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marigoldflame2012-04-01 07:47 pm
veira) wrote in marigoldflame2012-04-01 07:47 pm
Entry tags:
carrera
World: MSPA; Homestuck; GABBERstuck
Characters: Dirk, Roxy, Jake
Wordcount: 2402
Summary: Jake and Dirk do a lot of coke and Roxy tries to get in the middle of that. Plus some plot.
Muzz Buzz
They stay longer than ten hours. Ten hours is impossible when the bar is so dead from lack of sales that Roxy comes out from behind the counter and tops off Jake's tequila every time he drinks a finger of it. She's perched with her ass halfway on the sticky edge of the table, grinning her deranged red grin as the two of them talk guns and firearms in the weird alternate language only an expert at something is literate in. It's bullshit. Dirk sits back watching them, watching as Roxy caresses the sweet filigreed curves of Jake's favorite pistol like it's a cock instead of a metaphor for one. The ring of ultimate destruction inlayed with gold. She leans over just that little bit farther so Jake can see down the slack neckline of her fraying red-and-gold silk sari as she pours more booze. She's shit at traditional dress. The eye-searing neon rave pink of her cheap bikini top clashes with everything, no blouse to speak of. Pink matching panties where she should have petticoats down to her ankles. She's showing too much leg, too much curvy ass, too much of her lack of cleavage, too much of that sexy deranged grin to pull off the look she's going for. And Jake just eats it up like it's candy.
Dirk should be enjoying it, but he's not. He hasn't seen Roxy in months and even if she's a lewd bag of issues, she's the closest thing he has to an emotional partner. Part of him wants her to sit across his lap instead, pour the booze so he can listen to her unload all the gossip she soaks up as easily as breathing. She's a databank as much as she's a business owner, and sometimes when they're both high and she's told him every little bit of what she knows, he'll give her a few new chords of the song of his heart in honest exchange. It's how she knows everything about him. It's how she knows he is consumed with jealous lust and trying not to show it as she flirts with Jake like she knows she's going to get laid tonight.
"How did Crocker look?" he asks, changing the subject from guns to something he knows more about than Jake does. Get the conversation to focus on him instead. There's no ice in Jake's glass or Dirk would consider accidentally tipping it into his lap. Their relationship isn't exclusive—that's impossible in this day and age—but Dirk is a jealous asshole and both of them know it. Sometimes Jake does this kind of thing on purpose just to drive him crazy, and as much as he hates it, he also finds it hot.
Roxy hesitates for a moment, giving Dirk a mean glare at the cockblock before she leans back, tapping her toe to the music. "Who?"
"Jane Crocker?"
"Oh, the gumshoe girl!" She laughs to herself and swirls her martini glass, warm tequila red with paan backwash. "Really cute. Got the advantage of bein' shorter than me, so it's easier to hang off her and hold her attention. Great ass! Really great. I'd totally like to see it out of the stuffy fuckin' sheriff pantsuit thingie she wears all the time. Janey tightass, they call her. Or I do. Whatever, same thing. I am the gossip."
Dirk sighs as Jake snickers to himself, eyeing him. "I know she's hot. I've seen her. How was she?"
"You should have asked that, dummy." She sits up straighter, resettling the fabric of her sari so for a moment she actually does look like the goddess of wealth instead of a copycat whore. "I dunno, she seemed fine to me. And fine as in okay, and not as in sexy as fuck, because you don't want to hear about that for some reason." They both roll their eyes at once and Jake enjoys the show. "Sorta raccoon circles under her eyes. Looked tired, actually. Harried? She wouldn't let go of her shotgun for a second and I think I saw her carrying a red fork thing as a weapon? Like a fireplace poker. Or a trident," she says with a mean smirk, watching him.
He's worn a silver trident around his neck for the past five years. A totem. A token given to him by someone after they mutually saved each others' lives back in a very bad patch of the zombie infestation.
