TDM 001

[erkumods]

TDM 001: TFLU

( 1 ) After leaving the teleportation chamber, you are gently coaxed out of the hospital and encouraged to find a place to stay. Maybe you've had time to check out your A5 app. Maybe you're just settling in. It's cloudy, overcast, cold -- you'll want to seek out someplace warm. Also, your device is beeping. A lot. The tech on the island works, it just doesn't work right. You can't seem to send a message to the correct person. It's time for... Texts From Last Universe ( 2 ) What's this? Your bingo card has just been beamed to a stranger's inbox...?! ( sample A5 cards -- NSFW, may contain triggering content, please feel free to use/ignore as you see fit) ( 3 ) And now you're receiving messages from other users that they don't remember sending: Nice shirt. It would look better on my floor. 10/10 would ride it into the sunset. This user thinks you're attractive. u up? 🍆 ( 4 ) Once you figure out that the robots have been hacking your devices, it's no easy feat to track one down and demand they stop. "So The Augur wills!" they wail in a monotone. "So it is done!" Any attempt to actually contact The Augur and get back into the hospital will be met with beefy robot bodyguards, who suggest taking a gentler approach to fix your devices. If you know what they mean. Wink. (This is your overt kink prompt. Please label any threads accordingly.) Note: All prompts are optional. The theme for this TDM is "malfunctioning devices." They can be fixed by indulging in the squares on your cards. For the sake of the TDM, you can use one of the pre-generated examples or a wildcard from the kink list. This can be used as a free bingo square completion once you have been accepted into the game. Players are welcome to wildcard their own TDM prompts; we only ask that you try to stick to the theme. ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● ● N A V I G A T I O N

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[recordingends]

[It's what one monster can give another. His fingers twitch as lips brush along each knuckle: the back of his hand was badly burned at some point and it wraps around his palm and fingers. He wants to recoil from the attention if only because he's self-conscious about the scars.

He lifts his gaze, watching as the Brigadier General opens his coat and his collar. He's meant to be watching and so he will. There's a weight to his gaze, to his full attention.]

[mcvillain]

[McGillis has seen all kinds of injuries, out in the field. Burns, definitely, and also loss of limb, grievous injury that not even the technology of the future could correct. But it's never disgusted him, never repulsed him. So he offers no judgment of old wounds, and kisses over them too, just to prove his point.

He takes note of that rapt expression, and checks in, just in case:]

I will go on, if you'd like.

[Shrugging off that fine silk shirt, clinging to his shoulders, would qualify as something else entirely. He took him this far; he upheld his word.]

[recordingends]

Aren't we supposed to?

[Jon doesn't know how far this needs to go to count as voyeurism, to count as a tick mark on the card. He notes, absently, that the brigadier general has very well-tailored clothes. Silk, maybe? He doesn't really know. Jon has an aesthetic but he isn't necessarily fashion-forward.]

[mcvillain]

I don't force myself onto others.

[That being said, Jon no longer sounds so reluctant, or ready to bolt. McGillis might be holding onto him, but in a sense, there's great power in no. And he'll obey it as soon as he hears it, but for the time being... it was getting a bit warm with all those layers, so that's as good an excuse as any to strip down.

Off goes the well-tailored shirt, to reveal row upon row of toned muscle. Like a tiger, or maybe a bull. He loosens his grip, just a little, to run the tip of his tongue along a burned, scarred finger, maintaining eye contact all the while. Gauging for a reaction, negative, positive, or otherwise. And he insists:]

Don't look away. If you like it, then beg for it.

[He'll give it to him. In this context, more is never a problem.]

[recordingends]

[Shirt gone, he lets himself look over the exposed expanse of skin and muscle.

Jon's hand twitches again as a warm tongue teases along his finger. The reaction is neither negative nor positive, just startled. It's--uncomfortable, but not bad. His body responds but his mind doesn't: his interest is theoretical, intellectual.

But he can do this.]

Please, [he says again, staring up at the brigadier general and willing himself not to look away.] Don't stop.

[mcvillain]

[As bidden, McGillis continues. He's willing to bet they've satisfied at least one requirement by now, but better safe than sorry. Though Jon might be very, very sorry, given what he's invited, as McGillis unfurls his fingers a bit further and...]

You asked for this.

[...draws them into his mouth, and licks, and bites, and sucks, in a way that's decidedly friendly. And reminiscent of what that same mouth could do, a bit further south.]

[recordingends]

[Did he?? Jon makes a quiet sound, something between startled and uncertain, as his fingers slip into the other man's mouth. The slick heat, the firm press of teeth, all of it conspires to make him tense. His fingers curl involuntarily, uncertain if he wants to pull away or not.

This is not the direction he thought things would go. He has no idea what he thought, but it wasn't this.]

Did I? [he asks hoarsely.]

[mcvillain]

[Either way, McGillis draws back. In contrast, he's hardly bothered by any of it, to such an extent he diverts his attention to the beeping device around his wrist. He looks pleased, and already seems to have forgotten where things were leading. Or where they weren't.]

Mm. That should be more than adequate.

[His eyes flick to Jon's face, like they weren't hopelessly dark mere moments ago.]

Check your card. You should have two spots cleared.

