thecapitol | No I don't know where I'm going

Entry tags:

No I don't know where I'm going

Who| Albert and OPEN; then later Albert and Jet
What| Waking up after the arena. Wait, wasn't he dead...? Panicked flinging open of doors ensues. Then a dramatic reunion.
Where| Training center. All over it but starting on Level 3 (especially looking for District-mate CR); then a bar
When| Beginning Week 6
Warnings/Notes| Sex in the ~~champagne room~~ closed thread, just fyi. Gettin' hot and heavy up in there.

One// OPEN

Searing pain.

That's all that Albert remembers as his mind snaps to consciousness. It takes him a moment to realize he's not still in it, that he's not so much charred meat on the walls of a museum gift shop.

It takes him a moment to realize he's alive. Why is he alive?

He breathes raggedly, trying to piece everything together, trying to calm his shocked system and scrambled nerves, trying to focus on something, anything, else.

With a pop of stiff joints, Albert forces himself to sit and take stock. He’s alive after setting off an explosion at point blank. He’s certain he died there in the middle of the gift shop, so then they still have the cloning technology? Or is this an actual revival of his physical body? Worse, does this mean they’ll be reviving him indefinitely? And what does that mean for Jet and the others? He’d seen them only briefly, separating from Pyunma and Joe, finding Chaud and Jet...

Jet.

If he's alive then is it too much to hope that Chaud and Jet are as well? He means to find out.

Throwing off the covers - uncomfortably posh, not only the bed but the entire room done up in a modern sleek design with smooth curves and sharp angles, silk and smooth metal the predominant textures - Albert makes for the door, then the next door he can find. And the next. He winds his way around the building searching blindly, throwing open doors and uncaring to his general dishevelment and gruffly demanding to know what in the hell is going on.

Two// CLOSED

Hours later, after he'd finally calmed down and the poor harassed assistant caught up with him to give him some effects (phone, credit card, etc), Albert finds himself in a bar. It's the only lead he'd gotten in his tearing through the training center and since he has no other earthly idea of where to look in a city so large, it'll have to do. If anything, he can drown himself in a bottle and not have to think about any of it for at least awhile. How they've been brought here to murder each other time and again for entertainment? He can't decide if this is an improvement from Jaden or not.

His heart leaps in his throat when he sees the familiar shock of blond hair bent over the bar, a small collection of shots scattering the area around him. Then there's relief. He's alive. Three times now, three times Jet's died and three times he's returned and Albert has to wonder if his partner is protected by some lucky star.

Or is it unlucky? He's died and come back himself twice now, and it's as unpleasant as it is confusing... And now they, this government in this new place, has full control over their lives. What relief had washed over Albert ebbs a bit at the realization.

Taking a soft breath and exhaling through his nose, Albert slips onto the stool next to Jet at the bar, tapping his credit card to get the keeper's attention and flicking it towards what looks to be the most expensive drink on the wall. If he's going to live and die for their entertainment, he may as well make them pay for it.

As the barman busies himself, Albert silently reaches over and places his hand on Jet's, barely even looking as he does. He says nothing, the drone of the Games on large screens all around permeating the air and making it difficult to think let alone be heard well over the din.

He lets his grip speak for him, tight as a vice but solid and whole and, if he has his way, ever-present.

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Maybe it's his own subconscious putting it there, but Albert thinks he detects some note of rebuke. As you'd expect, Jet is staunchly against suicide, especially when it comes to those he cares for. Albert, on the other hand...

Well. Everyone has their demons.

"I thought I'd lost you. For good, this time." He takes the rest of his drink in the next swallow.

"...me too." He'd honestly thought that was it for him, that his last moments would be spent in Albert's arms on some cold museum floor. He was glad he was wrong, but there had been a part of him that was happy Albert had been there.

Of course, now that he knew better, he wished Albert had never found him. Maybe his partner would have tried to live if he thought he still needed to find Jet.

Memories he'd been working on burying flashed in his mind--thoughts of his supposed last moments and the feelings that had caused those tears to spring to his eyes at the time--and they threatened to overwhelm him again now that he had Albert's hand in his. Likely the alcohol was to blame.

He turned in his chair and reached with his free hand, fisting it in the fabric of Albert's shirt to pull the shorter man to face him. He was angry, but it was laced with sadness and the feeling of wanting to yell at his partner for his actions and the feeling of wanting to kiss him senseless warred for a moment.

He got right up in Albert's face, his voice hoarse and quiet but with a biting edge in it. "You're an idiot, you know that?" But then his lips were on Albert's and he was pressing into it like he needed Albert to live.

And maybe, at this point, he did.

