True to his word Logan's out there in the Hunt just after sundown. And he's been there long enough to make a fire and settle in like he has no plans to go anywhere else for the night.
Sat upon a log, beer in one hand and a stick in the other the flame illuminates his face while he tends the fire.
"Drink?" he asks without turning towards the direction he can smell the other man by now.
"Yeah," comes the mild reply through an otherwise soundless approach, and Daken ducks down as he steps past Logan, plucking up a bottle. He pops a claw to open the beer, settling across from his father with easy elegance and lifting it to his lips.
His glance comes up once he lowers the bottle once more, letting it dangle by its neck between his knees.
"So," he says, and if he's wary or unhappy or angry, it doesn't show on his face or in his scent, "my learning another language bothers you?"
It's worth something, he supposes, just that he's here. It's some kind of gesture of faith that deserves as much unguarded honesty from him as the old man can muster.
"What? No," he shakes his head as much to clear his thoughts but it already feels like proof of the very thing he was trying to explain. "No. That ain't what I meant. I just mean I feel like you and I mistranslate each other more than not."
He keeps his eyes on his beer because it's easier. "I don't know even know what you'd rather I call you. I know what you go by. And I get why. But I can't shake wanting to call you what your Momma named you."
The wary hesitation flicks through him at that, there a moment and masked the next. He doesn't want Logan to misunderstand the source; the older man's right in that they don't communicate well. How can they? Look at who they are, look at the history between them. Daken is still unlearning more than fifty years of programming.
"I'm nearly eighty," he reminds him, gentler than he usually allows himself to be with Logan. Gentleness still--sometimes--feels like weakness, like something that should have been beaten out of him a long, long time ago. "I don't remember any other name." He scrapes a thumbnail over the peeling label on the bottle, head tilting, and reaches up to push loose dark hair behind an ear. "Most people in X-Factor call me Akihiro." It makes them more comfortable than Daken, and he finds he doesn't mind it.
Names are important. This is.. something important, maybe, to Logan. There's little of Itsu left in the world; Daken resembles her, but the similarities begin and end in physical appearance. But.. "You can call me by the name she intended if you like. I'll.. try it out. With you." He won't promise to use it with anyone else, but it seems a small concession, considering.
It behooves him, Logan thinks, to try to do for Daken what people couldn't for him.
To Logan's eyes, Daken does resemble his mother so much sometimes it's hard to see anything but whole life none of them ever got a chance to live.
Still, he shakes his head gently at the offer. He knows it might read as stubborn, or fickle to refuse such a personal gift as the offer he's just been made, but he's determined not to throw off the tenuous balance between who they are to one another and who they could be.
"I don't wanna tell you who you are, son," he says. "I don't wanna call you anything that makes you feel like a stranger. I don't want to name you after the ghost of a child. I don't want you to go by something because it makes me more comfortable. None of those seem fair to you." He shrugs a little. Maybe some day they'll both find more of that boy they both lost when Itsu was taken. But for now, he'd just like to relieve the man of feeling like there's anyone he ought to be. "What do you want me to call you."
'Son.' It still sounds.. wrong, in a way. It's just a word, nothing Logan doesn't use with a dozen young men he's mentored over the years, but it's different when it's Daken he's using it with. Daken has never been anyone's son, not really. He and Logan are testing the boundaries between them bit by bit, but he can't say he knows what any relationship between them will look like. It's been defined by violence for so long, even here on Krakoa, that he's not sure he can imagine another way.
But this is.. unexpected. What does he want to be called? He's been Daken for so long, it's lost its meaning to him. It's just a name, just his name, just a word repeated so often that it sounds like nonsense. But he sees the effect it still has on other people, can smell it on them, taste it in the air: disdain or discomfort or guilt. Krakoa is supposed to be about new beginnings, and what kind of man wants to be known as a rabid mongrel? It's been a long, long time since he was that miserable child.
