#hebled

IT'S THEIR FOURTH TIME. A FRENZY of hands and whispered words splayed between each other's lips, still attempting their desperate desire of memorizing. Rian couldn't seem to get enough, and neither could the other man. The sun is setting, it's low on the horizon, a pink and orange soft glow that hints at the idea of TOUCHING them.

And them ? They're tucked away in the loft of the barn, having come back from a ride and allowing the horses a moment of rest in the paddock. Beck would have to go home soon — his own father would be HOME soon — but there's no sign of moving, no sign of GIVING UP their tryst. Beck's got him tucked tight against the hay barrels, one of his hands shoved deftly under his plaid shirt, fingers SPLAYED over muscle like he's claiming him for his own.

Their clothes have half left them, too. Evidence of their time together in the cool breeze of a nice evening promised. A SPLATTERING of two hats, boots, a shirt, a pair of pants... He's kissing him like he is water, and he's yet to have a drink. Touching him like his skin is velvet, as though he's never felt him before. When was the last time? A week ago? At the water's edge.

❝ Beck — ❞ I got you, darlin'. Just be quiet, now.

It had been far too long since the pair had gotten together. Both of them busy with their respective lives, it had been Aubrey that had reached out to ask Beck for a night out on the town together, and a night out on the town they certainly had. It had been fun, there was no doubt about it, rekindling their friendship as if the time hadn't passed at all.

Walking along together to go to the next bar, she thought nothing of the person that was advancing upon them, trusting Beck to keep her safe...

Until she felt herself being roughly grabbed by the arm, too startled to even utter a sound of distress as she's pulled back into the man's arms, a knife held to her throat as the man snarls angrily at Beck.

❝ HERE. ❞ THE DRAWINGS ARE SPREAD OUT on the bed, each one a little more darker, like he'd found a box of charcoal and scribbled until there wasn't any WHITE paper left. They're gruesome, some of them are pretty, but others... look primitive. Like a child had drawn them in a fit of rage.

❝ I fancied myself an artist, at a time. ❞ That was one of the ONLY things he remembers about his childhood.

SHE’S GOT ON RED LACE TODAY, something Beck picked up for her on one of their trips to the store where she’d INSISTED she buy it and he quite literally slapped her hand away the second she pulled her card out of her pocket. It’s a corset, little roses and beading along the rib cage — a see-through robe with feathers to match.

Lillian’s smiling. The sort she always gets when she’s performing, except this time it’s DIFFERENT. This time, she’s looking at him. Her routines were early in the night, the last has her out of breath, taking Beck’s hand as he helps her off the stage.

❝ Thank you, my love. ❞ Wicked grin, her head tilts in question. There’s a low whistle from a guy behind her, and the dancer laughs. She’s paying them no mind, instead staring into kind blues. How did she get so lucky ?

Their kisses were sloppy at best, their combined need making Blue's movements uncoordinated as they flung their clothing off one another until they were naked and falling onto the bed with Blue on bottom. Laughing out a soft sound, Blue's body bounced a few times with the force of his landing, looking up at Beck through half hooded eyes...

THE CIGARETTE IS HEAVY ON HIS lips, but he's yet to light it. Hands are shaking, just a little, QUIVERING under the dark black gloves, the leather a familiar and soothing feeling against his skin. Fever is staring at Beck with that sort of look that could only mean one thing, like he's looking right through him, like he wants to EAT him. ❝ 'S good t'see you. ❞ SOFT.

Tour had dragged, towards the end. The EXHAUSTION is obvious in the bags under his eyes, in the way his jaw clenches and loosens with every breath he takes. The musician was a live wire about to SNAP at any moment, but when he looks at the veteran, there's an unfamiliar sweetness in his eyes. They'd started as a hookup, a one off one night where he'd played guitar in a bar as a surprise. Fever had seen him across the room, and they'd locked eyes. He'd sucked him off in the parking lot, given him his phone number and told him to text.

There was just SOMETHING about Beck's eyes.

idk the meme anymore but accepting !

"You mean the look before you got hit?" Richie's caught between amused and annoyed, but it's largely because the daft bastard can't seem to sit still long enough for Richie to finish cleaning and patching him up. "Would you-" quit fidgeting. With an irritated huff, he reaches out to catch Beck's chin so he can at least wipe the last of the blood off his face with the wet cotton pad in his other hand.