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Of Predators and Prey

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The first time he had seen it, which had been something of an odd experience in and of itself, Floyd had paid it no mind. It had not connected until much later in the day, during some highly inappropriate time, that the same markings that were in bold red strokes on the front of his costume, were also shiny pink scars on the front of his chest. Since that connection had been made, Floyd couldn't see the red on Catman's chest without seeing the pink that he knew lay beneath. It was… distracting, to say the least.

Floyd considered himself a ladies' man, he had had a wife, had a daughter with her even. He'd spent a good deal of his initial time with the Six chasing after Scandal. Even so, none of that seemed to matter because despite everything else his past dictated, or his present was saying, there was the undeniable fact that the red clothe on Catman's uniform no longer looked how it ought to when Floyd looked at it. Even when he tried to clear his head, or drink it away… nothing doing.

Things got odder as time progressed. He knew that Thomas was having a thing with Cheshire. And things started getting messed up with the Society after them at every turn, and the Six fighting against them tooth and nail. And then there had been subsequent betrayal. Both Floyd's own and Cheshire's, it'd seem. Thomas had learned it all in the same night too. Floyd actually felt bad about that, what he'd done. Unlike Cheshire, he was willing to try and make up for it.

Things had smoothed over by the time everything was done. They were banged up but they'd survived. And things had calmed down, for a time. He and Thomas had visited Ollie, to try and get him and the others back on the right track, the heroes. And after that, Thomas had begun acting a bit weird.

Floyd was trying not to act weird because Thomas was and it ended up muddled. Floyd had to admit that he had been in that same position once. Wanting to be a hero, but not willing to take on the ridiculous moral code. Besides, the bad guys paid better. Not that he thought Thomas had even considered that.

Then again, Thomas had never been what Floyd would consider normal, none of them were. Thomas was even more different than that, though. They'd been coerced, and he'd come willingly. Or maybe not so willingly… they just had to trick him. Looking back on it, Floyd was sure that a threat against Thomas' pride would have only caused them problems. And he'd been played, they all had been played.

Floyd tried not to think on that too much.

But the real strangeness had happened while they'd been visiting Green Arrow. It'd been a while ago now, but Floyd had been even more aware of Thomas since then. He wasn't sure why, either. It had yet to let up. They bantered a lot and even though Floyd had gone to see Michelle and Zoe a bit more frequently, it didn't change the fact that there was definitely something there, lurking, growing between himself and Thomas that was getting hard to deny.

It probably had something to do with the odd camaraderie they had. Thomas should have, by all rights, still loathed Floyd for the pride. But he hadn't, and maybe going toe-to-toe with Deathstroke had been enough of retribution and repentance. Because Floyd wasn't sure he'd have been able to forgive someone if he'd suffered the loss that Thomas had. The fact that he'd forgiven, and even made overtures of friendship it boggled the mind.

But it really went back to Thomas and the fact that he wasn't like anyone else Floyd had met. The determination in his eyes, the way he carried himself was so much like a hero; the ruthlessness he could exhibit, the kill or be killed mentality… it wasn't as much like a villain as it was like a wild animal. Floyd knew that Thomas was one of the top of the food chain types. A predator. A tracker. Dangerous.

In spite of all past indicators, that fact was one of the selling points. Floyd loved women; he loved the way that they felt, that they curved, there were a lot of good qualities about women. Qualities that Floyd adored, cherished even.

He had been with women, women who were seductresses by trade, wild women, women who did those things for a living, and even pretty innocent women who had no idea about their own charms. But there'd never been anything in them quite like what he saw in Thomas. If he had believed in the new-age philosophies, totem animals might have sprung to mind.

Floyd could tell from the claw marks he wore like a badge, the vague primal instinct that came out when he fought. The hunter and predator mentality he possessed. That through and through, without a doubt, Thomas was every much one of those cats that Floyd had killed.

That made Thomas more appealing to him, not less.

After that revelation, Floyd wasn't able to stop noticing other things. The way his muscles moved beneath the spandex of his costume, or a tight t-shirt. The way his eyes always seemed sharp and alert. The way his hair fell. It was crazy. Addictive. He was sure that Thomas had noticed him looking. Though their interactions hadn't changed, so perhaps Floyd had been mistaken on that.

Floyd was sure the amount of time he spent thinking about Thomas was beginning to interfere with his performance. Mainly because he spent a lot of time in the field watching to make sure Thomas' ass was covered. And something had to be done.
He had been heading in to the showers and Thomas had been heading out of them.