That's not what Albert expected. He'd expected to get yelled at or even punched. Instead Jet's pressing into him and he's pressing back without thinking, arms crushing the blond's leaner build against his own despite the turn of gawking attention from the Games broadcast to their sudden display of affection. For once, at least for this moment, Albert doesn't care. They'd already seen him wreck vengeance in the arena, let them see why. What's worth fighting for, dying over.

Though that sentiment gets diluted a bit when he can hear the tell-tale click of a camera and the flash plays over them light a lightning strike.

The German pulls away breathlessly, flushed and uncomfortable but eyes bright. "We should get out of here."

He uses his anger and the fear that had come over him, fear that he'd never see the stupid German bastard again, as fuel for the heat he drenches the kiss in.

But then there's a click and a flash and he becomes aware of hushed mutters and it occurs to him they're still there at the bar and they probably ought to not do this here.

"Yeah...come on." He stood and tugged Albert along with him, his grip still incredibly tight. He didn't know what District Albert had been assigned to, but his room was just two floors above them and that's where he intended to take them.

Districts be hanged; as far as Albert's concerned, he's staying with Jet and that's final. If anyone from his floor has something to say about it, they can take it up with him later. He has no loyalty to any of them.

The night air is chilly on his bare arms as he's lead towards the training center. He'd left in something of a hurry and not thought to change, the plain shirt and slacks serving as well as anything else. He jogs a bit to walk beside Jet instead of being dragged along behind.

It's almost surreal, practically sprinting through this glittering city to a purpose more suited to horny teenagers than old men, but it's finally got Albert thinking of something other than murder and suicide so he's not about to question it if he can help it.

"It should be just around the corner."

Jet knew where the center was by now, he'd spent enough time wandering the area to at least know where 'base' was, but he didn't say anything about it. It didn't matter, not when he had Albert's hand in his, skin tingling at the contact as anticipation and excitement thrummed through him.

Years together and that sensation had never changed, perhaps it was a little ridiculous for men as old as they were, but Jet found he didn't really care. He wouldn't change it for anything.

He was relatively quiet in a peaceful way all the way to the center and up to the second floor, finally stopping once he'd led his partner through his door. As soon as the door was closed, he was pulling Albert close for another heated kiss, this time safely behind closed doors and away from the public eye.

Whereas everything else is complicated and confusing, for once this isn't. The arena, their recent deaths, even the somewhat less recent events in Atlanta and at Site B, all fade out as so much white noise to the here and now. Jet's lips are on his and Albert would very much like that to be the only thing that exists for some blissful amount of time.

Using his weight to walk them only half a step, Albert presses Jet against the wall with the severity of his kiss, hands roaming roughly and tugging at the taller man's clothes with a desperation uncommonly found in the usually cool-headed German. He'd thought Jet dead for good this time, and despite the circumstances, to find he was wrong is nothing short of a miracle and Albert can't keep back the tide of grateful want of Jet. His grip is tight and his movements rough, sliding one leg between Jet's knees as he holds him there against the wall with the sheer intensity of their liplock.

Nothing else exists but the man against him. The difference in attitude is noted and let go, Jet knows where it's coming from because he feels it too. After everything, promise after promise of staying with each other and they'd thought they'd lost that. Yet here they were again.

Jet didn't know what force in the universe kept letting him have this back, kept letting him return to Albert, but he was quietly thankful for it. Jet needs him. And, right now, he intends to show that.

He matches the intensity of the kiss, his hands only stopping from their roaming to strip the jacket and shirt from him. They barely have time to fall to the floor before long fingers are tugging at Albert's shirt to pull it off as well.

Edited 2014-03-02 04:42 (UTC)

Hesitation is a foreign concept as Albert divests Jet of his clothes and then helps claw his own off, breaking his lips away only long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it somewhere without looking, his hair coming out sticking at odd ends for the rough yank of fabric over it.

He fumbles with the buckle at Jet's waist, still driving his tongue into the American's mouth and pressing him into the wall as if he'll escape otherwise, as if he'll melt away as the product of some fevered dream and Albert will wake up alone back in the arena. Or worse, back in Jaden's tower.

His thigh presses up to rough at Jet's jeans, the fabric slowly becoming too tight to be considered comfortable but not to worry, Albert will have him free of them soon.

The air catches in Jet's throat for the feeling of Albert's thigh between his legs. Whatever patch of the German's skin they'd been grabbing at before goes abandoned as Jet's hands dart down to undo his belt and jeans, pushing both them and the underlying boxers off his hips.

He's torn for a moment between divesting his partner of his remaining clothes and seeking soft lips again as though they were a drug and he needed his fix before he could continue.

His desire to kiss Albert won out and long fingers found the sides of his face as Jet leaned in to smash their lips together in a bruising, needy, kiss.

