Holy handcuffs, Batman! It's a fic!
Title: Ambient light
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Ultimate X-Men
Pairing: Chamber/Skin
Summary: Jono wants. Jono takes.
Notes: Part of the Monotone Photograph series.
It had been a good night, the music flaring and sizzling along his nerves as he played, fingers flying over the strings of the guitar. The swirl and glitter of the club had shone into his eyes, almost blinding him, but the best thing about the whole night was that he’d managed to nag Angelo into coming to watch him play. The Goth scene just wasn’t the bloke’s thing, which he could respect...but he really wanted the Hispanic man to see him play. At least once.
Tonight, Jonothon could feel that he was on fire. In ways other then the way in which he usually was. Even if he was just playing back up guitar. For a band he didn’t belong in. It didn’t matter. Most of the people in the club, they’d been watching him, not the singer who was strutting along the front of the stage. He could feel it in their heads, their want. Projecting at him sex so strongly he was surprised he hadn’t fallen down underneath the psychic weight of all those people, lusting and burning and needing.
What he had done, was developed a raging hard on.
Fuck. At least it didn’t matter here, but the set was dragging at him. He wanted it to be over. He wanted...he wanted, what he really wanted, was to kiss Angelo senseless and taste salt sweat and bite at his nipple to hear him yell and give him the best blowjob he’d ever had until he came in his mouth. He missed so much about having a mouth. It was a toss up on most days what he missed most about it. The depression wanted to drag him down, blackness waiting for him at his feet like a gaping pit he usually flung himself into headfirst, but he resisted. Arched his hips and ground his aching erection against the back of his guitar. Head flung back as his bandages gleamed underneath the almost smoked out lights. He hadn’t worn a shirt over his bandages, trusting to luck and providence to keep them wrapped tight and sheathing his psifire from panicky humans. Or mutants. Who knew any more. A lot of mutants looked just like real humans.
Right up until the point that they didn’t. Bloody hell, even he could pass for human as long as he was wrapped up and the flames were hidden. A bizarre fetishist, maybe, but outwardly, he looked human.
He could see Angelo sitting up the back near the bar, nursing a beer and trying to ignore the crowd. Eyes on him, just him. It was hard not to turn and run sometimes, just before the force of what Ange felt for him. What he thought about him. That he wasn’t a monster, that he was...yeah. Gray skin dull in the moving club lights, flickering with different colours as they fell against him. Looking out of place in his street clothes. Angelo didn’t do clubbing. At least not here, among the leather and satin and silk. Latex. Silver glint of chains and piercings.
Ran a tendril of thought out just to check on him, skimming the surface of his mind lightly as the band crashed into another song. Irritation, boredom, and some healthy appreciation for the way he looked on stage. This was one of the things he had missed about hiding and not performing. The way people watched him. Like he was the only thing on their minds. This wasn’t exactly what he had had...but it was something close to it. He’d take any scraps he could grab. The music was like an electric current, running through him and making him feel something close to alive. Thoughts of the people on the dance floor grabbed him, held him down, wrapped him in themselves and let him feel like he was breathing. Shields basically all crashed and open. Letting himself feel the music, be swept up in it. After all...Ange was here. He’d catch him if he fell too far.
Angelo stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray on the bar, turning away from the stage for a moment. He was so out of place here. This Goth thing, this scene, it wasn’t his. He didn’t even like the music. Why was he doing this again? Oh yeah, right. The guy on the stage with his hands moving across the guitar like it was a lover, head down and long bangs falling across his eyes. The bandages were glistening in the club lights like something wet. It did, he admitted ruefully to himself, make Jono look really good.
The crowd on the floor was undulating like some living thing with too many bodies, light playing over their heads. The clothing, generally, was blacker then he was used to. Darker. When he’d gone out with Torres, the people had been covered in colour. Jono’s world was morbid. Lighting a new cigarette, with a flick of his plastic lighter, he looked back up at the stage. And wondered when the band would be finished playing. Then he could get out of here. The fuck he was paying over eight bucks for a beer. He’d wait until he got home and grab one out of the fridge, gracias. Rubbing his fingers at his temple, he watched Jono, looking past the singer who was swaying and making sensual movements for the crowd. Flirting with them with voice and body.
Jono was better at it.
The burn and the ache was racing through his body like fire, music singing along his veins with its siren call. He wanted what he had had back. Closing his eyes for a moment in the glare of the stage lights, he shimmied to the beat, hips rocking in a mimicry of sex. And felt the thoughts snap to him in a way that really made him sweat. And then the gig was over, the music draining away and leaving him feeling dizzy.
