a motherfucking love song (in four movements) for lordessrenegade
a motherfucking love song (in four movements)
for lordessrenegade
by justbreathe80
Hugh/Callum, NC-17, 3662 words
Thanks to aerye for the handoff and sharing her thoughts.
Many thanks to my darling strangecobwebs, for her awesome and FAST beta while we were in the same city, and for her neverending love of all things Hugh. *hugs*
a motherfucking love song (in four movements)
I. Con brio
They pulled into town on a Thursday afternoon, the sun already low in the sky. It was the last stop on the tour, the last three dates, in Toronto.
The first night, the show was good, the crowd clearly die-hard fans who, despite, with few exceptions, having beers in their hands, stayed alert and into the music the whole time, which was fucking rare. Hugh’s knuckles were white where he clutched the microphone, feeding off the crowd. He knew if he stopped he’d be shaking, just from the pure adrenaline coursing through his body. His throat was killing him, but he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, not until the last chord was played and the crowd was screaming and, yes, god, this was exactly what he did this for.
When he came down off the stage, Callum was waiting at the side, lighting a cigarette and grinning. Hugh wiped the sweat off his forehead and leaned against the wall next to him, grabbing his cigarette and taking a long, deep drag. God. His hands were fucking shaking, and Callum reached over to clasp Hugh’s wrist and steady him.
“Good show?” Callum asked, taking the cigarette back.
“Goddamn fucking great show.” He flailed his hand out and Callum was right there, putting the cigarette in Hugh’s fingers.
Callum was quiet, and Hugh could hear the ambient noises coming from out front, the fans leaving and the crew and the guys making sure everything was where it should be for tomorrow night. There were only two shows left and the tour was over and Hugh had no fucking clue how he felt about that at all. Callum was leaving in two days.
“Wanna get out of here?” Callum said suddenly, and Hugh just nodded and followed him out of the back door.
*****
Hugh flopped down on the bed as Callum shut the door behind them and threw the lock. This hotel room, which wasn’t half-bad, at least compared to the bunks on the bus, was their fucking home for the next three days, until they each went their separate ways after the last show.
And this tour, god, this fucking tour wasn’t like any of the others, because they had Callum along, and, at first, Hugh was nervous, because having someone not in the band on the bus with them before and after shows, it could be fucking terrible, fuck up all the dynamics of the band and it’d be like Yoko and shit. Even though Hugh knew as soon as he saw Callum, that first time when he’d read for the part, that they had something. At the time, he hadn’t had a fucking clue what it was.
It only took three days on tour to figure it out.
Hugh and Callum were sharing hotel rooms and no one said anything or let on that they knew what was going on, although the bus was pretty close quarters and Callum, the fucking cunt, he couldn’t stay quiet, even when Hugh threatened to gag him.
Callum walked toward the bed and dropped down next to Hugh. Hugh turned and propped himself up on one hand to watch Callum as he laced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
They’d spent the first days of the tour holing themselves up in the back of the bus, talking until one of them dropped off to sleep. It was the third day when Hugh let his hand drop off the edge of the bed, next to where Callum was laying on the floor, and Callum just took his hand and kept talking.
The next night, Callum shared the bed with Hugh, his hot breath on Hugh’s neck as he whispered, “God, what the fuck are we doing, this is so fucking stupid,” while he opened Hugh’s pants with one hand.
But the last week, they'd retreated to a hotel room or the bus after a show, and things were getting quiet, and Hugh didn’t fucking know what to say, because they both knew what was coming, and neither of them wanted to admit it.
Hugh wasn’t sure how long they stayed on the bed like that, Hugh watching Callum breathe, in and out, before Callum opened his eyes. “I’ve got a meeting in Vancouver on Wednesday. Some TV thing my agent wants me to talk to them about.”
Hugh turned onto his back. “Yeah.”
“I was thinking I might see some family when I go out, before then.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a great fucking time.” Hugh had no idea how to respond. He was pretty sure he was doing it the asshole way, but he couldn't help it. He didn’t fucking want to talk about the fact that Callum was leaving on Monday. He was doing his level best to pretend it wasn’t happening.
It was quiet again, and Hugh closed his eyes, just lying there. He heard Callum shift next to him, the cheap bedspread crackling under his weight. When Hugh opened his eyes and lifted his head up off the bed, Callum was on his knees and reaching his hands up to undo Hugh’s pants.
Hugh put his head back down, and tried to push away everything, all the shit in his head that was starting to seriously fuck with him, while Callum wrapped his lips around Hugh’s dick. He reached down to tangle his fingers in Callum’s hair and stopped thinking.
