D I O N Y S U S

This is… okay, Vincent thinks. He’s still here and Jagger’s still talking to him and smiling and touching him and it seems like everything is just fine, despite the strange feeling of dread heavy in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t know why it’s there, or why he feels he’s done something wrong, but his lowered ability for self-control (that was hardly there to begin with) is forcing him to put in a great amount of effort to keep that in. He feels the tiniest bit triumphant in the fact that he’s still welcome here after likely ruining Jagger’s night, but part of him feels the urge to turn and leave anyway.

Vincent should just roll his eyes and ignore Jagger at this point, but he continues. “Well, when you think about it, I’ve never really been here and not gotten laid. It’s like… association or conditioning or whatever you call it. My mind is going places I don’t want it to. But… I’m going to be a good boy, and so are you.” He smiles a bit at that; he feels like he might just have the upper hand here. He supposes there’s some power in putting a stop to things, in saying ‘no’ - he just doesn’t do it very often. 

And he isn’t going to continue doing it. It’s not in his nature. Vincent doesn’t expect Jagger to be paying close enough attention to the very slight tilt in the room he’s experiencing - it’s not much, really - but it makes him go a little soft when he seems to notice, and reaches out to keep him safely upright. He melts a little bit more, still, when that hand ends up clasped in his own. A low, shivery sigh is the first giveaway of Vincent’s inner turmoil; he doesn’t have it in him to stop it, just as he doesn’t have it in him to stop squeezing Jagger’s hand tighter like he’s going to float away. “Mm, maybe.” He doesn’t need any more help, but Vincent wouldn’t be Vincent if he didn’t play up his vulnerability some. A sly little smile makes it’s way onto his lips, but he quickly forces it away. “Thank you, babe. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Probably have some peace of mind, he thinks, allowing himself to be led without a sliver of resistance. 

jagger loves nothing more than being indulged, particularly when he’s being a pest. vincent has always always played into jagger’s needling which makes it even more fun to poke and prod. it’s probably a key factor in why he finds himself enjoying the other’s company above everyone else (not that he’d admit to as much aloud). even if vincent wasn’t humoring him, he’s certain it would be with a level of fondness which means he actually doesn’t mind jagger...well, being jagger. he couldn’t turn it off if he wanted to. “let me get this straight,” he purrs, cockiness invading his tone (maybe he couldn’t turn that off either), “you’re getting hard -- right now -- just by being in my flat like it’s some kind of pavlovian response? that’s weird v. hot, but weird.” he takes a dramatic pause -- like everything he does isn’t dramatic. “i can do weird.” jagger tacks on a wink for good measure.

his thumb absently swipes across vicent’s knuckles as they proceed down hallways and around corners. “what if i don’t want to be a good boy?” he asks with a cloying tone. “will you be bad with me?” he’s sure to flutter his eyelashes in vincent’s direction so that the full effect of his words and appearance can be appreciated to their fullest. contrary to his proposition, however, jagger doesn’t have any intention of seducing vincent. not without explicit consent, anyways. if all v wants is a shower and maybe a cuddle, that’s all he’s gonna get. 

Something changes in the room, like someone had hit some kind of a switch and turned the lights off between them. Vincent knows it’s his fault for backpedaling and apologizing - he had just wanted to make sure he hadn’t overstepped, he wasn’t really sorry, not at all - but the shift in mood is just about the most disappointing, heartbreaking feeling, and it’s quite the dramatic fall from the sweet blissfulness of the moment immediately before. God, he’s so fucking frustrated… But it’s better this way, he tries to tell himself. Feeling too much doesn’t end well for him, usually.  

Vincent genuinely feels like crying when Jagger opens his mouth to speak again, but he’s luckily able to hold it back despite his inebriation. He loves that slightly obnoxious attitude of Jagger’s; it’s a rather big part of his personality, so it would be rather difficult thing for Vincent if he didn’t care for it, but part of him knows that it signifies some sort of wall being put back up when the sweetness goes away. “Irresistible,” he repeats back to him with a laugh. “Uh huh. If only you realized how much resisting I’m actually doing.” He crosses his arms over his chest, choosing to stare at the wall opposite of them rather than look at Jagger.

