kore_logs | (no subject)

Drunk Charlie is something Meyer is intimately familiar with, in all possible ways. He's dragged drunk Charlie away from fights, been in a few fights with drunk Charlie, been drunk with him, and that didn't even begin to address the times he'd been eagerly pounced upon by drunk Charlie like this. He's not inclined to turn Charlie down, but he's also not inclined to say absolutely nothing about the fact that Charlie had been just a little too clingy in front of Ned. It had obviously taken a lot of self-control, but for someone as private as Meyer, nothing could ever hide their closeness to his satisfaction.

"You've got to be more careful, y'know."

"Fuck it, you feel good." Charlie mumbles almost directly into Meyer's neck, face buried in the junction of his shoulder. He really does feel good, solid and real and familiar under his hands. And most importantly HERE. He couldn't help it that Ned had been talking about all the disappearances and his mind had wanted to make sure Meyer wasn't among them as quickly as he could.

"And you feel drunk."

Not that that excludes Charlie feeling good, which he does, and Meyer doesn't do anything to shift away from him. Charlie always feels good, and that's why he can't be irritated with him for too long -- but he can certainly give it his best shot. He doesn't know what Charlie and Ned had discussed, only that it had involved alcohol and had been fairly lengthy, given how long Charlie had been gone. He couldn't deny that given the disappearances lately, he'd been on edge about Charlie disappearing, too. It wasn't a thought he wanted to entertain, but like the other anxious thoughts, it sprang unbidden into his head.

"I ain't that drunk." Certainly not too drunk for certain areas of his anatomy to be getting interested. Which will be painfully obvious given how closely he's pressed in behind Meyer. Meyer's wearing far fewer layers then he's used to, and it's kind of fun, the way he can feel his muscles through the thin material of his shirt. "Mmmmm, I really wanna fuck you right now."

"Yeah, I can tell."

He doesn't protest it; it's a rare day when he turns down Charlie's advances, even when Charlie's drunk. The paranoid part of his mind, of course, hopes that drunk Charlie didn't say anything too revealing, either about their business back home or their unique partnership, but that's a question for later. At this point, he knows Charlie only has one thing on his mind, and getting an answer out of him will be difficult indeed.

He runs a hand down Charlie's chest, shaking his head. "How'd you manage to find clothes that look good?" It just wasn't fair.

"It's easier when you ain't five feet tall." Even horny as he is, he can never turn down a chance to tease Meyer about his height. Anyway, he's near preening from the compliment and that means Meyer deserves a proper kiss. He tastes like expensive whiskey, a step up from the usual. He's only just get used to Meyer not tasting like cigarettes all the time, himself.

"Every time you estimate my height, I get a little bit shorter. Eventually you're just gonna be saying I'm two feet tall."

He doesn't actually mind his height, ever since he figured out it worked to his advantage, but half the fun of talking to Charlie is the teasing that goes on between them. There're certain things that Charlie'll always give him hell about, and that's the way it is. It's comforting, really. Even stuck in a place like this, some things never change.

He kisses Charlie back, enjoying the taste of the whiskey, vaguely wondering where he got it from. They don't serve anything like that around here, as far as he knows. Maybe Ned had a secret stash.

More like Charlie had a secret stash. Sorry, Meyer. It was an emergency.

He starts nudging Meyer towards the bedroom as they kiss, loathe to break away to see what he's doing. If they bump into the walls a few times before then so be it.

Once he finds out Charlie didn't share, he's going to give him hell for it. He really could have used a drink -- then again, who couldn't, around here?

He tries not to bump up against the wall too much, but it's pretty hard when Charlie's nudging him that insistently. And it's not exactly like he's opposed to going along with it, either. He's always liked feeling Charlie close to him, always liked being able to touch him, even if he's not the most demonstrative person himself.

He stops outside the doorway to their room (and it really is their room, he hasn't slept in the spare one since Meyer started showing up on film again). All his senses are suddenly over blown. The sound of their heavy breathing, Meyer's warm skin under his hands, the tickle of breath on his chin. In the drunken stupour of his mind it strikes him as so NECESSARY. To everything he is.