II. Agitato
This show, this show was about as fucking different from the night before as it could get. The crowd was rude and obnoxious and Hugh had been egging them on the whole time, spitting at them and hurling insults.
The music sounded the same, and Hugh’s throat was still hoarse from it, from singing out everything he had, but the vibe, every fucking thing about it felt off, wrong, and the fucking spark he had last night was totally fucking missing.
To top it all off, fucking Callum wasn’t even there, he’d stayed behind in the hotel to take a call from his agent or manager or some shit, trying to get his post-Hard Core Logo life in order.
The show was over, and Hugh stalked off the stage at the end, lit another cigarette and kicked the wall with his boot. “Fuck,” he muttered. He could hear the mix of boos and cheers coming from the crowd, but he didn’t fucking give a shit. They could go fuck themselves.
*****
Hugh knocked on the door, and Callum opened it, looking a little rumpled, his shirt wrinkled and his hair sticking up in more directions than it normally did.
He didn’t say anything, just pushed through the door, kicking it shut with his foot (fuck, that still hurt) and slamming Callum up against the wall with his whole body.
Callum made a noise on impact, but fucking stayed with Hugh, pushed back against him, meeting him there. He grabbed Callum’s wrists and pinned them against the wall.
“Did I wake you up?” he whispered, leaning in close to Callum’s ear, feeling him shake and tighten up underneath his hands.
Hugh pushed his dick against Callum’s, moving his hips and mouthing Callum’s neck. He heard Callum gasp as he latched on, leaving a mark low on Callum’s neck, stark against his skin. That was probably really fucking stupid, because anyone would be able to see that.
“Yeah, you woke me up, you asshole,” Callum said, panting.
Hugh pulled back a little and grinned. “Well, that fucking sucks for you, eh?”
Callum laughed, and Hugh started to unbuckle Callum’s belt and thumb open his jeans, jerking his pants and boxers off of his hips. Callum’s cock was hard and leaking. Hugh wanted to keep some fucking control, but Christ, Callum looked good, and every fucking ounce of control he had just flew out the window. He licked his lips, slowly, making sure Callum could see, before dropping to his knees.
Callum was scraping against the wallpaper with his fingernails, trying to hold on to something while Hugh licked along the head of Callum’s dick, tasting him. “Jesus, fuck, Dillon.”
Hugh sat back on his heels a little. “You gonna stroke out on me, you cunt?” He ran his fingertips down the length of Callum’s dick, and Callum was shaking, even harder than before.
“No, god, just - just fucking suck my dick.” Callum grabbed the back of Hugh’s head to pull him onto his dick, but Hugh slapped his hand away, hard enough to sting, and used his hands to keep Callum’s wrists pinned to the wall next to his hips. This was his fucking show, even if he was on his knees.
“Christ,” Callum moaned as Hugh took him into his mouth, taking him as far as he could, gagging a little and pulling off at the end. Callum’s dick was getting even harder inside Hugh’s mouth, and fuck if that wasn’t making Hugh hard in his jeans.
He worked Callum good, hard, almost rough, wanting to make Callum let go, no fucking around. Callum’s wrists tensed under his hands and he let out a soft cry and gave it up, coming thick and hot, down Hugh’s throat. Hugh swallowed and held Callum in his mouth until Callum said, almost begging, “Hugh, please.”
Hugh pulled off and let go of Callum’s wrists. Callum reached out, pulling him up onto his feet in one smooth movement. His knees were aching and he felt a little out of it, but it was fucking worth it, that was so fucking hot.
He leaned against Callum, hard and heavy, pressing him back against the wall while he worked his own cock out of his pants and thrust against Callum’s bare hip. Callum slung his arms around Hugh’s neck. “ Yeah, Dillon, come on.” Callum’s voice was low and hoarse, from sex and the sleep and the fucking pack of cigarettes he probably smoked before Hugh showed up. It hit Hugh right where it counted, and he moaned and picked up speed. Yeah.
He was fucking losing it, and Callum had him, had him right fucking there. “God, fuck -- just don’t - Christ.” And he was coming, all over Callum and his own clothes, and he somehow managed it without saying something fucking stupid, without telling Callum that it was fucking killing him to count down these days.
Instead, he let Callum pull him close and hold him. He kept his stupid mouth clamped shut.
III. Ad libitum
Hugh wasn’t sure how this show was going, to be perfectly fucking honest. Well, it seemed to be going well enough, the crowd was loud and singing along with every song, even the new stuff from the album, but Hugh couldn’t even remember what fucking song he was singing half the time. At one point, Trent had to yell out what was up next on the set list, which was good, because Hugh easily could have sang the same fucking song over again.