“That sounds nice,” he answers honestly, briefly looking back at Jagger with a soft smile. It sounds like he gets to stay the night without putting out, at least. That’s something. He stands, and there’s only the slightest wobble present when he does. It seems the moment sobered him up a little. “A shower wouldn’t be bad, either.” He wonders at what point (or points) he spilled a drink on himself over the course of the night, because he smells a bit like he uses vodka as cologne. A shower wouldn’t be bad at all. 

he feels back to himself, back to his old casually flirtatious track, but he’s trying to figure out why that doesn’t make him feel relieved. instead, there’s an agitated twitch to his movements, as though he’s fighting against allowing himself something he can’t quite name. all he knows is it’s something he apparently wants with vincent. bad. he can’t read any of that same feeling in his companion though, especially not when he’d been the one to break things off. it’s odd for jagger but he doesn’t feel in control tonight. not anymore.

still, his body runs on autopilot and the smirk only grows upon his lips. “oh yeah? by all means, do tell me all the ways in which you’re resisting me, presently. i would never say no to a good ego stroking.” he says it like it’s something filthy, eyes glittering even in the relatively dim lighting of his loft. peeling himself away from vincent is still a struggle but he manages. he’d have proudly walked away, hips swinging teasingly as he leads vincent the familiar path to his luxurious bedroom with its glittering master bath. but then vincent wobbles.

Nothing has ever come out of Jagger’s mouth that has shocked Vincent as much as his silence does. Now there’s one way to shut him up, he thinks, the softest little smile on his lips. A kiss, but not just any kiss. A kiss without an end goal; a kiss for the sake of a kiss. He can tell that Jagger doesn’t know what to do with that, at least for a moment, but he plays along well, and Vincent feels like his heart is full to bursting when he grabs him by the wrist and guides his hand right back to his face. His eyes are closed, so Vincent takes the opportunity to shamelessly admire without fear of judgement, his own eyes sparkling with a fondness that he knows he isn’t hiding very well. 

He hardly realizes that Jagger is going for another kiss, the action is so slow and gentle. He lets him, gladly, though there’s just a tiny fragment of his mind that’s filling up more and more with dread with each fluttery heartbeat that he feels. Jagger isn’t the person to be doing this with; for fuck’s sake, he had been with someone else when Vincent got there this very same night. Vincent knows how he is, knows how completely he’ll give himself to someone without a second thought if he isn’t careful, and as much as this moment is telling him differently, Jagger can’t possibly be on that same wavelength. If he’s with other people… then Vincent is just another one of those people, he’s nothing special. There’s nothing wrong with Jagger seeing him as just another hookup - they’ve established nothing beyond that, and he isn’t disrespectful to Vincent about it. But if that’s the case, and Vincent is so sure that it is, he can’t fall for him the way he knows he’s about to.

But no one ever said he was smart. He lets the kiss linger for a moment longer than the last one, lightly stroking his thumb along Jagger’s cheekbone, before he pulls back yet again, just barely enough to open his eyes and look at the other man. He’s got that same fond look, he can feel it, but he can’t even be bothered to care anymore. It’s so nice to just be able to look at him without trying to get his clothes off, god, he’s just… “So fucking gorgeous.” It comes out in a whisper, but it comes out nonetheless; Vincent’s impaired brain only notices it a few seconds later. Jesus fucking Christ. He’s sure he’s red in the face, but he refrains from back-tracking; he might as well fucking own it now. 

That ‘celibacy pledge’ Jagger joked about? Vincent wants to double-down on that now. Getting into bed at the moment would be his undoing, for sure, despite the fact that he’s never felt as attracted to him as he is in this moment. “Sorry if I–” He trails off. What is he even apologizing for? “Just… sorry.” He shakes his head, like he’s trying to shake the spell that’s come over him away, yet he still doesn’t sit back and away from Jagger.

If merely the touch of Vincent’s hand to his cheek had warmed his skin, the second kiss they share is setting Jagger on fire from the inside out. It’s a burning that he welcomes and he chases after its searing warmth, especially as a gentle thumb traces the line of his cheekbone. Jagger wants to keep kissing and tries to nudge closer even as Vincent once again parts their lips to allow Jagger to breathe his own air. He may very well have gone in for another if he hadn’t heard the whispery praise tumbling out on Vincent’s exhale like an afterthought. It makes Jagger’s lips quirk up into a smile though it doesn’t fall anywhere near his ordinary smug smirk. It’s softer, sweeter, even. He doesn’t recognize it.

“Yeah?” Jagger purrs, but out of contentment and not teasing. There’s a creak in his voice that tinges it with unmistakable affection he’s certain Vincent can hear. “Am I?” His own eyes finally flicker open and a hand falls down delicately onto Vincent’s knee. It starts up a path towards his upper thigh but then back down again. A touch without direction isn’t like him but neither is the pure string of kisses and the veil of fondness comfortably settled over them both. He very nearly asks Vincent to say it again, just so he could experience the little flip of his heart and the easy warmth it spreads through his chest cavity, reaching places inside of Jagger that had always felt cold.

