ARCHIVE.

❝ do i seem like the kinda guy who says shit he doesn't mean? ❞ he questions him with a raised brow. his expression is almost stern, but not quite. he is too spent from their activities and taken with the man before him to be anything but tender just now. he watches as tom moves his touch, allowing him to guide his fingers wherever he will them to be. ❝ i don't waste my breath on empty words. ❞

tom swallows hard when emil becomes severe. his face heats up in a way that is different to before. if he could turn back time and keep his mouth shut he would. playing the words back in his head, he can understand if he thought there had been some strange implication of him being a liar that tom had failed to consider. shit. tom retreats his hand and shakes his head, but all his words dry out in his throat.

oh, he's a dangerous one. he has all the looks of a proper sort of person, well put together and polished, clearly educated. but emil has learned those are the ones to watch out for and by god if there isn't something truly sinful in this man's eyes when they meet his. he looks a little to perfect on his knees for him as well. as if he truly is as comfortable there as he says. ❝ is that what i am? ❞ he murmurs lowly. ❝ another means to an end, huh? ❞ he is teasing him, but a part of emil does wonder...tom is on a bad date and emil is there and available, easy to use. he doesn't necessarily mind, not usually, and yet...

best damn seat in the house, tom thinks, taking his time to look up at emil. he has always enjoyed watching the subtle changes in men’s faces the second there’s a mouth around their cock. when emil suggests he’s simply another means to an end he wants to laugh at the irony of it. he’s pretty sure that most people would consider the person on their knees the one being used. he is too preoccupied to actually laugh or say anything, but his eyes do roll back.

an endeared smile briefly finds its ways to his lips. he doesn't think he would ever find himself wanting this man to shut up, in fact he wants to hear his voice a little more. but rather than saying that he half-laughs. the sound rumbles between them as he reaches almost blindly for him, just trying to feel whatever warmth of his skin he can find. ❝ irresistible, huh? ❞ he is accustomed to words of praise but something about the way tom says it manages to make a thrill stir in his stomach otherwise less movable from others. ❝ that your way of sayin' you don't usually hook up with strangers in the dark? ❞

that lowly muttered fucking hell sends electric currents through him and cold, but not unpleasant, shivers down the back of his neck. he tips his head back a little, letting the man massage his fingers through his hair. he doesn’t mind the way he tugs at it either, letting out a soft gasp as he does. he almost forgets the question that he’s left hanging in the air since getting on his knees. he doesn’t want to tell him the truth: that fucking strangers in the dark is all he ever does, that this is different only in the sense that he had not gone out tonight with the sole intention of that happening, that this is a whole lot easier than the date he is supposed to be on currently. “if there’s an itch i usually don’t find that people, strangers, have to be particularly irresistible for me to fuck them in the dark…” tom shakes his head, grins, and returns to the task ahead.

❝ good, ❞ he grins, devilish as ever ❝ neither do i. ❞ that much is the truth. he has never been a quitter in anything. he couldn't have been to be in this industry, to have made it this far. he came from nothing. it has taught him to value what he has, to hold on to each second and know when to let it go. he does the same with people. emil feels the warmth of this man beneath his fingertips and wanders how long he will get to know it.

he doesn’t fully understand his curiosity about the ballerino’s sexual escapades, but here he is being carried away by it. perhaps it solely down to the way he reacts: how devilishly he laughs and how it only seems to be spurring him on. “if my assumptions are unreasonable…” he has to stop talking to kiss the outer corner of the man’s mouth when he hovers closer, “you can just ask me to shut up.” or, preferably, shut him up without any words being used. 

❝ do you? ❞ he half snorts with a raised brow. amusement ripples across his features at the other man's teasing, though he has a feeling there is some truth behind it, some sincerity in his triumph over emil's hesitations. ❝ i'm sure you're right about a lot of things, don't let it get to your head. ❞ a dry jest of his own before he lets his muscles relax a little more into the mattress and pillows.

“i’d like to say it goes away, but i’m not sure i am convinced it will.” the night and the quiet appeals to him, but he does miss daylight at times. he prefers not to remember what life they miss, being awake when everyone sleeps, “you really are daredevil, aren’t you?” it isn’t surprising to hear him say he pushes his luck. he’s proven today just how stubborn he can be when he wants something - even if it is risky. emil isn’t making much less worried, that is for sure.

the rotten smile which spreads across his thin lips is far from welcoming. it blooms from the amusement tom's discomfort apparently offers. he is of his own creation --- santiago is bound to this young man in ways previously unknown to him. had his maker survived the coven's judgement and perhaps the actor would have been able to learn what it meant to truly belong to another; he too was still learning about the doom brought by this unearthly coupling. thomas clings to his wrist as a sign of resistance and yet, he does not shove him away. instead he lingers there, suspended over a line he seemed eager to watch be crossed. "oh yes, and you despise it so, don't you, tommy?" purred santiago as he tilted his head, as if to better align their lips. "to be held like this." his voice became low and gravely. "by me."

if there is a choreography to their dance tom has hardly learned it. he has the feeling of stringing along, simply mimicking the movement of his maker to the best of his ability. it shouldn’t startle him, but it does, when santiago turns the scene into one where tom is acting out of some all-consuming desire for him. it makes him laugh, bitterly, like there is not a grain of truth to it. he would not be where he is if there wasn’t. “you flatter yourself, old man,” frankly, he is too depleted to put up a real fight even though he knows santiago expects it from him. 

❝ i'll make that kind of time, ❞ he responds with a firm confidence in his voice. the corner of his mouth twitches with a smirk that just won't break free but lingers beneath the surface. he knows he is a menace and if they had all night he would prove to this man just how true the accusation is. for now, he settles for this.

he wonders what his directors will say; if they have plenty experience with one of their principle dancers disappearing in the middle of the show, only to be found in the arms of some fortunate audience member. perhaps his level of calmness tells him all he needs to know. he laughs into his mouth, trying to ignore the fact that the thought makes him feel unreasonably jealous. thankfully, his brain short-circuits when he palms his erection. he isn’t even sure at what point he’s gotten this hard, but now he is too aware.

he is at least somewhat conscious of the need to not crush tom beneath him, but he allows himself to remain there atop of him for a little while longer to catch his breath. he joins in the other man's laugher, the choice of word causing an extra chuckle. emil blindly presses a kiss against the back of tom's shoulder. he can taste a little saltiness from sweat upon his lips after and he instinctively runs his tongue along his bottom lip, savoring it.

tom could lay there forever just looking at emil. he swallows hard as he kisses his shoulder and licks his lips in the most obscene manner. it would not be exaggerating if he said he is unlike any other man he has ever been with. unapologetic in a way that makes it all better. he’s still staring at him when he removes himself, wanting nothing more than to protest. he grunts unhappily, hating the sudden feeling of emptiness. he’s concerned the hollow in him will fill up with shame or sadness. 

emil doesn't even attempt to repress the small smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth. smug. pleased. he likes the way it feels to be the subject of tom's concern. if nothing else, tonight's exercise has given them a reason for a certain level of emotional and mental intimacy previously untapped. nothing to bond two vampires like one biting a chunk out of the other. ❝ keep your blood, i worked very hard to put it in you, ❞ he half-snorts as he allows an arm to press more securely against tom's back.

the urgency of the act, and his reluctance to receive it, has perhaps overshadowed the fact that, at present, they share the same blood. largely that stranger’s blood, but undoubtedly some of emil’s must have fused with it too. out of all the innuendos, it is the one that is probably is the least intentional, that has heat rising to his neck and face again. he makes as soft gasping sound when emil wraps his arm tighter around him.