Rating: R
Beta:
celticblade
Warnings: None that I can think of, though it is fictional.
I.
"I never wanted to be in your stupid band, anyway."
Alex gaped at Bob as he threw down his bass-- a gift from Alex himself, on the condition that Bob learned to play it-- and rose from the sofa, turning towards the door of the flat. Just a few moments ago, they'd been in the midst of a lovely conversation, or so Alex had thought.
He'd been explaining to Bob how their search for a fourth member was over. He'd met this bloke at a party-- a strange fellow, Alex thought, very small and easily distracted-- who swore up and down that he could bang a drum like no one's business. And there'd been something about this man, he said, gesturing idly as if the words were right there, hovering in the air around him, ready to be grabbed. Something special, attractive. He had the loveliest, lilting accent and he was cocky and skittish at the same time. People bumped into him, and the bloke-- he was German, he'd explained to Bob, possibly the reason for the oddities-- would look up as if he'd forgotten entirely he was at a party and other people were in the room with him. He'd picked up Alex's vodka and walked into another room with it as if it belonged to him and there was no question about it. When Alex had stopped him, he looked almost taken aback.
"Uh huh," Bob had mumbled, staring down into his drink, and now that Alex thought about it, he could see that Bob hadn't been interested at all. But he'd kept talking.
He went on to describe the scene: himself and this strange man in an equally strange bedroom, the door closing behind them as he approached the bloke, ready to pummel him. But the man begged off after a while, once Alex had him pinned against a wall with nowhere to hide.
"Do you play drums?" Alex had asked. The question came out of nowhere, and Alex didn't know why he even thought to bring it up. There was something about him, he'd reminded Bob.
"Ja," the man answered breathlessly.
Another lock of their gazes and they were wandering towards the bed, and it seemed like the most natural and right thing in the world to simply fall upon it and have at each other. Alex had looked off dreamily as he described to Bob how beautiful the man was. He was sharp-angled in the right places, soft and curvaceous in the others, compact and lithe at the same time. His body responded immediately to every touch, breath and kiss, as if every one of his nerve endings was being held to a lit matchhead. He mumbled to himself, or perhaps to Alex, in slurred German and Alex only knew what some of it meant, but it still sounded divine. And when he flickered his fingertips just so over the man's--
"Stop," Bob had said, raising a hand. "I don't want to hear anymore. Just shut up."
"What?"
"You're an arsehole, you know that? I thought-- I thought you were picking people for the band that you really knew and trusted. Not just... anyone."
"But Bob, we need a drummer, and--"
"You don't understand," he'd answered. Alex flinched. He really didn't.
The door slammed now and Alex sank back into his sofa cushions, wondering what had brought all that on. He'd only been telling his friend a simple story. Perhaps Bob fancied him and was jealous? Could that be?
It could, Alex decided, now that he really thought about it. And it was. It was so obvious.
II.
"Have a nice break?"
Alex gave Bob a quizzical look as he strolled back into the kitchen, bumping shoulders with the other chefs, busy at work. Bob had been ignoring him all week, and now suddenly he was friendly again?
He shrugged and dusted off the front of his jacket before hanging it up on the nearby rack, glancing at Bob's pot of beef stew. "Sure. Nice break."
It had been, too. More than nice. Fantastic. This whole week, while Bob was pretending Alex didn't exist, he'd been seeing this man, this Nicholas. Nick. Just thinking of his name made Alex feel dizzy.,Either he went to Nick's flat or Nick came over. Not a word was ever exchanged after one knocked on the door and the other pulled him across the threshhold, into the embrace of warm, wanting arms. It was all exploration after that. All heat and dampness and desire.
Nick had come by tonight during Alex's break, just as he'd been told to do. He was waiting outside the back door of the restaurant, huddled into himself as he stood against the brick facade, hands buried deep in the pockets of his trousers. His fringe drifted over his eyes until Nick jerked his head to flick it away, then immediately fell back again. Alex had wasted no time in shutting the door and grabbing Nick by the arms, pinning him to the wall again, just like a few nights before.
