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fuck marry kill

FUCK, MARRY, KILL

welcome to GAME NIGHT at DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES. the game on the docket? FUCK, MARRY, KILL. the rules are simple: roll the game picker wheel three times or just pick three as you'd like, dropping the names in your header comment — icly we'll say they picked they names out of a hat. people respond, comment around, get into fist fights, kiss a little? thread hop and react as you see fit!
(meme threads can be considered canon!)

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I read the pamphlet. [and that's all he has to say there, several drinks in and arms stretched out along the booth.] Its overwhelmingly verbose. Though, I suppose any marriage I get myself into would have an element of me being the dumb, pretty one, so that tracks.

[fondly, eye-crinkly-warm:] Not doing the world the disservice of offing you, though, Bob, sorry not sorry.

C’mon, [ waving his hand, ] you gotta be good at math and stocks and stuff. [ thinking hard. ] The trades?

[ corry’s job is as much of a mystery to bob as people who seem to be full time vampires and werewolves. bob drags his gesturing hand back through his hair, sheepish but pleased. ]

But — okay, okay. Guess you’ll be stuck with me a while.

[ on account of not dying and being lawfully wed. ]

[corry laughs, the sound looser, more relaxed after several old-fashioneds, flashing a grin up at bob.] You think I'm not immediately retiring now that you've made an honest man of me? I'm leaving the rat race and becoming a trophy husband, thank you very much.

[a beat, then corry drums his fingers lightly on the back of the booth, flicking his eyes to the seat beside him.] You headin' out or planning to stay a while?

[no wrong answer; bob has a life, has people here, and corry’s an unknown entity for most. being seen leaving the auction hall is a little more plausibly deniable than canoodling in a booth, after all -- if bob doesn't want questions, corry will remain a perfect gentleman in public. he already has a behind-closed-doors guarantee, after all.]

Hope you got money saved, because I have negative dollars in my bank account and the promise of a government salary, if I’m of service to American interests when the aliens invade.

[ which seems debatable, at this stage of his super-training. he sways little on the spot, following the pull of corry’s gaze before sliding in beside him. near enough to touch but not quite committing to it. instead, he tugs at the collar of his burgundy knit. ducks his head. ]

[ voice low enough that only corry (and the supernaturally enhanced) can hear it, ] I don’t really like the game. [ when a lot of people are taking it seriously — personally. maybe it’s impossible not to. ] But I’ll probably stay. A bit. Keep an eye on things.

[ to watch embry, to watch ani; separate tasks that intersect unpleasantly. ]

Oh, so I’m a trophy husband and a sugar daddy? [corry whistles low, shaking his head in amazement.] I really can do it all, huh?

Y’know, I always wondered what the contingency plan was for friendly aliens. [bob sits beside him and corry keeps his outstretched arms where they are, spread along the back of the booth, close enough that the shy, fidgety movements have the loose, silky ends of a couple curls brushing just against the inside of one wrist. corry huffs out a laugh, turns his hand just slightly, just so the next head-duck, the next sway has the side of his thumb brushing against the back of bob’s neck.] Or sexy ones.

[then, glancing around the room, he nods, settles his hand, the warmth of his body enough to feel (perhaps even more so, enhanced senses and all) but not touching, not yet.] Given me a decent crash course in who’s who. But I’m a terrible participant, being as I know maybe…four people here.

[a laugh, soft, rumbling:] Part of me wants to know what the story is for some people, and another thinks I’m better off not knowing. [his eyes cut towards embry, ani, hawk, a few other clusters of people.] Minding my own business might be a fun new thing to try.

Uh-huh. [ the relentless horny optimism does astound. ] Probably the same plan they have for friendly, sexy citizens.

[ pointing at himself, and that’s on government experimentation. bob laughs a little. shifts with that hand at his neck, leaning toward, not away. one of these is significantly easier than the others to explain — and yet he only tightens up when it’s embry. mumbles a fucking asshole at saber and his tiger. gets in a two-fingered cranking gesture re: homelander. a shrug, at any of notable participants in vampire drama. ]

You took Tim home the night after you got me, right? You’re caught in the least open [ finger quotes. ] “open relationship” crossfire until one of ‘em decides it’s not hot to be jealous anymore. [ aha. ] Not sure sounding like you’re gonna cry will work, from your angle of approach. Or with your whole. [ a little smile. ] Your thing.

[ smug horndog won’t sell kicked puppy so good. ]

The other stuff — ten times more loaded. I recommended not knowing and not picking a side while you still can.

[ as the current middle of the road mvp, having been run over by embry, backed over by ani, and run over by embry again on the next lap, just to be sure he fuckin’ felt it. ]

[corry nods solemnly at the point, looking bob up and down with a look that isn’t quite lecherous, but definitely lingers, unhurried.] Rocking bod, big doe eyes, government contract. Makes sense to me.

