stberggren

[stberggren]

a throaty sound escapes him as emil pulls out. he thinks it gives him a second to breathe, but he is wrong. he’d almost forgotten about emil being strong enough to carry him in here and that it takes no effort for him to turn him over. he presses his cheek against the mattress, trying to get an obscure view of emil hovering over him. he can barely see him; not between him moving lower and tom needing to close his eyes, shuddering, feeling the kisses down his back and the teeth sinking into his skin. he could scream from the way it overstimulates him and makes him desperate to finish.

there’s a crudeness to the way his body merges with the sheets under him. in any other scenario he would dislike the sensation, hate the stickiness and hate the friction, but he feels adequately delirious to simply enjoy succumbing completely. he is spent well before he feels emil climaxing inside of him, continuing to plead hin for more. he loves urgency that is created and the sound of emil, and the weight of him, as he collapses on top of him.

his laughter sends vibrations through him and he can’t stop himself from burying his face in the mattress under them, muffling the sound of his own laugh. something as perfect as this shouldn’t exist, he thinks, just laying there for a moment. he stuck between wanting to move to face him again and being too exhausted to do so. he awkwardly reaches behind him to touch whatever of him is within reach. “i am so..” he asks him, curiously, but then he laughs with the addition, “friendly?”

he wants to be a gentle man. sometimes he is capable of it, but the way tom gives himself up to him drives urges into his very blood. it makes him want to be wild and selfish and leave him even more aching and bruised than he already will be. emil certainly would have taken in him in the kitchen if tom had allowed. maybe he'll try it tomorrow. right now, however, he has other ideas. more indulgent ideas unleashed by tom's urging to have him however he needs him.

emil doesn't really waste a second. he pulls out of tom only so he can grab his waist and flip him over. rather than get him on his knees or force him to arch his back, emil has him lay on his stomach, prostrate, and leans down to press his lips to his spine. his hand wanders over his ass, fingers indenting his skin. baring his teeth, he bites and sucks a mark into his muscle. only once he's satisfied a little red welt is left behind does he line himself back up with tom's entrance and plunges back inside. a guttural moan rumbles in his throat. ❝ you're so.... ❞ somewhere between a whisper and a growl.

his grip tightens on tom, framing him against the mattress with his limbs as he begins to thrust into him with enough force to make all kinds of obscene noises fill the room. he doesn't drag it out, even if he wants to. he just bites into his shoulder and groans as his hips began to snap into him more and more erratically. when he comes, it's loud. and a little messy. and it zaps the reserves of strength which had been driving him. after he spills himself inside tom he simply collapses atop him with a breathy, exhausted laugh.

[stberggren]

powerful. tom could choke on the word. in what world is brutality and power one and the same? immortality has only made a joke of the faults in him that was already there and heightened them. his sickness becoming these same blood-covered walls, the cracked tiles, the cracked skulls and no ways of remembering what has happened. nothing of his understanding of himself relies on that particular word. he has none of his maître’s predator instinct, associating power with the ability to crush anything smaller or weaker. 

the fresh blood in him is near boiling when santiago changes the distance between them and reaches for his face. in the same moment as his thumb brushes over his lip, he realises that he wants him to; that the attention he gives him is exactly what he needs to shake him out of his miserable state. his instinctive is to grin, but the movement he is able to make with his mouth is limited. at first he pulls his head backwards, trying to loosen the grip without force but naturally he ends up needing to grab wrist and pry himself out.

“like a mad dog,” thomas insists, once he able to talk, “jumping on people without grasping the concept of personal space.” he keeps his fingers wrapped firmly around his wrist, keeping santiago’s arm from falling back into a natural position, “i suppose that is natural coming from a man who says he takes whatever he wants, no?” he shakes his head and continues like his question had been rhetorical. “you know i’m not likely to watch myself. you forget that you leaving me here to turn to dust would only be a kindness.” 

those very same piss-like yellow green eyes rolled at tom's small remark. sometimes he appeared to be so small and frail; santiago often pondered about crushing him under the heel of his boot like a small hollow-boned bird ... but, to his own surprise, he never managed to do so. "oh woe it's me! a man forced to live beautiful and powerful forevermore!" he dramatically exclaimed, pressing the back of his hand against his forehead and widening his eyes up at the ceiling in performative despair. santiago scoffed. "grow up, tommy! the dark gift, like life, is not bestowed upon others in order to fulfil some greater plan."

