EXHALING a pleased sigh, LANGUID eyelids dropping to revel in the feel of it all, there were parts of his body that were sensitive to TOUCH- aside from the obvious point of his affection, his neck was only amongst the first three. Yet, was also the most dangerous depending on the situation. For so long has he known nothing but rough touches- a strangle here, a shove there, the familiar STAB at the end of a broken beer bottle. All these things && more. None of which stopped him from TAKING what he really wants in the end. He searches for affection at the bar he frequents, be it male or female it didn’t matter which so long as he got his desired result. 

No attachments or FEELINGS put into the thing, always leaving && never seeing the same person twice once he’s taken what he wanted from them && they him. He liked his lifestyle, his freedom to take WHAT he wants, WHENEVER he wants. It was a snug fit with how close the man was upon him but he managed to make quick work with his hands in pleasuring the other. He simultaneously FLICKED his other half’s nipple while the thumb on his other hand did well in doing the same to the head of his cock. Drinking in the way the other’s body reacted to being played with. 

It was rewarding in && of itself to feel the PRESSURE of lips remove themselves from his neck completely, though not without slight disappointment, to a head dropping to his shoulder. It was then that he practically PURRED in his ear, making his DESIRES clear, “&& you’re proving to me what a complete MESS I can make of you.” Obviously pleased with himself, he then proceeded to pinch the nipple he had been playing with moments ago. AGILE fingers wrapped around the other’s length as he started stroking him properly- feeling his GROWING erection in the palm of his hand. 

At the ADMITTANCE, Leonard taunted in a whisper in the guy’s ear as he briefly scrunched his nose, “Good thing we’re not vain, then.” He might think highly of himself, but he could never reach the same vain level as Sam Scudder. He swears, the guy looks at himself in the mirror one too many times. He’s ridiculous really. “But if you happen to let CONTROL slip, you won’t hear me complainin’.” There was a hint of a suggestion -more like an insult- there, almost as if he were DARING the other to prove him wrong. To gain the upperhand if he so chooses. He was fully immersed in this game they were playing && he was here to WIN.

The apple was thrown over his shoulder, the Doctor barely resisting wiping at his tongue with his fingers. Brows remained furrowed as he continued to look around, finally pulling out his sonic screwdriver to take a few readings. “Rubbish, apples are rubbish, but this is wrong. Bland, tasteless—no, no, that’s not right. It has a taste but it’s the wrong taste. Have you ever taken a bite out of a raw potato? Like that.” Don’t ask him how he knew that.

“Funny how that happens.” He always blended in so well. “I’m the Doctor. Who’re you?” Lifting his sonic above his head, he turned it on, letting it bleep away for a few seconds, before pulling it back down to see what it’d picked up. He scowled, gave the sonic screwdriver a shake. “No, no, come on, don’t do that! That’s not possible.” Something was definitely wrong if the sonic was telling him everything was fine—thirty-four degrees, gravity normal, radiation nil. Problem was, it was also convinced that he was still on Gregarion XV in the year 1717. 

Grabbing hold of the other man’s shoulder, the Doctor tapped his screwdriver against his own head twice, then waved it out in front of them. “Look around. Take a good look, really look. You might have to really concentrate to see it. Notice how all the colour’s drained, how no one’s speaking unless they absolutely have to, how, out of all these people, not one of them have even glanced in our direction. We could probably start a brawl and no one would bat an eye.”

    Cisco rolled his eyes, tensing even more when Snart got so CLOSE. He didn’t move away – not yet – frozen in his spot, chilled to the bone, hands in his pockets with a finger almost brushing the panic button. “Oh no,” he snorted, glancing him up and down, searching for the cold gun. “Why would I ever buy you a drink, Cold? Sorry not sorry, you’re not exactly MY TYPE.” He fit the intense criteria but still, ugh.