Pairing:
Alex/Nick
Rating: R. NC-17, really.
Writer:
bachelorettia
Beta:celticblade
Notes: Entirely fictional and untrue in every way.
Alex Kapranos had a dirty little secret. And Paul wasn't telling.
"Oh, come on, Thomson," Nick sneered. "I know you two were a thing. You just said it yourself, Alex has a kinky side. So, what about it? What does he like?"
Paul shook his head, staring down into his pint, his fourth of the evening. He was at the point of drunkenness where hints of scandalous things were slipping out without warning, but he knew to shut his mouth and not make things worse.
"Sorry, Nick, I can't say. I know you're hot for him, but..." He trailed off, grinning like a wolf. Nick scoffed, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated way that told the real story well.
"I am not. This is purely for blackmail material."
"Either way. You'll have to figure it out for yourself, I'm afraid." Paul finished off his pint, sliding his empty glass next to the others they'd accumulated over the course of the evening. They clinked together, a satisfying sound. "I'm heading back to the bus. Ready to come with?"
"Ja, just--" Nick blinked and picked up his own glass, chugging the rest of his beer down with a gasp. "Can't I have a hint? Just one hint, Paul. Come on."
"Oh, fine. But one hint, that's it. Nothing else." Paul stood up and stretched his arms over his face, his brow furrowed in alcohol-muddled thought. Finally, he turned towards the exit of the pub, glancing back at Nick. "Leather."
Nick squinted at the drummer's retreating form before remembering he was meant to leave, too. He stood with a slight wobble and balanced himself against the table's edge before chasing after Paul.
~
Nick was all over the place at soundcheck. Bob gave him a strange look when he messed up his part in "Take Me Out."
"Difficult, yeah? Especially on the eleven thousandth time you play it," Bob said, smirking.
"Shut up," Nick mumbled, turning away. He was still stuck on Paul's "hint," which wasn't much of a hint at all. Leather? That could mean anything. Bondage? Was it bondage? Or did Alex like to dress up all in leather, like those sado-masochist types? They usually had mustaches, didn't they? Alex didn't have a mustache. He looked completely ridiculous with facial hair.
Nick glanced towards the drum riser, where Paul and Alex were talking in hushed voices, laughing quietly and occasionally glancing at him. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and frowned deeply in their direction.
"What? Are you talking about me? Stop talking about me."
"No one's talking about you, sweetheart," Alex replied, laughing. He stepped closer to Nick, adjusting his guitar strap and motioning down to his boots. "Do you like my new boots? Italian leather."
Nick swallowed and looked away, but not fast enough to miss Alex's wink.
~
"I need another hint," Nick whispered in Paul's ear as they left the stage, the roar of the crowd deafening behind them. Paul turned towards him with a look that ranged somewhere between amusement and pity. He wiped at his face with a towel a roadie handed him and then turned away from Nick again.
"Satin," he said.
"Satin? Like bedsheets?"
"Sure." Paul laughed and made his way towards Andy and Bob, already working on a bottle of wine.
~
Nick dreamed of him, of leather binds tied to his wrists, lying glistening and naked and spread eagle on a bed decked in dark satin, his long legs open and face flushed, begging for Nick to take him any way he wanted, preferably hard, hopefully fast, now, right now, he'd never needed anyone more than he needed Nick right now, inside of him, and he licked his lips, unusually pink, licked his slightly crooked teeth, a sheen of sweat sparkling on his sharp, Grecian features, and he lifted his hips insistently, pleading for pleasure, moaning for Nick.
He opened his eyes and realized he'd been grinding against his mattress. There was no time for embarrassment or self-awareness. He bunched his hand in the sheets and kept rocking his hips until relief swept over him.
~
Bob grumbled as he sat down for breakfast, still wiping the crust of sleep from his eyes. He reached for the pot of coffee, pouring himself a cup and ignoring the scone on his plate. Nick slurped at his own coffee, leafing through a newspaper and enjoying the sunshine that filtered in through the windows of the hotel lobby.
