paradisalogs | You have set something in motion...

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You have set something in motion...

Who: Vicious and Gren
What: Vicious is bored, but knows just how to fix that.
When: Evening, backdated to before a certain car heist.
Where: Starting at the bar Gren works at in town, moving on from there.
Rating: Definitely R, at least. Adults doing Adult things.

He'd come into the bar a few hours before closing, making sure to let Gren see him before taking a table to himself back away from both the crowd, and his old comrade, ordering a succession of drinks from one of the hostesses instead. To everyone in the bar, he gave the air of someone who simply wanted to be left alone to drink in solace. But he knew that Gren knew he was there, and that was all that mattered.

He finished his last drink as the place began closing up for the night, then stepped outside to wait. In years past, he might have lit a cigarette, perhaps even leaned back against the building while he waited, but now he simply stood there, hands in his pockets, ignoring the chill to the air. He was certain he wouldn't be kept waiting long.

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For a second he thought maybe he'd miscalculated before he was blindsided by the burst of movement. He let out a slightly panicked breath as his shoulders hit the back of the couch. Vicious' lips, however, dispelled the illusion of an attack and swallowed any question he might have posed at that moment. A hand gesture that might have been an instinctual motion to push Vicious away became a desperate grab at the other man's coat in an attempt to anchor himself as he tilted his chin and leaned into the kiss.

The surprise made Vicious smile momentarily before continuing that kiss. There was nothing romantic or gentle about his approach; this was a thing of hunger and need rather than true affection, though it was perhaps as close to that emotion as the pale man ever came.

But leaning like this was awkward, despite the feeling of control it offered him, and necking on the couch like teenagers wasn't particularly on his agenda for the night. He pulled away finally, and took a few steps away from the couch, reaching up to loosen the knot on his tie as he did so, keeping his eyes on Gren the whole time.

Gren made a tiny sound of desperation as Vicious pulled away, leaving him slightly stunned, looking up at the other man with an unmistakable glassy-eyed expression of desire. There was a wealth of feeling in that look, compared to the icy gaze directed back at him.

He didn't need a direct order - though he wouldn't have denied that he might have liked to hear it anyway. Vicious was always at his most magnetic when he was completely in control, but he also didn't expect his comrade to be especially amused by having to handhold him the entire time.

Finally managing a smile, he slid off the couch and stepped close. Dropping his gaze, he reached out, hesitant at first, tracing his fingers up the line of buttons on the man's shirt. With a sudden burst of bravado he hooked fingers into the loosened tie and tugged Vicious in for another kiss.

It was amazing the sorts of feelings you could provoke in a person, just by giving them what they wanted. It helped that Gren had apparently wanted this for a very long time, of course, but he took a moment to enjoy the simplicity of it all.

He stood still while Gren worked up his nerve, then let himself be drawn forward for another kiss. It was pleasant enough, after all. It had been a very long time since he'd bothered to engage in this level of intimacy with another person, and decided he'd made the right choice in seeking Gren out to entertain himself. He slid one hand around the other man's waist, resting his palm against the small of his back and pulling him in that little bit closer.

This was a more than acceptable development in Gren's estimation, going by the pleased sigh he made in the back of his throat. For years Vicious had been some untouchable thing - a cold, white statue on a plinth far too high for him to reach. But here he was, flesh and mortal blood, pressing against him at last - all hard kisses laced with alcohol. He wondered faintly if being drunk were a necessity for this activity, or if it was just because of the person it was with? Because he was a man? Or because he wasn't Julia? His mind didn't dwell too long on those questions, however.

His clever musicians fingers might be denied their art, but they could be applied quite nicely to the removal of that tie. Useful though it had been, it was getting in the way of his rising need to feel more than fabric under his hands.

The alcohol did make this easier, though it had nothing to do with Gren in particular. It simply rounded off a few of the sharp edges, which was probably to the other man's benefit. It loosened some of the control he held over himself, which was otherwise only breached by rage, letting him get more enjoyment out of the situation without resorting to more extreme methods.