But then Vincent’s apologizing and Jagger feels a bit silly for having gotten swept away in what was clearly a mistake if the other has found reason to be sorry over it. He gives Vincent’s kneecap a little squeeze and can’t resist one more fluttery soft touch of their noses before he’s retreating, hands coming to fold behind his head as he reclines. “No worries,” comes Jagger’s breezy answer, his voice slipping back into its usual charming lilt, “I know I’m irresistible and, besides, it’s not like you’ve ever had to ask before. I don’t mind spontaneity.” As if that was the reason for the retraction.

Vincent doesn’t know why it surprises him anymore to hear Jagger talk the way he does, but he always manages to say something that throws him off whenever they’re together. “If it comes to that, I may as well do it myself. I know it’s hard… difficult,” he corrects himself before the other man can even think to tease him about his word choice, “but you’re more than capable of appreciating my pretty face without getting your dick out. I believe in you.” It’s so sick, Vincent thinks, how desirable Jagger seems to him even when he’s being a vulgar jackass. He’s such a sucker for him. 

He smiles to himself, eyes remaining shut, as Jagger simply moves his legs and plops them back down on his lap instead of asking him to move. There’s something… nice about that, intimate even, and even through his drunkenness, Vincent mentally curses himself for letting such a little thing make him all fluttery. “It wasn’t you I was worried about getting to, it was this fucking place of yours,” he lies, eyes slowly cracking open to look at him. “I’m more comfortable here than in my own apartment. I should start locking myself out more often.” That part isn’t a lie, but he leaves out how it has only a little to do with how big and lavish it is, and more to do with who’s in it. 

He goes quiet for a little while after that, that last statement by Jagger having hit him with a fresh wave of that stupid fluttering in his gut. He… does take care of him, in his own roundabout ways, whenever Vincent is in need, and that’s why he deliberately sought him out tonight. His intoxicated mind can’t seem to let that train of thought go, and he sits in silence and ponders it for a good, long moment, letting the feeling of Jagger’s hands on his legs lull him into a languid calm. After the moment passes, after he’s given it enough thought, Vincent slides his legs off of Jagger’s lap and sits up properly, scooting over until he’s pressed against Jagger’s side. Maybe if he was sober, he would stop himself there, but for once he’s grateful that he isn’t. He leans in and presses a soft, gentle kiss to Jagger’s lips, one hand sliding up to cup the other man’s cheek. It’s far from their first kiss, but it may as well be, with the way it’s void of the urgency and sexual tension that their kisses usually hold. So much so, in fact, that he’s nervous when he pulls away.

“May as well?” Jagger feigns like he’s affronted. He does a convincing job looking like Vincent’s blasé turn of phrase has mortally wounded him, anyways. “I’m not going to settle for some lazy handjob just because you felt you may as well do it yourself. My cock doesn’t need your charity, baby!” His act is crumbling to make way for the chuckle threatening to bubble free and he shakes his head resolutely. “You have too much faith in me, V. You underestimate the effect your pretty face has on my body as a whole and I’m going to be the one suffering for it. Suffering in the hell of my arousal with nothing to look forward to but a halfhearted pity wank.” With the playful tone of his voice and the less than suggestive positioning they’ve taken on the couch, Jagger doubts he even has that to look forward to. Oh well.

His eyes are rolling dramatically (does Jagger do anything not dramatically? Stay tuned to find out) but there’s a crooked smile tugging up his lips, pocking his cheek with a dimple that betrays his true sentiments. “You’re so fucking full of it. What use would getting to this fucking place of mine do you if I wasn’t home to let you in, hm? Will future lock-outs include this celibacy pledge of yours? Because, if so, I can’t say I’m keen on making it a routine. I know I just said the opposite but I would like to get some action while I’ve still got a functional libido, cheers.” Despite talking about sex (and pretty much exclusively sex) there’s something creeping into Jagger’s intonation, lilting his accented words in a manner that isn’t so much suggestive as it is just lighthearted. Just banter without intention. He isn’t certain what to make of that. 

Exactly as he isn’t certain what to make of the kiss. Vincent had moved into his space before Jagger could even register the change in position, pressed their lips together before he’d processed the lean. The touch to his cheek tingles with inexplicable warmth despite Jagger’s distinct lack of clothing. He can’t help the way his breath hitches in his throat, only leaving parted lips in a confused little exhale once Vincent’s pulling away. “Oh,” is about all he can muster in reply, for once, something having left him speechless. At some point Jagger’s eyes had fluttered closed and he has to sleepily coax his lids to open so that he can connect his gaze pointedly onto Vincent’s visage. 

Some part of him desperately wants to shift the mood, to swing over his leg to straddle Vincent’s lap so that their kisses make sense again. Sexual foreplay is Jagger’s specialty. This is... decidedly not. But instead, Jagger’s capturing Vincent’s wrist with a loop of his fingers, drawing him back slowly into his space with only another shaky inhale to use to fortify his actions. He guides the other’s hand back towards his cheek, nudging his face into Vincent’s palm while his eyes close once more. He supposes it isn’t bad; it’s just different, this heavy blanket of expectation suddenly pressing down upon his shoulders. He could say something to shatter the moment just as easily as a sexual advance would but he can’t find the words. He can barely find his next breath. 

