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[ Larus doubts it's so much a threat as it is someone returning to their home, but it's difficult to tell when all he can hear are their vitals. He's already sliding off the bed to retrieve what clothes are in the room with them, calm in an effort to keep Carver just as steady. ]

Down the hall. Probably near the front door. [ This is the problem about not knowing the places they're in. ] Get dressed. I'll check to make sure.

[ Because he's already in his pants and pulling on his shoes, wanting to get his shirt before anyone notices and gather Carver's jacket from the kitchen. ]

[ It’s easy to snap into the mission mindset, everything vicious and immediate. It sobers Carver up like nothing else. How many times did Pope wake them up in the middle of the night and time their responses? How many times did the enemy break through the lines?

You learn to react. Reflex bleeds through.

He dresses silently, pulling his boots on and grabbing the knife before he follows Larus. Ready for anything. ]

[ Now that he's aware, it's not exactly a straight shot to the kitchen, but whoever lives there is clearly distracted enough not to notice. Lucky, really, since Larus isn't in the mood to deal with the consequences, and he tracks Carver unconsciously behind him the entire way, silent as he slips into the room and retrieves the things they've left there.

He aches to turn around and shove Carver right up against the counter.

But he doesn't. Not there, pulling the backdoor open and waiting for Carver to move past him before he closes it and joins him outside. There, Larus pushes him those few steps into the wall and kisses him, still shirtless and not really caring so much about it. ]

[ Both of them know how to move quick and quiet, and they aren't stopped by whichever idiot is unfortunate enough to live here. Carver knows how this usually ends. Run into someone unawares and it swings bloody. But they're quiet, the both of them, and he follows Larus's lead. And then they're outside, in the open air, and it's sobering. Clarity shining in just in time for Larus to walk him back into the wall. Carver's hands to go Larus's hips, squeezing hard, and then he just kisses Larus back. Groaning into it.

That feels right, somehow. ]

[ He breathes into the kiss, wanting to be closer and annoyed that their time together had gotten short. There's still the rest of the night and even the day, if Carver wanted to stay with him, and Larus tries to convey that in the way he kisses him, biting at his lower lip hard enough to sting and then nipping at the tip of his tongue. He's got their clothes in one hand, so the other comes up to gently fist in Carver's hair as he tries to slow the urgency of the kiss.

They don't have to rush. Not anymore. ]

Let's find somewhere else, [ he says eventually, voice thick with obvious desire. ]

[ It was slow earlier, almost languid. Carver thinks he could have fallen asleep like that, with Larus wrapped around him and his mouth slotted against Carver’s throat. They’ve fallen into certain patterns now. Things that ought to spark as a threat don’t anymore. And the way that Larus takes him by the hair has Carver groaning, rocking against him like they’re teenagers necking in an alley—they are necking in an alley, where anyone could walk by and see.

Patterns, Carver thinks absently. He doesn’t care at all. Not when they’re pressed against each other like this, when it aches and he wants to leave a mark on Larus, feel him do the same. Crazy shit like that.

Carver grins. He can feel where Larus almost bit him, the sting of it. He wants to feel that more. ]

Yeah. Yeah, c’mom.

[ He’s got a tent, at least, one he’s not sharing with anyone else. Not the most comfortable but who gives a fuck? ]

[ Pulling away from him is harder than it should be, thinking and then deciding that either of their tents would probably work better than this alley. They conjure worse memories anyhow, stepping back and shrugging into Carver's coat without bothering to put his shirt on. Larus doesn't care about that, taking the other man's hand and dragging him in the direction of Duplicity's ridiculous camp setup.

They reach the tent with little problem, dropping Carver's hand to get it open and yank him inside without ceremony. Larus' hands are already on his belt, fumbling it undone even as he leans forward to kiss him. There's not much room to maneuver, but they're on their knees and Larus wants to be close to him anyway. ]

I want –

[ He just shakes his head, unsure but adamant about touching him. Larus even leans in to press his mouth to that spot he'd let his teeth scrape over, knowing it would be easy to sink his fangs in, and that's the danger of it, he thinks. All of this with Carver is dangerous, and they continue to push against boundaries like it isn't. ]

[ And just like that, it’s easy again. Carver knows he’s drunk still but there’s nothing like an adrenaline rush to get him good and focused, and now there’s nothing he wants to do except be here and touch this man. He runs his fingers through Larus’s hair and then cups the back of his neck, pulling him close. Shivering a little at the feel of Larus’s teeth against his skin.

He likes it. He wants more. ]

Yeah?

[ Carver’s voice is rough. So is the way he goes for Larus’s pants, working them open and pressing his hand inside. ]

Tell me.

[ Are there words for this? He doubts it considering how close they are, how close they are to other people, but the darkness and the very thin walls of the tent give them a strange sort of privacy that Larus doesn't even acknowledge. All he does is breathe and arch into the heat of Carver's hand. He's starting to cool from whatever he'd drank, settling in a way that has him holding even tighter to Carver.

Larus turns his head, biting at Carver's mouth with that same sort of fervor. ]

Just you. [ He presses into him, their foreheads knocking together. ] Only you.

