notaballad | RP: A Day at the Beach

Current Mood: giddy

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RP: A Day at the Beach

Who: Desmond Molloy and Peter Petrelli/Michael Tarello/the really hot guy Des is dating
What: A Day at the Best Beach in the World™
Where: Whatever city they're in -- it is nondescript and generic? LA, maybe? IDK
When: Friday, April 17, afternoon
Rating: Knowing Des, it'll go to R really quick.

Des was giddy. There was really no other way to describe the feeling that he was experiencing as he packed up a picnic lunch for Peter -- no, Michael -- and himself. He would have to get used to calling his. . .well, he wasn't really sure what to call Michael, really. They hadn't exactly given their relationship labels yet, and he wasn't sure if it was too soon to call Michael his boyfriend. He felt like it wasn't too soon, but he didn't want to scare off the other man.

He could be low key though, no big deal. He was just happy to get to spend time with Michael. He wasn't kidding about liking the guy. He couldn't explain it, but Michael was exciting and different. Every time that Des thought he had a handle on who Michael was, the man would surprise him with a new facet. It was like peeling back the skin of an onion and finding the fruit of a peach. Some people might proceed with caution and possibly back away in concern, but not Des. Hell no, if anything, it made him more intrigued.

So, he whistled a happy tune to himself as he stuck the containers filled with salad for Michael and lunch meat for himself into the cooler. He'd packed a little extra meat, just in case Michael wasn't a vegetarian after all, and then he got containers of macaroni salad and cole slaw out of the fridge, adding those to the cooler as well. Bottles of water, lemonade and a couple of sodas were tucked into the cooler too, and then everything got loaded into Des' 1967 cherry red Mustang GT convertible.

A change of clothes -- in case they decided to go out for dinner or something afterwards -- was stuffed into a duffle bag, and Des was ready to go. He was already wearing his swim trunks, a casual t-shirt and flip flops completing his outfit. Now, he just needed to get Michael.

The duffle bag got tosed into the back seat and Des hopped behind the wheel, cranking up the engine and zooming off to Michael's place.

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Des didn't mind Michael going through his stuff at all. He grinned and watched Michael serve himself, waiting until the other man was done to get himself something to eat, grabbing pretty much the same things. He got a double helping of the macaroni salad because it was his favorite.

"Yum," he said with a grin as he folded his legs underneath him and balanced his plate on one knee. He picked up his sandwich and took a bite, at least having the decency to chew it completely and swallow before he asked, "What's your most favorite food ever?" Random, yes, a little, but he wanted to know these things about Michael.

Since so far Michael was failing to be consistent in anything he said to Des, it should've come as no surprise to see the man eating a sandwich with meat in it. He too had the decency to finish his bite before he answered Des's question.

"California rolls," he answered immediately. "I don't know why, but eating them in California makes them taste better."

Edited 2009-04-27 18:56 (UTC)

Desmond had to admit that he was a little bit surprised to see Michael eating a sandwich with meat, but the man was full of contradictions. He didn't know whether to ask about it or not, but he was curious. He was still curious about Peter too. He hadn't just imagined him, had he? Michael hadn't seemed to know who he was, had even asked Desmond who he was, but Desmond couldn't answer that. It was a mystery, something that nagged at the back of his mind occasionally.

He was drawn out of his thoughts by Michael's answer and grinned. "You know, I'm not a big seafood eater, but I love California rolls," he said, "probably because they're made with the fake crab stuff. I agree though, eating them in California does make them taste better. Probably because they were made here."

Michael could only eat about half the sandwich before he stopped. No matter what the Dollhouse imprinted in him, some things couldn't be beaten, and right now his stomach was churning as it rejected the meat he put in there. Michael had no choice but to turn his attention over to the macaroni salad.

"I'm honestly not that picky about food," he shrugged.

Desmond frowned slightly when Michael stopped eating his sandwich after only about half of it was gone. He tilted his head, giving the other man a curious look. "Is your sandwich okay?" he asked. He really had a feeling that it had something to do with Peter being a vegetarian, but he was curious to know what Michael's answer would be.

"Fine," he said dismissively. "I guess I just wasn't as hungry as I thought." He didn't look like he understood his body's reaction any more than Desmond did. The cole slaw and macaroni salad were fine. But the meat... even smelling it was starting to make his insides curl. What the hell? Seriously. Michael felt annoyed at himself for being such a mess around Desmond.

"You look kinda sick to your stomach," Desmond said, reaching over to rub Michael's back, trying to be helpful. He hesitated a moment, wondering if mentioning that Peter was a vegetarian would be a good idea. He didn't want to upset Michael. He didn't think the meat was bad. His stomach felt just fine.

He lifted his sandwich to his nose and sniffed it curiously. "Meat's still good," he said thoughtfully. "Huh. . ."

"I'm fine," Michael insisted irritably. Unconsciously his body tilted to get closer to Desmond's. He did like feeling the other man's hand on his back.