"Good morning, sunshine. All set to face the day, I see."
"Fuck off, you queer," Bob huffed, drinking down half of his cup.
"Good one," Nick said, rolling his eyes.
Paul soon joined them at the table, nodding to Nick as he searched through the pile of pastries for a muffin. He found a corn muffin and sat down, pulling off a morsel of it for a quick bite. "You're cheery today, Nick," he said.
"Not really." Nick shrugged, not looking up from his newspaper. "I'm just more of a morning person than you two."
"Mmm, you didn't happen to bring someone to your room last night, did you?" Paul lifted his brow curiously, spooning sugar into his mug and then adding coffee.
"Yeah, right," Bob said. "More like..." He curled his fingers and gestured lewdly next to his crotch in a rather poor simulation of wanking, as far as Nick was concerned. But Paul laughed and so did Bob, cracking his first smile of the morning. "That's more his specialty."
"I get just as much sex as you do," Nick huffed.
"No one gets as much sex as Bob does," Paul sighed. Bob hummed in appreciation of the statement.
"Speak for yourself," a familiar voice said from the doorway. Nick looked up to see Alex swaggering into the room. He ruffled Bob's already mussed curls to a faint whine of protest, and leaned over the table to pluck a scone from the serving tray, his body dangerously close to Nick's. "No one gets as much sex as the lead singer, not even pink-cheeked, angelic Englishmen with foul mouths."
Paul sipped at his coffee, not seeming to notice Nick's visible swallow. "What about slightly greying yet dashing Scottish drummers? Or Germans with classic matinee actor looks?"
"Not even those, I'm afraid," Alex said, spreading jam onto his scone. "Sorry, lads."
Alex stood again, his side brushing against Nick's, who stiffened with the contact. If the singer noticed, he said nothing, merely walked to the other side of the room to examine the paperwork Glen had left for him. He worked on his scone and whistled between bites, hip cocked against the edge of the counter. Bob peered at him and then looked at Nick and Paul, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial volume.
"Speaking of getting sex, someone had the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on his door all night."
"Ja?" Nick whispered, interested to know more. Bob nodded.
"Maybe it was that journo he was talking to after the show. The one with the red hair?"
"I doubt it," Paul said, smirking.
"Why, what do you think he was doing in there all night?"
"Not that."
Nick looked over at Alex, engrossed in his paperwork as he ate his breakfast. He took a bite of his scone and darted his tongue out to lick away a spot of jam on his lip. Nick could swear he saw a pink smear on Alex's skin, even after the jam was gone.
~
"And to my right!" Alex's voice boomed throughout the arena. "And to my right... the man with the classic matinee star looks, with the twinkle in his eye, the devil in disguise, smooth as satin... it's the one, the only, Nicholas McCarthy!"
Nick shut his eyes and strummed his guitar as hard as he could, not daring to look at him, not even one glance.
~
The show was exhausting that night and Nick was too embarrassed to face Paul or Alex. Now he really knew they'd been talking about him. Paul just couldn't bloody keep a secret, could he? Or rather, he could keep all of Alex's secrets, but not just one small one of Nick's. Bastard. Nick was sure even Bob probably knew the entire story by now and Andy too, for that matter, so he quickly made his way through the throng of fans waiting outside the arena and escaped back to the hotel. Once there, he sat himself down at the hotel bar and downed a few glasses of whisky, half-watching a random football game on the overhead telly. It was difficult to pay attention to it, as the commentary was on closed caption, and the words whizzed by too fast for Nick to read before they were gone.
After a while, he checked his watch and figured it was late enough that the rest of the lads had either retired to their rooms or gone out for the evening. Nick rose from his stool with some difficulty, leaving more money than necessary for the bartender, and made his way to the lift, the interior of which was much too bright for one in the morning. He watched the numbers light up sequentially as the lift rose; it seemed to take forever.
