FIC: Stumbling Into Something (1/1) Bandom
TITLE: Stumbling into Something
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
RATING: R
CHARACTERS: Sean Van Vleet/Tom Conrad
DISCLAIMER: Sean Van Vleet, Tom Conrad or any members of empires or other bands mentioned belong only to themselves. I don't claim them. I don't claim to know them. No harm is intended. I make no profit from this. I just like playing with them.
SUMMARY: Sean takes what he wants.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight for beta.
Sean slams Tom against the wall of the club and bites his lower lip, grinding against him, his dick hard as he thrusts against Tom’s thigh. Tom groans, but the sound is lost in the crash of the headliner, the roar of the crowd. Sean doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that he can taste the copper hint of blood, that Tom is shuddering, that anyone can walk in and see them. The only thing he cares about is the taste of Tom’s mouth as he finally parts his lips and licks at Sean’s teeth.
That’s all it takes for Sean to grab Tom’s wrists and pin them over his head, to feel the cheap metal of his watchband catch in the hairs of his arm. Tom makes a noise as the metal pinches his skin and Sean swallows it like balm for his throat, hot tea with lemon or Maker’s Mark neat.
Tom breaks the kiss, breathing hard. His hair is falling in his eyes, hiding him so Sean can’t see his eyes. Sean leans in and bites Tom’s lip again, earning a gasp and his head tossed back, hair moving so that Sean can see the flash of heat in Tom’s eyes, the need. Sean presses his thigh up, grinding it into the hard bulge of Tom’s dick and breathes into Tom’s mouth. “Say yes.”
Tom nods jerkily and his breath comes in rough pants, falling over Sean’s lips. “Yes.”
Sean growls low in his throat and licks Tom’s jaw, feeling the rough burn of his stubble, sweat and beer and salt all he can taste at first until he swallows the layers down and just tastes Tom over and over again as he bites and sucks his way down Tom’s throat. His thumbs move over Tom’s wrists, his knuckles grazing the concrete wall. Tom’s head is thrown back and his long hair brushes against Sean’s cheek.
Tom’s stubble makes Sean’s lips feel numb, but he can’t stop. He slides his tongue along the sweat-damp collar of Tom’s shirt then licks up the center of his throat over his Adam’s apple. Tom’s eyes are lidded and hot when Sean meets them with his. Sean twists Tom’s wrists, turning his arms and guiding them behind Tom’s back, trapped between his weight and the wall. Tom arches his back, pinning his shoulders back, angling his hips forward. Sean steps back to undo Tom’s jeans, fumbling with the belt, scraping the back of his hand with the prong. “Shit.”
Tom laughs, breathless and low. “C-careful.”
“Fuck careful.” Sean kisses him again, listening to Tom hiss as Sean pushes him harder against the wall. Keeping one hand between them, Sean slides Tom’s zipper down and rubs the hard bulge beneath his boxer-briefs. “Who wants careful?”
“Want you.” Tom growls the words and Sean bites Tom’s lip once more. Sean can feel the skin break, Tom’s dry and cracked lips giving way under the pressure and the tang of blood makes Sean groan, his own blood feeling like it’s boiling. He gets his own jeans undone, working his cock out so he can rub it against Tom’s, sliding it along the cotton of his briefs. “Fu-fuck, Sean.”
“Gettin’ there. Christ.” Sean tugs Tom’s underwear out of the way and then it’s skin on skin, hot and sticky and musky. He shifts his hips and guides his dick against Tom’s, wrapping his hand around them both. His fingers push against the tangle of pubic hair, tugging at it slightly as his fingers curve. Tom gasps and his hips jerk, thrusting his dick hard against Sean’s. “Fuck.”
“C’mon. C’mon.” Tom’s hips keep moving, and Sean squeezes just enough to get Tom to stop, his head falling back again and his eyes going wide. Sean’s tempted to squeeze more, just a bit, but instead he starts thrusting, rocking their hips together, finding the rhythm that they fall into so easily on stage.
He’ll never be used to the feel of Tom’s dick. He’s studied it in faded light and dark corners, tracing his fingers and thumb over the skin until it’s almost unreal, silky smooth around the hard thrust of his arousal, and baby soft when he’s not erect, something Sean can mold like lyrics, shape like a song. He’s felt and sucked and ridden Tom’s cock, knows it as well as anyone not-Tom can, but it still surprises him with the hard ridge and the smooth tip, the unevenness of the slit, the left side slightly higher than the right where his thumb catches when he strokes him.
He works his free hand between them, cupping Tom’s balls, feeling the weight of them in his palm. Tom whines low, the sound coming from his chest, primal and hungry. Sean squeezes them, rolling them against his fingers. The whine fades to a shallow breath and Sean squeezes again, balls and cock, both hands closing tighter around Tom’s skin. His own hips stutter when Tom’s do, falling out of rhythm for a moment before they catch it again, the squeak of guitar strings or a slightly off note. Sean presses his middle finger against Tom’s perineum, and Tom rises on his toes, the rubber of his deck shoes squeaking against the linoleum as he twists his body slightly. “S-sean. S-s-sean. Fuck.”