In truth, he was sure the decision had been a bad one. But those pink scars, glistening with water, those damnable distracting scars. The beginning of something like madness. Floyd stared. Thomas pretended like there was nothing wrong, and conversed politely with Floyd as he toweled off. He responded automatically, clearly distracted.

The entire time Thomas had been drying off, and had even pulled on a pair of boxers, Floyd hadn't been able to stop from staring. He was fairly certain he was acting ridiculous. Thomas had begun to fold his towel when Floyd finally did something about all of the odd thoughts that had been cropping up over the past few months.

Floyd sprang at him, his palms knocking in to Thomas' shoulders, sending him down on to the cold tile of the bathroom. Thomas let out a surprised and angry sound as Floyd pinned him. There wasn't a lot of time, Floyd knew that. In terms of out and out hand-to-hand combat, Thomas was clearly superior, and if his actions were deemed as threatening, it could end badly.

Floyd kept his palms on Thomas's shoulders, his fingers curling until his blunt fingernails dug in to the flesh of Thomas' shoulders. Thomas' eyes flashed with something, but Floyd wasn't going to just give up. He wasn't sure what was coming over him. Despite that fact, he shifted himself to a better position. He could feel Thomas' muscles move beneath his hands. Floyd decided to make a move… after all, the worst that could happen was they'd have a scuffle that he'd ultimately lose.

If Thomas hadn't remained angry about the pride, he certainly wouldn't hold a grudge for this.

Floyd moved in, ducking his head, which caused a look of confusion to pass over Thomas' face, but he stilled then. It was absurd, Floyd having Thomas pinned there, in a room no one would think twice about just walking in to. Floyd wasn't sure where he got the courage, but without further hesitation, he leaned in closer and ran his tongue over the smooth, scarred skin there. It tasted vaguely soapy and something laid under that taste. Floyd made a sound and Thomas went perfectly still beneath him. Floyd couldn't see his face, but he imagined that the other man was confused.

"Floyd…" Thomas' voice was calm, given the strangeness of the situation, but whatever he was going to say was cut off as Floyd licked him again. He would have liked to claim that he was just trying to figure out what the other taste had been but there was also a very healthy want of tasting Thomas' skin again. Floyd's fingers flexed a little. The first few tentative laps gave way to Floyd tracing over one of the scars, the center one, from bottom to top.

Thomas' head fell back against the tile with a quiet sound, one that was overshadowed by a sound from the back of Thomas' throat. Floyd glanced up, for just a moment, assumed Thomas had resigned himself to his fate, and then he continued sampling the scars there. Though those first three scars had been the draw, and still were, it didn't escape Floyd's notice that there were more scars, all of them begging to be explored. Floyd continued with the three on Thomas' chest though.

Somehow the thought that there'd be plenty of time for the other scars later crossed Floyd's mind. Thomas was oddly quiet except for every once in a while, a small sound escaped. Thomas was understandably confused and also not willing to throw Floyd off of him. Confused and curious, two things his namesake was known for.

Thomas was stronger than Floyd, and the next time Floyd lifted his head to take a few ragged breaths, Thomas brought his hand up and caught Floyd's hair in his hand. His grip tightened as his fingers twisted some. Floyd wasn't sure what to think then, and there was silence for a few moments. The dark-haired sharpshooter realized, after a moment, that this wasn't steadying his breathing any. Floyd drew in another breath, this one shakier than the first. Thomas didn't let go.

"What are you doing?" Thomas asked. His voice was level enough, but Floyd could detect the tremor in it. It was a fair enough question, but he was sure that the answer was obvious. Floyd didn't respond, just flexed his fingers again so that his nails pushed deeper in to Thomas' skin. He watched as Thomas bit his lip a little and tried to steady his breathing.

"Lawton…" Thomas' voice was almost a growl, which only made Floyd want to stay there more. Floyd shifted again, pressing his body closer to Thomas'. It wasn't surprising, but maybe a bit strange, that Floyd realized how much enjoyment he was deriving from this. His arousal was heavy and probably just why he was acting so impulsively. Thomas' eyes went a bit wide, as the shift that Floyd had made was making Floyd's enjoyment of the situation obvious to Thomas too.

Thomas dropped his head back down and took a few calming breaths.

"I'm flattered, b—" Thomas started to speak, then was cut off when Floyd ducked his head down again, and ran his tongue over his nipple. Thomas tried to convince himself it was an accident… after all, his scars were very close to his pecs. But then Floyd's tongue slid over his nipple again, followed by his teeth, and Thomas was fairly certain that things had changed.

