ArchivedLogs:Alleyway Rendezvous

Alleyway Rendezvous
warning: some sexual content
Dramatis Personae Lucien, Murphy, Eric
In Absentia	2013-05-19 After Blood or Mercy. (Part of Thunderdome.)
Location <NYC> Chinatown
One of New York's oldest neighborhoods and the oldest Chinese enclave outside of Asia, Chinatown is a vibrant ethnic community, which draws throngs of tourists annually as well. This neighborhood is packed with Chinese-owned businesses, from restaurants to groceries to theaters to fashion. Leaning against the wall not far from the warehouse of doom, Eric leans against the brick wall with a cigarette held loosely between his lips. He breathes in a long breath and the smoke jets upwards into the air as he exhales, one hand toying with the butt of his pistol. “Jesus.” he mutters, under his breath, and shakes his head. “Fuckin’ jesus.” Murphy Law walks besides Lucien. The man’s stride is slow, but confident; his scowl is muted, but determined. The steady clack of his cane on concrete is the only sound he makes - along with, perhaps, the occasional brief, mangled attempt at French. “{He heals. Brain may fix itself. You might need. To keep breaking it.}” As they come along the corner - Eric in sight - Murphy’s eyes begin to narrow. To Lucien, whisper-soft: “{Can you disable. Have questions. Details not fitting.}” Then, nodding his head to Eric in the distance. Moving in. “Sutton,” Murphy calls out. Voice maybe a little /too/ gentle. “Need to talk.” "{Yes.}" That's all Lucien gives in answer to Murphy, at first. He glances sidelong to Murphy and, after a moment of consideration, adds, "{Can also make him more amenable to answering questions.}" His pace is a casual saunter at Murphy's side, and he reaches into his pocket as they go to pull out a pack of cigarettes of his own, slipping one between his lips and offering one to Murphy as he approaches Eric. "Have a light?" he asks, in English this time. "Yes." Eric glances over Murphy for a moment, and his eyebrows furrow. "Piss off, Murphy. I'm waiting for my Sarge." He frowns at Murphy, and takes another deep breath of his cigarette, even as he pulls a lighter out of his pocket to light it and extend it to Lucien. “He on his way?” Murphy asks, almost distractedly; his eyes sweep over the nearby buildings - lingering on a distant alleyway. He accepts Lucien’s offered cigarette without a thought, shoving it roughly between his own lips - even as his other hand reaches into a coat, as if to pat himself down for his own lighter. As he does, he mutters in complaint: “{Do it.}” Lucien lifts his hand, cupping it around Eric's to steady the flame as he leans in. The touch comes with a subtle wash of feeling, a trickle of calm, relaxation. Something warm and pleasant. The contact lingers for a moment longer, before Lucien drops his hand, fingertips trailing briefly along Eric's knuckles as he does. "Do we have time at least for a smoke?" he wants to know, a quiet murmur as he glances from Eric's face to the warehouse nearby. Eric's face, which was tight, loosens somewhat. His eyes flick over Lucien, head tilting slightly to one side. "I don't know. Supposed to be out any minute." A pause, as he looks at Lucien curiously. "I don't know how a beat-up old PI like Murphy can afford to be your friend," he says with a teasing smile. Murphy’s savvy enough to not interfere with a professional’s work; when Lucien strokes Eric’s knuckles, the battered PI takes a step back - letting the focus shift away from him. He’s finally finding his lighter when Eric poses that question to Lucien - Murphy begins lighting his own cigarette with a steady *FLNKT*, his voice so soft it threatens to blend into the background noise of city streets: “You wouldn’t believe some of the things this man can do, Eric.” "Less a matter of money and more a question of --" Lucien's eyes flick to the warehouse again. "Common interests." His hand drops after one small puff of cigarette, thumb flicking at the filter less to ash it and more in just a restless tic of motion. Eric's smile earns one in return, though. "Surely," he says, light if still quiet, "your sergeant would not begrudge you a few moments of indulgence." He lifts the cigarette, taking another small drag. "After all. You all