(no subject)
[Positive Tension.]
Title: Positive Tension.
Author: Kathryn aka stickyhips___.
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I’d seen this happening, I didn’t. As much as I wish it had happened, it hasn’t. Probably.
Pairing: m/m, Keith Murray/Paul Smith.
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count: 1,575
Summary: Nobody can quite comprehend the tension between Keith & Paul.
Warnings: Right. Since we all know Paul likes it rough (haha), there is rough sex in this… hot sex, but not very pretty. Thought I’d do something different like you’re not supposed to lol.
Notes: This is set on this year’s NME Awards Tour, featuring Maxïmo Park, We Are Scientists, Mystery Jets & Arctic Monkeys. And, it’s also a belated 16th birthday gift for maximoala. Specifically no fluff, miss :) *hides* *crosses fingers & hopes you like it* I really don’t know what people will think of this, so…
Adverse were the effects of detesting stares exchanged between the two, be they just close enough to inhale the same oxygen, or within such a small radius of one another that they could physically share it. Angry shoulder clashes, one-handed shoves, falsely inaudible mutterings of raw hatred. Every lingering moment they spent in one room together was shrouded in the type of atmosphere that’d come before a thunderstorm. And it wasn’t the kind of awkward loathing in which eye contact was never made - it went deeper than that; every second in one another’s company a further stoke to the bellowing flame of spiralling fervour they held up, punctuated with concentrated stares. Everyone around them would walk on eggshells, for fear of feeling the wrath of coming under fire. Anybody could see that they completely clashed, and figured it was probably something to do with their common factor, of being attention-hungry lead singers. They brought out the absolute worst in each other. Nobody could tell, though, that the fury was born from something much deeper - pure, disruptive lust for one another.
“Can’t the two of you just cut it out?” Lukas pleaded with Paul. The strain of his bandmate’s preoccupation and roaring intent could no longer be ignored.
“I won’t until he does,” Paul snarled unhelpfully in response. Bewildered and bemused, the others left him to it. He stood isolated for a moment, exhaling sharply, right before a hefty slap to the back sent him sprawling forward shortly. Hurtling round, he mirrored Keith’s bedraggled acid stare, watching him be led off hastily by a gauche Chris and Michael. Deep down, neither Paul nor Keith had even a vague desire to resist this inevitable chemistry any longer. The tension was becoming some sort of fiendish rodeo - they had pervaded one another’s minds so callously that it was now a test of who had the skill to hold back longest. Survival of the fittest, if you like. And it was clear that the feelings were hardening with every day, every attempt to resist the billowing sexual tension a sheer smash of futility - the venting of anger was the loophole for them both.
That night on stage, they acted exactly the same way - breezing onto the stage, entering the spotlight with a cyanide smirk and a devastating glint in their eyes. Fellow band members nipped at their ears begging for them to ‘quit riling up that guy’. All pleas went unanswered. Keith knew Paul was watching during his set. Paul knew Keith was watching during his. It’d been like this for every fucking show - with this booty of knowledge, the passion became an angry undercurrent in both their performances. Every yelped lyric was more fuelled by emotion than anything they’d ever sung in their lives; and in Keith’s case each riff was given a fresh, accented lease of life. They both knew the game was up.
By the time the show closed on that final night, the deficiency was unbearable. Paul scoured the room with eyes like a fine toothcomb, spying band member after band member slipping from the venue. The after-party. He wondered if were best to risk heading straight after them, or whether paying a quick visit to the bathroom first would be a more advisable option…
“Hey you!”
Paul gave a sudden yelp as his back hit the wall with a clatter. He found himself bound by a set of skinny hands, a towering frame and a sweeping fringe looming over him. Their eyes locked. Shallow breaths were all that could be heard in the wall of anticipating silence, which existed despite the flurry of noise coming from surrounding areas. The current feelings, thoughts and occurrences were all mutual. Keith cocked his head to the right.
“You’re a complete asshole, do you know that?” he finally grunted, pausing, watching the slightly shorter man’s pupils dilate.
“But a very pretty one.”
The compliment was delivered with sharp aggression. Paul’s eyelids fluttered closed. He was determined not to let everything spill over in one moment. He wanted to savour this, now that he was finally going to have it.
