This is the night that never ends...

[emptynight]

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))

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[emptynight]

Give and take. No one person in control, just touches that warmed the blood and stole the breath. The laugh that bubbled up at Vlad's words was almost immediately strangled by the groan the man managed to provoke with one touch. "I should be insulted," Thomas managed to gasp out. His hand, which had been building up a steady rocking rhythm against Vlad, slowed, then stopped entirely as he pulled away to methodically untuck the man's shirt.

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.

[bad-vlad.livejournal.com]

And that pretty much killed Vlad's ability to have a conversation.

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.

[emptynight]

Maybe a century or so of practice did help, because whatever Vlad was doing was not just matching his pace, because Thomas was aching into that hand with far more noise than usual. He did, however, have the presence of mind to keep moving his hand, running the pad of his thumb over already receptive nerves and letting the Hunger play over all those unspooling threads of desire. Everything felt so good but just wasn't quite enough, and the thought came to Thomas that bending the man over the table was an excellent idea.

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."

[bad-vlad.livejournal.com]

Vlad had been 'practicing' for closer to a century and a half. Though possibly not as rigorously as Thomas. But the other thing a century and a half had given him, that had already been sorely tested this evening under rigorous standards, was self-control.

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.

[emptynight]

((Desquish on Desquish action))