Work Text:
He’d been studious and dutiful as always, but up until this point, he’d also been careful. Everything that had happened with Dylan had been enough for him to develop a hesitant streak, and that was all before Hedron had sent him to this plane of existence. His typically sure-footing was shaken, and so he did what he did best – he remained empirical, discovered what he could, and recorded his findings. He seemed to be making steady progress, and frankly, Casper Darling was feeling quite sure in his careful caution. He was holding fast to it here, in the Dark Place. It was hard not to feel as if hostile resonances hid in every nook and cranny of this place, and vigilance was his HRA.
Quick and painless came to mind when his guard was dropped by a tall, dark figure in black, an individual that was all swagger and no shirt. He let hello, Darling drip from his tongue in a tone that betrayed his intentions immediately, in a way that may as well have stripped Casper bare where he stood.
I’m Tom. Tom Zane.
The name travelled through Casper’s body like a shiver. He was sure it must have wedged itself in the part of his brain that controlled his reticence, or his wildly inappropriate thoughts, or his ability to not giggle like a schoolgirl at everything coming out of a gorgeous Finnish libertine’s mouth. His excitement at encountering another person in this place kept amplifying.
Casper had finally found another person. That person was an artist. That artist was incredibly attractive. That incredibly attractive artist wouldn’t stop undressing him with his eyes.
In the days immediately following their meeting, there had been very little progress towards getting out of the Dark Place, despite that being the pretence for their collaboration. There had been a significant amount of lounging, a steady supply of drinks, and a handful of encounters so heady and stimulating that it took Casper some time to place them in his waking world, not inside some kind of erotic dream. But the encounters were as real as anything here, crawling into laps and breathing into mouths and rutting helplessly against vintage pleather trouser-clad thighs.
Eventually, against all of his basest instincts, Casper had pulled rank. He’d done it with that lopsided, giddy smile on his face and Tom wriggling in his lap, but he was the one to suggest that they really start comparing notes and tactics.
Tom pulls back from where he has been kissing and licking shamelessly at Casper’s neck. He tilts his head, his pale eyes looking particularly owlish as he thinks for a moment. Then he grins, reaching up and cupping the side of Casper’s face.
“Brilliant as always, Darling,” he breathes, and then there’s a beat of static. Quicker than a blink and easier than breathing, Casper is no longer sprawled on a hotel settee, but on a wooden bench inside of what feels like a tiny cabin. It looks like a mudroom, except instead of leading into a wider domicile, there’s a windowed door. It feels like there’s a faint field of humidity leaching from the doorframe. Tom is no longer in Casper’s lap, but he is shedding his blazer.
“I – h – wh – sorry?” Casper stammers. Tom laughs low as he works the tail of his belt out of a loop on his trousers, working the buckle open painfully slowly.
“Something wrong?” Tom asks, smooth as anything, wrenching his belt out from around his waist and letting it clatter to the ground beside him. Casper watches as the metal hits the wood, then lets his eyes flick back towards Tom’s face, though not before an almost imperceptible skim past Tom’s hands at his fly. He thinks Tom couldn’t possibly have seen it. He is wrong.
“I – I just thought you’d heard me when I said that we should –”
“Work on our collaboration,” Tom says with a nod, finishing Casper’s sentence. “Share our ideas, our findings. Hence me bringing you to one of the places I think best.” Tom lifts a hand from his waist to gesture at the humidity-emanating door.
“And… that is… here?” Casper responds. Tom’s face scrunches in shock.
“You’re unfamiliar with the benefits of the sauna?” Tom asks, almost disgraced in his tone. “Perkele, what did they teach you at that bureau of yours?” Casper lets out another nervous laugh, almost flinching when Tom’s hands threaten to move again.
“I know about the protein interactions, the possible neurovascular benefits, the respiratory advantages…” Casper trails off as Tom’s face seems to sink into despair.