“Just…” he began breathlessly, his ever-growing arousal becoming considerably more obvious. His attempts to disguise it amounted to nothing. “Just get on with it…”
The flick of his tongue over his pearl white teeth told Paul he would oblige… Keith’s lips were on his, and he kissed back with every ounce of passion he could muster. A ravenous clash of teeth, tongues and wanton lust. With the increasing level of passion came arise in ferocity - sucking, digging, grasping, biting. The supple skin of Paul’s bottom lip ripped, and leaked a line of blood that Keith lapped up eagerly. Paul’s eyes widened in surprise. Keith cut off the kiss sharply, the blood corroding his tongue.
“Are you going… the after-party?”
“Are you?”
All too aware that the setting was not ideal for events to follow, the pair clumsily tumbled out of the building through a small side entrance, determined to avoid the gathering of fans that loitered around the venue. Paul halted nervously, only for Keith to hiss furiously at him and take him by the wrist. As inconspicuously as was possible, they scuttled past the crowd and within moments, Paul found himself pinned against a wall on some shadowy side-street. The kiss continued. Keith brought it upon himself to commence undress, Paul following in his lead as the shirt was torn open. In their aggravated, horny state, they inflicted petty wounds on one another as they went, possibly in hope of reciprocation. Furiously aroused by Keith gnawing at the tender flesh of his neck - so much so he was bound to draw blood again sooner or later - Paul ground his nails in as hard as he dared, drawing them gradually down Keith’s back with the beginnings of a heated moan slipping through his lips. The bony fingers Keith possessed fumbled patiently with the fastening on Paul’s jeans until they were finally slack enough to drop. Relieved to be unbound, Paul shifted closer to Keith, their hips clashing roughly, provoking spontaneous moans from both parties. Paul yanked at Keith’s jeans in return, only to receive a stinging slap to the wrist.
“Back pocket,” Keith spat, not a request but a command. His voice ricocheted off the walls, intertwining with the open air. Paul did as he was told, his free hand emerging from the fabric storage with a condom. Keith unwrapped it savagely with his teeth, Paul submissively obliging when ordered to free Keith’s bottom half of binding clothing. With the gentlest touch he’d use all night, Keith invisibly traced his name onto Paul’s chest. He felt Paul’s exhalations upon his arm, growing increasingly rapid. The lack of contact finally becoming intolerable, Keith repositioned his hand on Paul’s lower back, sliding it closer to his entrance, whilst proceeding to suck again at Paul’s continuously bleeding lip, allowing both men to taste what had spilled from it already - something that gave Paul in particular a queer pleasure.
“Nnnnngh…” he groaned, feeling the burning of a dry finger slip inside him. A vaguely startled look played upon his face when he realised he wasn’t going to be in for an easy ride, as it were, while he watched Keith roll the condom over his stiff length with his right hand.
“You’ve got no-?”
“Does it look like it?”
Nothing more was said.
Keith drove himself deep into Paul, well aware that there were other ways of doing this - still, this seemed like the right thing to do at this particular moment in time. Paul elicited a strangled yelp in response to the piercing agony that tore through him with that single movement.
“SHHHHH!”
It got no easier with impending thrusts, which in turn grew fiercer and swifter, the momentum of pleasure being lost somewhere along the way for Paul. Keith grunted, tugging at Paul’s cock. His usually perfect rhythm was scattered, the alternation of sensation giving Paul a vague sense of relief.
There’s no question of morals anymore on either part - those were abandoned long ago, and Paul wonders just how low he can go, getting brutally fucked down an alleyway by this man here, who he’s wanked over countless times in that poky toilet on the tourbus, longed for even as little as a sneaky blowjob from. And now, he stands here, bleeding from the brutality, wishing that it could’ve been just slightly more pleasurable. I see he enjoyed himself, he thought, observing Keith’s face contort as he came inside him, and that was it - all over and done too soon. Within seconds Paul reached orgasm.
“Dunno how you’re gonna explain that one,” Keith deadpanned.
Between breathless sighs, he inclined to kiss Paul, more in favour of clearing away the red liquid that cascaded over his lip, and had started to roll down his chin.
“You’ll have to sort that one out yourself… I’m off back to the tourbus now, so… I’ll see you, yeah?”
He stalked off, briefly squeezing Paul’s shoulder, then leaving him to his own devices.
Paul watched him slip off, turning the corner with a slight swagger, and disappearing. Nobody back there would have any clue that any unearthly business had gone on. He could always just say they’d had a scuffle.
He re-clothed himself half-heartedly, shaking slightly. Dissatisfaction burned deep within him, and having hit the peak of tension, he knew not how to deal with it.