Callum was leaning against the wall in the back. It was far away, but Hugh could see him, knew it was him. He was chain smoking and never cracked a fucking smile the whole fucking time. Fucking serious actor and shit.
So Hugh was watching Callum, and screaming out the words to whatever fucking song he was singing, and not thinking about anything. Not about the end of the tour, Hard Core Logo, Callum flying out to Vancouver the next day.
He was scared shitless, to tell the fucking truth, because he had no idea what he was fucking doing trying to be an actor, and he had no idea how to play it cool during the filming, with Callum and Bruce and everyone else there all the damn time.
And Callum was still in the back, cigarette in his lips, and Hugh couldn’t fucking look away. He was in some serious fucking shit.
When the band was walking off the stage, Trent grabbed his arm, hard. “What the fuck was with you tonight, man? You were a fucking mess.” Hugh shrugged and shook out of Trent’s grasp. “Sorry, just - it’s fucking over now anyway.” He walked away, leaving Trent there with his mouth open, out of the side door. Callum was there, outside, two cigarettes in hand. He handed one to Hugh, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to say a damn word.
*****
Hugh was half-dead on his feet by the time they got to the hotel. It was like he ran on adrenaline for weeks at a time, and now he was having a hard time staying with it, now that he knew he didn’t fucking have to.
Callum guided Hugh to the bed, and Hugh went willingly, his knees hitting the edge. He laid down, and Callum’s hands were on him, unbuttoning Hugh’s shirt and pushing it off of his shoulder. There was none of the urgency, the fucking anger, of the night before, and Callum’s hands where quick, soft, almost tender, and Hugh threw one arm over his eyes to shield himself as Callum took off the rest of Hugh’s clothes.
“So, it’s over.” Callum’s voice sounded loud, too fucking loud, in the quiet room.
“Yeah, it’s fucking over all right.”
“It was - I -“ And, god, Callum never sounded like that, never stumbled over his words or hesitated, and it was the only fucking clue Hugh had that this was as hard for Callum as it was for him.
“Yeah. Yeah, it was.” So fucking what if his voice broke at the end. “C’mere.”
Hugh looked up, and Callum was stripping off his own clothes and adding them to the pile of Hugh’s on the floor at the foot of the bed. When he was done, he stood there for a moment, and Hugh just watched him, took in his skinny fucking body, all angles, ribs right near the surface, right under his skin. He tried to fucking memorize him, because he didn’t know how long the image was going to have to carry him.
Callum crawled up the length of Hugh’s body, lining them up together, so that Hugh could feel every inch of Callum’s skin against his. Callum was smiling, just slightly, as he pressed his lips against Hugh’s.
God, Hugh hadn’t even realized it, but between being fucking pissed off and closed off, they hadn’t kissed in days. He’d missed it. Callum’s lips were soft, and he was stroking his tongue against Hugh’s lips. Hugh opened his mouth and put his hands on Callum’s back, then the kiss deepened, Callum’s tongue slipping into his mouth. Maybe this was exactly what he’d been fucking missing, what had him so off-balance, because this was great, perfect, Callum’s mouth hot and sweet, in spite of the cigarettes.
They stayed there, just exploring each other’s mouths, Hugh backing off every few seconds to bite at Callum’s lower lip, lick across it, watch his red, wet mouth before it latched back onto Hugh’s.
He shifted his weight and flipped them over, Callum on his back now and Hugh still kissing him, kissing him so fucking good, while he reached down and wrapped his hand around their cocks and worked them. Yeah. Callum was gasping, mumbling something that Hugh couldn’t make out.
Suddenly, Callum was pushing at Hugh with his hand between their chests, pushing him away. Hugh sat up on his heels, his dick jutting out, hard and wet, from him or Callum, he didn’t know. “What the fuck?”
Callum didn’t say anything, just looked up at Hugh and drew his leg to the side, opening himself, and Hugh swallowed, hard. He knew exactly what Callum was saying, what he was asking for, and, god, it wasn’t like he didn’t want it, he fucking knew how good it felt, to be inside Callum. But he could count on one hand the number of times they’d done this since it all started, and he felt like maybe he was too fucked up to do it right. But how could he not when Callum was looking at him like that? Jesus.
“Yeah, okay. Fuck.”
