ArchivedLogs:Blood High

Blood High
Dramatis Personae Shane, Peter	2013-07-15 '
Location <NYC> 305 {Teenhaus} - Village Lofts - East Village
This apartment is bright and airy, its floor plan open and a plethora of windows providing it with an abundance of light. The tiny entrance hall opens into a small living room. Towards the back, a couple of doors lead off into bedrooms and bathroom, and to the right, the kitchen's tile is separated from the living room's dark hardwood floors by black countertops. Above the bedroom to one side, there is higher space; a ladder climbs up to a lofted area looking down on the living room. Another bathroom stands just into the hall and the farthest door leads to the apartment's final bedroom. Furnishings are more in line with broke students than established adults. Cast-off couches and chairs provide places to sit, and the walls have been decorated in a frequently-changed street art style that combines bright, layered colors with exaggerated proportions and abstract shapes. "Sha~ane," Peter's voice plunges through the doorway shortly after class; it's accompanied by -- knocking! Knock-knock-knock. Peter seems to be in quite a bright mood! Also, quite unusually, he is /not/ panting his head off after arriving. He's clad in what appears to be unsettlingly heavy clothes for the summer heat -- his red hoodie, along with black sweat-pants. He /probably/ got quite a number of stares on his way here; the clothes give him a baggy, bulky look. He's also carrying his usual nylon black back-pack, /and/ -- a box! White, about six inches wide, 4 inches across, two inches tall. Shane hasn't /been/ in class today, weirdly. OK, that wouldn't usually be /that/ weird, but he's been /very/ conscientious all summer semester. Possibly just because with the city in chaos what on earth /else/ is he going to do. But today, apparently /something/ else because there has been no Shane on campus! There /is/ a Shane here, though. It takes a bit for him to answer the door; when he does, it's in his default summer-term attire; boring-bland, cargo shorts and a ribbed grey tank and his red collar. Bastian-constructed thwippy things at his wrists. He looks a little pale, but there's a /wide/ grin on his face. "Jesus it's like seven million degrees aren't you dead get in here," he's reaching for Peter to tug him inside kind of quickly. Peter is tugged! Maybe a bit surprisedly, but. He is /happy/ to step in. Shane might notice something unusually hard beneath the layer of that hoodie; something /not/ chitin -- it feels -- kind of segmented? Like a honey-comb pattern: "No~ope," Peter exclaims, quite cheerfully, in a sing-song voice -- like he knows a /secret/! "You seem a little pale. Also, why weren't you at school today? Too hot?" One of Peter's hands /darts/ up to that collar, as if to /squeeze/. But it's just a tiny-tug, kind of playful. Tug, tug. "It's /hot/," Shane explains, about the pale, and he's /dragging/ Peter into kind of an uncomfortably fierce hug. Picking him up to spiiiiin him around. "Fuck school I was busy. Wait no I wasn't busy. -- Ohh." He buries his face against Peter's neck once he sets the other boy back down, nuzzling when his collar is tugged. "-- I think I was high," he admits, though he doesn't really sound guilty about it, "Why aren't you dead?" "WhoaJeez," Peter exclaims as he's /plucked/ up off the ground and spun about; he's grinning all the while, though. When Shane puts him back down, Peter pulls a /little/ harder at the collar when Shane nuzzles, mmnphing and delivering a kiss to his forehead. And then -- he releases! Stepping back just long enough to reach down to the hem of his hoodie and puuuuull up, rolling his back into it. Underneath is -- deeper scarlet! Like thermal underwear, except -- it has a funny texture to it, like so many honeycombs interlocked. There's a zipper, kind-of-hidden, down the front. As Peter drags the hoodie off his shoulders, he exposes two black 'plates' on either shoulder -- making a very-gentle whirr! Little metal fans on top of Peltier plates, disposing of the heat via convection. "It works! Kind of. Uh. Not perfectly, but," and now Peter's reaching down to fumble with a tiny switch at his hip, and the whirring cuts off. "--you were high?" Not! An accusation so much as an intrigued question. Eyes wide. Like this is an /amazing/ thing Shane can do. You can get -- high? And MISS CLASS? "Oh my god holy shit it's done, it /works/?" And for all Shane's complete noninterest in /class/, when Peter takes off the hoodie he is instantly fascinated, reaching up to poke at the device with -- no dangerously incompetent fumbling but an odd familiarity that suggests he is a good deal more familiar than he tends to let /on/ with its construction. "This mean you're not fired?" he asks with a crooked grin, stepping closer to INSPECT thoroughly. "Uh, yeah, that's pretty much