Title: Positive Tension.
Author: Kathryn aka stickyhips___.
Disclaimer: As much as I wish I’d seen this happening, I didn’t. As much as I wish it had happened, it hasn’t. Probably.
Pairing: m/m, Keith Murray/Paul Smith.
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count: 1,575
Summary: Nobody can quite comprehend the tension between Keith & Paul.
Warnings: Right. Since we all know Paul likes it rough (haha), there is rough sex in this… hot sex, but not very pretty. Thought I’d do something different like you’re not supposed to lol.
Notes: This is set on this year’s NME Awards Tour, featuring Maxïmo Park, We Are Scientists, Mystery Jets & Arctic Monkeys. And, it’s also a belated 16th birthday gift for maximoala. Specifically no fluff, miss :) *hides* *crosses fingers & hopes you like it* I really don’t know what people will think of this, so…
Adverse were the effects of detesting stares exchanged between the two, be they just close enough to inhale the same oxygen, or within such a small radius of one another that they could physically share it. Angry shoulder clashes, one-handed shoves, falsely inaudible mutterings of raw hatred. Every lingering moment they spent in one room together was shrouded in the type of atmosphere that’d come before a thunderstorm. And it wasn’t the kind of awkward loathing in which eye contact was never made - it went deeper than that; every second in one another’s company a further stoke to the bellowing flame of spiralling fervour they held up, punctuated with concentrated stares. Everyone around them would walk on eggshells, for fear of feeling the wrath of coming under fire. Anybody could see that they completely clashed, and figured it was probably something to do with their common factor, of being attention-hungry lead singers. They brought out the absolute worst in each other. Nobody could tell, though, that the fury was born from something much deeper - pure, disruptive lust for one another.
“Can’t the two of you just cut it out?” Lukas pleaded with Paul. The strain of his bandmate’s preoccupation and roaring intent could no longer be ignored.
“I won’t until he does,” Paul snarled unhelpfully in response. Bewildered and bemused, the others left him to it. He stood isolated for a moment, exhaling sharply, right before a hefty slap to the back sent him sprawling forward shortly. Hurtling round, he mirrored Keith’s bedraggled acid stare, watching him be led off hastily by a gauche Chris and Michael. Deep down, neither Paul nor Keith had even a vague desire to resist this inevitable chemistry any longer. The tension was becoming some sort of fiendish rodeo - they had pervaded one another’s minds so callously that it was now a test of who had the skill to hold back longest. Survival of the fittest, if you like. And it was clear that the feelings were hardening with every day, every attempt to resist the billowing sexual tension a sheer smash of futility - the venting of anger was the loophole for them both.
That night on stage, they acted exactly the same way - breezing onto the stage, entering the spotlight with a cyanide smirk and a devastating glint in their eyes. Fellow band members nipped at their ears begging for them to ‘quit riling up that guy’. All pleas went unanswered. Keith knew Paul was watching during his set. Paul knew Keith was watching during his. It’d been like this for every fucking show - with this booty of knowledge, the passion became an angry undercurrent in both their performances. Every yelped lyric was more fuelled by emotion than anything they’d ever sung in their lives; and in Keith’s case each riff was given a fresh, accented lease of life. They both knew the game was up.
By the time the show closed on that final night, the deficiency was unbearable. Paul scoured the room with eyes like a fine toothcomb, spying band member after band member slipping from the venue. The after-party. He wondered if were best to risk heading straight after them, or whether paying a quick visit to the bathroom first would be a more advisable option…
“Hey you!”
Paul gave a sudden yelp as his back hit the wall with a clatter. He found himself bound by a set of skinny hands, a towering frame and a sweeping fringe looming over him. Their eyes locked. Shallow breaths were all that could be heard in the wall of anticipating silence, which existed despite the flurry of noise coming from surrounding areas. The current feelings, thoughts and occurrences were all mutual. Keith cocked his head to the right.
“You’re a complete asshole, do you know that?” he finally grunted, pausing, watching the slightly shorter man’s pupils dilate.
“But a very pretty one.”
The compliment was delivered with sharp aggression. Paul’s eyelids fluttered closed. He was determined not to let everything spill over in one moment. He wanted to savour this, now that he was finally going to have it.
