applesaucedream | Caught in the Current (open to multiple)

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Caught in the Current (open to multiple)

Peter's having a fairly ordinary dream -- that is, he's onstage in front of an audience, doing his old Vegas show in the nude, and none of the fire effects are working. He's not actually bothered by the nudity, which his dreaming mind seems to think is just part of the act, but he keeps getting confused about what part they're on. He hasn't rehearsed in weeks, and he's stumbling through all his lines and illusions.

Around the time the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino (TM) melts away to be replaced by Central Park, Peter's remembered that he doesn't live in Vegas anymore, and his befuddled mind is well on its way to working out that he's dreaming. He doesn't get a chance to come to his senses and enjoy his shot at lucid dreaming, though, before something goes terribly wrong. This time as the backdrop melts away, there's nothing to replace it. He feels himself being pulled, drawn away somehow -- and, helpless to resist, his sleeping mind is sent spinning off into the ether of the Dreaming. Flailing at nothing, he's carried away -- until, of course, he collides with another mind and finds himself in another person's dream.

[OOC: Peter's been carried off like a twig in a river -- and he's going to smack into a few ~~rocks~~ other minds before the night's through. He can still be naked for the first one if desired. Have at!]

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"I know who Loki is," grumbles Peter -- is Gabriel seriously questioning his knowledge of the occult and mythical that much? "Even people who know fuck-all know about Loki," he continues. "You're just not him. You're full of shit, you know that?"

You might be surprised how many people don't know who Loki is. The confluence of people from different universes is hell on making references. "It's true...a lot of the stories aren't true. It gets muddled after a while."

He chuckles, completely ignoring Peter's anger. "Though I did convince Thor to crossdress. Dumb as a box of hammers, but he made a hot woman. Of course, I have tricks for that too." In that moment, the image of Gabriel flickers out, replaced by a leggy brunette in a bikini. When he speaks, the voice has changed as well, but the smirk is exactly the same. "Good, right?"

Peter starts, but once he sees what's happened his eyes rove up and down Gabriel's new form more or less automatically. He glowers at Gabriel...or, rather, at the brunette's cleavage. "You're not convincing me," he says stiffly. "You're probably just some idiot who got a few powers off the rift."

Gabriel switches out of the bikini, but retains the female shape for the moment, because he can't help but find this amusing. The jeans and tee-shirt are more or less what Gabriel had been wearing before. He clears his throat and points at his own face. "Up here, bucko."

He chuckles. "You don't have to believe me, and I'm not out to convince you. You asked, I gave you the truth."

More concealing clothing is not the direction in which Peter would have liked to see Gabriel take that change. Then again, he's remembering belatedly that this is Gabriel, no matter how appealing the current display. Peter tears his eyes away, returning his gaze to the other man's (woman's?) face.

"Good, because I don't," he says flatly. "Think you could conjure up a drink?"

He feels he deserves one.

Gabriel waves his hand over the empty plate and fills it with tequila shots. He waggles two carefully manicured eyebrows at Peter. "Body shots?"

Peter actually thinks about it as he picks up one of the shots and just holds it, giving Gabriel another once-over. For a moment he starts to shake his head -- and then some ember of defiance flares up in him. Gabriel wants to fuck around? Peter practically invented sexual aggression. "Only if you stay like that. No tits, no body shots," he says decisively. He's not even sure whether he's bluffing.

If Peter thinks that Gabriel is going to back off from this, he is so very wrong. "What about cocks?" He snorts indelicately. "Just kidding. I am all woman down there." At the moment, anyway. He's not making any promises.

He lifts a hand and snaps his fingers. "Change of scenery?" The outdoor scene disappears around them, replaced by an empty barroom. The tequila shots are lined up along the bar, now joined by a salt shaker and a bowl of lime wedges. Peter, mercifully, is wearing his normal clothes. (Except for boxer-briefs that have Property of the Trickster printed across the fly, but Peter doesn't have to know about that.)

"I sincerely hope you know how this goes. Salt goes here." He pulls his long hair to the side and salts his neck. It stays in place wonderfully because, hey, it's a dream. "Then drink. Then you get the lime. Tongue is encouraged." He raises an eyebrow at Peter and places the lime wedge between his teeth.

It turns out Peter sort of was bluffing -- he really didn't expect Gabriel to actually go for it. Now that they're here, though, he can hardly back down. He stands from the bar stool on which he just found himself perched, shot glass of tequila still in hand, and eyeballs the salt on Gabriel's neck. Not the most exciting of placements as these things go, he decides, and he does his best to kill the thought that he's a bit grateful for that. He's Peter fucking Vincent -- since when does he have a problem with licking strange women?

"Yeah, I know," he replies, rolling his eyes and stepping in close, free hand reaching across Gabriel to brace on the bar.

Right. Just don't imagine she's anything other than what she looks like. Refusing to give it a second thought, Peter leans down and flattens his tough against Gabriel's skin, licking a wide, wet path up the ~~other man's~~ woman's neck as he collects nearly every grain of salt there. He pulls back just enough to tip the contents of the shot glass into his mouth, then leans in again to bite the part of the lime that's sticking out of Gabriel's mouth, their lips touching as he closes his mouth around it. There is, however, a lack of tongue.

Oh, he is sooo telling Lucy about all of this. And then inviting her for the next round. "Peter Vincent. I'm beginning to see the appeal."

He dips his head a fraction after Peter leans back, and it's a distinctly predatory look. "My turn? The neck is traditional, but I'll lick you anywhere you want me to." He's waiting for Peter on this one because, despite the sexual aggression evident in his suggestion, he's doesn't want to force anything on him.

