Havoc (OC) (
wastelandking) wrote in
theattic2015-11-15 02:53 pm
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Entry tags:
PSL: That's A Real Lemon You Got There

THAT AINT THE ONLY THING THAT'S BIG
that's not true but hey you knows how it is
THREAD LOG:
#1 Customer
Super Kawaii Tape Chan
The Massage
.
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"Hah, w-well, not exactly..."
Unless being responsible for the death of A WHOLE LOT OF THEM made you an exterminator by definition. Because he sure had smushed a whole lot of them under his boots.
"I could probably get hired pretty easy with my resume, though..."
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Surprises were not one of Havoc's favorite things.
So he bent down and made his antennae poke James in the forehead, laughing wheezily at himself. He was hilarious!
"They'd probably send you right back here to squash me. You think you can take on a bug this big?"
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"--I--I don't know, actually, I guess I'd just have to try my best."
This seemed like flirting.
Mr. Dynamite was always a vaguely touchy-feely kind of guy, but this. This was.
Well.
James reached, blindly, for the bottle again.
His ears were getting hot.
The next words left his mouth before he could even consider how they might sound.
"The cockroaches I used to deal with were huge, so..."
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Maybe he'd learn more about James yet!
"How huge? Did they bite?"
Havoc attempted to lean in, to be sly and maybe a little intimidating as he asked the question in the other man's ear, but he just wound up bonking his head against James's.
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Oh no.
See, after the whole... massage thing, James had been having some intrusive but interesting thoughts. Thoughts that he was no stranger to, but that he hadn't really had in quite some time.
Or about anyone non-female, ever.
But oh boy. There they were.
"T-... they sure did, Mister Dynamite."
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The salesman had entertained the odd thought here or there--he was lonely after all, and prone to daydreaming. His idle thoughts about James and folks on television weren't something he'd call intrusive. He had far worse intrusive thoughts than how fun giving James a little nip on the ear might be--which honestly sounded too fun now that he thought about it.
So he did.
"Hard?"
Vodka really was the worst for him out of everything in the cabinet.
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As bizarre and sometimes irritating as the not-even-remotely-ladylike Havoc Dynamite was, dreaming about his hands was an entirely welcome reprieve from the veritable rogues' gallery of other hands James's psyche had lined up to both tease and terrorize him at night.
Of course, all that rationalizing (of which he's done PLENTY since the dreams started) goes right out the window when Havoc's teeth close on his ear.
James sucked in a sharp breath, eyes popping open. His reply was a surprised gasp.
"--y-yes!"
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The gasp only egged him on. He couldn't help it. He was a demon, the Unlucky, it was in his very re-written DNA to torment. However, had James leaned away from his weird buggy advances or held up a hand, the game would have ended. But no plea or warning came so Havoc made a new goal for himself.
He wanted to make James yelp.
Havoc finally stopped doing twitchy fingers on top of his head--mostly because he needed to lean against the desk to keep from swaying. He kept his head bowed, trying to think of something else to do, some other button to push. His breath was hot and ashy.
"Coror me impreshed," he said, still having not let go of the man's ear. He started to pull, like a dog with a chewy toy. "Myshterious! Danroush!"
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But they were both liquored up and if James hadn't been partially sitting down already his knees would be going wobbly for infinitely more reasons than just the booze.
Maybe the massage had just... clinched it. Maybe it had only been a matter of time before something like this happened-- god knows it was hardly the weirdest turn of events to have gone down in James's life since hitting the road, even if you completely disregarded everything directly connected to Silent Hill.
But whatever had led to this, one thing was for certain: Havoc would have to set his goalposts higher.
James not only let out a yelp instantly, but the yelp tapered off into a straight-up, bona fide moan as he rolled his shoulders up under the demon's chin reflexively.
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He broke character in favor of blinking stupidly at the other man for a moment, noting the color in his face and said ear he'd been cockroaching on. Sure he could tell James was flustered--who WOULDN'T be? But he did not know his drunken half-kidding advances were actually being received. On one level or another.
Oh. Oh HO. Well then!
With his teeth clacked shut by the taller man's shoulder, he was in sort of a pickle. How did he see how far this was going to go without falling over or looking stupid? It had been years since he'd made anybody make a noise like that.
He took a different route, pulling his chin away (and taking a moment to crack his neck) before ducking around under James's arm so he could grin up at him and get a peek at all the fun colors he was turning. One hand came around to grab hold of his arm for stability. This was the least flattering position he had ever been in while making advances.
"What else did they do--them big nasty cockroaches?"
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And boy, IS he.
James blinked down at the demon, flushed and slightly mortified. He may have been drunk, but he wasn't drunk enough to not feel at least a LITTLE horrified at having made a noise like that in response to another man biting him.
"I-- ... they, uh..."
With Havoc's head where it was, he could likely hear James's heart pounding.
He'd never been a smooth talker. Pickup lines and flirting were hard enough when he was the one doing the hitting-on, and he was sailing in foreign waters here.
The thought that the bugs had frequently tried to crawl up into his clothes came briefly to mind, but translating that into a sentence that wasn't just GROSS was kind of beyond his mental capabilities at the moment.
