Make me Official.
Make Me Official
(I should be asleep but this bunny wouldn't leave me alone.)
Rated nc-17.
Tim might be a little annoyed that he's not official.
(I will die without feedback)
( I don't own anyone, or anything, if I did I would be a very happy girl! It's all lies, lies I tell you!)
.Make me Official.
Fuck it he wanted to hurt him. Wanted to fuck him so hard that he could still feel him even when he’d gone. Wanted him to ache during all the god damn interviews and mother fucking signings that, ‘The Band,’ had to do. Well, fuck it, wasn’t he in the fucking band too?
He looked down at Jared’s bent body, watching his cock force its way through the tight ring of muscle with every thrust of his hips. Sweat dampened the stretch of T-shirt between Jared’s shoulder blades, probably from the gig they’ve just done. They meaning the band and Tim. Not the band, including Tim. No. Always fucking separate. He dug his nails into the tight skin across Jared’s hips, not disappointed to see angry red marks appearing on Jared’s pale skin.
Didn’t he get up every night, wear ridiculous stage outfits and rock his fucking socks off too? Jesus fucking Christ, he had god damn fans! Fan’s who gave him cupcakes and fucking flags!
His hand grasped at Jared’s hair, fingers running through the sweat tangled mess, clasping around a clump of artificial blonde strands. He couldn’t work out what it was, but something about it, about that rebellious streak of blonde through Jared’s otherwise dark hair always drove him fucking wild. He’d watch him on stage, mesmerised as the dark hair parted and gave seductive glances of the blonde beneath it as Jared moved. On stage. Where he wasn’t part of the band.
He knotted his fingers around the hair tightly, sharply tugging it towards him. Jared let out a hiss and Tim snaked his free arm around the smaller mans waist, across prominent hip bones and tight abs and pulled him back, straightening his body, pinning him against his chest and began fucking him with all he had.
He’d left his band for this. Yeah, sure, maybe they weren’t some fucking thirty seconds to mars but at least they were a fucking band. A god damn band. With a bassist. An awesome and fucking valued bassist. What the fuck was he now?
‘Jesus, Tim,’ Jared spat, his voice sounding harsh and strained. He reached out with his arms to find something to grip onto to steady himself against Tim’s incessant thrusting but nothing was in reach. ‘You’re gonna fucking kill us both.’
He twisted his fingers further into Jared’s hair and tugged his head to the side watching as Jared’s hair fell away from his neck and exposed the taut skin across his throat. His lips half curled into a predatory smile as he bit his way across the arch of Jared’s collar bone, along the curve of his neck and up to his ear. ‘If,’ he panted with the effort of his thrusts, ‘you don’t think you can keep up…’
Jared’s breath caught in his throat and his jaw clenched stubbornly. Tim let the half formed sentence hang in the air, covering both of them. With nothing else in reach Jared clung on to the muscled arm around his waist, letting Tim’s body ground him as he took every thrust that Tim gave and attempted to return a few.
Jared’s compliance annoyed the hell out of him. He wanted him to hurt, to be bruised, to know that he was not gonna put up with this, ‘in the band not in the band,’ shit, that he shouldn’t have to. Somehow, he had decided that fucking Jared into making him official would be easier than talking him into it. He was damned if he was going to let the fucker know out loud how much he was pissing him off.
‘Someone seems tense Timmy,’ Jared moaned. ‘Something on your mind?’
His angry reply was punctuated with sharp snaps of his hips, ‘shut the fuck up.’ Even now, the fucker could wind him up. Knew what to say, what buttons to press to get a reaction from him. Gritting his teeth, he pulled harder at the damp hair in his fist. He’d be damned if he was gonna tell the son of a bitch he was pissed at him for not letting him play in his band. Even in his head it sounded fucking pathetic; Please, Jared, let me be in your band. Fucking Tragic. He was not going to beg.
He felt Jared’s hand brush over his arm as it wrapped around the angry erection standing rigid from Jared’s smooth body. ‘Can you see this Tim?’ Jared purred his voice heavy with a Californian drawl. ‘You make me so fucking hard, Tim, Jesus Christ.’ Tim’s thoughts almost dissipated as he watched Jared begin to move his slender fingers across the sensitive skin of his cock, steadily building a rhythm in time to Tim’s thrusts until Jared was seemingly caught between arching into his own hand and pushing back onto Tim.
Sweat travelled down the curve of Jared’s neck, collecting in the tiny hollow of skin above the ridge of his collar bone. Tim sucked on the skin there, tasting sweat, skin and something intoxicatingly Jared. Tim hated him. Truly hated the whiney god damn, motherfucking, son of a bitch. He’d be part of the fucking band if only he’d say so. He was the reason he was nothing. He bit the skin. Hard.