"You didn't follow up on this?" he asks, holding up the scrap of paper with Jane's apartment number on it, his thumb pressed over the tentacleTherapist's name to conceal it.
Roxy shrugs. "I stopped by her place once, but not to ask about the voodoo drug. Had other things in mind if you know what I mean?" She winks that saucy wink. "Sometimes a girl just wants to get her flirt on, but Sheriff Tightass wasn't havin' any of that. She nearly shot me. Rude!"
"Voodoo drug?" Jake asks, suddenly composed instead of staring at Roxy's chest. "You mean the Tears of Oglogoth?" And his voice goes grave and wary in the way Dirk had hoped it wouldn't, because Jake English does not trust anyone with connections to the zombie vector.
"Chill," Dirk says, setting a hand on his shoulder as Jake eyes his gun. "I said you could trust her. Roxy does not deal Tears. Crocker is straight-laced as they come. She's investigating it, not selling it out the back of her apartment."
"If I dealt Tears I would be chewin' on your kidneys by now," Roxy offers, reaching out to trace her fingertip slowly down Jake's tanned arm. The kind of apology only Roxy could invent and manage to make work. "Also, I wouldn't be me. And I wouldn't need to wear this get-up on the off chance it'd keep my profits from fuckin' plummeting every month. The zombies need the drug to live and this is a zombie free town. I'm keepin' it that way. Don't want my bouncer turning one day and deciding to eat the emotions I've got trapped in my organs. Sooooo not doing that."
Jake nods, glad to accept that explanation. He's let Roxy play him like a fiddle tonight and he likes her for all her weird ways, for the gun talk and the booze and the curve of her ass she very obviously wants him to notice. His trust is back in her shitty leaky basket, but he's got issues with the zombies, memories he hasn't even told Dirk everything about yet. They've been traveling together for nine months and for as much as Jake talks, parts of him are still a mystery. He wants the drug gone, the zombies gone, a hatred so black it's a vendetta. Dirk hates it too, but not like that. His is a simmering punk rage, not a personal burning forest fire. Jake is all driven emotion there. It's the hottest, most fascinating thing Dirk has ever seen, and if he needs to construct a scenario that will keep Jake at his side the whole way to revolution against the drug lord, he will bend over backward to do so.
"So you have a lead," Jake says finally, looking up and meeting Dirk's eye. He smells a mystery, an adventure, and Jake is all about adventure. The mischievous spark is back in his gaze and Dirk likes that.
"Maybe."
"I swear, old chap, you get sexier every time I learn something new about you."
Roxy laughs, but Dirk kisses him then and there.
Later, when the customers leave and Roxy locks the doors up, she brings out the cocaine. Dirk does one line, Roxy does two. There's something incredibly provocative about the way Jake snorts a line of powder, something that says experience, and Dirk has always found that hot. Has always found Jake hot, and not just because of his skin and his hair and his rugged good looks, his shoulders and long legs and the active scent of him when the sun is shining down hard and there's zombie blood staining slowly into the leather of his hiking boots. Jake is an adventure. He's ready to try anything, and the more things they try, the less Jake comes off as a naïve island backwater hick. He's got experience in dirtier things than killing undead monsters. Roxy slips down into Jake's lap and rubs powder into his paan-crimson gums, both of them drunk and grinning and horny. She sticks her tongue down his throat, and Jake doesn't hesitate for a moment before he grabs a handful of her ass and kisses back.
"Knock it off," Dirk mutters as their hands start to wander, his boots up on the table. He hasn't been drinking nearly as much as they have, hasn't been doing the drugs as heavily. Jane Crocker's name and the tentacleTherapist are turning over in his brain, and as much as he wouldn't mind watching Jake and Roxy fuck right here in the bar, there are heavier things at stake.
