Unto Itself A Higher Law
Title: Unto Itself A Higher Law
Words: 874
Fandom: The Cab/We The Kings (Cash/Hunter)
A/N: Written for schmoop_bingo square neck kisses.
Cash isn't gay, and neither is Hunter. Which is a good thing, because otherwise the way they've been making out for a while now would probably be considered pretty damn gay.
Speaking of, Cash is pretty damn sure he started out this drinking game wearing a shirt.
Hunter leans forward, pressing more against Cash, and luckily, Cash thinks, lucky thing, Hunter lost his shirt somewhere along the way too. Lucky, because otherwise Cash would probably look like an idiot, standing around the bus lot of some random venue without a shirt on. Lucky, he thinks again, slipping his fingers through Hunter's belt loops and pulling his closer. Totally lucky.
Cash starts to make a list of the other things he felt lucky for, but then Hunter brings one hand up, fingers wrapping around the back of Cash's neck and just like, holding him there...Cash kind of forgot what he was trying to do. It wasn't readjusting his feet, spreading his legs so that Hunter could get closer while he bites at Hunter's shoulder. No, that would be gay. Plus he was already standing like that, and Hunter was already really damn close. It's a good thing, he thinks, somewhere off in the back of his mind, that he was already standing like that. A really good thing.
The next thing he knows, his hands are in Hunter's back pockets, and normally Cash would just not even bother to think about that because of the amazing, off-the-charts, early-FOB levels of gay. Except. Except his thumbs have settled on the bare skin just above Hunter's waistband, and it's nice, really nice, this warm strip of muscle that he can feel moving under his fingers. His hands clench a little, just to see, and Hunter breaks the kiss to shudder, breathing heavily as he rests his forehead against Cash's shoulder. The feeling of his breath against Cash's chest feels kind of…
Cash forgets how he's kind-of not gay for a second, pulls one of his hands out of Hunter's pocket but doesn't do anything with it right away. He just leaves it resting on Hunter's back, and then slowly, dragging his fingers over Hunter's hip, he follows the line of Hunter's jeans. He follows it around until his fingertips are pressing against Hunter's stomach, Cash's thumb pressing lightly against the button of his jeans. Hunter lifts his head and kisses his throat once more, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything after that, just stands there, waiting, breathing, and Cash-
Cash's phone beeps at him, loudly, and he blinks. Shit. Bus call. He remembers now, he set his phone with the annoying alarm so he wouldn't forget. Fuck. Bus call, he thinks, now that's gay.
"Bus call," he tells Hunter when he lifts his head, blinking as well.
"Right, right."
They didn't move. After a second Cash drops his hand, and Hunter steps back.
"We should go."
"Yeah," Hunter says. He sounds just the tiniest bit hopeful when he asks, "Hey. Uh... what're you doing tomorrow night?"
Cash grins. "Probably nothing, why?"
"You should come over and drink on our bus again. Bring your band or something."
"Totally."
They stare at each other for a while, Cash grinning and Hunter biting his lip and totally pretending not to grin back. After a second, Hunter bends down, scooping their t-shirts off the ground.
"Don't wanna forget this," he says, holding them out to him, and Cash thinks neither do I. He doesn't take the t-shirt Hunt's offering him, instead he just steps forward and wraps his arms around Hunter's neck and kisses him again, enjoys the warmth coming off of Hunter's skin, even the lingering taste of the shitty beer Danny always bought when it was his turn to buy, the way Hunter's arms came up automatically and-
The sounds of Travis and T-Fair yelling for Hunter, the gravel crunching under their feet, and fuck, what? Oh right. Bus call. Gaaay.
Cash grabs his shirt out of Hunter's hands, hissing "Later!" and taking off as the voices get closer.
It's later that night-not much later, but late enough that the guys deem it appropriate to stick him with the Bitch Bunk, the top one they all have trouble getting into, which also happens to be the one right next to the bathroom-before Cash even realizes he's not wearing his shirt. For one thing, Cash never ever owned a Megadeath shirt (even if he really really wanted one for a few years back in the day, when he wanted to be hardcore), and for another, it totally didn't smell like his shirts. His shirts smell like sweat and deodorant, cigarettes and Marshall's cologne. Hunter's shirt smells like, like-okay, it still smells like his, like sweat, and Hunter's deodorant, and probably Drew's cologne, but.
All that put together, it kind of smells like Hunter.
Okay. Not only wearing another guy's shirt to sleep, but smelling it, Cash thinks, is maybe a little gay. Even if it is cleaner than all of his shirts at the moment. Which is totally the only reason he's even still wearing it in the first place, he thinks to himself, rubbing one hand self-consciously over the front of his neck.