"Floyd…" When Thomas said his name this time, there was no mistaking the tone there. And it most certainly was not a "stop now" sort of tone. Thomas' hands were still in Floyd's hair, but they weren't tight anymore. Floyd bit down on Thomas' nipple again, gently, and Thomas had to fight back a groan. "Can't do this…" Thomas said, his voice sounding weak to his own ears.

Thomas pushed Floyd off him and hurried to his feet, scampering out of the locker room without so much as another word to Floyd. He left Floyd there feeling flabbergasted and unsatisfied… but no less wanting.

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After a while, Floyd collected himself, took his shower, and headed back to his own room. He could hear the others having dinner down the hall. But he wasn't hungry, not for food at any rate. He also was having a hard time controlling the trembling in his hands. He blamed the shakes on needing a cigarette. When he went in to his room, he locked the door behind him. Floyd let out a frustrated sound and went over to his bed, grabbing the pack of cigarettes he kept on the bedside table. He pulled one out between his lips, and lit it with practiced ease.

He wasn't sure where to go from here, not in the slightest, he'd made a big mistake jumping Thomas like he had. Of course, it hadn't felt like it'd been the wrong thing. Floyd took a drag on his cigarette, blew out a smoke ring, while his free hand toyed with the drawstrings on his track pants. He twined them through his fingers as he let his mind wander, the freedom of the thoughts allowing him to try and make sense of what exactly had happened today. Beyond the fact that he'd licked Thomas.

His free and moved idly, the other focused on the cigarette. His battle-roughened palms slid under his shirt and over his stomach, toying with the sprinkling of hair there. He let his eyes closed as his fingers ghosted over his stomach. His thoughts were still on Thomas. But he was getting no further to figuring out why he'd done what he'd done. He was merely caught up in how it had all felt. His fingers traced patterns on his abdomen, he took another puff on his cigarette, and he squirmed a bit on the bed sheets.

By the time he had finished with the cigarette, his hand had trekked up to his chest. He ran his hand along his chest, idly, as his eyes fluttered beneath the lids. His breathing was even, but hitched when he thought about what had happened earlier. It was driving him crazy, because he just couldn't stop thinking about it.

How Thomas had felt beneath him, solid and warm, smelling of soap and something else beneath all of that. He frowned a little tried to calm down, even as his skin prickled in a rather delightful manner. He let his hand trail back down, back on to his stomach which had suddenly become rather warm and fluttery. His draw strings were still untied.

He thought that maybe he should light up another cigarette, but cut the thought off as his hand moved down, cupping his growing erection through the fabric of his pants. Floyd made a sort of hissing sound and squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn't be doing this. Not thinking about his friend. His best friend. The firm reminder of what Thomas was to him didn't seem to negate the fluttering in his stomach. He squeezed himself a little harder and bit his lower lip, stifling the sounds that wanted to come out.

Floyd tore his hand away, flinging his other arm over his eyes as he let out a rather annoyed sigh. He tried to will the feeling away, as confusion and disgust with himself warred, knotting in his stomach, which still felt oddly warm.

"Fuck…" Floyd said quietly. He kept his eyes covered, but then let his hand trek back down. His breathing hitched again as he lifted his hips and pushed his pants and underwear down. He felt a thrill of pleasure, laced with a bit of shame, as he spit in to his palm, wrapped his hand around himself and started stroking. His hips twitched up and his head fell back.

It was completely wrong, and if he wasn't already going to hell for everything else he'd done, this probably would have tipped the scales. His eyes squeezed shut even tighter, and he let out a quiet gasp, biting down on his lip so he didn't say Thomas' name. Floyd's breathing was quickly loosing it's normal rhythm.

His thoughts drifted back to earlier, but instead of puzzling over what it had all meant, he focused on just how it had felt. The skin and muscle beneath him, the taste of his skin, the way he'd sort of growled out his name. Floyd's skin felt flushed all of a sudden, sensations prickling down his body. His hand tightened on his erection minutely, and he stroked himself a little faster.

"Thomas…" He groaned his name out, quiet and needy, he couldn't help himself. The images flickered in his mind, not just from what he'd done earlier, but from all sorts of different occasions he could recall.

Images and words flitted across his mind, too quick to grasp with any cohesion, but enough of a hint to fan the fire. A flash of skin, the growl of a word, the red-blonde hair falling in to entrancing green eyes. Floyd's eyes squeezed tighter as he stroked himself faster, lifting his hips from the bed slightly. The images blurred with scents… the taste of soap and something dangerous lurking there below that.