"Akihiro," he says finally, blinking once, painted nails tapping against glass. "For now. I don't--" His lips part, flatten thin for a moment. "I haven't thought about it yet, not really. I have.." He trails off, glance finally flicking away from Logan's face. He lifts the beer, takes another sip to give himself a few more moments to collect his thoughts. "I keep finding other things to.. fix. Layers and layers." For a moment, he looks exhausted, weary grief in the set of his mouth, but he ducks his head to hide it, rubbing his free hand over his brow. "It's occurred to me that I don't know how to be a person. Not in the way Laura didn't know, it's.. different." He doesn't even know if he's making sense, and he's fairly certain this wasn't the conversation he thought they needed to have.
"Aki," he nods at that until a flash of reproach crosses his own expression for being too familiar already. "Akihiro," he tries again. It's a white flag if ever there was one.
It's almost comforting to hear Akihiro speak like this. To hear him asking the same kinds of questions Logan has asked himself for years. The only thing he wishes it that he had better answers for his son. Maybe it's not necessarily the words Logan anticipated exchanging here but it's certainly adjacent and might at least give them more shared vocabulary.
"It takes a long time," he says. "Time I've had and still, I catch myself acting more like a solider than a friend. You can't just break a man of that kind of instinct overnight. Be patient. And find people who'll be patient with you."
It feels nearly as strange to hear Akihiro from Logan as it does to hear 'son,' especially after he corrects himself that way. Trying to be.. accommodating, he supposes. Respectful, maybe, of his ongoing journey to define who and what he is.
What he says isn't anything Daken hasn't told himself, of course. It's like he'd said: he's nearly eighty. By anyone's standards, he's old, even if he doesn't look it, doesn't seem to be. He's old enough, he's intelligent enough, educated enough to know that a lifetime of programming by a monster, a lifetime being a monster, isn't easily wiped away. And yet.. he's working at it anyway, trying to.. heal. Be better. It's the first time in his life he's had the chance to do so, the desire to do so.
"We're both very self-destructive," he says at last, "you and I." They all are, their family, perhaps because they can't die. Not really. They always, always seem to come back.. eventually. He taps his nails against the bottle again, drains it and sets it aside, straightening up where he's seated. ".. So. If the reason, your reason, isn't because of me, because I'm trying to be.. better--and I have to assume it isn't because of Laura or Gabby--then.. it's because of you." His head tilts, brows lifting questioningly, expression as open as he knows how to make it. "Why do you not want to be involved?"
[Despite this guy's many unique qualities, it's the scent that makes Logan's eyes linger curiously and longer than usual. Definitely not human, but what? He doesn't know. Of course, he doesn't seem to mind either.
He considers his drink. Not a big talker this one. And this is the sort of conversation he's used to having with a nod of his head.]
Gonna finish this first.
Get yourself something if you want. If not... [He shrugs blithely.] Meet you in there.
[The strongest scents on his body are all easily identifiable. There's the smell of cheap booze that clings to him every time he enters a bar, and there's the scent of sweat that an equally cheap perfume or body spray attempts to cover up. Underneath it all is the scent of tiger, because Logan is seated next to the direct result of what would happen if humanity evolved from tigers instead of apes.
Fortunately, he's no relation to the sabertooth variety of said animal.
He's just a warrior from some other distant realm of space that's stuck in a bar, still drinking the cheapest tap on offer. He's not really sure which of them brought up the idea of a quick, dirty, no-strings-attached fuck in the bathroom, but he really doesn't care. It sounds great!]
I'll wait with you. The last time someone told me to go ahead, someone else came in after me and caught me, uh. Getting ready.
[It's more strategically sound if they can lock the door behind them, embarrassing story aside. To that end, his tail gives an idle swish as he lifts his own drink back to his lips. His drink could taste like paint thinner and he'd still finish it.]
[He chuckles dryly at that, because he is the kind of guy to take some amusement in misfortune. Given the nature of their arrangement it also illuminates questions.]
S'not often the folks I find in places like this care about that sorta thing— getting caught.