He braced himself against the wall for brief intervals as he walked down the corridor to his room. He was fine, he told himself, just a little too much whisky. But really, just fine. Nick looked up when he passed Alex's door, then stepped backwards to face it directly. He had that 'Do Not Disturb' sign on there again. Nick huffed, his hands on his hips as he regarded the sign. Shagging another journo, maybe? But no, Paul had insisted this morning that couldn't be the case, smirking away as he always did these days, knowing what Alex really did behind closed doors when everyone else hadn't a clue. Something with leather. And satin? What kind of stupid hints were those, anyway?
Nick shook his head, feeling defiant. "'Do Not Disturb,' my arse," he muttered. He pulled a credit card from his wallet, and with slightly fumbling hands, jammed it against the lock as he'd trained himself to do years ago, simultaneously twisting the doorknob until it clicked and sent the door flying open with his weight.
"All right, Kapranos, I want to know what you're doing once and for--"
"Nick! Shut the--"
"...Alex?!"
And there he was, their charming, dashing, sometimes masculine lead singer, standing in the middle of his hotel room with a lip gloss applicator held between two slender fingers, his hands and forearms covered in long, black satin gloves to match his black satin knickers, his torso sheathed in a tight, red corset with lace and dangling black ribbons, legs looking glorious in garters, fishnets and thigh-high, lace-up patent leather boots. With heels. Lines of kohl were dark and thick around his eyes. The shock of Nick's sudden entrance had caused him to smudge his lipstick. Pity, that.
"Oh... mein gott," Nick managed, throat dry.
"God, fuck, close the door!"
Nick remained frozen and Alex hissed at him, scurrying to the door in a panic and slamming it shut. He seemed to have no trouble getting around in those heels, Nick noticed. Just how much practice did he have under his belt? Or corset, rather. With those leather boots. Satin gloves. Nick could just hear Paul's voice ringing in his ears with the next inevitable clue: "lace."
"S-so... this is what you do... every night? When y-you're alone...?"
"Nick, for the love of god, don't tell anyone, please." He was pleading, nearly on the verge of begging. Nick swallowed hard. Alex was even taller in those heels. His legs went on forever. "No one knows about this, except Paul, and that's only because... well... you know." Alex squinted, lines of kohl nearly touching. He bit his pink, glossy lip, teeth sinking into ripe fruit. "If the others find out, they'll never-- um. Christ. Nicholas?"
"...Ja?"
"You're... quite hard."
Nick blinked and looked down at his trousers. It was true, he was straining against them, a huge tent visible thanks to this new version of Alex that he would never have even guessed at before: transvestite Alex, wrapped in leather, satin, and lace, like the most enticing gift under the tree on Christmas morning.
He looked up again and licked his lips, pleased when Alex mirrored the gesture.
"Don't kill me for this later," he murmured.
It was partly instinct and partly common sense, that Nick grabbed Alex by his hips and threw him down onto the bed; common sense simply because Alex was too tall in those heels to fuck against the wall. He pounced on the dazed, horizontal singer, pressing against his hip so Alex could feel just how hard he really was.
"Gott, you're too fuckable," Nick growled. Alex lifted his hips, trying to gain some contact between them, digging one of his narrow heels into the bed.
"Nick, please, yes...!"
All the encouragement he needed. Nick attacked Alex's mouth with his own, biting and sucking at his glossy lips, rendering them swollen, their teeth grazing as he plunged his tongue into the Greek's mouth. Alex moaned loudly and clutched at Nick's shirt, overwhelmed, tugging on the buttons until they popped off and scattered across the bed and floor. He raked his short nails down Nick's chest and Nick groaned, retaliating by pushing the corset down enough to reveal Alex's nipples, pinching and coaxing them to stiffness. Alex's hips jumped nearly a mile and Nick brought them back down to the bed, grinding hard against him.
"Dreamed about this-- you," he gasped between desperate kisses. "Begging for me, under me like this... naked, but... this is even-- fuck, this is better..." He palmed Alex through his knickers roughly, loving the heat of Alex's hard and needy cock and its contrast against the cool, soothing feel of the satin. Alex's legs parted as wide as possible as he mewled and groaned for more.