“Good gig,” the lead singer said to him thoughtfully, bright eyes running over Jono and pausing at the erection tenting his black leather pants. Stared. Glanced back up. A grin quirked his mouth and Jono looked away, uncomfortable suddenly. “You want some help taking care of that, sex in latex?”
Jono shook his head no, jerking his head back to the club before holding his left hand up and wiggling his fingers like a newly engaged chickie showing off her ring. Pantomime, this was what he was reduced to. When his words had sung and sparkled once. This dumb mockery was all he had, but it got his point across. Someone waiting in the club. Taken in all seriousness. No time for play on the side.
“So you want us to clear out quick then?” the lead teased, and the female drummer whacked him on the back of the head before pulling him down by the lock of hair dangling by the side of his face for a deep kiss. “Oooh yeah, we’re clearing out. Adios, muchacho. If we need you again, Delia’s got your number.” Mutual grab and grope, before the drummer and the singer stumbled off towards the toilets. They wouldn’t be the only ones there. Jono shook his head, heading to the room they had put the band in.
*Ange, come to the stage door. I told the guy there to let you by.*
Surprise tickled at the edges of his thought, before he felt the train of decision bolt through Angelo’s mind. He’d come. Jono opened the door as he fed the route into Angelo’s head carefully, hoping that nobody would be inside. There was no one, it was empty. Makeup desk covered in discarded eyeliner pencils and makeup compacts of various things. Nothing valuable was left here. It was stupid to leave valuables alone in a club, even in the back rooms. Shrugging his guitar off his shoulder, he put it away in its case, waiting on edge for Angelo to open the door. The pulsing burn of the club hammered through his veins, the tug and pull of the people dancing a few meters away clamoring for his attention.
To Angelo’s surprise, the guy watching the door to the backstage area had waved him on through, before turning out to look again at the shifting, undulating mass of humans on the dancefloor. He padded through the hallways, wincing occasionally as the different viewpoint of Jonothon’s eyes imposed itself over what he saw. Showed him where to go, sure, but it was dizzying. “And a left,” he muttered to himself, finishing up in front of a scarred door. He’d barely put his hand on the doorknob to go inside before the door opened quickly, and Jono’s hand grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt, pulling him inside.
“What’s the hurry, ese?” Angelo asked, teasing but amused as Jono kicked the door closed, elegant hands fumbling at his clothes almost desperately. He wasn’t sure if he approved of this, but he hissed through his teeth as Jono’s hand slid down the front of his pants, cupping his cock. “Ay, Jono!” Obviously today, the Brit was feeling aggressive, and Angelo capitulated, winding his arms around Jonothon’s neck and biting at his earlobe. He felt his knees hit something as Jono backed him up, falling backwards as long fingered hands pushed him down, legs spreading automatically to fit around his lover’s hips. Couch, it was a couch, he thought to himself thankfully as he landed on soft cushions with Jono rubbing a scrap of cheek against his neck, ass propped up on the arm of the sofa. He shifted the grip of his legs on Jono’s waist, pressing his ass up against the bulge in the musician’s leather pants and letting the dark moan reverberate through his head.
*Want you, so bad,* gasping guttural thought as Jono struggled to unbutton the fly on his lover’s khakis with twitchy clumsy fingers that had been flying over guitar strings not even ten minutes ago. Angelo hissed, arching upwards into the brush of white knuckles on his cloth covered erection before batting Jono’s hands away and doing it himself. Wriggle and slide to get them past his hips, pushing them away with the heel of his hand before kicking them off one leg over his sneaker. Sometimes it was a good thing he wore his pants so loose. This was one of those times. *Oh, Ange, oh fuck - *
“Lube, mano, you got some?” Angelo asked as Jono pushed the tight leather clinging to his hips down as quickly as possible. Nodding his head, the dark veil of his bangs dancing with his movements, Jono scrabbled for a moment on the floor near the couch for the jacket he’d had draped over his shoulders when he’d arrived at the club. He unscrewed the cap on the tube, dropping it on the ground and not caring as the slick substance oozed out onto his fingers.
*Need you, god - * Jono pressed the first lubecovered digit to the pucker of Angelo’s ass, watching as the other man tossed his head back and forth on the stained material of the couch, body arching upwards as much as he could manage in the exposed position the Goth had tumbled him into. Hard cock pressed against his stomach, gray skin slick with a faint sheen of sweat as he bit his lip, and Jono couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather be with more. *Two now, pet...* he almost crooned, watching as his lover’s body accepted the invading fingers, opening up around them as he scissored them apart. So fucking tight though, still, around them. Like clinging velvet, hot and tight and lovely. His cock ached, wanting desperately to get in there and he hoped absently that he wasn’t dripping precome all over the front of his leather pants. It was such a bitch to get out and the spots always showed afterwards.