He got his feet under him and stood up, padding across the carpet to his bag on the other side of the room, digging around for the condoms and lube he’d bought in Edmonton when it became crystal-fucking-clear where this was headed. He brought them back to the bed and knelt between Callum’s thighs. He looked…god, fucking beautiful there like that, and Hugh would never, ever tell him that to his face, but it was fucking him up, how pretty Callum fucking Rennie could be, how pretty he was all the time and Hugh couldn’t stop looking, touching when they were alone.
“Come on, Dillon, come on, I know you want it.” Callum’s voice was soft, and Hugh fell on him, kissing him again. Callum responded, didn’t hesitate at all, just let Hugh fuck his mouth with his tongue.
He kept right on kissing Callum, and somehow managed to roll the condom onto his dick while doing it, then he flipped open the lube and slicked up his fingers. Callum was hot, so fucking hot and tight, and Hugh thought maybe he was going to stroke out, right here with his fingers in Callum’s ass.
“Yeah, god, yeah, right there,” Callum whispered, and Hugh tucked a third finger inside and worked Callum open until there was no resistance left, and he was just taking it, lying there on his back with his knees up, Hugh between his legs.
“Jesus, you’re -“ And he was, and Hugh pulled his fingers out and pushed his cock in, almost feeling Callum’s deep groan before he heard it.
He started to move, fucking Callum slow and hard, pulling almost all the way out before pushing in, one long, slow stroke, which seemed to be driving Callum fucking crazy, from the way he was writhing and pushing back against Hugh’s dick in his ass.
Hugh was beginning to think he should have stuck to the handjob, gotten Callum off quick and easy, because this, this might actually kill him, being inside Callum, feeling Callum all around him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fucking survive without this.
“Hugh,” Callum breathed out, and Hugh picked up speed, his thrusts even harder now, and the headboard was slamming against the wall and, god, Hugh hoped no one complained about the noise, because there was no way he could stop.
Callum’s hand was on his dick, between their bodies, working himself hard and fast, and Hugh could feel it on his dick, then watched as Callum came all over them, panting and moaning softly. Hugh braced his hands on the headboard and slammed in again, so hard that Callum cried out. “God, fuck!”
One more thrust, and he was fucking coming, shooting over and over again into Callum’s ass. He let go of the headboard and collapsed onto Callum’s pliant body, kissing him on his jaw, his neck. Hugh wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, he kind of felt like he blacked out or something somewhere along the line, but Callum was talking to him. “Hugh, I can’t fucking breathe, move over.”
Hugh pushed himself off to the side, on his back next to Callum, still trying to catch his fucking breath. “Fuck.”
Callum laughed, and Hugh could hear the sound of the lighter, and Callum taking a deep drag on the cigarette. “Yeah, you could say that. I’m not going to be able to sit down on the plane tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Hugh had somehow managed to forget about tomorrow, forget that there was anything but him and Callum and this Toronto motel room that sort of seemed like home after a couple of days, but it all came rushing back, and he had to take a deep breath.
“You asked for it, cuntface.” Callum laughed again, and rolled toward Hugh. Hugh wrapped his arm around Callum’s shoulders and pulled him close, but he couldn’t look at him. He just ran his fingertips along the knobs of bone in Callum’s shoulder and held on.
IV. Finale - Allegro non troppo
The sun was streaming in the window, through the curtains, and Hugh woke up to the sound of Callum moving around the room, packing his shit. Hugh was a fucking mess from last night, and probably needed a shower pretty badly, but he didn’t move. He just watched Callum, took him in.
When Callum was done, he stacked his bags by the door and sat down in the chair across the room to put on his shoes before coming to the bed. He lied down next to Hugh and let his hand trace down the side of Hugh’s face.
“I have to go. My flight’s at ten.”
Hugh looked at him, and the weight of everything was almost too fucking much right then. He could see that this was fucking Callum up too. It was almost like they’d forgotten that the tour was temporary, and that it wasn’t this easy. There was the movie and Callum’s fucking career and the band, and they didn’t know what the fuck was going to happen. This could be it.
“Yeah, I know. Listen -“
Callum put his fingers to Hugh’s lips, silencing him. “I’ll see you, hopefully in a couple of months.”
“Okay.”
Callum took his hand away, and sat up on the bed. “I’ll call you when I get to Vancouver.”
“Whatever. Don’t do me any fucking favors.”
Callum smirked. “Fuck you, Dillon. You’ll be waiting by the fucking phone.” And yeah, he probably would be.