[recordingends]

[Just as quickly as it all began, it stops. Jon blinks slowly and it takes him a moment to catch on. He clears his head as he looks at his card: indeed, two spots have cleared. He swallows thickly and wills his body to quiet itself again. Maybe he'll find somewhere private to take care of himself, though he doubts it will take his arousal long to die when he remembers the post-apocalyptic landscape.

Or he'll just let himself realize that all of this happened in public and let the rush of humiliation take care of it.

Jon gets up and dusts off his clothes. He clears his throat.]

Right, uhm. Thank you.

[mcvillain]

[McGillis appears distracted in the aftermath, casting his eyes about in search of something else. Didn't those robots say... ah, yes. That must've been it. Lifting his boot, there's a small yet resilient patch growing beneath it, up, up, up.]

There. Now you've no reason to doubt me.

[Their efforts have yielded a single red rose, proof in concept of those earlier claims. McGillis plucks it with a distant smile.]

How romantic. You must've been thinking some truly lovely thoughts, hm?

[recordingends]

[It seems impossible, but he's watching it happen with his own eyes. Jon grips the strap on his bag a bit tighter as the general plucks the rose.]

Sure, we'll say that I was. This is impossible, how--?

[He wants to understand how this whole thing works. How could what they just did bring life back to the patch of earth they're standing on? Why?]

[mcvillain]

[No clear answers this day, that's for damn sure. Rather than stash it for later, McGillis offers the rose to Jon, ever so chivalrous.]

You may call me McGillis, by the way. McGillis Fareed, Brigadier General of Gjallarhorn. And you are...?

[recordingends]

Oh, Jonathan Sims.

[He's certain no one has given him a flower before, but he takes it because it would be rude to just refuse. Though he's not sure if he should be reading anything into it after what... just happened. Judging by McGillis's manner, he thinks perhaps not.]

Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, [he adds, since they're giving titles, apparently.]

[mcvillain]

[Fishing for his clothes, he makes it through one sleeve of his discarded shirt before perking up, hearing Jon mention that title in return.]

An archivist, you say? Books are surely something to treasure. Worthy of study, and safekeeping, though others might claim they've dwindled in value.

[Clearly not McGillis, however, and despite all those questionable statements, he seems genuine in his praise of a dying art. If restrained, if reserved. If controlled, able to turn himself on and off at the drop of a hat. And other people, as well, but that's true of most politicians.]

Perhaps you might grow yourself a library, as opposed to a plant. Although I suspect that will require a great deal more of you.

[recordingends]

It's not all books, but we do have a library.

[Worth study and safekeeping. He wouldn't call it a dying art, though perhaps an undervalued one. Maybe less an art and more of a--determined vocation, in his regard.

He considers the possibility of growing a library here, maybe not the way they'd grown the rose but... He'll need it eventually, he knows that. And if he can get people to submit statements, that might ease his troubles for a while. Not a satisfying meal, but a sustaining one.]

You know, I just might. Perhaps not... like this... but I might look into it all the same.

[mcvillain]

Not like this.

[It's not entirely mocking, but once again, he's back to that questioning. commanding mood. He's swift in dressing himself, already straightening the collar of his coat and dusting himself off within seconds. A pointless endeavor, considering he looks immaculate. As if nothing had taken place, or would take place between them.

And he's also back to that sickle sharp smile, and staring down Jon intensely.]

Such a strange man you are. Is it a matter of lacking gumption? It couldn't have been disgust.

[He would've known. And speaking of things he knows...]

After all, I could practically smell the excitement on you.

[recordingends]

[Jon can feel the heat rising in his face and he tries to will it away.]

I guess I've just never been interested in... that kind of thing. I can't help what my body does.

[He would if he could. Even masturbation sometimes feels like a chore, something to do so that his body will stop bothering him, or something for a moment of stress relief that never lasts long enough. It's always been perfunctory. And that's with himself, never mind other people.

Still, the idea of someone smelling his excitement is more than a little disconcerting.]

[mcvillain]

Seems you could use a bit of straightening out.

[So to speak. But he's been overwhelmed enough for one day, and much as he'd love to push him over the edge, there's no need to break something—someone—when they could prove useful later on down the road. So McGillis nearly sweeps past, but not before resting a hand on Jon's shoulder.]

Why don't you come find me again, once you find your bravery? For now, I think you could do with a bit of quality time... alone.

[Yeesh. Maybe he really could smell it, along with sensing it.]

[recordingends]

[Jon bristles a bit at straightening out. Maybe there is something wrong with him but--but he's perfectly fine as he is, thank you. The hand on his shoulder feels heavy. And he's quite determined that his quality time alone will mostly involve ignoring things until they go away.]

I'll keep that in mind, [he grumbles. He's never been a brave man. Just a stubborn one.]

[mcvillain]

Keep this in mind, as well.

[He draws in, too close, drops his voice to a murmur. It's easy to take advantage of proximity when you're a walking skyscraper.]

I've already had a taste of you. So whatever you do, or don't do, I'll be back for more.

[recordingends]

[Jon manages to stand his ground, possibly because he had no time to react before suddenly McGillis is very close. He clutches the strap of his bag and his eyes widen. His mouth falls open and he stammers for something to say but the words die in the scant space between them.

Get it together.]

Noted, [he manages at last, hoping he sounds more firm than he feels.]