Once Sam returned to the Masquerade, he sought Vomas out immediately, reporting that Dominik and Carrie were heading for the doctor because it seemed that she might have gone into (slightly) early labour as a result of her unexpected bump. They exchanged grim expressions before gazing around at the crowd. Sam was perplexed by the reactions he could read on peoples' faces, on the whole. They seemed... offended, incensed, righteously disapproving. It looked to Sam like none of them had ever been to a party where somebody got drunk and disturbed the peace before, yet since most of them were older than time, he sincerely doubted it. He had no idea they were working with such prudes and said as much to Vomas, adding, "Shit, where I come from, when somebody got drunk and started falling over, that meant the party was a success!"
When Vomas just smiled at him and his suddenly-extra-thick accent, he was overwhelmed with affection for the handsome man before him and wondered mentally if they'd be allowed to leave yet. Vomas glanced around, saw that Jake was still present and working on tidying everything up, that everybody seemed to be continuing on about their business, looked at Sam and told him, "Absolutely." With a grin as broad as his mask, Sam took his lover's hand and walked with him to the lift, their eyes locked and promises being silently exchanged.
They were alone in the lift and Vomas didn't waste any time getting their masks off so they could use the time wisely, their lips locked together and bodies thrumming nicely as they presssed each other up against the nearest walls. After a brief stop on Sam's floor and a rolling visit to his apartment (rolling because they found themselves doing a bit of that on Sam's bed and had to stop before they got into the lift naked and dishevelled) so he could get some clothes, they were back in the lift up to Vomas' suite. Even though they'd slept there exclusively since they'd had a discussion about committing to one another, the only thing Sam had brought to stay there was a bottle of shampoo, conditioner and some of his cologne. Every night before they retired he got new clothes for the next night and though it'd been about two weeks of this routine, he didn't mind. It seemed far too soon to push a discussion about co-residence when they only technically lived a few floors apart, though... it would be far more convenient to have some clothes at Vomas' place.
Once they got inside said apartment, however, clothes were the first things that went and the last things on their minds. Sam's fancy outfit made a very pretty, golden line along the carpet leading to Vomas' bed and he was somewhat surprised by the passion and abandon his Irish lover was showing (seeing as he used to be so fastidiously neat - he liked to think it was his own good influence at play, there). Emboldened by Vomas' enthusiasm, Sam directed him to prop himself up against the pillows he arranged against the lattice-style headboard in a mostly sitting position, his legs bent at the knees and feet flat on the mattress. He loved the intensity their masked evening seemed to have fostered and wasn't prepared to sacrifice it by not being able to look into Vomas' eyes while they culminated everything; he climbed onto his eager lover's lap and lowered himself down, gripping the headboard for balance.
At some point that night, Sam had contemplated that their after-party lovemaking would be as graceful and artistic as the outfits and masks they'd both worn. He quickly found the opposite to be true (and he was not sorry at all). He rode Vomas frantically, kissing him hard and using the headboard for leverage while Vomas used one hand to stroke him and the other to guide his ass up and down. It wasn't smooth or perfectly paced, it became wanton and erratic at times and when they climaxed together Sam was very, very close to telling Vomas that he loved him. He stuck to saying he loved the act, though, knowing that - like his clothes moving in - it was too soon... to say, at least. He felt it regardless. So many relationships he'd spoiled by flinging himself in head first and he'd been determined to do better this time, because it felt like it really counted... but that was exactly why he couldn't, it seemed.
Making an offhanded remark about the sex just getting better and better (which it definitely was, with his eager heart involved), Sam dragged Vomas into the shower so they could clean up the mess he'd sprayed all over his lover. He giggled as he pushed his hands through it, over Vomas' chest, making mock-arrogant comments about branding him while they waited for the water to heat up. He also loved that Vomas indulged his silliness. The shower was nowhere near as intense an experience as they'd had in bed, but they spent longer in there, playing and touching and getting clean in the steam, laughing at the silly things that lovers do when they're intoxicated with post-orgasmic bliss and that special drug that only new relationships exude.
When they got back to bed at last, it wasn't too far off dawn but Sam had waited for his chance to speak with Vomas and he took it when it was available. Crawling in between the Irishman's legs, he lay upon his body (carefully), folding his arms on Vomas' ribs and resting his chin on his arms so that he could look up at him leaning against the pillows. "So," he said quietly, a smile playing around his mouth simply because he was looking at someone he loved. His hair had been towelled dry and brushed but there were still plenty of wet strands framing his face and rebelliously poking at his eyelashes, so his head was tilted at an angle that would encourage them to keep out of his eyes while he talked. "You have a brother. What's his name?"