Santiago was going to treat all of this like a well oiled machine– something that refused to be ruined, tainted again by anyone else. It would no longer be something that wasn’t taken seriously enough, things would be double checked, triple checked if they had to be. He would strip down the shell of what they had been and open it up; fill it with mechanical parts. A machine does not get corrupted, it continues to work as long as it’s maintained. He wouldn’t allow himself to end up like his friend, his former leader. D E A D. Santiago refused to die and have everything he’d ever worked for crumble beneath him, as if it had all been an empire of dirt. That’s why he was here now at any rate, trying to gain connections, he couldn’t afford to be disrespected and needed to control the situation fast with The Saints, otherwise no one would RESPECT him and in turn no one would respect THE KINGS. So he finds himself looking to extend the Vice Kings crime syndicate towards the AK74′s own. It’s the only way he feels they can have an upper edge, The Saints may have not been around as long as the kings, all the same they’re coming in hot enough at them that it leaves Santiago a bit angry and troubled. He’s always hated cleaning up others messes and yet that’s all he still does.  He’s dressed to the nines as if he was now somebody; he was, he liked to think. Wearing a heritage tuxedo that commands attention, defined by a structured cut that highlights the precious jacquard and finished with black silk faille trims. Tigers adored on it against a dark blue base, weaved into silk fabric ( the tigers made him think of vincent at the time, earning the softest of smiles a grin across his lips ). Square black glasses sit atop his face, the inner face in tortoiseshell, it’s more a fashion statement than anything else, considering he doesn’t actually need them. He tops it all off with black rose and thistle embroidery suede loafers. Enough about his own attire though, because as the car pulls closer to the venue, he finds himself staring at Jagger yet again; the man looks phenomenal. Santiago doesn’t regret bringing him for even a second, on simply a work related note it was a smart move, the other knew how to mix and mingle better than anyone else he knew, save for himself, he thinks. As much as he finds himself getting irritated with the other that much he can admit to, at least internally– he’s not so sure he wants to voice this out loud, Jagger wouldn’t ever let him hear the end of it. It’s like the other an him are on the same page, the same wavelength, most of the time that’s probably the problem. Tonight though, it works, it’s needed. Santiago purrs with delight, his voice husky and his accent thick as he speaks.  “More than that querido,” There’s a pause for a moment, his hand casually sinking towards Jagger’s thigh right before the car comes to a stop, it’s a light touch, barely there. “you look divine, like art.” Museo del Prado in Madrid would be so lucky to have something half as decadent as the man before him displayed. There’s a slight smirk on his lips before he goes to speak again, eyes doing another once over at the other. “Why I don’t think they’ll stop staring at us the moment we walk in.” He likes to sprinkle in compliments about the others appearance here and there, it’s surface level but what about them usually isn’t. It’s also the easiest thing to admit to without earning some little quip from the other and vice versa he thinks.  

The hand on his thigh sears through the silken fabric of his pants leg like he’s being branded, the heat nearly enough to make him reconsider his excitement to head inside when there’s burning possibility outside. For a brief flicker of a moment, his mind fogs up with enough distraction to make him forget about the party, the schmoozing, and even how much his dapper flashy attire costs (which is saying something -- Jagger loves knowing he’s the most expensive thing in any room). All he can focus on is touch and it quiets the seemingly never-ending prattle of antagonizing banter he sprinkles into the air between them in lieu of polite conversation.

Of course, as with any other moment of respite, it doesn’t last all too long. Anything other than a quick-witted response just wouldn’t be the Jagger Collins way. “More than fuckable? I like the sound of that. How would you more than fuck me?” It’s the innocent way he says it that makes his words all the more obscene. If he could flutter his eyelashes any more demurely he’d practically be an angel. Looking closely and there’s an element of something genuine visible in the sparkle of his smile. Jagger really does thrive off of compliments and it truly doesn’t matter who is giving them (though, if pressed, he’d be forced to admit that Santiago is particularly gifted at making Jagger feel extraordinarily exquisite).

“Art, you say?” he’s reveling, basking in Sans’ attention like a cat in the sun’s rays. “Guess that means I belong pinned up against some fancy museum wall, on display where no one will be able to take their eyes off of me.” He’s tapping his fingertips against the back of San’s lingering hand, then, which wouldn’t be all too suggestive a gesture if it wasn’t paired with the hooded gaze he’s now fixated on his evening companion, following the scratchy purr of his tone. “They won’t take their eyes off of us.” Just as he’s sewn together the sensual fantasy, however, Jagger’s shattering it with similar ease. There’s a flash in darkened green eyes and he’s sitting up a bit taller in his seat.