Peter tries not to make a face at the taste of the tequila, but he doesn't quite hide the wince by the time he pulls back with the lime in his mouth. He sits back down, giving the wedge of fruit a little suck before taking it out of his mouth and setting it on the bar.

"About time someone did," he replies. Part of him wants to call it off -- he called Gabriel's bluff, Gabriel called his, he figured one time was it. He's a bit too stubborn for that, though. "Neck's fine," he says just slightly too quickly to sound unaffected.

"You sure about that?" The question is more genuine and less of an outright challenge than anything he'd said before. So far, Peter hasn't made to reach for either salt or lime, so Gabriel has pretty solid evidence that he's not terribly into this.

He turns back to the bar and downs a shot on his own. If Peter wants him to lick his neck, he's all up for it, but it's going to happen on Peter's terms. "Lesson one. A shared dream is just that. You should be able to effect change on your own, as long as the other person isn't blocking your thoughts."

What did Gabriel expect? This was never about attraction or even really about the (imaginary) tequila. This was about showing Gabriel that he has big enough balls not to back down from the challenge.

He expects a continuation, some sort of demand that he step back up to the plate. Peter's taken off guard by the change of gears, to the point where he actually sits there and listens to what he's being told without interrupting or objecting.

"...How?" he asks blankly.

The fact that it was just about the challenge and little to nothing to do with Gabe himself is another big reason for him pulling away from the game. He might have pushed things further if he thought Peter had some attractions he wasn't letting on, but it's no fun if he's not really interested.

He might be a little disappointed, but he's not going to show that to Peter.

As it is, he shakes off the female guise. He doesn't mind it, but the body he's more familiar with is always better. "Concentrate. Whip up some Midori, change your clothes. Something you're familiar with."

Edited 2013-03-29 06:21 (UTC)

Gabriel's female form has done plenty to confuse Peter's sense of sexual attraction, but he's not thick enough to forget who Gabe is long enough to get really into it. He's more than fine with calling it quits, and it's easier now for him to relax (slightly) with Gabriel back in male form.

He frowns, brow wrinkling as he tries to concentrate like he was told. Clothing -- maybe he can do that, though the need isn't so dire anymore. His normal clothes -- the ones Gabriel put him in -- are still more than a bit shabby, and he decides to change it over to something a little more like how he's trying to present himself to the punters, new jacket and all. As he's thinking about it, though, the image of his old stage outfit comes to mind and, without meaning to, he switches to conjuring up that instead, leather, jewelry, wig and all.

Blinking, he takes in a breath and looks down at himself in mild surprise. "...Not actually what I was going for," he comments, impressed with himself nonetheless.

Gabriel chuckles and takes a few moments to really drink the whole outfit in. It really is more ridiculous than he ever could have hoped for. "Wow. I honestly don't know what to comment on first." He props his head on his hand and directs a giddy smile in Peter's direction. "This is the stage outfit?"

"Pure molten sex, I know," says Peter, straightening up, sitting back, and spreading his arms with a little flourish so Gabriel can get a good look at the whole package. "This is the stage outfit," he confirms.

No, Peter, you don't understand. The outfit is ridiculous. He loves it, but it's ridiculous. "Do you really need the long, flowing locks? I'm getting a Fabio vibe here."

"Fabio?" Peter's face screws up in distaste, utterly ruining the smolder this outfit usually lends him. "I'm the master of darkness; I don't look like Fabio. Get your eyes examined!"

~~Gabe broke his smolder?~~

"I never said you look like Fabio, Master of Darkness," he says sarcastically. I mean, come on, Peter. Look at your pecs. Look at your abs. Not quite Fabio ma

terial there. "It the wig. It..." Gabriel makes a face like he'd rather burn the wig than see it on anyone's head. "...flows. That's all I meant." He pauses for a moment. "Just. Is it supposed to make you look like a douchey goth Jesus?"

"Of course it fucking flows," snaps Peter. Here he thought he was finally being appreciated for the fantastically sexy beast he totally is, and now it turns out he's just being mocked. Again. He glowers at his erstwhile drinking partner. "Eat shit," he says decisively, and reaches for one of the shots still lined up on the bar.

Peter is lucky that Gabriel isn't feeling particularly vindictive at the moment. Otherwise, he might find have found something very unpleasant in that shot glass. Don't think he doesn't appreciate the outfit, though.

"You know, without the wig and the face fuzz..." With a wave of a hand, he removes both. "Oh, that is so much better. I can fully appreciate the entire leather-clad package now."

Lucky thing that he is, Peter finds (and drinks) nothing more nor less than tequila. He still makes a face at it; he's not really a drinker of hard liquor outside of sweet mixed drinks.

He takes in a sharp breath and reaches up to his face to confirm what Gabriel's done. It's not that he really likes wearing all that fake hair -- it's hot and itchy, frankly, and he dislikes it only slightly less than he does his chafing leather trousers. It's his head, though, and he ought to be able to decorate it however he likes. His stage look has always been something of a disguise, too -- a character he steps into to hide the real (and painfully ordinary) Peter. "I didn't say you could change it," he growls, trying to concentrate and bring it back.

"Such a spoilsport. Fiiine." Gabriel brings back the decorations, let Peter think he brought them back if that's what he wants to believe.

That is what Peter wants to believe. He checks again, satisfied to feel that they're back. He's getting better at this!

"They're there for a reason," he mutters, somewhat mollified by being allowed to redecorate.

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