stberggren

[stberggren]

“okay…” tom murmurs against him, too distracted by his mouth to make any effort to speak. it feels like capitulating, but it all goes too fast for him to second-guess it. he relies solely on the fact that his body seems to be unambiguously telling him that he wants this. he wonders if it shows that heat is rising in him, if his neck is as distinctly red as it feels when emil slides a hand directly onto his skin and explores. he shudders under the touch. he tries to move in a way that feels like permission to go on, leaning ever so slightly forward as he pulls his shirt off and then melting back into the wall behind him. he wants him to look.

it feels like the kind of dreams he had as a teenager, having all the hallmarks of a boyish fantasy (except tom could never have imagined the ballet for this kind of scenario). emil does have the kind of look that might have stopped him in his tracks back then. tom grins imagining his teenage self running into him and almost considers telling him about it, but instead he opts for tugging at his shirt and bringing back in close to him, trying to make sure every inch of his body is pressed against his. “a shirt for a shirt, if you don’t mind..” he smiles and presses a few kisses to his jaw. 

he almost can't stand just how attractive this man looks right now, the dark lighting framing his face, head tilted back and hunger driven eyes looking at him in a way that emil almost wants to take as a challenge. even if it is not meant that way. he looks at him and feels a thrill at knowing he's got him up here all to himself, that he drew him away from poorer company to claim for the night. ❝ no one will notice, ❞ he reiterates. a small smirk tugs at his mouth but quickly disappears when it becomes occupied with enveloping tom's.

a quiet hum sounds in his throat as he loosens his grasp on the other man so he can press his palm against his torso. his touch wanders up to his chest, the base of his throat, fingers brush at his chin and jaw. he leans into him as he runs his tongue over his lips. emil pulls tom's shirt completely free of his pants so he can push his hand up under it, fingers splaying out against warm skin. a sudden rush of impatience courses through his veins and when he pulls back from lips it's only so he can pull tom's shirt off of him completely.

[stberggren]

hearing his heartbeat against his ear, he’s reminded of the blood coursing through him. he laments the fact that his body knows his taste, but he can’t recall it. next time - if there is one - maybe they can keep him conscious for another few seconds and then again and again until they have beat the curse. he bites his lip as he lays there still against him, trying to keep himself from getting carried away with the fantasy of it all. emil doesn’t make it easy for him to shut down the idea of trying again, but he does admire him for his persistence, even though it feels unfair.

tom sighs, but it is quickly followed by a short laugh, muffled somewhat by his shirt. he looks up at him from the slightly awkward angle and rolls his eyes at him. “your stubbornness would be infuriating if you were anyone else…” he comments, but moves on to get back to the matter at hand, “it would help your arm heal quicker or any injuries you might obtain. i would like for you to be safe.”

a stillness settles into emil as he allows the other man's words to wash over him, eyes softening further when he wanders his fingers over his features. it does sound enticing—not the coffin in and of itself but the idea of sharing such an intimate space with him. feeling his warmth, every breath, locked in together. he could be content with this as well. just sharing a bed and the quiet between them. he suspects, however, that sooner or later he might have to give in to his nature. tom makes it a little easier to consider the thought. emil glances down where tom inspects his arm. ❝ yeah? ❞ he almost smiles when the man nestles into him.

❝ maybe... ❞ he murmurs thoughtfully. ❝ it could be bearable with you. ❞ he shifts, moving his free hand so he can lightly brush away blonde tresses from tom's temple. he does trust him. he has earned that much after putting himself in emil's hands tonight, for better or worse. ❝ tell you what, you let me keep helping you. i'll let you help me too. deal? ❞

[stberggren]

this look is art to me

[stberggren]

tom gets a thrill out of feeling his nipples stiffen under his fingertips and hearing his breathing change. he hums approvingly as their mouths come together again. he is careful not to move his hand very far, even as emil starts moving them both about the room and tom follows along like he’s been instructed to do so. he isn’t sure he believes him that they have time, but he is happy to go along pretending that they do. “sure..” he breathes somewhere in-between, “we … definitely … have time.”

tom leans his head back against the wall and breathes out when emil draws back. he knows the look on his face to be desperate as he continues staring at his lips, open-mouthed and transfixed. tom uses his free hand to hold the arm that guided him to the wall, silently telling him not to let go of him. “no..” he says, unsure if the blocking would mean stopping this, “if you don’t think anyone will notice..” it’s a waste of time. tom leans forward and kisses him again, although this time only briefly, “if you can be quiet, so can i.” 

❝ you think i'm a nice guy? ❞ he murmurs with a smirk, eyelids fluttering open to look down at tom's mouth, hungry for more and not attempting to hide it in the least. ❝ i'll do my best not to spoil that, ❞ he teases. emil draws in a sharp breath at the graze of tom's fingers against his nipples. they have always been sensitive, moments like this make it all the more so. it certainly shows in his eagerness as he leans into the returned kiss that tom delivers.

