Okay. I know the way I'm supposed to do these is just a number and a ship. But. What if instead I say Dom!Tommy/literally anyone, 432. I just. Dommy Bowe lives in my head rent free. And Anthony asking him to choke him encouraged me.
prompt 432 did not spark joy, so this is prompt 243! it's my spreadsheet and i make the rules <3 hope you love it red !! the prompt in specific is from this post and is: "Kisses they can’t stop thinking about"
linked on ao3 || read under the cut || 8.4k, rated E
summary:
Tommy doesn't spend a lot of time frequenting the club scene anymore. He's over thirty years old, and as much as he likes a party and has a grand old gay time with the right crowd, the right crowd is getting harder and harder to pin down. He's not exactly sure when the right crowd started being at The Rabbit Hole in a lone standing building in one of the smaller neighborhoods of WeHo, but here he is, drink in hand as he assesses the crowd. Tommy's mind is still wandering as his eyes wander the crowd as well, but both his thoughts and his gaze freeze when the latter lands on a familiar face. Damien. OR the tommien bdsm club fic.
Tommy doesn't spend a lot of time frequenting the club scene anymore. He's over thirty years old, and as much as he likes a party and has a grand old gay time with the right crowd, the right crowd is getting harder and harder to pin down. Too many variables on the table in most places, the public so often playing fast and loose in what's considered socially acceptable, and most of the time, Tommy doesn't even agree with where others start drawing that line. He doesn't mind public displays of affection, or tight spaces with undulating bodies and ringing laughter, or even particularly the presence of drunk strangers in a place where he's trying to relax.
He's not exactly sure when the right crowd started being at The Rabbit Hole in a lone standing building in one of the smaller neighborhoods of WeHo, but here he is, drink in hand as he assesses the crowd. He's not unknown around here, an often enough frequenter that he's recognizable but not regular enough that anybody expects anything of him yet. Sometimes, he's good at riding that line of trustworthy and mysterious. Well, only if he's working with a crowd he doesn't see particularly often. If such is not the case, it's only a matter of time before everybody there knows that the control he has here is something he must be given, trusted with, handed. It's not something that he commands naturally. He doesn't particularly want to, though.
There are plenty of doms at The Rabbit Hole that like to perform in front of others. The open display rooms are proof enough of that. It just isn't really Tommy's gig. He can't imagine vulnerability like that in front of people, not his own and certainly not that of his sub; that's part of the game, isn't it? Tommy is the only one who gets to see how they fall apart. It's a moment only the two of them share ownership of. Sharing it with someone else would defeat some of the purpose, if he's honest.
Not that he doesn't like the idea of playing with his sub in front of people a little. Teasing and touching and talking are fine, sitting his sub in his lap and holding them close as he whispers in their ear all the things he intends to do to them, how he'll take care of them and make them feel good and treat them so well for being so fucking good for him. Tommy's mind is still wandering as his eyes wander the crowd as well, but both his thoughts and his gaze freeze when the latter lands on a familiar face.
Damien.
He looks different than Tommy's ever seen him, the way he's sitting and talking animatedly with others familiar enough, but the outfit enough to give Tommy pause. Not in a bad way. Certainly not in a bad way. He looks good like that, a harness buckled across his chest with two o-rings vertically aligned between his pecs, framing everything in a way that is madly distracting. Even more so is the flash of light reflecting as he laughs, hand reaching up to comb back his hair; he's wearing untethered cuffs on both wrists, a shiny and dark purple snakeskin texture that pops against his skin. The chain hanging around his neck must be for the cuffs, because it doesn't look to be attached to anything, ends hanging loose on his bare chest. And then there's... the rest of it.
Like half the people in the building, Damien has his shoes off, likely lined up with the rest of the others by the door. He's wearing socks that go up to garters at his thighs, the creamy skin visible beneath the short flair of his skirt. His skirt. It's barely to his mid thigh and looks to be made of a soft cotton with a net material beneath, two pretty little layers of purple and black. It's high waisted. By the time Tommy's gaze makes it all the way back up to Damien's face, Tommy isn't the only one who has noticed they're sharing the room with a coworker. Anxiety is palpable on Damien's face and Tommy immediately wants to assuage it, reassure Damien and get him back into that relaxed happiness, free and social and having a good time. Damien is just staring at him, deer-in-headlights wide eyes not leaving Tommy's face, so Tommy jerks his head in the direction of the private rooms. Damien nods and stands shakily, so Tommy downs his drink, grabbing one of the admin keys from the bar with a nod to the bartender. She nods back.
Tommy's glad. He's not sure what he would have done if she had stopped him; the idea of making Damien wait for him rankles him for some reason, though in a situation that he won't be allowing himself to ruminate on, making Damien wait might appeal to him significantly. Not that just because Damien is here, Tommy must fit the criteria of what he's looking for. Hell, he might just be looking for a chill place to hang out. Clubs can be wildly overstimulating, and the overstimulating parts of The Rabbit Hole are mostly kept to the open display rooms. He finds Damien leaning against a wall in the hallway of private rooms, counting his breaths with closed eyes. The urge to reach out and comfort him is vivid in Tommy's mind. Instead, he clears his throat, leaning back against the wall opposite Damien.