The kiss is met with just as much desire as its given and Albert's pants and boxers join Jet's on the floor and then the two men follow suit, Albert not willing to wait any longer as his desperate need to consummate the reality of both of them being here, alive, and whole even after the nightmare of the arena. His kiss is rough and ferocious but soon broken as he hooks one of Jet's legs onto his shoulder. He looks at his partner's face for confirmation, for a go ahead, his own fringe of silver hair plastered to his forehead and breath coming in hard gasps at the intensity of everything.

They're moving faster than usual and Jet got so lost in it that the pause surprises him. Blue eyes find silver and there's nothing but need and desire in his expression. He's distantly aware that they haven't prepared and that meant it was probably going to hurt a bit at first, but right this second with nothing but want for the man over him running through him, he can't find it in him to care. He just wanted that closeness and the confirmation that this wasn't about to fall away from them.

He nods. "Go." And focuses on relaxing to make it easier on both of them. The sooner Albert was in and moving, the sooner Jet could wrap his arms around and touch his partner again.

He tries to be careful. It's difficult given that the only thing he wants in life for the moment is to be buried in, surrounded by, and otherwise attached to his partner. He needs that affirmation of life, the evidence of for the reality that by the laws of the universe shouldn't be but is anyway.

He tries to be careful but he moves a little too quickly, a little too strongly, all just to get his lips against Jet's again, already shuddering for the tight heat around him. It's sloppy, there's too much friction right away, and they're both going to end up with carpet burns but all of that just serves to remind him that they're alive and he'll take all of it instead of oblivion alone.

It's too much friction and the pain it causes makes him gasp and his eyes clench for moment. But he presses his hips up to pull his partner in deeper and one hand curls tightly around Albert's bicep as Jet kisses back fiercely.

The pain would fade quickly and there was no lack of pleasure from the motion, feeling Albert over him, against him, and in him was more than enough. The fact he knew he'd feel the results of their activities in the morning along with the rug burns he knew would develop on his back were just proof they were alive and together and not yet beaten and he'd take them happily. He'd thought he'd lost all this and that made everything--all of it--perfect.

His other hand came up to slide along Albert's ribs as the German's name was brushed along his own lips by the blond's, a pleasured whisper meant just for the older man.

The way they crash together makes the usually so quiet Albert cry out and hold Jet to him tightly, moving them both with a mindless abandon that physically he'll likely regret later when his body punishes him with aches and scuffs in the morning, but it doesn't matter right now. Now he's working quickly and desperately in his partner, panting his name and groaning with each thrust.

One muscular arm keeps Jet up flush against him while the other hand cradles the back of the blond's head, keeping their lips locked together even as Albert keeps moving, only breaking a minuscule amount of space every so often to breathe or murmur each other's names into bruised lips.

The pace Albert sets has Jet's breathing loud and ragged and he finds it harder and harder to keep the whispered mantra of his partner's name from growing in volume. His hands find Albert's back as long legs hook around his waist to allow Jet the leverage to meet each frenzied thrust.

He wasn't going to last long, not with the desperation turning their movements hard and deep. As Albert drives into him at just the right angle, the blond gasps and a wordless cry breaks through his self-restraint to fill the room; right at that moment he didn't care, let the whole damn tower know what they were doing for all it mattered to him, Jet was too far gone in silver hair, matching eyes and strong protective arms.

A rosy flush spreads on Albert's face and neck at Jet's unbridled cry and he nearly shushes his partner, an awkward sort of soft barking chuckle coming out instead, not mirthless but more manic and desperate than he intends. But this is what he wanted, this is exactly what and who he wants and it makes the world seem right for at least the next few minutes as he crashes into Jet, burying himself as deep as he can as small shudders start to rock him with each movement. He's getting close and as good as it feels he's not ready to let go. He needs this to last longer, this bastion of physicality where only he and Jet exist, alive and vital.

But his body has no regard for that feeling and he moans helplessly into the blond's neck as his pace quickens even further, spurred by those cries, the fingers digging into his back, the curled legs trying awkwardly to drive him deeper, even his knees and arms scraped pink from friction against the carpet keep him hurdling all too quickly towards that precipice. "Jet, I'm... Gott, ich kann nicht- bitte-!"

Edited 2014-03-07 17:23 (UTC)

Albert's pace quickened even more and it was all Jet could do to not scream his partner's name to the room. He wasn't going to be able to hold out much longer and Albert speaking German at him told him neither would the older man.

He wanted it to last longer, to never lose this feeling even though he knew that was impossible, but it still drove him to try and hold out as long as possible. Unfortunately, what his mind wanted and what his body wanted were two different things.

