Robert shouldn’t really be surprised to find that Tom is like this. Pushy, especially now when he’s so on edge, so wound up and desperate to be taken outside of himself so that he can fit back in his skin after. Robert has tried so hard to keep this part of it as level headed as possible. The space is neutral, and he’s keeping a safe enough distance, hands in his pockets, to keep Tom from having an easy way to take his hand, but also to keep himself from reaching out for him without thinking better, without being able to stop himself. He’d tried so hard, but they’re quickly leaving neutral territory here. Tom moves closer and though Robert probably should have stepped back to keep a buffer of space between them while they spoke, he didn’t. He held his ground as Tom comes in and caresses down the line of his jaw. Robert doesn’t move away, doesn’t flinch, just meets him with a narrow eyed gaze that says that this is something for which he’ll pay. That he’s keeping score, and this is one check mark against him.
But he doesn’t move to stop him, to push him away. He just lets it ride, sees how far Tom will step across the line, and waits to call him on it because he knows that he knows. The look in his eyes makes it clear that he’s playing, he’s toeing the line fully aware of what he’s doing. The man is damn near begging to be punished.
It’s not until Tom is moving in, crowding his personal space, practically plastering his long, lean body up against his that Robert starts to lose some of his cool. Not completely, but he feels it sway, feels Tom creep in beneath the surface, feels a flare of desire that doesn’t stop in the surge of warmth he feels in his chest, but continues downward, pulling at the front of his trousers. Tom’s blunt and forward, he’s lewd and explicit, and it takes him by surprise to hear it. To hear those words from a man he’s worked with, considered a friend, and it would be a goddamned lie to say that he wasn’t half hard in his pants right now. It’s all he can do to keep from obviously reacting, to stop himself from gasping at the image he paints with those words.
Then he moves back with a tease, playing coy like he’s a bloody cocktease. Like he thinks this is a game. If you want. Robert lets out a rather heavier breath than he’d realized he was holding. “Brat,” he scolds him, voice lower than it was the last time he’d spoken. But there’s a nod of acknowledging that, yes, he does want that, and yes, Tom’s message has come across loud and fucking clear.
He’s determined to finish the conversation before he lets this really begin, because someone has to, and it’s clear that Tom isn’t capable of it. After a breath, he says, “We’ll use the stoplight system. I’ll check in periodically to make sure you’re still okay… but I’m also going to use my judgment about how far is too far.” He doesn’t say it out loud, but he knows that it’s easy to get to a place where you’d agree to continue even when you’re not actually okay, and he trusts that he can recognize that line. He’s seen it before, navigated it before, and unfortunately, made the wrong call before. It’s not something he’s keen to repeat, but it would seem that he’s very good at reading Tom so he’s confident he’ll know if they get there. His hands are still in his pockets, and he jingles his keys, thinking. There’s probably more they should discuss, but he’s rapidly losing focus. It’s a good thing they have a drive ahead of them. It’ll give him time to cool off. Maybe.
“Alright,” he says before pulling out his keys and spinning them around a finger, “Come on, I’m driving.”
no subject
But he doesn’t move to stop him, to push him away. He just lets it ride, sees how far Tom will step across the line, and waits to call him on it because he knows that he knows. The look in his eyes makes it clear that he’s playing, he’s toeing the line fully aware of what he’s doing. The man is damn near begging to be punished.
It’s not until Tom is moving in, crowding his personal space, practically plastering his long, lean body up against his that Robert starts to lose some of his cool. Not completely, but he feels it sway, feels Tom creep in beneath the surface, feels a flare of desire that doesn’t stop in the surge of warmth he feels in his chest, but continues downward, pulling at the front of his trousers. Tom’s blunt and forward, he’s lewd and explicit, and it takes him by surprise to hear it. To hear those words from a man he’s worked with, considered a friend, and it would be a goddamned lie to say that he wasn’t half hard in his pants right now. It’s all he can do to keep from obviously reacting, to stop himself from gasping at the image he paints with those words.
Then he moves back with a tease, playing coy like he’s a bloody cocktease. Like he thinks this is a game. If you want. Robert lets out a rather heavier breath than he’d realized he was holding. “Brat,” he scolds him, voice lower than it was the last time he’d spoken. But there’s a nod of acknowledging that, yes, he does want that, and yes, Tom’s message has come across loud and fucking clear.
He’s determined to finish the conversation before he lets this really begin, because someone has to, and it’s clear that Tom isn’t capable of it. After a breath, he says, “We’ll use the stoplight system. I’ll check in periodically to make sure you’re still okay… but I’m also going to use my judgment about how far is too far.” He doesn’t say it out loud, but he knows that it’s easy to get to a place where you’d agree to continue even when you’re not actually okay, and he trusts that he can recognize that line. He’s seen it before, navigated it before, and unfortunately, made the wrong call before. It’s not something he’s keen to repeat, but it would seem that he’s very good at reading Tom so he’s confident he’ll know if they get there. His hands are still in his pockets, and he jingles his keys, thinking. There’s probably more they should discuss, but he’s rapidly losing focus. It’s a good thing they have a drive ahead of them. It’ll give him time to cool off. Maybe.
“Alright,” he says before pulling out his keys and spinning them around a finger, “Come on, I’m driving.”