"Please don't tell anyone," Damien rushes out before Tommy can get a word out, eyes snapping open just to give Tommy that desperate look again. Whether he thinks about it or not, Tommy slackens into a looser posture, willing Damien to mirror him. Damien, being Damien, does so whether he thinks about it or not too, breathing out a long sigh. Tommy hums.
"I won't tell anyone anything you don't want them to know. You're still safe here, Damien. I'm not gonna fuck this up for you," he promises, his voice in that low and soothing place he typically only takes it to when trying to calm his own submissive, out of place outside of his scene-self. He watches the tension unravel in Damien's shoulders and tries to push down the overwhelming sense of pride, the satisfaction of getting an anxious submissive back to peace. He can't help it when he's here, the natural desire to smooth out the edges and take control of the situation, make reality itself bend to his will in the interest of another. Of course, he's not actually capable of reshaping what is real, it's just that being in that space, in this place, makes him feel that he can certainly change enough to make things better.
That's part of why he likes this so much, isn't it? Being able to help. Being able to choose.
"Thank you," Damien rushes out, a grin pulling at his mouth now that relief can heave its way out of his lungs, "Like, it's not that I'm ashamed to be here, of course, it's just not something I'd really like to discuss at the office." Tommy shudders at the very thought of it, gagging slightly as the brutally clear image of being on I spent a day with BDSM 2 is beamed directly into his frontal cortex. Damien cackles like he knows exactly what he just made Tommy picture; Tommy rolls his eyes.
"You wouldn't see me at the office, you'd see me on the fucking news," he promises, quietly delighting in the shine of Damien's smile. Damien drops his gaze as soon as they meet eyes, though, and the shine of his smile is perhaps second only to that sweet reddening of his cheeks as he looks down at himself. Concern furrows Tommy's brow, his hand moving before he even thinks twice of it to be placed on Damien's elbow, ducking his head a bit to make Damien meet his eyes.
Huffing out a laugh, Damien acquiesces an answer without even needing to be properly prompted. "Dude, I'm wearing a skirt. And. Other things," he says, emphasizing his point by shaking the wrist of his free arm, the o-ring of his cuff thumping dully against pale skin on the swing. "This is surreal. It's like. I go to a BDSM club for the fifth time in my entire life and my hot coworker happens to walk in. This is surreal," he repeats, but that's fine; Tommy's brain stopped working somewhere in the middle of that anyway.
"Your what?" he asks, voice cracking. Damien blinks rapidly, very clearly having not thought through the consequences of his words and actions. Tommy's hand tightens on his elbow a fraction of a second before Damien jolts, an aborted attempt to make a break down the hallway. Remembering himself, Tommy drops his hand entirely, but Damien catches it in his own. It seems Damien too remembers himself, however, and drops it, but at least he doesn't run. He just sighs.
"Hot... coworker. Which is not two words anyone wants to hear in sequence with one another. I'm so sorry, Tommy, I promise I'm not gonna be weird about this, I-"
Tommy kisses him. Fuck.
It's barely a peck before Tommy breaks it, staggering back til his shoulders hit drywall, but Damien grabs his hands, pulling him back across the hallway to crowd himself back against the wall, encouraging Tommy to loom over him as much as their relatively small height difference allows. Indulging him and growing in confidence himself, Tommy cups Damien's cheek in his hand and dives in for real this time. This time, it's more like he's stepped out into the rolling wind of a hurricane, Damien's fingers gripping at his shirt at the small of his back and pulling him as close as he can manage, a hundred and sixty mile an hour winds in the way he goes soft and pliant for Tommy. This is the first kiss that Tommy will never stop thinking about, the first a trial run compared to the full send abandon Damien is giving him now. The way he presses up into the kiss like he's taking communion from Tommy's mouth takes Tommy out at the fucking knees. He presses Damien back against the wall, free hand coming up to rest between the back of his head and the wall. Damien makes a soft sound and Tommy actually pulls away this time, despite Damien's half-assed attempts to the contrary.
"I got a room," he says, pausing between clauses for a second too long and then closing his eyes as Damien snorts. He presses his face into Damien's shoulder, groaning. "If you want to talk, that is. Anything past that is up for debate," he finishes, firm in the fact that speaking further is nonnegotiable. He laces the fingers of one hand with Damien's and guides him to the Forest room, his personal favorite here at the club. The walls are a deep and calming green, the bedspread a warm mocha brown that contrasts again the cream of the folded back sheet. The lighting is low already when they enter the room, a standing lamp near the door and a table lamp on the far bedside table casting soft, yellowed light across the room. There's a loveseat and an armchair across the room from the bed, a chest at the foot of the bed.
"Why is this nicer than any hotel room I've ever gotten for a con?" Damien says, eyes catching on the tasteful artwork and painstakingly picked out details, informational books on the scene in a glass front bookcase with a delicate lock and deep green accents to its rich brown exterior, the matching inlays in all the wooden furniture. The bed frame has shelves built into it fitted with related accoutrements in airplane bottle sizes, like lube is a travel expense we're charging to the company card. Is this when Tommy pretends that all of this is unfamiliar? Is this where the lie starts?