It let him relax enough to let Gren this close. He made no protest as his tie was removed, and took a moment to tug the hem of Gren's shirt free from the waistband of his pants so he could slide a hand up along his side.

He had more than half of Vicious' buttons undone by the time that hand worked it's way under his dress shirt and the t-shirt underneath to reach skin. He shivered at that contact, breaking the kiss to gasp slightly. It was both alarming and slightly gratifying to feel. Vicious had long been an object of desire, but it was a different thing entirely to see him capable of it in any amount. Logically he'd known it was there, under the surface, given the evidence of past relationships, but it was different to experience it himself.

Just past his ribs those fingers found the bottom edge of the bandages that wound tightly around his chest. He dropped his head to Vicious' shoulder to hide the twist of anxiety, placing open-mouthed kisses against the slender neck as he went back to work on those buttons.

He wasn't particularly surprised by that sudden moment of apparent self-consciousness. In fact, he was expecting it, looking forward to finding out just how Gren would react to the situation as it unfolded. While he felt no personal responsibility for what had happened to him, he knew from past conversations that Gren didn't see things in precisely the same light, and he wondered how he would deal with that particular conflict. The war between what he wanted, and the wrong he had suffered.

It was bound to be interesting. Vicious let his hand linger a moment longer before he let it trail back down the musician's side and then left off touching him all together in favor of going to work on the buttons of his dress shirt.

It would have been easy to let that anxiety eat at him, but he'd gotten very good at repressing thoughts like that in the intervening years. He couldn't deny that it worried him, despite the fact that Vicious knew what lay underneath those wrappings. Knowing and seeing were very different things. The layers weren't intentionally there to complicate things for Vicious. It was simply a result of both the cold season and an ingrained habit of shielding others from finding out what he really was.

Gren distracted himself by running his palms over his comrade's chest and stomach and along to the hollow of his back, keeping just enough space between them for the other man's hands to work. He renewed the kiss, a little hungrier and more insistent than before, as much a testament to his nerves as it was to his need.

He finished with the buttons in short order, and abandoned the task momentarily for the distraction of kissing Gren back. Before too long, however, he was pulling away, stepping back just far enough to momentarily halt the proceedings, a slight smirk on his face.

"You'll have to help with the rest."

Not that he thought he'd really be thwarted by either a tee-shirt or some bandages, but there was no reason for him to do it himself when he could step back and watch Gren do it instead. It would be far, far more interesting to see how he dealt with that prospect than if he simply did the work himself.

Gren didn't think so either. He was adept enough at reading Vicious to figure out that much. Under most circumstances it was a reasonable enough request - to watch your partner get undressed. But for him it was like a particularly ugly scar. Worse, a scar the other man had at least indirectly caused.

He shrugs off the dress shirt to fake complicity and instead reaches for Vicious again, in an attempt to tug him towards the bedroom door.

"Maybe we should move this elsewhere?" he said, aware that it was a temporary evasion at best.

It wasn't the best attempt to change the subject he'd ever encountered, and it certainly wasn't going to get Gren out of the situation in the long-run, but he did have a good point. There was no point in standing around in Gren's living room when there were other options available to them.

A temporary reprieve, then.

"Lead the way."

He allows himself a slightly relieved smile as he pulls Vicious that direction. Funny, how he can't quite remember the last time he'd gone through this particular dance, with anyone. It's almost painfully normal, if it weren't for the people involved.

The room is small and dark, except for what floods in from the living room and the moonlight from the window, and he isn't in a hurry to remedy that. This wasn't the kind of activity to be carried out in good light anyway. Darkness was his friend here.

Even in the dim light it's easy to see the bed isn't terribly large, but Gren isn't concerned about them needing much space to spread out. The idea still gives him a nervous flutter in his chest, despite teetering on the edge of it. But he's smiling as he toes off his shoes and pulls the tie from his hair, stepping back to sit on the edge of the mattress and pulling Vicious close. With the other man standing it's easy to lean forward and brush lips against his abdomen, still with that slightly reverent manner as if he still can't quite believe he's allowed to do this now.

