This story was one of the two runners-up in our fiction contest for Issue 9. To read the other winning stories, order Issue 9, out 1 December 2011.
Author Elle Fox
Illustrator Katie Hewitt
Christian lies on the hard van floor, battered road cases at his feet, and waits. There’s a stink of unwashed clothes, cigarettes and spilled beer, and nothing between him and rank carpet but a thin blanket. The road hums beneath him; Drew’s driving and he’s got the stereo on low, tuned to some local station that played one decent song three hours ago. Either he’s lost interest in finding a better option or he’s still got faith they’ll play some more Led Zep.
Christian stares at the wall of the van, listening. Lewis is under, his steady even breaths drifting down from the seat above Christian’s head. Zack, he’s not sure about. They can’t call the run of ten shows they’re doing a real tour, but it feels like one, right down to the complete lack of privacy.
When Zack hasn’t made a sound in what feels like forever, Christian bites his lip and rolls away from him. He lets the blanket tent between his hip and the floor, hoping for cover – that and the darkness, peppered by the orange glow of streetlights.
Jesus Christ, it’s not Christian’s fault – he’s eighteen; he can spring a boner watching anime.
He concentrates on keeping his breathing quiet, staring at the stickers on his guitar case. He slides a hand downwards, pressing a palm over the crotch of his jeans. Fuck, he’s still so hard. They’ll be driving all night and it was such a rush to leave that he couldn’t just grab five minutes to sort himself out. He’s been less than useless ever since, scoring a glare from Lewis when he nearly dropped his snare while loading up. Zack just gave him a grin and a sideways look, like he knows. Jesus Christ, it’s not Christian’s fault – he’s eighteen; he can spring a boner watching anime. He can’t be expected to keep himself under control, let alone remember the words, when he has a real live person pressed up against his back, licking his neck. Even if it is on stage at a shitty basement club, with a guitar caught between them.
Carefully, he slips the button on his jeans and slides the zip down real slow. It still makes a noise and Christian winces, hoping it gets lost under the sound of the road. He rests his hand over the damp cotton of his underwear, stretched over his dick. The weight feels good, not enough, but it’s something.
He is not going to think about Zack. Except he already is, because thinking about not thinking about Zack is still thinking about Zack.
Fucking Zack. He is not going to think about Zack. Except he already is, because thinking about not thinking about Zack is still thinking about Zack.
This is totally Zack’s fault. In front of the mob of kids more interested in the punk band playing after them and right in the middle of Drew’s solo, he’d come up behind Christian, leaned in and opened his mouth on his neck. He’d pressed his tongue in the hollow just under Christian’s ear, giving him goose bumps and sending heat to his cheeks and his groin.
Fuck, who does that?
So what if Zack was just fucking around? Either way the outcome was the same. Luckily Christian had his guitar to hide behind.
He glances over his shoulder at Zack. Zack’s eyes are closed, mouth slack, breathing even. He’s finally asleep, thank fuck. Christian shifts his hand, inside his underwear now, and fuck that feels good. There isn’t really enough room for his hand to move much, but it’s skin on skin and he’s so desperate it’s close enough.
Curling his fingers into a grip, he starts to stroke, slow and quiet. It’s hard to keep his breathing even, swallow the moans growing in the back of his throat. He slides his other hand up to rest on his neck, fingers tracing that hollow behind his ear. His fingers aren’t wet or warm enough to resemble a mouth, but he keeps going anyway.
His eyes scrunch closed, his brow furrows and he bites his lip. He squeezes as he strokes, heat pooling deep in his belly, the urgency of a long-delayed release starting to win out over all his self-imposed warnings about silence and discretion. The hand on his neck finds its way to his mouth and sucks on two fingers before pressing them back to that spot behind his ear. Fingers damp, he can almost convince himself it’s Zack’s tongue, remembering the hot breath on his neck.
He’s not supposed to be thinking about Zack.
His thumb hits that sensitive spot on the underside of his cock and he chokes back a whine. Fuck that’s good, too good. He does it again, tensing his stomach to keep his hips from jerking. It sets off sparks behind his eyes, illuminating an image of himself on stage, Zack pressed up behind him, no instruments this time. It’s just Zack’s tongue on his neck, his hand reached around into Christian’s pants and fuck, Christian has to press his mouth into his forearm to stifle a moan because Zack is right behind him. He could hear him.
They go over a pothole and the van shakes. Christian freezes, his eyes flying open. He lies there, hand on his dick, listening for clues that anyone woke up. There’s nothing but the low mutter of the radio, the rumble of road noise and two sets of deep, even breathing.
Christian freezes, his eyes flying open. He lies there, hand on his dick, listening for clues that anyone woke up.
He twists his head to the side to look behind him and comes face to face with Zack. Zack is staring at him with knowing eyes, like he wasn’t just asleep. Christian’s immediately aware of his flushed face, his hand still attached to his neck, the wet mouth-mark on his forearm.
‘Trouble sleeping?’ Zack whispers.
Maybe if Christian doesn’t move, it’ll be like pressing pause on a DVD and he won’t have to deal with the next part.
This plan doesn’t take into account Zack, who slides across the few inches of floor between them, pressing himself warm up against Christian’s back, one arm resting across Christian’s chest, over the blanket.
Christian can’t move. He lies there, bottom lip caught in his teeth and prays Zack will stay above the blanket.
Zack doesn’t. Before Christian can make a sound, Zack burrows beneath the blanket. His breath hits Christian’s neck as his hand finds his shoulder, fingers tracing slowly down his arm to find his hand. The hand that is still on his dick.