"N-Nick-- Nich'las..."
"Beg for it, pretty little whore," Nick murmured hotly in his ear. He pulled at Alex's fishnets until they tore, the threads of fabric splintering away from his skin. Alex answered with a wail.
"P-please! Fuck, please, fuck me...!"
Nick reached for the nightstand, filtering through Alex's many cosmetics (no wonder his luggage was always so heavy) until he found a condom and a tube of hand cream, a brand they both used after the energy of a show weathered the sensitive skin of their fingers. He forced Alex onto his stomach, who waited limply as Nick shucked off his trousers and pants and prepared himself. He was all too eager to play the damsel in distress, Nick noted, ready to submit at will. Oh, this would be fun. Nick didn't bother removing those pretty knickers, just pushed them aside far enough to enter Alex swiftly and all at once, without warning. Alex nearly thrashed beneath him, crying out.
"FUCK! Nick!"
"Quiet, whore," Nick growled, pinning Alex to the bed as he began to thrust hard, getting out weeks and months, if not years, of pent-up lust for the lanky singer. Alex's back arched beautifully as Nick tugged at his hair, his hips rocking insistently against the silky fabric of his knickers. He pressed his cheek to the bed and Nick drank in the sight of his face, eyeliner smudged and mouth shiny and bruised, hanging agape as he moaned loudly in pleasure.
"N-Nick!" he yelped again as the thrusts were angled sharply, the head of Nick's cock pushing insistently at his prostate. "God, w-want this... want you..."
"Ahh, Alex..."
"H-harder... starker..."
Nick shuddered, forcing himself to hold off on a massive orgasm that was brewing deep in the well of his stomach, sinking down between his legs, and fucked his lover harder and faster, as directed. Alex was clutching at the sheets, rocking to meet Nick's thrusts while humping the mattress, his shoulders shaking as he got dangerously close. So this is what Alex looked like right before orgasm, Nick thought. He wanted to see it again. Again and again.
"Nick-- I'm..."
"Yes... in your knickers, Alex-- soak them..."
"Oh, fuck..."
Alex's lithe body quaked with pleasure as he came hard into his knickers, muffling a sob into the mattress. Just the thought of it, the idea of it, had Nick bucking wildly and climaxing a few moments later, blinded and deafened by the absolute ecstasy of it, tensing and shaking until he realised he was lying on top of Alex. And somehow, his fingers had found their way between Alex's, still sheathed in that black satin. The singer peered up at him with a dazed but satisfied smile.
"Knew you were trying to figure it out," he murmured. "But... didn't know you'd take matters into your own hands."
"Germans are very efficient."
They both laughed tiredly and Nick pulled out, collapsing on the bed and taking Alex into his arms, who smiled an affectionate smile.
"Promise you won't tell?" Alex whispered. Nick kissed his bare shoulder.
"Only if you promise to wear this tomorrow night when you fuck me."
"I'd like nothing more." Alex grinned widely, his makeup still smeared around his mouth. The sight made Nick smile as he closed his eyes.
~
"Oh, god. Now they're both whistling."
Bob squinted as he watched Alex and Nick on opposite sides of the conference room, Nick rifling through the muffins as Alex added sugar and milk to his cup of morning tea. Paul smirked and patted Bob's arm reassuringly.
"I think they both had a bit of fun while you and Andy were out at the pubs last night."
"Did they?" Bob's eyes glimmered with mischief and curiosity as he straightened up in his chair. "Oh, right, your room's right between theirs, isn't it? And the walls are like paper here, you could probably hear everything, couldn't you?"
"Maybe," Paul drawled, sipping at his coffee. "But I'm not talking."
"Oh, come on," Bob whispered, pouting at Paul. "At least tell me who Nick pulled. Or give me a hint. Just one."
Paul's brows lifted in amusement. On the other side of the room, Nick sidled up to Alex, who dabbed at a lingering spot of lip gloss on Nick's cheek. Paul reached for the newspaper on the other end of the table and picked up his bagel.
"All right," he said. "Gloss."
