Time Warp: It's What I Want

[Erik Stewart]

(July 2020; Paris, France)

He was no longer such a stranger to luxury, but this, this gem in the city of love, managed to reach a new height. Erik still drifted on a high but he was gearing down, floating into the afterglow and a soft cloud of gold-trimmed sheets. His sweat was not heavy, or sticky, but a thin, thin layer; it made his skin catch the golden light of the city below and the silver from the moon, highlighting the curve of his shoulder that rose over the coverings. Dom would hear his soft breaths, just a little quicker than normal, beside him. He bent his head to rest it against him, and he might have felt the curve of his lips, too.

He lovingly kissed along his collarbone, but it would be a while before he spoke; he needed to catch his breath, first. When he did, it was as he sat up. “Tres bon,” he said, his smile more visible now. His pronunciation wasn’t exactly stellar; sometimes he spoke it just to watch Dom cover his ears. Then: “You want somethin’ to smoke?”

Erik wasn’t a hundred percent sober. He’d indulged himself in two (or three) glasses of wine and he was well into the tipsy category, which didn’t matter to him, didn’t make him appreciate it any less, though Dom might have noticed that his performance had a lot more loose ends than his usual tightly coordinated efforts. Whether Dom said yes or no he’d still get up and reach over to pull on a dry bathrobe. He could’ve gone without, but the room was a bit on the cool side, he thought, and his bare feet found the floor cold to walk on. “Jesus,” he mumbled, when he swung around to sit on the edge of the bed. “God. I don’t know if that’s goin’ to go away in the mornin’.”

Erik might have been fresh off the plane, but he was already thinking he could get used to this. The ceiling was high, the curtains were sheer, the wind breezed gently through the balcony doors (it was a mild night), and it had a nice bath besides. He was always excited whenever he saw baths like that one. Come morning, he’d have an excuse to use it, too.

He was looking out the glass doors. By this time he’d found a cigarette, and a curl of smoke drifted up towards the ceiling. “So how much does the best view in Paris cost?”

[Dominique Chevalier]

Dom’s eyes were still stubbornly closed, even as he ran his hand down the dip of Erik’s back. Lips curved into a smile, his breath slowing, he felt the most relaxed he had in months. There was nothing else he should be doing at this point but enjoying himself.

He’d snuck off from the opening a little early, Erik in hand. It had been a success. The reviews would, for the majority, be favorable. The event had gone well, and all there was left for him to worry about for at least the next 8 hours was getting to the restaurant on time. It was an almost giddy feeling of weightlessness to have all of the work, all of his work, come together.

And Erik was here, making him grimace at the horrid edge a southern accent gave the soft french vowels. Finally, his eyes flickered open as he chucked Erik under the chin then traced over the snake-boy’s bottom lip with his fingers.

“I’m good,” he murmured, getting up on one elbow. His eyes flickered along the line of throat the bathrobe left exposed as Erik exhaled smoke and stared at the view.

He didn’t need to look at the view. The view was always there, the tower was always there. The company wasn’t always so pretty, or so bare.

Climbing off the edge of the bed, the sheet tucked around his hips, Dom smirked at the question. “Plus que ce qu'elle devrait être, et pas assez,” he murmured as he headed over to the wardrobe to pull it open and start to put together his attire. “It is nice, I suppose.” Looking over one shoulder, Dom smiled wide enough to show his teeth as he watched the light and what it illuminated. “I’ve seen better.”

But then it was business mode again, and Dom quickly selected a shirt to pull on and start buttoning up. “Will you shower before you dress?” he asked, wondering back to the bed to grab his cufflinks and steal a quick drag of Erik’s cigarette.

[Erik Stewart]

Erik huffed out a breath of smoke. Whatever they were lookin’ at, Dom had always seen better.

“Sure,” he responded, after a moment of consideration, and in a tone that indicated he wasn’t thinking about dressing for a long while. He was squinting at his face, close but still indistinct in the low light. “I got somewhere t’be?”

Erik took a drag from the cigarette as soon as it was returned, and then gestured towards the window with it still between his fingers, as if Dom couldn’t see. “It’s still dark out.”

He wasn’t exactly adverse to late night activities; he didn’t expect to fly to Paris and sit around in a hotel all day, not at all, but Erik was suffering a case of jet-lag. The sky was a deep dark black. No stars - the light of the city drowned them out. It might as well have been midnight, as far as he was concerned. He’d only been here under twenty-four hours: one day to show up for Dom’s gallery, one night to spend alone with him, and now, here.

