( two )

[caipirinha]

my character gets into bed with yours, or vice versa;
what happens?
have you crawled under the covers for some friendly
cuddles, or are your intentions not so innocent?
are you planning some form of practical joke, or are
you just plain drunk?
maybe you just have no idea what's going on.

( adapted from the plurk meme! )

Comments

john "oxford" buchanan | the order

[romanticism]

hideous. that's what this'll be.

[neutralises]

[Growing weary quickly at Order functions the more years of service he gets under his belt is logical, Durham thinks vaguely as he fumbles around for the silly little keycard he needs to get back into his room. These little gatherings, dressed up quite shamelessly as "business", never seem to get any less dramatic the longer he is the UK Order's serving mnemokinetic. In fact, he wanted to leave half an hour in after the usual culprits started to make a big song and dance in front of their international counterparts and Durham, destined to forever stand out of the limelight, was fed up of watching.

Unbeknownst to him a certain hydropath had pressed the button to the wrong floor and shoved him out accordingly, all without Durham realising he isn't standing in front of the room he really wants - that's the same number on the floor below. The room he's trying to get into belongs to someone else who, through no fault of Durham's, has actually left the door unlocked.

With the slightest hint of satisfaction that he didn't have to keep rooting around in his pockets for the blasted keycard he's apparently lost, he lets himself in and undresses on the way through the room and towards the bed. No keycard means no lights, but that doesn't stop him from aiming for what he wants. He's in desperate need of some sleep and, barely out of his jacket, tie and trousers by the time he reaches it, there's nothing graceful or delicate about the way he lets his body fall onto the mattress.]

teagan | monsters!

[halfbreed]

Riley | Rapto

[davidsons]

[Streeetching]

i am p r e d i c t a b l e.

[disappearing]

[ Where Riley might be stretching, Giles is only just laying himself down. He's terribly tired, and entirely under the impression that this is the right place to be right name - that is to say, he's fairly sure that he's getting into his own bed at the moment, even though this is in fact not the case.

He sinks down with a soft fwoofing noise, face first for a moment before he turns his head slightly, curling his arms around the nearest pillow he finds, his hand brushing past Riley's hair as he moves, though the feel of her hair doesn't quite register with him immediately. ]

michael | judeo-christian | universalis

[meritorious]

well. yes. i...well you knew this was coming.

[decompressed]

[ The rule of thumb is to not let Brian anywhere near Michael when he is functioning in a less than optimal way. Typically this only applies to when Brian is completely wasted, but sometimes, when Brian is very tired, he confuses where he's supposed to go to sleep. Specifically he confuses what bed (technically what house as well, though really, Brian was over there anyway, checking up on Michael) he is supposed to sleep in.

Which is how he find himself crawling into bed with Michael, looking like he wants to cuddle, but somehow he restrains himself in his sleepy state. Of course, he's still incredibly close, but that's neither here nor there because Michael is warm and Brian always moves toward warm things in a bed. ]

adele lightfoot | universalis

[vitalities]

theo knox | smoke & mirrors

[incantations]

Andël Vlcěk. Snipers

[scopeye]

ogmios | celtic | universalis

[influential]

[abditive]

[Most likely has been knocked out by another session with his faithful alcohol again. He'll feel the other presence in his bed once he's slowly pulled back to reality; for now he's too tired to see that isn't his wife. Or an affair.]

[hugsandkisses]

[What Eros loves about Ogmios is really quite simple; the Celtic god isn't so repressed that he can't enjoy what the Greek god of love and his kind do day-to-day.

It falls to Eros, his bow and quiver of arrows to keep those adoring eyes between mortals and their kind a thing of the present and future, and not only the past. It's why, when the winged god finds himself without the affection of his beloved brother or minders, the Celt is always part of that special group of deities that form the upper levels of his list of potential partners for the evening. The Judeo-Christian house are still refusing to loosen up and Eros, never overly patient when it comes to his need to express himself in the best way he knows how, has picked an entirely different pantheon to play with, this time.

He is on silent wings when he arrives, feet just as quiet when he lets himself into the god's bedroom, the hint of a growing smile just visible over the dusty darkness that has smothered the walls between the slices of orange from the street lights outside. He sits himself down on the side of the bed and places a gentle palm over the shin he can feel lying still under the covers, squeeze slow but demanding and will bent on getting an invitation before he goes further.]

lewis puckett | estranged (switched au)

[traced]

[autonomise]

[While Marina had given Lewis a key to her apartment a few months prior, she rarely expected him to use it. Rather, she spent much more time at his, left enough of her things there to claim a piece of his space as her own whether he liked it or not. Today, though, had been different. It had just been easier to go home instead of going out of her way when she just needed to rest.

She's not sure what time it is when she stirs at the feeling of movement, but it's still dark. Definitely still dark, without a wink of light outside. She groans into the arm splayed over her face, barely opening her eyes to look at him.]

Hey.

jack gibson | the order (post-canon)

[ex_dissevered784]

ASHLEY "LANCASTER" JONES | the order

[calunium]

ACACIO "SALAMANCA" SERNA | the order

[revery]

FABIEN TAUZIN | universalis

[sweltry]

[hugsandkisses]

[Eros likes to think he's the kind of lover people enjoy, regardless of the fact he's the Greek god of love. If anyone ever really thought about it, they'd realize he's bad at being a bad lover. He can't get his head around why anybody wouldn't want to please their partners.

