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encrede wrote:
pushing my long blonde bangs to the side, i smile weakly at the german. i look down, toes curling in, shy. meeting his eyes again, i stutter. "um. tate, sir. tate langdon. um. herr klavier..." blue eyes widen at the sound of the name. "ah! sorry, for not clarifying, um . ive heard your stuff..." i bite my lip and break eye contact. god . i feel like a dumb teen acting like this. but those eyes...i cant act normally around him

iridiscencia wrote:
chad tate stares at the other tate. “im calling you a slur” he says

iridiscencia wrote:
tate confidently goes up to the shivering, sweating german man, cold and wet like a freshly tinned haddock. “i heard that rumble” he says, smiling, “and i could smell those impressive feet a mile away” his own toes are like those of a greek god, showing muscular prowess that very few could boast to have. its clear that he has gone to the world-renowned muscle growth facility of herculean level beefcake snail M. lene, the global leader in toe strength (without steroids). a rigorous routine of toe-situps, foot restraint breaking exercises mimicing the performances of houdini, slovakian fire foot breathing and more has ensured that his feet are of the optimal physique that could surely catapult a spud into orbit. “more like spudnic”, he says out loud. how are the other contestants going to compete with this gargantuan god of taterhurling. it seems like a sisyphean task. nina west bites her lip while simultaneously worrying about the roof of the rented tent, as a tato thrown by tate could rip a hole in the space-time continuum, let alone the cheapest option at  rent-a-tent.com

Klavier wrote:
"ah, natürlich, herr langdon." i tilt my head at the young man and flash perfectly white teeth at him.i know i am making him nervous and baby, i am enjoying every moment of it. "would you like me to sign something for you, hm? i always carry a marker with me," i said, shoving an oily hand into the back pocket of my incredibly tight black skinny jeans, covering my entire bottom in the golden, greasy substance

encrede wrote:
watching the man touch his behind.. hand slowly moving over the non-curvy surface, i blush. he knows he's got me. but two can play at this game. "why, thank you, herr klavier..." slowly pulling my long green sweater up over my stomach, i expose soft pale skin, the lines of my abdominal muscles catching the light. i wipe my oily hand over my stomach, my low rise ripped jeans showing a bit more than would be safe for work.. "please" i say, flexing my abs, now oiled up. " can you sign here...herr klavier...?"

Klavier wrote:
"th-there??" i sputter, flustered, but i quickly regain my composure and my rockstar smile finds its way back onto my face, although perhaps a bit stilted this time. i pray the other man doesn't notice. my gaze lingers at his exposed pale stomach for a moment, and i must mentally remind myself that the man is undoubtedly awaiting a response. keeping my head titled slightly down, my grayish blue eyes turn back up to stare into those of the other man, which were of a deeper blue. "ja, of course. anything for a fan" i wink at him before slowly reaching my marker-holding hand, dripping in oil, down to meet the mans skin. "forgive me, herr langdon, i seem to be a little... greasy" i half-whisper in a sultry voice, focusing on perfecting the signature i had written so many times before. i must admit i am slightly out of practice as people tend to approach me less often these days. the oil from my hand drips down the marker, slightly smudging the 'N' at the end of my signature, and pooling above the hem of the pale blondes jeans