Callum stood up and went to the door, slinging his bags over his shoulders before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. He turned back and threw Hugh one of those fucking movie star smiles before shutting the door and walking away.
for lordessrenegade
by justbreathe80
Hugh/Callum, NC-17, 3662 words
Thanks to aerye for the handoff and sharing her thoughts.
Many thanks to my darling strangecobwebs, for her awesome and FAST beta while we were in the same city, and for her neverending love of all things Hugh. *hugs*
a motherfucking love song (in four movements)
I. Con brio
They pulled into town on a Thursday afternoon, the sun already low in the sky. It was the last stop on the tour, the last three dates, in Toronto.
The first night, the show was good, the crowd clearly die-hard fans who, despite, with few exceptions, having beers in their hands, stayed alert and into the music the whole time, which was fucking rare. Hugh’s knuckles were white where he clutched the microphone, feeding off the crowd. He knew if he stopped he’d be shaking, just from the pure adrenaline coursing through his body. His throat was killing him, but he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop, not until the last chord was played and the crowd was screaming and, yes, god, this was exactly what he did this for.
When he came down off the stage, Callum was waiting at the side, lighting a cigarette and grinning. Hugh wiped the sweat off his forehead and leaned against the wall next to him, grabbing his cigarette and taking a long, deep drag. God. His hands were fucking shaking, and Callum reached over to clasp Hugh’s wrist and steady him.
“Good show?” Callum asked, taking the cigarette back.
“Goddamn fucking great show.” He flailed his hand out and Callum was right there, putting the cigarette in Hugh’s fingers.
Callum was quiet, and Hugh could hear the ambient noises coming from out front, the fans leaving and the crew and the guys making sure everything was where it should be for tomorrow night. There were only two shows left and the tour was over and Hugh had no fucking clue how he felt about that at all. Callum was leaving in two days.
“Wanna get out of here?” Callum said suddenly, and Hugh just nodded and followed him out of the back door.
*****
Hugh flopped down on the bed as Callum shut the door behind them and threw the lock. This hotel room, which wasn’t half-bad, at least compared to the bunks on the bus, was their fucking home for the next three days, until they each went their separate ways after the last show.
And this tour, god, this fucking tour wasn’t like any of the others, because they had Callum along, and, at first, Hugh was nervous, because having someone not in the band on the bus with them before and after shows, it could be fucking terrible, fuck up all the dynamics of the band and it’d be like Yoko and shit. Even though Hugh knew as soon as he saw Callum, that first time when he’d read for the part, that they had something. At the time, he hadn’t had a fucking clue what it was.
It only took three days on tour to figure it out.
Hugh and Callum were sharing hotel rooms and no one said anything or let on that they knew what was going on, although the bus was pretty close quarters and Callum, the fucking cunt, he couldn’t stay quiet, even when Hugh threatened to gag him.
Callum walked toward the bed and dropped down next to Hugh. Hugh turned and propped himself up on one hand to watch Callum as he laced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
They’d spent the first days of the tour holing themselves up in the back of the bus, talking until one of them dropped off to sleep. It was the third day when Hugh let his hand drop off the edge of the bed, next to where Callum was laying on the floor, and Callum just took his hand and kept talking.
The next night, Callum shared the bed with Hugh, his hot breath on Hugh’s neck as he whispered, “God, what the fuck are we doing, this is so fucking stupid,” while he opened Hugh’s pants with one hand.
But the last week, they'd retreated to a hotel room or the bus after a show, and things were getting quiet, and Hugh didn’t fucking know what to say, because they both knew what was coming, and neither of them wanted to admit it.
Hugh wasn’t sure how long they stayed on the bed like that, Hugh watching Callum breathe, in and out, before Callum opened his eyes. “I’ve got a meeting in Vancouver on Wednesday. Some TV thing my agent wants me to talk to them about.”
Hugh turned onto his back. “Yeah.”
“I was thinking I might see some family when I go out, before then.”
“I’m sure you’ll have a great fucking time.” Hugh had no idea how to respond. He was pretty sure he was doing it the asshole way, but he couldn't help it. He didn’t fucking want to talk about the fact that Callum was leaving on Monday. He was doing his level best to pretend it wasn’t happening.
It was quiet again, and Hugh closed his eyes, just lying there. He heard Callum shift next to him, the cheap bedspread crackling under his weight. When Hugh opened his eyes and lifted his head up off the bed, Callum was on his knees and reaching his hands up to undo Hugh’s pants.
Hugh put his head back down, and tried to push away everything, all the shit in his head that was starting to seriously fuck with him, while Callum wrapped his lips around Hugh’s dick. He reached down to tangle his fingers in Callum’s hair and stopped thinking.