catlike eyes bored into tom's own as his voice lowered close to a whisper that, despite its' velvety quality, still managed to distill poison. "if i see something i want, i take it." his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as he announced the only rule which had made his life bearable since paris. so many vampiric laws had been imposed on him for so many years, only to find out that none of them mattered. he had followed a false prophet; santiago was his own master now. and yet --- as soon as tom rose to meet him and pressed a hand to his shoulder, all the venom melted into something stickier. dangerous nonetheless, but for very different reasons.

he flashed his teeth at the young man in the form of a sneer but not with the intent to bite. the way his eyes languidly travelled across tom's handsome features suggested different intentions. "i bark, do i?" despite the evident displeasure which came with being compared to a dog, santiago's voice was but a purr when standing so close to the other man. a pale hand rose to grab tom's face in a brusque movement, squeezing his cheeks so that the man's lips would pucker. "only a few hours left before sunrise." santiago's thumb brushed over tom's upper lip in an unkind gesture, rough enough to allow him a peek at the other's teeth. he could smell the coagulated blood stuck between them. "you better watch yourself."

[stberggren]

“sorry..” he murmurs, mid-laughter. he doesn’t feel particularly guilty about the phone thing. in the end there probably isn’t a lot of tonight he will feel guilty about in the end - at least once the sting of rejecting someone else has worn off. he grins as he is backed against the ledge and emil comes so close he can practically taste his breath. he tightens his grip around his shirt and pulls it forward. his are even better this close, he thinks, marveling a the multitude of the colours and the way they become visibly changed by desire.

“i don’t know…” he says, thoughtfully, tilting his head while continuing to let their mouths hover close, “…i am pretty hung up on the phone thing, but i suppose i could get into men who kiss strangers they’ve met in an alley.. if i really try.” he hopes that it is obvious that there will no real trying on his part and that he is as interested in this as emil seems to be. he leans closer still, enjoying the thrill of their lips faintly brushing without him pursuing a real kiss, “are we very visible from here?”

when tom mentions disappointment at the prospect of emil's inability for partnership he can't help but smile a little. it's small and there is nothing smug or even overly flirtatious in it. it's a shyness which might linger if the other man hadn't continued on in a way which reminds emil what he is up here for. his eyes darken all over again with a glint of attraction and arousal and it only worsens with tom's fingers in his shirt. he laughs and turns more towards him ❝ really got hung up on that phone thing. you know a watch doesn't really go with my outfit... ❞

emil steps forward and moves box tom in, palms pressed against the ledge of the sound booth on either side of him. their statures are too similar for him to truly tower of him or need to lean down. so the position brings him a little too close to his face with too much ease, noses almost brushing, mouths dangerously close. gaze flickers over the other man's face, drops to his lips with purpose before rising to meet his eyes. ❝ what about men who kiss strangers they've met in an alley? ❞

[stberggren]

relieved, he breathes. even if the embarrassment hasn’t worn off entirely, emil manages to reassure him with the touch to his shoulder. he hums distractedly as he appreciates the way his thumb smoothes over his shirt; firm enough that he imagines what it’d feel like without the barrier of clothes, firm enough for the small hairs on the back of his arms to raise. he stands perfectly still as he continues to talk and move about his hands. “the last one to judge, huh?” tom raises his brow while he steps a little nearer him again, “a busy guy who doesn’t have time for a partner. consider me intrigued, if not a little disappointed.”

the next second he is caught off guard again, but this time he merely grins and bites down a laugh by biting his lower lip. he can’t deny the fact that he is very into this man’s charm offence. “in this moment… you, i'd say.” tom looks down at the hand on his arm and raises it slightly to nod towards it - as if it needs any further explaining. he reaches out, taking a fistful of his shirt into his hand while giving his best starry-eyed look, as though pretending to be naively lead on. he goes on, “men in sweatsuits… men who hang around outside theatres they work at, pretending not to be a principle dancer… men who don’t wear watches but checks time on their phones.”

