InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "same thing we do everynight..."

Tim Olivander (buttonmantim) wrote in thatjazz,
@ 2008-05-19 09:09:00

Entry tags:

club open, john, tim

Open
Tim hasn't had time to come into The Fury in a while, his boss has been keeping him busy playing messenger boy, which although Tim does it. It's not his favorite job. Too many pissing contests which require him to keep his temper and use words instead of bullets or fists.

Despite the fact that he threatened Daniel, Tim knows that there's almost no chance he'll ever get an order to take the man down. Daniel's good and it would create waves and disrupt business and in this case? Waves were bad.

He's looking forward to a relaxing night off, gets a drink and finds an empty table. Tim lights a cigarette and exhales slowly, eyes gazing around the room checking for trouble before he relaxes a little.

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	buttonmantim 2008-09-19 10:51 am UTC (link)
	Tim licks at the mark, nice and dark against John's pale skin. "You mark real pretty," he whispers. Fingers dig into skin and muscle, spreading John open as Tim pulls him in, the tip of one finger brushing against his hole. "Both. First your mouth, then the rest. You finish yourself off when I say and not before." (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	cashandcheck 2008-10-03 02:24 pm UTC (link)
	"Got it," John manages, head dropping back, neck arching, hips pushing forward to grind hard against Tim and squirming against the tease of hands, hunger for more leaping high and hot at the words as much as the touch. "You want me on my knees?" Because he really fucking wants to be there. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	buttonmantim 2008-10-07 11:59 pm UTC (link)
	"Pretty like you? You bet a shiny penny I do." Tim's hands slide down John's sides then back up to his shoulders where he shoves down hard. "On your knees." His eyes darken and harden as he watches John, a hand curling hard and intent in his hair. (Reply to this) (Parent) (Thread)

	cashandcheck 2008-10-08 01:59 pm UTC (link)
	Oh, now there's sweet. Giving under the push, dropping easy to his knees, John tilts his head, pushing back into Tim's hand and looking up with a grin, eyes dark and feral. "Won that bet," he says, smugly, then stops talking. Talk's cheap. Time's not, and John's wasting no more of it, leaning in, rubbing his cheek against Tim's hip and licking at the base of his dick. (Reply to this) (Parent)

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