Roxy hums a negative. Jake kisses her harder, waving Dirk over to join them. And Dirk rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, his head too full of splintering fractal plans. He goes to the piece-of-shit little bathroom, washes his face in the dim sodium lights and stares at his reflection around the crack in the grimy mirror. He'd expected Roxy to have news for him, but he hadn't expected this to fall into his lap. Hadn't expected to see Jane Crocker again, the first time in over a year. The trident around his neck sparkles in the light, a silver twin to the red letterhead on the scrap of paper in his pocket. Jane Crocker is the only person in the world who uses that brand of stationary anymore. She's also the only person who refuses to bow to his reputation, and he likes that. She wants to bring him in, try him for all the anarchy he's made into a lifestyle since the reactors went sour. The world hasn't been what it used to be for forty years, and still Jane Crocker drives a beat-up old Crown Victoria with red-and-blue lights on the roof. Still she wears a uniform she's too young to have worn before the apocalypse. She's a misplaced fossil, but for all that she refuses to change into a raving feral child like the rest of the world, she can still adapt like no one else. She uses everything at her disposal and more in the pursuit of the law and peace. That is the exact opposite of how Dirk conducts himself. He respects her more than anyone, and although he doesn't trust her with his freedom, he definitely trusts her with his life.
She's got information she's willing to share with him. Which means one of two things: either she wants to point the biggest threat she knows in the tentacleTherapist's direction, or she needs him at her side to help take this down. He has the excited sinking feeling in his belly that it's the latter.
Back in the bar, Roxy's sari is in a pile on the floor, her bikini top cast off with it. Jake is shirtless, kissing her deep as she palms his erection through his khakis. She must have gone dancing in the past few days because Kali's deep blue paint is still smeared streaky over her stomach and up the curve of her spine, the undersides of her breasts and all along her hipbones. Jake drags his fingers over every inch of it, that color his not-so-secret fetish and Roxy suddenly everything from his dreams.
It's hot. It's really hot. Dirk stands there against the bar for a moment, watching them and weighing options. Jake is his, but it would be lovely to just watch them go at it for an hour. Then Roxy winks at him, her tongue tracing Jake's jawline, and Dirk realizes that what he'd find hotter than anything would be dragging Jake out the door right now and leaving her to stew.
He'd said he didn't want to share.
"Enough of this bullshit." He hauls Roxy out of Jake's lap. She shrieks, dressed in just her pink lacy panties and blue paint. "Let's get out of here," he tells Jake, wincing at the pummeling of Roxy's death goddess fists.
For a second Jake looks as pissed as Roxy does, but then he gets up. As much as he wants Roxy, he wants Dirk more, and that's only one of the reasons Dirk is absolutely crazy about him. He looks stunning with his dick hard in those too-tight shorts. Dirk could bend him over the table right here, but their hotel is three buildings over and that's so close. Roxy stands there with her arms crossed, scowling at both of them.
"My apologies, miss, but I believe there is still such an archaic thing as relationships in this ass backwards world, and tonight Dirk does not want you in the middle of ours." He says it with a gentleman's smile, and that's so cute a part of Dirk's cold heart melts.
Roxy slaps Jake across the face and rolls her eyes, not really caring despite the attack. "Whatever. I'll fuck you later, Jake English, and it will be hot and Dirk won't be allowed in the goddamn room, and we will laugh at him over breakfast or some shit afterward. It's a fuckin' date, okay?"
Jake grins. "Sounds wonderful."
Dirk hauls him by the hand out the bar's doors, down the cracked asphalt of the road and through the orange pools of the streetlights. Jake's hand is larger than his, damp with Roxy's sweat and the texture of her body paint. He's grinning in the lamplight, his gums still bright red and his teeth perfect. Everything about him is perfect. The hotel foyer is empty when they stumble up the stairs together, kissing with tongue as Jake struggles to get the room key out of his pocket.
Inside the room, all the lights still off, Jake strips down to the skin and pulls Dirk down on the shitty bed with him. He struggles out of his clothes, Jake warm and smooth and more than ready underneath him, and it's a long few hours before either of them are exhausted enough to get any sleeping done.