“Forget those complex interactions,” he scoffs, lifting his hands to gesture as he speaks. Tom seems almost entirely incapable of talking without his hands. The man loves a good gesticulation. “It’s about how you feel in your mind and body, Darling. You get in there, and your soul just clears. You sweat out all the bad stuff. All the failures, all the blockages… All the inhibitions.”
As if punctuating his sentence with it, Tom undoes the button on his trousers. Casper only just holds back a gasp at the soft pop of the unfastening. Casper is going to die, here, in a dubiously corporeal sauna with a profligate filmmaker who has taken a shine to him. His wet dreams could never, try as they might.
“And you do it naked, of course,” Tom adds, easing his fly down with a smirk. “Which works just fine for me. I do wonder, sometimes, if my distaste for clothing is cultural. I suppose you can take the boy out of Suomi…”
Tom sighs dreamily as he grasps at his waistband. It seems to be only in that moment that he realises that Casper is sitting there, completely frozen and entirely dressed. He tilts his head curiously, raising one of those dark eyebrows, and Casper is predictably putty once more.
“Oh, should I –?” Casper gestures to himself. Tom drags his eyes down Casper’s body slowly, then back up again, drinking him in twice.
“Oh, I insist,” Tom practically purrs. Casper is helpless. He doesn’t quite believe Tom’s assertions on coming to the sauna to think, but frankly, he can’t bring himself to care. What’s one more subjective day of acquainting himself with his collaborator? This is not mindless rutting. This is networking.
Casper undresses a lot more neatly than Tom does. While the former’s lab coat and sweater vest are folded neatly on the bench behind him, his glasses beside the pile, the latter’s clothes are pooled on the floor beneath him. Tom’s out of his trousers, now, left behind in predictably scanty briefs that sit low on his hips and leave little to the imagination. He takes a second to let Casper catch up, which is a move he makes out of the goodness of his heart, and not just to get a full look at the rippling chest muscles he hasn’t yet seen entirely uncovered.
“My, my,” Tom coos, and Casper can’t look at Tom for fear his face will ignite fully. He just finishes shrugging his shirt off his shoulders, which earns him another growly sort of sound from Tom. “You’re even more of a feast for the eyes than I thought you were.”
Casper focuses on folding his shirt, giving a tiny, sheepish laugh. There’s nothing he can think to say that doesn’t sound conceited or desperate in his head. He’s certainly more the latter than the former. He glances up, finally, to see Tom’s eyes grazing over every inch of his bare torso, across strongly muscled shoulders and traps, flitting to his chest and stomach as Casper rights himself.
“I – thank you,” Casper eventually stammers, and Tom gives a little bewildered laugh, shaking his head.
“Oh, no, thank you,” he purrs, and then, with little warning, he drops his briefs to the ground. Casper is too stunned to speak. His eyes are fixed on Tom’s face so hard, he feels like he’s on fridge duty. It pulls a sly chuckle from Tom’s mouth as he strides towards the sauna door on slender legs. “Step into my office when you’re good and ready, Darling.”
“I – uh – yes, I’ll just – yes,” Casper manages. Another laugh bubbles out of Tom at that.
Casper finally cracks and lets his eyes trail down Tom's long, lithe body as he opens the sauna door. He is pale, and his skin looks so soft, and all Casper wants is to feel it under his fingers and mouth and tongue. Tom might have detected Casper's decently well-muscled strength, but despite his penchant for semi-nudity, Tom was harder to picture in his entirety. Bare, he is long and lithe and almost ethereal, what with his floaty movements and swaying hips. His shock of dark, wavy hair doesn't seem as if it will add to the divine illusion, but it does, because it's his. Casper has already run his hands through it, but he wants to do it again and again. He wouldn't mind twisting his fingers into it and pulling, just to see what comes out of Tom's mouth. He's sure it would be delectable.
Tom finally slinks into the sauna after giving Casper more than enough time to ogle. Casper has to take a deep breath to steady himself. If he doesn’t do this now, he’s going to lose what little nerve he’s got left. He kicks off his shoes and socks, leaving them to the side as he tugs his trousers and boxers down in one fell swoop. He picks them up and folds them far more haphazardly and quickly than he has the rest of his clothes, partially because he’s frightened he’ll lose his nerve, but also because it’s freezing in here.
