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Old Bunker (freedom city) 3:22am This dusty old fallout shelter has been converted into a museum display, its rusty warning signs and vintage pre-Collapse furniture still moldering in the dust. It looks . . . strangely familiar? A moldy old sofa sits against the wall. A smashed old TV set is sitting here in the dust. An FCPD cam is bolted high on a wall here. A Bedrock Shelter Suit dispenser seems to still function. You see a BEDROCK AD posted here ('read ad').

Brennan arrives from the north.

You yawn.

Brennan pokes you.

Brennan says, "Sup."

Isolfr raises a brow. "Nothing much. Why?"

Brennan A tall boy; slim, and fit.

Brennan is completely coated in half-digested goo. Brennan is soaked with water. Brennan is absolutely soaked in urine, the pungent reek making you recoil. Brennan is completely covered in greasy brown shit. Brennan is completely covered in blood. Brennan is splashed with oil. Brennan is completely coated in oily black sludge. Yuck! Sap drips off of Brennan in thick patches. Splashes of viscous green fluid are all over Brennan. He is hungry. He is a little thirsty. He is holding a corrosive urumi. He is wearing a heart-shaped sunglasses. An imposing helmet with a dark faceplate covers his head. He is wearing a skintight matte black garment covered with irregular ridges. It covers his entire body, except for the head. He has a VTAC RUSH 24 pack and a rigid-frame backpack slung on his back, a garden weasel slung across his back, a camelback water pack slung around him, and a Walther P99 in a side holster. He is 24 years old.

Brennan smiles, leaning against the wall. He shrugs, "No reason. Just ain't seen you around here."

Isolfr struggles not to gag as your stink wafts over him. Clamping a hand over his mouth, the naked boy reels backwards, wrinkling his nose in visible distaste. "Where've you been, wallowing in shit?"

[OOC : You say, "Hiii! c:"]

You get a Bedrock Shelter Suit from the Bedrock Shelter Suit dispenser.

The Bedrock Shelter Suit dispenser begins to hum.

Ploop! The Bedrock Shelter Suit dispenser produces a Bedrock Shelter Suit.

Brennan looks down along himself, and grimaces a bit, "Uh... shit, man. Sorry." He laughs, scratching the back of his head, "That's either from doctorin' or trudging in the sewers.. you really must be new around here, you get to the point where you don't even notice." He chews on his lip, "Gimme just a moment."

Brennan heads north.

Brennan arrives from the north.

Brennan smiles, "Fresh and clean."

With a look of determination, Isolfr starts putting on his Bedrock Shelter Suit.

Isolfr flinches a bit as the tight material slaps against his bare skin, adhering to fit snugly upon his narrow framework. It isn't much, but it's something.

Brennan stares daggers.

Brennan laughs, "Didn't have to get dressed on my account, hun." He tosses a slow wink, as he leans in the doorframe. "Ain't nothing I've never seen before."

Brennan growls, then barks like a dog.

Brennan foams at the mouth.

Isolfr sniffs warily. Finding the atmosphere to be clean of the previous stench, he relaxes---only to tense right back up again at your words. "Sorry, but you're hardly my type," he retorts sourly.

Brennan growls, then barks like a dog.

Brennan raises his head and howls.

Brennan laughs, "Oh yeah?" He gives a sly smirk, lip curling, his eyes tracing over you slowly, "And what's your type, then?"

You notice a bulge in the front of Brennan's leviathan suit.

The hum of the Bedrock Shelter Suit dispenser stops.

Isolfr eyes you, making note of your exceptionally odd behaviour .. as well as the bulge in your leviathan suit. The latter elicits the rising of heat on the boy's cheekbones, his eyes darting away from the telltale sign of arousal. Shit. "Um .." he tries to think, sucking at his lower lip. "Gentlemen?"

Isolfr

It's Isolfr, fuck you.

[||||||||||||||]

He has some minor cuts and bruises.

You're wearing a Bedrock Shelter Suit. His head is uncovered. He has a childish face still. He has bare hands. He is barefoot. He is 18 years old.

Brennan raises his eyebrow, and shifts a bit, looking at you---that smirk only broadening. "Well now. For a moment there, I thought you might be one strictly for the ladies." He steps off from the doorframe, moving up to you, "Somethin' tells me you might not be telling me the whole truth, though . ." His hand comes out, a finger touching under your chin. "Are ya?"

