ArchivedLogs:Insatiable

Insatiable
Dramatis Personae Eric, Hive, Mirror	2013-03-15 '
Location <NYC> Village Lofts - Lobby - East Village
Bright and sunny, the lobby of this apartment building is clean and unassuming. Requiring an electronic keycard for entry, the pair of elevators dings cheerfully when one arrives. A small sitting area has bright yellow couches and small coffee tables, though the nearby vending machine is perpetually running out of /something/. Tall windows let in plenty of light during the daytime, and the building maintenance keeps the common areas spotlessly clean. A bank of mailboxes near the sitting area collects mail for the building, a recycling bin right at hand for the unwanted spam. As the afternoon winds on, a figure steps through the doors of the East Village, a hood pulled up over his head. It is a tall figure, broad-shouldered, dressed mostly in black. Even with the somewhat burgler-like clothing, the bright smile and friendly look on his face is not the most intimidating thing in the world. Eric glances around the lobby as he heads towards the stairs. The elevator needs a keycard. There is someone coming down the stairs already, a young woman, athletic-trim, dark hair pulled back from nut-brown skin in a multitude of braids that have been tied into a low ponytail. She stops short in some degree of surprise when opening the door reveals Eric just about to do the same; there's a near-collision that puts a bit of apologetic surprise into her thoughts. It doesn't make it to her face; instead, her brow furrows, dark eyes fixing on Eric, sliding first down then up over his form. "-- Hello!" Hive is following Eric into the building, at a slow saunter, slouchy, hands in the pockets of his battered old jacket. He spares Eric a quick glance, something oddly glassy-vacant in his dark eyes, but past this just heads off towards the mailboxes to unlock one (and then another and then a third.) He's quiet. But /listening/, not so much with ears but with mental senses that brush invisibly against the others in turn, lapping up thoughts in quiet tasting. "Oh, sorry." Eric says, stepping back with a warm smile and a quick flick of his eyes up and down the woman appraisingly, then again - the second time for the mere pleasantness of it. << Nice. >> "Didn't mean to nearly bump ri' into you." he says, Georgia showing plain in his words. "Are you alright?" He catches a glance of Hive out of the corner of his eyes, but it is a cursory glance. The woman might be going out for exercise; she's dressed like it, a light jacket over a lycra tank top, black pants, running shoes, all kind of second-hand worn looking, their fit not /quite/ right. She looks back at Eric with a smile, pleasant, warm; it doesn't match the mechanical coolness in her mind as she sizes Eric up. << Accent. Not native. Large. Muscles, not fat. Carries himself well. Knows how to fight? Haven't seen him here. Visiting? Intruding? >> "My fault," she says, with a quick laugh, her own words carrying the slightest hint of New York. "Should've been looking. Don't think I've seen you around here before?" Hive picks out his mail. Jax's mail. Ryan's mail. He's stealing all the mails. He tucks them under his arm, closing the boxes and wandering back to stop -- probably a /little/ too close to Eric for normal polite boundaries, standing behind the man. "He doesn't live here," he answers for Eric, in a voice that is somewhat husky-rough. Like he hasn't been using it a lot lately. Eric glances backwards stiffly, one hand rising a few inches before freezing at his side. A reflex, and he gives Hive an apologetic look as he drops it back to his side. "No, I don't. Just visitin'." he says, looking between the two. "You alright?" he says, eyes flicking between Hive's, eyebrows rising. "Looks like you had a bad night, or a really good one." << I hope it was a good one. She'd be a lucky girl. I'd /wreck/ that. >> "Visiting your ninja friends?" Mirror's eyes don't leave Eric's face, but she does notice that brief motion of hand with a faint warming of her smile and no warming of her quiet inner monologue. << Used to a gun? Military. Cop. Gang. >> She ticks over each of these possibilities thoughtfully. "Really good one, mm. Thursday night's too early for partying," she says, like chiding Hive. But amused. "That's a lot of mail." "Yep," is Hive's answer, and it could be to any of this. His eyes aren't focused, not on Mirror nor Eric nor anything much at all, glassy-distant. But he notices all the same, too, one side of his mouth hooking upwards. << Nobody's going to attack a cop in here. >> It comes not as one voice but as a chorus, underlaid with soft echoing whispers of manyvoiced thoughts. << I had a night -- >> This is a little distant, too, though it's more present when he continues: << Not as good as it could have been. >> Beneath this there is another whisper, more amused: << Probably would