Casper would usually interrogate that further – where is this sauna? Is this in the hotel? How did Tom bring them here? In this moment, though, he has a different and far more singular goal. It’s a goal that likely wouldn’t be made impossible by the effects of the cold in here – Tom’s amorousness seems far too close to an unstoppable force for him to be deterred by some entirely natural shrinkage – but Casper would like to at least make an accurate first impression. He’s certain that Tom’s eyes will be on him the second he steps into the sauna, so he takes another steadying breath before opening the door and heading into the steamy room.
As expected, as soon as he steps into the sauna, he can feel Tom’s gaze adhering to him. He glances over to see Tom tipping another ladle of water onto the hot stones, paying no attention to the trickle of water. His gaze rakes up and down Casper’s body, his smirk widening at a few choice points along his path.
“Forgoing the towel entirely? My my, Darling, you are full of surprises.”
Casper freezes in place, reaching up to wipe some of the steam from the small window in the door. Lo and behold, there’s a pristine, white folded towel beside his clothes. He whips his head back around to Tom, whose eyes had been low but flick quickly back to his face, and suddenly he feels even more bare than he did already.
“I – I didn’t know –”
Tom smiles again, slow and easy, leaning back against the top level of the sauna’s two-tiered bench. One of his legs is crossed over the other, and he looks uncharacteristically demure for a moment.
“It’s not mandatory, relax,” Tom purrs, dropping his hand beside him and patting the wooden slats enticingly. “Come. Sit.”
Casper swallows thickly, but his legs are moving before he can even second-guess himself. This seems to happen a to him a lot around Tom. He sits himself down, and he has the briefest thought about hygiene before dismissing it outright – one, he doesn’t even know if this is a real sauna. Two, if this goes the way he expects it will, a bare ass or two on a bench is going to be the least of this sauna’s worries.
Tom shifts his weight towards Casper, his arm draping across the bench behind them. It’s entirely shameless, a veritable fake yawn into an arm around the shoulders. He uncrosses his legs and spreads them, leaving one foot on the ground as his opposite knee draws up onto the bench. He gives an easy sigh. Casper just about gasps.
“I – so, getting out of here, huh?” Casper manages, his voice wavering. He is trying to keep his eyes high, but what little body hair Tom keeps is dark, and it very lightly dusts his thighs and sprouts from beneath his arms and trails down so fucking temptingly from his belly button to –
“You’re not still on that, are you?” Tom asks, and Casper gives another hapless, nervous laugh. He isn’t still on that, in actual fact. He just knows when this dam breaks, it will shatter.
This is not just a few days of being worked up about grinding against a tall, dark and handsome stranger. This is – fuck, now that he’s thinking about it, this is years of build-up. The FBC took up so much of his time, did its best to crush every good personal thing that came his way. Trench. Raya. Langston? He can’t even remember how he felt about who and what they might have done under the heady blanket of a prevented catastrophe or an open-bar Christmas party. It’s all a blur now. The who, the what, the when. None of it matters here. None of it matters now.
Casper is drawn from his thoughts by a hand cupping his jaw. He sags into the touch, his gaze softening a little as he settles it onto Tom’s face. Tom strokes a thumb through Casper’s goatee. His expression is soft but knowing.
“You don’t have to hold yourself back, here,” Tom murmurs, his voice warm and honey-like. “Look. Touch. Let go.”
Everything implodes. It is glorious.
Casper grabs Tom’s face and pulls him in for the most desperate kiss of his life. He is drowning, and Tom is air. He is a life vest. He is dry land.
