(no subject)
Title: sur les lèvres des amis
Pairing: Tyson/Toad (background Mike/Chris and Nick/Ty)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1115
Notes: for forevernew because we decided Toad (Kevin "Toad" Saulnier, AAR's keyboardist) speaking French would be insanely hot and that a drunken Tyson would agree. It's a few years since I did French so forgive me if it's a little rusty.
A blur of lights whips past the bus windows, rain cascading down the panes and making everything outside seem that bit sharper. Another playing card flutters across the counter, just shy of its intended destination, as Kevin gives a lazy flick of his wrist. The steady hum of the engine and insistent beat of the rain are making him sleepy. That, along with the four bottles of beer make his whole body feel sort of ...flou.
From somewhere behind him a voice that sounds like it's not quite standing upright squeezes out syllables, "In-ter-dit."
He leans out from the dining table and peers down to the lounge. Tyson has his face pressed up against the window, breath painting the glass, reading signs as they pass them. Mike and Chris appear to have commandeered the back room for their own nefarious purposes and Nick's crashed out on the couch, a blanket thrown over him haphazardly. Tyson's doing, Kevin suspects.
He shuffles past the bunks and climbs up beside Tyson next to the window, the smell of whiskey covering him like a blanket.
"Hey," he yawns as the couch moulds to his shape almost instantly in a soft, leathery hug.
"Hey," Tyson beams down at him lopsidedly.
"What're you doing?"
Tyson frowns, pokes the window. "Readin' these signs. Trying to read these signs. Bilingual sons of bitches."
"Careful," Kevin says, brandishing a finger in what he hopes is a menacing way. "Just because I've been on tour with you for a year doesn't mean you can insult my homeland."
Tyson laughs. "Nah, I'm kidding, man. I love Canadia! And everything in it. Maple syrup, ice hockey, Celine Dion...well, maybe not Celine Dion, but everything else. I just don't do the whole French thing."
Somewhere from the back room a stifled moan escapes and across from them, Nick shuffles in his sleep.
"Sounds like they're having fun," Kevin says, nodding to the closed door.
Tyson doesn't answer, he just squints at the big neon sign the bus has stopped by. Kevin watches Tyson's mouth silently move around the letters as he reads.
"Bienvenue," Kevin says, filling in the sounds for him.
"Wilkommen!" Tyson starts to sing quietly. "Bienvenue! Welcome!"
"Fremder, etranger, stranger," Kevin continues, a slow grin spreading further across his face with every word.
"Glücklich zu sehen," Tyson sings more loudly, turning away from the window, beaming and throwing his arms open.
"Je suis enchante!" Kevin laughs, planting a genteel kiss on Tyson's hand.
"Happy to see you," Tyson carouses, pulling Kevin close.
"Bleibe, reste, stay!" they chorus together, giggles punctuating each note. Tyson's eyes shine, the amber glow of the streetlights highlighting his cheeks and tripping over his smile.
Kevin beams back, laughter escaping his throat with easy grace. Tyson's head flops gently onto his shoulder, cold nose against his neck. The rain beats down on the windows harder and Kevin shivers.
"Dehors c'est hiver," he mutters, watching the water trickle down the glass. Tyson lets out a small noise that sounds somewhere between a growl and a moan that stopped to pick up a sigh en route, breath fluttering hot and shallow across Kevin's skin. Kevin begins to suspect the warm tingling feeling coarsing through his veins is not entirely to do with the alcohol any more.
He hears Tyson mutter something into his neck.
"What?"
"I said it's hot," Tyson says, lifting his head slightly so his mouth is nearer Kevin's ear. "You speaking French, I mean."
"Really?"
"Oui," Tyson breathes, lips brushing over Kevin's jaw.
"Alors, je devrai le faire plus souvent."
Tyson makes a sound again, and this time it's definitely a moan, low in his throat, riding on the shallow hitch of breath that ghosts across Kevin's cheek.
"Shit, Toad," he mutters, eyes heavy and watching Kevin's mouth and he can't help but lean forward. Their lips brush together and bodies press closer, ebb and flow like the tide. And Tyson licks gently at Kevin's bottom lip and into his mouth, tasting, searching. Kevin hears himself groan as Tyson pulls him closer, the taste of whiskey and stale cigarettes still lingering on Tyson's tongue.
