It was sort of order of priority for Tom. Starting with the fact that Robert was -- like something out of those dark wet dreams he never talked about -- actually interested in taking him through a scene. Then was the question of whether he'd fuck him, if he'd touch him, although it wasn't necessarily the sex so much as establishing that he wanted to. He could, and had, done scenes without the sex. What he couldn't do, was scenes without that edge of desire, hands that wanted to feel his body as much as hurt him.
And then there's his answer: yeah. It's simple, but there's an emphasis to it that catches Tom's breath. He says it like it's hardly a thought, and for a moment Tom wonders if he's not the only one that's wanted. He doesn't remember for quite how long he's been attracted to Robert, but once they were working together, the tenor of it had changed. He was so vibrant, with that hint of darkness at the edges of his eyes, and Tom didn't dare to think he was actually into the lifestyle, but god he couldn't stop thinking of those strong hands wrapping his thin wrists in leather cuffs. Of what he'd look like when he was kneeling, or how his almost lazy voice would sound in between the snap of a riding crop. And Robert says yeah like it's maybe the most obvious question Tom could have asked.
And then Robert asks him back, and Tom looks at him, a rueful curve of his lips as he looks at him with those intense eyes, shadowed a little with desire. "You have to ask?" He shakes his head as Robert clarifies. "I don't want it to be just the scene," he murmurs, his voice low and hot. He can't resist reaching out, dragging thin fingertips against the sides of Robert's jaw with a look that says he knows he's crossing a line, that he's not supposed to touch.
A look that almost asks if he's going to punish him.
"I've wanted you almost since we started shooting," he admits with a flush that looks like it might be actual embarrassment. Like something he didn't quite mean to admit to, but he has no walls, no pretense, no ability to hide what he was in moments like this. "So, yes." There's a beat, a pause, the way he closes the distance so their bodies are almost touching, leaning in so the height difference isn't as obvious, so he can look into his eyes. Body contact like he might try and push him against the wall, but he doesn't. "I want you to fuck me when my skin's still stinging and there's tears in my eyes. I want your cock inside me like my only anchor and the only thing that still makes sense."
He takes a step back then, eyes glittering and a smile curving his mouth. "If you want."
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And then there's his answer: yeah. It's simple, but there's an emphasis to it that catches Tom's breath. He says it like it's hardly a thought, and for a moment Tom wonders if he's not the only one that's wanted. He doesn't remember for quite how long he's been attracted to Robert, but once they were working together, the tenor of it had changed. He was so vibrant, with that hint of darkness at the edges of his eyes, and Tom didn't dare to think he was actually into the lifestyle, but god he couldn't stop thinking of those strong hands wrapping his thin wrists in leather cuffs. Of what he'd look like when he was kneeling, or how his almost lazy voice would sound in between the snap of a riding crop. And Robert says yeah like it's maybe the most obvious question Tom could have asked.
And then Robert asks him back, and Tom looks at him, a rueful curve of his lips as he looks at him with those intense eyes, shadowed a little with desire. "You have to ask?" He shakes his head as Robert clarifies. "I don't want it to be just the scene," he murmurs, his voice low and hot. He can't resist reaching out, dragging thin fingertips against the sides of Robert's jaw with a look that says he knows he's crossing a line, that he's not supposed to touch.
A look that almost asks if he's going to punish him.
"I've wanted you almost since we started shooting," he admits with a flush that looks like it might be actual embarrassment. Like something he didn't quite mean to admit to, but he has no walls, no pretense, no ability to hide what he was in moments like this. "So, yes." There's a beat, a pause, the way he closes the distance so their bodies are almost touching, leaning in so the height difference isn't as obvious, so he can look into his eyes. Body contact like he might try and push him against the wall, but he doesn't. "I want you to fuck me when my skin's still stinging and there's tears in my eyes. I want your cock inside me like my only anchor and the only thing that still makes sense."
He takes a step back then, eyes glittering and a smile curving his mouth. "If you want."