Tom is knocked off-balance for a moment, but he grabs for Casper’s torso to right himself, then to pull himself in towards the maelstrom that is Dr. Darling letting go. The naked Casper feels as good under his hands as he looks, and that’s saying something. Casper pushes his fingers roughly up into Tom’s hair, the strands tangling around his knuckles as he grasps a handful of the dark locks. He is pulling Tom in with a crushing ferocity, as if trying to meld their faces together, as if pulling back for breath is less important than tasting Tom, than feeling his mouth and teeth and breath and tongue all at once, overwhelmingly, completely.
Tom is the one who has to snake his hands up towards Casper’s jaw, pushing his face back and holding it in his hands. He takes a second to let his eyes flicker over Casper’s wide-eyed, needy, desperate face.
“Oh, Darling,” he croons, and then he slides his hands down Casper’s neck, settling briefly on his chest before he shunts him backwards. Casper just barely catches himself on his hands, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. Tom’s eyes dip, skating across his chest and stomach. Tom is still wrapping his head around that fact that he had not expected Casper’s torso to be quite so devoid of hair. Then again, he now thinks as he gazes upon the doctor once again, hair might risk obscuring that perfection he is currently drinking in at this new angle. Casper’s is indeed swole, a fact Tom voiced within seconds of meeting the man, but the way he pants and leans brings forth little points of softness at his stomach and sides. He looks delectable. Grabbable. Fuckable.
Tom dips his head towards Casper’s neck. The tiny shiver that already starts in Casper’s body escalates to a full body sensation when Tom, for perhaps the first time since he’s known him, holds back for a moment, simply huffing a breath just below Casper’s jaw. Casper eases himself down so he’s flat on his back, laying on the bench and freeing up his hands to grab hungrily at Tom’s body. One hand goes to his waist, the other pushing through hair to grasp at his neck as Casper pulls Tom in.
Tom gives little resistance as he is pulled in towards Casper’s neck, open-mouthed and fervent as he trails down from Casper’s jaw to his neck, then down towards his collarbone. Casper feels hot, so hot. He’d expected to make it a little further into all this before feeling like heatstroke was going to consume him. He’d allowed for the stifling nature of the steam, and as well as he could, he’d allowed for his own diminished capacity from the breaking of his drought. He hadn’t allowed for just how much more potent Tom would be entirely unclothed and wholly unencumbered.
Tom is so sure in himself. He peppers kisses along his path as he slinks down Casper’s body. He does it like he’s navigated it a thousand times, not like he’s only skimmed his fingertips under the raised hem of a sweater vest or slipped his hand into a back trouser pocket. He is fluid and free, and Casper initially expects that this ease is going to make him feel even more awkward and aching in comparison. But Tom’s grace here is not particularly showy or smug. Casper can tell that Tom is capable of that, but right now, Tom has a different purpose in mind. It’s as he said earlier. He wants Casper to let go, and Casper is doing his best to obey.
“Tom,” Casper breathes, letting one hand dangle over the side of the bench as the other scratches encouragingly at Tom’s scalp. Tom smirks against Casper’s stomach, eyes flicking towards Casper’s face as he raises his eyebrows.
“Mmm?” he hums, pressing one kiss above Casper’s belly button, then one below. “This is good?”
Casper gives a disbelieving chuckle, one that’s a little dorkier and closer to a snort than he likes to give when an attractive person is mere centimetres from his groin. Still, he can’t quite help himself. Is this good? Is being kissed and touched like this for the first time in fucking forever good?
“Uh, yeah,” Casper laughs, and Tom takes the goofiness in his stride.
“Didn’t know you were going to be quite so easy,” he smirks, wriggling himself backwards on the bench a little more, his hands sliding down Casper’s thighs. “And if you thought that was good, you should stick around to see what happens when I get lower.”
Casper giggles again despite himself – when did he start doing that? He knows the answer to that one, actually. He’s been doing it since he met Tom. Tom takes the giggle for what it is – an affirmative gesture to continue – and he keeps kissing southward. Casper shivers again as Tom works his way between his legs, slipping a hand from Casper’s thigh to wrap around his stiffening cock.