His voice, broken and raw, breaks something inside Sean, like a knife severing his hold on his self-control. His hips jerk forward and he tugs Tom’s balls down like a counterbalance as he starts thrusting, hard and steady, slick skin growing wetter and stickier in the too-hot back room. He’s not teasing anymore, not seeing how far Tom can go, how long they can last. He wants to be inside him, wants to feel Tom’s body closed around him as he sucks sweat from his skin. He wants to be fucking, getting fucked, but this is all he has, so he grinds his dick into Tom’s, gasping into Tom’s open mouth.
Sean doesn’t beg, doesn’t speak, because words are like glass against his throat, his own breath burning as he sucks it in. Tom’s making noise for both of them, trying to get more friction as he pushes off the wall. Sean can see the strain in his shoulders and knows Tom’s going to ache the entire ride to their next gig, and somehow that’s the thing that breaks him, the thing that pushes him over the edge. He’s not inside him, but Tom’s going to be feeling him with every breath.
Sean comes and Tom follows him over, thick and sticky all over Sean’s hand. Tom slumps backwards, his head hitting the wall and his shoulders relaxing, the sound he makes when they move sending another jolt through Sean’s dick. “Fuck,” Tom drawls slowly, stretching the word out. “Fuck.”
There’s a box of tissues next to the couch, and Sean reaches for it, only managing to grab a handful of sheets. He smears the come around more than cleans it up, but it’s neat enough that he can move, though letting go of Tom takes longer. He eases his hand from around Tom’s balls, flexing his fingers and his wrist and then moves away to grab the tissues. Tom stays slumped against the wall, his breathing uneven. Sean cleans himself up and then hands the box to Tom, watching as he takes a few tissues and swipes at the dark streak of hair on his stomach.
“I was thinking about that new song. What if we tried it a little faster? Bump up the tempo, throw the drums in there sooner?” Tom looks up through his bangs, a small smile on his face. Sean’s not good with the awkward moments, needing to gloss over them with words. He’s never been good with the silences. He flips Tom off and shakes his head, rubbing his mouth with his hand. “Let’s go get a beer, okay?”
“You’re buying.”
“The fuck I am.” Sean laughs and digs a bar chit out of his pocket, flicking it at Tom. "What do you think this is, some sort of date?”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
RATING: R
CHARACTERS: Sean Van Vleet/Tom Conrad
DISCLAIMER: Sean Van Vleet, Tom Conrad or any members of empires or other bands mentioned belong only to themselves. I don't claim them. I don't claim to know them. No harm is intended. I make no profit from this. I just like playing with them.
SUMMARY: Sean takes what he wants.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight for beta.
Sean slams Tom against the wall of the club and bites his lower lip, grinding against him, his dick hard as he thrusts against Tom’s thigh. Tom groans, but the sound is lost in the crash of the headliner, the roar of the crowd. Sean doesn’t care. Doesn’t care that he can taste the copper hint of blood, that Tom is shuddering, that anyone can walk in and see them. The only thing he cares about is the taste of Tom’s mouth as he finally parts his lips and licks at Sean’s teeth.
That’s all it takes for Sean to grab Tom’s wrists and pin them over his head, to feel the cheap metal of his watchband catch in the hairs of his arm. Tom makes a noise as the metal pinches his skin and Sean swallows it like balm for his throat, hot tea with lemon or Maker’s Mark neat.
Tom breaks the kiss, breathing hard. His hair is falling in his eyes, hiding him so Sean can’t see his eyes. Sean leans in and bites Tom’s lip again, earning a gasp and his head tossed back, hair moving so that Sean can see the flash of heat in Tom’s eyes, the need. Sean presses his thigh up, grinding it into the hard bulge of Tom’s dick and breathes into Tom’s mouth. “Say yes.”
Tom nods jerkily and his breath comes in rough pants, falling over Sean’s lips. “Yes.”
Sean growls low in his throat and licks Tom’s jaw, feeling the rough burn of his stubble, sweat and beer and salt all he can taste at first until he swallows the layers down and just tastes Tom over and over again as he bites and sucks his way down Tom’s throat. His thumbs move over Tom’s wrists, his knuckles grazing the concrete wall. Tom’s head is thrown back and his long hair brushes against Sean’s cheek.
Tom’s stubble makes Sean’s lips feel numb, but he can’t stop. He slides his tongue along the sweat-damp collar of Tom’s shirt then licks up the center of his throat over his Adam’s apple. Tom’s eyes are lidded and hot when Sean meets them with his. Sean twists Tom’s wrists, turning his arms and guiding them behind Tom’s back, trapped between his weight and the wall. Tom arches his back, pinning his shoulders back, angling his hips forward. Sean steps back to undo Tom’s jeans, fumbling with the belt, scraping the back of his hand with the prong. “Shit.”
