[DATING SIM] A chance to destroy a nice, romantic atmosphere

[foxhoundmantis.livejournal.com]

[Look, a chance to see that rare creature--a somewhat content (Love Interest) Mantis! He's found himself a massive outdoor concert hall, an orchestra warming up on stage. Out on the lawn seats, with a blanket and a special someone and the stars twinkling in the sky, it could be really quite romantic.

Mantis is sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair under the canopy, muttering about acoustics.

And the program starts. Go be romantic with someone who is not Mantis, for the love of Christ (obvious exception aside).]

Comments

[foxhoundmantis.livejournal.com]

Friggin' incorporeality. [He rests against Mikhail as he listens, arm drifting around his waist. When the rest of the orchestra comes in, he mutters,] Heard that. You're lucky I'm not subtracting points for vomit-inducing levels of sap.

[a-sign-of-rain.livejournal.com]

[Squeezing Ilya's waist in return, he smiles.] I suppose I am. [But this is nice, damn it, regardless of Ilya's thoughts on the matter.

It's his fault there are little flecks of light nesting and glowing in Mikhail's hair, after all.]

[foxhoundmantis.livejournal.com]

They were supposed to annoyingly fly into your face, you incorporeal jackass. [Mantis leans back, lightly PKing Spooky to lie down on the blanket next to him. He closes his eyes, letting the Adagio wash over him--and the orchestra's surprisingly good for probably not even being real--and idly stroking Mikhail's side. It's...soothing. Christ knows he's not stupid enough to fall asleep in public, but he almost wants to, Spooky pressed comfortably to his side, his coat blocking the chill of the night air...

Fireflies bumping into his mask lens.

Mantis opens his eyes to look at Mikhail. Mikhail's already looking at him.

He squeezes Spooky's waist.]

I suppose this shithole does have its tolerable aspects.

[Mantis certainly isn't sappy. But he's got a damn good memory.]

[a-sign-of-rain.livejournal.com]

[Mikhail lies contentedly with Ilya by his side, hand rising slowly to rest upon his chest. To see Ilya like this, so peaceful, so happy - and for once, not just after sex - is... indescribably nice. An idea for a Christmas present occurs to him, but he hastily shifts it to the back of his mind. Not as though the surprise won't be spoiled before then, anyway, but... Bah. Psychics.

When Ilya looks up at him, squeezes him, he smiles.] Glad to hear it, my Ilya.

[It's probably a good thing Ilya won't allow himself to fall asleep, out here under the stars, music floating gently on the breeze, warm in Mikhail's arms, because Mikhail would either wrap them in the blanket and watch over him until morning (ghosts, after all, do not strictly require sleep), or he would take Ilya into his arms bridal style, like last time, and carry him off to tuck into bed.

Both would result in Ilya griping at him come morning, so... fortunate, indeed.]