“Dios! Jono!” Angelo snarled through gritted teeth as the burn radiated out from his ass to his cock in the best way. He didn’t bottom that often, and he’d never seen Jono this aggressive before. He liked it. And he really wanted to know what he’d have to do to get this reaction more often. The prospect that someone could open the door to come get their stuff out of the room just added to the pool of heated excitement coursing through his belly and prick, like molten lava in his veins. “Now, Jono! Fuck me!” he cried out as the tips of Jono’s fingers rubbed over his prostate hard, sending electricity shooting everywhere. Maybe not enough prep, not really, but he wanted Jono’s cock in him in the worst way. He moaned in disappointment as the slender fingers withdrew, feeling empty and exposed as he waited for Jono to get his act together. Hopefully quickly, the Hispanic thought as he panted raggedly, waiting and watching.
*Yeah, Ange, yeah.* Jono squeezed more lube into his palm, running his hand over his cock quickly to coat it in slick. Rushed, hurried movements that made him groan at the coolness of the gel on his flesh. *Bloody hell, love,* Jonothon sighed as he slowly rocked his hard cock into the clinging heat of Angelo’s body, feeling the indescribable tightness around his erection with pleasure. He put one hand on the back of the couch to help him keep his balance as he moved, long fingers of his other hand sliding down the tense muscle of Angelo’s thigh to his groin. *You feel sooo good...so tight...*
“Si, te quiero, Jono, amante,” Angelo moaned, breathing heavier as he felt Jonothon’s cock almost splitting him in two as his lover entered him so very fucking slowly. In a little, then out, then in a bit more when what he really wanted was for Jono to just shove himself inside. He wanted to move, to touch Jono, but sprawled like this on the couch, so precariously balanced on the arm, he almost didn’t dare. “Dios, yeah, c’mon, c’mon,” he begged as god fucking finally, Jono’s cock was seated all the way inside. They stayed like that for a moment, before black-painted fingernails dragged gently up the underside of Angelo’s erection from base to tip. “Mierda!” Angelo yelped, hips jerking up into the scratching touch. “You don’t start fucking moving, cabron, and I swear - ay!”
Jono tightened his hold on Angelo’s hip as he started to fuck the man underneath him with hard strokes, flesh meeting flesh with wet smacking noises. Felt Angelo lock his ankles together behind the small of his back as they both shifted to find a position that was better balanced, rubber heels of the sneakers that the gray mutant hadn’t kicked off with his pants rubbing against the sweat running down his skin. Pulled Angelo up further by the grip on his hips so he could get deeper, ash-gray hands pushing at the chair arm behind the Hispanic’s head to try and get himself some better leverage, vainly trying to meet Jono’s thrusts rather then just lying there and taking it.
*Oh yeah Ange, you want it, want me to fuck you - *
“Si, chingame, Jono, Dios, please!”
*All night wanting you watching you watch me - *
Jono shuddered, feeling sweat drip into his eyes as he stared down at Angelo, watching his face, watching the anguished pleasure building. Knowing it was him doing it, and reveling in every sinsoaked second. The golden cross that always hung around Ange’s neck glinted at him, sliding against gray skin and white cotton as Angelo’s head thrashed back and forth on the torn fabric that covered the couch. Bounce and shudder of the muscles in his legs, running down to the almost smooth plane of his stomach, cock hard and leaking against him as Jono’s fingers clutched at his hip, trying to almost meld himself with his lover by the power of his rhythmic thrusts.
The lure and pull of the sparkling minds in the club lost their allure completely, as he wrapped himself up completely in the warm comfort of Angelo’s mind. Currently on fire with lust. It made Jono want to shudder and shake as his fingers left indents on Angelo’s skin, pushing himself in harder to the clutching heat of his lover’s ass. Tight, so fucking tight. Knowing he’d been the only one, ever, ever made it better, made him feel like God in some way. Knowing that he was the only one Angelo would let go of his upbringing for, would relax the fucking shield of machismo that he held up around himself and showed to the world, relax enough to just feel what Jono was doing to him.
Angelo moaned, low and continuously now, gasping for breath every time Jono’s hips slammed against his ass. Driving his cock in so deep he could have sworn he could taste it in the back of his mouth. Hard and long and so good, so right. Perfection. Incubus in black bandages and black leather with an eyeliner problem and selfimage issues, with gorgeous hands and a hard cock, beautiful eyes. Such eyes. An addiction he couldn’t give up, Jono’s body over his or under his, inside him, touch of his skin and calloused fingertips skating over his erection before long musician’s fingers closed around his aching cock and started to jerk him off.
