SINGLE'S NIGHT [OPEN EVENT]

Maybe it’d been the irregularity of it all, but he really hadn’t expected something quite like this. Sure, Kiigan was free to do as he pleased. Sure, Beaux was too. But seeing two people, one of which he had grown entirely too fond of much too quickly, the other whom he’d become accustomed to having around in some shape or form did a small, confusing number on the redhead. Irritation rose, and through its rising tides surfaced a cold weightlessness to his chest that of which left him unknowingly frowning at the scene.

A sudden whine along with the flailing of a hand snapped him back to attention, already furrowed brows furrowing further. “Shy?” he hissed, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile brought upon by a mixture of anger and disbelief. Shy didn’t exist in his vocabulary. At least, not anymore. Not for a long time it hadn’t.

Her small hands clasped his hips after her outburst, and his eyes widened at the violent tug that drove him into her rear. A grunt made its way through tight lips —short and strained— at the suddenness. He wasn’t expecting to get a kick off of this, and he bit the corner of his lower lip in response, cursing himself and her for somehow producing the filthy sound.

“Ugh, hold on!” as the one-sided humpery went on, his palm slid across her nape, brushing aside strands of green hair before clasping her shoulder. His grip around her waist tightened and he could feel the softness of her skin struggle against his fingers as he slowly drove the woman deeper into the balloon, the rubber body between them squeaking under the mounting pressure of his flare up. He leaned in then, taking the time to adjust her so that his lips were within the range of her ear. Her attempts of going at the balloon had been ceased under his control.

“We’re not losing to anyone, amore. You can bet on that,” he spoke, a low, rich drawl of an accent that carried onto the rest of his words, hiding away the annoyance and giving way to a certain enjoyment. “Otherwise…” He regained himself, her comment had caused his competitiveness to spread, leaving the jealous surge of before to retreat into the back of his mind. Being outdone, being underestimated — that wasn’t gonna fly with him. So he pulled away then, placing her back into position and hitting her with more aggressive, controlled bursts. He continued where he left off: “Otherwise, you can go,” he thrust, “find yourself,” he thrust harder, “some mook,” harder still, “who can’t even—"

Pop!

Satisfaction hit him all at once and he grit his teeth into a smile. That is, until the balloon reinflated.

“…Fuck.”

Time to rinse and repeat.

The way she threw back his remark danced in his ears. Amore. The way she said it, her accent, though teasing and he was pretty sure she didn’t know a lick of what it meant, rang a familiar tune in his vaguely intoxicated mind — like he’d experienced it once before. And maybe it was the magic in the air tantalizing him so or his own curiosity at the mystery of this woman, but he found himself wanting to hear it again. It was… oddly arousing, especially to the man who to this day had never heard anyone else even begin to utter his language.

The carefree laugh broke him out of his thoughts, and his eyes traced the outlines of her figure as she spoke, becoming a little sour when she took it upon herself to fix her dress and deprive him of the view. Her words of encouragement were unneeded, but appreciated, nonetheless. He was fired up enough as it was and having her consent to the absolute decimation of the rubbery demon was enough to get him going even further. However, as her legs wrapped around him, he’d blink a few times, the diminishing smile making its return into something devilish as they made their way around his hips. Now, this— this he could really enjoy.

“Oh, I wasn’t plannin’ on stopping. We’re gonna make this balloon cry,” spoken with the confidence of a drunk man who was sure he was going to win some unspoken game. His arms slivered around her soft waist, stopping just below her bust, and in one huff pulled the green-haired dame’s torso up into the air. He leaned back slightly, her wrapped legs allowing him to keep her locked into place, almost like a chair, as her weight fell onto his crotch.

“Now, I can keep you here,” he drawled once more, the balloon stressing under each harsh bounce. “Or we can make this a little more interesting.” He swiveled slightly and pushed her chest up against the bar’s countertop with relative ease. She could hold on if she wanted, rest her body on it, all the while he continued to have his way at the stupidly resilient latex. “But it’s up to the lady to decide.”

At her choice, the corner of his lip twisted upwards until it showed teeth. “Oh? Has it now?” he remarked, taking her further over the counter’s edge. “Then allow me to oblige the interest.” And with that the bar thunked and thudded at the mercy of their combined forces. Glasses and bottles rattled, some dangerously close to tipping under the pair’s constant push and pull, as the bartender watched on in horror. Wes didn’t take notice, nor did he care to, too engrossed in the ‘game’ and their fervent entanglement to really give a rat’s ass. Caution and levelheadedness had been thrown to the wind as soon as the shots had begun working their way into his system.

The rubber burst once more and, drunken energies working in tandem, he delivered his own outburst, “Yeah, ya pink devil, WHO’S THE BOSS HERE!?” before she slid off the table. A sudden shift of burgundy fabric caught his attention. Instinctively, his hand shot out to adjust the skirt, maybe a little too late, maybe a little too paused for anyone really paying attention. “I gotcha,” he muttered, ever the helpful man, though the caliber of his smirk told a different story. He’d peeked. Definitely.

Adjusting herself once more, it seemed her attention had been piqued elsewhere. And he followed the general direction in which her head had turned only to come upon the strangest visage. An elf — a weirder-looking one than the blonde magician from before — sat only a few paces away, his half-wooden features unmistakable and striking to the eye. So he gawked, head tilting slightly at the sight, until a less-than-savory joke left Emi’s mouth. Air blew out of his nostrils, “Oh yeah, I woodn’t doubt he enjoyed the view tree-mendously.” He chuckled along with her, his own laughter slightly drowned out by her louder, boisterous one. While normally he would’ve simply ignored the creature and refrained from offensive commentary, the words had come tumbling out much too quickly for him to catch himself. Still, it wasn’t like any part of him felt bad. All in good fun, right?

