Resistance is for show. For all his strength, Theo can match him still, and the knowledge that he doesn't — that his submission is real, that this is something Theo wants — lights all his nerves aflame.

With fingers gripping Theo's jaw, he leans in to kiss him again. He tastes of alcohol, of cigarette smoke.

"Good," he breathes.

His free hand explores the plane of Theo's chest and the ridges of old scars. Special attention is paid to his shoulder, the pads of his fingers tracing lines long since embedded into memory. Nails drag rough across uneven flesh, leaving temporary marks to offset those of age and suffering. Faded ink along Gavin's left arm marks a failed attempt to bury his own scars beneath a pain he'd chosen; he is careful, then, methodical in his exploration of the familiar once forbidden.

His teeth are gentler than the Luxray's had been as they graze Beckett's shoulder.

Slowly, he retracts his touch, lifts his hands to his own shirt and carefully maneuvers the buttons. It falls away to reveal scars that, to Beckett, will not be entirely familiar. There had been a time between Kanto and Cadis that had not treated him kindly.

His hands find Theo's wrists again, guide them against his chest, granting permission as they're released.

[attr="class","beck"]his patience is rewarded. he paces himself, moves slow where he otherwise wouldn't, and relishes the warmth of merlino's skin. his fingers graze over wounds that have long healed over. he lingers on the few that are unfamiliar, and as he does, he cannot help but feel something akin to guilt rise within him.

stay with me and you'll be safe.

too long have they been apart — now, finally reunited, he seeks to reclaim what is lost.

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Gavin is rough, possessive, dominating — but like any storm, calm is found in the aftermath.

Emotions he'd sought to wall behind blind passion return to him in unsteady waves. There is sadness and regret for love lost, but so too is there an overwhelming sense of acceptance. Regrets do not extend to Theo; Gavin's fingers trace the marks he's left on Theo's skin, tender where once they'd been bruising.

His breathing levels, and he finds he doesn't know what to say.

[attr="class","beck"]a familiar silence washes over them, tainted by heavy breaths as his heart steadies against the rush within him.

he doesn't know what to say, but perhaps nothing needs to be said at the moment. at least that's what he tells himself as he stands and approaches the fridge, forgetting that this isn't his room.

"drink?"

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Heat bleeds from his skin, gooseflesh rising in its place, and Gavin's gaze slides lazily to the shirt he'd abandoned. It flicks to Theo when the other speaks.

"There even anything in there?"

His voice rasps, and he clears his throat. He could definitely use a drink, and damned if he didn't want a cigarette, too.

[attr="class","beck"]he reaches down, opens the fridge, and finds absolutely nothing. it's not even cold.

"you don't sleep here?"

but he already knows the answer. exhaling, he turns back and ponders for moments before stepping towards his clothes. he starts dressing.

"the bar's still open."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Though Gavin laughs, the sound carries a raw edge.

He'd avoided his own space for a reason.

He follows suit when Beckett begins to dress, caring less for modesty and more for the warmth promised by a layer of fabric. The steel walls of the sub make a poor man's mirror, and Gavin squints at his warped reflection as he fixes disheveled hair.

"He may figure it out."

Gavin tugs at his sleeves, buttons his shirt with steady hands.

"Would that bother you?"

He looks over at Theo, a challenge in his curious stare.

[attr="class","beck"]the question has him tensing. he pauses, unsure of his response, then decides to finish buttoning up his shirt.

he walks towards the door without an answer.

"come on."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

He expected as much, but it still sees his amber eyes narrow.

Yet when Beckett moves toward the door, Gavin steps to follow — pauses when the handle shows resistance. Right. He'd locked the door.

It steels Gavin's resolve, and he leans against the wall.

"Having regrets?"

Something dangerous in his tone.

[attr="class","beck"]the door refuses to give. he exhales, then turns to meet merlino's gaze.

"i'd just like a drink."

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

Gavin pins him with a scrutinizing stare.

He approaches, tension in their sudden closeness, to grasp the handle of the door.

"Push, then twist."

It clicks as the lock disengages, and the discomfort of a confined space opens to the submarine at large. Gavin steps away from Theo, into the hall.

"Let's have a drink, then."

There's something in his tone that promises Beckett hasn't heard the end of it. He leads the way back to the bar; as expected, the same grunt lurks behind it.

[attr="class","beck"]he isn't sure what he's supposed to feel, but whatever it is, he imagines it's not this. his eyes trail merlino along the hallway for moments before he finally follows.

whether the same barkeep spares them a look goes unnoticed. his eyes are anywhere else, focused on nothing in particular. he slides into the seat and lets merlino order this time.

he reaches for the same pack of cigarettes that they had left earlier.

[attr="class","noodles"]Cillian Quinn

The grunt, bless him, looks as if he'd rather be anywhere else. Whatever relief he'd found in their brief absence is compromised by the return, but Gavin only gestures toward the sink.

Water, iced, runs cool down his throat.

Mildly surprised that someone hadn't taken the cigarettes from the bar, Gavin gestures.

"May I?"

It's been one of those days.