"You ain't fucking going no where without me, hear?" He doesn't care that Meyer's going to remind him that no one here seems to be able to control it.

It's on the tip of his tongue to say that Charlie can't stop him from being taken away, that whoever runs this place is able to remove people seemingly without any forewarning, without even the chance to fight against them, but Charlie's drunk, and Charlie's needy, and while Meyer is a realist, he's also well aware of when to keep his mouth shut about his realism.

"Yeah," he says, pressing his head against Charlie's shoulder for a minute, mostly so that he doesn't have to look him in the eye as he agrees, "I'm right here."

That's not at all the same as not going anywhere without him, but it's the best he can manage without reminding Charlie of the truth, or making promises he can't keep.

He presses his nose hard into Meyer's hair and breathes in. His fingers grip hard in his sides, probably leaving marks and not caring. Then as quickly as he switched moods the first time, he's pushing Meyer back with the frenzy from before. But only to make enough room to pull his own shirt off, discarding it on the floor and coming back in to kiss him with even more passion and frenzy than before, shoving Meyer hard on his hips to stumble them onto the bed.

He might never admit it to anyone -- Charlie included, of course -- but he likes it when Charlie leaves marks. It's a tangible reminder that there's something real in his life, even though most of his life is spent dissembling and pretending. Charlie knows him too well to let him get away with keeping his poker face on all the time; it's a vulnerability that he wouldn't allow himself around anyone else.

Kissing is a hell of a lot better than talking, though, especially talking about being stuck here. That's not something to discuss when Charlie's drunk, and maybe it's better left undiscussed altogether. He smiles a little as he lets himself fall back into the bed, admiring Charlie's shirtless form, then running his hands across Charlie's shoulder and down his arms, liking the feeling of the bare skin beneath them.

He always grins when he sees that look on Meyer's face. Hey, maybe it's ego. Okay, it's probably entirely ego. But he doesn't just like that Meyer think he looks good naked. He likes that he can look good naked for Meyer.

Although speaking of, he still has entirely too many clothes on. With Meyer's stretched out under him like this, it only makes sense to start undoing his jeans to pull them the entire way off.

Of course it's ego, but it's not undeserved ego, either. For all he gives Charlie hell for being cocky and thinking he's so great, he probably doesn't help matters by also thinking Charlie's pretty great. Maybe that's why he's usually so quick to make fun of Charlie -- he wouldn't want to have him get too carried away with the ego thing.

He can agree that Charlie's wearing too many clothes (to be fair, he usually is, but he can't walk around naked all the time) and he can certainly help tug Charlie's jeans off once Charlie gets them undone. It's strange to him, seeing Charlie dressed so casually, but he doesn't dislike it; it's just another reminder of how different things are here.

He shimmies jeans, underwear, and socks off in one go. Or as close to one go as he can manage. He is pretty drunk after all, and the socks in particular become problematic. He curses loudly as he has to roll off Meyer for a bit to finally kick everything off. But he's back again as quickly as he can, as if every moment not touching Meyer is a waste.

He takes his time drinking in the sight of him, hands roaming to ruck up the sides of his shirt. Every brush of his hands over Meyer's skin is driving him crazy and he wants more of it than he thinks he could ever get.

This is one of the few things that takes his mind off of worrying and planning and running through probabilities and scenarios in his head constantly. If it had been bad at home, it's worse here, where the reality of Charlie disappearing at any moment is a seemingly likely one. When he can focus on this, though, when he can laugh a little at Charlie as he struggles to get his socks off, when he can admire Charlie's body and the sight and feel of him, the worries are dulled slightly, pushed to the back of his mind.

He tugs Charlie back down for a kiss, maybe a little too desperately, a little too hungrily. He wants to surround himself in this for awhile, so that there's nothing else. Maybe that's why his grip on the back of Charlie's neck as he kisses him is a little too tight.

He understands it, the need to cling on tightly to each other. His own fingers are back to leaving bruises on Meyer's hipbones, nails biting in as he kisses back with just as much fervor.