"--mostly they just bit, a lot," was what finally came out. He could still feel the indents of his boss's teeth on his earlobe, throbbing slightly.
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The pounding in James's chest was still something to take in. Here he'd had a rotten day...and suddenly it was turning around! Maybe he WAS a good salesman! Maybe he'd worked too hard selling the van instead of himself. He was his product after all!
"That sounds just awful, Mr. Exterminator."
While he wasn't in any position to bite again, he was able to creep his hand up James's chest. Two ideas were battling in the vodka-soaked mire that was his brain: one was to slowly scratch James's chin and tell him he was a good boy. The other was to pinch his cheek. One was not nearly as sexy as the other but he just...his FACE! His dumb beet-red face! There was just something about his dopey innocence that made deciding what kind of weird possibly foreplay to act on difficult.
In a display of sheer willpower, he managed to swerve away from squeezing James's red cheek like some weird drunken overly affectionate aunt and instead gently dragged his blunt human nails down James's throat.
"You do a good job, y'know that?"
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And it only got harder as the nails slooooowly dragged down his throat. He found himself tilting his head back obligingly, almost in offering. The words 'good job' were not ones he'd ever heard a whole lot in his life, unless you counted the times it was uttered sarcastically. It gave him another twitch downstairs. This time, his hips gave a tiny jerk along with it.
He didn't try to stop them.
"Y-yes, sir..."
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His tone made it clear that the praise was not going to stop any time soon. But suddenly a thought came to him, as drunken thoughts often do. He stopped scratching James's chin and let his fingers hook onto the collar of his shirt so that he had something to hold onto. The thought made it into the open air before he could sort it out.
"...Am I?"
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Is he?
Is he what?
Doing a good job?
At what, selling cars or... or whatever this is?
"... Yes?"
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His boss waited for an answer with the slightest hint of concern creasing his brow. Being drunk made him sassy and flirty and mischievous, but vodka was just. Memories in a bottle now that he was here running his hands over another person and biting parts of their face.
"Good--good to know." Havoc barked out a cough to break away from his worries and focus on finding his next tactic to make James make a fun noise. He let go of James's shirt and moved to run his fingers down the nape of his neck instead of his throat. The last thing he wanted was to slip up and actually claw the guy. He kind of needed his esophagus.
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Was it that he was just so starved for some kind of affectionate touch that it didn't matter that it was coming from a guy with hideous fashion sense and the last name 'Dynamite'? Maybe THAT was it. Maybe this was straight-up rock bottom and he'd just hit it like a dropped pancake.
But if human fingers stroking his neck instead of a latex-gloved abomination THROTTLING IT was rock bottom, well, sign him up, because James Sunderland lost his standards somewhere in Silent Hill and never actually found them again.
His eyes fluttered shut and he let out another soft groan. He'd completely forgotten about the bottle he was reaching for.
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Havoc continued giving James's neck those good old scratches until his hands found his shoulders. Tense again. This James was always tense. What'd he have to be tense about? He was doing a good job taking care of him wasn't he?
He finally withdrew from under James's arm and just faced him, plastered man to hideously plastered man and planted his hands against his chest so he could look up at him.
"Hey, Sunshine, you're gonna be alright." He jabbed a finger into his ribs. "So I don't wanna see you wour-worryin'."
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James's eyes fluttered back open, pulled back from the place he'd slipped off into.
"--worrying?" he echoed. Not quite confused. More... guilty.
Which was, really, his default emotion. With or without comforting words from Mr. Dynamite. In this case, those comforting words seemed to have done the opposite. James kind of looked like he'd gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar-- although the finger in his ribs made him twitch jerkily, a motion that was all the more noticeable since they were kind of... pressed together.
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Him, lighten up?
Apparently more likely than it looked, with that going on. If what Havoc wanted was another, slightly more violent squirm and a half-choked noise that might have been a laugh, he got it.
"-M-mister D--Havoc!"
He didn't normally call the salesman by his first name, but two syllables were easier to force out than three. 'Dancing' probably wasn't the best term for it, but he sure was moving.
"H-hey!"
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"Eh-he-xcuse me?"
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Of course, once questioned, any explanation for whatever nerve he'd just shown promptly dies on his lips, and he sort of. STAMMERS POINTLESSLY FOR A SECOND, face growing even redder in frustration at the fact that his brain was too lousy-drunk to string even two or three dignified words together.
"--this. This is-- ... what're we doing?" he finally managed, not quite meeting Havoc's eyes.
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Havoc squinted thoughtfully and planted a hand against James's chest again for stability.
"Foolin'. Just foolin' around." That's all he thought of it as for right now. Two sorry plastered so-and-so's making one another feel better. He couldn't stop grinning at James though. The way he sputtered and blushed was priceless. He decided he wanted to see a lot more of it. Maybe the thought of it would help him through the hangover tomorrow.
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That was an interesting way of putting it.
"... Fooling around," he repeated after a moment, half-laughing.
Then he finished what he'd started what seemed like ages ago and picked up the bottle to pour another splash of liquor into his stupid Disney shot glass.
"All right..."
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