Time seems to freezes, yet everything happens so fast and the sensation is making Kevin's head spin. Or maybe it's Tyson's hands wandering over his hips. Kevin can't resist the urge to bite, just a little, and gently tugs at Tyson's bottom lip with his teeth. Tyson seems to appreciate it, grinding their hips together, pleasant friction. It must be several minutes later when they finally separate, fluid motions of entangled limbs.
The now silent space is heavy and solid between them and Kevin feels the need to fill it, says, "I thought you didn't do French."
Tyson just grins, a huff of laughter as he exhales.
Shuffling sounds get to their feet in the back room and a few seconds later, Mike and Chris appear, sly grins, flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Tyson flashes them a slow, sloping smile and stretches out looking for all the world like the Cheshire Cat.
"Have fun?" he asks, still grinning.
"Oh, yeah," Chris crows, his tone so far beyond suggestive it might as well have detailed diagrams and flow charts.
Mike just smiles in a Mike sort of way and sits down next to Nick who stirs ever so slightly.
"I'm guessing you two didn't get up to much, then" Chris says, nodding at the sleepy shape opposite him.
Tyson smiles over at Nick, all the drunken frat boy elements of his grin stripped away and replaced with overwhelming affection.
"Nah, he was exhausted," he says, eyes soft and warm. "But Toad here kept me entertained."
He claps a hand on Kevin's thigh and there's that grin again, as lewd and playful as ever. Kevin just looks down at his lap, smiling.
"Oh, really?" Chris asks, eyebrows threatening to eclipse his hairline. "We should have you sleep on our bus more often, Toad."
"Definitely," Tyson adds, biting at his lip just for a second, like he was trying to remember the feel of Kevin's teeth there. Kevin can still taste the dull musk of cigarette smoke and he feels his cock twitch as he watches Tyson's mouth and the way his pupils dilate greedily. He takes that as his cue to go and fall into one of the bunks.
The others bid him goodnight as he ambles a short way down the bus and clambers onto the nearest clutter free mattress, still fully clothed. The sound of the rain and the gentle lull of voices from the lounge wrap around him gently as he drifts into dreams perfumed by whiskey and cigarettes.
Pairing: Tyson/Toad (background Mike/Chris and Nick/Ty)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1115
Notes: for forevernew because we decided Toad (Kevin "Toad" Saulnier, AAR's keyboardist) speaking French would be insanely hot and that a drunken Tyson would agree. It's a few years since I did French so forgive me if it's a little rusty.
A blur of lights whips past the bus windows, rain cascading down the panes and making everything outside seem that bit sharper. Another playing card flutters across the counter, just shy of its intended destination, as Kevin gives a lazy flick of his wrist. The steady hum of the engine and insistent beat of the rain are making him sleepy. That, along with the four bottles of beer make his whole body feel sort of ...flou.
From somewhere behind him a voice that sounds like it's not quite standing upright squeezes out syllables, "In-ter-dit."
He leans out from the dining table and peers down to the lounge. Tyson has his face pressed up against the window, breath painting the glass, reading signs as they pass them. Mike and Chris appear to have commandeered the back room for their own nefarious purposes and Nick's crashed out on the couch, a blanket thrown over him haphazardly. Tyson's doing, Kevin suspects.
He shuffles past the bunks and climbs up beside Tyson next to the window, the smell of whiskey covering him like a blanket.
"Hey," he yawns as the couch moulds to his shape almost instantly in a soft, leathery hug.
"Hey," Tyson beams down at him lopsidedly.
"What're you doing?"
Tyson frowns, pokes the window. "Readin' these signs. Trying to read these signs. Bilingual sons of bitches."
"Careful," Kevin says, brandishing a finger in what he hopes is a menacing way. "Just because I've been on tour with you for a year doesn't mean you can insult my homeland."
Tyson laughs. "Nah, I'm kidding, man. I love Canadia! And everything in it. Maple syrup, ice hockey, Celine Dion...well, maybe not Celine Dion, but everything else. I just don't do the whole French thing."
Somewhere from the back room a stifled moan escapes and across from them, Nick shuffles in his sleep.
"Sounds like they're having fun," Kevin says, nodding to the closed door.
Tyson doesn't answer, he just squints at the big neon sign the bus has stopped by. Kevin watches Tyson's mouth silently move around the letters as he reads.
