sexual healing *

[OLIVER DAMON]

its like a thousand paper cuts

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SOAKED IN VINEGAR[/color][/SIZE][/font]
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No matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise, Oliver knew he needed sex. And preferably any time within the next couple of minutes would be awesome. Because to say Oliver was gagging for it, was a serious understatement. And it was most definitely not a nice feeling for the demon, for he wished it away with every passing moment. Oliver just needed a release, and the only release he knew was sex or tormenting his brother, and since his brother was not here, it left only one option. However, several problems arose with Olivers plan of sexual pleasures with someone in close proximaty.

Problem number one, he didn't know anyone here that would be willing to help him with his sexual needs. Though he had about the "whores" as they were called, unfortunately Oliver couldn't be sweet long enough to actually get them in the door, never mind into his bed. Not that the person needed to be someone he knew in all honesty, a well respected stranger would do. However, again, with not knowing anyone, he had no idea where to even begin to look for those little interested sexual souls out there. It seemed a lot case from even the first problem, and Oliver knew there was no need to dwell on the other problems of clingy parties and awkwardness ensuing, because at this rate, Oliver wasn't getting any.

But Oliver was desperate. Desperate for a touch that would set his skin alight once more. He needed this, as much as he wished he didn't. Alas, he found himself thinking of drastic measures to get someone. He thought about blackmail and other evil things, but he knew, as mean and uncouth as he was, he would never be able to use someone like that, not really. Oliver would probably end up murdering himself out of guilt. The way he was going now, he'd have murdered himself by next week if he didn't get any action. Sex was like oxygen to Oliver, and he was quickly running out of air.

So, it was that day that Oliver, as he awoke from a harsh night of little sleep, that he decided he needed to do something about his prediciment. What better way to solve it than to go out, get drunk, and seduce the first person he could get his hands on. They'd enjoy it, he'd make it good. Then he'd leave, and never have to think about them again, and life would be normal again, until he needed a release again. How hard could it be to get someone into bed with him? Oliver knew he looked good, and was rather desirable. He also knew that he could wrap anyone around his little finger if he really tried. Which was the plan!

The whole day was spent making himself look the epitome of sexiness, and picking out his outfit. He had decided on some tight black trousers that showed off his bum well and a tight white dress shirt. He wondered momentarily about putting on a tie, but felt that was a little too much clothing to tear off in the heat of the moment. The shirt was nothing special, so Oliver could be safe in knowing that when in the throws of passion, if something was ripped, it wouold not matter so much. He ruffled his hair into a sort of style, not that the hair mattered so much. It would only get messed up. And Oliver made sure to put on his best cologne. That had to drag them in right? He just hoped he didn't get unwanted female attention... that would really spoil the mood.

Ready to go, Oliver looked himself over and then quickly made his way out, grabbing a coat on the way. He'd decided on walking into town, and he was glad of the fresh breeze refreshing him. He knew once inside the club it would be hot and heavy and... well perfect but all the same it was nice to cool beforehand.

Reaching The Secret, taking a deep breath, Oliver ventured inside. Taking a look around he saw no one that he knew, or particularly wanted to know. Making his way to the bar, he ordered a drink and turned to let his eyes scan over the dance floor. There was plenty of potential out there, now that he really looked. He just really hoped that for Winterthornes sake, he got some.

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TAGGED![/b] open to preferably males... who like guys...
WORD COUNT![/b] sevenhundredandthirtyseven
NOTES![/b] i'm proud of this post and poor oli needs some sexual healing =D [/font]
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[EZRA HART]

l i f e l i n e ;
CALL IN THE CALVARY.

TUESDAYS were usually the craziest days for him, for some reason, but Wednesday was certainly giving it a run for its money. So far, he'd had thirty people come up to the bar to order drinks. He'd been working for a grand total of eight minutes. For a moment, he'd thought that there was another homeless man who had shouted "drinks on me", but then he realized how crowded the dance floor was. Shit. Apparently Wednesdays were the new Tuesdays, which were the new Fridays. What the hell? Didn't people have to be somewhere, or something? Guess not. It felt like everyone in Hamburg had said "hey, let's all make Ezra actually work tonight and order fifty billion things from the bar at the Secret!"

The only thing worse than having to actually work was to also train the new kid. Again. He hated when he was stuck doing orientation for the new ones. First of all, they asked the most retarded questions he'd ever heard in his life. Example: Ezra, where do I stick my tips? Oh, I don't know--your pocket, fucktard? Ezra, we've run out of alcohol! That's cute. Go in the back and get some more. Ezra, where are the ice cubes around here? Try the fucking freezer, dumbass. He always seemed to get stuck with the hopeless kids. It was like the administration was getting back at him for doing complete shit while he was "at work". He had to admit, though, that he kind of deserved it; making the other bartender do his work while he went out and danced, or started flirting with random people at the bar. It was a wonder he still worked there. Probably the only two reasons that he did were one: Jackson made them keep him, and two: he was hot.

Second of all, they had that whole holier-than-thou thing going on. All they saw was some high-school "drop out" who was probably stupid and didn't know anything about the world around him. Well, screw them. It wasn't like they weren't looking at the same exact job and lifestyle he had (except for, probably, the whole murdering thing). Sometimes he wished he could just bash them over the head, or take them outside and deal with him there. The only problem was that Jackson always made him wait at least a week or two after training them. It was suspicious otherwise--well, hell, it was suspicious nonetheless, but there was nothing they could do to prove it was Ezra, right?

He was lazing at the bar, letting the new kid take most of the orders as his eyes traveled slowly across the crowd. He hadn't seen anyone that he wanted to play with yet, which was slightly upsetting. With al the people who were present at the Secret that night, there had to be someone that he could have some fun with. Slaughter, sex, drugs, whatever. Anything to get his mind off of the present.

The demon slammed the boy's drink down in front of him and leaned on his folded arms against the counter, letting the cigarette dangle from his lips. He looked to the boy, and nodded to the dance floor--which, apparently, the other boy was glued to. "You're not going to find anything out there," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck and grabbing his vodka, pulling it a few inches so that it was in front of him again. "All the sex freaks hang out at the bar." And hey, he could tell when someone was desperate for it. It was obvious. The way they dressed, what they ordered, the way they looked around like they were looking for their missing million dollars. And for once, he was actually giving some goddamn advice. Alcoholics are some sex freaks, he sang in his head, amused.

OUTFIT.