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Tom's lounging by the balcony when he hears a thud from the washroom and desperate laughter then running water, and he leans back in his chair, lets his head fall back over one arm and takes a long drag on his cigarette.
"What're you doing?" he calls, but Joe doesn't answer and there's some kind of clinking and more laughing, so Tom sighs, drags himself up to his feet and almost trips over a pair of sweats, discarded on the floor from when they got in.
Joe's in the tub when he pushes the door open, shower on and making his white dress shirt stick to his skin, pink with transparency, and he's got his lips around the end of his beer bottle, head tilted back and tongue sticking down the neck. Tom stands by the door, arms crossed over his bare chest with one elbow out to hold himself up, boxers still sticky from earlier, and stares until Joe notices him and tries to stand up.
"Heeey Tom, have you ever been like soooo fuckin’ drunk and you just realise that you need to do something like now no matter what," Joe slurs, holds his bottle up to his eyes and looks entirely too focused and wet and fucking sexy.
"I don't drink, and I'm positive you know that," Tom says, but he knows Joe's not listening — Joe rubs his hands on his thighs, wet denim heavy and hanging low on his hips, and Tom's eyes follow the line of his legs, down to the pooling water and back up to his hard-on pressing a bulge in his wet jeans, and yeah, maybe alcohol isn't involved (anymore) in Tom's case, but he sure as fuck knows what it's like to need to do something like now.
Joe's staring at the inch and a half of beer in the bottom of his bottle like he can't believe there's only that much left, then he's sliding, stumbling until his back hits the slick tile and crumpling down onto the floor of the tub, spray of the shower hitting him in the side of the face and making him blink and try to blow it away.
"Like just… Really needed to get wet, you know, I felt so unclean." Joe's still mumbling, trying to fellate the glass neck and spilling beer out the side, down his chin, washed away by the shower right away.
"S'because you're a filthy little boy," Tom says, casual as anything, and Joe looks up at him from under wet eyelashes and a slow grin spreads across his face. He definitely wasn't this smashed when they first got in, that's for sure, but Tom can't really remember him drinking so he's not sure how this happened.
Joe starts to try and climb out of the bath but he's trying to hold his beer in one hand and his clothes are totally soaked, so he only makes it out halfway, stomach over the edge of the tub, on his hands and knees, so Tom intervenes.
"What are we going to do with you, Joseph? Fuckin’ lightweight," Tom says as he takes the bottle, sets it on the counter by the sink, then hauls Joe up to his feet and works on taking off his pants. A wet zipper is a difficult zipper, and Joe's squirming around and getting Tom all wet and making him hard and it's fuckin distractin, but finally the jeans are undone and slid down Joe's thighs with relative difficulty, and Tom picks Joe up, hands under his ass, chest to chest, and carries him into the other room while Joe sucks on his neck.
It's a hotel so Tom's not overly concerned with being tidy, but he's going to have to sleep in this bed so he doesn't want it all wet and gross, so he dumps Joe on the couch instead and works on his buttons, shaking his head and brushing Joe's fingers away when he tries to help.
"I can barely shay properly. See. I can barely see," Joe says and starts laughing, that same forced laughter from earlier, like he needs to fill the silence with any noise, and Tom kisses the corner of his mouth to make him stop, then finishes his shirt.
"You're a mess," he says, and Joe smiles again, Dimple prominent and genuine. "Time for bed, I think." Joe furrows his brow and pouts the most ridiculous pout Tom has ever seen.
"Noooo, I want to suck you," Joe says, then a moment later adds, "I meant fuck but also suck."
Tom kisses him again and squeezes his arm, skin cold and still damp from the water.
"Mm, maybe later," he says, does his best to ignore that pout (it will be the end of him), and tries not to think about the fact that he's supposed to be in his trailer, told Pnut he'd be up at six AM to meet him at the gym and do more Batman training, and here he is in a hotel room with drunk-off-his-ass-Joe; tries to think about how he's here to work and the fact that Joe isn't in this movie means he has all the more reason to fuck around on the sidelines, distracting Tom, and god damn, when did Tom's life get so focused on Joe?
He climbs off despite a very vocally opposed and naked Joseph, and goes to sit on the edge of the bed, leans back until he's laying down and stares at the ceiling and wills his boner to get the fuck out…
He doesn't even hear Joe move but he feels hot breath on his thigh then a wet tongue on his dick through his boxers and there goes any chance of him losing his wood. He props himself up on his elbows and glares hotly down at Joe.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"'m gonna give you a bj," Joe says, because if anyone's blunt about shit like that, it's Joe, Tom thinks.
"You're pissed," he says, and Joe smirks up at him and sticks his hands under Tom's back.
It's the lip that does him in finally, always that fucking bottom lip, made for sucking on and giving incredible head and kissing in the darkened corners of his trailer — when Joe looks up at him again and that lip catches on Tom's dick, Tom falls backwards, bounces a bit on the bed and lets out a defeated sigh. Joe hums excitedly and gets closer, drags his tongue up to Tom's bellybutton then back down, but leaves the boxers on, and Tom has to twist to see him, peers at him and touches his own mouth distractedly.