wreck -- look at the size of him. >> Hive steps closer still. He /could/ go around Eric to get to the door. But Eric is /right/ in his path! And he doesn't. Just steps. Close enough it could be aggressive, if there were anything aggressive at all in his posture, but there isn't. << Visiting who? >> He's poking for answer even as he asks this, the question a polite formality. Eric glaces at Mirror with surprise, glancing back and forth between the two telepaths. "Telepath?" he guesses, eyes turning onto Hive and flicking his attention over him. << God, he keeps getting closer. Why is he getting closer? >> He swallows, once, a smirk playing at his lips. << Oh, right. You can hear this, can't you? Well, I'm interested, if you are. >> He raises an eyebrow and winks. Out loud, he has a completely different conversation. "I came to see Sebastian and Shane. Needed to talk to them 'bout some'at." A picture of Murphy pops into his head, lecturing him silently about something. "Your clothing," Mirror points out. "It's very black." The question earns a shake of her head. "He is. Not me. You're here for the children?" The sharktwins pop into her head, too, puzzling this over. << Cop. Arresting them? >> This brings to mind a sense of skepticism, re: Sebastian. A sense of *sigh* of course, re: Shane. << Telepath, >> echoes in soft affirmation, as though one was needed. The mention of the twins briefly tugs something less vacant into Hive's expression; for a moment he focuses on Eric with his brows drawing together. But it passes into the same blank look. He leans in, leans /past/ Eric, though he does this with a press of contact, chest meeting Eric's back, arm brushing by the other man's as he reaches around to push the door open just a little wider. /Nudge/ Eric towards it with a twitch of shoulder. << Oh, we're interesed. >> There's something else that accompanies this amused answer. A whisper of contact in Eric's mind that doesn't /withdraw/ when Hive is done speaking, but brushes, twines in deeper, fingers curling down around Eric's mind. It's not painful, but it's not exactly a natural feeling either, somewhat heavy-drowsy-sluggish, somewhat constricting. "You seem to be." Eric says to the woman, brightly. "To talk to them, yeah." he says, though the feeling of Hive's body against his distracts him enough to turn and give Hive a dusky look. << We, now? Both you and her? >> His eyes flick between the two of them, and his look turns distinctly hungry. << Sounds... very fun. >> His mind-voice is practically a purr, or perhaps a growl. His brow twitches once as the sensation of Hive pressing into his mind becomes uncomfortable, but it does not deter the flex in his mind, and the brief image in his head of the three of them tangled, naked, on the bed. A good image for Eric indeed. "I don't read minds." Mirror steps back, when Hive moves forward, holding the door open for -- him? Both of them? She looks Eric over with a slight curl of lips. << Eying. Flirting. Cop, okay. Can you get arrested for not flirting back? >> It's an idle musing, as is, << Hive. Not heterosexual. Make note. >> "The boys aren't home. You should come back. Later." << Not her. >> Hive presses forward more, brushing against Eric, past Eric, to stand in the stairwell entrance. << Talk. Is that what they're calling it, now. >> The jumble of emotions that seep through with this are mingled. There's a sharp tang of anger, protectiveness, buried somewhere inside -- but it's currently swamped by a whole host of other things. Hunger. Curiosity. Prying mental fingers tease at that brief image, drawing it back to the surface for a moment before reaching in deeper, probing Eric's mind for what thoughts lie /under/ the surface. << insatiable, >> comes whispered across in the same oddly manyvoiced echo. << Actually talk. You think Sebastian would sleep with me? I can only hope, but I doubt it. >> Eric steps forward. "Oh. Not home? Alright. Well, I'll just text him then." He is partially following Hive, mind now focused more completely on what the other man would look like beneath him, above him... all sorts of ways. One of his hands settles on the back of Hive's shirted back, fingertips trailing along his spine. A major part of his mind is currently devoted to thinking about coitus with Hive, but portions of it are still focused on the twins. Brief flashes of a conversation he had about protecting them with Murphy - casual conversations with a prosecutor - a laughing dinner with a member of the SWAT team. << Insatiable. You, or him? >> Mirror is not thinking about sex in her wondered response to this whisper. She's looking at Hive thoughtfully, << More vacant. Strange mental voice. Different than when we met. Less him? More him? >> Idle wondering, as she looks to the two men. Her lips compress, her head tilts in a nod. "Officer." Hive doesn't get a goodbye. She lets the door swing closed as she heads out to