II. Agitato
This show, this show was about as fucking different from the night before as it could get. The crowd was rude and obnoxious and Hugh had been egging them on the whole time, spitting at them and hurling insults.
The music sounded the same, and Hugh’s throat was still hoarse from it, from singing out everything he had, but the vibe, every fucking thing about it felt off, wrong, and the fucking spark he had last night was totally fucking missing.
To top it all off, fucking Callum wasn’t even there, he’d stayed behind in the hotel to take a call from his agent or manager or some shit, trying to get his post-Hard Core Logo life in order.
The show was over, and Hugh stalked off the stage at the end, lit another cigarette and kicked the wall with his boot. “Fuck,” he muttered. He could hear the mix of boos and cheers coming from the crowd, but he didn’t fucking give a shit. They could go fuck themselves.
*****
Hugh knocked on the door, and Callum opened it, looking a little rumpled, his shirt wrinkled and his hair sticking up in more directions than it normally did.
He didn’t say anything, just pushed through the door, kicking it shut with his foot (fuck, that still hurt) and slamming Callum up against the wall with his whole body.
Callum made a noise on impact, but fucking stayed with Hugh, pushed back against him, meeting him there. He grabbed Callum’s wrists and pinned them against the wall.
“Did I wake you up?” he whispered, leaning in close to Callum’s ear, feeling him shake and tighten up underneath his hands.
Hugh pushed his dick against Callum’s, moving his hips and mouthing Callum’s neck. He heard Callum gasp as he latched on, leaving a mark low on Callum’s neck, stark against his skin. That was probably really fucking stupid, because anyone would be able to see that.
“Yeah, you woke me up, you asshole,” Callum said, panting.
Hugh pulled back a little and grinned. “Well, that fucking sucks for you, eh?”
Callum laughed, and Hugh started to unbuckle Callum’s belt and thumb open his jeans, jerking his pants and boxers off of his hips. Callum’s cock was hard and leaking. Hugh wanted to keep some fucking control, but Christ, Callum looked good, and every fucking ounce of control he had just flew out the window. He licked his lips, slowly, making sure Callum could see, before dropping to his knees.
Callum was scraping against the wallpaper with his fingernails, trying to hold on to something while Hugh licked along the head of Callum’s dick, tasting him. “Jesus, fuck, Dillon.”
Hugh sat back on his heels a little. “You gonna stroke out on me, you cunt?” He ran his fingertips down the length of Callum’s dick, and Callum was shaking, even harder than before.
“No, god, just - just fucking suck my dick.” Callum grabbed the back of Hugh’s head to pull him onto his dick, but Hugh slapped his hand away, hard enough to sting, and used his hands to keep Callum’s wrists pinned to the wall next to his hips. This was his fucking show, even if he was on his knees.
“Christ,” Callum moaned as Hugh took him into his mouth, taking him as far as he could, gagging a little and pulling off at the end. Callum’s dick was getting even harder inside Hugh’s mouth, and fuck if that wasn’t making Hugh hard in his jeans.
He worked Callum good, hard, almost rough, wanting to make Callum let go, no fucking around. Callum’s wrists tensed under his hands and he let out a soft cry and gave it up, coming thick and hot, down Hugh’s throat. Hugh swallowed and held Callum in his mouth until Callum said, almost begging, “Hugh, please.”
Hugh pulled off and let go of Callum’s wrists. Callum reached out, pulling him up onto his feet in one smooth movement. His knees were aching and he felt a little out of it, but it was fucking worth it, that was so fucking hot.
He leaned against Callum, hard and heavy, pressing him back against the wall while he worked his own cock out of his pants and thrust against Callum’s bare hip. Callum slung his arms around Hugh’s neck. “ Yeah, Dillon, come on.” Callum’s voice was low and hoarse, from sex and the sleep and the fucking pack of cigarettes he probably smoked before Hugh showed up. It hit Hugh right where it counted, and he moaned and picked up speed. Yeah.
He was fucking losing it, and Callum had him, had him right fucking there. “God, fuck -- just don’t - Christ.” And he was coming, all over Callum and his own clothes, and he somehow managed it without saying something fucking stupid, without telling Callum that it was fucking killing him to count down these days.
Instead, he let Callum pull him close and hold him. He kept his stupid mouth clamped shut.
III. Ad libitum
Hugh wasn’t sure how this show was going, to be perfectly fucking honest. Well, it seemed to be going well enough, the crowd was loud and singing along with every song, even the new stuff from the album, but Hugh couldn’t even remember what fucking song he was singing half the time. At one point, Trent had to yell out what was up next on the set list, which was good, because Hugh easily could have sang the same fucking song over again.