[With his beer gone he thumbs through his wallet with nothing in it but cash and leaves a few bills on the bar.]
[ castiel is waiting there when the other man arrives, leaning against the far wall next to the paper towel dispenser, arms crossed over his chest. his eyebrow quirks when he's addressed, and he tips his head to indicate the stall farthest back. ]
That's fine.
[ he's never done this before and has no way of knowing what might be considered customary, but the concept in itself seems to contain all the instructions he needs to follow. with one last glance, he turns and slips into the stall, leaving it ajar as he hangs his long tan coat on the rack.
[Logan watches this through narrow eyes. Not cruel. Just discerning. This clean cut sort of fellow, putting his coat up like he's stepping into the office, paints a certain kind of picture of himself. Whether or not he intends to though, that could recolour the whole impression of him.
He unbuckles as he follows into the stall. Unconcerned about the way they're immediately crowding each other when he shuts the door behind him. At this distance though there's nothing he doesn't miss about the scent of this guy and that thought brings back that discerning look.]
[ castiel doesn't mind the examination, doesn't even seem to notice it happening while his coat is being hung, but he meets those eyes the moment he's stepped back to make room for the other man, staring in a way that most find unnerving. he's shorter than castiel by just a little, but much broader, with considerable muscle mass that makes the averageness of his vessel look slight by comparison.
there's hardly enough room for him to turn around. but although it's confining, it's not claustrophobic. his lips part, and he breathes in the heat radiating from his body. the intensity of his own gaze is marked by the twitch of his eyebrows when he's immediately caught out. ]
No, I'm not.
[ he says it so matter-of-factly that it's obvious this is a question he's had to answer before. in any case, he's already breaking eye contact. turning his back to logan by the time the words have left his mouth, his belt buckle jingling as he slips the strap free of the loop and unzips his fly. without the belt to hold them up, his slacks collapse around his ankles. he braces his hands on the wall, glancing back briefly over his shoulder. ]
You can't hurt me, so there's no need to be, uhm— polite.
[There's an implied other in Logan's question and when it doesn't get confirmed by that answer he wonders if it's weirder than the M-word on the tip of his tongue. Not that it matters really. Humans. Mutants. Atlanteans. Shi'ar. As long as the parts are generally compatible this always goes smooth enough. Still. It seems some small mercy at least to promise him some common ground here to a man who might be trying to loosen his collar a little.]
Me either.
[Logan plants a hand his shoulder blades none too gently. Shoves the man forward. Closer to the stall wall to give himself a half step of space. Enough room to get his dick out. Then he takes that meagre space for himself then too. Crowding him completely as he presses against Castiel's back. Lets him feel the weight of a man with metal in bones. Rocking his hips lazily against his ass until he's hard enough to do something about it. His voice comes in a low growl and smirk is smug enough to border on obnoxious.]
I ain’t never been accused of that.
[Pushing a hand between his companion and and wall, he palms his cock through his shorts just to warm him up. Maybe even start to figure out what buttons he wants pushed and how hard.]
S'that what you want? To hurt?
[If there's interest in that question it's an interest in honesty; Not any particular answer. There's a cautiousness to this guy Logan could blame on nerves if he was a younger man. Or a twitchier sorta guy. But this just feels like a man trying to hold something back.]
[ interesting— not a man, but not a monster, either. at least, the scent he catches wouldn't cause him to make that assumption, but there is something strange about him. a metallic tang that he can't taste settles on the back of his tongue, and isn't from the copper in his blood. he can identify the element, but not why it's present. (it's the metal in his bones.)
it doesn't really matter. he can defend himself if need be— he isn't helpless this time.
but he's pretty sure this man just wants to have intercourse, at least for the moment.
with the same reasoning, he allows himself to be shoved. chest and cheek pressing against the stall with a grunt, as though his muscle mass is really the defining factor behind this body's strength, and not the angelic grace poured inside of it. castiel's lips twitch, eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of that smothering weight, of hips pinning his own, of a gradually swelling erection sliding over the curve of his ass— at least that's something this body's got going for it. a nice, plush bottom and shapely thighs.
