"Bite chunks out of me, you're a shark and I'm swimming."

[starkhasaheart]

The interview had been changed from eight in the evening to five at the last minute. Robert had had all of an hour’s notice, which was annoying. It meant that the five o’clock dinner reservation had to be cancelled. It meant he had to find something to eat at home to tide him over until after, when he could catch a late dinner instead. He’s irritable when he shows up, but he tries to shake it off. It’s not long before he all but forgets his own inconvenience about the change in time because, as he chats with Tom as they’re getting the microphones set up and doing camera tests, it’s becoming apparent that the time change was more than just inconvenient for him. He asks him if he’s alright, and Tom says he’s fine, just fine. But he’s not fine. In fact, he’s far from it.

Robert was almost certain that no one else noticed it, but he had. Tom’s on edge in a way he’s never seen him, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d wonder if he was riding a particularly nasty drug high. But it’s not that kind of high, it’s something else entirely. Something that, from the looks of him, hadn’t gone as planned. Robert had wondered in passing if Tom was into, shall we say, kinky extracurricular activities. How could he not at least think it? To watch the man playing Loki was captivating, and he could see, in nuances of his performance, how he put something distinctly dominant into the role. Here again he feels like he might be the only one to see it, the only one to wonder — at least he thinks that anyone else who wonders has to be equally as familiar with the lifestyle as he is.

Robert knows from experience that sometimes people who are generally submissive can turn the tables (so to speak) with incredible skill. Either by switching, topping on occasion, or in acting, embodying the kind of Dom they look for, the kind of mannerisms and behaviors that really turn them on. Robert sees that in Tom, sees the sexuality that he brings to Loki, sees the darkness there and the desire in how he embodies what he wants to find. Maybe he’s found it. He’s found something, anyway, because from the looks of him today, he’d come in to the interview right out of the middle of a scene that he hadn’t had time to see through to the end. He’d certainly not had time to come back down, but as the interview is about to start, he’s not so sure that he’d even had time to finish. He’s out of it in such a strange way, like he’d been yanked right out of that moment where he starts to leave his body and forced to re-inhabit it without the release that let him come back down naturally.

He wonders if Tom knows that he suspects. If he does, there’s no way to talk about it now. All thought of how awkward the interview would be otherwise aside, he reaches over to let his hand simply rest against his upper back to soothe some of his jangling nerves. Not for the sake of the interview, but just to help him settle. He guessed that being unable to take the time to come back down, having to skip all of the aftercare, that he was in need of some simple touch, at the very least. It certainly seems to help, though he’s definitely different through the whole interview than he’s seen him before. Like he’s not quite sure of himself, not quite inside his own body quite right, and he keeps looking over at him, talking to Robert as though he needs the reassurance sometimes when he answers.

They’re nearly to the end and it seems as though Tom is doing better. He seems calmer, more himself, more able to focus, and so he pulls his hand away. He’d be lying to say that part of pulling away hadn’t been a kind of test, curious to see if he’d been right before and wrong now, to see if Tom was still desperate, still needed to curl into something outside of himself to quiet his nerves. And from the looks of it, he was. Practically the instant he pulls away, Tom is diving for his hand like he wants to pull his arm back around him like a blanket. Robert doesn’t give him the chance, just moves back to where he’d been, a soothing hand rubbing over Tom’s shoulder blade before settling there, thumb gently trailing back and forth.

But now he knows. In the next moment their eyes lock, he feels certain that Tom can tell. And if he can’t? Then he will. Because there’s no way he’s walking out of this interview without asking. Without ascertaining if Tom’s alright, if he has plans to finish this, and if not, if perhaps he can lend a hand, among other things he’d be willing to lend him.

Comments

[hiddlesgasm]

He knew it was maybe not the most responsible decision, doing a scene before an interview, but in his defense, the interview wasn't supposed to be until that evening, and they'd started early just to make sure. Michael was going to be out of town for the next two weeks in China, and his flight left that evening. And with his schedule, it had been a while, almost a week since he'd been able to feel someone's hands on his body like that. Feel the way his body sings in the midst of that pleasure and pain, that feeling of restraints, being bound, giving up control, being told what to do and that whispered praise that hit something inside of him when he did it just right.

