The bars are temples...

[godofcologne]

Characters: Thomas and Sam
Time: January 23rd - sometime
Location: The Redhead Piano Bar
Content: Looking for love in all the wrong places. Or something.
Format: Prose.
Warnings: Hungry vampire, amnesiac demonic vessel. What could go wrong, I ask you.

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[huntingmemory]

It was odd, coming back from a few hours passing and finding that over two weeks had gone by. He'd gotten changed from his wet clothing (being dunked in Lake Michigan wasn't his idea of fun), seen Dean and made certain his brother was okay, then needed to move. It wasn't anything against his brother, it was just that the whole thing had brought up some bad things that he needed to push down and aside again.

He found himself standing outside the Redhead Piano Bar, hands shoved in his pockets for a few moments before he pushed the door inward and stepped inside. Something was tickling at the back of his head and he looked around, finally noting someone sitting in one of the booths, reading. He thought about it for a moment, then headed that direction. Just in case one of the actual people in town. "Hey."

[godofcologne]

Sam's quiet moan tripped over Thomas' tongue like wine, and life, warm electric healing life, pooled against his fingers as his hand trailed its way straight back up Sam's back, his fingers running skillfully up the other man's spine.

A laugh bubbled up as Sam pressed him against a wall, the sound equal parts drunken elation and deepest despair. This was everything Thomas needed and everything he feared, to feed and heal, to lose control so soon after regaining the desire for it. He deepened the kiss, feeling his demon's pleasure, its presence like opium smoke, curling through every part of his mind even as it danced through the the other man.

Yes, yes, yes. Touch. Taste. Feel. Feed. Ours. Ours. Ours.

Thomas deepened the kiss, savoring and tasting, as he arched up against the wall, pressing himself against the length of Sam's body. His weight rested on the balls of his feet and Thomas twisted his hips to reverse their positions, to pin Sam against the wall as the Hunger slid beneath his skin.

[huntingmemory]

Sam oofed, not fighting the position change. Mostly because the wall at his back let him slouch down, making the difference in their heights less. He tilted his head, shifting into the kiss.

And though there was a steady stream of energy and life coming from Sam, there was only so deep that Thomas' demon could go. The 'glass' was there and it was strong. It wouldn't be broken by this.

[godofcologne]

Thomas could feel life and lust suffusing him like standing in front of a fire as sensation returned. The demon wanted more, wanted to delve deeper and take more, to rip his prey's mind open and dance, and he was more than willing to let it.

The hand that had been running up Sam's back now ran back down, tracing the curve of the man's spine, Thomas' touch now fleeting and light where they had been demanding earlier. The Hunger delved, sinking deeper, wanting more, but as before there was the barrier again, protecting the other man's mind.

The buck dares! Insolent kine, break it break it break it we will have his mind, etch our desires on his very flesh leave him craving for the rest of his daysThomas felt the demon's rage; there would have been something familiar and almost comforting about it if he had been thinking straight. Instead, he was trailing kisses down Sam's throat, teeth scraping lightly over the fluttering pulse point, his hand tugging at the other man's jeans

[huntingmemory]

Sam didn't have any control over the protection, though he would likely have been glad to know about it. Though he'd wonder why Dean hadn't mentioned it.

Instead, he groaned into Thomas' mouth again, his hands moving to the other man's waist, pulling at his shirt. He wanted skin and he wanted it now, large hands sliding up Thomas' back, warm and amazingly steady. His own hips shifted, pushing up into Thomas' hand, licking his lips as his breathing got harder once more.

[godofcologne]

If Thomas had been more aware, he might have mentioned the protection himself. But if Thomas had been more aware, he wouldn't have been pinning Sam against a wall, his fingers tracing the path of the zipper along the front of Sam's pants.

But then again, maybe he still would have.

Sam's touch was like fire against Thomas' cool skin, and he arched back into the touch involuntarily. One hand continued rucking up the front of Sam's hirt, nails scraping against skin, while the other continued running lightly along the front of Sam's pants, alternating long, stroking touches with too-light tugs at the fastened zipper.

[huntingmemory]

"I am wearing way too many layers," Sam muttered, rocking against Thomas' touch against the front of his jeans. He was feeling hotter, himself, gasping as Thomas stroked him again through the denim.

He managed to get himself coordinated enough to start pulling Thomas' shirt all the way up to be discarded. Which meant losing touch in certain places, but meant gaining more. If Sam could manage to get his own off as well.

[godofcologne]

Sam's muttered words provoked another laugh, warm and low and honeyed, as Thomas obliged the other man and pulled away just long enough to toss his shirt somewhere behind him. He could feel the pain in his shoulder ebb, the life that was flowing into him already working on his injuries. The gouges that the Skinwalker had ripped in his right side were still visible, though now only bright red and tender.

