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CUDDLR - Made for him by Gaige :| The first couple hits will really confuse him, s o b
 Wolfgang Bogdanow* (28) German. Locksmith & boxman. LIKES: ladies, dudes, cheap beer, diamonds, explosions ( !!! ) Available for cuddles and "cuddles". Ask me about rocket launchers. |
FOR YES / A MATCH / A TICK
FOR NO / A CROSS
*will occasionally be changed to "God", but only while messaging April, so if you catch him during one of those times, you can swipe God. ur welcome.
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Skip the line, look for me by the bouncer.
[ in about 30 minutes, as promised, wolfgang will be hanging out by the entrance, mildly chatting with the bouncer, who he brought a beer for, because he's a nice dude, and he knows him. and riley knows him, which means wolfgang double-knows him. either way, it gets him and whoever he's with in past the line.
he won't be in anything fancy, because he doesn't see the point in dressing up for clubs, or anything that isn't full on formal attire. like a funeral, or a wedding. so it's dark jeans and a t-shirt, black boots, leather jacket that is practically always on his person. hanging out, beer bottle hanging from one hand with a cigarette perched between index and ring finger on the same hand, shooting the shit with his door man buddy. ]
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[ Skip the line? He likes you even more now. Party? Cutting the hoard? He's down for it. It does take him about twenty minutes to get ready--mainly fussing over what to wear because Tristan believes in first impressions right down to his work back home. He keeps his clothing simple, light, good for dancing, and he brings a jacket along as well since the air has a bite to it.
By the time he gets to the door, he's barely a couple of minutes late. Tristan walks with confident, easy strides, but there's something strange left in his wake the way he walks--the sharp kick of harmless sparks of fire, a little bit of a burn mark left in the shape of his boot heels. Of course it takes a carefully cultivated step, but remember, first impressions and Tris certainly wants to be remembered (especially since he has quota to fill, never mind that he has a rather nicely-fluffed ego).
He gets to the door and tips his head a bit. ]
Wolfie, right?
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wolfgang isn't a stickler for punctuality. or for anything, really. besides, he has his bouncer buddy to hang with, and even if tris didn't show, he'd probably find a way to have a good time. clubs are clubs. but when the man comes struting up in his torn up skinny jeans and his fitting shirt and his boots that are literally striking sparks, wolfgang is very fucking glad he did. first impressions indeed.
as he glances up from the conversation towards the man approaching, there's a moment that's a little awe-struck, eyes trailing down the line of his form, down to the shoes, and the mild scorches they leave on the pavement behind. well shit. magic, right? has to be magic, boots don't do that. cool use of it, though. ]
Shit. [ the first thing muttered past lips pulling into a sharp half-smirk, which, considering it's Wolfgang and he's allergic to emoting in general, is a pretty big deal. yes, this one is pretty, he will keep him. ] If you like. Tristan?
[ 'wolfie' is hardly new to him, or 'wolf' or even 'wolfman' but the latter he's less thrilled with. otherwise, he's not picky. the german accent is much heavier, coming from wolfgang, having never left berlin in his life, save for some short trips. ]
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[ If you like.
Does he ever.
He catches the pull of Wolfgang's lips, finds that he spreads his own smile a little wider, clutches his jacket a little closer around him as he steps into his space and waves a hand through a plume of cigarette smoke. He'll admit, the accent is nice--refreshing. Max's is soft, tempered from all the travel, but this guy practically bleeds Deutsch if you could ever do such a thing. ]
German, though, you weren't kidding. [ Brushing up near him, for leather to meet leather, he offers a smile at the bouncer. ] Show me inside?
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as tristan slides up next to him, waving away the smoke, wolfgang lowers the cigarette, tapping it out on the side of the building, leaving some ash marked on the brick. they're about to go in anyway, smoking and dancing don't always mix well. he pats the bouncer's shoulder, gives a short "see you later, man", and hand lifts to press at tristan's back, over his jacket, as wolfgang jerks his head towards the door. let's go, boo, let's do this shit, bring ur fancy fire boots and ur pretty face. ]
This is the first time I've ever lived outside of Berlin. [ so, not a lot of time to practice, and really, half the reason he's fluent at all, he thinks, is due to having both Riley and Nomi constantly in his head. ] Your friend isn't German?
[ he asks, just before the last set of doors to lead them into the club push open, and they're hit with a wave of sound, light, and something that isn't quite cigarette smoke. more like the stuff that comes form fog machines, clouding up the upper part of the room. ]
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She's always been a hopeless romantic. And she likes the idea of it. Tristan has known this since he was little.