Characters: Dirk, Roxy, Jake
Wordcount: 2402
Summary: Jake and Dirk do a lot of coke and Roxy tries to get in the middle of that. Plus some plot.
They stay longer than ten hours. Ten hours is impossible when the bar is so dead from lack of sales that Roxy comes out from behind the counter and tops off Jake's tequila every time he drinks a finger of it. She's perched with her ass halfway on the sticky edge of the table, grinning her deranged red grin as the two of them talk guns and firearms in the weird alternate language only an expert at something is literate in. It's bullshit. Dirk sits back watching them, watching as Roxy caresses the sweet filigreed curves of Jake's favorite pistol like it's a cock instead of a metaphor for one. The ring of ultimate destruction inlayed with gold. She leans over just that little bit farther so Jake can see down the slack neckline of her fraying red-and-gold silk sari as she pours more booze. She's shit at traditional dress. The eye-searing neon rave pink of her cheap bikini top clashes with everything, no blouse to speak of. Pink matching panties where she should have petticoats down to her ankles. She's showing too much leg, too much curvy ass, too much of her lack of cleavage, too much of that sexy deranged grin to pull off the look she's going for. And Jake just eats it up like it's candy.
Dirk should be enjoying it, but he's not. He hasn't seen Roxy in months and even if she's a lewd bag of issues, she's the closest thing he has to an emotional partner. Part of him wants her to sit across his lap instead, pour the booze so he can listen to her unload all the gossip she soaks up as easily as breathing. She's a databank as much as she's a business owner, and sometimes when they're both high and she's told him every little bit of what she knows, he'll give her a few new chords of the song of his heart in honest exchange. It's how she knows everything about him. It's how she knows he is consumed with jealous lust and trying not to show it as she flirts with Jake like she knows she's going to get laid tonight.
"How did Crocker look?" he asks, changing the subject from guns to something he knows more about than Jake does. Get the conversation to focus on him instead. There's no ice in Jake's glass or Dirk would consider accidentally tipping it into his lap. Their relationship isn't exclusive—that's impossible in this day and age—but Dirk is a jealous asshole and both of them know it. Sometimes Jake does this kind of thing on purpose just to drive him crazy, and as much as he hates it, he also finds it hot.
Roxy hesitates for a moment, giving Dirk a mean glare at the cockblock before she leans back, tapping her toe to the music. "Who?"
"Jane Crocker?"
"Oh, the gumshoe girl!" She laughs to herself and swirls her martini glass, warm tequila red with paan backwash. "Really cute. Got the advantage of bein' shorter than me, so it's easier to hang off her and hold her attention. Great ass! Really great. I'd totally like to see it out of the stuffy fuckin' sheriff pantsuit thingie she wears all the time. Janey tightass, they call her. Or I do. Whatever, same thing. I am the gossip."
Dirk sighs as Jake snickers to himself, eyeing him. "I know she's hot. I've seen her. How was she?"
"You should have asked that, dummy." She sits up straighter, resettling the fabric of her sari so for a moment she actually does look like the goddess of wealth instead of a copycat whore. "I dunno, she seemed fine to me. And fine as in okay, and not as in sexy as fuck, because you don't want to hear about that for some reason." They both roll their eyes at once and Jake enjoys the show. "Sorta raccoon circles under her eyes. Looked tired, actually. Harried? She wouldn't let go of her shotgun for a second and I think I saw her carrying a red fork thing as a weapon? Like a fireplace poker. Or a trident," she says with a mean smirk, watching him.
He's worn a silver trident around his neck for the past five years. A totem. A token given to him by someone after they mutually saved each others' lives back in a very bad patch of the zombie infestation.
"You didn't follow up on this?" he asks, holding up the scrap of paper with Jane's apartment number on it, his thumb pressed over the tentacleTherapist's name to conceal it.