“’Course they’re gonna stare,” preens Jagger, though he’s more kitten than predator now, all kinds of playful as he’s tugging at strings. “They’re gonna be wondering what a pretty, spry, young thing such as myself is doing with someone old enough to be my father.” Jagger giggles -- he fucking giggles -- before clapping his hands together in delight. “Oh my god, you actually are old enough to be my father!” Let it not be said that Jagger cannot do very simple math in his head. Hot and cold and back again, he’s leaning over to press a sweet peck of a kiss to Sans’ cheek before the driver has gotten around to opening his door, allowing Jagger, in all of his designer suit glory, to unfurl from the cab of the car like some sort of blossoming flower. 

Vincent is annoyed, more than anything, but he knows better than to show this. He doesn’t feel like he’s been around long enough to appreciate the scale of the hit they had taken, losing their leader and overall sense of security just like that. He hadn’t even had the chance to get comfortable before his life, and the small semblance of routine that he had, was uprooted again, and he would be more than content to just let the others take care of things and let him know when things were okay again. It isn’t the right way to be, and he’s well aware of that, but it’s the truth. He just wants to sleep through all of this, let someone wake him when it’s over, when things are normal. And it doesn’t help matters that it’s fucking cold. He wants to actually murder Santiago for dragging him around the city in this weather. He shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes sweeping over the place with a slight disinterest. “It’s, you know… a place.” He shrugs. It sucks, because he hates his own apartment with a passion, and the HQ had become something of a second home for him. He doesn’t know if this place feels like that, or ever really could, but there’s little that can be done about that. He fixes a glare on Jagger for the first half of his little tangent, before rolling his eyes and letting out a long sigh when he realizes he’s referring to himself. He shouldn’t be surprised. “Mm, not for the HQ. Maybe for myself for a night,” he jokes, but then his thoughts get a little ahead of him. “And only if you wear a cute little outfit. And a pair of those thick-rim glasses.” And get a nice sturdy desk, he thinks, but has the decency not to say. Wow, so apparently that’s a thing for him. He clears his throat, looking back at Santiago. “Up to you, boss. I’ll gladly help dress it up. Spending money is a talent of mine.”

santiago.

This place doesn’t have the same feeling as their old headquarters and it places Santiago in a frame of mind where he isn’t sure how to feel about that; good, bad or numb to the whole thing. It’s probably a bit of everything but he’s not complaining, for a change. His eyes scan around briefly as if taking it all in some more. “Mhm sí, bigger means more room for expansion.” The last part is more of him just voicing thoughts out loud. He’s thankful to not be doing this alone, though he doesn’t voice that, at the end of the day he can’t afford to seem weak, not even around his two companions. Probably and especially not around them, given the fact that would be more embarrassing to be honest. He’d never hear the end of it from Jagger; whom he’s watching contently stroll to the center, for a moment he can’t help but quirk his lips rather amusedly at the mention of ’Collins estate’.  Hell maybe it’s the younger man as a whole that’s got his attention and amusement. Of course he’d make his way to the center of something, it’s as annoying as it is CHARMING, meanwhile Vincent just seems more disinterested than anything else before glaring towards Jagger. That earns a snort from Santiago as he looks back to the latter, he doesn’t know what monotony means, nor does he ask but he gets enough of the point to think their on the same page, what a concept. “Good! that’s what I wanted to hear,” He claps, rather pleased so far, he’d almost expected the dislike for the place to be stronger, so to hear nothing really that would hold him back was welcomed. A chuckle this time escapes him when Jagger starts to make gestures and emphasize about himself being a ’sexy receptionist’. The fishnets part is what makes it less funny and for a second Santiago swears it’s warmer in the building, this is only made more true when Vincent adds to it, leaving Santiago to lick at his lips and place a hand on his hip. “I’m sure the receptionist could be arranged, along with you know– the desk they might need.” Vincent may of had the decency to not say that out loud but Santiago sure as hell didn’t. He takes a few steps for a moment, idly walking, the place sort of echos his heavy steps, mental note, sound proofing and good flooring. Looking towards Vincent he cants his head to the side, his arms now fold across his chest. He’s been called boss before but only now does it have more meaning, it sits HEAVY on him, it’s a realization that, joking right now aside is very much real. “I’ll let you decorate the whole place if you want tigre, I’ve got enough to do, I trust you.” As much as he would love to help it’s really all too true, that isn’t to say he wouldn’t want to be completly out of the loop, or lacking a part in it. It’s just that he trusts the others sense enough to leave to to him. Santiago nods towards Jagger, chuckle escaping him again before he can even say anything. “and maybe you could help too chico lindo, s'long as you don’t forget that desk.” As if he wouldn’t actually let the other help, of course he would, doesn’t mean he still didn’t like messing with him though.