Casper lets out a soft moan at the contact, a sound that only amplifies when Tom wastes little time dipping down, giving Casper’s cock a long, languid stroke, and doing little more than laying the head of it on his tongue. Casper looks down almost frantically, one of his hands white-knuckling the edge of the bench for dear life. Tom makes sure Casper is watching before he slowly envelops the head of Casper’s cock with his mouth, precise and purposeful, hot and wet. Casper lets out a high-pitched whine that might have been intended to be Tom’s name, but it becomes indecipherable as it leaves his lips at the same time as Tom’s head begins to bob.
Tom seems to be a little showier with a dick in his mouth. He’s sucking Casper off with a steady composure that shows his focus on the supine man’s pleasure, but his eyes stay northward, watching Casper’s face for every little moan and whine, every gasp and every gaze. He’s an impressive multitasker. Casper, on the other hand, doesn’t think he can both receive head and look down into those pale eyes without this whole affair being over before it has even really begun. Don’t get him wrong, the blowjob is good. Very good, in fact. Mind-blowingly, eye-rollingly, bench-grippingly good. But Casper would be lying if he said he didn’t have something else in mind, something that might be logistically interesting in a sauna, and painful on his joints, but –
The absence of wet warmth around him and a small pop sound pulls Casper from his thoughts, and he looks down to see Tom smirking up at him. He’s still lazily stroking Casper’s cock, even as he raises an eyebrow and tilts his head thoughtfully.
“You’re going back into that big, beautiful brain,” Tom says. “What are you thinking, Darling?”
“I – I’m not –”
Casper’s breath hitches in his throat, stopping his words in their tracks. What he’s thinking must be written all over his face. Tom gives a low chuckle, crawling back up Casper’s body, trailing his hand back up from his groin to his stomach to his chest, until he’s leaning over Casper with a knowing look in his eye.
“I think you’re thinking about what you want,” Tom murmurs, dipping back down to press a kiss against Casper’s jaw. Casper breathes a moan, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly as he turns his head to look at Tom better. “You can correct me if I’m wrong, of course.”
Casper’s pause translates to a go on.
“I think you might want me to fuck you.”
This time, Casper’s pause stands in for a fuck, please, God, yes, I do, I do, I do.
Tom reads him, loud and clear.
Everything goes static once, and the room cools. Twice, and the lighting shifts. Three times, and Casper is no longer laying on a bench, but on the bed in the Oceanview. He’s still sweaty, still bare, and Tom is above him with that intoxicating look on his face.
Casper gets about two seconds to acclimatise before Tom is moving again, and the way his knee wriggles between Casper’s legs to ease them apart gives away his intentions immediately. Casper is butter beneath him, his legs spreading without even the slightest hesitation. Tom lets out a little involuntary rumble at the lack of resistance.
“My god,” he growls, reaching out to trace his fingers up the inside of Casper’s thigh, feather-light. “How long has it been, Darling?” Casper shivers through a little, breathy laugh.
“Don’t ask me that,” says Casper. Tom gives a breathless laugh of his own as he slinks back up Casper’s body, leaving one hand low, fingertips languidly brushing against Casper’s cock to keep him at attention. He kisses Casper on the mouth, hard, just long enough to disarm him again before he pulls back enough to speak.
“Tell me,” Tom begins, his voice nothing but sure velvet, “Casper.”
The full-body shiver that Casper feels at Tom’s deployment of his given name escapes over his tongue and between his teeth, a warble of a moan that is almost as good as an answer to Tom’s question. Tom’s hand curls around Casper’s cock again at the sound and draws upwards. It makes Casper’s toes curl.
“Too long,” Casper pants, clearly eager to appease. “Years, I think. Probably years even before all this, I –” Tom’s growing smirk at the desperate answer might have been irritating to Casper were it not on that gorgeous face, or were the owner of that gorgeous face not stroking him with an enthusiastic yet practiced ease. His eyes squeeze shut as he gasps. “God, Tom, please, I need –”
“I know,” Tom says, right beside his ear, pressing a kiss beneath it before taking Casper’s earlobe between his teeth, just for a moment. Casper doesn’t see the flicker of static, but he feels its results on Tom’s fingers as they press between his cheeks, feels the substance that turns into an oily slick as it melts between the heat of their bodies. His eyes open and flick frantically to the side, meeting Tom’s in a wide, eager gaze.