And the link opened up like a thunderbolt, thoughts blending at the edges to the point where he wasn’t always sure if they came from him or Jono. Rollercoaster of feeling, and sex and everything that was them in one wild package, delivered direct to his cortex. Everything Jono felt. Everything he felt.
*JonojonojonoYES*
*NeedyouallthetimeSObad*
*WANTyoualways*
*AngebloodyChrist!*
Jonothon’s back stiffened as he came, eyes rolling up in his head as orgasm hit him hard and made the world around him unimportant. Just him, just Angelo, just the blazing fire of ecstasy that had erupted across his body. Nothing else mattered. Collapsed forward, catching himself with one hand splayed across Angelo’s chest. Jerked back into the realm of the thinking as one sneakered foot kicked him sharply in the small of his back. *Ow!*
“Asshole!” Angelo snarled up at him from his prone position on his back, erection dark and leaking against his stomach. Wicked chuckle radiated through his mind before Jono’s fingers closed around his cock again, other hand wandering up to his chest to twist one pebbled nipple. The Hispanic groaned, closing his eyes for a moment as the sharp spark of pain from his nipple seemed to connect straight to his dick. Thrust his hips up into Jono’s pumping hand, feeling the slow trickle of his lover’s seed trailing down the outside of his ass and not caring. Only wanting the brightness that had been promised before the link had snapped suddenly under the pressure of the telepath’s orgasm, leaving him stranded and wanting. Needing. So hard he hurt and oh fuck, oh Christ - “Jono!” Arched up into Jono’s hand, heels of his sneakers scraping down his lover’s back hard as he came, hot sperm shooting over them both. Landing on his t-shirt, Jono’s clubbing clothes.
They were going to go home smelling a lot like whorehouse, he reflected dryly to himself as he slumped back onto the couch, panting for breath as Jono wiped his hand off on the back of the piece of furniture. Ew. Angelo very carefully didn’t think about how much action the couch had probably seen before making a purring sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat. Which earned him another chuckle, warm and rolling through his head as Jonothon fished a wad of Kleenex out of the ever handy jacket and cleaned them both off before zipping himself up carefully.
“I can’t believe no one came in,” Angelo muttered, bringing his legs down from where they’d been dangling off the side of the couch and turning to sit properly, leaning against the back and feeling pleasantly exhausted.
*What makes you think that?* Jono asked, and the other mutant whipped his head around in time to receive a faceful of pants. Angelo pulled the clothing off his face and glared at his lover, who gave him a wide-eyed what now? look. The glare shooting out of the Hispanic’s eyes intensified, and Jono shrugged. *Nobody came in. Get yer pants on, and let’s go home.*
“So romantic, you make my heart soar,” Angelo snarked as he stood up and got back into his loose cargo pants, arranging the hem of his long t-shirt over the waistband. He wiped futilely at the wet splatter pattern that had been left by his come, and then smeared further by Jono trying to clean it up, and resisted the urge to sigh.
Jono put his jacket back on and gathered his stuff up, hoisting the guitar strap back over his head and letting the instrument rest against his back. He opened the door, letting Angelo step out in front of them, and mock-bowed as they were met by a cheer from the throats of the other members of the band Jono had been performing with and a few of the stagecrew as well. All of them grinning.
Angelo wished he could sink through the ground and disappear, mouth gaping and feeling his cheeks get hot with embarrassment.
*Didn’t say nobody listened though,* Jonothon pointed out logically to Angelo alone, before he was holding up his hands to help him dodge his furious lover’s punches. *Hey hey, pet!*
“We gave the sound track an 8, since we could only hear one of you,” the drummer drunkenly proclaimed, holding a bottle of nearly empty beer as she sagged against the male singer. He looked just as drunk, all of the band did while the stage crew were far too distressingly sober for Angelo’s liking. Drunk people forgot things, brushed them off. Sober people knew they were in their right minds. Well, usually. They thought they were in their right minds at least.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Angelo growled, before he let Jono catch his hands and pull him into his chest. Sweet mother of Christ, but he wanted to crawl away and die, but he let the loud laugh ringing through his mind soothe his ire some as the drunk band members bantered to each and at the lovers, stage crew splitting up and moving off back to their jobs. Just to hear Jono laugh, he’d forgive a lot.
But sometime, someday, when Jono least expected it...he’d pay for this.
Just for now, Angelo’d let him laugh.