[ And to cover the emotion flooding his voice, Larus pushes his hands under Carver's clothes and drags his nails over skin with enough pressure to really feel it. ]

[ Yeah. Yeah, that feels fucking good. Carver arches at the sensation, grinding their foreheads together. He doesn't usually like people touching his scars - not because they hurt or anything, just because he likes it best when he's in charge, when he can direct things - but somehow it's different with Larus.

Always was, maybe. Carver hisses out a breath, working Larus roughly. Wanting to feel him fucking everywhere. To know what it feels like when they've both got a little less control. ]

Good.

[ Larus grits his teeth, muffling the softest sort of sound at the way Carver touches him. Maybe his nature has something to do with it, but the roughness feels good in a different way, hips jerking forward into the press of Carver's hand and digging his own nails a little deeper into skin.

And as always, there's nothing to say, his free hand easily tearing the button of Carver's pants in a desperate attempt to feel him. It's a little less focused though, fumbling and feeling frustrated that he can't touch him more than he already has. So, Larus uses both hands and rips at the fabric, sucking in a breath as he finally gets a hand on Carver's cock to stroke him. This is what he wants: just to feel him. ]

[ In a different moment, Carver thinks he'd laugh or maybe tease Larus a bit for ripping at his pants, for how desperately they're both grabbing at each other. Not here, though. There's nothing but this, the physicality of it. How much trust they've shared. Carver just rolls sideways, grabbing at Larus's shoulder to pull him on top. There isn't a lot of space here but that doesn't matter. That doesn't matter at all. ]

[ Even if they had more space than what the tent provided, Larus wouldn't care.

He drops on top of him and pauses long enough to go for Carver's mouth, the blunt edge of his teeth catching his bottom lip and sucking hard. The urge to really bite him is there, but he ignores it in favor of touching him, grinding against him for a little friction. This is good. Just being in this moment, feeling him and responding like they can't get it out of their system fast enough. He briefly thinks about getting Carver on his side and taking him that way, pressed close like he'd held him before. Yet, he doesn't move, kissing him harder and desperate to feel how they both unravel at the ends. ]

[ This feels right, how they're pressed together. How Larus leans down to kiss him hard enough it stings, how they can grind against each other. Rocking to chase the sensation, to let it drag. Carver barely hears himself gasping, his hands on Larus's hips and then running up his back. Wanting to touch him fucking everywhere. Carver was drunk and drifting earlier, content to let things slow down and just exist in the space with Larus next to him, touching him. And now -

He's awake now. He feels more alive than he has in a long time, even as his head swims from lack of air. Carver grins when he finally has to pull back, peering up at Larus because yeah. Fuck, yeah. There's nowhere else he wants to be. ]

You - you feel really fucking good, you know that?

[ Larus soaks up every moment of it, careful not to let himself drown in the way Carver's heart beats – he's done that, he thinks, it's slamming in his chest because of him – and every little sound that leaves him. They're too close to everyone else to really savor the privacy, but just like before, his attention is focused solely on the man beneath him, sliding his hand free to grip at Carver's hair.

Something about the way he speaks makes Larus want to devour him. ]

I want to make you feel, [ he tilts Carver's head back with a gentle pull, dragging his teeth along his throat before letting go, ] – so much more.

[ And he decides then that neither of them are undressed enough but especially Carver, dragging his pants and everything else down to his thighs and then urging him to roll over onto his stomach. ]

[ There's something about the way that Larus takes his hair that does it for Carver, really fucking does it, and he groans low in his throat. Tipping his head back to let him. It feels good. More than that, he doesn't even think about holding onto his knife or making sure he's got the upper hand. This is just happening. They decided, and so they're doing it.

He lets Larus push him onto his stomach, going easy - a glance back to watch him, some of Carver's hair falling over his eyes. He grins, lifting his chin. ]

Then do it.

[ There's trust in this. There's more than that in this, but Larus doesn't have the capacity to think about it right now, singularly focused as he uses a hand to push some of his own hair out of his face and searches for the lube that just so happens to be inside the tent. He'd thrown it out when it had appeared before, but it had just returned again the next time he'd stayed, so there hadn't been any point.

Now, it's useful. (Even if Larus is tempted to just spread him open and use his tongue, but maybe another time.)

Larus meets Carver's eyes and offers him the slightest smile, clearly intent on this and nothing else, and when he presses his fingers into him, he leans over him, hiking up his shirt to let his mouth find warm skin. His patience is strangely thin, but he doesn't want to hurt him either, sighing to himself as his teeth graze over Carver's back as he works him open enough to take him. ]

Oh, fuck —

[ They've done this before, but it hits like new every goddamn time. And right now Carver wants to feel it, all the way down to the marrow. He bows his head and makes a low sound, rocking into it. Urging Larus on because why bother being coy about any of it at this point? They're here, and he can feel Larus's mouth dragging against the scars on his back. Sometimes it feels like his thoughts are going to splinter his skull apart, they're racing so much. When he can't focus or settle.

Not right now. There's nothing but this right now.

Carver glances back at Larus again, his hair falling over his eyes in a messy tangle. ]

C'mon. You're not gonna hurt me.