"You should see the Ocean room. Actual, genuine article mother-of-pearl accents in there," Tommy blurts out, small talk taking over when he has no other conversational mode to lean into in this particular social situation. A slightly hysterical giggle falls out of his mouth like he's not sure when it got there, but Damien laughs as well, breaking the overwhelming tension that had grown over the Forest floor. He sits down crisscross on the loveseat, patting the cushion beside himself. Tommy follows without a thought, sitting back with his legs crossed.
"So you come here often?" Damien asks, following him on his small talk journey and sending them both into giggles again. Tommy presses his face into Damien's shoulder to stifle some of that laughter, reaching out to take Damien's hand as well when the impulse hits too heavy for him to ignore.
"Yeah, I guess I do. Not super often, but. Definitely more than five times," he says, just this barest edge of teasing encroaching upon his tone. Damien rolls his eyes and resettles, leaning back against the armrest so that he can face Tommy more directly, still crisscross. He doesn't drop Tommy's hand. His eyes are bright and shining even in the low light, the beauty of him something Tommy can no longer push down the appreciation of, even so much as he's tried. Like Damien, he hadn't wanted to be the guy who made a big deal of being attracted to a coworker. This is a big deal, but only in the best of ways, it seems.
"Well... what do we do now? I mean, there are several obvious routes this could go down, but. I don't know what to do," Damien admits quietly, the sentence losing steam as more of its meaning came into the light. Insecurity wraps itself around his shoulders like a shroud and Tommy can't stand for that, even as scared as he is too. He has to help. He has to choose.
"As many jokes as you've made about being a dom, is it safe to assume from the vibe and the getup that you aren't?" Tommy asks, first things first as always. Damien drops his gaze but nods, blush spreading to pink up his ears. It's cute. "Okay. Is it safe to assume that you would like me to kiss you again?" he asks, gentle and modulated. Blinking rapidly, Damien's blush darkens to red, but again, he nods. Tommy obliges, just a quick, delicate little peck so he doesn't lose himself within this before they've even put a name to it, and Damien follows him for a moment before sitting back, obedient. "Good," Tommy praises, noting the shiver down Damien's spine in response.
"Is this, like. A dom thing? Or do you actually want to kiss me? Like as regularly scheduled, see you at work Tommy, you also want me?" Damien asks, eyes snapping shut as vulnerability crackles into tension, his hackles raising again like he's expecting rejection, the acidic taste of it already twisting his mouth. Tommy resituates himself, making the angle less awkward so he can gently cup Damien's face, lifting it to make Damien's gaze meet his as his eyes slide open, almost lazy now that Tommy has a grip on him.
"I'm a dom, and yes, that sometimes means that I, by habit and by choice, put taking care of others before taking care of myself. But, Damien, I've wanted to kiss you since... I can't remember seeing your face and not wanting to, really. I want you. I always want you," he says, bald and honest in a way that feels like he's flaying himself open for Damien's examination. He trusts the steadiness of Damien's scalpel. He trusts Damien. The words roll through Damien like a tide, a full shudder to follow the shiver of before and Tommy is enraptured by the current within him, that natural disaster wonder that wreaks havoc upon him so beautifully.
"Oh thank god," Damien rushes out, startling Tommy into a snort. "No, really, dude, I'm... I'm so gone on you, Tommy. I wasn't even planning to pick up tonight, that's not really my thing, but you... you are very much my thing," he clarifies, the rapidity of his speech clearly catching up to him soon after his finishes. He tries to hide his face, turning into Tommy's palm and looking down, but Tommy slips his grip to grab Damien's chin, turning Damien's attention back to him. Tommy smiles a gentle smile and Damien relaxes just a bit in his hand, falling a little more into that sweet, syrupy laziness that Tommy is just realizing that he'd like to bring out in Damien as much as he can. He drops his hand but only to get to his knees on the couch, pulling on Damien's calf a little to get him to uncross his legs, now dropping them on either side of Tommy's hips, just as planned.
"What are you comfortable with?" he asks with fingers splayed on Damien's chest, leaning over him without getting quite close enough to box Damien in. Damien settles a hand on Tommy's hip, blinking as he takes in the options that lay before him. Too many options. Tommy can see it in the moment Damien scrunches up his nose, smiling apologetically, begging silently for guidance. "Well, do you want me to get you off?" he says, narrowing just a little. Damien looks to the side but nods, his gaze returning to Tommy's with just a tap of Tommy's fingers to his cheek. Cute. "Do you want to get me off?" Tommy asks, laughter spilling out as Damien nods faster this time. Damien laughs too, pressing his face into Tommy's shoulder.
"Wanna suck you off," he mumbles, muffled but clear enough. A shiver runs down Tommy's spine now, the flame lick of being wanted just too hot for him to ignore. He hums a deep noise of agreement and moves to stand, grinning outright at Damien's immediate noise of protest.
