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truntles, who begged very prettily.
Beta, most of the ending and title bylattara
Once again, with the music
He didn’t expect this to happen.
It’s not the first time, or even near that, but he thought they were past it.
He thought he was past it, but obviously not, because he’s once again in a hotel room, with Paul backed up against a wall, kissing him as if he’d been wanting to all night. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, but he’s pretty sure it’s because of the concert, Paul looking as if just playing was turning him on and maybe that’s a theme they need to work on if they’re going to tour.
The first time he kissed Paul (and is it really over twenty years ago?) was after a concert. American Bandstand more precisely, and he hadn’t meant to, really. But the excitement and adrenalin had taken over and before he knew exactly what was going on, he had Paul against a wall, and Paul was kissing back quite vigorously. It had been quite an experience, especially considering they were a couple of boys who’d spent more time with their music than with girls, and somehow he hadn’t expected it to create such a reaction in him. He hadn’t been ready for the passion, no matter what the music said.
He hadn’t been ready for the gentleness, either, and it almost undid him, right there, in the dressing room.
It’s not as gentle now, or at least, not in the same way. They know each other too well now; they still know how to move together, though it’s been almost ten years. He supposes it’s like singing- you start out as two people, two voices, but with practice, you become like one, completely entwined in the other.
It’s not a bad image, and he’s surprised that he’s still thinking coherently, considering that Paul is quite busy, his fingers working intently on buttons. And yes, his fingers are still clumsier than they should be, considering their talent for guitar, but it’s familiar, and Paul finally gets the buttons open, without breaking the kiss.
Art is oddly grateful for this. As long as they’re kissing he doesn’t have to consider why they shouldn’t be doing this, or the repercussions. He can focus on the softness of Paul’s lips, and the roughness of his tongue, and the feel of fingers running over his waist, nearly tickling, but not quite, leaving him trembling slightly. He tugs at Paul’s t-shirt, can feel Paul grin against his mouth, raising his arms, and pushing Art away gently.
Paul’s always looked good undressing, he thinks, watching him pull the t-shirt over his head. They’re kissing again before the garment hits the floor.
---
Art has always been surprisingly flexible, but Paul’s pretty sure his back is going to start hurting soon. He pushes at him, trying to manoeuvre Art to the bed. He sees hurt flash on Art’s face for a split second, looking like the unsure teenage boy he was the first time they kissed, before he figures out why.
Somewhere inside him, it aches to know that Art is still afraid he’ll reject him, though Art has reasons, he knows. He pulls him down for a kiss, pulls him close.
Art doesn’t feel much different.
He has to admit, he was hoping this would happen. He tries not to think about why, really, but he knows that ever since ‘Me and Julio’ he’s been thinking about this. Art still looks at him the same way, part respect, part envy, part lust, part affection, and it gets to him more than he wants to consider, but Artie’s always been like this. Sometimes he thinks this might be his only weakness, but it’s hard to think of anything, really, when they’re onstage and it feels right again, for the first time in a while, and Art keeps biting his lips that way.
This also feels right, he muses, as Art pulls him close on the bed, their height difference no longer a problem. He pushes against him gently and is rewarded with a moan, and he’d forgotten how deep Art’s voice can go, and how wide his mouth is. Art’s eyes glint, and lips are on his neck. His hands tangle in Art’s hair, trying to suppress a gasp as Art pushes back against him. The sounds they make like this are almost as familiar to him as the sounds they make onstage.
It occurs to Paul that they’ve hardly spoken since the concert, but maybe, just maybe, this is better. They’ve said all they need to, anyway, already, even if it was in front of an audience. They’re saying enough now.
He’s a song writer, and he knows Art doesn’t really understand that. But he’s not the singer Art is, either, and yet, it works. Somehow it all came together; meeting, playing together the year after, starting to argue a year after that, and two years later Artie kissed him backstage at American Bandstand, and somewhere in the mess that became this relationship, he fell in love with him, even if he still hasn’t told him, even if he still can’t quite tell him.
And this is enough, this moment. No one could ask for more.
truntles, who begged very prettily.Beta, most of the ending and title by
lattaraOnce again, with the music
He didn’t expect this to happen.