amusement briefly threads itself through the lines of emil's features as he detects the uncertainty and discomfort in the other man's energy. embarrassment is plain to read, even if he weren't empathic. he has no desire to make his companion humiliated, however, so he is quick to cast him a gentle smile. a reassuring one. endearing, almost. he has hardly known this man for one whole evening but he does think it's possible to already be endeared to him. ❝ relax, ❞ he murmurs lowly. he is careful not to sound condescending. only disarming. ❝ it was fair question. ❞

head tilts and he allows his gaze to remain on tom, unwavering, unabashed in the least. ❝ your conversation is fine. ❞ he recognizes the space between them which has been created. instinctively, emil lifts a hand and places it on tom's shoulder. the touch is firm but light enough, thumb brushing back and forth just slightly for a moment or two. ❝ i don't think anything of it, tom. even if that was the sort of thing you usually do i'm the last one to judge. but yeah— ❞ a smile creeps across his lips ❝ single. this kinda job consumes a lot of my life. hasn't left me much time for those kind of attachments. ❞ he moves his hand up from his shoulder lightly runs his fingers over his cheek and jaw. ❝ i take what i can get. ❞ when he lowers his hand he allows his touch to graze down tom's arm. ❝ but if you're not into stealing men from their girlfriends and secret rendevous, what are you usually into? ❞

[stberggren]

DREW STARKEY AS EUGENE ALLERTON Queer (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

[stberggren]

he hopes that emil’s touch will somehow cool him, but in reality it probably does nothing dowse the concerning heat in his body. it soothes his soul rather than his body. “just my luck,” he answers when emil tells him he can’t turn back time, then shakes his head as if to say that it doesn’t matter. he looks around them while emil kicks off his boots. emil may have blocked out the sun, but tom wonders if it is safe for him to spend so many nights outside a real coffin. he can’t imagine the nerve figuring it out must have taken. the luck. 

tom shifts to make room on the bed, resisting every urge to tell him to come closer still. instead, tom lies down on his back, looking up at him, hoping to inspire him to do the same. “i don’t remember the last time i slept in a bed,” he admits. he doesn’t remember it being much different from the coffin, but he imagines it must be. he now enjoys the stillness of the quiet dark. “if something happens, if someone enters, there is nothing to keep the light from reaching you…” tom reaches out to touch the side of his arm and smiles at him, weakly, “but i suppose a man who says he enjoyed the company of a man who nearly took a bite out of him has no concerns about all that.”

his countenance softens the moment tom takes up his hand. he doesn't resist it. he couldn't possibly deny him. he isn't sure what it is about this man, but he wants to please him. emil slides his palm against his cheek, thumb just lightly brushing at his flushed skin. it matters little how 'fine' tom is. he wants to be here either way. he is loath to part from him, not after what they both just went through. he has endured far worse than a few flesh wounds that will heal quickly tomorrow night with fresh blood.

❝ well, i'm afraid i can't turn back time, ❞ he returns with a repressed smile. ❝ and it's probably not a good idea to move you just before sunrise. but i can do the rest. ❞ he allows his little smile to break free this time. tenderness shines in his eyes, endearment as well. ❝ we can sit up and talk a little longer. i've blocked out the windows. the sun won't find us here. ❞ he has been warned off sleeping in this room—more than once—and has ignored it. he won't sleep in the basements or in any coffins. emil carefully kicks his boots off, letting them sit neatly by the bed before he shifts to sit more comfortably on the mattress. ❝ i've enjoyed your company tonight, ❞ he tells him. ❝ and next moonrise we can sit on a roof and talk as long as you like. ❞

[stberggren]

“you should have.” it feels baffling now that the simple kiss they shared in the kitchen had felt overwhelming. in a matter of hours they have cut across all the boundaries between them. never mind what a mess they will make of each other eventually. tom moves his hands and connects them at the back of emil’s head and makes sure to pull his face nearer his own, even as he picks up the pace again. he moans as emil speaks against his lips, their mouths awkwardly moving in a way that barely counts as a kiss. it’s perfect.

he is starting to think that the sex won’t satiate either of them. that the hunger will persist after their bodies are entirely depleted. of course he doesn’t say that, instead he kisses the corner of his mouth and grins, “guess we’ll have to see,” he says, trying to mimic emil’s tone of voice. tom can only pretend that it isn’t obvious that he is already past fulfillment, that his throbbing cock hasn’t already been leaking against emil’s torso while he has been thrusting inside him or that he legs aren’t clench around emil’s to keep them from shaking. he gasps when he pulls at his hair and he ends up staring back at him pleadingly. “emil..” he  murmurs, “turn me over. have me however you want to.”