She came to a stand, her back pressed against his chest and his head coming to hover next to hers. A few green strands caught his face, bringing forth yet another peculiarity. A scent. And maybe it’d been the familiarity of it or the half-dozen shots that he found himself edging closer, the side of his face brushing up against hers. “Mmhm,” he allowed her to guide him, enjoying her body under the leather of his gloves. In a matter of seconds, she’d reverted to that competitive attitude, her voice filled with the same resolve that’d been carried through the entire game. So he laughed faintly in amusement, his hands beginning to move on their own accord. The one at her hip slowly dipped, settling just below her stomach; the other at her abdomen slid away, instead winding its way around her side, over her chest and onto her neck. Fingers played at the soft skin, lightly gripping around it and around her jaw. In one sudden jerk, her neck was tilted upwards, and her body pulled even closer to his. “Show them, huh…?” he teased. “If that’s what the lady wants.”

The balloon would see no rest at the mercy of their exertion, coming to another loud pop! minutes later. Wes’s mouth opened, but whatever words were going to be uttered were cut off by the echoing sound behind him. He turned his head.

“Sei serio…?” he murmured, attention having landed on the flustered image of Beaux. “What happened?” He’d been so caught up with Emi that he’d completely disregarded the two angels some distance away. The silverette had that look about him that screamed uncomfortable, and Wes would’ve given anything to be able to ease the poor man. But his gaze had flicked over to the cause, a complicated mix of annoyance and a strange sort of relief washing over him as Beaux scampered off. He closed his eyes momentarily, mind too muddled to really think of anything that could correlate with the feeling, before peeling away from his partner. A soft “come with me” was spoken and he took her hand in his, dragging her away like a child would their friend so they didn’t get lost or left behind.

The short duo quickly made their way to the bluette. “Kiigan, what the fu—” he had started, but before he could finish the thronging masses intervened. One bump from a misplaced hump, then another, and the two were sent hurdling towards the tall man. Wes landed face first onto his chest, the rest of him coming into contact soon after and bouncing lightly off the corner of his bodyguard’s balloon. Now pressed up against him, the slighted expression the ginger sported subsided to a few confused blinks as he looked up at him, face flushed a light red from the drinks. He jumped slightly when he felt his partner crash next to him only a second later, causing him to exhale in another bout of relief. At least she hadn’t gotten hurt.

His blue eyes trailed down Kiigan’s chest and beyond, before raising to address the scarlet-eyed man once more. His hand left Emi’s, instead directing itself to the balloon between them. He squeezed it, his brain deciding to take it out on the crotch-rubber instead of the angel. An odd choice, but Wes’s actions were never the best when drunk. “Take it off…” he ordered, a light pout playing at his lips as he fiddled around with the round object. The other hand had snaked up his arm, maybe a little too slow if he were paying attention, until it grabbed at his shirt. A small, futile attempt to pull the bluette down had turned into a feather-light tug. “…now.”

The arm that snaked around Emi was hard to miss, and with a tilt of his head shot him a look that said ‘really?’. Maybe he was being a little too obvious with the gawking, not that Wes could blame him. She really did have a good body; anyone would be blind to say otherwise. Yet that didn’t stop the pout from growing and his gaze from tightening at the angel. Would it kill him to be a little more discreet? Especially in front of his boss.

Any other jealousy-fuelled thoughts quelled suddenly, his blue eyes widening the slightest in surprise, lips parting the slightest, before he blinked down at the hand that gripped his own. Maybe he’d been a little taken aback by the action that it brought him pause, if only for a few seconds, the pout momentarily turning into a weak, tight-lipped grin. The tail-end of a thought crept up on him through the haze. This was his employee, it reminded him, and by the softening of his expression it’d been evident he’d considered backing off at that moment. But all that would go crashing right out the mental window in mere seconds, all by work of two simple words:

Make me.

Ethics could go to shit. Kiigan was asking for it.

“Hmm… So that’s how it is…?” Wes mused, peering over at the snuggly woman next to him. The grin turned mischievous, and the sly narrowing of his eye urged her to follow his lead. They were still partners, after all, and he’d be damned if they were gonna back down after that. “And how do you propose we go about it?” He peeked up at Kiigan’s features as he spoke, at the sneer that he wanted to wipe off his frustratingly attractive face. He turned the tables on the gripped hand then, instead taking it in his and gently coiling the man’s arm over his much smaller shoulders.

“The way I see it,” he continued, voice lowering with taunting allure. One finger slipped over the hem of Kiigan’s pants, then another, before thumbing over the button and roughly pulling on the denim, threatening to unhook the metal and pulling his hips against the two petite, clinging bodies. “You either take it off…” the other hand wound up at the lower edge of his shirt. It made its way under, somehow pinning the black fabric as well, and he’d slide it up the sneering angel’s abs. Leather and skin made contact as the shirt slowly lifted. “… or we take it all off,” he challenged back. Though the redhead kept that same mischievous look, the game he was playing at seemed to backfire a little. Be it the drinks or something else, but Kiigan kind of felt… good.