go on her jog. Hive's answer to Mirror's question is a bubbled-up sense of amusement. But there's guilt, underneath it, something clenching at the pit of his stomach and his mental touch draws back from her quickly. He leans into Eric's touch with a slow shift of weight, head turning to look -- at Eric? Through Eric? His glassy-vacant expression makes it hard to tell. << Hope. >> This echo is soured with that same tang -- anger, possessiveness. It's hard to hold on to; it slips away from his mind nearly as soon as it's surfaced. << You're here to look after them? >> This time it's confused. His searching mind tugs at these thoughts, these memories, probing them. Digging into the conversation with Murphy, the conversation with the prosecutor. Combing over that dinner with the SWAT member. Searching all these with growing curiosity. Eric shifts a little bit uncomfortably under Hive's gaze, and the sexual images in his mind fade slightly as he studies the other man's face. << Is he even... there? >> "Are you alright? You look a little bit... elsewhere." he asks, hesitating on the stairs. Bits and pieces of his conversation with Murphy float to the surface. 'There's somethin' else I could ask you to do for me. Jax's kids... find out if someone who really wanted to... /take them away/... stop them.' A quiet, pressing of the SWAT officer for information about upcoming raids about mutants. None scheduled. A meeting with a lawyer for a favor... a night in bed, a business card in the morning. Hive shifts, leaning back against the stairwell wall. One hand rests on the railing, fingers curling around it tight, and his eyes are no more focused. << Pretty great, >> is his answer to the question. << Here. Yeah. >> For a moment his gaze shifts, for a moment it almost does focus, dark eyes fixing on Eric with no small measure of hunger. << Not elsewhere, >> comes the quiet confirmation, hunger-tinged as well. << Sorry. You're uncomfortable. >> << I don't sleep with people who can't give consent. >> Eric tilts his head, fingers moving to trail along Hive's cheek to look straight into his eyes. << And I am beginning to think that you fit in that group of people. Am I right? >> Disappointment flashes through Eric, but it is the kind of disappointment that has a steely weight behind it, like a vegan smelling something delicious to only find it is a steak house. << sleep with >> is echoed softly, turning this over like a strange curiosity. The touch to Hive's cheek comes with a stronger /swell/ of mental pressure, rippling heady-thick into Eric's mind to cloud thoughts. This mental touch is hungry, too, digging eagerly at the other man. << No. Not high, >> Hive answers, once he sorts through this train of thought. << Not high. Just hungry. >> Eric helpfully provides an image to the phrase, Hive writhing underneath his ministrations, though whether this is for Hive's benefit or just an automatic reaction.... << Hungry? >> Eric glances around for a moment, as if hearing something not quite audible, and he scratches at his head for one second as the pressure of Hive's mind pushes against him. << Me too. >> It is a very different kind of hunger, perhaps. << Hungry, >> Hive confirms, relaxing back against the wall with a small smile playing on his lips. << You, too. >> There's a stronger push, forcing its way deep into Eric's mind; for a moment it's something akin to mental suffocation, a vice-grip around a throat, a tugging deep underwater, something forceful taking grip to hold, to control. The mental touch relaxes all at once into something quieter-softer. No more suffocation. Instead an odd sense of being watched, an odd feel of /presence/ -- many presences. But they're alone in the stairwell. Hive shivers, and straightens. << We, too, >> whispers into Eric's mind, and it's Hive's voice again but it sounds more like Eric is /thinking/ it than like he is being spoken /at/ from the outside. Hive is starting up the stairs, not looking back at Eric. Eric winces and glances around. "Ow." He scratches at his head, looking confusedly up at Hive. << Yes, very. >> he says, recovering from the discomfort enough to check out Hive hungrily as he walks up the stairs. He does not immediately follow, forehead still furrowed as he considers this. << Hungry, but not sure if I should take my appetite elsewhere. >> << Elsewhere. >> This thought is echoed, repeated, rising up from Eric's mind with a firm weight of pressure: Yes, elsewhere. There'll be time for this later. Other things to do now. It doesn't exactly discourage the hunger, but it does rather discourage acting on it. Hive is disappearing up the stairs at a lazy trudge. Eric nods in faint agreement, though confusion is still present on his face. "Elsewhere," he murmurs to himself, and looks almost surprised to say it. He glances around then turns in the opposite direction, fingers pulling his phone out of his pocket to send a text.