he laughs. he well and truly laughs, unable to help himself when tom grumbles at his comment and calls him a menace. emil is grinning ear to ear. he doesn't even have the decency to look sheepish about it. emil is, at least, self aware enough to know he is a bit insatiable in the bedroom. he always has been, but with someone like tom beneath him it only grows worse. or better. he supposes it depends on the perspective. a part of him does wonder just how much the other man can keep up with him. he wants to find out, wants to test both their limits. when tom urges him to thrust more enthusiastically again, emil is kind enough to oblige. he turns his head and nips at his jaw as he speaks, picking back up the pace a little but not restoring full speed. not yet.

❝ i would have, ❞ he tells him. ❝ if you'd let me i would've bent you over the table. ❞ emil drives his hips back deeper into tom again. truth be told he isn't sure if it is possible to get enough of him. but that is far from a bad thing. as long as tom wants him around. ❝ can i be sated? ❞ he lifts a brow and draws back enough to look at him, nose bumping against the other man. the corner of his mouth twitches up again ❝ guess we'll just have to find out. ❞ he moves a hand into tom's hair, fingers curling tight as if to hold him in place before he starts to fuck into him with renewed vigor. his voice is low when he murmurs against his mouth ❝ can you? ❞ it takes two and clearly tom is just as eager and hungry as he is.

[stberggren]

fingers cross his forehead and instinctively he closes his eyes and lets the gesture soothe him. he doesn’t have it in him to protest again, not with emil's resolute of course i am continuing to echo in his mind, reminding him how unlikely it is that he will fold. in spite of himself, tom finds that he rather likes his stubbornness. it has been a long time since anyone cared. he opens his eyes when he retracts his hand and smiles at him weakly. 

he is grateful that emil continues on about the room before he has the chance to say the wrong thing. he looks around, although, admittedly, he can’t make out very much of it. tom scrunches his nose and is about laugh when emil cuts it short by telling him he doesn’t want to leave him. it prompts tom to look back at him, a little startled. “i will be fine..” he insists, although there is not a single part of him that wants him to leave. tom reaches for his hand and brings it back near his face, as though silently asking him to touch him again. “it is not like i can rightly ask you to leave your own room…i wouldn’t..” tom shakes his head a little, “what i really need is for you to take me an hour back in time so that i could make us stay on that roof a little longer and i could talk to you longer about nothing … or really anything but this.”

emil nods quietly, deciding not to argue with his dismissal. he does not want tom to feel guilt or shame for what has happened, thus he knows he shouldn't carry any himself. it would only create a feedback loop of apologies and anxiety. instead he draws in a breath he doesn't truly need as he runs his gaze over the vampire's pale features. there is a small flush in his cheeks but not entirely the kind that should be there after feeding. he looks a little feverish and clammy. it makes him briefly frown.

the expression falls away and there is even a hint of a smile as he watches tom roll his eyes at him. of course i am, he echoes back in his mind. why wouldn't he? ❝ i don't like giving up, ❞ he tells him firmly. ❝ trying something one way one time and declaring it a failure just 'cause it didn't go entirely as planned is a bit foolish, don't you think? ❞ he was prepared for this to take time to figure out. he is far from discouraged. in fact, he finds some kind of satisfaction in knowing he tried. now he can think through a smarter way to try again. maybe they should take it slower.

emil hesitates for a brief moments before he moves his fingers to tom's hair. he pushes aside some sweat-damp locks from his forehead. ❝ we're in my room, ❞ he tells him. he retracts his hand slowly back to his lap and straightens his posture. ❝ and my wrist is fine. it'll heal just like anything else. don't worry about it. ❞ he is glad he thought to wrap the limb so tom can't see the real damage. he has a feeling it might deter him from letting emil try again. ❝ i don't wanna leave you. not right now. tell me what you need. ❞

[stberggren]

santiago has eyes like a serpent. the small round pupils - surrounded by a sea a piss-like, yellowy green - tom easily imagines becoming two vertical slits as they hone in on a pray. the scrutiny he subjects him to is uncomfortable enough that cold rolls down his spine. he bows his head after he smacks it, head hanging low as he attempts to bite back his instinctive response. “i know it well - practicing as we speak.” he lets go of the corpse’s head and sits back on his knees to watch santiago leave. in his mind his eyes bore two symmetrical holes into the back of his neck. 

