fic: Kane RPS: Johnny Cash and a Bottle of Jack (1/1)
Title: Johnny Cash and a Bottle of Jack
Author: Havenward
Fandom: Kane RPS
Pairing: CK/SC
Rating: NC17
Words: 2888
Note: For my dear elebridith, who bribed me. (I told y'all, I like bribes.) It's pretty straightforward and 'verse free. There's a dash of h/c, but mostly it's getting-together fic, made to order. Enjoy it darlin'! Thanks to ravensword and orphan_project for the read throughs. ♥ Remember! Comments and con-crit are love!
Summary: On stage in the middle of a gig in front of hundreds of fangirls is no place to come to major realizations about life and love. Too bad Steve doesn't have a choice in the matter.
Steve keeps his back to the fair crowd as he tunes his guitar and finds something to fuss with. God knows there’s enough that needs setting up, and it’ll keep him from glancing over his shoulder (again) at the way Christian is working the crowd. Ostensibly the man is setting up, but you don’t have to be on the road with Kane long before you can tell the difference between setting up to get the job done and staring at the tits of the girls in the front row.
Which really, honestly, it shouldn’t piss Steve off like it does. It never had before. Hell, it was like a sport between them, even in the beginning. Only it isn’t like it was then, not now. One stupid little moment on stage and bam.
Fuck. The only consolation was that Christian was as oblivious as ever. He grabs a bottle of water, taking a few gulps as he watches Kane kneeling and leaning forward to listen to some chick who probably couldn’t blush harder if she covered herself in red paint. It’s stupid, and it’s petty, but Steve can’t stop himself from striding over. He does stop himself short of pulling Chris up by his hair and kissing him til he’s so damn weak in the knees he falls off stage, but it’s a near call. Instead he mimes humping his guitar -he knows exactly what that looks like from the ground- and sticks his tongue out. The jig is up when the fangirls start making squeaky noises, but by the time Kane turns around, Steve’s already just smirking and picking at chords.
Christian narrows his eyes though, and watches him for a couple seconds too long. Steve just raises an eyebrow like it’s a challenge and turns deliberately back towards something else on stage that needs fiddling with or tuning. But he can feel his cheeks burning, can feel his heart in his throat. Hell, he can feel the fangirls whispering already, however much it’s his own damn fault. The last thing he needs is Chris putting two and two together now, when they’ve still got a show to do. Or worse, Chris deciding to play gay chicken in the middle of a gig.
That’d be his own damn fault too. God knows they’ve done enough of that shit in the past.
Jay shoots him a look from the other side of the stage, but Steve shrugs it off. He’s got to focus if he’s going to get out of this without fucking up the music instead of just trying to fuck over the greatest friendship in his life. (Cos what Steve needs to do is hit on a straight good ol’ country boy. Maybe he should just write a song called Straight as Johnny Cash and a Bottle of Jack. Add a lost dog and it’d go straight to the top of CMA’s charts for sure.) They’ve got to get off the stage anyway, and he’s got too much time to burn before they’ll be back on stage again and he can tune everything out but the music. He wonders how much anyone buys his bullshit line about just being tired.
They’ve got beer in plastic cups and snacks to pick at from vendors on the fair grounds, so Steve almost thinks he might get away with this for one more night. Almost. Kane’s giving him that look again, like he knows there’s something wrong. He strolls over, making that face he does when he’s trying to find the words. Kane opens his mouth… but Eric grabs him by the arm, saying something about an interview, a quick interview, be done in time for the gig.
Sure. Fine. That’s great. Steve didn’t actually want to deal with this. Or lie. So this is good.
There’s not enough beer in the world. He chugs whatever’s left in his cup and gets another. If it weren’t for the band up before them, Steve’d be up a wall with frustration. At least when they play bars he could get some whiskey. Or flirt with a girl. Or something.