but, no, he doesn't imagine 'polite' is a word this man hears wielded in his direction very often. consequentially, he gives a breathy, barely-there laugh at the question. he chooses then to brace his heels against the floor and angle his hips back, like it's only just occurred to him that he can participate in this. ]
I can't feel— [ his hips jerk when that rough, heavy hand finds its way between his legs to settle over his cock. ] —pain. [ pleasure, though? obviously. his cock gives a twitch, swelling immediately beneath the heat of a palm, and he finds himself glancing down to watch it happen, shuddering at the sight of himself. ]
I've never— done anything like this before. But I wanted— needed to—
[Cyuss doesn't think it's funny, but that's because he's still salty about it. One minute, you're getting ready for a good time, and the next some geezer has come in to use the restroom for its more intended use.]
I don't mind getting caught with someone else, that's just a good time. Alone? It just makes me look like some creep.
[He turns away from his own drink to size this guy up again, looking him up and down. Attractive, yeah, but clearly older than him by more than a decade.]
I'm usually a few more drinks in when I do, but I'm not complainin'. I clearly haven't done this as many times as you have, but maybe I'll get there.
[He could elaborate. Or he could place his own bills on the counter and stand from his stool, heading off to the bathroom. Getting right to it is a lot more appealing.]
[That's a new one. Naturally the next question on Logan's mind is, what can this guy feel? Before he has a chance to ask an answer presents itself; Something. Obviously. Something he seems to enjoy well enough, at that. Small mercies for the both of them. The ones just here to prove something to themselves are never any fun.]
That's a fun trick.
[It's glib because he can't imagine what it means for... everything. Not right now anyway, with his cock stiff and rutting lazily against the cleft of this guy's ass. Does make him wonder though, what happens if you stab the guy? Also not the moment to ask a thing like that, but between the two of them their issues of pain and punishment could start to feel a little like kismet, and Logan hates finding out there's zero degrees of separation between him and whoever he's fucking on a whim. Never ends well.]
Heh. I can tell.
[His growl is knowing and smug and somewhere just behind Castiel's ear so the stubble on his chin drags against his neck. At least the guy seems honest enough, and as unaware as Logan, that they might be some kind of a serendipitous fit.
He drags his hand away a few times; Frustrating the cock in his fist with just that single direction until he inspires a few greedy stabs into his palm for more resistance.]
Needed, eh? Sounds desperate. What else do you need, bub?
[ castiel makes a sound by way of answer, a soft groan unfurling from the back of his throat as he's worked over, cock leaking a stain into the peak of his tented underwear. it's one of god's small mercies that he can feel, but it always gets him wondering if god didn't set them all up for failure from the very start. what use does a weapon have for pleasure? they need no reward for their service, so there couldn't possibly be one. except to deny them.
perhaps his father is a sadist.
it's all moot with a hard, hot hand groping at him between his legs. rough stubble catches against his skin in a way that pulls a shiver up from the base of his spine. his back arches with it, that graceful curve pressing his ass back into the pressure pinning him in place, to feel the hot line of a cock through layers of fabric. his hips give a sharp, unsteady jerk. a breath rushes out of him.
what else does he need? he thinks of how to say it, thinks of the pornography he's caught on bunny eared television sets and laptops left carelessly open, thinks of the way dean speaks, and says, with his forehead pressed to cool metal, ]
Fuck me—
[ as though he has to say it. his hands move away from the wall to his waistband, and he pulls his clinging shorts down with a rough yank. his breaths come in short gasps between sentences. ]
A condom isn't necessary. I can't pass diseases. But... it's at your discretion.
[If he hadn't already admitted as much that would have been the clencher— just how green this guy is. Maybe even how little he's thought about what he wants or needs from a stranger. Logan's wry laugh is little more than a snuff of breath somewhere over his shoulder.]
