses low.]

Not here.