hunter "great social skills" mackenna. (detections) wrote in invol_rpg, @ 2013-01-19 22:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! log, hunter mackenna, mason laughlin, vic reyes |
WHO: Mason Laughlin, Hunter MacKenna, & Vic Reyes.
WHEN: Pub Night!
WHERE: At Pub Night!
WHAT: Mason tries to cheer up Hunter with dancing. Oh no here comes a wild Vic!
WARNINGS: Sexy dancing and swearing.
STATUS: Complete log.
HUNTER: Sometimes Hunter wasn't sure why he bothered to go to these things anymore. Well -- no, it was still for the free if limited booze. Occasionally, he got to enjoy the company of some of his friends, which helped him get through the three drinks, but his mood had been so low of late that he barely had the energy to talk in person. If he could have, he would have taken his drink tickets' worth of alcohol back to his room to finish it alone, where the chances of him having to watch Vic flirt and dance with girls were nil. He could look away, but it was hard not to stare, either out of masochism or just plain trying to wrap his mind around it. Looking away didn't mean it wasn't still happening. Still, he had managed to come out of his room and claim two of his three drinks so far, straight whiskey that went down as easily as half a bottle in the motel. A few people had chatted with him before his lack of enthusiasm had killed the conversations, and in the end he sat more or less alone among the group of people at his table, just nursing the drink in front of him and studying the golden liquor as he tilted his glass along the bottom edge. People were dancing and the conversation was loud around him. At least it felt easy to get lost in all of the sounds. He didn't have to focus on his thoughts for once. MASON: Three drinks in and Mason Laughlin was definitely feeling the effects of the infernal concoction the bartender put together. His night was going well. Although he was missing a few important people in his life, he still had a good group of friends and an amazing boyfriend to keep him company during the regular Saturday night party. There was something about losing himself to alcohol, lollipops and music that allowed him to forget he was stuck away from home and just have a good time. It also made him want to share. An empty glass slammed onto the table right in front of Hunter, having just been finished off by the telekinetic. "Alright, bub. You're depressing everyone. Let's go." With a playful grin on his face, Mason grabbed the stubborn boy by the hand and tugged him up out of his seat before Daisy or someone intervened. "We're gonna dance." HUNTER: Startled by the loud bang of glass on the wood, Hunter jerked upright from his usual slouch and peered at Mason with a mix of indignance and confusion. Before he had time to say anything, though, Mason had caught hold of him and pulled him to his feet, and his words of protest as his friend dragged him towards the area where people were dancing ended up being weak: "Mason, c'mon..." It wasn't as though he didn't want to dance, exactly. More like he just didn't feel like he had the energy for it. But Mason wasn't wrong, and he knew it. He'd been brooding and he probably would have kept on doing it until he hit his personal drinking limit before he just left. He could use the distraction. Back in LA, Hunter had learned how to dance. He'd had a little bit of talent to begin with -- awkward white boy moves aside, he'd gotten comfortable with his body somewhere along the road, and the one thing he did understand was rhythm. You didn't have to be the best dancer at the club to get laid, he'd realized, but being able to channel some promise and abandoning restraint spoke volumes without words. And eventually he'd learned to really enjoy it, too. He'd started going dancing just for the sake of dancing, where catching someone's eye was a bonus but not necessarily the purpose. He couldn't really remember the last time he'd danced. It had been some Pub Night -- Halloween, with Elsa in costume? And that night he'd had a nightmare, the start of George Cooper's insidious grasp tightening. The last time he'd danced might have been the last time he'd felt close to normal at IVI. Hunter reached out to grab a handful of Mason's shirt and dragged a smile out of himself, from somewhere. "Alright, you got me," he said just over the music, let his hips and shoulders find the beat, moved closer. MASON: Mason loved to move his body, especially when club music was thumping. It didn't matter how good the song was, Mason would dance to it so long as the beat was good. That was definitely the case with the song that started up with a rather goofy introduction by Will.i.am and Britney Spears. "Please, as if I have trouble picking up guys at a club," Mason managed through a laugh as Hunter pulled them closer. As the beat picked up, Mason closed whatever