Heh. That's it?
He offers up enough space to let him push his shorts out of the way, smirking at that bare ass served up so easily. If that's all it's going to take the guy must be hard up. And if that's the case, more fun if that's the last move he gets to make without permission. His hands take Castiel at the wrists and hang his grip over the top of the stall. Holding them there long and firm enough to make the action an unspoken command. When he speaks again his voice is dull growl. Looking to antagonize an answer out of him by tone or by touch as he wrings the base of his cock tightly. Letting him build to a throb before teasing the slicked head against his other palm.]
Nothing you're itching for? No special requests? I get a lotta those. Or else... I'm just gonna enjoy you how ever I want.
But maybe that's exactly what you want here.
Edited (sorry for the hold up. i got a covid shot the other day and crashed immediately. </3) 2022-10-09 01:30 (UTC)
[Poor kid. Just for the series of unfortunate events, but the picture he paints of himself —alone— only amuses Logan further. Is he like Parker, or does this guy not even know he's funny? The smirk he almost shook off comes back even more than before. Ah, to be young again.]
I'm getting that impression...
[He sling his arm around the guy like he's pulling him into a huddle.]
Here's a good rule of thumb. For next time. You get an offer you want? You go in first, bub. Nobody's looking to tip off the bartender.
Edited (sorry for the hold up. covid shot took me out.) 2022-10-09 01:52 (UTC)
[ logan's right, he hasn't thought about it at all. he had an itch and decided to scratch it, but the truth is that it was at least half mimicry— when your closest friend in the world soothes over all of his own aches with booze and sex, and you can't get drunk, there's really only one other option. and he knows it's not a good idea, but it's still better than crashing a liquor store. they call the police on you over things like that. ]
I thought that was the... generally accepted reason to—
[ to do this. but he's distracted by his wrists being wrenched above his head. castiel is stronger than he looks— much stronger, considering that jimmy was the kinda' guy who looked like one solid punch would knock him flat. but he's not so far gone that he forgets to play along, curling his fingers over the rim of the stall and holding on, back caught in its arc.
he only wishes he could hold him down. it's a abrupt thought, unexpected, and it sends a thrill through him that makes his cock jerk. well, maybe he can. this is no normal human, he's certain of that. by the time the other man begins touching him again, he's leaking prerelease, clear and sticky smeared over his thick fingers. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
The Wild Hunt
Sat upon a log, beer in one hand and a stick in the other the flame illuminates his face while he tends the fire.
"Drink?" he asks without turning towards the direction he can smell the other man by now.
no subject
His glance comes up once he lowers the bottle once more, letting it dangle by its neck between his knees.
"So," he says, and if he's wary or unhappy or angry, it doesn't show on his face or in his scent, "my learning another language bothers you?"
no subject
"What? No," he shakes his head as much to clear his thoughts but it already feels like proof of the very thing he was trying to explain. "No. That ain't what I meant. I just mean I feel like you and I mistranslate each other more than not."
He keeps his eyes on his beer because it's easier. "I don't know even know what you'd rather I call you. I know what you go by. And I get why. But I can't shake wanting to call you what your Momma named you."
no subject
"I'm nearly eighty," he reminds him, gentler than he usually allows himself to be with Logan. Gentleness still--sometimes--feels like weakness, like something that should have been beaten out of him a long, long time ago. "I don't remember any other name." He scrapes a thumbnail over the peeling label on the bottle, head tilting, and reaches up to push loose dark hair behind an ear. "Most people in X-Factor call me Akihiro." It makes them more comfortable than Daken, and he finds he doesn't mind it.
Names are important. This is.. something important, maybe, to Logan. There's little of Itsu left in the world; Daken resembles her, but the similarities begin and end in physical appearance. But.. "You can call me by the name she intended if you like. I'll.. try it out. With you." He won't promise to use it with anyone else, but it seems a small concession, considering.
no subject
To Logan's eyes, Daken does resemble his mother so much sometimes it's hard to see anything but whole life none of them ever got a chance to live.