“i can be sensible,” he insists upon his return, but it isn’t lost on him that it only makes him sound more like a stubborn child. it seemingly hasn’t sunken in that the messes are unavoidable and out of his control; his body merely performs the task as his mind is elsewhere. the corner of his mouth raises in a mocking smile while his maker ponders on his obvious mistake. ah yes, he thinks, do tell me what attribute of mine that landed me this curse.

tom blankly returns his stare while pressing his glasses more firmly onto his nose, “you considered that very thoroughly then, i imagine. solid reasoning.” tom proceeds by getting himself off the floor and stepping over the now-covered body. he stands uncomfortably close to santiago and puts his hand on his shoulder, gesturing for him to step back with a soft push. “i can manage the clean up better without your barking.” 

the feline curl of his lips slowly melted away into something hateful as his fledgeling insisted on mocking him. tom revelled in wounding his ego, that santiago was sure of. even before he had offered the boy the dark gift he had contemplated the many different ways in which he could make him suffer for belittling the likes of him --- but it came to a point in which the actor could no longer tell whether it was revenge which propelled him to torture dear thomas or the mere fact that he enjoyed watching the man squirm.

santiago remained as still as a statue while his creation moved to kneel near the body; only his bright eyes shifted to follow his most ungrateful student and his mouth could not help but turn into an ugly little snarl. he swallowed the bile which lingered behind his teeth and instead gave a small twirl to gaze down at thomas' work. "restraint. know the word, pet?" santiago cruelly underlined the nickname with a firm smack to the back of tom's head. and, with that, he was on the move, disappearing momentarily from the kitchen to explore the quiet apartment. "i do not know what got over me to think you'd be more sensible than those before you." he loudly complained from another room.

in a flash, santiago returned to the kitchen where thomas and his latest meal waited, carrying a large heavy blanket under his arm. "was i drunk? dick-struck perhaps?" he suddenly flapped the blanket, letting it fall open over the bloodied corpse, covering all of its limp parts. the vampire paused to squint at the other man with feigned puzzlement. "or was it the glasses?" green eyes bore into pretty pale ones. they looked small and shiny behind the blood splattered lenses. two gems carved into smooth pale flesh. "...yes, most likely." scoffed santiago.

[stberggren]

tom’s eyes narrow behind his glasses, and he turns his head to look at him properly. he can’t say for certain if he if his words had been bruising in a way he hadn’t intended. the expression on his face gives him no more clarity about what he feels; the flirtatiousness doesn’t wear off for long enough to make it out. “the type to have a girlfriend or the type who is lonely?” tom asks him, carefully. he is torn between pressing him further and apologising for his curiosity, knowing that he might just be crossing the line. 

the next bit surprises him and he coughs a little awkwardly. “uhm..” he murmurs. embarrassed he instinctively looks back over the crowd to find his date among them. asking about a girlfriend had definitely been a dumb move. “i am glad you like my smile because i am definitely not winning any points for my conversation right now.” he backs away slightly, creating a gap between their shoulders and then he shakes his head, “i don’t.. i don’t want you to think i’m into that. i really don’t usually do this..” whatever this is. considering nothing has happened yet, it might still be nothing. “it was a terrible way of asking if you’re single, but of course you are because otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

the corner of his mouth pulls up to the side in a miniscule smile which smooths his features over again. any somberness which had threatened to show itself seems to dissipate as tom speaks. he is the only man in the audience he cared about tonight. if he made him feel, kept him captive during his performance, than he did his job for tonight. he tilts his head and looks over at him and allows his smile to grow a little more.