what I do all school year, dude. This time was better though." He glances to the door like he's oddly concerned someone might be listening? And drops his voice lower to inform Peter: "-- I sort of found a drug that. Like. Makes you --" His smile is crooked again, a little self-conscious, "-- a mutant." "Nope!" Peter says, /very/ cheerfully, his grin nearly splitting his dark face in two! Straight, tiny teeth in comparison to Shane's SHARP ones. He weathers Shane's careful poking happily -- before flipping the plates off with a switch at his waist! They immediately hum to quiet. "It needs /improving/ and modifying, but..." Now he's tugging at the zipper at his chest! Tug, tug. To let some air in, since it isn't /cooling/ anymore. "--a drug that. What?" Peter /peers/ at Shane, maybe a little skeptically: "Uh are you sure you didn't just find a drug that makes you /think/ you're -- Shane you're already a mutant," Peter says, frowning just a /bit/. As if he is trying to comfort Shane over this sudden revelation. "Yeah but the bulk of it's done it's just so much improvement from here and -- and now that /this/ part's done you'll be able to tweak it to heat, too, and probably slim it down a little and --" Shane's grinning, too, to match Peter's. Albeit /sharper/. He stretches up onto his toes to press a solid kiss to Peter's cheek. "Dude right OK I /know/ I'm already a mutant but I mean a -- a /better/ mutant -- OK no I'm already /pretty much/ the best mutant /except/ maybe for Joshua but I -- this morning," he informs Peter, brightly, "I picked up Ryan's /car/. That's like /way/ better than fucking E, man." "--I'm gonna make you guys a set, too, I think, once I got it -- slimmed down? I want--" Peter starts, interrupted by that cheeksmooch, pressing up into it with an mmnf; an arm slings around Shane's waist, /squeezing/. "Mmf you /are/ a pretty awesome mu--you. Picked up a car?" Now Peter's pulling back just a little, staring at Shane. Obvious concern on his face: "Wait, what? You took something that could -- are you okay?" Peter's other free hand is now moving toward Shane's arms, to touch gently and /squeeze/. As if looking for damage. "--you shouldn't -- be able to do that. On /anything/," Peter insists. "I mean -- unless you're -- way stronger than... I mean I don't think /I/ could pick up Ryan's car." There is no damage. Just wiry-strong muscle. A little wiry-/stronger/ than it should be, lean-hard-tough. Shane's arm lifts, when Peter squeezes, pulling up-up-up -- /lifting/ Peter, if he holds that squeeze. "/I/ couldn't pick up Ryan's car, oh my god, I couldn't pick up /anyone's/ fucking car. Most days. I'm not even sure I could /now/ it's wearing off but this morning -- oh my god, Peter, you /have/ to try -- well. If I can get more --" There's an almost blissful-dreamy expression on his face for a moment. "-- wait no holy shit you should never ever ever, you'd be like the dumbest motherfucker on the planet," he decides abruptly, "if you were even more of a badass, you would probably immediately try to save the entire planet." He /frowns/, and curls his arms around Peter to hug tight. Peter's eyes widen as Shane just -- up! Up! And suddenly tiny-Shane is lifting bigger-Peter, who is just kind of staring down at him, shocked and open-mouthed. He stays up there, until Shane puts him back down and proceeds to hug -- to which Peter responds! With his own hug. SQUEEZING. Tight enough to lift Shane just a smidge: "No, I wouldn't -- I mean. I don't even know if I'd... take this stuff, Shane, this stuff might be dangerous! Where did--" Peter's lips suddenly thin, something tense entering his posture; his squeeze gets a little tighter: "Shane where did you get this stuff?" "It's not --" Shane protests, and then frowns. "Peter do you have any /idea/ how much drugs I do because it's like. An asston of drugs. On the scale of dangerous stupid shit I do -- I mean, I'm not saying it's for-sure /not/ dangerous I'm just saying this is like. That horse is /so/ out of the barn. It's out of the barn and ten states away." He doesn't protest the lifting, nuzzling down into Peter. "I --" He looks a little guilty. "I can't tell you," he says, kind of guilty-apologetic. "Y-yeah, I know you're..." This is a little more shyly on Peter's part; his cheeks darken as he nuzzles back up against Shane, the squeeze getting -- increment by increment! -- more and more tight. "--I mean. I get a little worried but, you know this stuff /way/ more than I do, and I know you're -- hard to hurt. But -- lifting cars that's. That's really..." That tense little line doesn't /untense/ when Shane tells him he can't tell him: "...okay, but -- Shane there was this. Stuff? Way back, with the blood monster? And -- I accidentally took it? And -- if it's anything like that," and then Peter gives a squeeze that borders on the violent, "then you really shouldn't, because. It's /incredibly/ dangerous. It like made me /nuts/ for a while. Violent." "Mmm --" Shane relaxes more the tighter the squeeze gets, his arms curling around Peter and face nuzzling in to the other boy's neck. "Blood -- monster, I don't think --" Shane says, but then stops. "I don't --" and then more stop. "-- I'm always violent," he points out instead, but it's a little /discomfited/, "and almost always nuts." His nuzzling gets a little more /emphatic/, a quiet strangled 'hrrrngh' sounding in his throat. "I can't imagine you violent," he admits softly, "even when you /are/ hitting me you're like. The sweetest --" Squeeeeze. "-- what was the stuff. With the blood monster." The relaxing on Shane's part /kind/ of prompts Peter to squeeze harder and harder, until the compression is actually making Peter's arms ache -- but that doesn't prompt him to stop. Peter kisses Shane's brow as he nuzzles; his mouth moves along his hairline, drifting toward the spot where his ear-ridges lie. "Nnmsome sort of chemical. Was black, and inky, and -- in a bunch of vials. You aren't -- ffft you're /super/ sweet, just. /Toothy/." Kiss, smooch, kiss. "Think the label read. 'VENOM'? Big black print. Been a while." Peter now has Shane up off the ground completely, back arched a little to keep him airborn. Each palm taking a different flank-gill, fingers /grinding/ inward. "--s'how I got. Wall-clingy." "Mmm," is morphing into "Mmmph," a little /pained/ with the harder squeezing and the grinding against his sensitive gills but Shane still nuzzles inward, arms clinging against Peter. "This wasn't -- that. At all, it wasn't. No. Not -- nggh. It was different, it was --" Shane's nuzzling turns to MOOSHING, face pressing harder against Peter's neck; it makes his finishing statement of, "-- special," kind of muffled. "-- the wall clingy lasted," he says, a little perplexed. "This is fading." "Mmmnnh," Peter responds, a little breathlessly himself; a hand shifts from Shane's gills to grip at the base of his back -- fingers curling around the bottom of his spine. As if he means to /seize/ it. As Shane mooshes, Peter bites, teeth scraping along his scalp -- not hard, more of a tiny tooth-poke. "--okay. Good. Yeah it sounds. Different. Just, got worried. Um." Softer, then: "--got you something." Peter's eyes drift over to the white box he brought with him! Now sitting on a table, kind-of-forgotten amidst Shane-squeezings. He makes no move to retrieve it; he seems perfectly content to just. /Squeeze/ Shane. For now. "Different," Shane agrees, although /he/ sounds a little worried himself, now. "-- the bloodmonster died, right?" His eyes close, head how just resting up against Peter's chest. He doesn't follow Peter's gaze to the box; he just grins, mouth curling up wide in a bright flash of teeth. "You get me things a lot. All I ever get you is sex." His brow creases. Kind of worried, kind of thoughtful: "... I'm bad at presents." "--you give me /love/," Peter responds, kind-of-hushed, kind-of-embarassed for saying it; it's followed with another tiny-bite against Shane's ear-ridge. Disguising the heat that creeps up in his cheeks. "And I /like/, um. Sex. You know you -- made my --" Now, he can't help but disguise that heat; it floods down his cheeks and neck. "--first time. Really, really. Good. You don't need to get me things I just like doing it." "I just don't really always know the rules," Shane says, a little awkwardly. "I mean --" His nose wrinkles, and he wriggles out of Peter's tight grip with a startling /ease/ in his sudden amount of strength. He doesn't move away, just looks up at Peter's face, one hand lifting to brush fingers up Peter's blushing cheek. "... I never know what the rules are," this is softer, oddly bashful. "Not just with presents. Like with -- /people/. I mean except most times I don't /care/, you know? And I probably shouldn't with you. Because you don't seem to. Care. If I follow them or not. Except I /want/ to -- not. Fuck everything up. With you. You know? And I fuck a /lot/ of things up. Like with your folks. And I don't even usually know /what/ I'm fucking up." His fingers trail down, from cheek to neck, following the path of that heat in reverse. "I'm glad, though. I want it all to be good. Not -- sex. Just. Fucking -- /life/, there's enough shitty-ass crap out there. You should have people. To give you love." "Yeah I," Peter starts -- briefly pausing with surprise as Shane exerts that strength, immediately slackening his own grip, but slightly-shocked that Shane /has/ that much strength, "I mean," he tries again, tilting his head into Shane's palm, "there are /always/ rules, I guess? And -- like, with your brother, oh man I was really worried -- I messed that up, too? But. We're learning. Even if," the heat of Peter's throat extends just a little, threatening to follow Shane's fingertips -- but as it dips lower, it soon can't