Still, he shakes his head gently at the offer. He knows it might read as stubborn, or fickle to refuse such a personal gift as the offer he's just been made, but he's determined not to throw off the tenuous balance between who they are to one another and who they could be.
"I don't wanna tell you who you are, son," he says. "I don't wanna call you anything that makes you feel like a stranger. I don't want to name you after the ghost of a child. I don't want you to go by something because it makes me more comfortable. None of those seem fair to you." He shrugs a little. Maybe some day they'll both find more of that boy they both lost when Itsu was taken. But for now, he'd just like to relieve the man of feeling like there's anyone he ought to be. "What do you want me to call you."
no subject
But this is.. unexpected. What does he want to be called? He's been Daken for so long, it's lost its meaning to him. It's just a name, just his name, just a word repeated so often that it sounds like nonsense. But he sees the effect it still has on other people, can smell it on them, taste it in the air: disdain or discomfort or guilt. Krakoa is supposed to be about new beginnings, and what kind of man wants to be known as a rabid mongrel? It's been a long, long time since he was that miserable child.
"Akihiro," he says finally, blinking once, painted nails tapping against glass. "For now. I don't--" His lips part, flatten thin for a moment. "I haven't thought about it yet, not really. I have.." He trails off, glance finally flicking away from Logan's face. He lifts the beer, takes another sip to give himself a few more moments to collect his thoughts. "I keep finding other things to.. fix. Layers and layers." For a moment, he looks exhausted, weary grief in the set of his mouth, but he ducks his head to hide it, rubbing his free hand over his brow. "It's occurred to me that I don't know how to be a person. Not in the way Laura didn't know, it's.. different." He doesn't even know if he's making sense, and he's fairly certain this wasn't the conversation he thought they needed to have.
no subject
It's almost comforting to hear Akihiro speak like this. To hear him asking the same kinds of questions Logan has asked himself for years. The only thing he wishes it that he had better answers for his son. Maybe it's not necessarily the words Logan anticipated exchanging here but it's certainly adjacent and might at least give them more shared vocabulary.
"It takes a long time," he says. "Time I've had and still, I catch myself acting more like a solider than a friend. You can't just break a man of that kind of instinct overnight. Be patient. And find people who'll be patient with you."
no subject
What he says isn't anything Daken hasn't told himself, of course. It's like he'd said: he's nearly eighty. By anyone's standards, he's old, even if he doesn't look it, doesn't seem to be. He's old enough, he's intelligent enough, educated enough to know that a lifetime of programming by a monster, a lifetime being a monster, isn't easily wiped away. And yet.. he's working at it anyway, trying to.. heal. Be better. It's the first time in his life he's had the chance to do so, the desire to do so.
"We're both very self-destructive," he says at last, "you and I." They all are, their family, perhaps because they can't die. Not really. They always, always seem to come back.. eventually. He taps his nails against the bottle again, drains it and sets it aside, straightening up where he's seated. ".. So. If the reason, your reason, isn't because of me, because I'm trying to be.. better--and I have to assume it isn't because of Laura or Gabby--then.. it's because of you." His head tilts, brows lifting questioningly, expression as open as he knows how to make it. "Why do you not want to be involved?"
@stripedbiceps
[Despite this guy's many unique qualities, it's the scent that makes Logan's eyes linger curiously and longer than usual. Definitely not human, but what? He doesn't know. Of course, he doesn't seem to mind either.
He considers his drink. Not a big talker this one. And this is the sort of conversation he's used to having with a nod of his head.]
Gonna finish this first.
Get yourself something if you want. If not... [He shrugs blithely.] Meet you in there.
no subject
Fortunately, he's no relation to the sabertooth variety of said animal.
He's just a warrior from some other distant realm of space that's stuck in a bar, still drinking the cheapest tap on offer. He's not really sure which of them brought up the idea of a quick, dirty, no-strings-attached fuck in the bathroom, but he really doesn't care. It sounds great!]