Rating: R. NC-17, really.
Writer:
bachelorettiaBeta:
celticbladeNotes: Entirely fictional and untrue in every way.
Alex Kapranos had a dirty little secret. And Paul wasn't telling.
"Oh, come on, Thomson," Nick sneered. "I know you two were a thing. You just said it yourself, Alex has a kinky side. So, what about it? What does he like?"
Paul shook his head, staring down into his pint, his fourth of the evening. He was at the point of drunkenness where hints of scandalous things were slipping out without warning, but he knew to shut his mouth and not make things worse.
"Sorry, Nick, I can't say. I know you're hot for him, but..." He trailed off, grinning like a wolf. Nick scoffed, rolling his eyes in an exaggerated way that told the real story well.
"I am not. This is purely for blackmail material."
"Either way. You'll have to figure it out for yourself, I'm afraid." Paul finished off his pint, sliding his empty glass next to the others they'd accumulated over the course of the evening. They clinked together, a satisfying sound. "I'm heading back to the bus. Ready to come with?"
"Ja, just--" Nick blinked and picked up his own glass, chugging the rest of his beer down with a gasp. "Can't I have a hint? Just one hint, Paul. Come on."
"Oh, fine. But one hint, that's it. Nothing else." Paul stood up and stretched his arms over his face, his brow furrowed in alcohol-muddled thought. Finally, he turned towards the exit of the pub, glancing back at Nick. "Leather."
Nick squinted at the drummer's retreating form before remembering he was meant to leave, too. He stood with a slight wobble and balanced himself against the table's edge before chasing after Paul.
~
Nick was all over the place at soundcheck. Bob gave him a strange look when he messed up his part in "Take Me Out."
"Difficult, yeah? Especially on the eleven thousandth time you play it," Bob said, smirking.
"Shut up," Nick mumbled, turning away. He was still stuck on Paul's "hint," which wasn't much of a hint at all. Leather? That could mean anything. Bondage? Was it bondage? Or did Alex like to dress up all in leather, like those sado-masochist types? They usually had mustaches, didn't they? Alex didn't have a mustache. He looked completely ridiculous with facial hair.
Nick glanced towards the drum riser, where Paul and Alex were talking in hushed voices, laughing quietly and occasionally glancing at him. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and frowned deeply in their direction.
"What? Are you talking about me? Stop talking about me."
"No one's talking about you, sweetheart," Alex replied, laughing. He stepped closer to Nick, adjusting his guitar strap and motioning down to his boots. "Do you like my new boots? Italian leather."
Nick swallowed and looked away, but not fast enough to miss Alex's wink.
~
"I need another hint," Nick whispered in Paul's ear as they left the stage, the roar of the crowd deafening behind them. Paul turned towards him with a look that ranged somewhere between amusement and pity. He wiped at his face with a towel a roadie handed him and then turned away from Nick again.
"Satin," he said.
"Satin? Like bedsheets?"
"Sure." Paul laughed and made his way towards Andy and Bob, already working on a bottle of wine.
~
Nick dreamed of him, of leather binds tied to his wrists, lying glistening and naked and spread eagle on a bed decked in dark satin, his long legs open and face flushed, begging for Nick to take him any way he wanted, preferably hard, hopefully fast, now, right now, he'd never needed anyone more than he needed Nick right now, inside of him, and he licked his lips, unusually pink, licked his slightly crooked teeth, a sheen of sweat sparkling on his sharp, Grecian features, and he lifted his hips insistently, pleading for pleasure, moaning for Nick.
He opened his eyes and realized he'd been grinding against his mattress. There was no time for embarrassment or self-awareness. He bunched his hand in the sheets and kept rocking his hips until relief swept over him.
~
Bob grumbled as he sat down for breakfast, still wiping the crust of sleep from his eyes. He reached for the pot of coffee, pouring himself a cup and ignoring the scone on his plate. Nick slurped at his own coffee, leafing through a newspaper and enjoying the sunshine that filtered in through the windows of the hotel lobby.