Callum was leaning against the wall in the back. It was far away, but Hugh could see him, knew it was him. He was chain smoking and never cracked a fucking smile the whole fucking time. Fucking serious actor and shit.
So Hugh was watching Callum, and screaming out the words to whatever fucking song he was singing, and not thinking about anything. Not about the end of the tour, Hard Core Logo, Callum flying out to Vancouver the next day.
He was scared shitless, to tell the fucking truth, because he had no idea what he was fucking doing trying to be an actor, and he had no idea how to play it cool during the filming, with Callum and Bruce and everyone else there all the damn time.
And Callum was still in the back, cigarette in his lips, and Hugh couldn’t fucking look away. He was in some serious fucking shit.
When the band was walking off the stage, Trent grabbed his arm, hard. “What the fuck was with you tonight, man? You were a fucking mess.” Hugh shrugged and shook out of Trent’s grasp. “Sorry, just - it’s fucking over now anyway.” He walked away, leaving Trent there with his mouth open, out of the side door. Callum was there, outside, two cigarettes in hand. He handed one to Hugh, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to say a damn word.
*****
Hugh was half-dead on his feet by the time they got to the hotel. It was like he ran on adrenaline for weeks at a time, and now he was having a hard time staying with it, now that he knew he didn’t fucking have to.
Callum guided Hugh to the bed, and Hugh went willingly, his knees hitting the edge. He laid down, and Callum’s hands were on him, unbuttoning Hugh’s shirt and pushing it off of his shoulder. There was none of the urgency, the fucking anger, of the night before, and Callum’s hands where quick, soft, almost tender, and Hugh threw one arm over his eyes to shield himself as Callum took off the rest of Hugh’s clothes.
“So, it’s over.” Callum’s voice sounded loud, too fucking loud, in the quiet room.
“Yeah, it’s fucking over all right.”
“It was - I -“ And, god, Callum never sounded like that, never stumbled over his words or hesitated, and it was the only fucking clue Hugh had that this was as hard for Callum as it was for him.
“Yeah. Yeah, it was.” So fucking what if his voice broke at the end. “C’mere.”
Hugh looked up, and Callum was stripping off his own clothes and adding them to the pile of Hugh’s on the floor at the foot of the bed. When he was done, he stood there for a moment, and Hugh just watched him, took in his skinny fucking body, all angles, ribs right near the surface, right under his skin. He tried to fucking memorize him, because he didn’t know how long the image was going to have to carry him.
Callum crawled up the length of Hugh’s body, lining them up together, so that Hugh could feel every inch of Callum’s skin against his. Callum was smiling, just slightly, as he pressed his lips against Hugh’s.
God, Hugh hadn’t even realized it, but between being fucking pissed off and closed off, they hadn’t kissed in days. He’d missed it. Callum’s lips were soft, and he was stroking his tongue against Hugh’s lips. Hugh opened his mouth and put his hands on Callum’s back, then the kiss deepened, Callum’s tongue slipping into his mouth. Maybe this was exactly what he’d been fucking missing, what had him so off-balance, because this was great, perfect, Callum’s mouth hot and sweet, in spite of the cigarettes.
They stayed there, just exploring each other’s mouths, Hugh backing off every few seconds to bite at Callum’s lower lip, lick across it, watch his red, wet mouth before it latched back onto Hugh’s.
He shifted his weight and flipped them over, Callum on his back now and Hugh still kissing him, kissing him so fucking good, while he reached down and wrapped his hand around their cocks and worked them. Yeah. Callum was gasping, mumbling something that Hugh couldn’t make out.
Suddenly, Callum was pushing at Hugh with his hand between their chests, pushing him away. Hugh sat up on his heels, his dick jutting out, hard and wet, from him or Callum, he didn’t know. “What the fuck?”
Callum didn’t say anything, just looked up at Hugh and drew his leg to the side, opening himself, and Hugh swallowed, hard. He knew exactly what Callum was saying, what he was asking for, and, god, it wasn’t like he didn’t want it, he fucking knew how good it felt, to be inside Callum. But he could count on one hand the number of times they’d done this since it all started, and he felt like maybe he was too fucked up to do it right. But how could he not when Callum was looking at him like that? Jesus.
“Yeah, okay. Fuck.”