Tom's still conflicted, not necessarily because Joe's drunk — he's been with drunk Joe before and he always comes down pretty quickly; he's probably already sobering — but more because of how many times shit like this has happened to him over the past several months.
He and Joe started fucking on the set of Inception (Tom got to find out exactly how bendy Joe is) and it was fun at first, it was fucking hot at first and still is, but it's become… indescribable. Joe's so hyper and judgmental and wants to go out in public and hang out with Tom and go to film festivals with him, but Tom feels much older than he is, has been through the motions, has seen how things like this turn out, and while he had no issues, really, with fucking Joe senseless during Inception shooting, now that they're not working on the same film, it seems, just— weird.
He's never been afraid to talk about his feelings, especially with someone he cares about, but with Joe it's different. With Joe he feels like he's walking on a precipice with steep drops on either side, where his foothold is their current situation, casual screwing whenever they're in the same town — one step to the left means never seeing or talking to Joe again, and one step to the right means no turning back, falling head over heels for Joe and saying fuck it to what anyone thinks.
Tom loves his job, loves acting more than he's ever loved anything or anyone, but sometimes he hates that he can't just lead a normal personal life, that he can't fuck up in peace without it being all over the internet two hours later.
Then there's Charlotte, but Tom doesn't want to think about her right now — he doesn't exactly have the cleanest record with women, but he cares about her, too, a lot, and he knows she'd be shattered if she found out about Joe; another reason Tom needs to keep this between them, but Joe doesn't see it that way, or won't.
Joe's fingers are teasing up the bottom of Tom's thighs, dipping under the hem of his boxers, just touching lightly, and Tom does what he always does: tells himself he'll talk to Joe about it later, maybe, whenever he thinks of it again when they're not having sex, then he lies back and lets Joe do his thing.
Joe does it, all right, he's a blowjob champ even when he's boozing, and Tom's boxers are already wet and stuck to his skin, navy blue against his light thighs and Joe's pale face. The feeling of it makes him want to take them off but it's so good at the same time, and Joe's breath is hot and ragged already as he licks, and he gets even more into it when Tom starts making noises and petting his hair.
Joe's lips are all wet, tongue sticking out and swirling around on Tom's cock, eyes almost closed and totally focused on what he's doing; he's tensing, legs moving on their own to open and pull Joe in closer, and he's going to come in his shorts if Joe doesn't get on with it. He says as much, but all he gets is a wicked grin in response and Joe opens his mouth wide and goes down on him, sucks him, dick restricted by the sodden cotton but trying so hard to push up into Joe's mouth fully.
It's almost painful how hard Tom is right now, painful because he wants to feel the smooth wetness on the inside of Joe's cheeks and at the back of his tongue, but he realises making him come in his shorts is exactly what Joe's been planning since he started, the minx.
"So hot," Joe mumbles around a mouthful of cock, "You're so fuckin hot."
Tom watches him with eyes half-lidded, hips pushing up at Joe's face, and drops his fingers from where he's been touching his lip down to Joe's mouth and touches his lip now.
"You're a bad influence," he says, and Joe sucks Tom's index finger into his mouth beside his cock and makes some kind of growling noise that makes Tom's dick jump in his soaked boxers.
"I swear…" he adds, and his head falls back again, stares at the ceiling while Joe does all kinds of magical things between his legs.
Tom feels fingers on his thighs again, sneaking up the legs of his boxers then tracing around and down to his knees, then up to his chest and down to his stomach and thighs.
Tom doesn't know how it happened, but at some point Joe found a place just under Tom's hips, where they meet his thighs, and it drives Tom into a frenzy of uncontrollable arousal whenever it's touched; naturally Joe exploited it a little at first but then he started using it only under special, undisclosed circumstances that Tom has puzzled over for quite some time.
Apparently right now is one of those situations, because Joe rubs the edge of his thumb across it and Tom's mouth falls open and he's pretty sure he says a lot of filthy shit within the span of a few seconds.
Joe's teeth graze Tom's finger in his mouth and Tom has never been a squirmy lay, not like Joe, but he's squirming right now, so close but still feeling so restricted by his underwear. Fuck, he's hard, he can't even think straight, and his free hand is all over Joe now, touching his shoulder and pulling at his short hair and trying desperately to stay off his own cock.
Joe sucks again, hard, and Tom feels it through his whole body then comes with a low groan, stomach muscles tensing then relaxing, finger slipping out of Joe's mouth.
He feels sticky and warm and like that was the best thing he's ever let happen after putting up an extremely flimsy fight, and Joe looks completely satisfied with himself and still tipsy, eyes dark and face red, cheek resting on Tom's inner thigh. He climbs up on the bed, kisses his way up Tom's chest from his stomach, and rolls over onto his side, curls a bit, with his knees touching Tom's legs, and watches him.
Tom takes a moment to catch his breath, but when he turns to smirk at Joe, he's already asleep, breathing deeply, face relaxed. Tom kisses his forehead before he can stop himself, then rolls out of bed to get rid of his boxers and have a quick shower and doesn't even think about the whole Joe Situation, his life and how messed up it is behind the scenes right now, or what he's going to tell Pnut tomorrow when he's not in his trailer at six AM…
All he thinks about is Joe in his bed and how much he really really likes that idea.