"Good morning, sunshine. All set to face the day, I see."
"Fuck off, you queer," Bob huffed, drinking down half of his cup.
"Good one," Nick said, rolling his eyes.
Paul soon joined them at the table, nodding to Nick as he searched through the pile of pastries for a muffin. He found a corn muffin and sat down, pulling off a morsel of it for a quick bite. "You're cheery today, Nick," he said.
"Not really." Nick shrugged, not looking up from his newspaper. "I'm just more of a morning person than you two."
"Mmm, you didn't happen to bring someone to your room last night, did you?" Paul lifted his brow curiously, spooning sugar into his mug and then adding coffee.
"Yeah, right," Bob said. "More like..." He curled his fingers and gestured lewdly next to his crotch in a rather poor simulation of wanking, as far as Nick was concerned. But Paul laughed and so did Bob, cracking his first smile of the morning. "That's more his specialty."
"I get just as much sex as you do," Nick huffed.
"No one gets as much sex as Bob does," Paul sighed. Bob hummed in appreciation of the statement.
"Speak for yourself," a familiar voice said from the doorway. Nick looked up to see Alex swaggering into the room. He ruffled Bob's already mussed curls to a faint whine of protest, and leaned over the table to pluck a scone from the serving tray, his body dangerously close to Nick's. "No one gets as much sex as the lead singer, not even pink-cheeked, angelic Englishmen with foul mouths."
Paul sipped at his coffee, not seeming to notice Nick's visible swallow. "What about slightly greying yet dashing Scottish drummers? Or Germans with classic matinee actor looks?"
"Not even those, I'm afraid," Alex said, spreading jam onto his scone. "Sorry, lads."
Alex stood again, his side brushing against Nick's, who stiffened with the contact. If the singer noticed, he said nothing, merely walked to the other side of the room to examine the paperwork Glen had left for him. He worked on his scone and whistled between bites, hip cocked against the edge of the counter. Bob peered at him and then looked at Nick and Paul, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial volume.
"Speaking of getting sex, someone had the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on his door all night."
"Ja?" Nick whispered, interested to know more. Bob nodded.
"Maybe it was that journo he was talking to after the show. The one with the red hair?"
"I doubt it," Paul said, smirking.
"Why, what do you think he was doing in there all night?"
"Not that."
Nick looked over at Alex, engrossed in his paperwork as he ate his breakfast. He took a bite of his scone and darted his tongue out to lick away a spot of jam on his lip. Nick could swear he saw a pink smear on Alex's skin, even after the jam was gone.
~
"And to my right!" Alex's voice boomed throughout the arena. "And to my right... the man with the classic matinee star looks, with the twinkle in his eye, the devil in disguise, smooth as satin... it's the one, the only, Nicholas McCarthy!"
Nick shut his eyes and strummed his guitar as hard as he could, not daring to look at him, not even one glance.
~
The show was exhausting that night and Nick was too embarrassed to face Paul or Alex. Now he really knew they'd been talking about him. Paul just couldn't bloody keep a secret, could he? Or rather, he could keep all of Alex's secrets, but not just one small one of Nick's. Bastard. Nick was sure even Bob probably knew the entire story by now and Andy too, for that matter, so he quickly made his way through the throng of fans waiting outside the arena and escaped back to the hotel. Once there, he sat himself down at the hotel bar and downed a few glasses of whisky, half-watching a random football game on the overhead telly. It was difficult to pay attention to it, as the commentary was on closed caption, and the words whizzed by too fast for Nick to read before they were gone.
After a while, he checked his watch and figured it was late enough that the rest of the lads had either retired to their rooms or gone out for the evening. Nick rose from his stool with some difficulty, leaving more money than necessary for the bartender, and made his way to the lift, the interior of which was much too bright for one in the morning. He watched the numbers light up sequentially as the lift rose; it seemed to take forever.