‘Oh God, Tim, fuck…’ Jared’s head rolled further back and his whole body tensed. He looked so fucking beautiful like that; eyes shut, neck arched, brow beading with sweat. He dipped his knees slightly, altering the angle and Jared cried out as Tim brushed over his prostate, once, twice, three times. ‘God Tim, there, just, there.’ Tim felt Jared clench around him, could see Jared’s fist moving furiously across his own cock, the earlier rhythm abandoned and watched as with a guttural moan, Jared came, hard, spilling out of his hand and onto Tim’s arm.
Exhausted and thoroughly fucked, Jared’s body slipped forward uncontrollably but Tim’s hand in his hair held him in place. Wrapping his arm tighter around Jared’s torso Tim continued to fuck him through his orgasm, could feel Jared’s spent body tensing, quivering around him but he continued relentlessly.
‘You like fucking me like this? Like a whore? Like making me take your cock in my ass?’ Jared’s voice was rough, torn over sandpaper, and pure filth.
Tim tried to cover Jared’s mouth, clamp shut and cut off the lascivious voice that taunted him. It was always the same; Tim would fuck him, try to hurt him, to take out all the anger and built up frustration by fucking Jared within an inch of his life and the fucker always fucking took it. The rougher and harder things got, the more Jared seemed to enjoy and it pissed Tim off so fucking much. Tugging his hand free of the knot of blonde hair he clamped his palm over Jared’s lips, not quite quick enough to cut off Jared’s whisper, ‘tell me what you want.’
Tim’s sex- fuddled brain took a minute to process what he had just heard, not entirely sure he actually heard it at all. What he wanted? Jared had asked him what he wanted. What the hell did the dumb shit think he wanted? He wanted him to shut the fuck up. He wanted him to give in to him fucking him and just let himself be fucked. He wanted him to realise that, when it came to fucking, that he was the one in charge, the one controlling things. He wanted him to hurt when he sat down in front of the fans for the next signing as a member of the band, to ache when he moved, to remember that he had fucked him and that he was not there because…
He wanted in. He wanted to be in the god damn stupid fucking band. He was a bassist for god’s sake, a bloody good one and it wasn’t fair that he was being reduced to a nothing.
Thrusting into Jared with all of his might, not caring if he hurt him, but wishing that he did, he felt his breath quicken and a familiar, almost painfully intense restricting sensation curl around his pelvis. What the hell gave Jared, fucking, Leto, the God damn right to be fucking God? What did he want? What the fuck did he think he wanted? With his mouth right on Jared’s ear, and punctuating every word with a vicious thrust he growled, ‘Make. Me. Official.’
With a primal moan that seemed to be torn from his insides, he came, his muscles clenching uncontrollably, his knees buckling as he fucked Jared with one last give it fucking everything thrust.
And for the sweetest of moments the room was still. Sound revolved round nothing except the regaining of breath. Tim watched mesmerised as drips of his sweat fell from his fringe to land against Jared’s skin. He could have sworn Jared’s hand brushed against his, but then again, maybe it didn’t. Maybe it was all just a beautiful misunderstanding.
Jared shifted and freed himself from Tim. Maybe everything was just beautifully misunderstood; maybe fucking Jared was simply just fucking Jared and not some weird power trip or mind game. Maybe he was more that that, maybe he was actually something. Maybe he was actually official. Jared had asked him what he wanted, he had replied so maybe now he had an answer, a definite, yes I want in, Jared would ask him to be official. He bit his lip uncertainly as doubt crept into his sated mind. He hadn’t really said it had he? Not out loud? Not to Jared?
Jared pulled the demin of his jeans up over his slim thighs, moving out of Tim’s arms and buckled his belt. Lazily he ran his hand through his hair in a vain attempt to smooth down what ever disaster Tim’s grip had made of the remains of his style. Then he slowly, but purposefully he stepped away. ‘Band signing,’ he said, making for the door of the changing room. ‘Meet you on the bus when we’re done.’ Then he was gone, shattering Tim’s half formed allusions with the decisive click of the door closing shut.
Well that cleared that up. He wasn’t official. Wasn’t even allowed to make his own fucking decisions. Meet you on the bus? Yeah fucking right.
Bending down slowly, Tim calmly pulled his own jeans up, fumbling with the zipper slightly and then calmly gave up all together with the incomprehensively difficult task of getting his belt to work. He reached into his pocket, digging out a battered cartoon of cigarettes and a scratched disposable lighter. Remembering the no smoking rule he calmly replaced them in his pocket. Then realising that the room was not in his name, but that of the band’s, and that, as he was definitely not a member of the fucking band, no charge would be sent to him, he calmly picked up the nearest ceramic corner lamp and smashed it against the fucking wall.