Finally, finally, it’s time to get to business. Bustling about getting ready to go on, getting on stage, the lights, the crowd, the fair out beyond them as the sun starts setting… Finally the energy is right, and Steve lets himself ride it out, lets it all click into place. Christian says hi to the crowd, and they’re already amped. When Chris glances back at him, grinning from ear to ear, Steve’s heart might be back in his throat, but he can’t help grinning back. Because this is it, this is his element, being on stage and making music.
He closes his eyes and gives in to it, lets it wash over him and lets go. For a moment his mind is somewhere else, and there’s nothing but his fingers on the strings, nothing but the sound. Steve can feel Kane beside him, the warmth and the energy, so close he could almost lean into it. It fits, and not just this moment. Not just what happened before, which was so much more shock and lust that lingered. It fits and he wants it, wants it to be more than attraction, wants it to work.
Christian moves away and the song ends. If it weren’t for the fact that the gig was only getting started Steve would have been off the stage in a heartbeat. This was more than he bargained for; it put too much on the line. And he’s supposed to pretend everything’s hunky dory? He’s supposed to put on a show like nothing is different, like he’s not in…
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck…
How he gets through the rest of the concert without flubbing (or dragging Christian off stage, or running until his legs stopped working) Steve has no goddamn clue. He’s sure the only reason the chicks in the front row don’t realize there’s something wrong is that they’re already convinced there’s something going on, and are therefore too busy watching Kane grab himself during the Rule #7 bit. Jason’s giving him that look again, though. Will too. He doesn’t turn around enough to see if Ryan is too, and pretends that the drummer is too busy, y’know, drumming.
Of course, the music has to end sometime, and Steve can’t get off the stage fast enough. He should have taken it easy -it’s not like the guys didn’t all realize something was up already- but this was like sending up flares and lighting a neon sign pointing straight down at him. The fact that it’s harder to shrug off the others than Christian hurts more than it has any right to. It’s what he wanted, isn’t it?
“Alright. If you’re sure, man,” Kane says. And then he’s off wading through fangirls, smiling and chumming it up.
Right. Sure.
Steve heads to the bus. And paces. (It isn’t hiding if he’s pacing. Honest.) He pours himself some whiskey but he puts it down and all but forgets about it. (That’s not true. He doesn’t drink it because he’s spent too long imagining he’d taste it on Chris. On his lips. Inside his mouth… Yeah, he definitely isn’t thinking about that.) The problem is that it’s not what he wants. Not even a little.
“What are you doing?” Steve thumps his head against the cabinets. More than once. It makes for a hell of a pep talk, really. “The fuck are you doing in here.”
Aside from the answer of slowly going mad, he has to face it. He’s hiding. He thinks if he can stall for long enough he’ll stop wanting what he actually fucking wants. Or at least can try.
“Damn.” Cos that’s it, isn’t it? He has to try. But it’s not as though he can try later. Oh no. He’s got to be an idiot about it. Steve wonders vaguely if he’s trying to sabotage himself. There’s no way this ends well, right?
He downs the shot -cos if there’s anything he needs, it’s a little more courage- and heads back out of the bus, heading more or less toward the stage. Steve realizes he’s got no clue where Chris could have ended up by this point. Has he headed out to the fair? Found someplace to drink? Or is he still glad-handing the crowd? The thought makes his heart sink. Kane is probably chatting up a girl, some pretty little thing with nice tits, probably getting her number right now and…
…Walking around… the corner…
“Steve,” Chris says, sounding a little surprised, then looking concerned. “You okay? You look…”
“I need to tell you something.” Ok, not really the best opening ever. He sounds guilty. Or like Kane’s mama died and really, just… Not how he wanted to start, and now Chris is looking at him like he thinks Steve is about to die. Steve scrubs a hand over his face, takes a deep breath and tries again. “If I don’t say this now then I never will, and it’s going to drive me up a fucking wall. Even though I’m pretty sure you’re going to want to beat the shit out of me. I…” Right. This isn’t going to work.
And really, if he’s going to fuck everything up, Steve’s going to make it memorable.