Erik took over the task of buttoning up Dom’s shirt, smoothing over his hands first and then over the silky fabric; his cigarette was stuck between his lips. “I’m thinkin’,” he began, “that you should take a break. Just a day or two without stressin’ an’ fussin’, an’ nobody callin’ you on the phone, no one tellin’ you they can’t bring you the shit you need, or they don’t have enough room, or they ain’t set up right, or whatever else you had t’do to get that show runnin’. You been real busy. You can do that.”

When he was done, Erik let go, tilted his head, smiled, came close so that they barely brushed against one another. “Can’t you?”

[Dominique Chevalier]

Dom didn't put up much of a struggle when Erik decided he couldn't dress himself, raising his hands in surrender with a low chuckle. He watched Erik's face as the american fiddled with his buttons with as much intent as he did studying art. The way the cigarette dangled from the corner of his lips while he spoke would impress the proudest Parisian, and not even a speck of ash was getting on his shirt.

"We're going to dinner," he reminded, hands still raised up. "Carter made a booking, it's to celebrate the opening." On the way to fix his hair, Dom's hand froze for a moment. "Lucy and her wife will be there too." Once his shirt was fastened, Dom still kept his hands up as Erik came closer. He'd just started to get dressed and he was planning on putting more clothes on rather than taking them off or they'd be late. So, he kept his hands off and just let his eyes linger over Erik's mouth instead.

His absence had been felt, keenly.

Catching one of Erik's wrists, Dom took a breath and sighed. "I enjoy giving you what you want," he said quietly, his fingers moving gently over the back of Erik's hand. "Especially when you ask before I've put my clothes on."

This time, Dom's smile was a little smaller and the lines around his nose tugged a little deeper against his skin as his eyes flickered to where his mobile lay dormant. "I don't know," he said honestly, brushing a hand down over his eyes before shaking his head. "Maybe. I'll make some calls, and-"

Calls, more calls. The air seemed to grow heavier. He tugged Erik forward again and this time, slipped his free hand down the front of the soft white robe to cup Erik's bare, boney hip under the towelling fabric. Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to the top of Erik's head and sighed again.

"I'll take you up the tower," he promised against the dark of Erik's hair. "But you should get dressed, or we'll be late."

[Erik Stewart]

“We’re going to dinner?” he repeated, lifting a finger to point at his own chest, eyebrows raised.

He didn’t think for a second that Carter had said oh, by the way, bring that trashy American idiot with you, so he assumed this was all Dom’s idea. While he didn’t want to disappoint, he was reluctant to demonstrate what little social niceties he had around Dom’s brother and a former lover all in one night, and he’d already had his heart set on sleeping off the alcohol besides. The face he made – after he’d finished buttoning up his shirt, and pulled the cigarette out between his two fingers – was a mixture of disgust and Fuck No.

He’d yet to say anything, but maybe Dom could interpret the expression well enough; he tugged him forward and promised the Tower against his hair.

Erik lifted his head. “Why can’t you guys just celebrate the way you usually do?” His voice dropped to imitate the twins. “Are you as impressed with yourself as I am?” He turned his head. “You bet your ass I am. Pour me a drink.”

He wandered away from him. Erik was stubborn, but Dom could match him, and a lot of their disputes (petty or not) were decided over who could out-stubborn the other. He had a feeling he’d be the loser here. He was still on a buzz, and a dinner congratulating Dom’s success probably meant more to him than any old date…but he couldn’t just go along with it so easily, or else Dom might think he was totally on board with the idea. Which he wasn’t. It was the principle of the thing: he couldn’t have that, couldn’t get him to agree without some complaining and grumbling over how he really felt.

[Dominique Chevalier]

Dom let Erik slip by with obvious reluctance as the snake shifter sulked and pouted. He didn't mind; he rather enjoyed it when Erik set his jaw. Eyebrows that had yet to drop after rising during Erik's imitation and mockery, it was with a relaxed and easy laugh that he pulled on a pair of pants and padded after Erik. The sound was deep; it hadn't been made in a while.

"I want you to be impressed with me too," the fair headed man murmured as he propped his chin on Erik's shoulder and deftly untied the knot holding his bathrobe together. It was a frivolous sounding comment, and perhaps one Erik would find ridiculous. It mattered though. Slipping the soft white robe down off Erik's shoulders to let it pool at his feet, Dom carefully kissed a line down the side of Erik's neck and along his shoulder. There, he paused again, and when he spoke, his lips would brush the pale, freckled skin. "I love impressing you."

He couldn't have a more perfect example of the sort of person the gallery wouldn't usually attracted if he'd actively gone out looking for one, and Dom knew relying on others to hold your ego up was the strategy of a lesser, unsuccessful man. He knew that. He did. Didn't mean he didn't want his lover to be proud (lover was the only term he had thought of that didn't make some part of him cringe away like a snail from salt.)

