"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.