Except he's in the middle of the scene when his phone rings, Michael's the snap of a riding crop hard against his ass, turning pale white skin red. They let it go to voicemail, but soon the restraints are off and he's calling back to confirm, and he's shaking, not really in his own body. Michael does what he can: makes him a cup of tea, makes sure he eats something, presses soft whispering kisses to his forehead and his throat. But having to go from that vulnerable place of trust and pleasure to camera-ready in an hour just isn't possible.

Tom can't seem to stop apologizing, even as Michael reassures him that it's okay, that they both have the sort of jobs where these things happen, that he hasn't done anything wrong. Tom still ends up on his knees, with Michael's girth between those lips, needing to feel something, something tactile, like the act of it can anchor him, but then he's stumbling out the door.

If not for Robert, he thinks he might have died. And he can feel the knowledge in it. The first time that he looks up at him in the middle of answering a question, needing that reassurance, that reminder that he's doing okay, and he meets his eyes, gives him what he needs, he can sense that Robert knows just what's wrong. But that physical contact, that way that his hand presses against him is like an anchor. And he eases in, not quite relaxed, but not as tense as before.

Until he moves his hand, anyway. Tom isn't even thinking about it when he starts to move, grabbing for Robert's hand like it's a desperate need, the only thing keeping him inside of himself. The rest of the interview passes much as the beginning, until they're shaking hands and giving pleasant goodbyes, and Tom lingers in that reassuring contact of Robert's hand against him, the way he holds that flicker of control in his eyes. They both know what this is, he knows that they'll have to talk, and he'd prefer sooner rather than later.

However, the fact is that there's not a lot of places for private conversations, and so he murmurs a soft excuse to Robert, and then he's slipping off to the bathroom, and hoping that he'll follow. He's still nervous, not quite himself without that contact, without that look in Robert's eyes, but he splashes some cold water on his face, but it doesn't help much.

His eyes are dilated, and his skin is faintly flushed, and there's something on edge about him, like his slim body is a live wire.

[starkhasaheart]

After that failed attempt to pull away, he doesn’t try again. It’s obvious that Tom needs contact, needs something to keep him grounded, so he keeps a hand on him, even when he goes to shake the interviewer’s hand, his other rests low on Tom’s back, almost possessively, but he thinks it comes off as casual, just there because they’re standing so close, a kind of wordless way to let Tom know he’s moving past him so he doesn’t bump into him. If it reads as more than that, if it comes off as too intimate, Robert doesn’t acknowledge it. He acts just the way he always does when he’s touching one of his costars too much, casual, overly-friendly, playfully charming and he gets away with it. Maybe people wonder, maybe they talk, but when he’s touched any and all of them on a whim, there’s not much to speculate on.

That is, he’s touching him until he slips away. It’s fairly obvious that he wants to be followed — there had been a definite moment there when he’d excused himself where the look in his eyes conveyed that quite clearly — but even if it wasn’t, if he didn’t want him to come after him, he’d still go to check on him at the very least. With the way he’s been through the interview, he can’t let him go without finding out if he’s alright. And that requires somewhere private because he’s still so certain that he’s right about what’s wrong that he’d put money on it, and that’s not a conversation that can happen in public. Unfortunately he’s still caught in a conversation, but maybe that’s alright, maybe Tom needs a minute before he follows. Still, he extricates himself at the soonest opportunity, and then he’s following in the direction he’d gone. The bathroom feels like an obvious choice, so though he’s not sure if he’ll find him there, he checks there first, and he’s lucky. Tom is standing there at the sinks, staring at himself in the mirror, face wet and flushed. He’s never seen him like this, so very on edge, so outside of himself, like everything’s too much to bear, and it’s at once a little worrying and completely breathtaking. He’s got this urge to take him and wrap him up in his arms and just hold him until it’s alright, if that’s what he needs. He wants to give him whatever it is that he needs, all of it.

He locks the door behind himself and stays where he is, standing just inside the door, giving Tom space for the time being. He slips his hands into his pockets and eyes Tom, trying to figure out just what to say and how to say it. He’s second guessing himself, just a little bit, because it’s awfully presumptuous to just assume that because he recognizes a certain look that it means he knows what happened. He could have gotten bad news, perhaps… but he’s still sure enough that he’s right that he’s willing to risk this. Because if it’s the right question, if it’s the question that Tom’s hoping he asks, then it’s worth the risk of being wrong and looking foolish.

“The time change on the interview fucked up my plans this evening, too,” he begins, rambling a bit, but getting around to the elephant in the room in short order, “Just dinner reservations, though, nothing earth shattering. Seems like maybe you were in the middle of something, too. Are you alright? Having to stop in the middle of a scene…” he doesn’t know just where he wants to go from there, so he stops, and lets it hang. Lets it sink in that he knows. That he’s certain enough to say it.