❝ looks can be deceiving. ❞ most people don't expect loneliness for those in the limelight he supposes. emil is not for want of company. he is close to the dancers here, considers some to be like his sisters and brothers, others...that murky line between friend, co-worker, and a few fuckbuddies ( against his better judgement ). but it's different. and it never quite erases certain holes in his heart. lifting a brow, he glances down at the crowd. ❝ do i seem like the type? ❞

he wants to be incredulous at the suggestion he would have a secret rendezvous with a man while a woman waits for him, but considering he is stealing said man from his date he supposes his moral character is rightfully questionable. with another smirk he shakes his head. ❝ i'm unattached. but if you wanna pretend you're stealing me from someone too, you go right on ahead. you probably could with a smile like that. ❞

[stberggren]

my love sounds more serious than he means for it to. he’d be embarrassed if he hadn’t already said so many odd things tonight. he is caught up in kisses again before he can think, enjoying the vibration of emil’s laughter against his mouth. “yes…” he repeats after him, lowly, getting distracted by the hand on his jaw. it isn’t rough, but he likes the small display of assertiveness. emil does not hide the fact that he is taking in the state of him and tom can only stare back, wide-eyed and grinning, in anticipation of what he means to do to him next. something in emil’s face turns softer then and so does his kiss. he hums happily against his lips, but then, once emil pulls back to say something else about the kitchen, he huffs and says, “i thought you were about to cum just now and then you slow down just to say you also want me in the kitchen, you menace.”

there is no doubt in his mind that he would want him again in an hour, but tom supposes there are limits to how much he can take. every nerve is already screaming at their overstimulation and he feels like bursting. it’s a feeling he could very well become addicted to. tom wiggles free from his hold and places their foreheads together while he drives his fingernails into his buttocks and moves his hips as much as the position allow him to, urging him to pick up the lost speed. “i was only saying i wanted you to fuck me then, too. thought about while you were cooking me dinner, but…” he pauses to briefly kiss his mouth, “i want to satiate you now, not later. can you be?”

every needy touch which tom returns only spurs on emil's vigor. he is overly familiar with passion but he swears he has never been this desperate for a man before. he can't quite explain it, can't even wrap his own head around why he feels such need for tom but now that they have crossed this line he can't come back from it. he wants to dive further and further into whatever this is and that only makes him thrust deeper—as if that were possible. he has buried himself to the hilt again and again, as far as he can possibly go and somehow it still isn't enough.

emil groans as tom urges him on, groans at the choice of words and if he were not so wrapped up in this he might have the good sense to feel some kind of shame for just how easily being called that riles him up. it's a wanton sound which escapes his lips as they part to press a sloppy, open mouthed kiss against his skin. he caresses him anywhere he can reach. his neck, his jaw, his ear love, his chin, his mouth all tongue and incredibly demanding. it's a laugh which emanates from him next. ❝ maybe, ❞ he chuckles against his lips. ❝ yes. ❞

he takes hold of tom's jaw and slows his pace just enough to look at him a little. he looks a mess. the right kind of mess. kiss swollen lips, dilated pupils filled with lust and that slightly dazed yet focused look only this much sex can induce. the sweat, the chaotic nature of his tousled locks. emil smiles softly and kisses him again, this time a little more gentle, deeper. ❝ i could still have you in the kitchen. the night's still young. ❞

[stberggren]

no thoughts just this

[stberggren]

emil has no way of knowing how disappointing he can be, but tom rather likes the way emil makes him out to be. what will it matter tomorrow? emil has a glint in his eye that is unmistakable and his body language tells him he wants something. tom supposes he can be an idealized version of himself just for tonight, even if whatever confidence he shows is not real. at least not entirely real.

he watches the stage for a bit while, only glancing at emil whenever he isn’t looking. he likes the closer view of his profile, likes watching him think and talk. “you looked light as a feather down there,” he comments once he has the chance, “i can’t pretend to understand connecting with people from the stage, but i did feel you.” tom coughs, a little awkwardly, watching emil’s nail scratch off paint before deciding to put his own hand beside his, close enough to feel the side of his little finger against his own. he lets it stay there when he goes on.

“i guess you don’t look like you’d be lonely.” he looks at the stage, at the dancers, women and men alike, and it is hard for him not to picture every single one of them flocking around him. tom looks at him, one side of his mouth lifting before he says, “while i do feel a little sorry for you.. i also think that your loneliness might just be to my advantage. i was getting a little worried that you had a girlfriend down there.”