He gives the dim room only a cursory inspection. At another time he might have spent more time on it, concerning himself with his safety and the possibility of attack, but that sort of thinking belongs to a life he has already reduced to ash. Such caution is unnecessary here.

He distracts himself with the feel of lips on his skin, the sight of it, hesitant and vulnerable. It's something he could get used to, all too easily. He takes the moment to unbutton the cuffs on his shirt, removing it completely and letting it drop to the floor.

Even though he's the one more or less clothed, it's him that shivers as the shirt hits the floor. He looks up into Vicious' face for the first time in the last several minutes, and he's struck breathless by the sight of him - all pale skin and silver hair glowing fainting in the light from the moon. The man has certainly never invited comparison to an angel before, unless maybe it was a fallen one, but it crosses his mind nonetheless. As otherworldly as he seems, however, the more powerful notion is that the illusion is just that. There is nothing else between them now but their own demons. No Syndicate, no war, no former lovers. Just this raw contact between two men who've been to the depths of hell together.

He's caught in that gaze for a few moments, wide eyed and wanting with something close to adoration. A faint smile stretches his lips as he reaches up to undo Vicious' belt.

It's not a comparison he would have encouraged--he had no use for such things, and while he took pains to manage the image he presented, he'd never striven to be perceived as anything more than what he was. There was no need for it.

But it had been quite some time since anyone had looked at him in quite such an enraptured way, and that he could enjoy, even if he thought it was ultimately foolish. He brought hands to rest on Gren's shoulders, keeping his touch neutral for the moment, neither gentle, nor demanding.

If Vicious had said the words to him, Gren might not have bothered to deny it. He'd always been sentimental. It had been what made him such a good musician. It wasn't simply about technical skill but emotion - the ability to channel feeling into the notes and make them come alive. Maybe it did color his perceptions, but he didn't believe that was such a bad thing.

Encouraged by the solidness of that touch, Gren didn't hesitate to remove the belt with a quick pull and unfasten his pants. He wasn't in too much of a hurry to rush things, however. In some sense it was easier to touch than be touched, as long as Vicious obliged him. His hands peeled back fabric, settling on hips so his lips could trail from navel and over his underwear. With a tiny mischievous smirk he let his mouth slowly trace the curves of flesh, hot breath and lips teasing Vicious through the thin layer of cloth.

Vicious was, by nature, controlled, calculating and reserved, emotion seeping through only on the occasions when he let his temper have full reign. But even he was hard-pressed to stay completely unaffected by Gren's actions. He stayed silent, but his approval was apparent in other ways, a slight catch in his breathing, the way his hands tensed on Gren's shoulders, along with other, far more obvious signs of his arousal.

It had been a long time. While it wasn't something he ever shied away from, sex was not a priority for a man who'd had his sights set on a far grander goal than simply fulfilling the base desires of humanity. He certainly didn't need it. But absent those goals, absent any purpose, and trapped in this monotonous purgatory of a place, it felt good to give in, if only for awhile.

It was a strange sensation, to feel in control in a situation that involved Vicious, though maybe only briefly. He'd always followed where the other man had led. But that had changed rather dramatically after Titan, and he'd been forced to move against his comrade for the first time. Paradisa had changed that dynamic further - turning both their lives upside down and removing nearly everything that was familiar. Except each other. And while he'd never want to completely shift that dynamic of relationship, he was pleased that he was at least closer to a measure of equality. Vicious had been made aware he was willing to kick back, after all, even before they were brought here.

It was a little heady, to see that he could affect Vicious at all. Each response, no matter how small, was like seeing a crack in a sheet of ice. That fact alone sent his blood racing and made him want to see more. It was a simple matter of physics. Find crack. Apply leverage.

In this case, it was the action of tugging the interposing clothing down enough to get at what he wanted. He leaned forward again to taste, inhaling musk and bitterness as his tongue made a few deft passes, testing Vicious' reaction, teasing himself as much as the other man. But it didn't take long before he gave into temptation, drawing hardened flesh into his mouth with a louder moan than anything his comrade had yet to utter.