work so hard. It makes sense you play hard, too. Is this --" His cigarette-hand gestures towards the building, "a /frequent/ method of relaxation, for you?" "It's my first time here," Eric says, and then he chuckles. "I thought it was an MMA match." A pause, and then he chuckles and shakes his head. "I guess it was." He takes a long drag on his cigarette, and when he exhales his breath is a little unsteady. Murphy’s presence retracts even further; he moves from watching Lucien work to watching the streets - eyes sweeping down the length of buildings, toward that warehouse - looking for a man who might fit the appearance of Eric’s ‘Sarge’. He’s thinking, a moment, as Eric speaks. Thoughts processing. After a harsh pull on his cigarette, he comments - in a hushed voice - to Lucien. “{...alley?}” "In a manner of speaking," Lucien allows, and there is a note of laughter buried in his own tone although it does not make it to his eyes. "First time," he echoes, thoughtfully as his vivid green eyes sweep over Eric. "Intense, isn't it?" He says this while leaning in, closer; his cigarette hand drops to his side and his words are murmured now close to Eric's ear. "You seem like you could stand to decompress." There's a light brush of lips, another flutter of warm-happy that edges this time farther away from relaxing and into a faint thrill of something less innocent. His free hand slips into Eric's, continuing the wash of sensation, as his head tips towards the alley in silent invitation. Eric takes another - very deep - drag on his cigarette, chest rising. "Yeah, I certainly could." As Lucien leans in, his eyes light up - or is that darkens? The police officer's body leans in, muscled chest briefly pressing to the other mans. "Their beer was definitely not strong enough f' that." Eric smiles and his hand trails along the small of Lucien's back as he slips away from the other man to relocate to the alleyway. Thankfully, it is not bordered by a restaurant. Murphy listens, but does not watch - his eyes are still on the streets around him. Observing. Making sure Lucien and Eric themselves are not observed. Just a grim, scowling specter enjoying his smoke. When Eric moves with Lucien into that alleyway... Murphy flicks the largely unfinished cigarette to the ground - grinds it out beneath the sole of his boot - and, with one more check to make sure the coast is clear... follows. Lucien is ditching his cigarette, too, as they head off. Stubbing it against the brick side of a building, flicking it towards a trashcan in passing, though he doesn't wait to see if he got it in or not. His hand finds Eric's arm once they're in the alley. This time to push the officer against the alley wall. It would perhaps be rough, aggressive, if not for the repeated flush of happy/desire that comes with it. But, beeyond this, only another question: "-- This is not your usual sort of fun, then? It seemed like there were quite a number of officers enjoying the spectacle." Eric grunts as he's pressed against the wall, though this could be from the shove, or it could be from the warm thrill of pleasure that runs through him. "No, this is more my usual kind'a fun," he says, before he leans forward to close his lips gently over the other man's. Interrogation is so much less interesting that Hot People. Murphy lurks near the entrance of the alleyway, glancing toward Lucien and Eric only once - and then, with a cold, quiet sort of calm. He props his back up against the wall at its corner - placing his body between them and an immediate glance from any passer-bys - fishing in one of his pockets for his reclaimed cellphone. Thumbing over the digits, sending a text as he works. But he’s also listening. Very closely. When Eric responds to Lucien’s question, Murphy speaks - still hushed, soft, so easy to ignore. “{My turn? If so. Disable.}” This earns a laugh from Lucien, quiet against Eric's mouth. That pull of desire /swells/, a fierce rush that batters at mental control. "{Your turn,}" he agrees quietly, pulling back just enough to, instead, nip lightly at Eric's neck, "{ask anything. But my way,}" which, apparently, involves his chest pressing Eric back to the wall, his mouth pressing to the other man's jaw, "{earns us fewer enemies among the fucking /police/ afterwards.