dust [c]

i used to dream in the dark of palisades park

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knox prescott
dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 20, 2019 22:43:50 GMT
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[attr="class","knoxpost"]lights bleed over his skin. silver hair, freshly dyed, iridescent in these lights. someone calls him a unicorn. he barks a sharp laugh, sees it curl in the air. hands down his shirt (his own), sweat on his brow and liquor still in the corner of his mouth, on the back of his tongue. 

he excuses himself to the bathroom. sharpie-black stalls, yearning behind a closed door. he drops into another one, upends the trash can, and fishes for the bag in his back pocket. 

crushes with his credit card. his scraping joins the melodious groaning of his neighbors. presses his thumb to his nose, dips down, and

inhales

his vision sharpens and a lopsided, boyish smile colors him. his cheeks warm. beside him, he ears, 'yo, man, you got a little bit to share?' breathy, soft, obnoxious. he laughs back, turns the trash can upright, and breezes back out. 

the floor is waiting and bodies are mingling and he joins the mass with little regard, head tilted back, music swallowing him whole. 




[newclass=.knoxpost]font:10px calibri;[/newclass]
[newclass=.knoxpost b]color:#4f96b1;font:bold 11px calibri;line-height:12px;[/newclass]
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dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 21, 2019 18:31:40 GMT
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Setting his empty glass on the bar, Spencer isn't sure how many drinks he's had so far — what he does know, however, is that it's enough to finally get him off his barstool and on the dance floor; a place he wouldn't be found dead sober.

He slips through the mass of bodies, pale blue eyes scanning the crowd before settling on a head of silver hair. A grin curls on his lips, curved like a fishhook, and he moves towards the other.

"I like your hair," he says, voice just loud enough to be heard over the music, as he reaches out, twirling a lock around his finger. His words are slurred, but he doesn't notice; doesn't care.





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knox prescott
dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 21, 2019 20:01:20 GMT
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[attr="class","knoxpost"]he is in past and future. back then, hair bubblegum pink and green, fading blue. watermelon, strawberry--cute little nicknames from femboys. future is peacock blue and green, touches of black, starlight gray. or is it present? 

fingers twist in his hair and he hums in the back of his throat. his hands aren't his own, but they're feeling fabric drawn taut over a lanky body, hips swaying from side to side. 

he twists, catches the man's wrist, dapples fingertips down his arm. touch my shoulder, pull me closer. his breath is warm as he leans in. "i like yours too." he nips at the locks curling behind his ear, draws back with a wink. 



[newclass=.knoxpost]font:10px calibri;[/newclass]
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dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 21, 2019 20:48:43 GMT
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Fingers tracing down the other's arm, his breath hot against his neck, Spencer chuckles deep in his throat.

"Yeah?" Heavy-lidded eyes flicker down to the hands roaming his chest, his own slipping to the man's waist, fingers dipping under the hem of his shirt, to the small of his back. With a sharp tug, he pulls him closer, still swaying to the music.

"See anything else you like?" he asks, eyes finally finding his; pupils blown wide despite the bright, flashing lights. Spencer wets his lips, raking his teeth over the bottom and pulling it under, the (much too sweet) taste of alcohol still lingering.





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i used to dream in the dark of palisades park.
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dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 22, 2019 1:20:16 GMT
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[newclass=.rndBG]--rndColor:#6f5e7b[/newclass]
[nospaces]

[attr="class","rndBG"]
[attr="class","rndHead"]
[attr="class","lnr lnr-bubble"]
[attr="class","lnr lnr-magic-wand"]

🎃TRICK-or-TREAT!

[attr="class","rndHeadA"]


[attr="class","rndIMG"]





[attr="class","rndText"]

A PUMPKABOO FLOATS BY with a treat clasped underneath its tiny fangs. both of you receive the following:[break][break]
[break][break]
(note: you do not need to engage with the pumpkaboo icly).[break]
&


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knox prescott
dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 22, 2019 17:20:08 GMT
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[attr="class","knoxpost"]tw: drug use

lights flash over his eyes and he disappears in those too-big pupils. shimmering and reflective. he laughs at the crystalline moment, laced with acidic colors. 

and he does. there's something in the air that gives the other man a glow. it's sweat and heat and the dancing lights, casting minute shadows. his hands still grace his hips, but they flutter up his sides and he tells him with touch what he likes. 

the small of his back, exposed when he turns just the right way. scarce touches on the underside of his arms, teasing and light, as he watches him suckle his lower lip. his own lips part and a static ripples over him. he shivers. 

the music gets louder, blurred, and he twitches, feels the blocked ache in his nose. 

and then he pulls back his hand; slender fingers touch his tongue, sink into the powder in his pocket. his eyes are half-lidded now and he's watching the other boy's lips as he offers a taste. 



[newclass=.knoxpost]font:10px calibri;[/newclass]
[newclass=.knoxpost b]color:#4f96b1;font:bold 11px calibri;line-height:12px;[/newclass]
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dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 26, 2019 14:57:39 GMT
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The other boy laughs and it sends a chill up his spine, goosebumps tickling his skin. He watches him closely, eyes so focused on his that it feels as if he's trapped; his eyes are the sea and he is drowning.