"Mm, settle down, pretty boy. Okay for me to start telling you what to do?" he asks, catching Damien's eyes. That doe-in-headlights look is back, the flustered smile breaking across Damien's face with the proliferation of a pretty pink blush. Tommy holds the instinct to kiss his nose behind his own smiling teeth. "You know the stoplight system?" he asks, humming at Damien's nod. "Good boy. You look very pretty tonight, honey. Let me see what you've got under your skirt, baby," he directs, less of a command and more of a request laced with lasciviousness, thick and sultry. Damien blinks wide eyes at him before seeming to catch himself, uncrossing his legs and smoothing his skirt out before pulling up the edge, flipping the bottom up to his belly to let Tommy see. He's so fucking pretty. His panties are lavender, a cute little bow seated over his cock like a present, and Tommy rubs his thumb over the little wet spot in the lavender lace, wishing deeply that he was pressing his tongue there instead.
"Tommy," Damien whines, his fingers catching on Tommy's belt loop like a little kid in his desperation to pull the taller man closer. Tommy doesn't get undressed himself, too fascinated with the sight before him to move his hands to himself rather than touching fingertips to the masterpiece he's been entrusted with. Damien pulls a little more, and when Tommy catches his eye, it's pretty damn obvious that Damien wants to play the brat, and damn, he's everything Tommy could want in a sub. Pretty and pushy and mouthy and sweet and Damien, one of those golden tier people he never thought would give him the time of day, and he looks so good under Tommy's hands. He'd look even better under his mouth. He kisses Damien again, pressing between Damien's legs briefly before stepping back, grabbing one of Damien's hands to pull the other to standing with him. Damien follows fluidly but his eyebrows are drawn together, his head tilted in question. Tommy kisses him again just because he can, and he's always wanted to kiss taste that curious look Damien gets sometimes, as if the world itself is not bending to his rules, and Damien doesn't know whether to be disgusted or delighted, both in equal turn. He's very cute.
"Let's take this to the bed. Lay in the center with your head on the pillows," he instructs, letting go of Damien's hand to allow him his leave. Damien smiles, his nose wrinkling, and for the love of God, Tommy wants to wreck him. There's something about a boy so pretty that makes Tommy wonder what he would look like if Tommy made him feel so good he cried. That's a question for another day, though. He climbs between Damien's thighs, dropping down so their chests lay against one another, the touch electric, before he leans up once more to place brief kisses on the swollen red of Damien's lips, his mouth a sin before Tommy's ever used it. "You're so fucking pretty," he mutters, trailing his hand from Damien's jaw down to his chest, touching skin he's only ever seen before, only ever dreamt of touching. Damien makes a soft noise and arches his back, pressing his tits up into Tommy's face. Tommy laughs and presses closer, kissing Damien on the mouth briefly once again and trailing the kisses down his jawline, nipping at his throat and collarbones, careful not to leave marks. They both need to be in videos still, after all. Maybe they can leave some where no one else will see them. He sets his teeth against the meat of one of Damien's pecs, not biting but waiting, and Damien grabs him with impatient hands, a whine dragging its way out of his mouth. His cuffs are weighty against Tommy, the supple leather conforming to the skin rather than jutting out too harshly.
"Please, Tommy, please," he begs, fingers pulling at Tommy's hair, and he doesn't want to reward bad behavior, but fuck if he could stop himself from biting down. He sucks a mark there, right on Damien's chest, and revels in the ways it affects Damien, his whole body rolling against Tommy's like he can't decide where he needs him most, the begging making way for whimpers that sound so fucking sweet, Tommy wants to taste them. Instead, he hooks his thumb beneath the bottom strap of Damien's chest harness, holding it down so he can take Damien's nipple into his mouth. He pools saliva on his tongue, flooding it so the slide of his teeth against the skin carries less friction, all pressure and no pain. Damien yanks at his hair again and Tommy bites down now, rough and punishing as he pulls back with the bud still between his teeth, Damien's noises climbing higher and Tommy can't help but smile around his prize, feeling both beastlike and more like a man than he ever has. And maybe feeling like a man when he's domming isn't real, and maybe it's weird, but with control so tangible between his fingers, how could he stand to let him go?
He bites marks into Damien's stomach too, the first just beneath his chest harness and then three on the soft skin beneath his belly button, making him whine and squirm when Tommy bites into the tender flesh there, but he doesn't push Tommy away. He pulls him closer and Tommy comes where he's called, flipping his skirt up and dropping to his chest to bite marks now into his thighs, unable to focus on anything else for the pale white canvas stretched before him, ready to be marked. Damien sinks his fingers in Tommy's hair after the second one there, and by the fourth, he's pulling, trying to direct Tommy to his center without having to use his words. Tommy grins a shark's grin and focuses where his sub would like his attention the most.
There's a heightened sense of eroticism, he thinks, to seeing not a naked cock, but one swollen behind delicate lavender, straining against the material in such a way that precum has made damp the entirety of the front of Damien's panties. Something goes quiet in his head at the sight of it, like instinct has beat out every overwhelmed thought in his head til it comes down to this moment: Damien spreading his legs for him, Tommy taking communion on his knees between them. He latches onto the darkened tip of it by instinct alone, suckling at it through the fabric. Damien whines again, high and sweet, and Tommy can't help but continue, flicking his tongue over it between hard sucks that make Damien pull at his hair, desperate whimpers and aborted thrusts of his hips making Tommy pull back with a chuckle, kissing his way down the outline of Damien's cock. He lifts the heft of Damien and beneath as well, tonguing the fabric over Damien's balls. He makes sure to stay there, mouth against the base of Damien's cock, when he lets out another laugh, one rolling into another with Damien pushing up into his face.
