THE FRACTURED WORLD: ARRIVAL

[modormenace]

 

A

rrival for some goes all but unnoticed. It's a sudden shiver, the sensation of being watched... and then nothing at all. Life continues serenely as it always has. The only indication of any change comes with sleep, wrapped in dreams: vague and distant echo imagery of another life, melting away in the morning.

 

F

or others, arrival is a sharp jolt. In the space of a single blink, they find themselves in an unfamiliar world, surrounded by the trappings of a life they have not lived. They are replacements, spirits taking possession of bodies belonging to people very much like themselves...

 

A

nd for the rest, arrival is a procedure. Routine. Those ported in to the Fractured World wake hazily in the comfortably dim light of the Porter room, laid out on an exam table. Their wounds, if they remember having any, have been healed— and even those who remember their own deaths find themselves miraculously restored. As they regain consciousness, an automatic audio-visual presentation is triggered. Regardless of their backgrounds or physiology, all imPorts 'see' and 'hear' this message as if in their own language:

"Greetings, imPort."

The voice is calm and gently authoritative, almost certainly selected by committee.

"On behalf of the Synod and all imPorts it represents, we welcome you to the planet Earth."

A decidedly non-humanoid robotic arm holds out a palm-sized device and rather insistently demands the new arrival take it. This is the imPort's comm, used for accessing the Porter's database of information, as well as the communications Network— though it won't receive communications from outside the Porter building until carried through one of the many Gates set up in a long, crescent-shaped array on the far side of the room.

As each Gate is approached, information about the faction it leads to flashes up on the comm device's screen. Which will you choose?

THE WHITE TOWER SANCTUM AURORAE KRAKOA HOUSE OF M EMPIRE OF LIGHT EQUALITY BEFORE LAW THE TWIN CITIES OLIN VALE EDEN SEEKERS OF THE NEW DAWN NORTHWESTERN IMPERIUM GREEN PIECE MAD BURNISH LUMINARY

Comments

[houseparty]

( The whole ensemble is certainly a sight- Stark would look positively dour beside Kavinsky, if it were not for the sort of warm aura he gives off, well in his cups and by all accounts pleased by the general state of affairs. Why shouldn't he be? Everything's gone off without a hitch, the news is mostly good today; the present company, even better.

It's enough, at least, to pull him out of the funk he felt he couldn't shake over the weekend. )

Way too much, ( he feels the need to add, because he can't resist teasing K over the rim of his glass- or wiping away the display of his vital signs at a thought, replaced with several obnoxious hearts rendered in wireframe, scrolling across in quick succession. )

Worried about me?

[pillz]

[embarrassing. kavinsky's not as brain-damaged or immature a child as he was when he first arrived in this world, but he still thinks, embarrassing as hearts bubble up on the inside of his ar glasses.

he thinks the world, but he doesn't actually feel it. and he can't be bothered to quell the smile curling the corner of his mouth. not so thin a smile, now.]

Maybe I'm worried about my job security, [he says, lightly. he shifts his attention from the hearts to tony's face.] I should've made the foxes hotrod red and picked gold mermaids. I'm supposed to know what you like. And what they like. ['they.']

[houseparty]

( Oh so these are your fault, says the uptick of one brow, the curve of a smile that threatens to be wider than the current setting should allow.

Stark squints as he hands off his empty glass to a droid that's just immediately and conveniently there right at this moment to accept it, and slides his hand up and over Kavinsky's arm, giving his elbow a brief squeeze. Casual, of course, platonic to anyone looking- and they always are. )

Maybe I still like to be surprised once in a while.

[pillz]

Well, that'd sure as shit sound like the High Chancellor Tony Stark. I'm down.

[the smile doesn't waver as kavinsky looks off at the distant flash of cameras, but it's still meant for tony. nonchalant. no way for anyone else to tell the answering nudge of his arm. he takes snags a flute of champagne off a passing tray, takes a generous pull, and then very nonchalantly throws in:]

Should I be?

[worried. the ar glasses ruefully cede the technopathically-induced heartbubbles and revert to just: tony. (who's never 'just' tony.)]

[houseparty]

( I don't know hovers somewhere over the tip of his tongue for a fraction of a fraction of a second, so instead Stark fixes him with a Look, all softly mild exasperation. )

I swear, I'm going to take those things away from you.

( His hand leaves Kavinsky's arm to slide between his shoulder blades, broad and warm and here, clapping him affectionately. Nothing's the matter, he's fine, let's talk about- )

You did very well up there in the spotlight. How do you feel about taking up the mantle again?

[pillz]

[you know the weird thing about the game kavinsky has chosen to play in this place? it's not the actual throne that he's going for, himself. but it's still intimate, personal, how badly he wants power for tony stark. he wants tony stark to have it!

so what does it mean if tony's losing his taste?

kavinsky smiles. he's a good liar; anybody looking at him would think he's happy. over the fucking moon! but tony can tell, probably; no need for ar glasses. he's mad. worried-mad. mad at himself, for throwing the kind of party that makes it worse?]