❝ i've got time, ❞ he replies lowly. his moves a hand to tom's jaw, holding his chin in place as he kisses him again. it's a little more firm this time and not nearly as tantalizing. he would draw this out if he could. but they really don't have all night. maybe after...if there is an after and he can get this man in his actual bed. not just a booth—he's not complaining. he likes this, enjoys the risk a little. even still it would be even more enjoyable to have him all to himself. emil takes a steps back and pulls tom with him away from the ledge. he moves without letting their mouths part, just melts back until he can get them against a solid wall. ❝ i could block the door, ❞ he offers when he pulls back for air. not that he thinks anyone is going to walk in here but a chair against the door could help tom relax.

[stberggren]

for the first time he senses a crack in him; the first little hint of fear. tom lifts his finger and runs it smoothly over his raised eyebrow and then he smiles weakly back at him. he takes good care of not smiling enough that it comes across as mocking, when he worries that it might. he has minded many things about their affliction but never the coffin. it may have crossed his mind how morbid it would seem to his human mind, but now he has forgotten all about it. “i understand,” he murmurs, “i wouldn’t ever force you to do anything that you don’t want to do.” just like emil hasn’t forced him to eat, but encouraged him and aided him in doing so.

from his brow he draws a line into the middle and down the bridge of his nose before lifting his hand. instead he reaches for emil’s arm, touching the bandage at his wrist in the process. he brings it over himself and he tugs himself against him. a soft scent clings to him, a pleasant one, in spite of the exhaustion he’s put him through. he savours it, nose buried in the fabric of his shirt, even as he continues to speak, “i’ll make sure your eyes open again. you wouldn’t be alone and you’d know i am there to get you out.”

vampire. he doesn't think the word will ever roll off of his tongue properly. it sounds to fantastical. too mystical. too horrible. there is a part of him that still thinks there should be a scientific explanation for it all, even though deep down he knows better. this is one of those things beyond human understanding. emil hums softly and lifts a brow, glancing at tom and wondering when the last time was he lay in a bed with another man. but he doesn't ask. he doesn't really want to think about it right now.

❝ well, i can't help but hope our next attempts are more successful then, ❞ he murmurs. ❝ appetites are such terrible things to waste. ❞ despite the flirtatious undertones his expression sobers again while tom addresses the subject of the coffin. he grows still, watching when he turns on the mattress. eyelashes flutter as his fingers graze his cheek. he has the good sense to look a little sheepish. he should be more fearful of the sun, more careful, he supposes. but he has long since been numb to normal fears.

brow arches again, corner of his mouth quirking up once more. ❝ maybe...it might not be so bad if i'm sharing it with you, ❞ he ponders. a small crease slowly forms between his brows. he half-shudders. ❝ the idea of it—being locked in there by myself like a corpse i am— ❞ he shakes his head. ❝ maybe a part of me thinks i won't open my eyes again. or i'll be trapped. i dunno. i don't like it. ❞

[stberggren]

QUEER (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

[stberggren]

this is crazy is all he thinks as emil leans towards him and kisses him. softly. the kind of kiss that causes him to hum and smileagainst his lips. he suspects he means to tease him by making it slower than it ought to be between two strangers, but tom decidedly likes it. he kisses him back, trying not to let on his desire to deepen it. “who knows, i could just be terrible at interpreting your signals. i’m not used to nice guys like you.” while he can tell there is something else going on, under the surface somewhere, he is quite sure that his decency is not a facade. in fact that is unmistakable in the way he kisses.

tom lets himself be reeled in, his hand becoming squeezed between their bodies a little bit. he spreads his fingers and lets slowly slide further up towards his chest. he is glad the sweatshirt wears allows some movement and he can feel all the way to his nipples. he runs his thumb smoothly across one of them at the same time he kisses him again. playfully he tucks a little at his bottom lip with his teeth. “do you have to be back on stage or..”

❝ guess you'll just have to find out. ❞ he says it with a wicked little smirk. he can be. it doesn't mean he likes to silence himself. it comes with some effort to subdue the natural noisy which overcomes him in intimate moments. he is willing to do it for this man, if it will make him more comfortable. emil is certain the orchestra below would drown them out anyway. but the thrill of potentially being seen or heard has its own enjoyment he can play into tonight.

instead of answering tom his smile softens at the brush of their noses and he enjoys it a moment before he leans in closer. his lips press lightly to tom's. far more gentle and delicate than the desires coursing in his veins demand. he doesn't listen to it right now. he just kisses him slowly, savoring the taste, wanting to commit it to memory in case he never gets the chance again. the touch of tom's fingers against his skin leaves warmth behind which he wants to chase. when he withdraws enough to look at him he murmurs ❝ i think you read me just fine. ❞ emil lowers a hand to the waistband of the man's pants, hooking a finger into a beltloop to tug him closer before he leans back towards him for more.