The only reason.
Right.
Words: 874
Fandom: The Cab/We The Kings (Cash/Hunter)
A/N: Written for schmoop_bingo square neck kisses.
Cash isn't gay, and neither is Hunter. Which is a good thing, because otherwise the way they've been making out for a while now would probably be considered pretty damn gay.
Speaking of, Cash is pretty damn sure he started out this drinking game wearing a shirt.
Hunter leans forward, pressing more against Cash, and luckily, Cash thinks, lucky thing, Hunter lost his shirt somewhere along the way too. Lucky, because otherwise Cash would probably look like an idiot, standing around the bus lot of some random venue without a shirt on. Lucky, he thinks again, slipping his fingers through Hunter's belt loops and pulling his closer. Totally lucky.
Cash starts to make a list of the other things he felt lucky for, but then Hunter brings one hand up, fingers wrapping around the back of Cash's neck and just like, holding him there...Cash kind of forgot what he was trying to do. It wasn't readjusting his feet, spreading his legs so that Hunter could get closer while he bites at Hunter's shoulder. No, that would be gay. Plus he was already standing like that, and Hunter was already really damn close. It's a good thing, he thinks, somewhere off in the back of his mind, that he was already standing like that. A really good thing.
The next thing he knows, his hands are in Hunter's back pockets, and normally Cash would just not even bother to think about that because of the amazing, off-the-charts, early-FOB levels of gay. Except. Except his thumbs have settled on the bare skin just above Hunter's waistband, and it's nice, really nice, this warm strip of muscle that he can feel moving under his fingers. His hands clench a little, just to see, and Hunter breaks the kiss to shudder, breathing heavily as he rests his forehead against Cash's shoulder. The feeling of his breath against Cash's chest feels kind of…
Cash forgets how he's kind-of not gay for a second, pulls one of his hands out of Hunter's pocket but doesn't do anything with it right away. He just leaves it resting on Hunter's back, and then slowly, dragging his fingers over Hunter's hip, he follows the line of Hunter's jeans. He follows it around until his fingertips are pressing against Hunter's stomach, Cash's thumb pressing lightly against the button of his jeans. Hunter lifts his head and kisses his throat once more, but he doesn't say anything, doesn't do anything after that, just stands there, waiting, breathing, and Cash-
Cash's phone beeps at him, loudly, and he blinks. Shit. Bus call. He remembers now, he set his phone with the annoying alarm so he wouldn't forget. Fuck. Bus call, he thinks, now that's gay.
"Bus call," he tells Hunter when he lifts his head, blinking as well.
"Right, right."
They didn't move. After a second Cash drops his hand, and Hunter steps back.
"We should go."
"Yeah," Hunter says. He sounds just the tiniest bit hopeful when he asks, "Hey. Uh... what're you doing tomorrow night?"
Cash grins. "Probably nothing, why?"
"You should come over and drink on our bus again. Bring your band or something."
"Totally."
They stare at each other for a while, Cash grinning and Hunter biting his lip and totally pretending not to grin back. After a second, Hunter bends down, scooping their t-shirts off the ground.
"Don't wanna forget this," he says, holding them out to him, and Cash thinks neither do I. He doesn't take the t-shirt Hunt's offering him, instead he just steps forward and wraps his arms around Hunter's neck and kisses him again, enjoys the warmth coming off of Hunter's skin, even the lingering taste of the shitty beer Danny always bought when it was his turn to buy, the way Hunter's arms came up automatically and-
The sounds of Travis and T-Fair yelling for Hunter, the gravel crunching under their feet, and fuck, what? Oh right. Bus call. Gaaay.
Cash grabs his shirt out of Hunter's hands, hissing "Later!" and taking off as the voices get closer.
It's later that night-not much later, but late enough that the guys deem it appropriate to stick him with the Bitch Bunk, the top one they all have trouble getting into, which also happens to be the one right next to the bathroom-before Cash even realizes he's not wearing his shirt. For one thing, Cash never ever owned a Megadeath shirt (even if he really really wanted one for a few years back in the day, when he wanted to be hardcore), and for another, it totally didn't smell like his shirts. His shirts smell like sweat and deodorant, cigarettes and Marshall's cologne. Hunter's shirt smells like, like-okay, it still smells like his, like sweat, and Hunter's deodorant, and probably Drew's cologne, but.
All that put together, it kind of smells like Hunter.
Okay. Not only wearing another guy's shirt to sleep, but smelling it, Cash thinks, is maybe a little gay. Even if it is cleaner than all of his shirts at the moment. Which is totally the only reason he's even still wearing it in the first place, he thinks to himself, rubbing one hand self-consciously over the front of his neck.
The only reason.
Right.