Love is a Battlefield
Mar. 11th, 2022 09:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
midnight_devil12) “You don’t have to be gentle with me, I don’t break easily.”
The night had been a rough one, coming into town and a show that night. Something about it had wound both the punks so tight that they snapped. Who threw the first punch in the hotel room was forgotten but the aftermath was still present? Viktor’s shirt was in tatters by the door beside an empty vodka bottle, two empty bottles now that Vars was paying attention. The vanity mirror above the hotel dresser was shattered and bits of mirrored glass littered that whole side of the room. There was a single broken leather cuff amongst the shards. Viktor had agreed to those cuffs and then Vars had driven him crazy until he broke one of them struggling to get free.
The mate of that cuff was still on Viktor’s left wrist as he stood by the window in the dark staring out at the even darker city while taking huge gulps from the vodka bottle sitting on the windowsill. Vars gingerly touched the bite to his shoulder while drying his hair. It was a ragged bruise with a few spots the skin had broken. The Brit had inflicted it on him while Vars tried to wrestle the singer to the bed. It was always a dominance battle, but it was far more play and foreplay than anything. Outside of the bedroom Vars often let Viktor have the lead but Vars could take that lead when needed, especially if Viktor was endangering himself. In the bedroom though, there was no quarter, no polite acquiescence to each other even if, sexually, they both veered toward the Norwegian being the dominant.
Vars tossed the damp towel over the foot of the bed as he gingerly walked barefoot across the carpet. Who knew where the glass shards had managed to fly? He came up behind the taller singer and slid a hand across the small of his back. The gentle touch got a shiver from Viktor as the Norwegian felt the arm wrap around his shoulders. Viktor has a couple spots that were angry red, might bruise by morning. Vars leaned into Viktor’s side admiring the feeling of their naked bodies exhausted and so close together. It’s too early to admit to being tired and exhausted.
“Come.” He tugged at Viktor and didn’t realize until that moment that the Brit was lost in thought over something. He gave Viktor another tug before slipping out of his arm and heading toward the bed. Vars heard the pause and then the sound of the empty vodka bottle hitting the windowsill. He had stepped to the bedside when the forceful shove sent him sprawling on the bed. Of course, Viktor was still in the mood to playfight, tired or not. The shove caused the Norwegian to sit up on the bed laughing about being caught off guard. Viktor was one of the few who could since the bassist left his guard down completely around the Brit, something he didn’t feel safe doing anywhere else.
Vars wasn’t about to let Viktor get the last say in their tussle and grabbed a handful of the Brit’s hair to pull him into a kiss. Vars’ lips stung from one too many rough bites, but he didn’t care. “Pretty boy lay in bed or bruise ass more.”
More laughter erupted as he let go of that blonde hair he loved so much. Viktor was ready to start another fight, but Vars derailed it when he caressed Viktor’s cheek and hooked an arm around him to pull him closer. Early in their relationship Vars had learned that the punk, despite all his bravado, would cuddle, needed to be cuddled. Vars would never tell anyone, never undermine Viktor’s image, but behind closed doors or in private things were different.
“You don’t have to be gentle.” Viktor protested. “I don’t break easily.”
The armor was still there. Viktor wrapped up so much in his presentation of strength and need to be tough. Laughing, the Norwegian grabbed another handful of Viktor’s hair to pull him into his chest, force him to lay against him and relax. “Know Viktor not break.”
Vars reassured him as he let go of the blonde hair again. “Pretty boy good, strong man.”
He heard the huff of agreement as the Brit settled in to Vars roughly stroking the Brit's back and shoulders. The tension was tangible as was the release of it from the punk as he relented to Vars’ attention. They were both tired. No amount of cockiness could hide the exhaustion in the Brit’s face. “Viktor not like furniture. We break furniture but both too strong. Not break.”
The night had been a rough one, coming into town and a show that night. Something about it had wound both the punks so tight that they snapped. Who threw the first punch in the hotel room was forgotten but the aftermath was still present? Viktor’s shirt was in tatters by the door beside an empty vodka bottle, two empty bottles now that Vars was paying attention. The vanity mirror above the hotel dresser was shattered and bits of mirrored glass littered that whole side of the room. There was a single broken leather cuff amongst the shards. Viktor had agreed to those cuffs and then Vars had driven him crazy until he broke one of them struggling to get free.
The mate of that cuff was still on Viktor’s left wrist as he stood by the window in the dark staring out at the even darker city while taking huge gulps from the vodka bottle sitting on the windowsill. Vars gingerly touched the bite to his shoulder while drying his hair. It was a ragged bruise with a few spots the skin had broken. The Brit had inflicted it on him while Vars tried to wrestle the singer to the bed. It was always a dominance battle, but it was far more play and foreplay than anything. Outside of the bedroom Vars often let Viktor have the lead but Vars could take that lead when needed, especially if Viktor was endangering himself. In the bedroom though, there was no quarter, no polite acquiescence to each other even if, sexually, they both veered toward the Norwegian being the dominant.
Vars tossed the damp towel over the foot of the bed as he gingerly walked barefoot across the carpet. Who knew where the glass shards had managed to fly? He came up behind the taller singer and slid a hand across the small of his back. The gentle touch got a shiver from Viktor as the Norwegian felt the arm wrap around his shoulders. Viktor has a couple spots that were angry red, might bruise by morning. Vars leaned into Viktor’s side admiring the feeling of their naked bodies exhausted and so close together. It’s too early to admit to being tired and exhausted.
“Come.” He tugged at Viktor and didn’t realize until that moment that the Brit was lost in thought over something. He gave Viktor another tug before slipping out of his arm and heading toward the bed. Vars heard the pause and then the sound of the empty vodka bottle hitting the windowsill. He had stepped to the bedside when the forceful shove sent him sprawling on the bed. Of course, Viktor was still in the mood to playfight, tired or not. The shove caused the Norwegian to sit up on the bed laughing about being caught off guard. Viktor was one of the few who could since the bassist left his guard down completely around the Brit, something he didn’t feel safe doing anywhere else.
Vars wasn’t about to let Viktor get the last say in their tussle and grabbed a handful of the Brit’s hair to pull him into a kiss. Vars’ lips stung from one too many rough bites, but he didn’t care. “Pretty boy lay in bed or bruise ass more.”
More laughter erupted as he let go of that blonde hair he loved so much. Viktor was ready to start another fight, but Vars derailed it when he caressed Viktor’s cheek and hooked an arm around him to pull him closer. Early in their relationship Vars had learned that the punk, despite all his bravado, would cuddle, needed to be cuddled. Vars would never tell anyone, never undermine Viktor’s image, but behind closed doors or in private things were different.
“You don’t have to be gentle.” Viktor protested. “I don’t break easily.”
The armor was still there. Viktor wrapped up so much in his presentation of strength and need to be tough. Laughing, the Norwegian grabbed another handful of Viktor’s hair to pull him into his chest, force him to lay against him and relax. “Know Viktor not break.”
Vars reassured him as he let go of the blonde hair again. “Pretty boy good, strong man.”
He heard the huff of agreement as the Brit settled in to Vars roughly stroking the Brit's back and shoulders. The tension was tangible as was the release of it from the punk as he relented to Vars’ attention. They were both tired. No amount of cockiness could hide the exhaustion in the Brit’s face. “Viktor not like furniture. We break furniture but both too strong. Not break.”