It was like a repeat performance, but without the hesitation. Their mouths found each other instinctively and their teeth emerged to bite and tug at whatever was available: tongue, lips, flesh. Nick's hands had roamed all over his chest, scratching at the fabric, desperate for the skin that couldn't be revealed, not here. Alex scratched back at Nick's sides, something he'd discovered Nick liked, and Nick's body arched into him with a near perfect curve of his spine. A mewl of pleasure escaped from the German's throat and Alex knew he wanted more.
He'd unbuckled Nick's belt and his own in near record time, pushing his face against the crook of Nick's neck as he hoisted him up and slid their cocks together. Nick dug his nails into Alex's back with one hand and the brick with the other, winding his legs around Alex's waist in a death grip. Their hushed moans filled the air as they'd thrusted and pushed forward, but they weren't loud enough to render Alex oblivious to his surroundings. A door creaked-- the back door of the kitchen-- and he felt a pair of eyes on them, glimpsed shaky fingers curling around the edge, though the rest was unclear, the person hiding well behind the door. But those fingers. Alex recognised those fingers. The same ones that plucked nervously at the strings of his bass guitar, as if the instrument could bite, that held a paintbrush deftly but shook a bit when curled around a wineglass. And a door's edge, apparently.
Nick came first and with a shout, muffled halfway through by Alex's narrow palm across his parched mouth. He was completely unaware they were being watched. Alex had wondered then if Nick would really turn out to be great at the drums, if he would want to be a permanent member of the band. If they kept on like this, there was no telling when Bob would watch them again. Perhaps he would always watch, lurking behind closed doors, touching himself to the sounds of their lovemaking. Alex liked that idea. His train of thought fizzled as he came suddenly, biting down on Nick's shoulder.
"I'm glad," Bob said now, adding spices to his stew. He stirred the concoction slowly and raised the ladle to his lips, blowing on the liquid and tasting it. "You know," he said, in his best thoughtful voice, "I think I want to be in the band after all."
"Thought you might change your mind," Alex replied, smiling.
"Why'd you think that?"
"I know you. I know how you think." He tied his apron strings behind his back in a tight bow and reached for a frying pan. "It was obvious."
Beta:
celticbladeWarnings: None that I can think of, though it is fictional.
I.
"I never wanted to be in your stupid band, anyway."
Alex gaped at Bob as he threw down his bass-- a gift from Alex himself, on the condition that Bob learned to play it-- and rose from the sofa, turning towards the door of the flat. Just a few moments ago, they'd been in the midst of a lovely conversation, or so Alex had thought.
He'd been explaining to Bob how their search for a fourth member was over. He'd met this bloke at a party-- a strange fellow, Alex thought, very small and easily distracted-- who swore up and down that he could bang a drum like no one's business. And there'd been something about this man, he said, gesturing idly as if the words were right there, hovering in the air around him, ready to be grabbed. Something special, attractive. He had the loveliest, lilting accent and he was cocky and skittish at the same time. People bumped into him, and the bloke-- he was German, he'd explained to Bob, possibly the reason for the oddities-- would look up as if he'd forgotten entirely he was at a party and other people were in the room with him. He'd picked up Alex's vodka and walked into another room with it as if it belonged to him and there was no question about it. When Alex had stopped him, he looked almost taken aback.
"Uh huh," Bob had mumbled, staring down into his drink, and now that Alex thought about it, he could see that Bob hadn't been interested at all. But he'd kept talking.
He went on to describe the scene: himself and this strange man in an equally strange bedroom, the door closing behind them as he approached the bloke, ready to pummel him. But the man begged off after a while, once Alex had him pinned against a wall with nowhere to hide.
"Do you play drums?" Alex had asked. The question came out of nowhere, and Alex didn't know why he even thought to bring it up. There was something about him, he'd reminded Bob.
"Ja," the man answered breathlessly.
Another lock of their gazes and they were wandering towards the bed, and it seemed like the most natural and right thing in the world to simply fall upon it and have at each other. Alex had looked off dreamily as he described to Bob how beautiful the man was. He was sharp-angled in the right places, soft and curvaceous in the others, compact and lithe at the same time. His body responded immediately to every touch, breath and kiss, as if every one of his nerve endings was being held to a lit matchhead. He mumbled to himself, or perhaps to Alex, in slurred German and Alex only knew what some of it meant, but it still sounded divine. And when he flickered his fingertips just so over the man's--
"Stop," Bob had said, raising a hand. "I don't want to hear anymore. Just shut up."