It didn't take too much longer after that, remembering in exquisite detail the fight that they had had, before he was spilling in to his own hand, and on to his stomach, whimpering out Thomas' name. He laid there for several long moments, trying to catch his breath, trying to rationalize his actions…

He couldn't. And now that the urge had been sated, the shame welled up again. Floyd didn't often feel shame, in fact, he couldn't remember a time in recent history that he had. He kept his hand flung over his eyes, and wiped the other on the sheets beside him. They needed changing anyways.

Floyd must have drifted off, because when he became aware of his surroundings again, his clock was reading several hours than he last remembered it. He grumbled a little, grabbed another cigarette, and got dressed. No missions, so it was casual, and he went in search of something to eat.

Desire sated, he was sure he'd be able to function normally… and maybe even talk things over and out with Thomas. But he needed food, and maybe a drink, first.

Floyd strolled in to the kitchen, wearing a white tank-top and the track pants from before. And stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Thomas leaning against the counter, peeling an apple with a paring knife. Thomas looked up and their eyes met.

Floyd felt his stomach flip and his heart leap in to his throat. Something blazed in Thomas' eyes. And Floyd had a feeling this wasn't going to end well.

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Floyd hadn't wanted to, but it was inevitable, and he looked away from Thomas before shaking his head and heading for the fridge. He was, rather suddenly, quite aware of Thomas' presence behind him, and the other man shut the door, pressing his hands against the freezer, trapping Floyd there. Thomas' hands were on either side of Floyd's head, seemingly unaware of the coolness of the metal beneath his palms. Floyd wasn't quite sure he wanted to turn around to look at Thomas, since he could feel the other man looking at him. Luckily, he was able to hold an outward reaction back, even as the look he could feel on him caused a thrill of pleasure down his spine. Thought it was quite likely that Thomas was going to tear him apart.

"Let me ask you something." Thomas said. His voice was quiet and controlled, belying no emotion other than a very vague sort of curiosity. Floyd wanted to look at him but couldn't find the morot skills to turn around and do so. He nodded his acquiescence. Thomas smiled predatorily. "Do you know why cats tend to latch on to people who aren't cat lovers?" Floyd blinked rapidly, unsure of what the question had to do with anything.

"Um… no, not really." Floyd responded after a moment. Thomas nodded a little, the smile on his lips widening just slightly.

"Staring a cat down is intimidating them, a peaceful bid for dominance that doesn't end in bloodshed. Cats will have staring contests and a submissive cat will look away. And because it's intimidating, the cat will go to the one person who doesn't stare at them. That's why they latch on to people who don't look at them." Thomas explained. Floyd frowned, drawing the comparison in his head. Anger flushed his cheeks and he bit back the first few responses that sprang to his tongue. Thomas chuckled, and then ducked in closer. His breath danced across Floyd's ear and the dark-haired man repressed the shudder that raced down his spine.

"I can only assume, Lawton…" Thomas' voice was low, breathy. Floyd wished he had something to grab on to as his fists clenched, blunt nails biting in to his palm. "That you want to submit to me. Or, at the very least, you want to submit to someone." Floyd shook his head 'no' emphatically. Thomas laughed, which caused the angry flush to darken, show on his ears, and the back of his neck. And he was fairly sure that Thomas noticed now. Especially with his mouth so close to his ear.

"Get away from me, Blake…" Floyd hissed out, the anger on his voice. Thomas laughed again in a manner which was doing nothing for Floyd's state of mind. Thomas moved his hands then, though, pushing off of the refrigerator and taking a step back. Floyd turned, fighting against the flush. Thomas was leaning on the counter, arms crossed over his chest, with a smug smile on his face.

"I am going to kill you." Floyd threatened, but his heart wasn't really in it. Thomas smiled some more and nodded a little. He walked back over to Floyd, the other man backing up against the fridge. He tried not to feel a bit worried, but he failed, as the feeling dropped in to the pit of his stomach.

"I don't doubt it. Someday." Thomas said with an expansive shrug. "Not today, though." He added, seemingly as an afterthought.

Floyd opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as he felt Thomas' breath on his neck, followed by his teeth. Floyd made a rather undignified squeaking sound and Thomas' teeth scraped along his neck again. In a quick movement, Thomas had Floyd's wrists pinned to the fridge and he bit down on his pulse. Floyd was positive he could feel the skin bruising beneath Thomas' teeth.