Jagger thinks he could get used to having this much of a say in The Kings. Under their previous leadership, although he had no delusions of grandeur regarding his position as a drug dealer (Jagger, without inflated self importance? Practically unheard of, he knows), it still felt the only one with any modicum of power was the head honcho himself. Jagger had signed up for the familial kinship of a gang, not the power struggle of a dictatorship. He’s not going to get bitter about it -- seems disrespectful to do to the dead -- but he’s definitely happier with Santiago in charge. Which is saying something, given the often turbulent back-and-forth nature of their relationship. If pressed about it aloud, Jagger would probably sooner die than admit to his approval out loud but the fact he’s even here in the first place, scouting out headquarters with only Vincent (poor, poor Vincent) along to mediate, says a lot.

He’s giving a slinky sashay of his hips as he continues his fanciful strut around the entrance of the drafty building. Jagger knows how to put on a show when it comes to his body, even if he’s being deliberately over the top. “You can hire me for more than the night, kitten,” he purrs, spinning on a heel to face Vincent once more so he can give him a wink. The petname stems a little from the affectionate moniker he’s overheard Sans call V, but also somewhat derived from the incredibly tactile side of Vincent that Jagger’s had the pleasure of witnessing first hand. As a fan of being called anything but his name, Jagger is also a fan of giving out nicknames freely.

“And I think we can arrange the little outfit to your liking.” Jagger preens at the look he’s being given, practically seeing the gears turning over in Vincent’s head. He knows he’s desirable and he knows he can fairly easily conjure inappropriate thoughts in others but watching it happen will never be anything short of a compliment. And, god, does Jagger love to be flattered. Even Santiago seems to be falling into the fantasy Jagger’s spinning with his words, the thoughtful expression on the older man’s features having just enough lewd undertones for Jagger’s grin to grow. “It’s going to have to be a very sturdy desk,” he chimes in with the thing they’re all probably thinking at this point. “A lot of very hard work is going to be done at that desk.” He pauses. “Or on it.”

Vincent doesn’t believe for a second that Jagger isn’t frustrated, and it makes him wish that he was in a state to take care of him properly. He does look rather fuckable. “Not true. If you thought I was going to put out, you’d let me in. Because you’d rather get off with me than whoever the fuck else you’ve got in your room at any given moment.” He feels like the fact that Jagger had kicked someone out for him was either proof of that, or proof that he cared about Vincent to a substantial extent. Either way, he is more than happy to kindly point it out. “Sorry, if that’s the case. I hate to disappoint.” He thinks he could manage a blowie or something, wants to offer to help him out, because that’s just the kind of guy he is, but a major part of him wants to see how long this will last without any physical gratification on the table. That’s what this thing between them has mostly consisted of, and he doesn’t mind that so much, but he’s curious if there’s anything more significant behind it all.

“Oh, fuck off,” he replies; an angry set of words without any real vitriol behind them. “I just wasn’t thinking about those things. I was thinking quite fucking hard about how to get here. There’s a difference.” He doesn’t mention that he has quite a few acquaintances between his apartment and here that would have been closer places to seek refuge. It isn’t relevant, he thinks. He shrugs at the question, all but collapsing onto a plush sofa. He immediately misses Jagger’s arm around him; he’s positively chilled to the bone, still, and he’s in a bit of a mood, and he kind of just wants him to come back. “Could’ve been better.” He toes his shoes off, and proceeds to get comfortable, kicking his legs up on the couch and resting his head against the backrest, eyes fluttering shut as he lets out an unnecessarily dramatic sigh. 

As much as Jagger enjoys being right, he’ll admit Vincent has a point. Their relationship tends to consist of a lot of the physical and he likes that, a lot, actually. Some part of that filtered into his expectations when he answered the door but hey, Jagger’s good at being spontaneous. He’s arguing the point more for the sake of arguing. And because it keeps them from talking about some underlying soft reason as to why he’d immediately opened the door when he heard Vincent in distress. “As it stands, I’ve let you in with or without knowing if you were going to put out. that counts for something, doesn’t it?” The ice cubes he drops into both glasses of water clink against its edge before cracking as it settles into the drink. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he offers dismissively as he turns back around towards his guest, hands full. “Worst comes to worst I can just tug one off with your pretty face as live wank bank material. Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.” He flutters his eyelashes in playful suggestion but there’s no aim behind it. Vincent’s not in the mood and Jagger, contrary to popular opinion, actually believes in boundaries.