His fingers pressed harder, those muscles tensing first before the rest of his body followed, clenching and shuddering in his release as his moan caught in his throat and came out as a much smaller sound than it would have been if he hadn't stifled it.

Only a few seconds more and Albert's undone as well, his voice leaving him and only a ragged gasp heard on the heels of his release into Jet, every sinew taut as he comes in waves, holding Jet tightly enough to bruise. In the wake of it he collapses bonelessly atop his partner, breathing hard against Jet's neck and legs shaking from the previous exertion. His hands, elbows, and knees all sting from the repeated friction of the carpet but he doesn't care. It's perfect anyway, an affirmation, and he hazily tries to catch his breath as he shifts to pull himself out of Jet before growing too soft and uncomfortable.

"Are you alright?" He'd gone harder than he can ever remember and without their usual preparation. Jet had clearly enjoyed himself on some level, the mess he'd made of them an obvious testament to that, but at the very least the younger man will be feeling that in the morning.

He would definitely be feeling it in the morning if not in just a couple more hours, but right now any discomfort was clouded by the contentedness seeping through him.

When Albert moved to pull out, Jet moved his legs but kept his hold around his partner's shoulders, fingers gently stroking to sooth the spots were they'd dug into Albert's back.

"Yeah...are you?" He was still panting lightly, but he was smiling a bit too, just happy to touch and hold a little longer before they inevitably decided to move to somewhere more comfortable.

"Yes," it's an automatic response, and in that specific moment he is, just for now. Albert plants a soft kiss on Jet's lips, enjoying his partner's hands on his back for another long minute before rolling off of the taller man and resting shoulder to shoulder instead, the carpet stinging a little where it rubs against the marks Jet left on him.

He likes it rough like that. Maybe he's a masochist on some level. It would explain some things... Hell, maybe he's a sadist too. He has to wonder, after what he did to Perry. He'd hunted the man - not man, practically a boy - down and looked him in the face as the fuse burned away, even understanding that Perry likely had just been trying to preemptively defend himself when he'd taken down Jet. But there's a part of Albert that still feels a grim satisfaction from having done what he had and that's the part that has him frightened. The part that makes him think that maybe he should be punished.

He's never felt like a murderer before...

Quietly, Albert slips his hand into Jet's, his own breathing calm, finally, but uneven as he stares at the ceiling, counting the tiles with his eyes. "No."

He'd been content to sty that way, his mind drifting through nothing with Albert's shoulder brushing his, even that small contact was enough comfort to lull him into security. But hearing the German change his mind sent a wave of concern through him.

He shifted and sat up, moving to place the hand not still firmly entangled with his partner's on the ground next to Albert's shoulder to hold the taller man up.

Blue eyes sought silver, half hoping he could maybe find out what was wrong just by looking at them. "What's wrong?"

"I can't stop thinking about the arena," Albert's voice is quiet and he's making an effort not to sound pained. "I thought I'd lost you for good this time and I... I don't feel poorly for what I did. I should, but I don't."

He turns his head away but the hand clasped in Jet's tightens. He gives a rueful smile but it's only with his mouth, his eyebrows remain drawn and it gives his entire expression an affect of dissonance. He doesn't know if Jet was watching, if he saw what Albert had done to hunt down Perry in the arena. "I outright killed him."

The concern didn't fade from his expression. He understood why Albert was feeling like this, but he could hardly condemn the older man for it. Jet would have done the same. And, ultimately, Albert had done this before with Van Bogoot, Jet didn't think any less of him then or now.

He rested on his elbow so he could bring his free hand up to rest on Albert's cheek. "If I'd had the chance, I'd have done the same. You didn't see him kill Chaud...I offered a chance for all of us to get out fine, but he threw it back in my face."

Chaud's expression, the blade slicing through the boy's skin like it was nothing, watching him die, it flashed through Jet's mind and darkened his expression momentarily.

"I know it's bothering you, but I don't blame you at all." Besides, if it hadn't been Albert, it probably would have been someone else.

"It doesn't bother me. The fact that it doesn't is what is bothering me." It's such a fine distinction that Albert isn't sure he's not making an issue of nothing and with Jet leaning over him as some sort of protective shelter, the turmoil calms some. This is why he did it, because someone had seen fit to take Jet's life and while through experience Albert knows he could live without him, he's more certain than ever that he doesn't want to. "But... that does make me feel a little better."

He sighs quietly, expression softening into something less clouded and far more affectionate. The worry hasn't gone away, nor the guilt, but he's more able to put it on a shelf and not think of it now. Later he'll have to sort through it all, but not now. Instead, he takes the present to crane his neck up and kiss Jet gently. "We should get cleaned up."

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