Floyd tried to twist his wrists out of Thomas' hands, but he wasn't trying very hard, and Thomas was too strong for that anyways. Thomas pulled back after a moment, that smirk back on his face. Floyd was confused, but couldn't find the words that he wanted to say. This time, it was Floyd's turn to run away from the rapidly spiraling out of control situation.

Floyd retreated back to the safety of his room, and noticed in the mirror where his neck was swollen, purple-red with a new bruise, right over his pulse. He dug his fingers in to the wood of the table the mirror was mounted on and gritted his teeth. He knew he shouldn't be affected like this, and he was trying to put it out of his mind. Put Thomas out of his mind. For a moment, Floyd considered going back to sleep, to just stop thinking about it.

It seemed like Thomas had other ideas, because not three minutes had passed before he let himself in to Floyd's room. Floyd was still standing at the mirror, and he was rather tempted to grab the nearest gun and just shoot. It'd be a lot simpler than dealing with anything, and it might make him feel better. Thomas shut the door behind him and moved across the room. Floyd moved away from him, backwards, until his knees hit the footboard.

"So timid all of a sudden…" Thomas mused, his brows arching as he studied Floyd. "You're acting like stalked prey, you started this…" Thomas said. He stepped forward. Floyd had nowhere else to go, and Thomas was in his personal space rather quickly. Thomas' hands went to Floyd's shoulders and he squeezed gently. Floyd wasn't quite sure which direction he should go in… fight or flight, or just giving in.

The sharpshooter didn't have any time to make a decision as Thomas' lips were on his in almost no time at all. Floyd wasn't sure how to classify everything that he was feeling, it ranged from something like fear and something like elation, and so many other things in between, he didn't know if he was enjoying himself or not.

It still felt wrong. Floyd brought his hands up to try and push Thomas away, but his hands settled over his chest. And those damnable scars which started this whole mess sprang in to his mind. Floyd's fingers tightened against Thomas' chest. And it seemed like the point of no return had been passed. Thomas was giving him a look… something strangely intense that hit him square in the chest, and made it feel like it was hard to breath.

Floyd fought against reaching up to touch his lips, his fingers stroking where Thomas' scars were through the cloth of his shirt. Thomas bit his lip a little and reached up to cup Floyd's face in his hand, stroking a thumb across his cheekbone, something oddly… tender amongst all of the other things. It didn't last long, though. Thomas pulled his hands away and placed them on Floyd's. Floyd let out an indignant and surprised sound as he was suddenly pushed down on to the bed, none too gently.

There wasn't any room for words as Thomas joined him in the bed, resuming their kiss. It was harder this time, where the gentleness had faded in to something like possessiveness, and Floyd found himself being treated to an intense sensation, a mix of pain and pleasure. Thomas moved sinuously down Floyd's body, kissing and biting in no real rhythm, but in a way that made Floyd squirm beneath him.

Thomas was not what Floyd would term as being gentle. Which was actually quite alright with him. Not that it made it any less good, but it was different, and maybe that was what made it more appealing. Not that he didn't enjoy the same-old dance, but this was thrilling in its own way. He was used to letting go of his control… but never in a way that was quite like this.

Thomas made incredibly short work of the clothing they'd been wearing, Floyd twisting to help him get the clothes off faster. They were only in the way, and he knew that better things would be happening as soon as that was out of the way.

Despite not being incredibly gentle, Thomas was attentive, and there was no inch of skin that was left unexplored, by teeth and lips and tongue. By fingers and palms and nails. It felt like Thomas was everywhere at once, and Floyd tried to process all of the sensations, but he wasn't sure he could even think that fast. His senses were overloaded, with familiar feelings of arousal and want, and unfamiliar ones like the roughness of Thomas' palms, and the scrape of stubble against sensitive skin.

Floyd wanted to return the favor, but his hands were batted away, and eventually pinned down to the bed to prevent further action. It was a delicious sort of agony for Floyd. His wrists were not happy with the weight being put on them, but the rest of his body was riding a wave of bliss, and soon it all muddled together and he barely felt the pain in his wrists.

Floyd was shaking a bit, anticipation and excitement making him feel jittery, and he needed a cigarette, but he couldn't exactly just ask Thomas to stop while he had one. Not that he wanted to anyways. When he was sure he couldn't take any more, when there felt like his blood was going to boil right out of his veins, Thomas let his arms go and slid up his body, kissing him again. It was firm, unrelenting, and Floyd couldn't help but make a desperate, somewhat needy sound in to the kiss. Thomas' eyes were dark when their gazes locked. Floyd rolled his wrist and got some feeling back in his hands, then reached over to the bedside table.

