The party in this warehouse is in full swing: music thumping, lights flashing, and dance floor heaving with bodies. Sparrow is among them, and the memory has a soft, unfocused quality that suggests he's a few drinks in already—definitely tipsy, though not all the way to drunk.
A tall blond dressed in black approaches him, confidently pulling him close by the hips. By Sparrow's reaction, he has no objection to a hot guy grinding on him, and even less objection when said hot guy suggests that they go somewhere a little more private.
Sparrow laughs, sliding the blond his drink and picking up his own. "Moving a little fast, aren't you? At least gimme a name first."
The blond downs half his glass and smiles down at Sparrow around the rim. "Totality."
At this particular moment in time, Totality is the hottest star around. Even people who don't care about rock music are jacking his look—Sparrow couldn't throw a rock into the crowd without hitting at least one twink wearing black, gold, and a shitty bleach job. This guy's got the look down pretty well, better than most even, but there's no way in hell he's actually the Totality.
That's fine, though. Sparrow has no objection to playing along with someone's else's fantasy, especially when that someone else is this hot and playing along is going to get him laid. "Sure you are. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Totality, sir."
The hot blond's smile turns sardonic. "Your turn."
"Precipitation Jones. You can call me Cip."
"Well, Mr. Jones—" The hot blond leans in and whispers a totally obscene suggestion that has Sparrow paying for their drinks and pulling the hot blond toward the exit.
The memory smash cuts to the two of them making out heavily in the back of a cab, hands already wandering despite the poor cabbie in the front seat. The cabbie pulls to a stop and coughs impatiently to get their attention. While the hot blond sucks on his neck, Sparrow fishes out his wallet, tosses a couple bills at the cabbie and pulls the blond out of the cab and up a couple flights of stairs into a spacious, well-appointed apartment.
The hot blond shoves Sparrow down along the couch and kneels over him, kissing him deep into the cushions as he starts tugging at Sparrow's belt.
"I hope you meant what you said back there," Sparrow pants into his mouth, pulling at the hot blond's shirt.
The hot blond sits back long enough to pull it off and toss it to one side, smirking confidently. "Don't worry. I meant it."
The memory fades to black as the hot blond presses Sparrow down into the couch again, reaching down to pull his jeans off.
*
Note: If you delete the drunken blur, the hot blond definitely looks like a five-years-younger, height-of-his-Totality-fame Jackson Umbra.
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timeasmymeasure
banging a Totality cosplayer
Date: 2025-04-21 02:00 am (UTC)A tall blond dressed in black approaches him, confidently pulling him close by the hips. By Sparrow's reaction, he has no objection to a hot guy grinding on him, and even less objection when said hot guy suggests that they go somewhere a little more private.
Sparrow laughs, sliding the blond his drink and picking up his own. "Moving a little fast, aren't you? At least gimme a name first."
The blond downs half his glass and smiles down at Sparrow around the rim. "Totality."
At this particular moment in time, Totality is the hottest star around. Even people who don't care about rock music are jacking his look—Sparrow couldn't throw a rock into the crowd without hitting at least one twink wearing black, gold, and a shitty bleach job. This guy's got the look down pretty well, better than most even, but there's no way in hell he's actually the Totality.
That's fine, though. Sparrow has no objection to playing along with someone's else's fantasy, especially when that someone else is this hot and playing along is going to get him laid. "Sure you are. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Totality, sir."
The hot blond's smile turns sardonic. "Your turn."
"Precipitation Jones. You can call me Cip."
"Well, Mr. Jones—" The hot blond leans in and whispers a totally obscene suggestion that has Sparrow paying for their drinks and pulling the hot blond toward the exit.
The memory smash cuts to the two of them making out heavily in the back of a cab, hands already wandering despite the poor cabbie in the front seat. The cabbie pulls to a stop and coughs impatiently to get their attention. While the hot blond sucks on his neck, Sparrow fishes out his wallet, tosses a couple bills at the cabbie and pulls the blond out of the cab and up a couple flights of stairs into a spacious, well-appointed apartment.
The hot blond shoves Sparrow down along the couch and kneels over him, kissing him deep into the cushions as he starts tugging at Sparrow's belt.
"I hope you meant what you said back there," Sparrow pants into his mouth, pulling at the hot blond's shirt.
The hot blond sits back long enough to pull it off and toss it to one side, smirking confidently. "Don't worry. I meant it."
The memory fades to black as the hot blond presses Sparrow down into the couch again, reaching down to pull his jeans off.
*
Note: If you delete the drunken blur, the hot blond definitely looks like a five-years-younger, height-of-his-Totality-fame Jackson Umbra.