He made a low sound in the back of his throat--even with his usual level of self-restraint, he couldn't completely manage to stay silent--and tightened the grip he had on Gren's shoulders.

It wasn't a complete surrender of control. Where he could have commanded, Gren had simply taken initiative without any need for it. Gren wanted this, of course, had made it apparent that he did, and the temptation was there to question just how long he had. Had he thought about it back on Titan? Had it tormented him, after he'd been betrayed? He let the line of thought go again--it wasn't important, not now, certainly not under these circumstances. It was better simply to enjoy the skills Gren had on offer, confirming that he'd picked the best of possible distractions for the evening.

He hadn't had much cause to enjoy this particular activity for quite a few years, and it was a little surprising how easy it was to pick up again. It helped quite a bit that he had, in fact, wanted this for quite a long time. He couldn't ever pinpoint the exact moment it had happened. One day the other solider had creeped into his subconscious and settled there for his mind to spin fantasies around.

But he was past fantasy now. Past painful illusions and unfulfilled temptation. He soaked up every bit of it, from the pressure of hands on his shoulders and the heat filling his mouth. He moved slow at first, easing himself into it as much as Vicious, but soon he became bolder, hands clawing at the back of thighs to keep him still.

It was good, but Gren suspected this wasn't all Vicious had in mind for the evening, and neither did he. He pulled back with a lingering kiss on Vicious' hip and slightly shy but coy smile. He wasn't above a little manipulation to get what he wanted, partly because it was easier than outright asking. He tugged his shirt free and tossed it across the room without taking his eyes off of Vicious.

He took the moment to collect himself again, though by most standards he likely seemed remarkably unaffected, while allowing Gren that little bit of freedom. Complete control of the situation was unnecessary for the moment, especially as Gren's choices did not differ much from his own preferred course of action.

He paused briefly to finish ridding himself of the last of his clothing, then closed the distance between them again, resting one knee on the mattress this time so he could lean in for a brief, hard kiss.

"You're still wearing too much."

He hadn't forgotten Gren's dodge out in the livingroom, and doubted Gren had either. It was a test, then, to see if he'd try it a second time despite their current circumstances.

There were a few long beats where he considered it. Despite everything he wanted, being that exposed was terrifying. He was still afraid that Vicious would mock him for it, or decide he didn't want to deal with a freak. There'd been too many instances, back in prison, where he'd been treated as a woman because of what they'd done to him. He didn't want to associate that with his comrade at all. It wasn't as if the bandages were getting in the way of any of the fun, but Gren knew, just by the way Vicious said it, that his pants weren't the only thing he was talking about.

Desire, however, had the last word. He was already too far gone to resist completely; too close to the thing he'd dreamed of for so long. His skin seemed to crawl with the need for touch, and suddenly he had to agree with Vicious' assessment of the situation.

He let out a shaky breath and reached blindly for the end of the bandages, tugging it free after a few seconds of nervous fumbling. Slowly he unwound it, making himself keep his eyes locked on the other man. The sight of Vicious' body was more than sufficient motivation - he was too-lean and pale and not quite conventionally attractive. It was and always had been more about the barely contained feeling of ferocity and power that those sharp edges contained.

It didn't take long for the last of the bandages to fall away, allowing the curve of his breasts to spring back into shape. A rather definite blush rose up on his skin then, and he looked away.

Vicious would never deny he could be cruel, but he never was for petty reasons. And mocking Gren would have been petty, especially when, in truth, he simply didn't much care, outside of testing limits, seeing how far Gren's willingness went. He wasn't particularly normal, himself, and gave no care to whether others were or not.

Even in the dimness of the room, however, he could see the marks from the bandages and leaned in again, one hand skimming up along his side. "Isn't that better?" It was barely a murmur of a question, and his other hand was already reaching down to begin unfastening Gren's pants.

"Yes," he hissed out softly, though it was in answer to far more than the question posed. It was time to stop worrying and enjoy himself, he decided, starting with turning his head to steal a kiss before laying back on the bed. He shifted his hips and hooked thumbs in his waistband to slip down his too-confining pants.

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