It’s not the first time, or even near that, but he thought they were past it.
He thought he was past it, but obviously not, because he’s once again in a hotel room, with Paul backed up against a wall, kissing him as if he’d been wanting to all night. He doesn’t know what’s come over him, but he’s pretty sure it’s because of the concert, Paul looking as if just playing was turning him on and maybe that’s a theme they need to work on if they’re going to tour.
The first time he kissed Paul (and is it really over twenty years ago?) was after a concert. American Bandstand more precisely, and he hadn’t meant to, really. But the excitement and adrenalin had taken over and before he knew exactly what was going on, he had Paul against a wall, and Paul was kissing back quite vigorously. It had been quite an experience, especially considering they were a couple of boys who’d spent more time with their music than with girls, and somehow he hadn’t expected it to create such a reaction in him. He hadn’t been ready for the passion, no matter what the music said.
He hadn’t been ready for the gentleness, either, and it almost undid him, right there, in the dressing room.
It’s not as gentle now, or at least, not in the same way. They know each other too well now; they still know how to move together, though it’s been almost ten years. He supposes it’s like singing- you start out as two people, two voices, but with practice, you become like one, completely entwined in the other.
It’s not a bad image, and he’s surprised that he’s still thinking coherently, considering that Paul is quite busy, his fingers working intently on buttons. And yes, his fingers are still clumsier than they should be, considering their talent for guitar, but it’s familiar, and Paul finally gets the buttons open, without breaking the kiss.
Art is oddly grateful for this. As long as they’re kissing he doesn’t have to consider why they shouldn’t be doing this, or the repercussions. He can focus on the softness of Paul’s lips, and the roughness of his tongue, and the feel of fingers running over his waist, nearly tickling, but not quite, leaving him trembling slightly. He tugs at Paul’s t-shirt, can feel Paul grin against his mouth, raising his arms, and pushing Art away gently.
Paul’s always looked good undressing, he thinks, watching him pull the t-shirt over his head. They’re kissing again before the garment hits the floor.
---
Art has always been surprisingly flexible, but Paul’s pretty sure his back is going to start hurting soon. He pushes at him, trying to manoeuvre Art to the bed. He sees hurt flash on Art’s face for a split second, looking like the unsure teenage boy he was the first time they kissed, before he figures out why.
Somewhere inside him, it aches to know that Art is still afraid he’ll reject him, though Art has reasons, he knows. He pulls him down for a kiss, pulls him close.
Art doesn’t feel much different.
He has to admit, he was hoping this would happen. He tries not to think about why, really, but he knows that ever since ‘Me and Julio’ he’s been thinking about this. Art still looks at him the same way, part respect, part envy, part lust, part affection, and it gets to him more than he wants to consider, but Artie’s always been like this. Sometimes he thinks this might be his only weakness, but it’s hard to think of anything, really, when they’re onstage and it feels right again, for the first time in a while, and Art keeps biting his lips that way.
This also feels right, he muses, as Art pulls him close on the bed, their height difference no longer a problem. He pushes against him gently and is rewarded with a moan, and he’d forgotten how deep Art’s voice can go, and how wide his mouth is. Art’s eyes glint, and lips are on his neck. His hands tangle in Art’s hair, trying to suppress a gasp as Art pushes back against him. The sounds they make like this are almost as familiar to him as the sounds they make onstage.
It occurs to Paul that they’ve hardly spoken since the concert, but maybe, just maybe, this is better. They’ve said all they need to, anyway, already, even if it was in front of an audience. They’re saying enough now.
He’s a song writer, and he knows Art doesn’t really understand that. But he’s not the singer Art is, either, and yet, it works. Somehow it all came together; meeting, playing together the year after, starting to argue a year after that, and two years later Artie kissed him backstage at American Bandstand, and somewhere in the mess that became this relationship, he fell in love with him, even if he still hasn’t told him, even if he still can’t quite tell him.
And this is enough, this moment. No one could ask for more.
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Date: 2004-08-02 10:18 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-08-02 10:21 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2004-08-02 10:21 pm (UTC)