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Ultimate X-Men
Pairing: Chamber/Skin
Summary: Jono wants. Jono takes.
Notes: Part of the Monotone Photograph series.
It had been a good night, the music flaring and sizzling along his nerves as he played, fingers flying over the strings of the guitar. The swirl and glitter of the club had shone into his eyes, almost blinding him, but the best thing about the whole night was that he’d managed to nag Angelo into coming to watch him play. The Goth scene just wasn’t the bloke’s thing, which he could respect...but he really wanted the Hispanic man to see him play. At least once.
Tonight, Jonothon could feel that he was on fire. In ways other then the way in which he usually was. Even if he was just playing back up guitar. For a band he didn’t belong in. It didn’t matter. Most of the people in the club, they’d been watching him, not the singer who was strutting along the front of the stage. He could feel it in their heads, their want. Projecting at him sex so strongly he was surprised he hadn’t fallen down underneath the psychic weight of all those people, lusting and burning and needing.
What he had done, was developed a raging hard on.
Fuck. At least it didn’t matter here, but the set was dragging at him. He wanted it to be over. He wanted...he wanted, what he really wanted, was to kiss Angelo senseless and taste salt sweat and bite at his nipple to hear him yell and give him the best blowjob he’d ever had until he came in his mouth. He missed so much about having a mouth. It was a toss up on most days what he missed most about it. The depression wanted to drag him down, blackness waiting for him at his feet like a gaping pit he usually flung himself into headfirst, but he resisted. Arched his hips and ground his aching erection against the back of his guitar. Head flung back as his bandages gleamed underneath the almost smoked out lights. He hadn’t worn a shirt over his bandages, trusting to luck and providence to keep them wrapped tight and sheathing his psifire from panicky humans. Or mutants. Who knew any more. A lot of mutants looked just like real humans.
Right up until the point that they didn’t. Bloody hell, even he could pass for human as long as he was wrapped up and the flames were hidden. A bizarre fetishist, maybe, but outwardly, he looked human.
He could see Angelo sitting up the back near the bar, nursing a beer and trying to ignore the crowd. Eyes on him, just him. It was hard not to turn and run sometimes, just before the force of what Ange felt for him. What he thought about him. That he wasn’t a monster, that he was...yeah. Gray skin dull in the moving club lights, flickering with different colours as they fell against him. Looking out of place in his street clothes. Angelo didn’t do clubbing. At least not here, among the leather and satin and silk. Latex. Silver glint of chains and piercings.
Ran a tendril of thought out just to check on him, skimming the surface of his mind lightly as the band crashed into another song. Irritation, boredom, and some healthy appreciation for the way he looked on stage. This was one of the things he had missed about hiding and not performing. The way people watched him. Like he was the only thing on their minds. This wasn’t exactly what he had had...but it was something close to it. He’d take any scraps he could grab. The music was like an electric current, running through him and making him feel something close to alive. Thoughts of the people on the dance floor grabbed him, held him down, wrapped him in themselves and let him feel like he was breathing. Shields basically all crashed and open. Letting himself feel the music, be swept up in it. After all...Ange was here. He’d catch him if he fell too far.
Angelo stubbed out his cigarette on the ashtray on the bar, turning away from the stage for a moment. He was so out of place here. This Goth thing, this scene, it wasn’t his. He didn’t even like the music. Why was he doing this again? Oh yeah, right. The guy on the stage with his hands moving across the guitar like it was a lover, head down and long bangs falling across his eyes. The bandages were glistening in the club lights like something wet. It did, he admitted ruefully to himself, make Jono look really good.
The crowd on the floor was undulating like some living thing with too many bodies, light playing over their heads. The clothing, generally, was blacker then he was used to. Darker. When he’d gone out with Torres, the people had been covered in colour. Jono’s world was morbid. Lighting a new cigarette, with a flick of his plastic lighter, he looked back up at the stage. And wondered when the band would be finished playing. Then he could get out of here. The fuck he was paying over eight bucks for a beer. He’d wait until he got home and grab one out of the fridge, gracias. Rubbing his fingers at his temple, he watched Jono, looking past the singer who was swaying and making sensual movements for the crowd. Flirting with them with voice and body.
Jono was better at it.
The burn and the ache was racing through his body like fire, music singing along his veins with its siren call. He wanted what he had had back. Closing his eyes for a moment in the glare of the stage lights, he shimmied to the beat, hips rocking in a mimicry of sex. And felt the thoughts snap to him in a way that really made him sweat. And then the gig was over, the music draining away and leaving him feeling dizzy.