I'll wait with you. The last time someone told me to go ahead, someone else came in after me and caught me, uh. Getting ready.
[It's more strategically sound if they can lock the door behind them, embarrassing story aside. To that end, his tail gives an idle swish as he lifts his own drink back to his lips. His drink could taste like paint thinner and he'd still finish it.]
no subject
S'not often the folks I find in places like this care about that sorta thing— getting caught.
[With his beer gone he thumbs through his wallet with nothing in it but cash and leaves a few bills on the bar.]
You don't do this sorta thing a ton, do you?
@messenger
[True to his word Logan strolls in there and sets about washing his hands while someone else takes a moment clear out. Real casual like.]
Well. You a stall sorta guy, or what?
no subject
That's fine.
[ he's never done this before and has no way of knowing what might be considered customary, but the concept in itself seems to contain all the instructions he needs to follow. with one last glance, he turns and slips into the stall, leaving it ajar as he hangs his long tan coat on the rack.
it'll just get in the way if he leaves it on. ]
no subject
He unbuckles as he follows into the stall. Unconcerned about the way they're immediately crowding each other when he shuts the door behind him. At this distance though there's nothing he doesn't miss about the scent of this guy and that thought brings back that discerning look.]
Not human, eh?
no subject
there's hardly enough room for him to turn around. but although it's confining, it's not claustrophobic. his lips part, and he breathes in the heat radiating from his body. the intensity of his own gaze is marked by the twitch of his eyebrows when he's immediately caught out. ]
No, I'm not.
[ he says it so matter-of-factly that it's obvious this is a question he's had to answer before. in any case, he's already breaking eye contact. turning his back to logan by the time the words have left his mouth, his belt buckle jingling as he slips the strap free of the loop and unzips his fly. without the belt to hold them up, his slacks collapse around his ankles. he braces his hands on the wall, glancing back briefly over his shoulder. ]
You can't hurt me, so there's no need to be, uhm— polite.
no subject
Me either.
[Logan plants a hand his shoulder blades none too gently. Shoves the man forward. Closer to the stall wall to give himself a half step of space. Enough room to get his dick out. Then he takes that meagre space for himself then too. Crowding him completely as he presses against Castiel's back. Lets him feel the weight of a man with metal in bones. Rocking his hips lazily against his ass until he's hard enough to do something about it. His voice comes in a low growl and smirk is smug enough to border on obnoxious.]
I ain’t never been accused of that.
[Pushing a hand between his companion and and wall, he palms his cock through his shorts just to warm him up. Maybe even start to figure out what buttons he wants pushed and how hard.]
S'that what you want? To hurt?
[If there's interest in that question it's an interest in honesty; Not any particular answer. There's a cautiousness to this guy Logan could blame on nerves if he was a younger man. Or a twitchier sorta guy. But this just feels like a man trying to hold something back.]
no subject
it doesn't really matter. he can defend himself if need be— he isn't helpless this time.
but he's pretty sure this man just wants to have intercourse, at least for the moment.
with the same reasoning, he allows himself to be shoved. chest and cheek pressing against the stall with a grunt, as though his muscle mass is really the defining factor behind this body's strength, and not the angelic grace poured inside of it. castiel's lips twitch, eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of that smothering weight, of hips pinning his own, of a gradually swelling erection sliding over the curve of his ass— at least that's something this body's got going for it. a nice, plush bottom and shapely thighs.
but, no, he doesn't imagine 'polite' is a word this man hears wielded in his direction very often. consequentially, he gives a breathy, barely-there laugh at the question. he chooses then to brace his heels against the floor and angle his hips back, like it's only just occurred to him that he can participate in this. ]
I can't feel— [ his hips jerk when that rough, heavy hand finds its way between his legs to settle over his cock. ] —pain. [ pleasure, though? obviously. his cock gives a twitch, swelling immediately beneath the heat of a palm, and he finds himself glancing down to watch it happen, shuddering at the sight of himself. ]
I've never— done anything like this before. But I wanted— needed to—
no subject
I don't mind getting caught with someone else, that's just a good time. Alone? It just makes me look like some creep.
