singillatim | open | i'll never die, i am a freak

"Oh, because it is," Dorian says, as he enters the cabin behind Zane. Nosy bitch that he is, Dorian is instantly looking around, taking in the sights, trying to see what's what. He taps off his boots before starting to unbutton his peacoat.

"Obviously I'm not the Dorian Gray. Far too modern, not retro enough. But if you're gifted a name like that, you might as well live up to your namesake! Imagine, someone named Dorian Gray, working as a stockbroker? Having a lovely little white picket fence sort of domesticity? How dull."

Except for the fact that he is the Dorian Gray, but that's what lying and obfuscating details and aliases are for.

It's a place of both science and art. The cabin itself is rusting, although Darling's scattered notes litter the place and Tom's own hurricane of creativity has come crashing through, although that's mostly limited to the floor.

He's pulled all of the pillows off of the couch and most of the blankets, too, to make a nice little nest by the fire that he makes his way towards the hearth to re-light it.

"Wow. That's crazy," he says, and it's the tone of someone who doesn't think it's crazy at all--cool, a neat fact, but not crazy. He's regularly partied with Odin and Tor, after all.

"There's a handheld mirror on the credenza. Let's have fun."

Dorian walks over to the credenza, picking up the mirror. As he does so, he also picks up some random sheet of paper. Holding the mirror between his arm and side, Dorian starts to fold the paper, folding it into tight, crisp folds. Look, there's no credit card here, he's got to use the next best thing.

As he sits down in the little nest, Dorian offers Zane the mirror and the paper. He reaches into his pocket, pulls out the small little baggie of cocaine and grins wildly at his fellow addict. It's pretty obvious that there's not much left: enough left for both of them to have one phenomenal, stellar high, maybe two if they ration it carefully (but let's be real here, Dorian isn't one for rationing.)

"Guests first," he says, as he offers Zane the cocaine. "I'm a gentleman like that. Though I'd be remiss to point out that you haven't told me your name."

Dorian Gray.

He's still turning that name over in his head as he lights the fire, wishing he had some sort of power--preferably his back home, naturally. The good ones, the one he misses. But he'd take the firestarter ability just so he doesn't have to fuss with this sort of bullshit when all he wants to do is get high.

By the time Dorian's sorted everything out on his end, Tom has as well. The fire is pleasant and warm and as Tom accepts the mirror, he does so with both hands, bows ceremoniously, and already regrets how fast this high will last.

Then again, he hasn't had any in quite some time, so maybe longer than 5 minutes? Time will tell, and there's always booze. Ah, but manners.

"Maybe I can be the mysterious handsome stranger you fall madly in love with after the best one night stand of your life," he says casually, pleasantly, shoots the other a wink before leaning over the mirror, seeing his warped reflection, and plugging one side of his nose so he can do a rail like he's an elephant. He straightens slightly as the powder hits his bloodstream, and feeling hits him like a freight train.

He hands the mirror back, throws both of his hands up, and shouts as loudly as he can in victory.

Dorian leans back in some of the pillows, watching Zane as he does a rail. In the firelight, Dorian's pupils reflect the glow, just dilated to high heaven. It's a pity he doesn't have much more, just to keep this high going—after all, he also knows it won't last much longer. But stopping, not doing anything, coming down from that high, that's cowardly shit. He's going to keep going until he passes out...or until this mysterious handsome stranger puts his money where his mouth is and gives him that best one night stand of his life. He's young and beautiful and the night is young and this man is beautiful. Nah. We're not stopping.

"Oooh, don't threaten me with a good time!" Dorian chuckles. "The problem, of course, is that I'll need to give the mysterious handsome stranger I fall madly in love with a nickname—for gossip purposes, of course. But that's dull and frankly, I'm not in the mood for dull right now."

Dorian adjusts his position so that he's closer to Zane, looking up at him as he takes in all of the man's features. Idly he reaches over and moves his hand to Zane's shirt. As Dorian starts to unbutton what few buttons are actually buttoned on that shirt, it's obvious he has no qualms about the one night stand of it all. He's cold and this place sucks and there's no electricity, he absolutely wants to fuck a stranger.