He got his feet under him and stood up, padding across the carpet to his bag on the other side of the room, digging around for the condoms and lube he’d bought in Edmonton when it became crystal-fucking-clear where this was headed. He brought them back to the bed and knelt between Callum’s thighs. He looked…god, fucking beautiful there like that, and Hugh would never, ever tell him that to his face, but it was fucking him up, how pretty Callum fucking Rennie could be, how pretty he was all the time and Hugh couldn’t stop looking, touching when they were alone.
“Come on, Dillon, come on, I know you want it.” Callum’s voice was soft, and Hugh fell on him, kissing him again. Callum responded, didn’t hesitate at all, just let Hugh fuck his mouth with his tongue.
He kept right on kissing Callum, and somehow managed to roll the condom onto his dick while doing it, then he flipped open the lube and slicked up his fingers. Callum was hot, so fucking hot and tight, and Hugh thought maybe he was going to stroke out, right here with his fingers in Callum’s ass.
“Yeah, god, yeah, right there,” Callum whispered, and Hugh tucked a third finger inside and worked Callum open until there was no resistance left, and he was just taking it, lying there on his back with his knees up, Hugh between his legs.
“Jesus, you’re -“ And he was, and Hugh pulled his fingers out and pushed his cock in, almost feeling Callum’s deep groan before he heard it.
He started to move, fucking Callum slow and hard, pulling almost all the way out before pushing in, one long, slow stroke, which seemed to be driving Callum fucking crazy, from the way he was writhing and pushing back against Hugh’s dick in his ass.
Hugh was beginning to think he should have stuck to the handjob, gotten Callum off quick and easy, because this, this might actually kill him, being inside Callum, feeling Callum all around him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fucking survive without this.
“Hugh,” Callum breathed out, and Hugh picked up speed, his thrusts even harder now, and the headboard was slamming against the wall and, god, Hugh hoped no one complained about the noise, because there was no way he could stop.
Callum’s hand was on his dick, between their bodies, working himself hard and fast, and Hugh could feel it on his dick, then watched as Callum came all over them, panting and moaning softly. Hugh braced his hands on the headboard and slammed in again, so hard that Callum cried out. “God, fuck!”
One more thrust, and he was fucking coming, shooting over and over again into Callum’s ass. He let go of the headboard and collapsed onto Callum’s pliant body, kissing him on his jaw, his neck. Hugh wasn’t sure how long he stayed there, he kind of felt like he blacked out or something somewhere along the line, but Callum was talking to him. “Hugh, I can’t fucking breathe, move over.”
Hugh pushed himself off to the side, on his back next to Callum, still trying to catch his fucking breath. “Fuck.”
Callum laughed, and Hugh could hear the sound of the lighter, and Callum taking a deep drag on the cigarette. “Yeah, you could say that. I’m not going to be able to sit down on the plane tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Hugh had somehow managed to forget about tomorrow, forget that there was anything but him and Callum and this Toronto motel room that sort of seemed like home after a couple of days, but it all came rushing back, and he had to take a deep breath.
“You asked for it, cuntface.” Callum laughed again, and rolled toward Hugh. Hugh wrapped his arm around Callum’s shoulders and pulled him close, but he couldn’t look at him. He just ran his fingertips along the knobs of bone in Callum’s shoulder and held on.
IV. Finale - Allegro non troppo
The sun was streaming in the window, through the curtains, and Hugh woke up to the sound of Callum moving around the room, packing his shit. Hugh was a fucking mess from last night, and probably needed a shower pretty badly, but he didn’t move. He just watched Callum, took him in.
When Callum was done, he stacked his bags by the door and sat down in the chair across the room to put on his shoes before coming to the bed. He lied down next to Hugh and let his hand trace down the side of Hugh’s face.
“I have to go. My flight’s at ten.”
Hugh looked at him, and the weight of everything was almost too fucking much right then. He could see that this was fucking Callum up too. It was almost like they’d forgotten that the tour was temporary, and that it wasn’t this easy. There was the movie and Callum’s fucking career and the band, and they didn’t know what the fuck was going to happen. This could be it.
“Yeah, I know. Listen -“
Callum put his fingers to Hugh’s lips, silencing him. “I’ll see you, hopefully in a couple of months.”
“Okay.”
Callum took his hand away, and sat up on the bed. “I’ll call you when I get to Vancouver.”
“Whatever. Don’t do me any fucking favors.”
Callum smirked. “Fuck you, Dillon. You’ll be waiting by the fucking phone.” And yeah, he probably would be.
Callum stood up and went to the door, slinging his bags over his shoulders before opening the door and stepping out into the hallway. He turned back and threw Hugh one of those fucking movie star smiles before shutting the door and walking away.