“…is he, or she, around and able to get back into it? I could give you a ride.”

[hiddlesgasm]

Tom waits in the bathroom, edgy, letting his face dry as he tries to act calm and hope that when the door opens it's Robert and not someone that he'll have to pretend he's okay around. But, thankfully, it's Robert who steps through the door and Tom's gaze slides away from the mirror, though there's a moment where he looks at the floor, looks at his hands and then he's leaning with one hip against the edge of the sink.

There's a look on his face like there are things that he wants to say, admit to, but still out of it as he is, it's hard to find the words. Especially to Robert. Even with his skin damp from the water, he's still a little flushed, he's still glassy-eyed, his pupils blown, his slender hands fidgeting. The color on his face deepens a little when Robert mentions middle of a scene, but he nods quietly in acceptance.

That Robert knows. That Tom knows that he knows. That he's right.

At the following question he shakes his head. "No. Uhm. He had a six o'clock flight to Beijing. He's gone for the next two weeks," he admits softly, and there's a shake in his shoulders. Two weeks was going to be hard on him anyway, as Tom was the sort that needed that feeling, it helped keep him focused, helped keep him as that charming darling that the cameras and his fans adored. He wasn't the same without it.

"We were in the middle of some intense impact play when I got the call. I still don't feel... nothing feels right," he admitted softly, looking across the distance at Robert. Tom had inches on inches on the man, but it didn't feel like it. Not right now. There's something in the way that Tom looks at him, something that says that with the right twist of his fingers Tom would be on his knees.

He needs so strongly, his thin, lean frame all but shaking with it. He doesn't say the words, I don't want to be alone right now, but he thinks that Robert can here it in the spaces between his words. In how he closes the distance between them on small, uncertain steps. His eyes wide as he moves in until he's standing just inside of arm's reach, just close enough to touch. He needs the contact, that visceral feeling of connection, a guiding hand that could take control when Tom was so far from it.

[starkhasaheart]

God, the more he watches him, the less he needs to hear his answer. It’s obvious to see the way he stands there, steadfastly avoiding looking at him like he can’t quite bring himself to meet his eyes. When he finally manages it, he can see just how blown his pupils still are, just how glassy, and he’s still fidgeting. The answering blush says all he needs to know, but he nods all the same.

“Jeez.” Gone for two weeks. That’s not good. Certainly wouldn’t have been easy on him regardless, but like this? With the afternoon’s scene left unfinished and still so outside his own body and mind the way he is? He catches how he shakes, how saying it aloud seems to make it more real, the length of time seeming immeasurably long when it’s given voice. He nods, a soft, low answering sound in his throat like a hum conveys his commiseration.

Intense impact play. His mind briefly drifts to imagine that, Tom naked and bound as blows rain down on that gorgeous pale skin. A paddle, he wonders? A flogger, a crop? He needs to know, needs a clearer idea of just what it is he wants, what he likes, what it is that he needs. He shakes those thoughts out of his mind — he needs to focus, needs to come at this as clearly as he can. The reality of it is that Tom’s certainly compromised here, and Robert should know better, but it’s a bad situation to begin with and there’s no helping that. They wouldn’t be here at all if Tom’s afternoon hadn’t gone so badly. He hasn’t said anything yet by the time Tom starts to close the distance between them, creeping closer like there’s a magnet pulling him in. It would be easy to touch him. He’s certainly close enough for it, but he doesn’t want to influence him one way or another (any more than he already has with all the contact through the interview) before they’ve covered more ground with the negotiation. Because that’s starting to feel like what this is. And if it’s not, he’s not pushing for it, making Tom feel pressured just because he’s there and offering something he so clearly needs. He very pointedly keeps his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight a little bit, subtly making it clear he’s not going to reach for him just yet.

“If you want someone to take you home and just sit with you for a while, I’d be more than willing to… grab a movie, a bite to eat…” he knows that won’t cut it, but he’s not opening with an offer to take Tom through a scene. He wants to make it clear he doesn’t have any expectations here, that if Tom’s committed to his Dom, if it’s a relationship more than it is an arrangement, that he’s not pushing for him to break any commitments they might have. But then, incase it is just an arrangement, and incase Tom wants more than just company, he continues.