❝ i can hardly imagine you're capable of being a disappointment. ❞ he means it when he says it, even if it comes with a flirtatious tone and dark look in his eye which might turn the comment a little more suggestive. even still, he is usually a good judge of character and something about tom is full of promise. it's on the other guy for fumbling him. but emil can't begrudge it at all because it's put tom right where he can have him.

a smirk tugs at his lips. ❝ right, ❞ he murmurs, gaze lingering on tom even as he makes a show of paying attention to the performance. the question does produce a more thoughtful demeanor. emil slowly turns around so he too can look at the dancers, but he doesn't move away. he keeps himself close enough for tom to keep leaning against him as much as he likes. ❝ feels kinda natural, ❞ he hums. ❝ i've been doing it for so long. ❞ his shoulders rise and fall in a slight shrug. ❝ but it never loses its edge. each crowd feels different. sometimes i am more aware of how vulnerable and intimate it is, that can be thrilling and daunting at the same time. ❞

he looks down, scratching a nail at chipped paint on the ledge. ❝ i like it. i like feeling seen. when i'm up there i've got a captive audience. whatever i'm feeling, whatever i'm going through, i can put it all on the stage and all those people have to see it and feel it right with me. i don't care what they feel, as long as they're effected in some way...makes life less lonely. ❞

[stberggren]

something about emil’s expression tells him all he needs to know about how he looks. and going off how his body feels is no more promising. when emil comes closer and remains quite blurry tom blinks a couple of times to focus on him. when that does not work he realises that he is no longer wearing his glasses. he sighs, but relaxes once he feels emil’s fingers touch his forehead. he closes his eyes and simply listens to him promising that he’s okay. tom finds it difficult to believe it that it was truly worth the trouble for him, but he is too worn out, too tired, to tell him so.   

he unintentionally shudders when he touches his neck and it prompts him to open his eyes, looking at emil as he tells him he’s sorry. please, don’t say that. he places his own hand above his and he holds them there. “there is nothing to be sorry for, i can’t even remember it.” tom understands him, he would not want to hurt him either, at least not consciously, whether he asked him to or not.  don't be sorry.

tom awkwardly tries to sit while holding emil’s hand against him. a small smile tugs in the corners of his mouth when his features become palpable again. he isn’t sure if he means anything by his words, but their suggestiveness is somewhat of a relief from the heaviness of it all. he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “don’t tell me you are already planning a next time.” of course you are. it may be the exhaustion, or perhaps it is something else, but tom doesn’t have it in him to say that he can’t let him hurt himself like this again. 

tom indecisively fiddles with the fingers by his neck before letting them go. he leans back down on his elbows and exhaustedly hangs his head back and thinks out loud: “let’s not discuss it now.. i haven’t even had the chance to look at your wrist yet.. i can’t even properly make out where we are.. is there anyone here who can give you their blood so that you recover faster…”

it wasn't easy. tom certainly ripped a good chunk out of his arm. he won himself a few scratches and bruises in other places which he would rather hide from the other vampire to minimize his guilt. he got him home and they're both relatively in one piece. that's all that matters to emil. the truth is he has had far worse. his body is littered with the evidence of his mortal days and the violence they carried. at least this has purpose. there is no fear or regret in his demeanor—except for when he looks at the signs of bruising around tom's throat. he's wrapping up his half-healed arm, eyes focused on the purplish coloration on the other's skin. an unavoidable side affect of knocking him out.

a tender smile immediately finds his lips, a soft curve when tom wakes and appears to be himself again. ❝ i'm okay, ❞ he assures him. emil sets the bloodied rag aside and sits on the edge of the bed beside tom. it's his own bed. in his quarters. a coffin would be wiser but he has yet to bring himself to be comfortable climbing inside one of those things. ❝ it was worth it, ❞ he promises, gently brushing sweat-soaked strands away from tom's forehead. ❝ you got the blood you needed. no one got hurt...not much. maybe next time we oughta do it here. could tie you down or somethin'. ❞ his brows furrow and he reaches to gingerly touch some of the bruising at tom's throat. ❝ then i won't have to do this to you. i'm sorry. should've thought of that before. ❞

[stberggren]

quickly whoever said something take it back

[stberggren]

tom would have ended up begging regardless of emil asking his permission. he revels in the feeling of making him need a sense of control. although he stops saying the words, he continues to look straight into his eyes, expression caught somewhere between begging and daring. he clings to him, nails sinking into his skin as emil moves him. at any other time the crudeness of it would make him laugh, but right now he’s too caught up in him to care about elegance. it feels just right.