"Bienvenue," Kevin says, filling in the sounds for him.
"Wilkommen!" Tyson starts to sing quietly. "Bienvenue! Welcome!"
"Fremder, etranger, stranger," Kevin continues, a slow grin spreading further across his face with every word.
"Glücklich zu sehen," Tyson sings more loudly, turning away from the window, beaming and throwing his arms open.
"Je suis enchante!" Kevin laughs, planting a genteel kiss on Tyson's hand.
"Happy to see you," Tyson carouses, pulling Kevin close.
"Bleibe, reste, stay!" they chorus together, giggles punctuating each note. Tyson's eyes shine, the amber glow of the streetlights highlighting his cheeks and tripping over his smile.
Kevin beams back, laughter escaping his throat with easy grace. Tyson's head flops gently onto his shoulder, cold nose against his neck. The rain beats down on the windows harder and Kevin shivers.
"Dehors c'est hiver," he mutters, watching the water trickle down the glass. Tyson lets out a small noise that sounds somewhere between a growl and a moan that stopped to pick up a sigh en route, breath fluttering hot and shallow across Kevin's skin. Kevin begins to suspect the warm tingling feeling coarsing through his veins is not entirely to do with the alcohol any more.
He hears Tyson mutter something into his neck.
"What?"
"I said it's hot," Tyson says, lifting his head slightly so his mouth is nearer Kevin's ear. "You speaking French, I mean."
"Really?"
"Oui," Tyson breathes, lips brushing over Kevin's jaw.
"Alors, je devrai le faire plus souvent."
Tyson makes a sound again, and this time it's definitely a moan, low in his throat, riding on the shallow hitch of breath that ghosts across Kevin's cheek.
"Shit, Toad," he mutters, eyes heavy and watching Kevin's mouth and he can't help but lean forward. Their lips brush together and bodies press closer, ebb and flow like the tide. And Tyson licks gently at Kevin's bottom lip and into his mouth, tasting, searching. Kevin hears himself groan as Tyson pulls him closer, the taste of whiskey and stale cigarettes still lingering on Tyson's tongue.
Time seems to freezes, yet everything happens so fast and the sensation is making Kevin's head spin. Or maybe it's Tyson's hands wandering over his hips. Kevin can't resist the urge to bite, just a little, and gently tugs at Tyson's bottom lip with his teeth. Tyson seems to appreciate it, grinding their hips together, pleasant friction. It must be several minutes later when they finally separate, fluid motions of entangled limbs.
The now silent space is heavy and solid between them and Kevin feels the need to fill it, says, "I thought you didn't do French."
Tyson just grins, a huff of laughter as he exhales.
Shuffling sounds get to their feet in the back room and a few seconds later, Mike and Chris appear, sly grins, flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Tyson flashes them a slow, sloping smile and stretches out looking for all the world like the Cheshire Cat.
"Have fun?" he asks, still grinning.
"Oh, yeah," Chris crows, his tone so far beyond suggestive it might as well have detailed diagrams and flow charts.
Mike just smiles in a Mike sort of way and sits down next to Nick who stirs ever so slightly.
"I'm guessing you two didn't get up to much, then" Chris says, nodding at the sleepy shape opposite him.
Tyson smiles over at Nick, all the drunken frat boy elements of his grin stripped away and replaced with overwhelming affection.
"Nah, he was exhausted," he says, eyes soft and warm. "But Toad here kept me entertained."
He claps a hand on Kevin's thigh and there's that grin again, as lewd and playful as ever. Kevin just looks down at his lap, smiling.
"Oh, really?" Chris asks, eyebrows threatening to eclipse his hairline. "We should have you sleep on our bus more often, Toad."
"Definitely," Tyson adds, biting at his lip just for a second, like he was trying to remember the feel of Kevin's teeth there. Kevin can still taste the dull musk of cigarette smoke and he feels his cock twitch as he watches Tyson's mouth and the way his pupils dilate greedily. He takes that as his cue to go and fall into one of the bunks.
The others bid him goodnight as he ambles a short way down the bus and clambers onto the nearest clutter free mattress, still fully clothed. The sound of the rain and the gentle lull of voices from the lounge wrap around him gently as he drifts into dreams perfumed by whiskey and cigarettes.