Please, Casper’s irises beg. With a flick of his wrist, Tom obliges.
“Oh, fuck,” Casper groans, his head rolling back into the pillow as Tom sinks his middle finger into him. Tom is gentle, but he needn’t be. It may have been some time since Casper found himself in this position, but his body knows what it wants. His body wants more Tom Zane. Needs more Tom Zane. Still, right now, he remains this side of vigorous, his finger shifting slowly as he chuckles.
“Perkele, such a dirty mouth,” he remarks, pushing himself up to press a kiss to the obscene opening. Casper moans into his mouth, lips remaining parted and plush as Tom moves away just enough to murmur. “I love that.”
Casper would usually balk at that. He’s not particularly explicit unless he’s drunk, but god, if that utterance doesn’t have him plumbing the depths of his profane knowledge. He can’t quite pluck out anything perfect, so he eschews the dirty talk in favour of shoving a hand back into Tom’s hair, curling some of it into the fist as he drags Tom’s mouth back to his own.
“More,” Casper finally whispers into the corner of Tom’s mouth. Seamlessly, Tom slips his ring finger into Casper, working it in alongside his middle finger. Both of the digits curl against the spot deep inside Casper that makes him see stars, that makes him gasp and buck and tug on that handful of inky waves.
“You look beautiful like this,” Tom breathes, his thumb stroking against the uppermost part of Casper’s inner thigh. Casper’s eyebrows knit at the compliment, his hips rocking into Tom’s hand. He sucks in a breath, forcing his eyes open with singular intention.
“I need –” Casper starts, but Tom presses the pads of his fingers against Casper’s prostate as he speaks, and the words die in his throat again. Casper rallies, grabs that fistful of hair again and tugs downwards. Tom’s chin juts upwards, and Casper flits his eyes briefly over his necklaces, over his Adam’s apple and the fine specks of stubble on his neck and jaw. Tom peers down at Casper, a wicked grin already in place, an eyebrow cocked just so. Silence, save for the twin sounds of heavy breathing, lingers in place for a few moments before Casper groans.
“Please don’t make me beg.”
“Begging… now there’s an idea.”
“Tom, please –”
Tom laughs, low and rumbling, as he withdraws his hand.
“Maybe next time, then," he breathes, and then he smacks Casper on the outer thigh. “Roll over.”
Next time bounces around in Casper’s head vaguely, tantalising and thrilling, but his focus quickly returns to the matter at hand. He turns himself over, clutching at a pillow which he tugs beneath his chest, curling his arms around it. It’s only as Casper assumes his position, knees drawn up and back arched, that it occurs to him to actually check on Tom. He hasn’t been a particularly reciprocal lover in this scenario, and it’s something he makes a mental note to make up for when that next time comes as he turns his head and – fucking Christ.
Tom has one hand wrapped around his own cock, the other sliding up his stomach towards his chest as his eyes traverse Casper’s body in its entirely. He sees Casper’s backwards glance, and as soon as he does, he rolls his nipple between his thumb and forefinger, letting his lips part just a fraction as he huffs the barest moan. Casper swallows thickly, doing his best to deepen the arch in his back just a little. It feels a little intimidating to try and show off to the textbook showman, but the groan Tom lets out and the solid tug he gives himself at Casper’s shift seem to indicate that he’s doing a decent enough job.
Another glitch in the scenery and Tom has the corner of a condom packet in his mouth. He brings a hand up to tear it open with his teeth, and the sensible voice in Casper’s head remarks about the risk of tearing the condom with that kind of flashiness. The voice in Casper’s head that calls out his own hypocrisy remarks that the lubricant Tom worked into him was also likely Vaseline, which will weaken the condom, but that funnily the intricacies of safer sex seemed to slip Casper’s mind when he was being fingered.
