Shipwreck
Title: Shipwreck
Author: Amanda, who goes by the aliasapodiopsys
Pairing: Alex^2 (Alex Gaskarth/Alex Roy of Sparks the Rescue)
Rating: NC-17
POV: second person
Summary: “A-lex-and-er Roy,” he says again, and the syllables are just rolling off his tongue, it’s weirdly sexy and really hot and just. Shit. Alex Gaskarth.
Disclaimer: do not own etc don't steal etc title and cut belongs to Sparks the Resuce etc
A/N: this was originally a prompt (Alex Roy is an ATL fanboy) but it changed and took on a life of it's own and evolved into a beautiful pokemon full fledged, 3k+ worded fic. i am literally just having a huge proud mother moment right now. dedicated to Deanna, because she's the one who gave me the prompt, and Gabe, because Alex Roy. also, second person, i'm kind of experimenting with POV. it was fun, definitely fun. I think that's it~
tumblr is here, br0.
cum tell me what you think i will not be appreciative if you read it and then make like a tree and leave.
Alex Gaskarth leans in close to you, so close that he’s almost in your lap, falling out of his bar stool. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and under that, you can smell something that’s obviously the smell of touring: unwashed laundry and the sweat from the last three days at least and also something that might be sex. It’s distinctly a really hot smell. “A-lex Roy,” he says, rolling each syllable around on his mouth, speech slurred by the amounts of alcohol he’s been consuming.
You fight the urge to squeal because of the fact that Alex is leaning on you and breathing your air and this is Alex Gaskarth who’s practically in your lap. “A-lex-and-er Roy,” he says again, and the syllables are just rolling off his tongue, it’s weirdly sexy and really hot and just. Shit. Alex Gaskarth. He makes a handmotion at the bartender, some sort of another drink? that he clearly understands.
“He doesn’t need another one,” you say to the bartender, taking the drink from him when he tries handing it Alex. Alex whines when you down it instead. “That’s miiiine,” he whines, making grabby motions for the now-empty cup, leaning even more onto you. His stool wobbles and you slide a hand around his waist, and one way or another he actually is in your lap now, in your space and breathing you air and lips touching your skin and. His lips are touching your skin.
Alex smells really good. You’ve already established this but like, he’s in your lap and his face is next to your face, you’ve got a mouthful of your hair and he is literally the only thing you can even think about, which might have something to do with the fact that you’re kind of really drunk, it’s that kind of awareness that only comes with copious amounts of alcohol.
If you turn your head just a little, just so, your lips touch, just a tiny little touch and that tiny touch turns into something more, a longer touch, a hotter touch, hands touching skin and the stubble on his cheeks burning where it rubs against your own. His lips part against your own, giving you entrance, letting you lick into his mouth to taste, taste alcohol and lick away that taste until you can only taste him.
“You wanna take this somewhere else?” Alex pants wetly into your mouth, tongue flicking out across your lips. You nod, and he slides off of your lap, taking your hand and leaving a fifty dollar bill on the counter. It’s way, way too much money but neither of you care.
One way or another you manage to hail a cab, manage to keep your hands off him during the fifteen minute ride back to the hotel (even though his hands are all over you, palms skittering across your chest and pressing to the front of your jeans. You press a twenty dollar bill into the drivers hands muttering “Keep the change,” while trying to not make the noises that you want to due to Alex’s insistent groping.
He doesn’t stop touching you, not through the hotel lobby or in the elevator, even though there’s some fiftysomething year old business man who looks really uncomfortable with the fact that Alex is leaned against the wall with you pulled up against him, palming you slowly while whispering all these dirty, filthy things in your ear. The two of you get off at the seventh floor, much to the business man’s relief. You stumble towards your room (791), knocking into walls and doors because Alex insists on walking right behind you with his hands hot and heavy on your hips, mouthing at the back of your neck.
You only fumble once with the keycard, waiting for the light to turn green before pushing down on the doorhandle and pulling Alex inside. He kicks the door closed and there’s a loud thud; you push him backwards against the door, tangling one hand in his hair and holding onto his hip with the other. He’s already expecting it when you go to kiss him, lips parted and pulling you in.