“Good gig,” the lead singer said to him thoughtfully, bright eyes running over Jono and pausing at the erection tenting his black leather pants. Stared. Glanced back up. A grin quirked his mouth and Jono looked away, uncomfortable suddenly. “You want some help taking care of that, sex in latex?”
Jono shook his head no, jerking his head back to the club before holding his left hand up and wiggling his fingers like a newly engaged chickie showing off her ring. Pantomime, this was what he was reduced to. When his words had sung and sparkled once. This dumb mockery was all he had, but it got his point across. Someone waiting in the club. Taken in all seriousness. No time for play on the side.
“So you want us to clear out quick then?” the lead teased, and the female drummer whacked him on the back of the head before pulling him down by the lock of hair dangling by the side of his face for a deep kiss. “Oooh yeah, we’re clearing out. Adios, muchacho. If we need you again, Delia’s got your number.” Mutual grab and grope, before the drummer and the singer stumbled off towards the toilets. They wouldn’t be the only ones there. Jono shook his head, heading to the room they had put the band in.
*Ange, come to the stage door. I told the guy there to let you by.*
Surprise tickled at the edges of his thought, before he felt the train of decision bolt through Angelo’s mind. He’d come. Jono opened the door as he fed the route into Angelo’s head carefully, hoping that nobody would be inside. There was no one, it was empty. Makeup desk covered in discarded eyeliner pencils and makeup compacts of various things. Nothing valuable was left here. It was stupid to leave valuables alone in a club, even in the back rooms. Shrugging his guitar off his shoulder, he put it away in its case, waiting on edge for Angelo to open the door. The pulsing burn of the club hammered through his veins, the tug and pull of the people dancing a few meters away clamoring for his attention.
To Angelo’s surprise, the guy watching the door to the backstage area had waved him on through, before turning out to look again at the shifting, undulating mass of humans on the dancefloor. He padded through the hallways, wincing occasionally as the different viewpoint of Jonothon’s eyes imposed itself over what he saw. Showed him where to go, sure, but it was dizzying. “And a left,” he muttered to himself, finishing up in front of a scarred door. He’d barely put his hand on the doorknob to go inside before the door opened quickly, and Jono’s hand grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt, pulling him inside.
“What’s the hurry, ese?” Angelo asked, teasing but amused as Jono kicked the door closed, elegant hands fumbling at his clothes almost desperately. He wasn’t sure if he approved of this, but he hissed through his teeth as Jono’s hand slid down the front of his pants, cupping his cock. “Ay, Jono!” Obviously today, the Brit was feeling aggressive, and Angelo capitulated, winding his arms around Jonothon’s neck and biting at his earlobe. He felt his knees hit something as Jono backed him up, falling backwards as long fingered hands pushed him down, legs spreading automatically to fit around his lover’s hips. Couch, it was a couch, he thought to himself thankfully as he landed on soft cushions with Jono rubbing a scrap of cheek against his neck, ass propped up on the arm of the sofa. He shifted the grip of his legs on Jono’s waist, pressing his ass up against the bulge in the musician’s leather pants and letting the dark moan reverberate through his head.
*Want you, so bad,* gasping guttural thought as Jono struggled to unbutton the fly on his lover’s khakis with twitchy clumsy fingers that had been flying over guitar strings not even ten minutes ago. Angelo hissed, arching upwards into the brush of white knuckles on his cloth covered erection before batting Jono’s hands away and doing it himself. Wriggle and slide to get them past his hips, pushing them away with the heel of his hand before kicking them off one leg over his sneaker. Sometimes it was a good thing he wore his pants so loose. This was one of those times. *Oh, Ange, oh fuck - *
“Lube, mano, you got some?” Angelo asked as Jono pushed the tight leather clinging to his hips down as quickly as possible. Nodding his head, the dark veil of his bangs dancing with his movements, Jono scrabbled for a moment on the floor near the couch for the jacket he’d had draped over his shoulders when he’d arrived at the club. He unscrewed the cap on the tube, dropping it on the ground and not caring as the slick substance oozed out onto his fingers.
*Need you, god - * Jono pressed the first lubecovered digit to the pucker of Angelo’s ass, watching as the other man tossed his head back and forth on the stained material of the couch, body arching upwards as much as he could manage in the exposed position the Goth had tumbled him into. Hard cock pressed against his stomach, gray skin slick with a faint sheen of sweat as he bit his lip, and Jono couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather be with more. *Two now, pet...* he almost crooned, watching as his lover’s body accepted the invading fingers, opening up around them as he scissored them apart. So fucking tight though, still, around them. Like clinging velvet, hot and tight and lovely. His cock ached, wanting desperately to get in there and he hoped absently that he wasn’t dripping precome all over the front of his leather pants. It was such a bitch to get out and the spots always showed afterwards.