By the time Casper has finished accepting the risks through his subconscious argument, Tom has the condom on and his hand on Casper’s lower back. The heel of Tom’s hand presses firm against Casper’s sacrum, turned a fraction to let his fingers dig into the slight softness of Casper’s hip.
“You ready for me, Darling?” Tom asks, and Casper gives an almost irritated whine in response. Is he ready? He’s been ready since Tom appeared out of the corner of his eye and told him he was swole, for Christ’s sake. Casper forgoes that explanation in favour of nodding, clutching the pillow closer to his chest and sinking more of his weight back and into his knees. Tom lifts his hand from Casper’s back to quickly smack his ass, yanking a tiny whine out of Casper’s throat, as well as a fraction of that suppressed irritation.
“Tom, can you just – oh-h-hh…”
Tom sinks himself slowly into Casper, his hand pressed into Casper’s lower back again as his hips push home. Tom isn’t especially well-endowed, but this is far from his first rodeo, and his experience shows in his measured pace, remaining steady and slow even as Casper whines and tries desperately to shift back against Tom’s hips. Casper is almost certainly stronger than him, and could fight against the hand at his back if he wanted to, but therein lies Tom’s strength – he is making Casper hold himself back. Tom makes Casper want to be held firm. He makes him crave that unhurriedness, knowing what lies just beyond it. Building tension during sex is almost analogous to building it on film, and Tom is a filmmaker, after all.
“You were saying?” Tom croons, pushed into Casper to the hilt. Casper’s breathing is tremulous and quick already.
“Not important,” he replies, and despite speaking through a tiny laugh, his voice is full of anticipation. He wants this. He needs this. And he trusts Tom will give it to him. Casper’s body seems to send the message as Tom shuffles himself in, leaning his weight into the hand on Casper’s back as he readjusts. Casper isn’t entirely sure what he’s doing until he feels Tom shift more significantly.
He looks back just in time to see Tom lift one leg, hooking it over Casper’s thigh and planting his foot into the mattress by Casper’s hip. He is on one knee, his hand pressing into the dip between Casper’s ass and hip, and he has a wickedly determined look on his face. Casper has approximately two seconds to parse Tom rocking his hips back before he slams into Casper again, at an angle and with a fervour that is going to undo Casper in no time at all.
One of Casper’s hands slips out from around the cushion to ball into the dishevelled sheets, a moan punching out of him as Tom thrusts into him at a quicker pace. His positioning works with the bounce of the mattress, his hand pushing into Casper’s back and pressing him even further into the arch he is already curving into. Tom shows no signs of slowing down even as Casper comes apart, his mouth agape with cascading moans and whines and his cock leaking against the cotton beneath him.
“That’s it,” Tom rumbles, his breath starting to hitch in his throat just a little, “just like that.”
Casper’s hair is plastered across his forehead, mussing every time his head writhes against the pillow beneath him or whips around to try and catch a glimpse of Tom. Fucking like this always feels spectacular, but Casper doesn’t enjoy not being able to see his lover’s face easily. Missionary might have to make its way in beside begging when it comes to next time. For now, though, if he can’t see Tom, he can at least try to feel more of him.
“Come closer, please, closer,” Casper whines, trying to reach his hand backwards for any part of Tom he can access. Tom gets in a couple more of the well-leverage thrusts, his hips smacking against Casper’s ass in harmony with the moans that the thrusts punch out of Casper. Tom leans into his hand on Casper’s back to readjust himself again, settling on his knees as his hands both come to Casper’s hips, pushing him down against the mattress. Casper doesn’t resist, but he does groan as Tom pulls out of him, just for a second.