[when bob leans back, just a bit, corry resumes the gentle stroke up and down of his thumb, along the side of his neck, expression softening momentarily. it’s not the bold claiming grip he’d had at the auction hall, but it’s unflinching, the opposite of hesitant. one knee tips slightly beneath the table, bumps bob’s gentle, brief. he watches the summary, quietly notes bob’s reaction to the relative strangers, who warrants a verbal reaction and who just a vague hand gesture or shrug. no conclusions drawn, just information gathered.]

Two nights after. Had my soul sucked out of me, if you remember. [thumb and finger tugging light at a strand of bob’s hair, smiling sideways.] Need a day to recover from that, at my age. [but then, sobering at the blunt (and, from what he’s gathered, intensely accurate) description of what he’s stumbled into.] Mmm, just my luck. Wouldn’t be the first time, at least.

[then, amused, angling towards bob, corry repeats, another tug of a loose curl, :] “My thing”. Please explain what “my thing” is, Mr. Reynolds. [his hand settles back on the booth, this time close enough that the slightest lean back will nudge the warm palm up at the base of bob’s neck, settle casual, heavy.] Noted. Appreciate the warning. I’d like to remain Switzerland as long as possible.

[he means it, too – thus far there are a very scant few people who corry cares about maintain good terms with, and one’s sitting right next to him. if minding his business perpetuates that, he’ll learn to live with curiosity.]

[ bob decides he'll take doe eyes over dog eyes any day, even if the combination of that, the attention, and corry's description of what happened the night they spent together makes him flush. this feels nice with corry, easier than it is with a lot of people. less pressure to have the singular, correct answer at the ready, with someone confident in who they are, disinterested in twisting his words one way or the other. he nudges corry's shoe with his own, as he gathers himself. ]

Your thing is a little more... [ his smile sneaks out the corner of his mouth. a tip of his head back sets him snug against corry's broad palm. ] You come on stronger than I do. [ quickly, ] Than I usually do. [ horny collar not withstanding. ] I can get away with, ah. [ a nebulous gesture. ] People don't really think I'm doing anything on purpose.

[ whether they believe that because he's emotional or unintelligent varies, he thinks, but it amounts to the same thing. and that's — fine. mostly. he sighs with the sweep of corry's fingers along his neck. ]

[ brows up, a teensy bit challenging. ] I'm probably not.

[ :) ]

[sitting side-by-side, hand settled at the base of bob's neck, corry's in a perfect position to watch the gentle spread of blushing over his cheeks, feel the warmth of it beneath his palm. he wants to lean in, nose against it, chase the spread of pinkish wherever it ends up -- splashed across bob's collarbone, ebbing down his chest, over his shoulders -- but he refrains, for the moment.

instead he squeezes gently, barely noticeable, thumb shifting up, down, minute movements that are felt more than seen, and listens with a half-smile to the description of his thing.]

I was tragically born without subtlety, that's true. [a little nudge back, his knee, his shoe, contact pinging onetwothree, neck knee toe. glancing, not lingering, not dragged out, but collected into touch, touch, touch.] It's a mixed bag of results, too, I have to say -- some people like the directness. [some people, another squeeze of his hand.

and then bob's eyebrows quirk up and he smiles in that sweet, guileless, earnest way and corry's eyes go warm, crinkling in genuine amusement, palm dragged up under the long, loose flop of bob's hair, cradling at the nape for a beat.] "Probably" not? So -- the way I suddenly wanna steal you away from here is completely on me, and nothing intentional on your part? S'that what you're saying?

[ bob looses another short laugh in answer to corry’s not quite self-deprecation. reflective by nature, he often gives back what he receives (which has been so little for so long). under corry’s care, he blossoms, put at ease by corry’s self-assuredness. proof of interest and affection in the steady stroke of his fingers. every extra touch and slight push toward greater intimacy accepted, appreciated, mirrored. as if on command, bob’s lashes stutter with the pressure at his nape. ]

Some people. [ he scoots closer, bringing them into alignment, hip to knee to toe. the slight turn of his head toward corry nearly shifts the edge of bob’s jaw into his hand. nearly. (the directness makes everything easier, for one prone to second-guessing. it’s part of why he likes yelena and bucky so much, when there’s never a question as to where they stand.) ]

Uh-huh, I’m just. [ looking that teensy bit up at him. ] Minding my own business, y’know.

[it's the sort of slow unfolding that would ostensibly make a man like corry impatient, frustrated -- especially compared with the wanton, no-holds-barred recklessness of bob in the collar, bob in his bed, bob beneath him. bob-now is the soft, fidgety hesitation corry had only glimpsed before made manifest, caution in the shape of a man, coaxed out piecemeal, inch by inch.

but the brash, arrogant, heedless man corry appears to be softens too, at the little nudge closer, at the way bob softens like snow under sunlight, every little touch, little affection thawing further. unfurling green things, crocus and daffodils, metaphors that corry abandons in favor of the satisfaction, the triumph of that long line of contact, hip and knee and thigh and calf. it feels earned, and the graze of corry’s thumb where bob's jaw and neck meet is firmer, bolder, lingering with affection.]