distance the pair had between them. He wasn't a shy person, even less so when it came to dancing. It was legitimately nice to find that he didn't have to fight with the guy for once. Mace just needed to get his friend out onto the dance floor and it sorted itself out. Hunter was gay after all. "Look at you, white boy does have some moves!" HUNTER: From the beginning, Hunter had been attracted to Mason. Not just for his good looks, which were undeniably nice to look at, but because he could tell that Mason knew how to have a good time when it mattered; he was a strong personality, possessed a kind of energy that shone through the surface (in more ways than the way that Hunter read with his power), but wasn't intense either. He could shrug off a heated debate, grin when other people might have started a physical fight. And he wasn't afraid to cross over Hunter's serious do not touch boundaries to pull him out of himself when he wanted to. They hadn't been close of late, but when Mason was teasing him and infecting him with the same energy that made him so attractive, Hunter found himself intensely grateful to Mason. Yeah, he needed this. He wasn't drunk, and he didn't want to pull the same move that Vic had done last pub night that had made him feel like someone was twisting a serrated knife in his stomach -- and part of him was vaguely aware that Don must be standing somewhere close by, hovering to make sure nothing untoward happened -- so he make a conscious effort to keep some space between them. Dancing with someone he'd slept with before was actually easier. He knew how Mason moved, remembered his body even though it had been a long time ago. It would have been easy to slip more comfortably against him, but that was behind them, right? "Shut the fuck up," he replied, but he was grinning now too. "You know I've got moves." Alright -- even trying to stay friendly, it was hard not to fall back to flirting. And showing off a bit, apparently. MASON: "Do I? Hm..." Their relationship had its ups-and-downs from the very beginning, but they'd settled into a nice groove. Although their social circles didn't overlap--they would if Hunter just showed up to OUTback--Mason found that he enjoyed the company of the Vol from LA by way of Denver. Hunter counted among the few that Mason felt could keep up with him. "I suppose you're right." "I don't recall you being so afraid of mine though!" He didn't push it any further, leaving the light teasing as as his only note of Hunter backing away slightly. It was for the best anyway, though Donovan had given Mason a mild blessing--say permission and die--to dance with his friend, it was highly unlikely that he wanted to see Mason freaking with a boy he had sex with previously. HUNTER: He'd been watching Mason's hips, half his attention on the music and half on the action, but that comment caused him to glance up with his eyebrow raised. Afraid? Come on. The last thing that Hunter felt about Mason was intimidation, even with his offensive power, and definitely not because of anything physical. They were the same height and he was pretty sure he could hold his own against Mason in a fight. He could definitely hold his own against Mason dancing. Reaching out, he slid his hand up Mason's chest to grip his shoulder and leaned in to speak into his ear. "Not afraid. Trust me." Pub night wasn't too crowded and crazy compared to the previous week, but it was busy enough that Hunter didn't feel like people were staring at the two guys dancing. Don, sure, but if Mason was really worried about that, he wouldn't have challenged him, right? He turned with the music, letting the beat guide his timing, and eased in close enough that he could feel Mason's chest against his back. His fingers found Mason's hip, caught hold to brace himself. When he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine it was Vic's breath on his neck as he rolled his body along his dance partner's. At least this time he wasn't going to say the wrong name out loud. MASON: "Good. I'm not friends with pussies." He needed people in his life to challenge him. It made things difficult and messy, but ultimately helped make for more well-rounded individuals. It was certainly less boring as well. "They really don't do much for me," Mason laughed at his own "double entendre", breathless from all the moving he was doing. When Hunter turned his back towards him, Mason's hands trailed over Hunter's body. Mason was a particularly physical person when it came to dancing with somebody, especially when he had a nice buzz going. To him the act was innocent, just two friends interacting in this way for no other reason than to just have a good time. It pulled the usual so-where-is-this-going sexual tension out of it. "I'm pretty sure that your friends are going to kill me for corrupting you with my awfulness." Things