Not that any of that mattered for the moment, not when every fiber of him, body, soul, and demon, demanded more. Thomas kissed Sam again, pressing back up against the other man as he peeled off the offending layers with practiced efficiency. His hips still moved against Sam's in a delicious, teasing rhythm.

[huntingmemory]

Sam's eyesight was a lot better than most peoples would have been, given everything. Because Thomas was damned distracting, but he saw those gouges. He laid his hand carefully against them after the clothing was gone, his other hand dropping to Thomas' hip, tugging him in tighter as he followed that rhythm. He tilted his head, his mouth and tongue falling into the rhythm as well.

[godofcologne]

The touch against Thomas' healing side was unexpected and the hand that wasn't teasingly undoing the other man's zipper caught Sam's wrist in a firm, but not (yet) inhumanly strong, grip. "Don't think so, sweetheart," Thomas said. His voice was low and breathless, but there was a hint of something dark and steely lurking beneath the velvet pull.

His demon was sinking deep, spinning lust and desire out of heat and touch, feeding and drinking but still restless, endlessly seeking some crack, some flaw, in that glass barrier that protected Sam from the full force of its touch. Thomas wasn't interested in reining it in, not when the perpetual feeling of emptiness was starting to ebb. He pressed against Sam again, momentarily pinning the hand that had been at his side against the wall, and slipped his own hand under Sam's waistband, his touch cool against heated flesh.

[huntingmemory]

Sam murmured an apology, sinking into the touches and kisses again. He should have known that the injuries probably still hurt. They were still rather raw looking and that was dumb of him to have done. Still, Thomas wasn't pulling away, so that was a good thing, right?

The glass was unmoveable, allowing the demon so deep and no further. It could draw Sam's life and energy away from him, feed the lust and desire already spiraling through Sam's mind and body, but couldn't sink in all the way. Which, probably, was a good thing. Probably a really good thing.

Sam, on the other hand, was pretty much oblivious to it, arching into Thomas' touch with a soft cry, pinned hand twisting and trying to get loose.

[godofcologne]

If Thomas was ever to reflect on the experience, he might think it a relief, to be able to feed without ever delving deep enough to meddle with another's mind. But that would require a certain amount of peace with what he was that Thomas was not yet willing to have. The barrier's immovability didn't keep the demon from trying, from wanting the upper hand, from whispering the need to take, the desire to bend and break.

Sam's soft cry was like wine on his tongue, intoxicating and encouraging, and Thomas smiled, the expression touched with predatory hunger, as he kept Sam's hand pinned. He nipped at the other man's throat again, teeth scraping against the pounding pulse point, as he slid his hand further into Sam's pants, alternating sure strokes with featherlight teasing touches.

[huntingmemory]

His other hand was free, though it didn't move because Sam was torn as to what to do. Part of him wanted to grab hold of Thomas' hair and pull his head back for another kiss. Another part wanted to push beneath Thomas' trousers, cup and stroke in the same way. He wanted Thomas as turned on as he was.

He ended up with a compromise, of sorts. His hand moved back up into Thomas' hair, tugging hard enough to sting, though he didn't really try to move Thomas away from his throat. That, he found, he actually rather liked. His legs moved, though, so that he could press his thigh up between Thomas' legs with insistent pressure.

[godofcologne]

If anything, his demon's inability to break through whatever it was that protected Sam simply made it more insistent. Insolent buck, already craving our touch. If we cannot have his mind, then we will writ our passage on his flesh, etch the memory of desire into his very bones.A purr of amusement rose from deep within Thomas' throat as Sam's hand tightened in his hair and the other man's thigh pressed against him, heated and insistent. He returned the favour, grinding back against Sam in a tortuously slow rhythm. He always did like this part, when desire sang in his prey's flesh, when they knew that they wanted, but were too full of sensation to really think about what to do

[huntingmemory]

It took a minute for Sam to realize that his other hand was free again. Probably because Thomas was doing such things with both his hands that it was incredibly hard to notice much of anything that didn't concern them or the other man's mouth.

"You...play dirty," Sam accused, managing to peel his hand away from the wall and wrap it around Thomas, scraping his nails down Thomas' back. "You...fuck, yeah, that's really good."

[godofcologne]

Sam's fingers raked trails of fire down his back and Thomas hissed in unexpected pleasure as he arched, pressing as much skin as possible into Sam's touch. It was only a momentary break in the rhythm he'd set, but a reaction nonetheless, proving that Thomas was just as susceptible to touch as his current partner.

His rhythm disrupted, Thomas took the opportunity to stop stroking, both hands now tugging and sliding Sam's pants past his hips. He chuckled again, trailing a line of kisses up Sam's throat and along his jawline, tracing the curve until he could flick his tongue out to trace the outer shell of Sam's ear.

"You have no idea."