[He turns away from his own drink to size this guy up again, looking him up and down. Attractive, yeah, but clearly older than him by more than a decade.]
I'm usually a few more drinks in when I do, but I'm not complainin'. I clearly haven't done this as many times as you have, but maybe I'll get there.
[He could elaborate. Or he could place his own bills on the counter and stand from his stool, heading off to the bathroom. Getting right to it is a lot more appealing.]
no subject
That's a fun trick.
[It's glib because he can't imagine what it means for... everything. Not right now anyway, with his cock stiff and rutting lazily against the cleft of this guy's ass. Does make him wonder though, what happens if you stab the guy? Also not the moment to ask a thing like that, but between the two of them their issues of pain and punishment could start to feel a little like kismet, and Logan hates finding out there's zero degrees of separation between him and whoever he's fucking on a whim. Never ends well.]
Heh. I can tell.
[His growl is knowing and smug and somewhere just behind Castiel's ear so the stubble on his chin drags against his neck. At least the guy seems honest enough, and as unaware as Logan, that they might be some kind of a serendipitous fit.
He drags his hand away a few times; Frustrating the cock in his fist with just that single direction until he inspires a few greedy stabs into his palm for more resistance.]
Needed, eh? Sounds desperate. What else do you need, bub?
no subject
perhaps his father is a sadist.
it's all moot with a hard, hot hand groping at him between his legs. rough stubble catches against his skin in a way that pulls a shiver up from the base of his spine. his back arches with it, that graceful curve pressing his ass back into the pressure pinning him in place, to feel the hot line of a cock through layers of fabric. his hips give a sharp, unsteady jerk. a breath rushes out of him.
what else does he need? he thinks of how to say it, thinks of the pornography he's caught on bunny eared television sets and laptops left carelessly open, thinks of the way dean speaks, and says, with his forehead pressed to cool metal, ]
Fuck me—
[ as though he has to say it. his hands move away from the wall to his waistband, and he pulls his clinging shorts down with a rough yank. his breaths come in short gasps between sentences. ]
A condom isn't necessary. I can't pass diseases. But... it's at your discretion.
no subject
Heh. That's it?
He offers up enough space to let him push his shorts out of the way, smirking at that bare ass served up so easily. If that's all it's going to take the guy must be hard up. And if that's the case, more fun if that's the last move he gets to make without permission. His hands take Castiel at the wrists and hang his grip over the top of the stall. Holding them there long and firm enough to make the action an unspoken command. When he speaks again his voice is dull growl. Looking to antagonize an answer out of him by tone or by touch as he wrings the base of his cock tightly. Letting him build to a throb before teasing the slicked head against his other palm.]
Nothing you're itching for? No special requests? I get a lotta those. Or else... I'm just gonna enjoy you how ever I want.
But maybe that's exactly what you want here.
no subject
I'm getting that impression...
[He sling his arm around the guy like he's pulling him into a huddle.]
Here's a good rule of thumb. For next time. You get an offer you want? You go in first, bub. Nobody's looking to tip off the bartender.
no subject
I thought that was the... generally accepted reason to—
[ to do this. but he's distracted by his wrists being wrenched above his head. castiel is stronger than he looks— much stronger, considering that jimmy was the kinda' guy who looked like one solid punch would knock him flat. but he's not so far gone that he forgets to play along, curling his fingers over the rim of the stall and holding on, back caught in its arc.
he only wishes he could hold him down. it's a abrupt thought, unexpected, and it sends a thrill through him that makes his cock jerk. well, maybe he can. this is no normal human, he's certain of that. by the time the other man begins touching him again, he's leaking prerelease, clear and sticky smeared over his thick fingers. ]
Yes.
[ the word hisses out from between his teeth. ]
Use me. However... however you see fit.