#re:randomobject

Send me a random object and my character will come up with a creative way to seductively use it with/on/for yours

Looking in Constantine's kitchen, you might get the wrong idea about his palette. Cups of noodles, cereal flakes, and then the eclectic assortment of alcohol mostly comprises the pantry. The fridge houses milk, often a lime or pepper, and little to nothing else. The speculation would be his tastes are cheap to save up for alcoholism, but these are just vehicles in his pursuit of convenience and, in the case of the liquor, entertaining. In his daily living, the finest restaurants in New York cater to him, and he'll be able to spot what ingredients make up his dish with an exquisite and spoiled taste for detail.

Salami, for instance, has a varied flavor, and the one that catches interest is soon shared in a particular way. Jaeger's jaw fits in his grip, drawing him in as the lips are guided to separate. With pressure under his chin, they close around the nibble of food before sealed against Constantine's own soft pair. The hand doesn't remove itself, but one of the long fingers strokes down the throat with ease.

Smoky blue eyes stay connected with crystal ones as a peppercorn is cracked between the rows of teeth, spilling the sharp bite into both mouths. It's an introduction to a building piquancy, layering heat upon heat with a flick of his tongue and nip to his current partner's. The spice inflames with every single breath, causing it to travel throughout. The nose is tickled, the skin is pricked, the throat is gasping for relief. For each portion of the body that's inflicted, revenge is taken upon one spot as a driving force. The kiss is delved into deeper; a scratch arches up the neck from that once delicate touch; and playful nips are ravenous captures of flesh.

Send me a random object and my character will come up with a creative way to seductively use it with/on/for yours.

Summer was upon them, on the fringes of transitioning to autumn, but the high temperatures were here to stay for the time being. Viggo, so used to upper double digits and the triple threat that was routine in Dubai, seemed perfectly relaxed with the familiar hints to his life years ago. It had been less than two years for his entire outlook to change, and it was his husband that he owed the majority of that to, reminded everyday by the ring around his finger.

In the background, ocean waves tumbled against the sand--the staple noise of their new life in Maine--before the dark blond's soft laughter was added to the forefront. He had turned his head towards his husband, seeing the remnants of the ice cream that they had brought out with them left on the youngest's lips. Dipped in white, the voluptuous halves looked unusual on the handsome face, but were looked at with the utmost fondness.

"I'll never understand why you don't think you're cute," he murmured, offering a smile as he moved close enough to nearly have their faces meet.

Gently, the tip of Viggo's tongue brushed the edge of the lower lip before the brunet could protest against the statement, something that the eldest couldn't help but remind whenever he had the chance. "It's a moment like this that gives me added proof to what I know," he teased, following with another dab at the corner of the other's mouth.

Send me a random object and my character will come up with a creative way to seductively use it with/on/for yours.

Juniper berries in their most processed form flow from their crystal basin, skirt underneath the upper lip and drench the tongue instead. The London gin is a familiar taste, but this is sharper in its alcoholic bite. It bears its fangs, sinking the rich pine flavor into every bud it reaches. The owner only lets the excess creep down his throat, while the first sip stays heavily on his lips and the tip of his tongue before the glass rests back on the tile floor–the same surface his knees are on and shared with by his guest.

From behind, his hand suddenly grasps around the base of the blond’s neck, bending him forward. The brunet’s spine curves in the same moment, lowering his head to let wet flesh flick at the shoulder’s blade summit. The rounded peak is only a start, outlining the rest of the form with a new pavement of gin. Smooth skin is bolstered by the firm body it shields, continuing to be met by Constantine’s lower lip and experienced tongue until the edge of the other’s frame is bitten into.

Incisors break through the thick shell, and as their contact relinquishes, their presence is remembered by the marks created in their wake. A slight sting from the demolished capillaries that bring the pricks of blood floating to the top won’t make any dent to the man, but it’s practice for the other.

It’s a metallic beat grinding and ringing to the ears, made distinctively clear from the acoustics of the bathroom. Flicked by the wrist, geared by the thumb, a flame is released by the lighter and spreads throughout the pattern laid out for it to follow. It’s steady in its dim blue glow, stripping water from the pores as its heat dances over them. Extracting, nipping, running its blurred touch over him before Constantine’s breath streams over their conquest. The cool air rises from its start, finalized by the brush beneath the youngest’s ear as the fragrance wraps around him.