His gaze flickers down to parted lips and it is then that Spencer decides the teasing touches aren't cutting it; he wants to feel more of everything. He tilts his head, lips brushing the other's ear before shifting to nip at the skin underneath, at the curve of his jaw, tongue brushing over the spot.

"Come with me," he purrs, fingers wrapping tight around his wrist. Not waiting for a reply, he gives a sharp tug, pulling him along through the sea of bodies.


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dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 29, 2019 0:46:20 GMT
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[attr="class","knoxpost"]he has something important he should be doing. but that's in the back of his head. it's in another lifetime. another lifeline. that's what he needs. a lifeline. 

the call can wait. the job can wait. can it? 

he laughs giddily and the world shrinks back down with a pop. heat on the side of his jaw, on his mouth, the tip of his finger. his eyes sparkle and he laps up the rest of the powder, gums tingling. 

he allows himself to be pulled. (it's not me. it's the universe. it's the universe telling me what to do, doing this to me, undoing me.)

he's jostled as they walk, but he doesn't feel the elbows, the stumbling feet. his other hand presses against the small of the boy's back and he nips at his neck, eyes half-narrowed. 

"but what's the rush?" he whispers harshly in his ear. 



[newclass=.knoxpost]font:10px calibri;[/newclass]
[newclass=.knoxpost b]color:#4f96b1;font:bold 11px calibri;line-height:12px;[/newclass]
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dust [c]
POSTED ON Oct 31, 2019 14:02:26 GMT
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"No rush," Spencer breathes once they're in the hallway, away from the sea of people and flashing lights. He presses the other up against the wall, a hand on either side of his head. Grinning, he looks down at him, eyes raking over his face, his body.

"Just wanted to get you alone," he says, one hand leaving the wall to cup his jaw instead, thumb running past the sharp curve.

Spencer wets his lips, eyes flickering down to the other's before leaning in to capture them in a kiss; it's soft at first, searching, but it's not long before he leans in closer, teeth sinking in the other boy's bottom lip.


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crow

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february 24
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knox prescott
dust [c]
POSTED ON Nov 5, 2019 21:24:55 GMT
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[attr="class","knoxpost"]to be wanted--that's the way to knox's heart. he's a leo through and through and any and all attention gets his heart skipping. so it's deliciously satisfying to hear the nameless boy murmur that he wants him

he parts his lips as the boy runs his hand over his jaw. heart jumps in his throat; he shifts to the side, curls his hands in the hem of the boy's jeans, if only because he doesn't know quite what to do with them otherwise. 

he makes a soft noise in his throat as the boy takes him in a kiss. teeth bite into his lip and he shifts his hips, pressing against him, parting his mouth. warm, open, inviting, he tugs him closer. 

the music echoes in his ears and he is dizzyingly high and it is only a matter of time before he starts falling. but he has this moment, at least. this moment of perfect, crystal clarity. 



[newclass=.knoxpost]font:10px calibri;[/newclass]
[newclass=.knoxpost b]color:#4f96b1;font:bold 11px calibri;line-height:12px;[/newclass]
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dust [c]
POSTED ON Nov 23, 2019 19:19:37 GMT
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Spencer isn't sure how much time passes; could be a minute, could be ten. When he pulls back, he watches the other boy through hooded eyes, lips parted ever so slightly. In the background, he hears the music and other people at the club, but they sound further away than they really are, drowned out like he's underwater.

"Let's get out of here," he whispers, finger tracing along the other's jaw, to the underside of his chin. He tips his head back, forcing his gaze up to his own. "I bet we could have a lot more fun together."



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crow

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knox prescott
dust [c]
POSTED ON Jan 17, 2020 20:10:45 GMT
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[attr="class","knoxpost"]he can show him anything he wants. so long as he doesn't stay more than an arm's length away. his heat is still flush against his body and knox is wanting, wanting, wanting, but he's anxious to do more, be more, become more. 

he wants to fall in love. love, love, love. what a sickening, dizzying, intoxicating drug. and he does this, does it every time he goes out. he falls hard because that's what he's really addicted to. not the coke that crusts his nose, that dilates his eyes. not the masochism of knowing he's unwanted, but trying anyway. 

no, he wants love. minute love. a love so painful that ends in a single night. that's beautiful before it can become ugly. 

he kisses spencer, hard. and then he laughs against his lips and he takes his hand and he says, "i know, i know the perfect place."

and then he takes him outside and they're on the street. the lights are bright; the city is starting to wind down. he wants to delve back into the bodies, into the multicolored leds, but he holds spencer's hand fast. 

and he takes him home. "shhhhh," he whispers as he swipes the key he'd nicked from summer the other night. the mansion stands tall, illustrious, umbecoming of a man such as knox. but he traverses the grounds with a familiarity that can only lead to a single conclusion. 



[newclass=.knoxpost]font:10px calibri;[/newclass]
[newclass=.knoxpost b]color:#4f96b1;font:bold 11px calibri;line-height:12px;[/newclass]
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