It’s cold out, there’s a CHILL in the air and wind is briskly blowing at a steady pace that makes him wish he picked a different day ( any day honestly ) to go out and look at a potential NEW HIDEOUT. He’s always been a naturally warm person and the coat he’s wearing helps but this is even a bit much for him ( he makes a mental note that if they go with this place to get the heating fixed ). This needed to be done though, sooner rather than later at that, considering everything had been being planned at the warehouse since… Santiago doesn’t want to dwell on the past, he’s always been one to shovel it down deeper than a body six feet under; so why start now? Still he has to wonder what’s next, where does everything that’s happened lead them, where does he lead them? The world seems so heavy on his shoulders, it’s a good thing their built for the weight. “So,” He finally speaks, breaking any silence that had been accumulating in the empty building. “what do you think?” Eyes flicker to the TWO men before him, shoulders rolling as he lets out a long sigh, continuing. “It’s bigger than the last place, the location is less…” He has to think on the word for a moment but thankfully it comes to him. “central but that’s better for keeping things quiet. We don’t want a scene the cops show up too because we have people in and out.” He’d thought a lot about this, in an effort to keep his mind off, other things, focus on work and keep going; that would be his mantra.  “I’m thinking we set up some office shit on the first level, make this place look real profesional and go from there, we had what we had as a front last time and it worked but not well enough.” If it had worked better they might not be in this position. He’d have some of their accountants work up a business plan for a new front, he hasn’t decided on what yet, but anything is better than nothing. That’s if they even go with this building, he wants opinions and he hopes that Jagger and Vincent can give them to him…somehow he thinks at least Jagger won’t mind voicing his opinion. Santiago could almost snort in amusement at the very thought.   @vincentnilsson· @jgger·

Even though they’ve transitioned indoors, Jagger can still feel the bite of the autumnal wind nipping at his already pinked nose and cheeks. The tips of his ears even register the chill and always one for dramatics, Jagger considers voicing that they may have to be amputated. He keeps quiet though, for once, sobered by how very real and odd it felt to be looking at new locations for their hq. He understands the need -- their previous location had been compromised in the worst possible way, costing a life and an important one at that. But there’s still something almost ghostly about the bare bones of the building they’re standing in now -- free of furniture, decorations, and a design concept in general. 

He puffs out a breath with his thoughtful sigh, watching it condense into smoke as it left his lips before tipping his head up to glance back at Santiago, arms folded across his trim torso. “Bigger is better, innit?” he quips and then, as if warming up to the idea (perhaps literally), he takes a few confident steps towards the center of the entry way. “I think it’s decent -- I mean, it’s no Collins estate but as far as putting on the ruse of corporate monotony, this place does its job. His arms uncross so he can make a vague hand gesture to map out Santi’s aforementioned decoy office.

it’s events such as these -- formal events where his primary task is to look pretty and make people fall in love with him -- where jagger excels. yes, his drug peddling is lucrative and easy but that tends to be kept in the undercurrent. it’s hard to show off when he has to be secretive. now, as sans’ date for some proper schmoozing of another syndicate, showing off is essentially his objective and he takes that job very very seriously. 

jagger even smells expensive, dripping in an armani cologne where a single spray probably costs more than a minimum wage worker makes in an hour. his suit is custom made (does he own any that aren’t?), elegantly embroidered dragons weaving and curling their way around his long legs on the silken trousers. besides their dazzling red, green, and purple designs, he’s in all black, at least as far as his clothing is concerned. his nails are blood red courtesy of baby’s christian louboutin polish and it adds just another element to his look that puts him way out of everyone’s league. 

It takes Jagger awhile to get to the door, and if that isn’t bad enough, he sees some woman walking out before he even sees who he’s looking for. He’s about as drunk as they come, but it still doesn’t take him more than a second to realize what he’d interrupted, and he’s more irritated about it than he has a right to be. She gives him a look that he doesn’t like, and he sneers right back at her, flipping her off once her back is to him. He doesn’t have enough inhibitions at the moment to care if he’s being childish.

“I am way too tired for your cock, sorry,” Vincent grumbles. “Shoulda finished before you let her leave, I guess.” He’s being stupid, and he realizes that, but he’s in a whiny mood. “I locked myself out of my fucking apartment and I’m drunk and I don’t have any fucking money and it’s fucking cold as shit outside and I had to goddamn walk part of the way here and I…” He stops, taking a deep breath. “Can I please come in? I just need to crash or just… hang with you for a little. Just… hanging out, though, I’m not in the mood for anything else.”

though he might fancy himself some kind of god, jagger still has very human needs -- physical needs -- but even with those needs currently being very hard to ignore, he’s giving an indifferent shrug. “if just finishing was all i wanted, i wouldn’t have answered the door in the first place. contrary to popular belief, i have priorities above and beyond getting my dick wet.” there’s an implication that vincent is now that priority and it sounds a little soft for his liking so he’s following it up with a low chuckle, amusement painting over his features. “poor baby had to walk -- the horror! c’mon in then.”