Tom laughs, breathless and low. “C-careful.”
“Fuck careful.” Sean kisses him again, listening to Tom hiss as Sean pushes him harder against the wall. Keeping one hand between them, Sean slides Tom’s zipper down and rubs the hard bulge beneath his boxer-briefs. “Who wants careful?”
“Want you.” Tom growls the words and Sean bites Tom’s lip once more. Sean can feel the skin break, Tom’s dry and cracked lips giving way under the pressure and the tang of blood makes Sean groan, his own blood feeling like it’s boiling. He gets his own jeans undone, working his cock out so he can rub it against Tom’s, sliding it along the cotton of his briefs. “Fu-fuck, Sean.”
“Gettin’ there. Christ.” Sean tugs Tom’s underwear out of the way and then it’s skin on skin, hot and sticky and musky. He shifts his hips and guides his dick against Tom’s, wrapping his hand around them both. His fingers push against the tangle of pubic hair, tugging at it slightly as his fingers curve. Tom gasps and his hips jerk, thrusting his dick hard against Sean’s. “Fuck.”
“C’mon. C’mon.” Tom’s hips keep moving, and Sean squeezes just enough to get Tom to stop, his head falling back again and his eyes going wide. Sean’s tempted to squeeze more, just a bit, but instead he starts thrusting, rocking their hips together, finding the rhythm that they fall into so easily on stage.
He’ll never be used to the feel of Tom’s dick. He’s studied it in faded light and dark corners, tracing his fingers and thumb over the skin until it’s almost unreal, silky smooth around the hard thrust of his arousal, and baby soft when he’s not erect, something Sean can mold like lyrics, shape like a song. He’s felt and sucked and ridden Tom’s cock, knows it as well as anyone not-Tom can, but it still surprises him with the hard ridge and the smooth tip, the unevenness of the slit, the left side slightly higher than the right where his thumb catches when he strokes him.
He works his free hand between them, cupping Tom’s balls, feeling the weight of them in his palm. Tom whines low, the sound coming from his chest, primal and hungry. Sean squeezes them, rolling them against his fingers. The whine fades to a shallow breath and Sean squeezes again, balls and cock, both hands closing tighter around Tom’s skin. His own hips stutter when Tom’s do, falling out of rhythm for a moment before they catch it again, the squeak of guitar strings or a slightly off note. Sean presses his middle finger against Tom’s perineum, and Tom rises on his toes, the rubber of his deck shoes squeaking against the linoleum as he twists his body slightly. “S-sean. S-s-sean. Fuck.”
His voice, broken and raw, breaks something inside Sean, like a knife severing his hold on his self-control. His hips jerk forward and he tugs Tom’s balls down like a counterbalance as he starts thrusting, hard and steady, slick skin growing wetter and stickier in the too-hot back room. He’s not teasing anymore, not seeing how far Tom can go, how long they can last. He wants to be inside him, wants to feel Tom’s body closed around him as he sucks sweat from his skin. He wants to be fucking, getting fucked, but this is all he has, so he grinds his dick into Tom’s, gasping into Tom’s open mouth.
Sean doesn’t beg, doesn’t speak, because words are like glass against his throat, his own breath burning as he sucks it in. Tom’s making noise for both of them, trying to get more friction as he pushes off the wall. Sean can see the strain in his shoulders and knows Tom’s going to ache the entire ride to their next gig, and somehow that’s the thing that breaks him, the thing that pushes him over the edge. He’s not inside him, but Tom’s going to be feeling him with every breath.
Sean comes and Tom follows him over, thick and sticky all over Sean’s hand. Tom slumps backwards, his head hitting the wall and his shoulders relaxing, the sound he makes when they move sending another jolt through Sean’s dick. “Fuck,” Tom drawls slowly, stretching the word out. “Fuck.”
There’s a box of tissues next to the couch, and Sean reaches for it, only managing to grab a handful of sheets. He smears the come around more than cleans it up, but it’s neat enough that he can move, though letting go of Tom takes longer. He eases his hand from around Tom’s balls, flexing his fingers and his wrist and then moves away to grab the tissues. Tom stays slumped against the wall, his breathing uneven. Sean cleans himself up and then hands the box to Tom, watching as he takes a few tissues and swipes at the dark streak of hair on his stomach.
“I was thinking about that new song. What if we tried it a little faster? Bump up the tempo, throw the drums in there sooner?” Tom looks up through his bangs, a small smile on his face. Sean’s not good with the awkward moments, needing to gloss over them with words. He’s never been good with the silences. He flips Tom off and shakes his head, rubbing his mouth with his hand. “Let’s go get a beer, okay?”
“You’re buying.”
“The fuck I am.” Sean laughs and digs a bar chit out of his pocket, flicking it at Tom. "What do you think this is, some sort of date?”