were somewhat civil with Victor, but Daisy definitely still held a grudge against him. HUNTER: There wasn't much left in the way of sexual tension between them, true, but that didn't mean Hunter was entirely unaffected. Innocent or not, dancing was already an act that stirred something in him, and he reacted to Mason's hands running over him like he would any kind of intimate touch. It felt good. Moving like this felt good. He didn't have many opportunities to feel like this anymore. At the very least, Mason was still doing him some kind of favor. Hazily, he wondered what it would be like if Don didn't hate him. Maybe this night could have a different ending. "Fuck that," he exhaled in response to Mason's last statement as he tried to shake off the mental image. "Too late to corrupt me. And," he paused for a moment as he dropped down a bit and rose up against Mason again, "I pick my own friends." If Mason ever seriously hurt someone he cared about, he would reconsider their friendship, but so far their connection had lasted the various bumps along the road. VIC: By the bar, Vic was watching this scene unfold with a wary glare. He still wasn't on good terms with Hunter -- far from it -- but he still unconsciously made a point to be aware of Hunter's general location at all times. The three drink tickets had been exchanged for straight shots earlier in the evening. A year ago, three shots of anything would've perhaps made him tipsy at the most. But that was before months of detention followed by months of limited access to alcohol. Now, it was enough to have him buzzing. His reaction to Hunter dropping it like it was hot on Mason would've been less than pleasant even before they'd hooked up and without any help from alcohol. But they were living in a post-tryst world and Vic was blasted -- and his average negative reaction was amplified ten fold. His fists clenched at his sides as fantasies of soaring over and knocking poor Mason into a wall played out in his mind. A rational Vic would've been aware he didn't actually hate Mason, but in that moment, there was no one he loathed more. Why Hunter had picked him to dance with was beyond him. Was this retaliation for Laurel? Was this really fucking necessary? Scoffing, he finally pushed himself off the bar and made his way through the crowd of dancers, shoving past couples as he made a beeline for his target. Shouldn't Donovan be breaking this up? Surely he couldn't have been too keen on the idea of his boyfriend pop, lock, and dropping it with someone he'd already hooked up with. "Hunter," he said, looking past his best friend to give Mason the most dubious look he could muster. "I need to talk to you. Outside." MASON: Well, wasn't that one of the least surprising surprises ever? Mason leaned into Hunter when the barrio boy made his appearance to break the miniature gay dance party up. "See? I told you!" He just laughed, not bothered by Victor coming in at all. Honestly it was better than fucking Daisy making an appearance. Laughlin's response to that would be far less jovial. "Why hello there Victor, have you come to join us?" The corner of his mouth twitched when he asked that, far too pleased with himself for asking that question. Had he not drunken those two Adios Motherfuckers he definitely wouldn't be taunting the super-strongman like that. Honestly, he found the whole thing rather silly. Did Victor have to pick this moment to talk to him, when Hunter had actually let himself go enough to have a good time? Mason didn't think so. There was plenty of time for the straight police to block out this Double Rainbow. HUNTER: Vic's sudden appearance killed whatever sense of abandon he'd been enjoying a moment ago. Mason was laughing and teasing, but Hunter felt the air leave his lungs and guilt seeped in instead as he slowed his movements until he was nearly still again. Vic looked cool and aloof, but he knew how to read his friend better than anyone: there was tension in the way he held his shoulders, and maybe even a flash of anger underneath the scorn in his eyes. He needed to say something, intervene and pull Vic away from here in the middle of pub night before Mason's smart mouth and Vic's anger could spark a real fight. Biting his lip, he stepped away and shot Mason an apologetic glance for abandoning him. "Yeah, sure," he murmured to Vic, barely audible. And to Mason: "Thanks for the dance. I'll..." See him later? No. Around? Too vague. "Yeah." He grabbed Vic's arm to steer him towards the door, letting go once he felt relatively sure that Vic wasn't about to go back and show Mason what his fists thought of that joke. Outside, it was almost as hot as inside, even at night. He didn't feel more clear-headed, but at least the sound and the noise was behind them, shut out by the door to the warehouse as it swung closed. Hunter was silent as