He braced himself against the wall for brief intervals as he walked down the corridor to his room. He was fine, he told himself, just a little too much whisky. But really, just fine. Nick looked up when he passed Alex's door, then stepped backwards to face it directly. He had that 'Do Not Disturb' sign on there again. Nick huffed, his hands on his hips as he regarded the sign. Shagging another journo, maybe? But no, Paul had insisted this morning that couldn't be the case, smirking away as he always did these days, knowing what Alex really did behind closed doors when everyone else hadn't a clue. Something with leather. And satin? What kind of stupid hints were those, anyway?
Nick shook his head, feeling defiant. "'Do Not Disturb,' my arse," he muttered. He pulled a credit card from his wallet, and with slightly fumbling hands, jammed it against the lock as he'd trained himself to do years ago, simultaneously twisting the doorknob until it clicked and sent the door flying open with his weight.
"All right, Kapranos, I want to know what you're doing once and for--"
"Nick! Shut the--"
"...Alex?!"
And there he was, their charming, dashing, sometimes masculine lead singer, standing in the middle of his hotel room with a lip gloss applicator held between two slender fingers, his hands and forearms covered in long, black satin gloves to match his black satin knickers, his torso sheathed in a tight, red corset with lace and dangling black ribbons, legs looking glorious in garters, fishnets and thigh-high, lace-up patent leather boots. With heels. Lines of kohl were dark and thick around his eyes. The shock of Nick's sudden entrance had caused him to smudge his lipstick. Pity, that.
"Oh... mein gott," Nick managed, throat dry.
"God, fuck, close the door!"
Nick remained frozen and Alex hissed at him, scurrying to the door in a panic and slamming it shut. He seemed to have no trouble getting around in those heels, Nick noticed. Just how much practice did he have under his belt? Or corset, rather. With those leather boots. Satin gloves. Nick could just hear Paul's voice ringing in his ears with the next inevitable clue: "lace."
"S-so... this is what you do... every night? When y-you're alone...?"
"Nick, for the love of god, don't tell anyone, please." He was pleading, nearly on the verge of begging. Nick swallowed hard. Alex was even taller in those heels. His legs went on forever. "No one knows about this, except Paul, and that's only because... well... you know." Alex squinted, lines of kohl nearly touching. He bit his pink, glossy lip, teeth sinking into ripe fruit. "If the others find out, they'll never-- um. Christ. Nicholas?"
"...Ja?"
"You're... quite hard."
Nick blinked and looked down at his trousers. It was true, he was straining against them, a huge tent visible thanks to this new version of Alex that he would never have even guessed at before: transvestite Alex, wrapped in leather, satin, and lace, like the most enticing gift under the tree on Christmas morning.
He looked up again and licked his lips, pleased when Alex mirrored the gesture.
"Don't kill me for this later," he murmured.
It was partly instinct and partly common sense, that Nick grabbed Alex by his hips and threw him down onto the bed; common sense simply because Alex was too tall in those heels to fuck against the wall. He pounced on the dazed, horizontal singer, pressing against his hip so Alex could feel just how hard he really was.
"Gott, you're too fuckable," Nick growled. Alex lifted his hips, trying to gain some contact between them, digging one of his narrow heels into the bed.
"Nick, please, yes...!"
All the encouragement he needed. Nick attacked Alex's mouth with his own, biting and sucking at his glossy lips, rendering them swollen, their teeth grazing as he plunged his tongue into the Greek's mouth. Alex moaned loudly and clutched at Nick's shirt, overwhelmed, tugging on the buttons until they popped off and scattered across the bed and floor. He raked his short nails down Nick's chest and Nick groaned, retaliating by pushing the corset down enough to reveal Alex's nipples, pinching and coaxing them to stiffness. Alex's hips jumped nearly a mile and Nick brought them back down to the bed, grinding hard against him.
"Dreamed about this-- you," he gasped between desperate kisses. "Begging for me, under me like this... naked, but... this is even-- fuck, this is better..." He palmed Alex through his knickers roughly, loving the heat of Alex's hard and needy cock and its contrast against the cool, soothing feel of the satin. Alex's legs parted as wide as possible as he mewled and groaned for more.