[OOC : You say, "My replies might be a little long in coming, since I feel something of a frenzy of my own coming on. I like to write."]

[OOC : Brennan says, "No objections here, dear."]

Isolfr inhales sharply, somewhat thrown off kilter by the larger male's increasing proximity. Within the cage of his chest, his heart beats a furious tattoo. He isn't panicking, though. Not yet. Even when the man reaches out to him, crooking a calloused finger beneath his chin, Isolfr manages to refrain from freaking out. 'Cause hell, if he flipped shit every time some big guy came on to him, he'd probably be comatose. Instead the boy obliges the other, raising his chin and boldly meeting his gaze. "What's it to you?" he murmurs, inwardly wincing at the breathless quality his voice had taken on.

Brennan keeps that finger held under your chin for a good long moment as he simply lets you stew a bit under his smirking gaze, "To me? Oh . ." His finger drops slowly, running along your neck, then to your chest, the single digit dragging along you. "I just like to know how easy this is going to be." He lets out a little laugh as that finger reaches your belly. "'Cause if I didn't know better, I'd almost say you were a little turned on yourself, boy. But that wouldn't be the case, would it?" That finger is dangerously low now, just above your sensitive area.

Isolfr lets out a hiss, irritated with the man's assumptions. Twisting to and fro, he manages to work his hands between them, whereupon he shoves at Brennan's chest, the features of his face contorted in the beginnings of a snarl. "Tell me, are you always such an arrogant prick?" he snaps hotly, tawny eyes aglow---a visible testament to his growing aggravation. Of course, not all of it is aimed at Brennan. In fact, some of it, Isolfr is wielding against himself. He's angry, 'cause damn it if the man isn't right. He is turned on, even if it is only a little bit. Not that he'd ever admit this aloud. "I'm not looking to get picked up, okay? It's like you said, I ain't from around here. The only thing I'm looking for right now is a place to sleep a little something to eat, so if you don't have anything to offer in that department, you might as well get gone, 'cause I'm not interested."

The last of the horrible smell of rotten eggs disappears.

Brennan grins, that hand still moving down, his hand starting to cup, "Yeah, boy. I might be able to give you a bite and a bed." He leans in a little closer, and to the side. You feel his hot breath start to roll against your neck, "Ain't much around here that's free though, boy. And I doubt you got a hell of a lot of money to yer name..." His hand moves down, and cups at your package between your legs firmly, squeezing at it. "I'm thinkin' you might know a way to make that favor up to me though, huh?" A little laugh rolls out of him, his fingers playing at your member, "Less you think it might hurt yer pride.."

Isolfr can't help it, he whimpers. The anger spurring his tirade fades abruptly, leaving him feeling light-headed and ridiculously weak-kneed. "I dunno what you're talking about," he mumbles, adrenaline and weariness causing him to slur his words. He was lying, of course. He knew all too well what the man was talking about, as it wasn't something he'd minded doing in the past in exchange for food and such. Nonetheless, he wasn't the type to beg for it. He wasn't a whore. "Who says you're not lying just to get your rocks off?"

Brennan presses forward, pushing you gently, but firmly up against the wall, holding you ther, his hand still pressed against your bulge, rubbing and squeezing firmly, "You know damn well what I'm talkin' about, boy, but I'll explain it n'case you're slow." He leans in, his lips nearly touching to your neck, your lips, "I'm gunna take you home, and teach you to suck cock proper.. then I'm gunna flip you over, and show you what that little pussy you call an ass is for. You'll get your meal, and your bed, but you're gunna make yourself damn useful.."

Isolfr swallows hard, his pharynx bobbing against the faint pressure of the man's lips. God help him, but he was rock-hard and damned if Brennan didn't know it. His head goes back almost involuntarily, baring the rest of his throat to the man's attentions and, figuring he has nothing to lose at this point, Isolfr closes his eyes and breathes out shallowly through his nose. "What's your name?" he finally says.

Brennan nips and kisses along your neck, his tongue dragging along it and up to your ear, "Brennan.. but you can call me sir..." He smirks, his hand stroking down your side, cupping at your hip, before it goes to your wrist, "Don't care for yours, so long as I hear you moan mine..." He pulls away, starting to tug your wrist along with him as he makes for the door.