I think the people need an Iron Man demo, [he says, instead! of! answering! it's his tattooed hand that closes around tony's arm, the next moment. he leans in, as if discussing a matter of business-- technically true. very pointedly! as one's cat does when one is wronging one's cat.] So that can be you in the suit, me in the suit, or the suit driving the suit.

[houseparty]

I think- ( screw the cameras, the flashbulbs, what'll arise in the morning as tabloid gossip, not to be bullied by one's cat, he deliberately tugs Kavinsky's glasses down for him, so they can look properly eye to eye, ) -You didn't answer my question.

( And because he's still partly on K's suggestion anyway, he'll also toss out: )

Last one's not bad. How long should this demo last?

[pillz]

Twenty minutes. Overlap with the first five of the fireworks show.

[which leaves a couple minutes buffer front and back for preparation, obviously. a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. he downs the rest of his champagne all at once!! and leaves the empty glass on another tray floating by.]

I'm thinking about my answer. My IQ's a couple points lower than yours, High Chancellor. Not to like, rock the foundations of your faith in me, I'm just saying.

[kavinsky's ar glasses suspect that tony didn't get enough sleep last night. a twitch of thought, and kavinsky dismisses that callout box-- hopefully before tony can move to counter. he prefers this idea of course: that there's some external reason for tony's attitude, nothing intrinsic.]

[houseparty]

Doable. Let's get that taken care of. ( They should head back to "prep", clearly, which he can readily do exactly where he stands. Everything's digital now, he need only think of it to see it done, but he takes Kavinsky by the elbow like a gentleman, and overlooks the suggestion in his glasses. )

It's a simple yes or no. "Maybe" might also suffice.

( He hasn't slept. At all, not for a couple of days. The crew back here are synthetic as well, paying no mind to either men, not even when Stark can't wait and turns to lick a stripe up K's throat. )

straight up nsfw (mildly powerpose, lmk if not ok)

[pillz]

[in the old world, 'nightmare boss' used to refer to some callous jackass who disrespected you, cheated you the credit of your contributions, refused to promote, threw his ego around til it hit you in the eye.

in this world, 'nightmare boss' refers to this irritatingly attractive middle-aged genius who seems more interested in your career than his kingdom. suddenly it's really difficult to concentrate-- but mostly it's okay, because this is the white tower. and in the white tower, power and penises tend to have corresponding agendas.]

'Course it's a yes.

[kavinsky's voice is a snap at that, but there's context: impatience. he's pushing tony down onto his knees, hastily yanking his own pants open, his dick already red and hard in a way he suspects stark will make fun of him for later, but warmly, in that tone that he secretly likes.]

nsfw af

[houseparty]

Good. ( allowing the push, Stark laughs for his impatience but it's fine, he's impatient too, pulling Kavinsky in by his thighs the way he might if they were in bed together. satisfied, he shelves the niceties, the playful coquetry, and gets right to it. grasping a handful of suited tush, wrapping his other fingers around the base of Kavinsky's cock just ahead of his open mouth, he takes him in quick and deep, sighing warm air against his knuckles. perfect.

Stark lavishes attention on K's hard length, swirling his tongue against the underside on this pull out, flattening wide below the head and sucking briefly, loosing it with a soft pop of air before he dips once more, punctuating all of it with slick, lazy strokes.

sometimes the nightmare boss just wants to suck your dick. don't hate. )

[pillz]

[kavinsky's loved enough people to know that half the pleasure is just that. being with somebody you have that connection with. roses and rings are optional; just as good, benign robot spectators and the shea smoothness of aftershave coming off tony's jaw under his fingers, where he'll sniff them later, like a fucking creep.

sometimes, he thinks about it. about whether tony's need to give, to protect, to take so much responsibility unto himself is exactly what makes him a good leader. tony makes his knees weak, that unique combination of deserved arrogance and powerful idealism. if only he loved himself better. if only, if only--

--but right now, let's be real! kavinsky isn't thinking at all. this shouldn't even be possible, the tight, hot suck of his lips, the way he shapes his tongue around him. the dream thief makes a little noise, looks down, stealing a peek the way he'll steal those little sips of scent later. besides, tony taught him: some of your best inspiration might come while you fuck, your best work, right afterward.

come. ha ha. and inspiration: it's what he thinks tony needs, anyway.]

[houseparty]

( It's a fair summation, not far off the mark. He needs inspiration, he needs to give, but he needs the familiarity, the raw control and Kavinsky's sheer trust. Fucking solves zero problems, but it'll clear his head and keep him afloat through the gala, when he'll have time to set aside for problem-solving.

They have twenty minutes. He can be a dick (ha) and make it take less, but he'll indulge them both and not give a fuck if his knees and his jaw ache later for it. Souvenirs don't have to be sweet.

Keep looking flickers in K's lenses, in Stark's usual sans-serif telepathic font of choice, I like when you watch. )

[pillz]

[any-fucking-one else in the world, you stick your dick in they mouth and they shut up. but tony stark must find a way, hasn't he? and it should be irritating, the vague urge to laugh mid-bj; it should feel unsexy or stupid.

instead, a dumb fuzzy sense of affection makes his face pink.]