It’s a great feat that Vincent remembers to lock his apartment on the way out; he thinks, sometimes, that his mind is going, like he’s so much older than he is. He tries not to think about that too much, tries not to let himself go down that road because it’s so much easier for him to ignore the ways in which he’s destroying himself and his future.

This great feat is made much less satisfying by the fact that he realizes only upon arriving back home, utterly wasted and exhausted and frozen to the bone from walking all the way home that his keys are on the damned counter. It’s… one in the morning? Two? He isn’t sure, and his phone is dead. Either way, it’s far too late to call on the landlord, so he’s locked out, homeless for the night. Perhaps he’s being a bit dramatic, but he’s too drunk to think of proper solutions to this problem, so he heads back out into the cold, and hails a cab.

As if his night isn’t going badly enough, he doesn’t have nearly enough cash to cover the entire ride, and ends up being dropped off a few blocks away. By the time he reaches Jagger’s apartment, he feels rather genuinely like he’s going to die (again, perhaps he’s a bit dramatic). But it’s okay; Jagger always has his way of improving Vincent’s mood; he always knows precisely what to do for him, it seems, and it’s exactly what Vincent needs right now.

He knocks on the door, lightly at first, and then proceeds to pound on it. “Jagger,” he calls out. “Let me in, it’s an emergency.” He sighs, resting his forehead against the door while he waits. God, he needs to stop going out drinking by himself.

@jgger

there are teeth on his neck and expanses of skin beneath the roaming touch of his hands in the dim candlelit ambiance of his sex dungeon extravagant bedroom. there’s little on his mind as desire flows freely through his veins and he coaxes pleasured sounds out of his partner for the night. his hair is in disarray from being tugged and pulled out of his carefully coif, bits falling across his glistening forehead and into his eyes. they’ve been at it a while and that’s how jagger prefers it, rough but slow. good things come to those who wait, after all.

he smiles at his own internal cleverness and is about to whisper a sordid suggestion into the ear of his bedmate but there’s an urgent pounding from elsewhere in the lofty apartment. it’s actually a miracle jagger even hears it over the pants and moans of the bodacious blonde but he fancies himself an observant sort. there’s an initial wave of annoyance -- he has an intercom system for a reason, fuck’s sake -- but after sliding a hand over the woman’s mouth (no one ever said jagger was terribly nice in the bedroom), he’s able to decipher vincent’s voice among the frantic knocking.

for anyone else, he’d have pretended not to be home; he’d have continued to enjoy the company of his plaything without guilt. but it’s vincent and he sounds for all intents and purposes like a damsel in distress. it may be a hero complex fitting of his exceptionally large ego or maybe there’s something more genuine under the surface but, either way, he’s separating himself from the tangle of limbs and inviting her to dress and leave. he tosses on a pair of silky black boxers and nothing else before following her to the door.

      The warmth of the water embraced his exhausted body. The night and well the day as well had been spent in bed, tangled in the smooth sheets with a person who could hardly utter out a single word in a broken English. Of course it was fun but the man had eventually left, leaving Samuel more then ready to go out to the civilization and actually understand what everyone are saying instead of plastering the same cosmetic smile, nodding as if he understands and cares what the other is saying. It gets tiring very easily. 

      Being deep in thoughts he could only faintly hear the knocking against his door. For a split of a second his heart slowed down until he had to remind himself that he wasn’t back in New York. The only people around here are his allies so unannounced knocking couldn’t possibly mean anything bad, right? 

      Stepping out of the shower he found the nearest towel, wrapping it around his hips not particularly minding how low it was hanging. “I’m comin’ I’m comin’” He called out to whoever was knocking right before he reached the door and opened it to be greeted by the one and only, Jagger. 

     “Now what do I owe the pleasure of having you standing right here outside my door?” 

     obviously, samuel had no reason to be expecting jagger but it’s jagger who is more caught off guard than he’d like to admit when a very nearly naked samuel answers the door clad in nothing but a towel hung sinfully low on his hips. he didn’t even have to look closely to see the beads of water still clinging to his skin, running in rivulets along the planes of his muscles. jagger swallows hard but he manages to keep the coy grin he’d been practicing set smugly upon pink lips.

     he pushes himself up from his artistic draping in the doorway to stand to his full height as his tongue swipes across the line of his mouth (he’d quite prefer the taste of sam’s mouth but that would be far too forward, skipping several steps in the dance of their flirtations). “as much as i hate to say it -- and i really really hate to say it -- you’re going to need to put on some clothes. i’m taking you shopping.”