He grabs Christian by the arm and hauls him back towards the bus, away from people, and he’s pretty sure when he shoves Chris up against the side the only reason he doesn’t catch a punch to the face is the fact that he’s too close and Chris is too confused. Steve takes up all Christian’s space, no time to hesitate now, and kisses him. He puts as much intent into it as he dares, tries to make it more emotional than needy.
Honestly he thought he’d be hit by now. But Chris has just sort of gone still. Steve isn’t sure what to make of that, or the way Chris is looking at him when he steps back. He can feel his ears burning and looks away, and he knows he’s going to have to actually say it. Except the words get stuck, even clearing his throat.
“I love you.” The words feel lame leaving Steve’s mouth. There’s a moment of quiet that doesn’t feel anything like just a moment, and Steve’s back to wondering if he should just leave. If he needs to start thinking up excuses for why he can’t play the next gig. Maybe the one after that too. Assuming he can come back at all.
“You’re an idiot.”
Steve had already figured that part out, thanks. Though he couldn’t put his finger on Christian’s tone of voice. Or why he’s grabbing him not… Oh. Oh.
Chris pulls Steve flush against him, fingers digging into his hips as though to anchor Steve there before cupping Steve’s face and claiming his mouth almost breathlessly. “Don’t you dare,” he says when he finally stops to let them breathe, his voice going to gravel with something Steve’s not sure he’s ever heard in Christian’s voice before. Steve can tell from the look in Chris’ eyes, from the way he brushes his thumbs against Steve’s cheeks, that he knew what Steve’d been thinking. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
He wants to say not a chance or couldn’t if I tried, or something better, something meaningful, but he can’t find the words. Steve just shakes his head, partly in response, partly in awe, and all of it a promise. He reaches up, now, just to touch, just to hold. Just to breathe him in for a minute because honestly, he isn’t sure yet this isn’t a dream.
Then again, if this is just a dream… He’s got nothing to lose, no reason to hold back. Steve’s sure Christian sees the smile in his eyes, but it’s only a second, not even a heartbeat, before Steve is kissing him again. It isn’t sweet, or tender, isn’t the expression of things they should have told each other a long time ago. It’s deep and urgent. Hungry with all the wantneednow that Steve had been trying so desperately to suppress. Chris moans against his mouth and tries to pull him closer, as though that’s even possible, hips lifting just a little.
Yeah, kissing him isn’t gonna cut it. And Steve doesn’t particularly feel like waiting, not to find someplace on the bus that’d work and sure as hell not til they’re back at a hotel. (Not that there was any way this was going to be enough, not tonight, not for the next week. Or month. Or maybe ever. But it was a damn good start.) He unlatches Chris’ belt and pulls at the fly before pulling at his own and pushing their jeans just out of the way. The only problem with going to his knees is that he has to stop kissing Christian.
“Wha-” Chris swallows hard enough that Steve can hear it, probably because Steve’s got a hand in his pants. “Here? But we… you… the guys could…”
Steve looks up at him, smirking just a little. He can’t help but notice that Christian’s already hard, that he licks his lips when Steve does. “I know.” He slides a hand up Chris’ cock slowly, making sure Chris can see when he puts a hand in his own pants and pulls himself out.
“Jesus.”
That’s all the permission Steve needs. He licks along the shaft, more a tease than anything else, and almost but not quite brushes his lips over the head before licking down the other side. Steve strokes them both in time, still teasing with licks, then chases his hand wrapped around Chris with his mouth. He could make this last, could draw this out until Christian could be heard on the fairgrounds, until the man is clinging to the side of the bus just to stay upright. And he will. Probably soon.
For now he’ll settle for the way Chris growls, the way Steve can feel it vibrate through him all the way to his cock. The way he fists Steve’s hair with one hand, the other pressed flat against the side of the bus. The way his hips lift in small thrusts, then start to tremble when Steve swirls his tongue over the head and presses against that one spot on the underside. The way Christian’s pupils are blown out with lust and everything else when he looks down at Steve. He could make this last, but he wants this right here, right now.
