Thomas Raith (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
emptynight) wrote2009-10-28 04:20 pm
emptynight) wrote2009-10-28 04:20 pm
Entry tags:
This is the night that never ends...
A few minutes of quiet and the scent of gunpowder managed to do what all the interminable talking had not: clear Thomas' mind to the point where he could actually stand being in his own head. Still, just because he wasn't in danger of hurling insults or spewing his guts didn't mean he wanted to see any of the housemates who had been informed of his departure. Not just yet, at least. After a good day's sleep, he'd be more sociable.
So Thomas bribed one of the grips to sneak into the kitchen where Isaac was holding court with something that smelled amazing and bring back a bottle of every kind of liquor in the bar. Thomas contented himself with sitting on the patio, a bottle of bourbon at his elbow, as he took the Desert Eagle apart and began wiping down the interior.
((Tag Vlad))
So Thomas bribed one of the grips to sneak into the kitchen where Isaac was holding court with something that smelled amazing and bring back a bottle of every kind of liquor in the bar. Thomas contented himself with sitting on the patio, a bottle of bourbon at his elbow, as he took the Desert Eagle apart and began wiping down the interior.
((Tag Vlad))
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His gaze drifted down to linger on Thomas' lips, and Vlad frowned, just a bit. How disappointing. "You've hurt yourself. What a shame." His mouth twitched, but he managed to look serious when he met Thomas' gaze again. "Whoever you kissed last must have been pretty hot."
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The pun was met with an eye-rolling chuckle. "Please tell me that fondness for puns isn't genetic," Thomas said as his fingers grew purposeful, sliding farther beneath the collar, fingernails scraping against skin. Thomas set the bottle of bourbon down, and withdrew his hand. "Alice's worn you out, right? What a shame."
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But then the touch was taken away, which was more than disappointing. Things were just beginning to get interesting. But at the comment, Vlad tilted his head farther back to look up at the other man again - at the same time revealing a certain expanse of smooth pale neck.
It was trying, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he spoke, tone casual. "Oh she did." And, because Thomas was needling him and he couldn't resist, Vlad added, "Twice." He shifted, straightening, stretching lazily, removing the hand that was drifting up Thomas' leg. "But I recover remarkably quickly."
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The arm that wasn't draped over Vlad's shoulders slid up his chest, slow and deliberate, until Thomas felt skin beneath his fingers. His fingers traced the curve of Vlad's throat, nails scraping lightly over nerves and artery. His other hand curled around back, sliding into Vlad's hair, and he smirked. "Well, things don't work quite right in your old age, I guess."
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Thomas fingers were on his neck, and Vlad couldn't help the brief rumble of pleasure, low in his throat. "Age doesn't have anything to do with it, boy," he smirked, "As I'm sure other members of your household would be quick to tell you."
Vlad took as much delight as letting someone else take control as his did having it himself. So Thomas' touching was only met with slow, sinuous movements, pressing up against those fingers, and his hand going back to Thomas' leg, sliding higher, fingers his leg through the jeans. "And if it did, you wouldn't know which end of a woman was up yet."
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His free hand traced its way back down the other man's chest, slow and determined, hooking into the waistband of Vlad's pants with a sharp, teasing tug. Vlad's hand brushed against him, even through the denim, and Thomas hissed in pleased surprise.
Alice was, as they both knew, amazingly fun, but for the past two weeks there had always been guilt and responsibility hanging over his head. Vlad, on the other hand, let things go after a question, and perfectly happy to drink and Not Talk About Things. If Thomas had ever needed a drink-and-fuck buddy, it was right now. And he suspected the same was true for Vlad.
The hand that had been curled into Vlad's hair tightened its grip, fingernails biting into the back of the man's neck, when Thomas hissed at his touch, and Thomas responded in kind, ignoring the still buttoned waistband for now to lavish light, precise touches over clothed flesh.
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The man was good. Vlad hadn't forgotten that. But he wasn't good enough to make Vlad forget what he was doing, and even as Thomas touched him through his (faintly uncomfortable now) black trousers Vlad himself was teasing, stroking too lightly to really get through the denim.
"It might," he finally managed breathlessly, his hips now rocking unabashedly into the touches, "Depending on what you're aiming for. You wouldn't want to go to touch her and realize you're caressing her nose, now would you?" Ignoring the button on Thomas' jeans, Vlad pulled down the zipper. One finger, still muffled by the cloth between them, moved down Thomas' length in one slow stroke.
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Desire hummed against his skin, brushed against his fingers, and Thomas let power pool in his fingertips, sent tiny tendrils to coax that faint humming into a symphony with every brush of skin against skin. His fingers unbuttoned and unzipped Vlad's pants with achingly slow precision, a smirk playing at his lips when he finally slid a hand inside, picking up the same rhythm he'd abandoned earlier.
Thomas brought his lips to Vlad's ear, tongue tracing lightly over the curve. "I always know what I'm aiming for," he laughed softly, the words a bare whisper of warm breath.
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Shuddering with pleasure, he arched up against Thomas' hand and moaned softly, suddenly unable to think about anything but that touch, which was really sending a ridiculous number of sparks flying under his skin. And doing the same to him, of course. Vlad managed to fumble the button on Thomas' jeans open, and followed suit, matching his rhythm easily.
It was easy to ignore the camera crews almost entirely (almost being the key word; Vlad did sometimes enjoy an audience,) - oh, especially when Thomas did that. But birds were singing, and the sky was getting lighter all the time. The first few times he opened his mouth, all that came out was a strangled noise. Finally he managed "we should," before the words degenerated back into unintelligible gargles of pleasure.
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He had been on the verge of suggesting just that when Vlad managed to make two coherent words come out of his mouth, and Thomas slowed the rhythm of his hand. He managed a breathless laugh, the fingers that had been tangled in Vlad's hair tightening.
"'We should' what? Stop?" The laugh grew throaty and low, the very hint of a growl edging into his voice. "Or I could bend you over the table. Table might not survive."
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The sky was nearly blue, birds were singing their fool heads off, and the hand pulling his hair sent fire right to those nerves Thomas seemed to enjoy touching.
No. Sky. Pay attention to sky. There were plenty of tables in the house.
Another strangled gargle and thrusting up into Thomas' hand later, Vlad managed "Inside." It was much harder to extricate his hand from Thomas' pants than it rightfully should be, and there was that twinge inside that side the sun was coming up. With extreme effort, Vlad pulled away, yanking Thomas with him by the wrist.
The kitchen door was closer, and the room now mercifully empty. Slamming the door behind them, Vlad pressed Thomas against the glass door. His hands reached, one to thread through his hair and the other to slip back between layers of cloth and wrap tight around sensitive skin. He went to kiss Thomas, taste him and bite, but at the last second he saw them again and, reminded of the other man's injury, pulled his head back to trail kisses down his neck.
Conversation was overrated.
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