Roxy shrugs. "I stopped by her place once, but not to ask about the voodoo drug. Had other things in mind if you know what I mean?" She winks that saucy wink. "Sometimes a girl just wants to get her flirt on, but Sheriff Tightass wasn't havin' any of that. She nearly shot me. Rude!"
"Voodoo drug?" Jake asks, suddenly composed instead of staring at Roxy's chest. "You mean the Tears of Oglogoth?" And his voice goes grave and wary in the way Dirk had hoped it wouldn't, because Jake English does not trust anyone with connections to the zombie vector.
"Chill," Dirk says, setting a hand on his shoulder as Jake eyes his gun. "I said you could trust her. Roxy does not deal Tears. Crocker is straight-laced as they come. She's investigating it, not selling it out the back of her apartment."
"If I dealt Tears I would be chewin' on your kidneys by now," Roxy offers, reaching out to trace her fingertip slowly down Jake's tanned arm. The kind of apology only Roxy could invent and manage to make work. "Also, I wouldn't be me. And I wouldn't need to wear this get-up on the off chance it'd keep my profits from fuckin' plummeting every month. The zombies need the drug to live and this is a zombie free town. I'm keepin' it that way. Don't want my bouncer turning one day and deciding to eat the emotions I've got trapped in my organs. Sooooo not doing that."
Jake nods, glad to accept that explanation. He's let Roxy play him like a fiddle tonight and he likes her for all her weird ways, for the gun talk and the booze and the curve of her ass she very obviously wants him to notice. His trust is back in her shitty leaky basket, but he's got issues with the zombies, memories he hasn't even told Dirk everything about yet. They've been traveling together for nine months and for as much as Jake talks, parts of him are still a mystery. He wants the drug gone, the zombies gone, a hatred so black it's a vendetta. Dirk hates it too, but not like that. His is a simmering punk rage, not a personal burning forest fire. Jake is all driven emotion there. It's the hottest, most fascinating thing Dirk has ever seen, and if he needs to construct a scenario that will keep Jake at his side the whole way to revolution against the drug lord, he will bend over backward to do so.
"So you have a lead," Jake says finally, looking up and meeting Dirk's eye. He smells a mystery, an adventure, and Jake is all about adventure. The mischievous spark is back in his gaze and Dirk likes that.
"Maybe."
"I swear, old chap, you get sexier every time I learn something new about you."
Roxy laughs, but Dirk kisses him then and there.
Later, when the customers leave and Roxy locks the doors up, she brings out the cocaine. Dirk does one line, Roxy does two. There's something incredibly provocative about the way Jake snorts a line of powder, something that says experience, and Dirk has always found that hot. Has always found Jake hot, and not just because of his skin and his hair and his rugged good looks, his shoulders and long legs and the active scent of him when the sun is shining down hard and there's zombie blood staining slowly into the leather of his hiking boots. Jake is an adventure. He's ready to try anything, and the more things they try, the less Jake comes off as a naïve island backwater hick. He's got experience in dirtier things than killing undead monsters. Roxy slips down into Jake's lap and rubs powder into his paan-crimson gums, both of them drunk and grinning and horny. She sticks her tongue down his throat, and Jake doesn't hesitate for a moment before he grabs a handful of her ass and kisses back.
"Knock it off," Dirk mutters as their hands start to wander, his boots up on the table. He hasn't been drinking nearly as much as they have, hasn't been doing the drugs as heavily. Jane Crocker's name and the tentacleTherapist are turning over in his brain, and as much as he wouldn't mind watching Jake and Roxy fuck right here in the bar, there are heavier things at stake.