“Steve,” Chris says, almost a whimper, a plea and a warning all at once. It’s almost enough to tip Steve over the edge right then, but he holds off. Steve opens his throat as he takes Chris deeper into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks and pulls back before taking him in again. “Fuck, Steve, fuck!" Christian pulls almost painfully on Steve’s hair as he comes, spilling down his throat.
Steve swallows compulsively, greedily, until Chris tugs a little weakly on his hair. But Chris doesn’t let go as he pulls away, and Steve lets him tip his head back. His lips parted, panting, Steve is still stroking himself, is still so close. Christian moans again, eyes flicking between Steve’s face and Steve’s hand as it moves and twists. Steve’s breath hitches a little and he almost closes his eyes, almost but not quite; he won’t, can’t look away.
“God, you don’t even…” Chris is still trying just to breathe, his voice pitched just for Steve to hear. “If you could see yourself. Wanna see it… wanna see you fall apart.” The words settle under his skin like fire, the need already coiled low in his belly tickling up and down his spine, making his balls tighten. How could anyone say no to this? To him? “Fuck, c’mon darlin’, come for me.”
And he does, the force of it shuddering through him as he cries out. He doesn’t know if he says Christian’s name, or just cusses, and he gasps, curling forward, his hand still moving until he’s done and empty. Steve realizes he’s leaning hard against Chris’ thigh and Chris is carding his fingers through his hair, chuckling.
“We should… y’know.” Steve pulls himself up and resists the temptation just to press into him again. He even manages to convince himself he needs to fix his pants. And he’s glad Chris does too - he’s pretty sure he’d be incapable of doing anything if the man had left his cock out, looking at him like that, leaning like that. Laughing at him like that. Which really isn’t fair when you think about it.
“C’mon,” Christian says, hooking his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him along back toward the fairgrounds. Steve makes a noise that would’ve been asking why -considering spread out in the bus sounds so much better- but his mouth doesn’t seem to be up to working still. Chris laughs at him again, and it makes him feel a little warm, relaxed. “Cos you’re gonna need to eat somethin’, son, I got plans.”
Author: Havenward
Fandom: Kane RPS
Pairing: CK/SC
Rating: NC17
Words: 2888
Note: For my dear elebridith, who bribed me. (I told y'all, I like bribes.) It's pretty straightforward and 'verse free. There's a dash of h/c, but mostly it's getting-together fic, made to order. Enjoy it darlin'! Thanks to ravensword and orphan_project for the read throughs. ♥ Remember! Comments and con-crit are love!
Summary: On stage in the middle of a gig in front of hundreds of fangirls is no place to come to major realizations about life and love. Too bad Steve doesn't have a choice in the matter.
Steve keeps his back to the fair crowd as he tunes his guitar and finds something to fuss with. God knows there’s enough that needs setting up, and it’ll keep him from glancing over his shoulder (again) at the way Christian is working the crowd. Ostensibly the man is setting up, but you don’t have to be on the road with Kane long before you can tell the difference between setting up to get the job done and staring at the tits of the girls in the front row.
Which really, honestly, it shouldn’t piss Steve off like it does. It never had before. Hell, it was like a sport between them, even in the beginning. Only it isn’t like it was then, not now. One stupid little moment on stage and bam.
Fuck. The only consolation was that Christian was as oblivious as ever. He grabs a bottle of water, taking a few gulps as he watches Kane kneeling and leaning forward to listen to some chick who probably couldn’t blush harder if she covered herself in red paint. It’s stupid, and it’s petty, but Steve can’t stop himself from striding over. He does stop himself short of pulling Chris up by his hair and kissing him til he’s so damn weak in the knees he falls off stage, but it’s a near call. Instead he mimes humping his guitar -he knows exactly what that looks like from the ground- and sticks his tongue out. The jig is up when the fangirls start making squeaky noises, but by the time Kane turns around, Steve’s already just smirking and picking at chords.