"What?"
"You're an arsehole, you know that? I thought-- I thought you were picking people for the band that you really knew and trusted. Not just... anyone."
"But Bob, we need a drummer, and--"
"You don't understand," he'd answered. Alex flinched. He really didn't.
The door slammed now and Alex sank back into his sofa cushions, wondering what had brought all that on. He'd only been telling his friend a simple story. Perhaps Bob fancied him and was jealous? Could that be?
It could, Alex decided, now that he really thought about it. And it was. It was so obvious.
II.
"Have a nice break?"
Alex gave Bob a quizzical look as he strolled back into the kitchen, bumping shoulders with the other chefs, busy at work. Bob had been ignoring him all week, and now suddenly he was friendly again?
He shrugged and dusted off the front of his jacket before hanging it up on the nearby rack, glancing at Bob's pot of beef stew. "Sure. Nice break."
It had been, too. More than nice. Fantastic. This whole week, while Bob was pretending Alex didn't exist, he'd been seeing this man, this Nicholas. Nick. Just thinking of his name made Alex feel dizzy.,Either he went to Nick's flat or Nick came over. Not a word was ever exchanged after one knocked on the door and the other pulled him across the threshhold, into the embrace of warm, wanting arms. It was all exploration after that. All heat and dampness and desire.
Nick had come by tonight during Alex's break, just as he'd been told to do. He was waiting outside the back door of the restaurant, huddled into himself as he stood against the brick facade, hands buried deep in the pockets of his trousers. His fringe drifted over his eyes until Nick jerked his head to flick it away, then immediately fell back again. Alex had wasted no time in shutting the door and grabbing Nick by the arms, pinning him to the wall again, just like a few nights before.
It was like a repeat performance, but without the hesitation. Their mouths found each other instinctively and their teeth emerged to bite and tug at whatever was available: tongue, lips, flesh. Nick's hands had roamed all over his chest, scratching at the fabric, desperate for the skin that couldn't be revealed, not here. Alex scratched back at Nick's sides, something he'd discovered Nick liked, and Nick's body arched into him with a near perfect curve of his spine. A mewl of pleasure escaped from the German's throat and Alex knew he wanted more.
He'd unbuckled Nick's belt and his own in near record time, pushing his face against the crook of Nick's neck as he hoisted him up and slid their cocks together. Nick dug his nails into Alex's back with one hand and the brick with the other, winding his legs around Alex's waist in a death grip. Their hushed moans filled the air as they'd thrusted and pushed forward, but they weren't loud enough to render Alex oblivious to his surroundings. A door creaked-- the back door of the kitchen-- and he felt a pair of eyes on them, glimpsed shaky fingers curling around the edge, though the rest was unclear, the person hiding well behind the door. But those fingers. Alex recognised those fingers. The same ones that plucked nervously at the strings of his bass guitar, as if the instrument could bite, that held a paintbrush deftly but shook a bit when curled around a wineglass. And a door's edge, apparently.
Nick came first and with a shout, muffled halfway through by Alex's narrow palm across his parched mouth. He was completely unaware they were being watched. Alex had wondered then if Nick would really turn out to be great at the drums, if he would want to be a permanent member of the band. If they kept on like this, there was no telling when Bob would watch them again. Perhaps he would always watch, lurking behind closed doors, touching himself to the sounds of their lovemaking. Alex liked that idea. His train of thought fizzled as he came suddenly, biting down on Nick's shoulder.
"I'm glad," Bob said now, adding spices to his stew. He stirred the concoction slowly and raised the ladle to his lips, blowing on the liquid and tasting it. "You know," he said, in his best thoughtful voice, "I think I want to be in the band after all."
"Thought you might change your mind," Alex replied, smiling.
"Why'd you think that?"
"I know you. I know how you think." He tied his apron strings behind his back in a tight bow and reached for a frying pan. "It was obvious."