Jesus, [he mutters, but it's choked off and breathless, sounds like just your regular standard sex sounds-- and maybe it is, in a sense. his hand stutters, closes on the edge of a nearby light fixture; his tattooed knuckles go white. under the roar of blood in his ears, he can hear the iron man suit take off overhead. the cries of the adoring crowd.

he's never minded, being part of that crowd. adoration and all.]

I'm gonna-- [he doesn't know why he's warning tony, all things considered. what's the alternative? get it all over tony's suit?]

[houseparty]

( Not that he hasn't minded in the past, but he does still have to be presentable for the remainder of the event. Jizz stains on his lapels might ruin the effect.

Kavinsky's close and Stark can taste it; knows his body just as well as his own. That bitten off warning only makes him sit higher for the anticipation, every stroke and suck meant to coax him right over the edge and through it, swallowing through a wry smirk. )

[pillz]

[and we have liftoff.

orgasm. whatever you want to call it. in their stupider moments, there have been funny little names. it hits him, feels like five whole minutes of bright white light.

in reality obviously it doesn't take that long. but then kavinsky's shuddering, trying to get his dick down tony's throat in a few involuntary, unapologetic little shoves, shaking, his thumb sliding along tony's bearded jaw by way of distracted apology.

his glasses wind up crooked. it's very silly.]

[houseparty]

( silly, but oddly endearing. stark tilts against that stroking thumb, catlike, while he braces kavinsky through his shaking climax, greedy for all of him and the expression on his face.

he tidies after himself, leaving a kiss on kavinsky's hip and tucking him back into his dress slacks, zipping him up and straightening his shirt once he's back on his feet. what kind of a partner- what kind of leader, really? -would he be, if he didn't take care of him? )

Keep wearing those, they suit you.

[pillz]

[kavinsky blinks his eyes back to reality. finds his pants putting themselves back together, and his augmented reality slightly skewed. he releases his grip on the party decor and clumsily sets his ar glasses back level on his face.

he really is like a cat. sudden: dignity. quick to erase any embarrassing act from recent history. straightening his own shirt collar, glancing past tony to check his reflection briefly on a passive chrome drone.

and then his eyes inevitably cut back to tony. a smile lingering around them, a little, as he checks that tony looks-- something. a little less tired, a little warmer, maybe. back to wanting things, from this world. in this world.]

[houseparty]

( there's certainly more color in his face, verve where he had been dragging, smug for the way kavinsky has to right himself further. stark drops his hands to kavinsky's waist, lightly possessive affection in the gesture. )

Oh, so now you're speechless.

[pillz]

[instantly, kavinsky's face creases up into a big boyish laugh. well. the beginning of one, anyway; the laughter itself is silent. he's too well-trained in the art of decorum.

he reaches out to touch stark's shirt, flicking away some invisible bit of dust. he'd ask, if the chancellor wants the favor returned, but that's not what this is about. they aren't-- boyfriends. and it's a strange thing, to feel himself comforted in the pride stark takes in comforting.]

Hey. Can I kiss you?

[it seems like a slip, the way it's said. but kavinsky fails utterly to brush past it afterward, staring at the high chancellor, nonchalant, as his hand falls from his shirt.]

[houseparty]

( Is it strange then, that he wants to hear his laughter, not just see it in his face? Stark's thumbs press against Kavinsky's hip bones through his ridiculous suit, and his eyes drop to his mouth, as if the question needs more than a half-second to consider. )

Yes.

( Of course, and when his hands leave Kavinsky's waist, it's to slip his glasses from his face, closer than a breath. )

[pillz]

[when he first began to use them, the ar glasses gave kavinsky headaches. but he adjusted to them in those years.

when they come off these days, it's always just the slightest bit disorienting. not to have tony's ais, like a shadow of tony himself, whispering virtual secrets to him through the lenses. the constant data monitoring, weapons scanning, the pulse of emergency-level priorities in the bottom left.

but recovery's easy. and easiest when he blinks, and there's tony himself, unbound by frames and unfiltered by glass.

kavinsky grins, confident as -- he is. he leans in and gives the high chancellor a kiss.]

[houseparty]

( his glasses were in the way, simple as that. Their absence now means Stark can tilt his head aside just as he leans in, too, returning that kiss. One or more, he leaves that to Kavinsky- he asked so politely, after all -drawing his free hand up to cup his jaw, sweeping a light caress back to his ear. )

[pillz]

[there's definitely such thing as too many kisses, also such thing as too long a kiss, when you're sneaking around in the back of a pre-synod gala at the greatest, most powerful faction in the world.

also, when your paramour has a beard. nothing like a full-face rugburn to give away all semblence of propriety.

two is probably the right number. kavinsky's cheek tips into the cup of tony's hand, his tongue delves in; his tattooed fingers encircle tony's wrist. he exhales slowly, and by the time he's out of breath, they're done.

something polite about it, the way kavinsky straightens afterward, smiles. not minding at all, the concept that he tasted himself.]