“Or you could come home with me if you wanted to,” he begins, offering. “We could start fresh,” even if Tom would surely sink into it so much more quickly than he might otherwise, “I don’t know about you, but there’s nothing going on for me this evening that would interrupt.” There’s a pause then, and he adds, “But don’t just say yes because you think that’s what I want.”

[hiddlesgasm]

He gets that subtle message, the way that Robert puts his hands in his pockets and the way his body shifts, and he tries to make his disappointment less obvious. He knows that Robert is trying to be the level headed one in this, that Tom is far too compromised, but that doesn't change the fact that he craves that touch, the reassurance of it, the fact that it makes it easier to breathe. There's a flicker of something that's more complex than hurt in his bright eyes.

There's something a little hopeful in his eyes when Robert starts off by offering to go home with him, movie and dinner, but follows it up with an offer to come home with him and he's nodding in agreement before even really thinking about it. He's a little wrecked, vulnerable, rough on every edge. "I want to," he clarifies, as if there'd been any question, as if he could resist that offer.

It's perhaps a little reckless, getting involved with someone he works with; it's something he's always tried to avoid. The people he plays with usually discrete businessmen or people otherwise removed from Hollywood and its drama. But he trusts Robert, had suspected that he might be into the lifestyle. Just something in how he holds himself, a few moments here and there, a look in his eyes, that scene where he told him to squeeze harder. Tom couldn't help how it cut into him, the way his fingers flexed and Tom's eyes said he wanted it to be Robert's fingers at his throat.

He hadn't known for sure, though. Not until tonight, until he'd touched him, until he'd put words to it. And now they're standing here, Tom wanting to crumble to his knees, but trying to resist the urge. Because once they get to that point, there's the whole negotiation aspect. Usually, he comes at it with a fair bit of formality, but he knows that he's not in the right headspace for that kind of thing. That they're playing fast and loose if he wants to set any kind of ground rules.

He looks into Robert's eyes, a slight tilt of his head, the way he seems almost curled in on himself a little, but he doesn't bridge the distance and touch. "Do you want to fuck me?" Not quite his ideal opening line, but the question is there before he can think better of it, and he trusts Robert to know what he means.

[starkhasaheart]

He can practically feel the need coming off of Tom in waves. He agrees to the offer so fast and Robert can’t help but wonder if this was a really bad idea, but it’s already too late, so he nods in answer to that quick agreement. And he trusts himself to know that however much he wants this, he won’t abuse Tom’s vulnerable state. He’s going to make sure of what it is that he wants, and he’s also a pretty good read when it comes to things like this. And when it comes to Tom especially, apparently. He had, after all, figured out what was going on just from looking at him, from knowing him throughout the time they’ve worked together. For the record, he’d wondered about Tom’s extracurricular activities, thought they might be along these lines for a while. At least since that scene where Tom had to grab him by the throat and he’d finally pushed him to squeeze harder, in part to sell it for the camera, but it had definitely partly been to see his reaction because he’d suspected even then. His reaction hadn’t told him for certain that he was right, but the look he saw in his eyes as he gave him what he asked for seemed to him to be begging to have the tables turned. He wonders now if perhaps this is a conversation they should have had sooner. Robert doesn’t know about Tom’s arrangements, but it seems somewhat open and at the same time, somewhat inconsistent. Robert’s no stranger to inconsistency. He’s had some partners off and on, here and there, but none recently. It’s harder to keep a regular thing going with a busy filming schedule, and he’s let it fall by the wayside.

Then Tom asks that question, and while it definitely needed to be addressed, it wasn’t the next thing that Robert was going to ask, if it had been up to him. But then it’s there. His gaze drops over Tom’s body then, as if he needs to look at him again to know his answer, which comes low and not quite as evenly as he might have liked, “Yeah.” There’s a punch of emphasis in that single word answer that would suggest that’s an answer that would have been exactly the same if he’d asked him months prior, suggests that maybe Robert’s had an eye on him since the start.

The way Tom had asked that question was just dripping with need, and it would seem to leave no question as to Tom’s own feelings on the matter, but he’s still going to ask. As much about this as is compromised, he’s going to seize whatever he can make crystal clear. “Do you want me to fuck you?” he asks him then, seriously, and keeping his attention on Tom’s face, his eyes. “Because this can just be about the scene… impact play and whatever else you need. I’m not expecting anything from you that you don’t want to give.”

[hiddlesgasm]

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."

[starkhasaheart]

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.”