"What, honey?" he asks, patronizing but patient, delight sending a fissure through him at the light of desperation in Damien's eyes. Damien bites down on his lip, a clear debate running through his mind, though Tommy couldn't say what the dilemma might be. Damien blushes pink like Tommy can still embarrass him, and Tommy hides his smile against Damien's thigh, nipping at it. Damien doesn't push his head away, but he does pull his hair again. Brat.
"Can you-" Damien starts, cutting himself off just as quick as he began, but Tommy just rubs soothing circles into his hips, holding him steady for this pause, for whatever purpose it has. Appearing to steel himself, Damien lets out a long breath. "Can you make an assumption about the skirt?" he asks, eyes closed as he forces the words out of his mouth. Tommy brows draw together and he taps at Damien's skin, communicating the question silently; Damien doesn't seem like a full discussion would help right now, but he still needs clarification. "The most basic assumption you could make, Tommy. Just a sex thing, not a regularly scheduled thing, but. Still." It hits Tommy all at once and blood rushes to his dick like it's got somewhere else to be.
"Oh," he says, honest delight shot through him, "baby girl." He doesn't need a verbal response because Damien's hips cant up, pressing urgently into Tommy's mouth. "Need me to suck on your clit, princess?" he asks, that delight stretching itself into euphoria when he can see how much the question affects his partner, his panties dampening out to the lace. Tommy's mouth waters, and he dips back down, licking long lines up Damien's cock through the fabric in the same manner he would if it was pussy in front of him rather than dick, and Damien moans a long and pretty sound. Tommy pulls his panties down til the lace catches against the base of Damien's dick, taking the head of his cock into his mouth and flicking his tongue again, lapping the cum off the tip of it. He gets a few minutes there, close and worshipful, before he's interrupted.
"Tommy," Damien gasps, this thighs closing around Tommy like he can't decide whether to push him away or pull him closer, overwhelmed by just this bit of pleasure. Tommy slips a hand beneath Damien to grab at his ass, digging his fingers into the flesh there and laughing at Damien when it makes him keen. He's so cute. Pulling a little, he spreads Damien out even more, teasing his fingers in a slow, rubbing circle over Damien's hole. He leaves his hand there, heavy but still, and moves back up to kiss Damien again, enamored with the way that Damien's mouth goes both soft and sharp against his, a bitey little brat matched equally by his own desire to be put in his place and held there.
"I'll eat you out another day, if you want me to, pretty girl," Tommy promises, whispered low and hot against Damien's ear. He runs his nose along Damien's cheek, catching him in another kiss, using the hand on Damien's ass as well as his other relocated to Damien's side to pull him just a little flatter just for the fun of it, and he relishes in the raucous desire that moves from matchstick flame to roaring fire. The going to the gym bullshit, getting fit for the bit, fuck every other motivation for this besides the way Damien is looking at him in this moment. He reaches for Tommy like he doesn't know where to put his hands, desperate to find whatever placement is necessary to continue as they are. Tommy takes pity on him, huffing a laugh that he immediately apologizes for with a heated kiss to Damien's palm, moving it to cup his own face.
"I'll hold you to that, you know," Damien replies, his voice much too even and his eyes far too unclouded. Tommy steals delicate kisses from his mouth plucked eagerly between his teeth, slow and languid as if they have all the time in the world. He was afraid of storms when he was a kid, cool logic just like any Floridian kid who ever lost a school year to flood water and property damage, and he hasn't gotten better with them as he's grown; he lives in California for a reason. Still, he kisses Damien and turns himself stormchaser for this, diving into torrential downpour like ocean water blue, fingers to the sky, make himself lightning rod so long as it means he gets to feel the electricity of Damien's touch.
"Do you think you've been good enough to cum for me before I use your mouth, sweetheart?" Tommy asks, equal parts charmed and elated when Damien looks for a moment as if he's been hit with a two by four before the words sink in, his eyes softening to circles. Tommy smiles down at him, unable to help himself from placing fluttering kisses on Damien's brow, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks. The fondness is too loud, and Damien only looks more flustered, so really, where's the downside?
"You're being so nice to me," Damien says, his voice somewhere between disbelief, awe, and incredulity that Tommy is not confident enough to place on his own.
"Did you want me to be mean to you?" he asks, voice level; he's done a variety of domming, learned from others even when he wasn't sure he wanted to pursue himself, and he's more of a pleasure dom, sure, but he's willing to try anything twice. Damien shakes his head, clearly unable to verbalize farther, and leans up to kiss Tommy, pulling his face down as well. Damien kisses him like he has a point to prove, hard and fast and punctuated both with his tongue and with his teeth. It's a strange thing to pick out, perhaps, but he's always liked Damien's teeth; his mouth in general, sure, he's only human, but the cute little points of his teeth. Most of all, his kiss is sweet, unadulterated in its desperation and need, and Tommy is beguiled, he must admit, by the extremes of him.