Christian narrows his eyes though, and watches him for a couple seconds too long. Steve just raises an eyebrow like it’s a challenge and turns deliberately back towards something else on stage that needs fiddling with or tuning. But he can feel his cheeks burning, can feel his heart in his throat. Hell, he can feel the fangirls whispering already, however much it’s his own damn fault. The last thing he needs is Chris putting two and two together now, when they’ve still got a show to do. Or worse, Chris deciding to play gay chicken in the middle of a gig.
That’d be his own damn fault too. God knows they’ve done enough of that shit in the past.
Jay shoots him a look from the other side of the stage, but Steve shrugs it off. He’s got to focus if he’s going to get out of this without fucking up the music instead of just trying to fuck over the greatest friendship in his life. (Cos what Steve needs to do is hit on a straight good ol’ country boy. Maybe he should just write a song called Straight as Johnny Cash and a Bottle of Jack. Add a lost dog and it’d go straight to the top of CMA’s charts for sure.) They’ve got to get off the stage anyway, and he’s got too much time to burn before they’ll be back on stage again and he can tune everything out but the music. He wonders how much anyone buys his bullshit line about just being tired.
They’ve got beer in plastic cups and snacks to pick at from vendors on the fair grounds, so Steve almost thinks he might get away with this for one more night. Almost. Kane’s giving him that look again, like he knows there’s something wrong. He strolls over, making that face he does when he’s trying to find the words. Kane opens his mouth… but Eric grabs him by the arm, saying something about an interview, a quick interview, be done in time for the gig.
Sure. Fine. That’s great. Steve didn’t actually want to deal with this. Or lie. So this is good.
There’s not enough beer in the world. He chugs whatever’s left in his cup and gets another. If it weren’t for the band up before them, Steve’d be up a wall with frustration. At least when they play bars he could get some whiskey. Or flirt with a girl. Or something.
Finally, finally, it’s time to get to business. Bustling about getting ready to go on, getting on stage, the lights, the crowd, the fair out beyond them as the sun starts setting… Finally the energy is right, and Steve lets himself ride it out, lets it all click into place. Christian says hi to the crowd, and they’re already amped. When Chris glances back at him, grinning from ear to ear, Steve’s heart might be back in his throat, but he can’t help grinning back. Because this is it, this is his element, being on stage and making music.
He closes his eyes and gives in to it, lets it wash over him and lets go. For a moment his mind is somewhere else, and there’s nothing but his fingers on the strings, nothing but the sound. Steve can feel Kane beside him, the warmth and the energy, so close he could almost lean into it. It fits, and not just this moment. Not just what happened before, which was so much more shock and lust that lingered. It fits and he wants it, wants it to be more than attraction, wants it to work.
Christian moves away and the song ends. If it weren’t for the fact that the gig was only getting started Steve would have been off the stage in a heartbeat. This was more than he bargained for; it put too much on the line. And he’s supposed to pretend everything’s hunky dory? He’s supposed to put on a show like nothing is different, like he’s not in…
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck…
How he gets through the rest of the concert without flubbing (or dragging Christian off stage, or running until his legs stopped working) Steve has no goddamn clue. He’s sure the only reason the chicks in the front row don’t realize there’s something wrong is that they’re already convinced there’s something going on, and are therefore too busy watching Kane grab himself during the Rule #7 bit. Jason’s giving him that look again, though. Will too. He doesn’t turn around enough to see if Ryan is too, and pretends that the drummer is too busy, y’know, drumming.
Of course, the music has to end sometime, and Steve can’t get off the stage fast enough. He should have taken it easy -it’s not like the guys didn’t all realize something was up already- but this was like sending up flares and lighting a neon sign pointing straight down at him. The fact that it’s harder to shrug off the others than Christian hurts more than it has any right to. It’s what he wanted, isn’t it?
“Alright. If you’re sure, man,” Kane says. And then he’s off wading through fangirls, smiling and chumming it up.
Right. Sure.