} -- Not," he allows in English, "my usual sort of fun either." Eric let's out a soft moan as the other man's lips press to his jaw. Strong hands lift to wrap around Lucien's body, skimming up and down his back. "I think I'll just go to the club next time. I don't mind combat, I just prefer it to be the consensual kind." “{Fucking tease,}” Murphy’s responds to Lucien’s comment about doing it /his/ way. But otherwise, Murphy doesn’t complain - he turns his head, then, still tap-tap-tapping on the cell-phone - and begins to ask, tone soft but /driving/: “Have you - or are you /going/ to - tell any of them about the blue boys’ dad?” "{I didn't know you were interested,}" is Lucien's light answer. /His/ hands slip under Eric's shirt, skimming up the other man's sides. He dips his head in for another kiss -- closing lips against Eric's neck. He needs his mouth for talking. The churning cocktail of feeling continues, a fiercer rush. “Jax? Nah,” Eric says, a shiver running through his body as he arches into the other man’s touch. “Gonna tell him, though. Needs to get them out o’there. Mmm....” This trails off as his hands mirror Lucien’s movement, dipping down into the other man’s shirt to run calloused hands over Lucien’s bare back. “Shut up and c’m’ere, Murph’. You know I can do better ‘n talk.” Murphy tenses, shoulders rolling back, eyes narrowing. He is no longer paying attention to his cell-phone. He is staring, now, at Eric - hard and suspicious - as he addresses Lucien: “You sure he can’t -- mmn. Yeah. That fits better,” Murphy admits, sounding almost - /almost/ - a little disappointed. Like he was really looking forward to killing at least one cop tonight. “{Helping Jax. Probably didn’t know. First night,}” he relates to Lucien, sounding a little tense-grim. Then: “Calm him back down?” Murphy’s /dialing/ now. “{Are you sure you are through?}” Lucien does not, it might be noted, sound disappointed. Kind of bland-rote. Just a question. We done here. “{He can’t lie. I can tell if he lies.}” His next nip is harder, sucking flesh into his mouth and -- watching with a good deal of /fascination/ when the incipient bruise vanishes swiftly upon letting go. “... there are a good deal of police in there,” he murmurs, and ‘calm him down’ prompts Lucien’s hand to -- dip lower. Down the front of Eric’s pants. “Even Jackson might be hard-pressed to get in and out safely.” The rush of pleasure is rising, but then -- that might just as well have to do with the current location of Lucien’s hand. His mutation makes /quick/ work of this. A few firm strokes, a /surge/ of pleasure, and -- well. Eric is all set to calm back down. Lucien even presses a light kiss to his lips before he steps back. Eric leans in, panting, against Lucien’s neck as he leans forward against the other man. “Don’t underestimate the guy. They’re lucky to have hi-- oh.” A few moments later, he slumps against the wall, giving a sated - and puzzled - look to Lucien as he catches his breath. The police officer tilts his head to one side, eyes flicking over Lucien’s face. “Damn. You must earn way more than I thought.” he says, grinning at Murphy. He winks at the other man. “Must be /hard/ to watch.” he says, eyes twinkling mischievously. “Don’t want you to feel left out.” he says, beckoning with a finger. Murphy’s finger hovers over the send button, thinking on Lucien’s words. Eyebrows crumpling together toward a central point. “Nnng,” he rumbles, scowl calcifying. To Eric’s mention of feeling left out - epic killjoy that Murphy is - he is quick to reply: “Y’know, if you were involved in this, we were going to kill you. Slap a piece of paper that says ‘Mutie’ on you. After the blood-test on your corpse, I bet the cops wouldn’t have even checked the crime scene for prints.” Very quiet, and oh so /glum/. Like he’s terribly disappointed this didn’t happen. Maybe Murphy’s just a fucking party-pooper. Murphy soon adds, though, eyes still on the phone: “Jackson would need time. I want them all out. Now.” As if what /he/ wanted took precedence. He soon follows it up, though: “Either of you two know any solid nutcrackers. Ones that don’t need to touch you.” He’s hitting the dial button, now. Lifting the phone to his ear.