Feeling the strong press of Wolfgang's hand against his back, he lets him take lead, guiding him inside. he likes the span of his hand--it's familiar almost, but not quite. Like someone who's made your favorite drink for so long suddenly gets their half cousin to do the same and he... changes it up. Puts in a twist of lemon or a little more ice or something noticeably different than usual, but still keeps the basics there, the structure. ] He's German, very German, extremely German, [ Tristan offers. ] But he spent a lot of years with us up in Alaska, and then all around the world. His accent's softer.
[ It's funny that you're all German. Cute, even.
The sound that comes the instant the doors press open is enough to make his entire sternum shudder and give under the bass. Tristan has been to parties in LA, but certainly not with as much frequency as he did back at the reformatory. And even then, small-town Alaska didn't have as much power to it as this. Tristan's mouth opens a bit and he breathes out, soaking in the sound, the light, eyes falling down to near pinpoints as he takes it in. ]
Oh, [ he practically sighs, and then over the din: ] This is exactly what I was looking for.
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anyway.
extremely german. yikes. it pulls a short laugh from him, mostly lost to the music, and he steps out in front of tris, jerking his head towards the throng of dancers, as they chat. ] Does he have sausage and beer coming out of his ass or something?
[ is that what extremely german is?? he's not sure he wants to meet this dude, germans are kind of pricks. anyway, screw that guy, his friend is wolfgang's friend now, sry bruh.
tilting his head towards his... hook up? date? whatever this is? tristan, he watches the reaction unfold, the little spark of awe and excitement and something like relief, turning that small smirk wolfgang had been wearing into a wider grin. cute. he likes it, though, that's good. awesome. ] Happy to be of service.
[ wolfgang's jacket is shrugged off as the pass a coat check somewhere (because eudio is nice like that), and after that, he's making his way into the dancing crowd, holding out a hand for tris to grab if he wants to, but otherwise just trying to keep an eye on him, to make sure he's not getting lost. at some point, once the dj's in sight, wolfgang's tossing a glance to her, that seems to have her looking up directly at him. PROBABLY JUST COINCIDENCE, NBD. ]
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Don't mind if I do.
He reaches out and grabs it lightly, soaking up the pulse of the music and glancing only once at the DJ working her craft. Tris would almost call it magical--everything's perfect, right down to the balance of music and bass and beat singing out into the air, pulling his blood flush to the surface. ]
Thank you, [ he says, pulling in close from the crowd until they're flush. The floor is wholly packed and Tristan feels the heat from the lights, from the bodies moving around them, enough that his everything is ready for this, caught in an upsurge of adrenaline from the beat alone. Slinging an arm over Wolfgang's shoulder, he presses in close. ] I get a dance too, right?
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and once he turns to face tris again, he's getting a chest full of tall, pretty, angel face boy. well, that's fine. wolfgang's hands naturally fall to his hips when an arm wraps over his shoulders, and smiles something sharp but excited. ]
You didn't think I called you here to make you dance alone, did you?
[ he definitely dances differently. not as bouncey as max, and not as much like a techno stripper. not like he's seeing jesus in the strobe lights or something. with wolfgang, it's more tactile, in a sense, more about touch and heat and movement, hands on tristan's hips, moving along with him to the thrum of the music, dragging up along his sides, over his back, feeling muscles tense and flex under the thin fabric of his shirt. ]
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[ He's a breath of fresh air, really--and Tristan dips close when Wolfgang slides hands along his hips, rakes fingers and palms up his sides enough to make him bow forward and with the slow motion of his hips to the music. Tristan presses along with him, fingers coming up to drag along the nape of Wolfgang's neck, passing through his hair and finding his smile broadening with every pass of their bodies.
No, he didn't expect to be made to dance alone.
There are no drugs in his system, not an iota of liquor, not even the high of sex prior to leaving the house. Tristan runs off his own high, a cliché high on life--music and sweat and bodies crowding around them, the feel of a stranger's bones fitting just right up against you because the music makes you one and the same. That's not to say he didn't enjoy that sort of thing, the intoxication and the ability to lose yourself in something else and be in it's hold but... he's capable of having a little fun without the help. He craves the beat surging through his veins as he throws his head back against the lights.
His teeth catch on his lip as he gets in close, enough to brush his temples against Wolfgang's briefly, eyes meeting his in the heat of it. There's something sharper there, darker, and Tristan likes flirting along the edges of it, rolling his hips forward that much more to grind against him boldly. ]