Steve heads to the bus. And paces. (It isn’t hiding if he’s pacing. Honest.) He pours himself some whiskey but he puts it down and all but forgets about it. (That’s not true. He doesn’t drink it because he’s spent too long imagining he’d taste it on Chris. On his lips. Inside his mouth… Yeah, he definitely isn’t thinking about that.) The problem is that it’s not what he wants. Not even a little.
“What are you doing?” Steve thumps his head against the cabinets. More than once. It makes for a hell of a pep talk, really. “The fuck are you doing in here.”
Aside from the answer of slowly going mad, he has to face it. He’s hiding. He thinks if he can stall for long enough he’ll stop wanting what he actually fucking wants. Or at least can try.
“Damn.” Cos that’s it, isn’t it? He has to try. But it’s not as though he can try later. Oh no. He’s got to be an idiot about it. Steve wonders vaguely if he’s trying to sabotage himself. There’s no way this ends well, right?
He downs the shot -cos if there’s anything he needs, it’s a little more courage- and heads back out of the bus, heading more or less toward the stage. Steve realizes he’s got no clue where Chris could have ended up by this point. Has he headed out to the fair? Found someplace to drink? Or is he still glad-handing the crowd? The thought makes his heart sink. Kane is probably chatting up a girl, some pretty little thing with nice tits, probably getting her number right now and…
…Walking around… the corner…
“Steve,” Chris says, sounding a little surprised, then looking concerned. “You okay? You look…”
“I need to tell you something.” Ok, not really the best opening ever. He sounds guilty. Or like Kane’s mama died and really, just… Not how he wanted to start, and now Chris is looking at him like he thinks Steve is about to die. Steve scrubs a hand over his face, takes a deep breath and tries again. “If I don’t say this now then I never will, and it’s going to drive me up a fucking wall. Even though I’m pretty sure you’re going to want to beat the shit out of me. I…” Right. This isn’t going to work.
And really, if he’s going to fuck everything up, Steve’s going to make it memorable.
He grabs Christian by the arm and hauls him back towards the bus, away from people, and he’s pretty sure when he shoves Chris up against the side the only reason he doesn’t catch a punch to the face is the fact that he’s too close and Chris is too confused. Steve takes up all Christian’s space, no time to hesitate now, and kisses him. He puts as much intent into it as he dares, tries to make it more emotional than needy.
Honestly he thought he’d be hit by now. But Chris has just sort of gone still. Steve isn’t sure what to make of that, or the way Chris is looking at him when he steps back. He can feel his ears burning and looks away, and he knows he’s going to have to actually say it. Except the words get stuck, even clearing his throat.
“I love you.” The words feel lame leaving Steve’s mouth. There’s a moment of quiet that doesn’t feel anything like just a moment, and Steve’s back to wondering if he should just leave. If he needs to start thinking up excuses for why he can’t play the next gig. Maybe the one after that too. Assuming he can come back at all.
“You’re an idiot.”
Steve had already figured that part out, thanks. Though he couldn’t put his finger on Christian’s tone of voice. Or why he’s grabbing him not… Oh. Oh.
Chris pulls Steve flush against him, fingers digging into his hips as though to anchor Steve there before cupping Steve’s face and claiming his mouth almost breathlessly. “Don’t you dare,” he says when he finally stops to let them breathe, his voice going to gravel with something Steve’s not sure he’s ever heard in Christian’s voice before. Steve can tell from the look in Chris’ eyes, from the way he brushes his thumbs against Steve’s cheeks, that he knew what Steve’d been thinking. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”
He wants to say not a chance or couldn’t if I tried, or something better, something meaningful, but he can’t find the words. Steve just shakes his head, partly in response, partly in awe, and all of it a promise. He reaches up, now, just to touch, just to hold. Just to breathe him in for a minute because honestly, he isn’t sure yet this isn’t a dream.
Then again, if this is just a dream… He’s got nothing to lose, no reason to hold back. Steve’s sure Christian sees the smile in his eyes, but it’s only a second, not even a heartbeat, before Steve is kissing him again. It isn’t sweet, or tender, isn’t the expression of things they should have told each other a long time ago. It’s deep and urgent. Hungry with all the wantneednow that Steve had been trying so desperately to suppress. Chris moans against his mouth and tries to pull him closer, as though that’s even possible, hips lifting just a little.