“Just…” he began breathlessly, his ever-growing arousal becoming considerably more obvious. His attempts to disguise it amounted to nothing. “Just get on with it…”
The flick of his tongue over his pearl white teeth told Paul he would oblige… Keith’s lips were on his, and he kissed back with every ounce of passion he could muster. A ravenous clash of teeth, tongues and wanton lust. With the increasing level of passion came arise in ferocity - sucking, digging, grasping, biting. The supple skin of Paul’s bottom lip ripped, and leaked a line of blood that Keith lapped up eagerly. Paul’s eyes widened in surprise. Keith cut off the kiss sharply, the blood corroding his tongue.
“Are you going… the after-party?”
“Are you?”
All too aware that the setting was not ideal for events to follow, the pair clumsily tumbled out of the building through a small side entrance, determined to avoid the gathering of fans that loitered around the venue. Paul halted nervously, only for Keith to hiss furiously at him and take him by the wrist. As inconspicuously as was possible, they scuttled past the crowd and within moments, Paul found himself pinned against a wall on some shadowy side-street. The kiss continued. Keith brought it upon himself to commence undress, Paul following in his lead as the shirt was torn open. In their aggravated, horny state, they inflicted petty wounds on one another as they went, possibly in hope of reciprocation. Furiously aroused by Keith gnawing at the tender flesh of his neck - so much so he was bound to draw blood again sooner or later - Paul ground his nails in as hard as he dared, drawing them gradually down Keith’s back with the beginnings of a heated moan slipping through his lips. The bony fingers Keith possessed fumbled patiently with the fastening on Paul’s jeans until they were finally slack enough to drop. Relieved to be unbound, Paul shifted closer to Keith, their hips clashing roughly, provoking spontaneous moans from both parties. Paul yanked at Keith’s jeans in return, only to receive a stinging slap to the wrist.
“Back pocket,” Keith spat, not a request but a command. His voice ricocheted off the walls, intertwining with the open air. Paul did as he was told, his free hand emerging from the fabric storage with a condom. Keith unwrapped it savagely with his teeth, Paul submissively obliging when ordered to free Keith’s bottom half of binding clothing. With the gentlest touch he’d use all night, Keith invisibly traced his name onto Paul’s chest. He felt Paul’s exhalations upon his arm, growing increasingly rapid. The lack of contact finally becoming intolerable, Keith repositioned his hand on Paul’s lower back, sliding it closer to his entrance, whilst proceeding to suck again at Paul’s continuously bleeding lip, allowing both men to taste what had spilled from it already - something that gave Paul in particular a queer pleasure.
“Nnnnngh…” he groaned, feeling the burning of a dry finger slip inside him. A vaguely startled look played upon his face when he realised he wasn’t going to be in for an easy ride, as it were, while he watched Keith roll the condom over his stiff length with his right hand.
“You’ve got no-?”
“Does it look like it?”
Nothing more was said.
Keith drove himself deep into Paul, well aware that there were other ways of doing this - still, this seemed like the right thing to do at this particular moment in time. Paul elicited a strangled yelp in response to the piercing agony that tore through him with that single movement.
“SHHHHH!”
It got no easier with impending thrusts, which in turn grew fiercer and swifter, the momentum of pleasure being lost somewhere along the way for Paul. Keith grunted, tugging at Paul’s cock. His usually perfect rhythm was scattered, the alternation of sensation giving Paul a vague sense of relief.
There’s no question of morals anymore on either part - those were abandoned long ago, and Paul wonders just how low he can go, getting brutally fucked down an alleyway by this man here, who he’s wanked over countless times in that poky toilet on the tourbus, longed for even as little as a sneaky blowjob from. And now, he stands here, bleeding from the brutality, wishing that it could’ve been just slightly more pleasurable. I see he enjoyed himself, he thought, observing Keith’s face contort as he came inside him, and that was it - all over and done too soon. Within seconds Paul reached orgasm.
“Dunno how you’re gonna explain that one,” Keith deadpanned.
Between breathless sighs, he inclined to kiss Paul, more in favour of clearing away the red liquid that cascaded over his lip, and had started to roll down his chin.
“You’ll have to sort that one out yourself… I’m off back to the tourbus now, so… I’ll see you, yeah?”
He stalked off, briefly squeezing Paul’s shoulder, then leaving him to his own devices.
Paul watched him slip off, turning the corner with a slight swagger, and disappearing. Nobody back there would have any clue that any unearthly business had gone on. He could always just say they’d had a scuffle.
He re-clothed himself half-heartedly, shaking slightly. Dissatisfaction burned deep within him, and having hit the peak of tension, he knew not how to deal with it.