There's a fine line between needing and wanting and he feels that distinction more keenly than most, but when it comes to his minders there is no want involved. He needs to show them how much he cares for them, how much he loves them, and as he quietly and gently slides into Fabien's bed, he's careful in trying not to disturb his sleep. He slips a hand over the mortal's waist, palm splaying out flat against his chest as he spoons him, face pressing into the back of his neck. The smile that tugs at the corners of his lips he can't help, the familiar sound of the man's breathing, the smell of his bed and the feel of his skin under his palm are welcomed.]

KELLY BRIDGE | universalis

[molted]

KIERAN LAWLESS | universalis

[misbehavior]

Uriel | judeo-christian house of seraphim | universalis

[apreparescuer]

no but I was THIS CLOSE to throwing a certain Greek god at you instead >]

[attends]

[Raphael usually places very little emphasis on sleeping and only indulges when he has no other choice. Being an archangel allows him the freedom to need it so rarely that he tends to avoid sleeping at all unless he desperately needs it. It seems logical, only in his tired and sleepy state, that he should make a beeline for Uriel's bed this time. His mind and memories tell him that when he heals Uriel he usually needs to sleep afterwards and, in some strange twist of vulnerability, it's his brother's sleeping but very much whole and well form that comforts him when he needs to drop off.

Losing consciousness is awkward and uncomfortable and Raphael enjoys it very little, but gingerly slipping into the bed beside the other archangel and shifting up close is his safety net. It's hard to admit out loud, especially to other members of their small but close-knit family, but with Uriel he trusts there will be some level of understanding.

Wings visible (he's too tired and weak to hide them) and now unfurled, Raphael can't help the way he practically wraps himself around his brother's bigger frame, small sigh of contentment escaping where he doesn't mean it to. He just needs an hour or two of rest after where he's been before he can carry on as normal.]

William Lawedre | apprentice minder to Michael | universalis

[goldenlawedre]

couldn't help it....

[calmingly]

[Cassandra crawls into William's bed and burrows under the covers. Smiling, she nuzzles close to him and decides to just wait for a reaction for now.]

Adelaide Hoyt | master-minder to Mammon | universalis

[corruptible]

james "durham" baxter | the order

[neutralises]

[sexting]

[ Hotel doors requiring key-cards are never a match for Cambridge, even when he’s as worse for wear as he is tonight. There’s a rustle at Durham’s door and a faint clicking sound before it swings inward on silent hinges and Cambridge is nothing but a silent shadow against the soft amber light in the hallway as he lets himself inside. The smile on his lips is invisible in the darkness as he leans against the door with both hands cradling the handle and silently eases it shut behind him. There’s a moment of pure silence as he holds his breath to carefully listen for any sign of movement from Durham in the bed in the recesses of the shadowed room... But all is well. Thankfully, there’s nothing but slow, steady breathing and the hum of the hotel room air conditioner and Cambridge’s smirk broadens.

Lacking a jacket and generally looking more dishevelled than usual Cambridge was once again reminded that he had lost his shoes somewhere earlier in the evening as he caught sight of his reflection in the dim light falling from the streetlights outside Durham’s window. Luckily, Cambridge has long since resigned himself to the fact that a night isn’t complete until some bastard has done something inexcusable to his shoes (the fact that this bastard is quite often himself is something he’s yet to publicly acknowledge). The shoes can be found in the morning. Barefooted on the plush hotel carpet, Cambridge pads quietly in to the cool depths of Durham’s hotel room and pauses only to deftly loosen his tie and cast it aside on the dresser. He wastes no time: kneeling on the edge of Durham’s bed and ignoring the way the mattress dipping precariously under the sudden shift in weights, he curls aside the edge of the sheets before sliding in beside Durham. The heat radiating off the other man is delightful and Cambridge, smelling of scotch and expensive cigarettes, can’t help but wonder what the other man might be wearing as he extends a (comparatively much colder) hand to boldly thread around Durham’s torso. ]

isaac 'cambridge' moore [ oc : the order ]

[sexting]

[romanticism]

[ For a long moment, Oxford merely stands outside the hotel room door, staring at it wearily. Today, avoiding his duties has been impossible, and though he has tackled the day effectively and with his customary efficiency, he is so fed up with meetings and discussions that just minutes ago, he had taken his terribly fetching Aspinal tie - practically wrenching it off his own neck - and draped it unceremoniously over a potted plant, much to the confusion of a passing hotel maid, who had given Oxford an incredibly mystefied glance over her shoulder as he continued along the corridor, just like nothing had happened. Even stranger still, he was holding a pair of very expensive looking shoes in his hand, clearly not his own, since he was very much in possession of his own.

Part of him would simply like to leave the shoes outside the door with a note, or perhaps deposit them just inside - he knows that the room is unlocked - and retreat back to his own bed. Oxford knows that Cambridge is rarely the most sympathetic person, and he isn't sure whether he can be bothered to deal with the challenge of his colleague's company tonight. It's always hard to tell whether Cambridge might perhaps choose to be a little softer, or else to be his usual difficult self. Eventually, however, he takes the plunge and steps inside. Oxford thinks he would at least like to see Cambridge's reaction to the fact that he found his lost shoes.

Taking off his own shoes by the door, he pads across the floor silently, leaving Cambridge's by the bed as he rests his knee on the sumptuous mattress, leaning across to feel for Cambridge's body in the darkness. His hand, soft and searching, finds his lower back first, and gently slides upwards, following the contours until he finds the bare skin of Cambridge's shoulders. His fingers press lightly, at first, then a little harder, as Oxford leans over to speak, his voice low, in Cambridge's ear. ]

Wake up. [ A pause, his breath warm and even. ] I have a gift for you, my dear.