surrendering to gravity

[campjesus]

When they're out of sight of the rest of the Room, Brody bites down in earnest with the flat, blunt teeth in between his fangs -- not to hurt, just to leave a little mark. He waits a few seconds before releasing and repeating it a little to the left

Comments

[surface_level]

Brody is light, which helps Lucas to carry him across the (freshly cleaned and even looking bright, is that a new lamp in the corner) room to his bed without danger of dropping him. Perhaps too light, but it does give Lucas a chance to feel protective. He enjoys that chance. He may not be even close to Brody in practical strength, but he has what he feels and he has his knife and his lack of fear and it is good to lower Brody down to the fresh blue sheets and believe that he could make a difference in keeping him safe from some imaginary looming danger

[campjesus]

"Mmph. C'mere." He pulls him on top of him, wraps his legs around him and turns his head, catching his mouth with his own. He's making a conscious effort to keep the biting to a minimum; his control isn't always (okay, is never) the best and he doesn't want to break the skin and make him bleed. He doesn't think it would make him frenzy, but it would kill the mood

[surface_level]

The last thing that concerns Lucas is Brody's fashion sense. He demonstrates this by ending the kiss only to slide down and shove Brody's extra-large shirt up, trailing his tongue along one of his ribs and then biting at his chest sharply. A sound comes out between his teeth like the guttural beginning of a word he doesn't complete, caught up in sliding his other palm beneath Brody's back and then scratching nails down his spine.

[campjesus]

His arms need to move to accomodate this; he drops them briefly to his side, then reaches over and wraps them around him, his fingers in his hair and clinging to him. His back arches upward and he makes a noise somewhere between a whimper and a sigh, squirming slightly. "Fuck -- do that again --"

[surface_level]

Lucas smiles up at Brody and then closes his eyes. He leans down and repeats, his teeth grinding down harder than before and his tongue flicking between. His breath hisses when he pulls it in against Brody's skin and he does not pull away to mumble.

"минный..."

[campjesus]

Brody peels off the silly Dracula... whatever and wriggles the rest of the way out of his bunched-up shirt -- not bothering to fuss with the buttons, because that will take a million years. He kicks his boots off and they go in any random direction, he's not paying attention. The scars on his chest are long gone -- he had to get rid of them weeks ago when he started working. No one wants to see another man's name carved into the person they're screwing. ...Some for more noble reasons than others.

His teeth and tongue and breath all feel amazing. The pressure leaves little dark bruises; they'll fade fast but he likes having them for now. His head rolls back and he sighs, relaxing under him -- submitting.

[surface_level]

The loss of the scars is noticed, and felt, but understood. Of course Lucas is silently thinking about the next time he will get a chance to replace those scars, carve his name into secret inches of Brody's skin. As his scraping teeth continue down Brody's chest, the hand in his hair also slides down, fingers starting to toy around his throat gently.

His eyes flick up along his body to watch. It is as desirable to watch as it is to feel, especially to know that Brody allows him, that he is trusted.

[campjesus]

His physical reactions are all dulled or not there at all. No hitch in breathing, no speeding of his heart. Instead he closes his eyes and bites his lip, lets out a tiny whimper. It scares him, but he likes that -- because he knows Lucas isn't actually going to hurt him. He won't break his neck just to watch it heal crooked, or puncture the artery and pass him around like a party favour.

His left hand drops to the mattress and paws at the sheet as he squirms under him and nudges his hips upward, pressing against him. His head tilts back to bare his throat to him.

[surface_level]

Lucas surges back up and kisses him again as his grip tightens on his throat, lips and tongue urgent. He tastes every lack-of-breath as eagerly as if it was a gasp as he reaches down to unbuckle his own dirty and twisted black leather belt and unzip his jeans. He speaks without pulling away, panting where Brody can't.

"You are beautiful. And you are mine."

[campjesus]

"Yes." His voice is slightly hoarse from the pressure against his throat, the words mumbled against his mouth. His teeth clamp down on his lip, biting gently, eyes opening. He wants this -- feeling owned, like he's not responsible for himself, like someone else is going to take care of him. Knows it's probably bad for him, that his shrink, before he stopped seeing her, told him not to do exactly this, but he doesn't care. He releases his lip just as gently. "Fuck me."

[surface_level]

Lucas kicks his boots off and then the pants over them (though his hand dips in to pull certain foils free first), pulling back to tug his shirt over his head and then he's groping at Brody's zipper in a whirl of motion. At the center of it his hands smooth, tug, scrape and he growls under his breath. "I will bend you in half. You will scream. I will hurt you, perfect, heal you, cut you-"

His voice continues to murmur, threats and adoration and expletives. If he could remember what the women in the hospital said, he would worry about his need to attach pain to love in order to excuse some sort of weakness, but the only thing that honestly stuck was 'Dracula'.

[campjesus]

"Please." His eyes are hooded, body still relatively limp, although he does reach down and push his pants off his hips, pulling them off with a series of wriggles until he can knock them over the side of the bed. He moves languidly every time Lucas scraps his nails over his skin, but he moves into his hands, not away, and grinds his hips into his.

He's not paying attention to what Lucas is doing with his clothes, he's focused on his face. One of his shaking hands touches him very lightly on the waist, a stark contrast between his cold skin and the cotton-polyester-whatever of his gloves.

"Please hurt me."

[surface_level]

His fingers grab again roughly at Brody's throat, squeeze, and then his nails rip down it to his chest, drawing ragged lines. There's a moment where his arm tenses as if it wants to pull away and strike but he hesitates, only tense. To supplement, his teeth grip the scant skin on his shoulder and grind between incisors. It is a whirl of need to love, crush, fuck, protect and cut that he has never felt as strongly as he does in this space with Brody.

"Wear my name in every inch..."

[campjesus]

"Ah, fuck --" He arches his back again, pushing into his nails. His head moves to the side to give him continued access to his neck and shoulder. "Take it," he mumbles. "Anything you want, it's yours." His hand slides from Lucas' waist around to the small of his back and he presses him against him, needing to feel his warmth and his cock on him.

[surface_level]

His hips roll down to grind against Brody's skin and he groans under his breath. While one hand reaches down to grapple with the foil package of lube against the bed, the other continues its desperate wandering to twist into Brody's hair and thrust it backward, yanking his chin up. As he kisses and breathes heavily against his ear, he mumbles thickly.

"Speak. Tell me whose you are."

[campjesus]

immediately: "Yours." Brody winces but turns his head as much as he can, feeling the sting in his scalp where his hair is being pulled. He can't quite move enough to see his face and he whimpers, still straining. "I belong to you."