follow. Peter wriggles in his suit; the zipper is poised just at the center of his sternum. "--even if we screw up s'fine we'll." Peter's breath quickens. And then, suddenly -- THWP! -- one of his hands releashes Shane long enough to extend a silver cord, snagging the white box nearby, /yanking/ it into his hand. And kind of. Slowly creeping it forward. Toward Shane's hand. Still blushing. "--um." "I don't think /you/ messed that up, I think /we're/ fucked up. I mean, /my/ first time was --" Shane doesn't actually explicate this, a brief furrow creases his brow, more /thoughtful/ than troubled as he bites down on his lip. It slips away into another quick smile. Curious! He snatches up the box that Peter creeps forward. /Sniffing/ at it curiously. Then. Nibbling on its edge. Tinytiny chomp? "Why so blushy? Is /this/ one a cock ring?" Peter's other hand strokes through Shane's hair, fingers weaving through that thick tangle of plastic-y darkness! Still flushed, watching as Shane /nibbles/ at the box. Grinning just a /little/: "N-no. Um." The box tastes -- well! Like /cardboard/. And maybe cheap paint. Peter probably bought it at a dollarstore. "--what was. Your first time?" Peter asks, a little more quietly, a rumple of concern in his brow. The hand in Shane's hair sliiiiiding back to the base of Shane's head, cupping the back of his skull in his palm. Giving. Tinysqueeze. "Kinda boring," Shane answers with a shrug of one shoulder, "I'm glad yours was fun." His eyes drift close, head tipping back into the squeeze. Nuzzling back, turning to the side to press his cheek into Peter's palm. "Kinda -- I don't know. Everything in the labs was more boring, I guess. It's all sterile in there." But they snap open again so that he can look down at the box. Spit out a teenynibble of cardboard, and open it /properly/ to look inside. There's a forcefulness to Peter's next squeeze, quick and sudden. Right before Shane spits the cardboard out! "I know you probably don't -- I mean. It's probably not a big /deal/ to you, but. I'm sorry that -- um. That it was -- in there." This somewhat flushed explanation comes as Shane opens the box; inside is -- another collar! Red, just like the one Shane is wearing now. With the same pads! But with two distinct additions: On the back of it is a brand new metal D ring, looped into the fabric -- and on the front -- is a <3, attached with snaps. Peter's blush isn't showing any signs of dwindling as Shane reveals the box's contents. "Um. I guess -- I mean if the heart is -- too much, you know, I mean, I don't know if you want to wear that in public it might be -- it can -- snap off..." For a moment, Shane just looks at the collar, running it through his fingers quietly. But then he grins, bright and sharp. "Peter, man, have you /seen/ some of the shit I do in public? I don't know what about this you think is gonna embarass /me/." His head tips forward slightly; he lifts the collar from the box, offering to to Peter before he turns to give Peter access to the fastening of the one he already wears. "Yeah," Peter says, kind-of-letting out a breath, kind-of-relieved, when Shane responds with that grin. Grinning himself, when Shane turns, taking the collar in his hand, and reaching -- slowly -- to unbuckle the collar Shane's currently wearing. "--just. Um. Yeah," he repeats, a breathy, warm sigh that encloses the side of Shane's neck. The original collar slips out from under his jaw; it's set aside with clatter, before Peter reaches to slide the new one back in place. Shane /might/ notice that Peter's fingers are trembling, just a little. Once Peter's tightened it, his breath catches; fingers slowly arrange the pads into their proper place over Shane's gills -- and then a finger brushes the <3 at the front, before drifting back to the ring in the back... Peter's fingers coil through it, giving it. A sharp tug, /constricting/ the collar. "--um. You're still -- feeling really strong, right?" More quiet. Before: "Annnnd... like. ...endurable?" Tug, tug. Shane's grin wiiiidens. Sharp and fierce and very toothy, his head tilting back to press his throat still more snugly against Peter's fingers. "Peter," he says, "right now, I don't think even /you/ could hurt me." It sounds kiiind of like a challenge. "Tsssst." Tiny hiss. From between Peter's suddenly clenched teeth. It's followed by his hand retracting -- only to return with a click, as something snaps down on the D-ring. A leash, pulled from Peter's backpack; one that's now wrapped several times around his wrist. Peter pulls, sharp and vicious, drawing Shane's neck back as he constricts it -- even as his other hand swoops forward to deliver a powerful /SLAP/ to Shane's shorts-clad backside. Breath hot and close to an ear, words carried by the sound of a growl, shoving Shane toward the bedroom: "Let's find out." CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.