"N-Nick-- Nich'las..."
"Beg for it, pretty little whore," Nick murmured hotly in his ear. He pulled at Alex's fishnets until they tore, the threads of fabric splintering away from his skin. Alex answered with a wail.
"P-please! Fuck, please, fuck me...!"
Nick reached for the nightstand, filtering through Alex's many cosmetics (no wonder his luggage was always so heavy) until he found a condom and a tube of hand cream, a brand they both used after the energy of a show weathered the sensitive skin of their fingers. He forced Alex onto his stomach, who waited limply as Nick shucked off his trousers and pants and prepared himself. He was all too eager to play the damsel in distress, Nick noted, ready to submit at will. Oh, this would be fun. Nick didn't bother removing those pretty knickers, just pushed them aside far enough to enter Alex swiftly and all at once, without warning. Alex nearly thrashed beneath him, crying out.
"FUCK! Nick!"
"Quiet, whore," Nick growled, pinning Alex to the bed as he began to thrust hard, getting out weeks and months, if not years, of pent-up lust for the lanky singer. Alex's back arched beautifully as Nick tugged at his hair, his hips rocking insistently against the silky fabric of his knickers. He pressed his cheek to the bed and Nick drank in the sight of his face, eyeliner smudged and mouth shiny and bruised, hanging agape as he moaned loudly in pleasure.
"N-Nick!" he yelped again as the thrusts were angled sharply, the head of Nick's cock pushing insistently at his prostate. "God, w-want this... want you..."
"Ahh, Alex..."
"H-harder... starker..."
Nick shuddered, forcing himself to hold off on a massive orgasm that was brewing deep in the well of his stomach, sinking down between his legs, and fucked his lover harder and faster, as directed. Alex was clutching at the sheets, rocking to meet Nick's thrusts while humping the mattress, his shoulders shaking as he got dangerously close. So this is what Alex looked like right before orgasm, Nick thought. He wanted to see it again. Again and again.
"Nick-- I'm..."
"Yes... in your knickers, Alex-- soak them..."
"Oh, fuck..."
Alex's lithe body quaked with pleasure as he came hard into his knickers, muffling a sob into the mattress. Just the thought of it, the idea of it, had Nick bucking wildly and climaxing a few moments later, blinded and deafened by the absolute ecstasy of it, tensing and shaking until he realised he was lying on top of Alex. And somehow, his fingers had found their way between Alex's, still sheathed in that black satin. The singer peered up at him with a dazed but satisfied smile.
"Knew you were trying to figure it out," he murmured. "But... didn't know you'd take matters into your own hands."
"Germans are very efficient."
They both laughed tiredly and Nick pulled out, collapsing on the bed and taking Alex into his arms, who smiled an affectionate smile.
"Promise you won't tell?" Alex whispered. Nick kissed his bare shoulder.
"Only if you promise to wear this tomorrow night when you fuck me."
"I'd like nothing more." Alex grinned widely, his makeup still smeared around his mouth. The sight made Nick smile as he closed his eyes.
~
"Oh, god. Now they're both whistling."
Bob squinted as he watched Alex and Nick on opposite sides of the conference room, Nick rifling through the muffins as Alex added sugar and milk to his cup of morning tea. Paul smirked and patted Bob's arm reassuringly.
"I think they both had a bit of fun while you and Andy were out at the pubs last night."
"Did they?" Bob's eyes glimmered with mischief and curiosity as he straightened up in his chair. "Oh, right, your room's right between theirs, isn't it? And the walls are like paper here, you could probably hear everything, couldn't you?"
"Maybe," Paul drawled, sipping at his coffee. "But I'm not talking."
"Oh, come on," Bob whispered, pouting at Paul. "At least tell me who Nick pulled. Or give me a hint. Just one."
Paul's brows lifted in amusement. On the other side of the room, Nick sidled up to Alex, who dabbed at a lingering spot of lip gloss on Nick's cheek. Paul reached for the newspaper on the other end of the table and picked up his bagel.
"All right," he said. "Gloss."