“Dios! Jono!” Angelo snarled through gritted teeth as the burn radiated out from his ass to his cock in the best way. He didn’t bottom that often, and he’d never seen Jono this aggressive before. He liked it. And he really wanted to know what he’d have to do to get this reaction more often. The prospect that someone could open the door to come get their stuff out of the room just added to the pool of heated excitement coursing through his belly and prick, like molten lava in his veins. “Now, Jono! Fuck me!” he cried out as the tips of Jono’s fingers rubbed over his prostate hard, sending electricity shooting everywhere. Maybe not enough prep, not really, but he wanted Jono’s cock in him in the worst way. He moaned in disappointment as the slender fingers withdrew, feeling empty and exposed as he waited for Jono to get his act together. Hopefully quickly, the Hispanic thought as he panted raggedly, waiting and watching.
*Yeah, Ange, yeah.* Jono squeezed more lube into his palm, running his hand over his cock quickly to coat it in slick. Rushed, hurried movements that made him groan at the coolness of the gel on his flesh. *Bloody hell, love,* Jonothon sighed as he slowly rocked his hard cock into the clinging heat of Angelo’s body, feeling the indescribable tightness around his erection with pleasure. He put one hand on the back of the couch to help him keep his balance as he moved, long fingers of his other hand sliding down the tense muscle of Angelo’s thigh to his groin. *You feel sooo good...so tight...*
“Si, te quiero, Jono, amante,” Angelo moaned, breathing heavier as he felt Jonothon’s cock almost splitting him in two as his lover entered him so very fucking slowly. In a little, then out, then in a bit more when what he really wanted was for Jono to just shove himself inside. He wanted to move, to touch Jono, but sprawled like this on the couch, so precariously balanced on the arm, he almost didn’t dare. “Dios, yeah, c’mon, c’mon,” he begged as god fucking finally, Jono’s cock was seated all the way inside. They stayed like that for a moment, before black-painted fingernails dragged gently up the underside of Angelo’s erection from base to tip. “Mierda!” Angelo yelped, hips jerking up into the scratching touch. “You don’t start fucking moving, cabron, and I swear - ay!”
Jono tightened his hold on Angelo’s hip as he started to fuck the man underneath him with hard strokes, flesh meeting flesh with wet smacking noises. Felt Angelo lock his ankles together behind the small of his back as they both shifted to find a position that was better balanced, rubber heels of the sneakers that the gray mutant hadn’t kicked off with his pants rubbing against the sweat running down his skin. Pulled Angelo up further by the grip on his hips so he could get deeper, ash-gray hands pushing at the chair arm behind the Hispanic’s head to try and get himself some better leverage, vainly trying to meet Jono’s thrusts rather then just lying there and taking it.
*Oh yeah Ange, you want it, want me to fuck you - *
“Si, chingame, Jono, Dios, please!”
*All night wanting you watching you watch me - *
Jono shuddered, feeling sweat drip into his eyes as he stared down at Angelo, watching his face, watching the anguished pleasure building. Knowing it was him doing it, and reveling in every sinsoaked second. The golden cross that always hung around Ange’s neck glinted at him, sliding against gray skin and white cotton as Angelo’s head thrashed back and forth on the torn fabric that covered the couch. Bounce and shudder of the muscles in his legs, running down to the almost smooth plane of his stomach, cock hard and leaking against him as Jono’s fingers clutched at his hip, trying to almost meld himself with his lover by the power of his rhythmic thrusts.
The lure and pull of the sparkling minds in the club lost their allure completely, as he wrapped himself up completely in the warm comfort of Angelo’s mind. Currently on fire with lust. It made Jono want to shudder and shake as his fingers left indents on Angelo’s skin, pushing himself in harder to the clutching heat of his lover’s ass. Tight, so fucking tight. Knowing he’d been the only one, ever, ever made it better, made him feel like God in some way. Knowing that he was the only one Angelo would let go of his upbringing for, would relax the fucking shield of machismo that he held up around himself and showed to the world, relax enough to just feel what Jono was doing to him.
Angelo moaned, low and continuously now, gasping for breath every time Jono’s hips slammed against his ass. Driving his cock in so deep he could have sworn he could taste it in the back of his mouth. Hard and long and so good, so right. Perfection. Incubus in black bandages and black leather with an eyeliner problem and selfimage issues, with gorgeous hands and a hard cock, beautiful eyes. Such eyes. An addiction he couldn’t give up, Jono’s body over his or under his, inside him, touch of his skin and calloused fingertips skating over his erection before long musician’s fingers closed around his aching cock and started to jerk him off.