Some people. [repeated again, softer, and they're in a crowded restaurant full of people but corrg doesn't look anywhere else, open, warm fondness in his dark eyes, in how his thumb strokes up, traces the back of one ear, taking his sweet time.]

Ah, minding your own business, I see. [ducking closer, even though nobody can overhear, even though supersenses make it unnecessary, still teasing fingertips against the side of bob's neck --] No plots inside this clever head of yours? No machinations whatsoever? [he doesn't quite nuzzle against bob's temple, doesn’t press his mouth where those bright, unknowable thoughts rest, but he does, he does think about it.] Don't know if I buy it, sweetheart.

Mm. [ acknowledgement. almost appreciation, lips pressed tight to keep any more obviously contented sounds from slipping out. a temporary, decidedly imperfect fix, with corry’s fingers dragging along his ear, finding the hinge of his jaw, tracing the same, hypnotic patterns along his throat (uncollared, invulnerable, and yet —) until he sighs sweet all over again. the cumulative effect makes him altogether soft, malleable in corry’s hands.

he stretches an arm outward, palm pressed against the lip of the table, fingers flexing. anything to take the edge off. to keep from touching corry back. ]

Plots, he says. [ drumming the table lightly now, considering. ] Machinations. [ his smile returns despite his efforts. ] How about — Some thoughts. Collar-me was the real ideas man, but… [ much to think about. ] I said I was staying though, right? To keep an eye on things.

[ on embry and ani, hawk and saber, twenty different terrible combinations in action. none of them his problem, exactly, except that he cares so very much. nevermind that it’s exhausting, spreading him thin in a way he never thought plenty could. ]

[to say there isn't the slightest bit of triumph in watching bob's hand settle on the table, knuckles whitening slightly, flexing to redirect attention -- a belated, moot point, because that soft, shivery sigh is still echoing in the air between them -- would be a blatant lie. corry considers redoubling his efforts, following the trail of his fingers with his mouth, and based on how close he is when he exhales warm and bemused, it'd be an easy thing.

but he shifts away slightly, watches bob's attention divided among people corry doesn't know, doesn't care to, feeling the tension build where neck and shoulder meet. and that's where he ends up dropping his hand, sliding back down and thumbing slow circles into trapezius, kneading more firmly than before.] You did. You work too hard.

[lightly teasing, because bob hasn't had to do anything except watch (and bodily carry one chair to the other side of the dining area with seat occupant still present, and if corry says that had zero effect on him, he's lying). but there's no venom in it, no scorn -- if anything, corry sounds impressed.] Collar-Bob had less filter, I think, but. [taptap against the side of bob's neck until those fretful eyes flick back over to him.] Regular-Bob's got some good ideas too, I'm willing to bet.

[another of those crinkle-eyed grins, warm, melty-soft.] Either way, you know where to find me, after closing time. If that's part of your machinations.

[ even when he thinks on this later, bob can’t imagine why corry would be so nice to him now, when his effort goes beyond the obvious (horny) reasons. why he would listen and soothe and assure when bob has already indicated that interest would be enough. maybe he’s a nicer guy than he claims (bob thinks as much already). he’s definitely a smarter one, aware of what bob is comfortable with, when surrounded by his friends. in the end, he won’t question any of it aloud — though his wide, ever blinking eyes might ask for him.

regular-bob’s got some good ideas, too. it’s a nice way of looking at things, phrased in a way that even bob, in all his self-deprecation, decides to try that lens. it’s what he said himself, isn’t it? positioning the collar in the same role as the serum, something that makes you more, well, you. ]

Might be. [ smile evening, more confident. he doesn’t look away again, basking in corry’s full grin. something real. something wonderful. ] Think the point of machinations is you never, uh, know. So. [ robert reynolds, man of mystery… ] You’ll have to wait and see.

[later, perhaps, corry will think the same thing -- he can coast on interest and attention, his two currencies, the only two he needs. affection, listening, the near-chaste touches he's allowed himself here, surrounded by the life bob's already built -- none of that is necessary. none of it is a requirement in the dynamic they've set up.

and yet: there it is anyway. maybe because of the nature of their first meeting, something beyond corry's understanding -- compulsion and magic and superheroes and a house that wants you to hurt. maybe because bob wanted to see him after, period, when he had every right not to.

maybe just the fact: when he smiles downward, genuine, warm, bob smiles back.

whatever it is, he'll think about it later.] Ah, leave them wanting more. Know what that makes you, Bobby, baby? [corry squeezes bob's shoulder once more, leans in as he shifts to get out of the booth and murmurs low, rumbling, the bedroom baritone that's been absent all evening:] A goddamn tease.

[then he's up, away, gone, without looking back, the ghost of every touch he didn't allow himself contained in that last word, amusement and affection and delight enough to carry him until they next time they meet.]

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