Roxy hums a negative. Jake kisses her harder, waving Dirk over to join them. And Dirk rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, his head too full of splintering fractal plans. He goes to the piece-of-shit little bathroom, washes his face in the dim sodium lights and stares at his reflection around the crack in the grimy mirror. He'd expected Roxy to have news for him, but he hadn't expected this to fall into his lap. Hadn't expected to see Jane Crocker again, the first time in over a year. The trident around his neck sparkles in the light, a silver twin to the red letterhead on the scrap of paper in his pocket. Jane Crocker is the only person in the world who uses that brand of stationary anymore. She's also the only person who refuses to bow to his reputation, and he likes that. She wants to bring him in, try him for all the anarchy he's made into a lifestyle since the reactors went sour. The world hasn't been what it used to be for forty years, and still Jane Crocker drives a beat-up old Crown Victoria with red-and-blue lights on the roof. Still she wears a uniform she's too young to have worn before the apocalypse. She's a misplaced fossil, but for all that she refuses to change into a raving feral child like the rest of the world, she can still adapt like no one else. She uses everything at her disposal and more in the pursuit of the law and peace. That is the exact opposite of how Dirk conducts himself. He respects her more than anyone, and although he doesn't trust her with his freedom, he definitely trusts her with his life.
She's got information she's willing to share with him. Which means one of two things: either she wants to point the biggest threat she knows in the tentacleTherapist's direction, or she needs him at her side to help take this down. He has the excited sinking feeling in his belly that it's the latter.
Back in the bar, Roxy's sari is in a pile on the floor, her bikini top cast off with it. Jake is shirtless, kissing her deep as she palms his erection through his khakis. She must have gone dancing in the past few days because Kali's deep blue paint is still smeared streaky over her stomach and up the curve of her spine, the undersides of her breasts and all along her hipbones. Jake drags his fingers over every inch of it, that color his not-so-secret fetish and Roxy suddenly everything from his dreams.
It's hot. It's really hot. Dirk stands there against the bar for a moment, watching them and weighing options. Jake is his, but it would be lovely to just watch them go at it for an hour. Then Roxy winks at him, her tongue tracing Jake's jawline, and Dirk realizes that what he'd find hotter than anything would be dragging Jake out the door right now and leaving her to stew.
He'd said he didn't want to share.
"Enough of this bullshit." He hauls Roxy out of Jake's lap. She shrieks, dressed in just her pink lacy panties and blue paint. "Let's get out of here," he tells Jake, wincing at the pummeling of Roxy's death goddess fists.
For a second Jake looks as pissed as Roxy does, but then he gets up. As much as he wants Roxy, he wants Dirk more, and that's only one of the reasons Dirk is absolutely crazy about him. He looks stunning with his dick hard in those too-tight shorts. Dirk could bend him over the table right here, but their hotel is three buildings over and that's so close. Roxy stands there with her arms crossed, scowling at both of them.
"My apologies, miss, but I believe there is still such an archaic thing as relationships in this ass backwards world, and tonight Dirk does not want you in the middle of ours." He says it with a gentleman's smile, and that's so cute a part of Dirk's cold heart melts.
Roxy slaps Jake across the face and rolls her eyes, not really caring despite the attack. "Whatever. I'll fuck you later, Jake English, and it will be hot and Dirk won't be allowed in the goddamn room, and we will laugh at him over breakfast or some shit afterward. It's a fuckin' date, okay?"
Jake grins. "Sounds wonderful."
Dirk hauls him by the hand out the bar's doors, down the cracked asphalt of the road and through the orange pools of the streetlights. Jake's hand is larger than his, damp with Roxy's sweat and the texture of her body paint. He's grinning in the lamplight, his gums still bright red and his teeth perfect. Everything about him is perfect. The hotel foyer is empty when they stumble up the stairs together, kissing with tongue as Jake struggles to get the room key out of his pocket.
Inside the room, all the lights still off, Jake strips down to the skin and pulls Dirk down on the shitty bed with him. He struggles out of his clothes, Jake warm and smooth and more than ready underneath him, and it's a long few hours before either of them are exhausted enough to get any sleeping done.