He pushes Damien down into the mattress, taking over the kiss and giving it his own message, patterns of wind and water he'll rely on Damien to be able to read. He flips Damien's skirt back up and dips his hand beneath the waistband of his panties quickly, wrapping his hand around Damien fully for the first time. Damien pushes into it in desperate little circles, like he really is trying to get Tommy to hit his clit right, and Tommy circles his thumb over the head of it roughly, barely pressing into the slit at the tip of it.
"I'd be so nice to you if you let me, princess," he whispers, biting down on Damien's chest again right above his first dark and blossoming bruise. Damien's hips thrust up so harshly that he bypasses Tommy's hand entirely, rutting against Tommy's still clothed stomach and only rocking into him briefly before Damien is trying to strip the shirt entirely, openly horrified at the idea of getting precum on Tommy's shirt. It's sweet, not least of all because it's a nice shirt, but Tommy couldn't give less of a fuck if he tried. He pops three of the buttons yanking open the bottom of it where Damien had started unbuttoning the top for him already, losing his patience to feel Damien needy and pressing up against him. The head of Damien's cock rubs against his belt buckle and the noise Damien makes is music, a sound sweet enough Tommy feels lightheaded with how badly he'd like to make Damien make that noise again.
He's realizing there isn't much he wouldn't do for Damien to need him so openly.
"Needy little thing, aren't you, honey? Such a sweet boy for me," he breathes, wrapping his hand around Damien's cock more firmly this time. He goes for long, slow strokes this time, all the way from base to tip with a strong grip and a steady pace. Damien tries thrusting into it again and kisses Tommy when he realizes he can't, whimpering and whining like Tommy's fucking him hard and fast. "There you go, sweet thing," he says, quickening his strokes. It's his palm over the tip of Damien's cock that does it, the rough texture of calluses over the natural sensitivity. His hand doesn't stop as Damien cums, back to his languid pace of before til Damien whines against his mouth, pushing his hand away.
"Now, I get to- now, I can?" Damien stutters, cutting himself off and waiting for Tommy's cue. Humming and pressing a kiss to Damien's cheek, Tommy nods.
"I'm going to clean you up, and then you can have it," he promises, dropping another kiss on Damien's shoulder. He reaches into the bedside table and finds the usual ungendered and nondescript in branding wipes in the drawer, popping them open with one hand as intended and pulling a few out. He wipes his own hands, knowing damn well there's no point in trying to clean someone else with dirty hands, but Damien puts a hand on his wrist, staying him. He's not looking at Tommy when he looks up, eyes visibly tracing the pattern of the bedspread instead; Tommy tips his chin up with clean hands.
"Wanna be messy for you," he mutters, pink in the cheeks but his eyes vibrant, desirous, rapturous. How is Tommy supposed to say no to him? Especially when he doesn't particularly want to- it would be better for Damien's skin, sure, for his cum not to sit, but realistically it's not going to be a terribly long time before Tommy cums as well, and they can renegotiate then. Nodding his head, Tommy tosses his used wipe into the bin tucked into the lower drawer of the bedside table, placing the other clean ones on the top of it. Waste not, want not, after all. All of this to distract himself from the facts of this situation. He's just gotten his coworker off, his coworker might be (read: definitely is) looking for a more permanent dynamic, he's the coworker that Tommy's halfway in love with, and apparently they're obscenely sexually compatible. If he lets himself think about this, there's no doubt he'll lose his shit. He cannot entertain the idea of leaving Damien messy for hours, refreshing his own cum as often as Tommy can get him off, til he's writhing and whining against restraints, begging Tommy not to clean him up, but to add his own marks to the mess. A shiver racks through Tommy. Let's not get ahead of ourselves.
Damien grabs Tommy by the hips once his hands are free, bodily moving him til he's seated on the edge of the bed, Damien settled in front of him. When Damien goes to get down on his knees, Tommy stops him with a hand, pleasantly buzzing from the way Damien's hands felt hot and heavy on his skin. There's something awfully cute about his sub in this moment, how desperate he is to have Tommy in his mouth, the pretty haze in his eyes as Tommy grabs a pillow from the head of the bed, putting it on the floor before his feet. He like how Damien looks at him in this moment as well, like Tommy is taking care of him well. Damien kneels now, reaching up to kiss Tommy all teeth and neediness, slotting between Tommy's thighs like he was made to rest with one on either side of him. Tommy grabs him by the hair to pull out of the kiss, not yanking at Damien's hair really, but a firm enough grip to guide; the grin pressed to his mouth before they part is all amusement. Tommy drags him back in and bites his lip. Damien blinks at him, somehow flustered when this is hardly their most intimate moment thus far.
"You're so cute," he whispers, unable to help himself. It just slips out, really. Damien colors darker, leaning forward to hide his face against Tommy's collarbones. Hands still in his hair, it's Tommy's first thought to pull him back again, but Damien makes use of his mouth that makes Tommy think differently, teeth biting down and hot tongue lathing over the skin. He kisses his way down Tommy's chest, thorough but fast, impatient as he makes his way down. He uses a hand to guide Tommy back a little, one of Tommy's own hands falling back to hold himself up, able to watch Damien as he sucks a mark into Tommy's thigh, a clear imprint of his teeth left there when he pulls back, grinning at Tommy. He tilts his head forward, breaking the eye contact to rest his gaze lower, asking permission in all but words. "Go ahead, sweetheart," he says, granting that permission gladly and running his fingers through Damien's hair.