"Maybe it's just being here with you," he said. "I don't date that often. Guess I'm feeling nervous."

Desmond chuckled and grinned, pressing a soft kiss to Michael's shoulder as he continued to rub the other man's back. "Yeah? So I've made nervous butterflies in your stomach, huh?" he said. "I'm going to be flattered by that fact, that I can make you nervous, and thank you for choosing to date me."

It was like gravity was pulling him toward Desmond. He did not cuddle, but Desmond's body was intoxicating. He couldn't help but want to be close to it. "I'm not sure why," Michael admitted. "I just feel really good when I'm around you. No one's ever made me feel like they liked me for being me, and you do."

Desmond definitely didn't mind cuddling Michael and he set his plate aside for the moment, sliding an arm around Michael's waist. He held him loosely, not wanting to upset the other man and make him pull away. "Yeah?" he said. "Well, that's a shame 'cause those people didn't know what they were missing, but it makes me even luckier 'cause I get you all to myself. I like making you feel good. I like knowing that I'm the one making you feel good."

He allowed himself to be held without protest for a few moments. But soon enough he grew restless. If they were going to have a moment they would have to do more than sit there. Michael tilted his head so he could occupy himself nibbling on Desmond's ear. At least this way it wasn't cuddling, it was foreplay.

Desmond was a wee bit surprised when Michael let himself be cuddled, especially after shying away from it earlier. He grinned a little, thinking that maybe he'd gotten the other man accustomed to cuddling. Then Michael started nibbling on his ear, and Desmond let out a soft groan, closing his eyes. "Michael. . ." he murmured, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin.

If Des wanted to keep things casual, groaning like that was the wrong way to do it. Michael switched on like a light, his hand descending to run carefully along Des's leg. "I love how you say my name," he murmured back. He dipped his head down to graze his teeth against Desmond's neck.

Desmond drew in a breath as he felt that hand slide along his leg, and he shivered, arching his back slightly. "Yeah? I love the way it feels on my tongue," he groaned. He dragged his tongue over his lips, shuddering when those teeth grazed his neck, and he arched a little more. "Oh fuck, Michael." He was starting to get aroused, and part of him knew that he should probably pull away, tell Michael they needed to stop, but dammit, he didn't want to.

"I'd love to," he said in a soft purr. "But not here." He felt very reluctant about it but Michael moved his hand away. "I want you all to myself. No audience. You think you can wait until I get you home?"

Desmond whined a little when Michael pulled his hand away, and he cleared his throat, dragging his tongue over his lips. "Right, no audience. That would be bad and potentinally get us arrested," he said with a quiet laugh. "It'll be hard, but I'll try." He gave Michael a grin, half tempted to just load all the stuff up right then and head off.

"Sorry." Michael put a reasonable distance between them so neither would be tempted to continue. "You brought me here to hang out. It's just..." His lips moved into an almost sheepish smile. "When I'm around you, I can't seem to help it."

Desmond laughed and leaned back on his hands, shaking his head. "Oh, no, don't apologize. I don't mind at all," he said. "I mean, yeah, we came here to hang out, but I'm flattered that you can't keep your hands off me." He gave Michael a wink. "I like being with you, Michael."

He smiled at that, feeling rather pleased. The fact that he was even trying to have a normal time with someone spoke volumes. "I like being with you too, Des," he admitted quietly. He turned his eyes away, focusing on the ocean. But soon enough his eyes found their way back to Desmond.

"It's weird," he said thoughtfully. "I feel like I've known you longer than I have. Like we met before that night I came to your house."

Desmond grinned, pleased that Michael was enjoying himself too. He leaned back on his hands and tilted his face up toward the sun, closing his eyes and just basking in the warmth.

He lowered his head and opened his eyes at Michael's words though, looking curiously at him. "Oh yeah?" he said. "What makes you think that?" He was curious to see how Michael would respond before he told him that they had.

"I don't know. It's like..." He was coming off as a weirdo, he just knew it. He bit his lip as he tried to get his feelings into words. "It's like déjà vu. You feel so familiar to me. I can't explain it." Michael finished the thought with a shrug of his shoulders.

Desmond licked his lips, debating for a long moment how to respond to that. He finally decided that it was a good idea to just be honest, since Michael had initially been honest with him about his profession. "What if I told you that we did meet?" he asked quietly. "I mean, I- Well, I don't know how to explain it, but I know it was you. You didn't call yourself Michael though."

He thought about it, and ended up shrugging his shoulders. "That's probably true," Michael conceded. "Most of the time I don't even tell customers my name; I just let them moan out whatever name they want." He paused, rubbing the back of his head. "That solves that mystery, I guess."

"We hadn't had sex yet," Desmond said, chuckling softly. "It was just one of the times that you were Peter. Actually, we talked quite a few times before that day you came over to my place. You always kinda had this child-like quality about you, just really innocent and pure." He looked embarrassed and laughed lightly. "I felt really guilty about having less than pure thoughts about you, and then you came over to my place and, well, you know what happened."

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