they walked further away, wandering between the buildings to make sure they weren't near any stray couples, but they didn't go too far before Hunter slowed and stopped, turning to lean against the warehouse behind him. "Sorry," he sighed. "Mason was just trying to cheer me up." VIC: Being outside didn't do much to make him feel more clear-headed either, but at least he wasn't in close proximity to Mason, who had been mere moments away from having to deal with Vic lunging at him. He didn't think he was angry at Hunter, he was just -- angry. The sight of them together had caused his stomach to bottom out, replaced by an an intense jealousy unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. He knew he had no right to feel this way. They weren't together, they weren't even speaking. But that didn't stop him from exploding as soon as Hunter started talking, his voice low but harsh. "Mason?" he asked incredulously, his dark eyes searching Hunter's face for some explanation that would stop this feeling from eating away at him. The one he'd given wasn't sufficient. "Fucking Mason? I don't get you. He was a dick to you, you told me so yourself, but as soon as the opportunity presents itself, you want to go and -- you know I can't stand that asshole." The unstated was apparent by the way Vic's voice trembled with anger, the way his chest heaved with barely restrained anger: he couldn't stand Mason when he was around Hunter, publicly interacting with him in a way Vic couldn't. He was planted a safe distance away -- there were real couples skulking around, after all -- but he was filled with a desire to close that distance. Not to kiss him, although the temptation was always there, but simply so he could wrap his arms around him, anchor him there and keep him from leaving, only to resume their mutual cold shouldering. HUNTER: Vic couldn't close the distance between them, but Hunter did. He didn't feel like he could stop himself. Reaching out, he rested his hand on Vic's chest, his fingers spreading against his shirt, the thrum of Vic's heart under his palm. He was quiet. As much as he knew Vic didn't like Mason, he could read that this went deeper than a simple dislike of some guy. How could he not? He knew that feeling so fucking well, it was like looking into a mirror. That choking rage, the shock of fear and distrust and defeat that wrenched his stomach from its place, a dizzying loss of control over his feelings -- he knew what it was like to freeze in place because if he moved at all, he might scream at Vic to stop, just stop doing this to him. "I'm sorry," he said softly. Not for dancing with Mason, of all people, because they were friends and he wasn't apologetic about that. But for making him feel that way? Yes. "I wasn't trying to..." Hurt Vic, but he wasn't sure that Vic would be able to handle admitting those sentiments in the first place and he didn't want to put his own feelings out there like that, not yet. Not with everything else going on. "I just wanted to dance and he was there." Vic would never dance with him in public at pub night, not in a million years. Not without a girl like Elsa between them for security. His gaze was fixed on his hand, not Vic's face. There was still some anger lingering in his own chest; he wanted to shove at him at the same time as wanting to pull him closer by his shirt. His hand dug into the fabric. But it wasn't anger at Vic for being an asshole. It was anger at the impossibility of the facts, the difficulty of it all. Feeling like he was just banging his fists against glass that had slammed down between them. "Fuck, Vic," he ground out through his clenched jaw, his voice ragged from the internal turmoil. "I fucking miss you." VIC: His expression immediately softened; that was what he needed to hear. "Yeah." His gaze lowered to the hand on his chest, his head slightly cocked to the side as his heart thudded away, a small part of him wondering what he would say if someone spotted them. Nothing came to mind. Vic thought of Karim's post -- the younger boy was running around somewhere with camera in hand. Under normal circumstances, that image would've been enough to make him pull away. But he did miss Hunter, in ways he couldn't bring himself to articulate. He was rooted to the spot, fixed beneath Hunter's palm, and although he was the all the physical strength, in that moment it felt like Hunter was the one holding all the cards. His jealousy hadn't completely subsided, though. He could still see Mason and Hunter grinning and moving against each other every time he closed his eyes -- the thought was a kick to the stomach. He wanted to be angry, to keep railing against Mason, to tell Hunter what he really thought of the telekinetic -- but then he remembered Laurel and the previous pub night. Another wave of anger crashed over him, but now it was directed