The first touch of Damien's tongue is tentative, exploratory, before he's laving over the head of Tommy's cock, chasing the taste of his pre. He looks up at Tommy as the head pops into his mouth, and the mix of the sensation and the sight are too fucking much, so good, so pretty. He doesn't mean to, but he thrusts his hips, pulling Damien back nearly as quickly as he did the damn thing in the first place, trying to mitigate the damage as best he can. Instead, Damien makes a pretty noise for him and leans into Tommy's hand, fingers wrapping hard around Tommy's hip like he's got a point to prove, and encourages Tommy to do it again. Instead of pained, or betrayed, or any of the other valid emotions there are to feel when sex accidents (even small ones, like thrusting when one hasn't actually, you know, discussed face fucking their brand new and obnoxiously precious sub) inevitably happen, his gaze is hungry. Desirous. Perfect.
"Do you wanna set the pace, or do you need me to fuck your mouth, honey?" he asks, trailing his fingertips to Damien's jaw, tracing his lips where they're stretched. Damien drags his hip forward just that little bit again, so Tommy takes him at his word, as nonverbal as those words may this time be. He thought Damien might be a lover like this, both desire and affections easiest told by actions rather than words, if he allowed to think of Damien as a lover at all. He had been trying to put the notion away for months, years really, but he never quite could. He's glad he didn't.
He rocks his hips forward, testing the waters still with the gentle hand on the side of Damien's face rather than tangled in and pulling at his hair. Damien's eyes flutter shut and this look of absolute peace crosses him, the tension in his shoulders going slack. Pretty baby. Perfect. Insane. He thrusts, on purpose this time, and slides his hand back into Damien's hair, gripping it tight for another quick thrust. He isn't hitting the back of Damien's throat- doesn't wanna push him so early, really- but Damien is still pulling him forward, so he has an idea of what he's asking for.
"Need it, don't you? Want me to fuck you up. Have you ever even had someone in your mouth before, sweetheart?" he asks, tugging Damien back with honest curiosity. Damien smiles at him a little woozily, and Tommy gives to temptation, cupping Damien's jaw and letting it happen when Damien immediately opens his mouth for his thumb to slide against his tongue. "Cute," he repeats, extracting it just as easily as he had allowed the capture. Damien kisses his thumb then, just shaking his head rather than responding verbally. Tommy hums and slides his hand to the back of Damien's head again, letting Damien come back in on his own. Eager, Damien immediately tries to bully him into fucking his face again, so insistently that Tommy can't help but chuckle at him. And follow his heed.
He's gentle with him at first, careful rolls of the hips that he slowly builds into longer thrusts, even if Damien would have liked Tommy to get along with it, obvious in his little whines, the way he grabs at Tommy like a favorite toy. One thrust pushes a little further than he means for it to and then Damien is whining if he stops hitting that far, and before he knows it, he's hitting the back of Damien's throat and the other man is still pulling him in, still whining. Such a pretty, needy little thing. He fists his fingers in Damien's hair, holding him in place as Tommy fucks his pretty face.
Seeing Damien between his knees with tears in his eyes and his mouth full of Tommy's cock and looking up at him like Tommy could move mountains for him with his own two hands, Tommy feels both more powerful and more powerless than he's ever felt, lost in the tide of this beautiful ocean and those big brown eyes. Adrift. "My pretty baby," he says, the rasp of his own voice not lost on him. Damien's fingers dig into his hips, nails longer than Tommy's but not by much, his nails barely cutting in more than the tips. Tommy grabs his hand and laces their fingers, letting Damien squeeze as hard as he likes so long as it means they'll still be locked together like this. Damien gives a happy hum that he can feel in his dick, so fucking cute and so fucking sweet and so fucking good for him.
There's spit dripping down Damien's chin, that glaze in his eyes at full force, and Tommy can't help but to be obsessed with him. He's so fucking beautiful. He looks obscene, still sucking Tommy's cock but also with his mouth a little too open, fucked out and pretty. He can imagine the bruising Damien is causing on his hip bones, the roughness of Damien's lips after this treatment, the bites already growing purple on Damien's chest, all their little evidences of one another left everywhere. They'll both have marks to press their fingers into after this, long enough to last weeks even if they don't do this again. There's no way Tommy can go back to their regular interactions and never do this again. The suction closes around his cock again, a long hard pulse of pressure as if Damien knows his mind is wandering, and when Tommy looks back down on him, unsure when he had looked away, there's that light of mischief again. Those pretty eyes shouldn't be so focused, though, should they?
Tommy snaps his hips quick into Damien's mouth, holding Damien in place to make sure that he won't fuck in too far, but far enough to make a point. Remind his pretty boy exactly who's in charge here. Damien just gives him one of those dopey looks again, everything in him relaxing as he takes Tommy’s cock like a goddamn champion. Fuck, he's cute. He's perfect. Fuck, he's close. Fuck.