Thomas' eyes didn't leave Floyd's, the only reaction he even had was a hitching of his breath, and the fluttering of his eyelids as he closed them. Floyd's breathing had already taken a vacation from normalcy, and he reached to the bedside table again, this time, pressing the cool bottle of lube. Thomas didn't waste any more time than he needed.

Thomas warmed the clear gel in his hands, not wanting the shock of cold to bring Floyd out of the state he was in. There was something… good about seeing Floyd like that. With dark eyes and a slightly slackened jaw, and sweat beading across his skin.

He was gentle, pressing one finger in, slowly, pausing when Floyd made a sound of displeasure, until he got used to the sensation, and the pain that flashed there on his face ebbed away. Thomas was observant, still not looking away, as he slowly kept pushing his fingers in, stretching him out. When he'd gotten used to the first, he added another, still going slow, and taking special care not to hurt him.

The noises that Floyd made were going to drive Thomas insane though, it was making it a bit hard to concentrate on just what he was doing, and holding back from taking what he wanted. When Floyd's noises changed, from pleased to needy, wanting more than what he was giving, Thomas crooked his fingers a little, kept the sensations up, until Floyd's noises stopped sounding human. Thomas pulled his hands back, and then scooted backwards.

"Get on your knees." Thomas' voice was low and ragged, but left no room for argument. Floyd was moving to comply before he gave it much more thought, and Thomas was slicking himself up, with slow and steady strokes as he watched Floyd move. Thomas had to admit to enjoying the view. Floyd had a nice body, and he did look good on his hands and knees. Thomas' breath caught again and he shifted his own position. Bed dipping as he settled in behind Floyd.

"Just relax." Thomas soothed. One hand went to Floyd's hip, stroking along the bone there with his thumb, while the other went to guide himself inside of Floyd. The initial thrust was slow, careful, and allowed for Floyd to get used to the sensation. It was slow, and he could hear the little hitched sounds of something between pain and pleasure. When he was finally all the way in, he reached his hand around, still slicked up from before, and wrapped it around Floyd's arousal, squeezing gently and stroking, to get him through the initial discomforts.

It didn't take incredibly long after that, for Floyd to make a little sound, and squirm a bit backwards. Thomas shifted again, pressing his mouth to his back in a series of kisses and bites, a counter point to the slow and steady rhythm he set them at. Thomas pushed in deep and slow, pressing Floyd down against the bed.

Thomas started to quicken the pace, as Floyd's low moans started to become louder, vibrating through his body, and breaking the silence which before had only been the sound of skin sliding against skin, and the bed springs creaking beneath the two of them. The headboard knocked against the wall… and Thomas groaned quietly, moaning incoherently against Floyd's back as he bit him a bit harder, sucking kisses that left even more marks.

Floyd's fingers had curled in to the sheets, twisting them between his fingers, as the sensations crashed over him, and caused him to shudder beneath Thomas. He was by no means quiet, and didn't even have the will or want to muffle those sounds. It felt too good, and Floyd was pretty sure he was seeing spots before his eyes.

Thomas' hand around Floyd's erection sped up too, the thumb swiping over the tip, until that bit of concentration was too much to focus on with all of the other sensations. Thomas thrust faster and Floyd got louder, until the sound of their moans was louder than the relentless knocking against the wall. Thomas could feel the heat coiling in his groin, spreading out in general warmth along his body, until with a rather strangled moan, he pressed in deep and his body seized, tensed, as he felt his orgasm crash through him.

A few more strokes sent Floyd over the edge with a cry of Thomas' name that was most likely heard by everyone in residence in the House of Secrets. They both rode out the crest of their climax, and stayed like that until Floyd slumped almost bonelessly to the bed, and Thomas withdrew and rolled over, excusing himself to the bathroom.

Thomas showed a nicer side as he returned with a damp washcloth and cleaned Floyd up, before tossing the thing on the floor and crawl back in to the bed. He knew he should probably go back to his own room, but people were going to talk anyways, so it hardly mattered. Thomas pillowed his head on Floyd's arm, wrapping an arm around his waist, as he dozed off.

Floyd didn't notice until much later. Thomas was snoring softly beside him and Floyd had gotten up to have another cigarette. He caught a glimpse in the mirror of his chest… claw marks down the center, bruises where the bites had been placed… and realized Thomas had marked him now.