It's been a very, very long time since he's had a stranger immediately start to unbutton his shirt like this--and it's far from a complaint. People here, they're too stuffy, too focused on the material, not enough on the greater picture.

Is this part of the greater picture? Maybe. Maybe not. But Zane's hand slides up to Dorian's face, thumb brushing against handsome cheekbones and pressing his lips against his. His whole body is singing with confidence, already shifting into full on party mode.

Zane doesn't realize how much he needs something like this until it actually happens. A bit of who he once was.

Dorian kisses back just as passionately, just as intensely. There we go. This is how it should be. He should be wanted, he should be paid attention to. These new situations have thrown him for a fucking loop, to have something close to normality? Close to how it should be for him? It's intoxicating.

As he unbuttons Zane's shirt, both of Dorian's hands go to Zane's chest. One of them remains there, moving over to the man's pecs, as he gives Zane's nipple a quick little pinch. The other hand starts to move down towards Zane's crotch. Let's get those trousers off as well, thank you very much, please ignore any awkward fumbling with buttons and zippers. Dorian moves with the purposeful nature of someone who's used to taking the lead, who's used to being the top, who's used to drawing people into debauchery—not that he has to try very hard here, but old habits die hard.

All the while, he continues kissing Zane, pulling away only to catch his breath before going right back in there.

It's quick but practiced, far more skilled than Zane is expecting--all he knows the heat of Dorian's mouth is a beautiful constant, and the poet kisses back just as feverishly. The bender he's been on makes everything a beautiful whirl of sensations, breath hitching as long, elegant fingers move over his nipple and wander down to his pants. Dorian is eager and expectant, and if that isn't the biggest turn on in Tom's life he's not sure what is.

He laughs suddenly, pulling away from the kiss to grin and get a hand between them. He places an open palm onto Dorian's chest, separating them for the briefest of moments, and with one steady push he shoves the other onto his back.

"I sincerely hope you're going to be trouble," He purrs, moving so he's straddling the other from Dorian's new position with his back on the floor.

Oh! Well then, this is divine. Dorian lets out a happy little laugh as Zane pushes him to the floor, not moving as Zane straddles him. That eager and expectant look shines brightly on his face. He wants this. He deserves this. So he'll gladly take hold of it.

"Mmm, I can be as trouble as you want me to be," Dorian lightly teases, as he places his hands on Zane's chest. One starts to snake up, going towards the man's neck, as if he'll pull him down further...but at the last minute, Dorian's hand changes direction as it gives Zane's nipple an even harder pinch.

He's a shit and he knows it.

Tom laughs again, matching Dorian as he's both surprised and pleased at the behaviour. His own hands roam down the other's body, taking in every inch of the other. Dorian wants to get into it. Tom does, too, but there's something fun about doing the exact opposite. Frustrating for the other person, maybe. But fun for him.

He undoes every button at his own pace--not agonizingly slow but certainly not as prompt as Dorian, and once it's open he kisses the younger man with ferver, trailing slowly down to flick his tongue over pert nipple in retaliation.

Tom's hands are undoing those too-tight jeans, unhooking the button and sliding the zipper down in heated passion with an expertise he feels like he hasn't used in quite a while.

On the one hand, pick up the pace! Move it or lose it, Tom! But on the other hand, this is divine. Being touched, being looked at, being adored the way that Tom is adoring him. It makes Dorian's awful little narcissistic heart flutter for joy. That's right, baby. Look at him. He deserves this.

It's almost like one of those novelty snakes in a can, the way Dorian's dick flops out of his trousers when Tom get the zipper down. He's going commando and again, those jeans are too-tight (but his ass looks phenomenal in them and that's what matters).

Dorian will, however, pull away from the perpetual kissing to lightly tease, "That high and that fire can only last for so long. I know you're enjoying me, but you can enjoy me in other ways."

open | i'll never die, i am a freak

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cw smut ig because these guys are freaks

what do you MEAN normal people don't immediately start to fuck the guy they gave cocaine to

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