he can barely keep track of the sensations going through him as he is settled on the mattress. the stretching, the fullness, the weight of emil’s body crashing into his own, the obscene sounds that keep coming from his own mouth, the way his legs are near shaking, the way he feels himself leaking without needing anything other than the friction caused by their collision. all of that and the most overwhelming thing is still the way he feels when he looks at what it is doing to emil.tom would love see them both from above, just to easily admire the way he works him. his bum, his back, all the other parts that tom explores with his fingers. tomorrow he will have a set of lines covering every inch, he imagines. one hands remains near his bottom, guiding him forward with his thrusts. there can’t be much more of him to give at yet…

it takes some time before he’s able to tell him,  “yeah..”  i can’t get enough of you either, “give me everything, my love.”  he might regret the phrase later, but, for now, now all sense is gone. he must tell him something. “is this how you would’ve had me in the gym.. or.. in the kitchen… earlier…?” 

❝ mhmm— ❞ he hums with raised brows at tom's little mumble in a way that says you think? clearly he likes it or he wouldn't be teasing him like he is. tom's encouragement only makes him feel more crazy, in truth. it makes him want to do all kinds of obscene things to the man as if they aren't already doing them. as if they haven't already indulged themselves. they are both so obviously needy and hungry for each other. the moment tom says those little words, emil lets himself loose again.

he tightens his grasp on tom's waist and rolls to the side, bringing the man with him. it's a little wild and desperate the way he moves. emil adjusts himself accordingly before immediately thrusting down into tom like his very life depends upon it. or maybe his sanity. both. either way he presses his forehead into tom's temple. his arm stays wound around his middle, the other hand cradling his hair, making a mess of it as he ruts into him with heavy breaths. ❝ i can't get enough of you, ❞ he pants into his skin.

[stberggren]

the irony of their interaction being the ideal first date is not lost on him. their little rendezvous in a private part of the theatre, the electricity caused by them simply standing near each other. all of it has the romantic, cheesy air of a perhaps overly planned first date. expect it is all spontaneous and a little fast, but tom likes it. “let’s not rub it in his face that you practically stole his date.” tom narrows his eyes and pretends to be serious for a second at most, smiling at emil as he tilts his head and smirks. it is the type of smile that makes him want to playfully wipe away like it is torture to look at. it is the kind of smile that gives him butterflies.

there’s a second between him turning, seizing him up and touching his jaw where tom is sure he forgets to breathe. he instinctively leans his head back a little, exposing more of his jaw and neck for him to touch (should he like to). “let’s not call it a habit. i can’t promise anything though - i don’t like disappointing people.” as much as he feels guilty for whatever this date is, he has no regrets about going. at least not now. 

“i thought you wanted me to have a good view of the show.” tom reaches for the fingers near his face and holds them still for a moment before removing them to make space for him to lean forward. he leans against him and lover his shoulder, pretending to pay attention to the show. he does look at the dancers though, moving their bodies in ways he could never dream of and he is curious, “what is like being down there? knowing that so many people are just staring at you, your body, your moves…” 

emil laughs softly at the comment and when tom comes next to him his smile lingers. he likes the warm press of his slender body pressed against his. with him standing this close he can smell his cologne, maybe even traces of aftershave. a part of him wants to turn his head to the side and breath in the scent but that might be a little intense for having just met the guy in the last few hours. he restrains himself, casting a somewhat apologetic, sheepish look. he couldn't help his curiosity, however.

❝ hm, ❞ he hums thoughtfully as he eyes the man tom points out. he supposes he can't argue with his logic. pity is the last reason any sane man should want to be on a date. he can't imagine having company as pretty and fascinating as this and squandering it. but the other's fumbling loss is emil's gain and he is determined not to waste it himself. ❝ he looks exceptionally dull, ❞ he snorts. ❝ i oughta shake his hand for it. ❞

emil tilts his head to the side to glance over at his new companion, a smirk flickering at the corner of his mouth. ❝ guess i should make sure i never commit the crime of boring someone as pretty as you. ❞ he turns around slowly and leans back against the ledge, palms pressed onto the ledge on either side of himself. he allows his gaze to liberally run over tom, taking in the sight of him more fully, appreciation in his eyes. emil lifts a hand to his face again, but this time to just lightly graze his fingertips along his jaw. ❝ i sure hope you don't make a habit of saying yes to people out of pity. ❞