[ They've done this before, too. ]

[ He knows he'll never get used to this: how responsive Carver is, how vocal he can be. Larus enjoys it, adding fingers slowly despite the urge to just shove him down, but it's all blurring together, his patience edged too thin to be good for either of them. ]

I could, [ Larus says, statement over anything else. He's tempered his strength considerably being around humans. ] But I don't want to.

[ Which most certainly feels the very opposite as he fucks into him with his hand, hard and quick until Carver's body tells him he needs more than his fingers. They both need more, and he pulls out, gripping at a hip as he strokes himself a little. Prefunctory , minimal. He needs this part to be easy, dragging him closer into a better position. And it's almost too intense when he finally thrusts into him, on his knees behind Carver and pausing there with his eyes closed. Just surrounded by him, swallowed up by his body and his heartbeat and his breathing.

All he has to do is move, and he does, setting an almost brutal pace. ]

[ It's rough. It's fucking perfect and Carver clamps a hand over his out of sheer reflex. You cannot make noise in the dark, you cannot expose yourself to the enemy or they'll find you. They'll find you and they'll rain that shit down on everyone around you, everyone you love. It's the worst kind of sin. Unforgivable. And yet -

And yet he wants to. To let go for a second, just for a second, Larus's hands on his hips. Fucking him rough. Holding him steady for it. Carver fights the urge to bite down on his own goddamn hand to muffle the noise - instinct, reflex, all of it - and forces himself to lay his palms flat on the ground. To focus on that even as Larus fucks him hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. What would it feel like if Larus really made him scream? It's a dangerous thought.

Thrilling, though.

Carver shivers, bowing his head, and rocks back hard. He doesn't try to touch himself, not yet, he just wants to ride it. To see how far Larus will take him. ]

[ There's always something different about this every time it happens. Sometimes soft, sometimes... not so much. Larus can feel that thread of control pulling tighter each time they come together, the only real sounds in the dark of that tent the drag of skin against skin and Carver's breathing. He wants to hear him though, likes those moments when he says his name like a curse and a quiet plea all in one.

It doesn't even seem important that they're still mostly dressed either.

His focus is sharp as he slows the pace just enough to shift his hips, drawing Carver closer even as one of his hands smooths along the length of his spine to bear down at the middle of his back. If he gets the position right, he'll know. Maybe he'll beg Larus for more, to stop because it's too much. It's already too much, so that doesn't really matter the way it should. Larus just breathes and says Carver's name: Brandon on the tip of his tongue, a little throaty, a little soft.

Then, he thrusts into him hard. Harder. There's the obvious jerk forward as they slide until Larus grips at Carver's sides to hold him still, grounding them both while chasing the sensation of having Carver unravel in his hands. ]

[ The force of it knocks the air from his lungs, again, fucking relentless. Carver bows his head, groaning out a jumble of nonsense curses in three different languages. He does that sometimes, swinging wild but still cursing. Fighting in at least one way. He's so hard it hurts and Larus is fucking him like it's the end of the goddamn world, and there's no room for thought. Not for this. He just shudders and takes it, takes it, and -

Oh.

Fuck.

He doesn't scream, but he makes a strangled noise; a similar sort of sin. There's nothing but heat and pressure and friction, and oh, oh, goddamn it all. ]

F - fuck, Larus...

[ That's what he wants, but it still doesn't feel like enough. Nothing ever is, steadying him with one hand as he strokes the other around his hip and between Carver's legs to fist his cock. His grip, like the way he fucks him, is almost merciless, and he leans over him as far as he can without losing the leverage or making it awkward to try pressing his mouth to his skin. But it isn't as close as he wants it to be, isn't anything like he wants it to be. ]

On your back, [ he hisses, the words as close to a growl as he'll ever come.

And there's no ceremony to the way Larus pulls out and rolls him over, holding him down with a hand against his chest so he can slide right back into him and continue the jarring pace he's set for them. He can sink down and kiss him now, not bothering to return the hand around him but instead fisting Carver's hair and jerking his head back to kiss him deep. Hard, even harder, and no matter how tight he holds onto him, he doesn't plan to stop until he feels him come. ]

[ Like before there's no hesitation. Carver just hisses out a breath and moves where Larus guides him and oh, oh, the world goes blank. There's nothing but how it feels to have this. Carver grabs him hard, digging his nails into Larus's back, and hooks a leg over his hip to deepen it even as Larus takes him by the hair hand and kisses him breathless.

The world spins. Nothing exists but this. Nothing at all.

He nearly sobs when he comes, jerking under Larus and then going boneless. Utterly thrown by the intensity of it. ]

[ They're pressed so close together, slick skin and the sting of nails, but Larus wants to be so deep inside him that it's that same feeling all the time. The way Carver tastes and the squeeze of his body around him when he finds his release—he wants to claim this man. It's a dangerous thought, fucking him through his orgasm and only having the sense to not come inside him with his own.

It punches hard but not nearly as hard as the way he seeks out Carver's mouth.

The kiss itself is soft, the grip in Carver's hair easing as he nudges against him just to feel the heat of his skin. He presses him flat to the ground and holds onto him, soaking up the moment without a need for words. ]

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