Almost soothingly, Tom readjusts and presses himself slowly into Casper once more as he stretches himself out on top of him. The ring on his necklace drags against Casper’s back until Tom is flush against him, slotting into the curves and dips of the back of his body as if he had been formed within them. Tom tucks one arm around Casper’s side, the side where Casper’s arm is still hugged tightly around the pillow. His opposite hand slides up Casper’s other arm towards his fist in the sheets, and he curls his fingers around the back of it. Casper parts his fingers just a fraction, and Tom’s fingers slot into the voids as he grinds his hips into Casper again.
Time is never linear or regular in the Dark Place, but Casper feels acutely like it has never been quite so indistinct as it is in this moment. He is also sure it has never been so deeply irrelevant. All that matters is Tom atop him, Tom inside of him, Tom encompassing him, fully and willingly. He is so close. He would let Tom eat him alive, here and now. He would let Tom swallow him whole. He would thank him.
There’s a breath at his neck, followed by a kiss.
“Stop thinking,” Tom whispers, and Casper can only whimper in response. “Just feel. Just be.”
Casper feels hot. He feels giddy. He feels shaky. He feels heavy, tightly wound, like he has never felt release in his entire life. He feels light, as if he is floating, as if he is being ascended.
Casper is a scientist. He is a lover. He is a man. He is –
He is Tom’s. He is Tom’s. He is Tom’s.
“Let go,” Tom whispers.
He is Tom’s.
Casper comes with a half-sob into the sheets beneath him, with Tom bottomed out inside of him, rubbing the side of his hand with his thumb and whispering Finnish nothings into the side of his neck. Casper is far too out of it to register the way Tom’s hips flick forward, but he feels the huffed groan into his hairline and puts two and two together. The first thing that Casper does as he starts coming to is smile. He is too exhausted to do anything else. Luckily for him, he is in room 665.
Static flickers in front of his hazy eyes once, twice, three times. He vaguely registers that the wet patch beneath him disappears, and the absence of Tom’s weight atop him is what draws him back to a state where he is willing to investigate. The investigation is a mere turn of his head, and he immediately uncovers the sight of Tom, still nude, with his head propped up on his hand and a familiar pair of tortoiseshell glasses perched on his nose.
“Good god, you are blind, Darling,” Tom says with a smirk, his eyes crossing just a fraction to peer through the round lenses. He lifts his free hand and appears to throw Casper a peace sign. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
Casper scoffs as turns himself over to face Tom, reaching up to snatch the glasses from Tom’s face, resituating them on his own.
“Two, they’re simply blurry,” he replies. Tom snorts, shimmying himself closer to Casper and draping an arm around his waist.
“Lucky guess,” he says. Casper rolls his eyes as he reaches out to push a stray lock of Tom’s hair away from where it’s still slightly stuck to his forehead. Even reality-bending powers cannot completely tame sex hair, it seems. Tom smirks, glancing up towards his own hairline before he looks back to Casper, fondness behind his eyes. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I think that was a very productive collaboration session.” Casper gives a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head with a spaced-out smile.
“At this rate, we’re never getting out of here,” he remarks.
“But at this rate, we’d get to have a lot of very good sex,” Tom replies. Casper’s smile pinches in a little, and if his cheeks weren’t already red from exertion, they would have taken on a pink flush now.
“That’s true, we would,” Casper says, reaching out to put a hand on Tom’s waist. “We will have to knuckle down and brainstorm at some point, though.” Tom sighs, grasping gently at Casper’s jaw and rubbing his thumb through his goatee.
“Does that preclude us from continuing to have very good sex?” he asks. He might almost sound innocent, were it not for the content of his words, his general demeanour, and the fact that his thumb slides up from Casper’s facial hair to his bottom lip, swiping across it. Casper sucks in a quick breath, rubbing at Tom’s arm. He is serious about needing to brainstorm a way out of this place, but today is already a wash. He can meet Tom in a playful middle. He gives a wistful sigh, sagging his face further into Tom’s hand.
“Well, I don’t think I have enough information. Not sure of the variables. I think we’ll have to continue collaborating to work that one out,” Casper says. Tom grins, leaning right in towards Casper, so close that their noses graze against one another.
“I told you I loved that dirty mouth of yours.”