Christian’s breath comes out in a rush. He can’t hold still anymore. He tries to rip his hand away but Zack keeps him there, scissoring their hands so Zack’s fingers are between his own, touching his cock, fuck.
He tries to rip his hand away but Zack keeps him there, scissoring their hands so Zack’s fingers are between his own, touching his cock, fuck.
There’s a low chuckle in his ear, carried on a hot breath. ‘Thought so,’ Zack says, and tightens his grip on Christian’s hand. He pulls their joined hands up, stroking him and Christian has to bite down on his palm, silence the scream in the back of his throat.
Zack forces their hands down and back up again. It feels so much better than Christian’s own lonely hand. He bites down harder on his palm, eyes slitted, trying to think, to speak.
‘Zack,’ his voice is muffled against his palm.
‘Shhhh’ Zack’s breath paints the back of his neck, lips touching skin now. He’s so close to that spot behind Christian’s ear, where it’s still wet with his own saliva. Christian’s heart hammers in his chest, heat buzzing through him. He’s dazed, almost high.
Zack’s hand keeps guiding Christian’s, and he lets it happen. His breath hitches out as Zack’s finger crooks, finding that spot under his cockhead, sending zings all up his body.
‘Zack,’ Christian’s not sure if the whisper is an encouragement or a warning. Zack’s grin presses against his neck and he knows it doesn’t matter either way.
Zack opens his mouth on Christian’s neck, his tongue licking out to press flat right behind his ear. Right there. Christian whimpers, bucking into their joined hands. Zack strokes faster, working their hands over Christian’s dick, licking and sucking on his neck. He grinds against Christian’s back, hard against him through their clothes, not hiding how much he’s getting off on this.
Zack strokes faster, working their hands over Christian’s dick, licking and sucking on his neck.
Christian’s eyelids flutter and he can’t help the way he presses back against Zack. He has no idea if he’s being quiet enough, but he can’t think beyond fuck, Zack’s hands, fuck-fuck-fuck.
Zack makes a frustrated noise and pulls Christian’s hand away, using just his own and it’s suddenly so much better. He rolls Christian onto his back, leaning over him, all dark eyes and wet mouth as he looks at Christian’s sweaty face and damp hair. Christian’s skin prickles as cool air gets in under the blanket. Christian wants to pull it up again, cover himself, but Zack’s leaning down, his eyes intense in the dark until the moment right before he kisses Christian.
Its not the first time Zacks kissed him, but its the first time hes done it with a hand on Christian’s dick, so it’s kind of a big deal. Christian’s beyond fighting it; he just accepts Zack’s tongue in his mouth, tasting of his own salty skin, kissing Zack back with all the heat he’s got.
Zack’s lips move over his, sucking, nipping, his chest brushing against Christian’s as he speeds his hand between them. Christian’s dick is slick with pre-come now, lending slide to Zack’s hand, making Christian’s hips buck underneath him. Zack angles his hand just right and fuck, fuck, that’s it, Christian’s losing it, he’s gone.
He arches up under Zack, choked breaths leaking into their kiss as his hips stutter and he comes, hot all over Zack’s hand. Struggling for breath, he pries his eyes open to find Zack looking down at him and his breath short as he wipes his hand off on Christian’s stomach. He fumbles with his own jeans and before Christian’s even caught his breath, Zack’s jerking himself off under the blanket, face inched and desperate. He mutters to himself as his body shifts over Christian’s, ‘So hot, so fuck, Jesus. Christian. Fuck.’
It’s hypnotic, the way Zack’s eyes flutter, the way he bites his lip between whispers. Christian can’t move for long moments, just watches his bandmate come apart above him, sweating and panting, on display.
Christian can’t move for long moments, just watches his bandmate come apart above him, sweating and panting, on display.
It’s not until Zack’s muttered whispers narrow to a single word repeated – Christian’s name – that he moves. He presses himself up off the floor to meet Zack’s mouth, his lips muffling Zack’s moan of satisfaction. He kisses Zack hard, pressing his tongue into his mouth as his sticky hand finds its way to Zack’s, replacing it on Zack’s cock. It’s weird to touch another guy’s cock from this angle – let alone Zack’s, but it feels good, the skin hot and velvety under his fingers. He only gets a handful more strokes in before Zack comes above him, hips stuttering, strangled noises leaking into their kiss.
Come drips down onto Christian’s stomach and Zack collapses onto his side, panting into Christian’s neck. They lie there for
long moments, fighting to get enough air into their lungs. Christian’s skin starts to cool and he worries about how loud they were – about what they just did.
‘Jesus, Zack,’ he whispers, not sure what else to say.
‘Hey, you started it,’ Zack mutters into his neck, his voice liquid.
‘Actually, you started it,’ Christian points out, a little annoyed.
Zack just grins into Christian’s skin and licks that spot behind his ear again. On purpose, because he’s an asshole.
‘Yeah okay,’ Zack whispers, his breath feathering over the wet mark on Christian’s neck. ‘I’ll cop to this. I totally take responsibility.’
He slides a sticky hand into Christian’s, entwining their fingers, all warm against Christian’s side. Christian doesn’t manage to get his jeans done up before he falls asleep.
Author Elle Fox is an Australian living in London. She makes her living in the film industry. Writing smut is her passionate hobby. Illustrator Katie Hewitt is a New Zealand born, London based illustrator who dabbles in web development and graphic design.