Dom drew away from Erik and his bare back to find socks and shoes, and to prevent any further delays that seemed only moments away from sparking. He could take care of that particular problem quite utterly, later.

"I know you don't want to go," he said after a moment to the carpet near his shoes, because Erik had made that clear and Dom wasn't ignoring the obvious dragging of feet going on here, "but I want you to be there. It's important." Glancing over his shoulder, Dom straightened with his laces tied neatly. "You don't want me to be the only one without a hot date, do you?"

[Erik Stewart]

He turned and looked at his face, or as much as he was able, when he dipped his head to rest it against his shoulder. Erik knew him, or he thought he did, intimately, but there was still surprise evident in his expression. “I am,” he replied, his tone bordering on indignation over the slightest chance he might feel otherwise. “Believe me,” he told him, as Dom undressed him again – he paid it no heed as it collapsed onto the floor, “We’re all very impressed.”

Dom kissed him and it felt like warm drops against his skin. His hair was loose and grazed over the back of his neck. He stopped trying to look at his face and looked instead at the view, the Eiffel Tower exposed and brilliant. “I didn’t have much time t’tell you,” he said, voice low. “It’s been so busy.”

At least the buzz was starting to abate. That wouldn’t last too long, depending on how well the night went.

When Dom turned away, he thought about taking the robe off the floor and putting it on again, but instead he only picked it up and held it to his front. His cigarette was about through so he headed over to him, near the dresser, where he could snub it out on the ashtray sitting on top of it. At first he only grunted. Then he wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t see how that’s my problem,” he teased.

Erik ran his fingers through his dark hair, collecting locks and pulling them back. He caught his reflection in the mirror, and shook his head briefly, letting his hair settle naturally over his shoulders. It was useless, of course. He’d be taking a shower soon. Erik sighed. “I’d better look pretty.”

[Dominique Chevalier]

Having settled on a tie, Dom was tying it in a winsor knot with a movement that was as smooth as it was well practised. His blue eyes wondered as he flipped his shirt collar down, following Erik's path before tracing up his back when he'd stopped. When Erik held back his hair in the mirror, Dom caught his eye with a loaded smile.

Dom snorted. "You're always pretty," he said factually, and then smirked as his eyes slid elsewhere. "I like it up tonight, mon chere." The curve of Erik's bare neck and the length of soft material in his hands suggested a host of possibilities, and when Dom found Erik's eyes again, his were considerably softer. That was, until he caught site of his own reflection next to Erik's in the mirror. His expression grew dark and with a sound of frustration, Dom pulled his tie undone with a strong tug. Leaving it undone, he raised his eyebrows at Erik.

"Get in the shower," he said, his words combining with a soft smack to a well padded area. "Or put some clothes on. We're going to be late." Aware he'd done it himself, Dom had to admit that leaving Erik totally naked and very much within sight was not exactly the best way to get him to move with efficiency. His mangled tie was evidence of that; he'd totally lost his concentration on what he was doing.

Shaking his head and leaning against the counter to light his own smoke, Dom's lip twitched up. "See, this is why you can't stay with me when I'm working. I can't get anything done on time when you're around." Grasping one of Erik's hands, Dom kissed his inner wrist quickly, to sweeten the bite his words may have carried.

[Erik Stewart]

Erik started, holding a hand to clutch the bright red mark he’d left on his ass. “I’m goin’,” he protested. He’d seen Dom looking, of course. He’d seen his blue eyes climb over the curve of his back and up the column of his neck. He liked it up tonight, he said; well, then that was the way he’d wear it. As Dom took his wrist to kiss up it, his smile became brighter, holding a laugh behind it.

“That ain’t fair,” he said. “Y’know I can’t help it that I’m beautiful.”

He raised his head in exaggerated over-confidence; a mock display like one might see a diva wear on stage. When he strutted off towards the bathroom it was with the white bathrobe slightly dragging along behind him.

The shower lasted a long time. Longer than it should, perhaps. Before Dom could think that he was trying to drown himself before going to dinner, the water shut off, and Erik would emerge soon afterwards, drying his hair with a towel. He was contemplating his outfit. “It’s formal?” he mumbled to him, in between staring at his reflection and idly soaking up the excess water dripping down the angles of his body. He’d never been a great fashion coordinator, it was true. His image was markedly better lately, but this was only with the help of his stylist – otherwise, he would have kept on wearing what could only be called red neck bargain bin fashion: shirt, jeans, shorts, tanks, the occasional zip-up cotton coat…

He almost wanted Dom to do it. “So, what? A dress shirt?” he said. “I didn’t bring no suit.”

Erik sighed heavily.