[stberggren]

Drew Starkey as Eugene Allerton QUEER (2024) dir. Luca Guadagnino

[stberggren]

“this?” tom repeats, but ultimately he moves on to answer his question, “not for sleeping, but i can’t completely deny ever being in a bed since turning. that wasn’t what i meant…” he wonders if his skin goes red or if simply feels his fever more keenly, “however, starvation has dulled my appetite in every regard.” in fact emil is the only person he has felt like being near in ages. 

emil’s smile is nothing short of sweet as he lays back, but for a moment he sees bashfulness in it too. he can’t imagine having the ability to make everything alluring. it suits him well enough, perhaps because it comes with real generosity as well. it makes him want to apologize for souring the mood with his concerns. tom watches him as he explains his disliking of the coffin, his own worry about him visible from the way he frowns at him. “it was strange to me too in the beginning…” he doesn’t want to sound judgemental of the fact and so he cuts his speech short.

tom shifts onto his side - ignoring the way it makes his body ache - and reaches out to carefully touch the side of his face. “i think we are supposed to mind a little sun.” the image of him accidentally turning to dust in his sleep is a terrible one. he runs his finger over his cheekbone and gives a small smile, “tonight we can stay here, but…” he hesitates suggesting it for a moment, “perhaps it would be good for you to try it.   you’d be welcome to mine.”

emil glances to the side, watching as tom makes himself comfortable. he has to suppress a smile when he realizes just how much he likes it, seeing him there in his bed like he belongs. he supposes neither of them do. they are likely supposed to sleep in those damn coffins for a reason. but even still, tom looks a little too good even in his state laying there, watching him like that. ❝ have you really never found your way into one since becoming...this? ❞ an offer to find his way to this bed whenever he likes is on the tip of emil's tongue, too flirtatious for his own good. the thought enters his mind, but he becomes too distracted to voice it when tom's worry makes itself evident.

a small smile touches his lips and emil shifts from where he sits to join the other man, he lays back slowly and gracefully next to him. he still feels the ghost of his touch on his arm and a part of him wants to chase it. ❝ i suppose you'd be right, ❞ he returns ❝ i'm not too concerned about it. ❞ he shrugs his shoulders a little, the mattress shifting beneath the movement of his weight. emil turns his head to the side to look at tom. ❝ i don't mind a little biting, ❞ he returns teasingly. his expression sobers just a little. ❝ and i don't mind a little sun. i can handle myself. i'd rather contend with that risk than seal myself up in one of those boxes. ❞

[stberggren]

“just making sure..” he murmurs, feeling the muscles in his abdomen tighten as emil’s fingers runs along his arm. he forgets whatever he was meaning to do. he locks eyes with him, although it is made difficult by how close their faces are. when his hand reaches his face he leans into the touch, inviting the caress to go on. “not a problem exactly.” tom is aware that he will sound like a coward if he says he doesn’t want to get kicked out of the theatre. he isn’t look to be the cause of any more trouble tonight. on the other hand, he can’t imagine the envious looks he’d get if they were caught. 

“you can be quiet?” tom asks, arching a brow.he can almost hear the pretty sounds he’ll make. tom has no doubt that it is as sexy as the rest of him. tom loosens his grip around his shirt only to slide his hand under it instead. he traces the outline of his abs, marveling at the feeling of his body. his skin. he smiles and rubs their noses together lightly, “weren’t you about to kiss me or am i reading this all wrong?”

there is a softening of emil's demeanor again when tom laughs. he likes the sound of it. he wants to hear it more, but then there are a lot of sounds he wants to hear out of those lips of his. that throat so tempting, adams apple just begging to be caressed. if he weren't so close to the man he might be looking at it but instead he glances between his eyes and mouth. a soft huff of breath escapes him, almost a laugh at his own. tom's seeming play at being hard to get makes him want to laugh more but he is distracted by the question. ❝ no one is watching us, love, ❞ he murmurs, head tilting so his lips almost graze the corner of tom's mouth. ❝ they're watching the dancers. and the dancers are too busy counting their steps. ❞

no one would think to look up here. even if they did... ❝ no, ❞ he finally adds, if nothing else than to reassure tom. ❝ hardly visible at all. ❞ he moves a hand away from the ledge and instead runs his fingers along tom's arm. he grazes his touch over his wrist, up his forearm, biceps, until he reaches his shoulder. ❝ would it be a problem if we were? ❞ he questions curiously. emil brings his hand to tom's face, fingers pressing just beneath his chin. the pad of his thumb brushes over his skin. ❝ you worried about someone seeing? or hoping... ❞ he is slightly teasing. tom doesn't seem like the exhibitionist type but looks can be deceiving.

[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.