"Fuck, you're doing so good, baby. Making me close. Where do you want me to cum, sweetheart? You want it on your chest? I could cum on your tits, sweetheart, you'd look so pretty," he rambles, dirty talk making way for desperation. Damien pulls off and he can't help the noise he makes, groaning as Damien's hand wraps around him, replacing the soft wetness of his mouth with the tight roughness of his palm and fingers. It racks shivers through him immediately, his hips twitching in reflexive thrusts against the friction.
"Cum on my face, please, I've been good, please," Damien begs, whispering it into Tommy's palm, nuzzling into it. His pace in stripping Tommy's cock doesn't fall for a moment, fast and rough and perfect. He leans in to lave his tongue over Tommy's slit every few strokes, digging into it in a way that feels so fucking good Tommy can barely keep his eyes open, and certainly not his mouth shut.
"You can have it, sweetheart, you can have whatever you want," he says, high and reedy, and Damien looks him in the eyes when he tongues his cock again, and orgasm hits faster than Tommy expected it to, white spreading across his vision, forcing his eyes closed. He doesn't open them til he feels Damien move, yelping. God, it's too much. Fuck, that's too much. He doesn't want Damien to stop; he's cleaning Tommy up with his tongue, licking off the cum that had run down his dick rather than shooting across Damien's face. He's so pretty. Fuck.
"You okay?" Damien asks, low and sweet, as he pulls off. Tommy nods and pulls him up, heedless of the cum if it means he should do anything other that kiss Damien. He can feel his own cum in his beard but he doesn't care, exchanging languid kisses in the lambency of this night together, this moment, before he grabs the wipes off the table and starts cleaning the both of them off. He runs a quick wipe over his own face but lingers on Damien's, careful swipes that cut across the planes of Damien's face evenly, his hand held and turned with his chin in Tommy's palm. Damien grins up at him and leans up to steal a kiss, but Tommy doesn't let him derail taking care of the mess.
Unclipping the various harness and straps from Damien with gentle hands, a quick swipe over the leather so it won't salt cure or some bullshit like that; God knows, if it's real leather (and with Damien, he has no doubt that it is; he may very well have made this harness himself), it'll get fucked up just to spite them both. He finishes with Damien and then gives himself a cursory run over, not nearly so attentive when it's just him rather than caring for Damien. There's room for the afterglow in the yellow-pink of the gentled lights that Tommy hadn't even bothered to notice before they got to this point, too wrapped up in Damien and thoughts of him that thoughts for the light fixtures weren't even remotely on the radar.
"You did good, baby," Tommy whispers, laying back on the pillows and tugging Damien into his side.
"I did well," Damien says, giving up the ghost immediately with loose giggles that make Tommy want to sweep him up and never let Damien leave his sight again. He wants to make Damien happy; he wants to keep Damien happy. He relaxes into Tommy's side, even stays that way for a moment, but all too soon he tenses, a slow rigidity that culminates into frozenness. Tommy strokes his hand down Damien's back, pulling him a little closer.
"What's up, honey?" he prompts, wanting to make Damien show him his face but wanting him to speak more, so he doesn't say a damn thing when that's how it stays.
"So... what next?" Damien asks, his voice just as small as Tommy's ever heard it, his face hidden against Tommy's shoulder. Tommy presses a kiss to the side of his head, more reflexive than reassuring, but he still smiles when Damien relaxes against him again, and he can feel the returned smile pressed against his collarbone.
"How do you mean?" he asks, always striving for clarity if nothing else.
"I mean- what happens after this?"
"I'd like to take you home and do some more aftercare with you, but after that, that's really up to you, Damien," he levels, far too cautious to put vocalized hope on one side or the other. He's willing to make decisions for Damien if Damien would like him to, but not this one. Never this one.
Damien hums. Tommy raises an eyebrow. "Called me Damien again. Guess I'm wondering where baby went," Damien says, his lips pulling into a grin as he tucks his face against Tommy's throat, huffing out laughter. Tension runs out of Tommy quick enough to have him lightheaded and laying down, but he just his eyes, putting his arms around Damien's shoulders and holding him close, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.
"Well, baby," Tommy begins, immediately followed by a snort, "what I would like to do is spend the night with you. Maybe try going to breakfast in the morning. Lunch if you're not sick of me by then." He breaks it off with a laugh of his own, small and free.
"And to be entirely clear and pedantic so no one gets hurt or anything-"
"I would like to pursue a romantic relationship with you," Tommy clarifies, reaching out for the words and finding only the most proprietary way to say it and make it as clear as he means, to declare intent without question.
"Oh, thank God," Damien says again, "Sorry I'm all-"
"Anxious about underdiscussed topics? How dare you?" Tommy quips, kissing Damien on the nose, which he immediately hides again at Tommy's collarbone. "You worry about it, I interrupt you when you talk about worrying about it. Autism/ADHD solidarity, baby." Tommy can't get through the whole sentence without laughing, but that's more than okay; Damien is giggling that shotgun laughter against him and Tommy's heart is bursting in his chest, supernova, dying star, sunshine smile. A galaxy boy and Tommy's affection for him the universe. He's so beautiful.
"I like you so much," Damien mutters like he can hear the sappiness of Tommy's own internal monologue and matches it with his own.
"I like you too."