And the link opened up like a thunderbolt, thoughts blending at the edges to the point where he wasn’t always sure if they came from him or Jono. Rollercoaster of feeling, and sex and everything that was them in one wild package, delivered direct to his cortex. Everything Jono felt. Everything he felt.
*JonojonojonoYES*
*NeedyouallthetimeSObad*
*WANTyoualways*
*AngebloodyChrist!*
Jonothon’s back stiffened as he came, eyes rolling up in his head as orgasm hit him hard and made the world around him unimportant. Just him, just Angelo, just the blazing fire of ecstasy that had erupted across his body. Nothing else mattered. Collapsed forward, catching himself with one hand splayed across Angelo’s chest. Jerked back into the realm of the thinking as one sneakered foot kicked him sharply in the small of his back. *Ow!*
“Asshole!” Angelo snarled up at him from his prone position on his back, erection dark and leaking against his stomach. Wicked chuckle radiated through his mind before Jono’s fingers closed around his cock again, other hand wandering up to his chest to twist one pebbled nipple. The Hispanic groaned, closing his eyes for a moment as the sharp spark of pain from his nipple seemed to connect straight to his dick. Thrust his hips up into Jono’s pumping hand, feeling the slow trickle of his lover’s seed trailing down the outside of his ass and not caring. Only wanting the brightness that had been promised before the link had snapped suddenly under the pressure of the telepath’s orgasm, leaving him stranded and wanting. Needing. So hard he hurt and oh fuck, oh Christ - “Jono!” Arched up into Jono’s hand, heels of his sneakers scraping down his lover’s back hard as he came, hot sperm shooting over them both. Landing on his t-shirt, Jono’s clubbing clothes.
They were going to go home smelling a lot like whorehouse, he reflected dryly to himself as he slumped back onto the couch, panting for breath as Jono wiped his hand off on the back of the piece of furniture. Ew. Angelo very carefully didn’t think about how much action the couch had probably seen before making a purring sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat. Which earned him another chuckle, warm and rolling through his head as Jonothon fished a wad of Kleenex out of the ever handy jacket and cleaned them both off before zipping himself up carefully.
“I can’t believe no one came in,” Angelo muttered, bringing his legs down from where they’d been dangling off the side of the couch and turning to sit properly, leaning against the back and feeling pleasantly exhausted.
*What makes you think that?* Jono asked, and the other mutant whipped his head around in time to receive a faceful of pants. Angelo pulled the clothing off his face and glared at his lover, who gave him a wide-eyed what now? look. The glare shooting out of the Hispanic’s eyes intensified, and Jono shrugged. *Nobody came in. Get yer pants on, and let’s go home.*
“So romantic, you make my heart soar,” Angelo snarked as he stood up and got back into his loose cargo pants, arranging the hem of his long t-shirt over the waistband. He wiped futilely at the wet splatter pattern that had been left by his come, and then smeared further by Jono trying to clean it up, and resisted the urge to sigh.
Jono put his jacket back on and gathered his stuff up, hoisting the guitar strap back over his head and letting the instrument rest against his back. He opened the door, letting Angelo step out in front of them, and mock-bowed as they were met by a cheer from the throats of the other members of the band Jono had been performing with and a few of the stagecrew as well. All of them grinning.
Angelo wished he could sink through the ground and disappear, mouth gaping and feeling his cheeks get hot with embarrassment.
*Didn’t say nobody listened though,* Jonothon pointed out logically to Angelo alone, before he was holding up his hands to help him dodge his furious lover’s punches. *Hey hey, pet!*
“We gave the sound track an 8, since we could only hear one of you,” the drummer drunkenly proclaimed, holding a bottle of nearly empty beer as she sagged against the male singer. He looked just as drunk, all of the band did while the stage crew were far too distressingly sober for Angelo’s liking. Drunk people forgot things, brushed them off. Sober people knew they were in their right minds. Well, usually. They thought they were in their right minds at least.
“I’m gonna kill you,” Angelo growled, before he let Jono catch his hands and pull him into his chest. Sweet mother of Christ, but he wanted to crawl away and die, but he let the loud laugh ringing through his mind soothe his ire some as the drunk band members bantered to each and at the lovers, stage crew splitting up and moving off back to their jobs. Just to hear Jono laugh, he’d forgive a lot.
But sometime, someday, when Jono least expected it...he’d pay for this.
Just for now, Angelo’d let him laugh.