His hands slide down the fraction he needs to start undoing Meyer's fly, hands roaming and touching on every bit of him still, loath to give u this touch for even a moment.

He hates to seem needy, even when it's undeniable that he feels that way, and that's why, when he lifts his hips up a little to press against Charlie's hands, it's an unconscious, unplanned movement.

The nails digging into his hips feel good, grounding somehow, and just like his press back against Charlie's hands is an unconscious movement, so is the way he nips at Charlie's lower lip as they kiss -- not hard, because he has no desire to truly hurt Charlie, but probably hard enough to be noticeable, to sting a little.

It certainly is noticeable, and makes Charlie grin into his mouth. It's not to surprising Meyer got turned into a vampire - he's always been into biting when they're doing it.

It's a strange pace they've set here. It's still as passionate as before, but the frenzy of earlier has mellowed into something deeper, more intimate. He's almost as close to Meyer as he can get, pressing into him with all of his body. It's an intimacy he's been waiting for all night, too feel close enough to him that no one could tear them apart. It's an irrational thought, he's fully aware. But Charlie never been big no rational anyway.

He shimmies Meyer's pants and underwear down, then breaks away just long enough to pull his shirt off over his head. All their bare skin pressing against each other feels amazing, and he buries his face in Meyer's chest just to revel in it for a moment.

If asked directly, Meyer's pretty sure he'd say he's allergic to intimacy, or at least, extremely adverse to it. He doesn't get close to people for many reasons, and that's always worked well for him. Somehow, though, intimacy with Charlie is different; it's not something he normally likes, being so exposed -- both literally and figuratively -- around someone else, but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't like every second that he spent pressed against Charlie like this, feeling his heartbeat and his breathing.

When Charlie breaks the kiss to press his face into his chest, Meyer lifts a hand to run it lazily through Charlie's hair. Say what you will about being stuck here, but there are a couple unexpected benefits, like the fact that Charlie's curls are freer and thus, as he's demonstrating now, far easier to run his fingers through and tug at a little.

He laughs into Meyer's chest as soon as he feels those fingers tangle into his hair. Some things between the two of them are just so damn predictable.

He lets his laugh morph into a kiss, pressed in the centre of Meyer's chest. He lets his mouth wander, mapping all the glorious skin available to him. He gets teasingly low before making his way back up, dipping his tongue into the hollow at the back of Meyer's throat.

He can't help his near-fixation with Charlie's hair. It feels comforting underneath his hands, is just another one of those things about Charlie that makes him feel safe. He'll probably never stop playing with Charlie's hair.

At the same time, he can relish those kisses, lifting his hips a little more, offering Charlie more access to his bare skin, and then laughing when Charlie moves back up his body rather than kissing even lower, as he might have expected. Charlie's mouth and tongue feels good at his throat, and he tilts his head to the side slightly, showing more of his neck. He finds it a little funny -- in a dark way, maybe -- that he's baring his neck so invitingly to Charlie when, until recently, he'd been a vampire and very much more interested in the necks of others.

It's not lost on him, and he pauses for a moment, remembering when the positions were swapped. There had been so much fear, so much anticipation for the pain to come. But in a weird way, it had still been kinda hot.

Rather than kissing him there, he bites down on Meyer's throat, starting low at the base and moving up to nibble on his jawline. He can feel the prickle of stubble against his tongue, strange and not unpleasant.

He thinks he likes being bitten almost as much as he likes biting -- and although he might deny it, he had enjoyed biting Charlie when he'd been a vampire; although it had been tinged with guilt and horror at the loss of self control, it had also been pleasurable and deeply satisfying. He tries not to think about it much, but sometimes he can't control his thoughts, hard as he might try.

This is better, though, with both of them back to normal, and with Charlie's teeth on his throat like that. His quiet groan and the way he tilts his head more, exposing all of his jawline, might encourage Charlie to bite a little harder, even if Charlie does have to contend with that stubble growing there -- he hasn't been as committed to shaving as he had been back home, and he vaguely wonders if the five o'clock shadow he's now sporting looks ridiculous.