Yeah, kissing him isn’t gonna cut it. And Steve doesn’t particularly feel like waiting, not to find someplace on the bus that’d work and sure as hell not til they’re back at a hotel. (Not that there was any way this was going to be enough, not tonight, not for the next week. Or month. Or maybe ever. But it was a damn good start.) He unlatches Chris’ belt and pulls at the fly before pulling at his own and pushing their jeans just out of the way. The only problem with going to his knees is that he has to stop kissing Christian.
“Wha-” Chris swallows hard enough that Steve can hear it, probably because Steve’s got a hand in his pants. “Here? But we… you… the guys could…”
Steve looks up at him, smirking just a little. He can’t help but notice that Christian’s already hard, that he licks his lips when Steve does. “I know.” He slides a hand up Chris’ cock slowly, making sure Chris can see when he puts a hand in his own pants and pulls himself out.
“Jesus.”
That’s all the permission Steve needs. He licks along the shaft, more a tease than anything else, and almost but not quite brushes his lips over the head before licking down the other side. Steve strokes them both in time, still teasing with licks, then chases his hand wrapped around Chris with his mouth. He could make this last, could draw this out until Christian could be heard on the fairgrounds, until the man is clinging to the side of the bus just to stay upright. And he will. Probably soon.
For now he’ll settle for the way Chris growls, the way Steve can feel it vibrate through him all the way to his cock. The way he fists Steve’s hair with one hand, the other pressed flat against the side of the bus. The way his hips lift in small thrusts, then start to tremble when Steve swirls his tongue over the head and presses against that one spot on the underside. The way Christian’s pupils are blown out with lust and everything else when he looks down at Steve. He could make this last, but he wants this right here, right now.
“Steve,” Chris says, almost a whimper, a plea and a warning all at once. It’s almost enough to tip Steve over the edge right then, but he holds off. Steve opens his throat as he takes Chris deeper into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks as he sucks and pulls back before taking him in again. “Fuck, Steve, fuck!" Christian pulls almost painfully on Steve’s hair as he comes, spilling down his throat.
Steve swallows compulsively, greedily, until Chris tugs a little weakly on his hair. But Chris doesn’t let go as he pulls away, and Steve lets him tip his head back. His lips parted, panting, Steve is still stroking himself, is still so close. Christian moans again, eyes flicking between Steve’s face and Steve’s hand as it moves and twists. Steve’s breath hitches a little and he almost closes his eyes, almost but not quite; he won’t, can’t look away.
“God, you don’t even…” Chris is still trying just to breathe, his voice pitched just for Steve to hear. “If you could see yourself. Wanna see it… wanna see you fall apart.” The words settle under his skin like fire, the need already coiled low in his belly tickling up and down his spine, making his balls tighten. How could anyone say no to this? To him? “Fuck, c’mon darlin’, come for me.”
And he does, the force of it shuddering through him as he cries out. He doesn’t know if he says Christian’s name, or just cusses, and he gasps, curling forward, his hand still moving until he’s done and empty. Steve realizes he’s leaning hard against Chris’ thigh and Chris is carding his fingers through his hair, chuckling.
“We should… y’know.” Steve pulls himself up and resists the temptation just to press into him again. He even manages to convince himself he needs to fix his pants. And he’s glad Chris does too - he’s pretty sure he’d be incapable of doing anything if the man had left his cock out, looking at him like that, leaning like that. Laughing at him like that. Which really isn’t fair when you think about it.
“C’mon,” Christian says, hooking his arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulling him along back toward the fairgrounds. Steve makes a noise that would’ve been asking why -considering spread out in the bus sounds so much better- but his mouth doesn’t seem to be up to working still. Chris laughs at him again, and it makes him feel a little warm, relaxed. “Cos you’re gonna need to eat somethin’, son, I got plans.”