at himself. He'd done the same fucking thing. He did the same fucking thing all the time, in fact, in front of Hunter, on the network, behind closed doors, he flirted and fucked girls and repeated the process with little thought of how it affected the person he cared about the most. He only thought about what he wanted. He only thought about what he had to do to seem normal. "I don't fucking know what to do, man," he admitted, finally looking up to catch Hunter's gaze. "I can't -- I'm not like you. I can't be like that, you know why. But --" After checking to make sure there was no Karim (or anyone else) in sight, Vic moved his own hand up to cover Hunter's, briefly. "I can't give you up, either." HUNTER: He wished he knew what was going through Vic's mind as he stood there silently, waiting to hear what he was going to do next. But he felt a little warmer just knowing that Vic missed him, that their fight wasn't the long, slow death of what they'd started over break -- and being able to see it on Vic's face. The hardest part was waiting. He'd waited so fucking long for so many of these moments to happen; he would ruin them by being careless. He just wanted to reach forward with his free hand and pull Vic's face to him and kiss him, slowly and deeply and thoroughly until doubt was irrelevant and the other people figments of their imagination, shadows in the background. The urge got even stronger when Vic spoke again. He swallowed hard, frowned and bit his lip rather than release a heavy breath of relief or a choked sound of happiness -- and shook his head. "I know you're not me." That was one of the best things about their relationship: for all the things they had in common, there were just as many things that made them different. Yet they still understood each other. "I'm not asking you to be like me. I'm not asking you for much, man. I know." He did slide his hand up Vic's chest then, curving his fingers around the side of his friend's neck. It was still intimate, but at least from a distance, slightly less obtrusive than touching his face. "I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend or some shit. You don't have to tell the world, you don't have to tell your family, you don't have to tell anyone you don't want to. I'm not asking you to fucking hold my hand or give me Valentine's Day presents or anything." Hunter drew a sharp breath, still staring straight at him. "All I want is to have you for myself. To -- have you in my bed every fucking night and get to wake up next to you again like we did at the motel. I want to be yours." VIC: Another long silence stretched between them as he pulled away, quietly considering Hunter's words. Victor mindlessly kicked a little at the dirt, wondering if he was too drunk or not drunk enough to have this conversation. It was difficult to process -- Hunter didn't want him to be his boyfriend, but he wanted to be his? What the fuck was the difference, really? Maybe Hunter simply meant he wasn't interested in relationship labels, but it was still a relationship. It wasn't the titles that worried him, it was the idea of this permanent shift in the status quo, forever tied to Hunter and Hunter alone, up until the day something horrible happened and it all came crashing down. Friendship: destroyed. More importantly, Hunter's emotional state: crushed. And there it was. The other reason Victor Reyes was unwilling to toss girls aside and fully commit to Hunter MacKenna aside from the very obvious, the real reason he kept vacillating on what to do: if they got together, officially jumped from 'best friends with benefits' to 'couple', Victor could never leave him. It sounded dramatic, even now while he was drunk, but he didn't see how it wasn't true. It wasn't casual dating, they would be together for the foreseeable future -- and if Vic left Hunter for any reason (and it would be Vic leaving Hunter, undoubtedly), it would probably break him. It wasn't that Vic thought he himself would handle a fissure between the two of them well, but Hunter was an emotionally volatile person. It would be -- well, he didn't want to think about it. Bad. Nightmarishly bad. Maybe Vic was at the perfect level of drunkenness for this. If he was any drunker, he would have pushed Hunter against the wall already, his hands going straight for the other boy's belt; more sober, and he walked away as soon as Hunter had started talking about what he want from him. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair, his expression rueful. "I need more time," he said at last. "I need to... think about things. I can't do that right now, but... I can stop with the girls til shit gets straightened out." Vic blinked. "Goddamn phrasing. Not like -- you know what I mean." HUNTER: He let his hand fall back to his side when Vic pulled away. Gay, straight -- they were only twenty. Committing to anyone at their age was incomprehensible for some people. For guys like them, usually. But here he was, standing in front of his best friend, knowing that he was asking for something bigger than either of them had ever considered. Neither of them had ever had a serious relationship, and he wasn't even asking Vic to try dating him long-term. He'd thought about this before now -- rationally, he knew, it was asking a lot, not to mention something he wasn't even sure was possible. People changed a lot at their age. His own parents had gotten married too young and stayed together for all the wrong reasons, and they'd tortured each other with their immaturity for his entire childhood: he didn't want to make the mistake of thinking that he was better than them, somehow, while he went and made all the same bad decisions. If they grew apart, well, he was prepared to accept that. He wasn't expecting miracles. And yet...standing there, even promising Vic that he would never have to call Hunter his boyfriend or tell his parents what they really were, he was still asking Vic to let him in and never let him go. Hunter laughed despite himself at Vic's choice of words, but it was a quiet, dry laugh. There wasn't much he could do now either. Vic needed more time. He needed to wait. "Okay," he was nodding. "All right." It was as good of an offer as he was going to get. It meant something to know that Vic was going to give up girls, at least. Vic wasn't going to keep flirting with them and dancing with them and rubbing it in his face. He didn't have to just get over how it felt to see him with Laurel, or Lo, or Vi, or any of the other wide range of girls available to him. Vic knew what it felt like now. Stepping back and pushing away from the wall, he slid his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't try to reach for Vic again. "I'll wait for you to figure it out. No bullshit from me, either." No sexy dancing with Mason. No going to Edwin to see if he was up for a distraction. No flirting. VIC: "Good," he replied, not missing a beat. Things would be hard enough without having to watch Hunter make eyes at every handsome guy that gave him the time of day. Vic didn't know what he was going to tell his regular hook ups, what excuse he would come up with that wouldn't hint at the truth, but as he studied Hunter, really took in the features he'd grown to appreciate so much, he knew it was something that had to be done. He had to figure out what to do so they could move forward, even if that meant a rather difficult sacrifice. The muted sounds from Pub Night hummed around them, bits of laughter and loud music, and Victor found himself feeling bold. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the sentiments that had been exchanged. After he was absolutely certain there was no one around, especially certain someones with cameras, he reached out to pull Hunter forward, cupping his cheek as he kissed him slowly, thoroughly, deeply. It was so different from the first kiss they'd shared, all frantic and rushed with electrifying carnality, but this was almost better. There were clear, unmistakable romantic intentions in this -- a little something to let Hunter know he was serious. He was always better with actions rather than words. When he pulled away, he stayed close, his nose grazing Hunter's as his mouth pulled back into a grin. "Someone's been doing whiskey shots," he teased. "Wanna see if I can get some more drink tickets off some girl?" HUNTER: It was hard to think after being kissed like that. His only saving grace was that his hands were still stuck in his pockets and couldn't be yanked out gracefully or fast enough to reach for Vic, to drag him or shove him back against the wall. Still, he was fuzzy and incoherent by the time Vic spoke again, and he could really only nod again in response to Vic's words, both his statement and his question. What he really wanted to do was fuck Pub Night, forget it, just stay here and let Vic keep kissing him like that. Or wrestle his way past the buttons on Vic's jeans... This didn't solve everything, though. Whatever he wanted, Vic was asking for time. Vic needed to figure things out. And as much as Hunter wanted him to hurry up and get to the only conclusion that mattered, he wasn't going to do that if Hunter was distracting him with the good parts and not making him deal with the difficult side -- coming out, handling the consequences, trying to figure out how to make them work in a place like IVI. "Yeah," he said at last, his voice lower and a little cloudy with fading lust, "let's go." And he smiled, crookedly, as he stepped back, his eyes on the prize. Vic. Someone who, maybe, he could have at the end of all of this. His spirit wanted to soar inside him. If only he would let it. Then he turned and led the way back to the crowded warehouse. |