He’s drunk. You’re drunk. But Alex is very drunk. He’s also a very good kisser, you notice as he slips his hands up your shirt fingers tracing up your ribs. Your hands shift, grabbing at the lapels of his shirt and then walking backwards, pulling him towards the bed. Alex falls on top of you, one thigh in between your legs. It’s easy to roll him over onto his back, legs bent at the knees and feet touching the floor.
Alex’s pupils are huge, his eyes are practically just black. His hair is sticking to his forehead, lips parted as he leans back on his elbows. You don’t know what makes you do it, but you slide down onto your knees, kneeling in between his legs. His eyes are closed now, and you manage to make quick work of his pants, even though your hand/eye co-ordination is kind of shot to hell. Your mouth is around him before he even realizes what’s going on and the noise he makes is loud.
The sounds coming out of his mouth are better than the music his band makes. It’s better than his singing, it’s better than when he talks: some part of you wants to record it and then put it on your ipod so that when this is over and you’re both regretting it at least you have something to get off on when you’re alone.
He doesn’t taste good, it’s not something that you actually like, like, but it’s bearable, salty and bitter. He’s heavy on your tongue; you can tell that he’s actually making an effort not to buck his hips. You don’t think you’d mind if he did, actually, you’d probably like it. The thing is you know that you don’t really have a gag reflex, not a particularly strong one anyway, but you’ve never actually given anyone a blowjob before and you’d kind of like to see how far you can go.
(It was with Toby that you figured the thing out about your gag reflex; you were eating popsicles one day and then all of a sudden, bam, you’ve got a cherry popsicle half way down your throat and shit damn that’s funny because, hey, you’ve got no gag reflex!)
His hips do buck up and it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like, wow, this is fucking amazing I want to do this all the fucking time. You can handle though, it’s really nothing special, and blowjobs are obviously better from the receiving end. This ‘experience’ isn’t entirely lost on you though, it’s not like you aren’t hard because you really kind of are, but it’s more from the sounds that Alex is making then the fact that his dick is in your mouth.
Which, you’d rather currently be doing other things to Alex Gaskarth’s body, now that you have him pretty much naked and squirming in front of you. You’re not quite sober (kind of far from, actually) but you’re there enough that you realize the odds of this happening again when you both are sober are very very slim. So you want to use this for your advantage, make sure that you have some sort of decent memories to get off on other than Alex potentially coming on your face.
You pull off with a slow pop, sucking on the corner of your lip as you look up at him. He looks kind of... unhinged, almost none of the chocolate brown iris of his eyes showing. “Your mouth is good for more than just singing,” he says, all rough and raw. He should really record a song like this, fuck. You flush a little at the compliment.
Alex sits up and pulls you clumsily off your knees until you’re kneeling above him, stretched out across his body. He keeps wriggling until he can kick his pants off, trying to tug off your t-shirt while kissing you at the same time. You’ve both sobered up, this is all about sex and heat and want and feeling good.
Shirts and shoes and pants disappear one by one in record time until you’re both undeniably naked. It’s terrifying and thrilling and it’s Alex Gaskarth that’s pretty much fucking himself on three of your fingers right now, um. Alex Gaskarth as in the Alex Gaskarth you’ve idolised since pretty much forever and you really hoped that you could one day maybe record a song together except that might not happen now that you’re having sex.
Which, sex. Sex. With Alex. Wow. Um. Fuck.
Fuck.
Alex makes this really hot whimpering noise, hips rolling down like he can’t help himself. “Alex, Alex come on, come the fuck on,” he says, voice catching as he keeps rolling his hips.
“Yeah, I. Yeah,” you hear yourself say, and you think, condom, so you get up and wipe your hand on the sheets, pulling your wallet out of the back pocket of your jeans and taking out the condom that’s in it. The foil crinkles as you rip it open (with your teeth, you had to practice to be able to do that and if you wasted all those condoms on learning how to, you might as well try and impress Alex by doing it, right?) and your breath hitches when Alex leans forward and plucks it out of your hands, rolling it carefully over your cock.
He looks up at you with these huge eyes, biting his lip as he slides up the bed, spreading his legs as he goes. You bite back the slut that springs to your lips as you watch him. You’re unsure of how appropriate that would be, if name calling is one of Alex’s things or not.
You’d love to find out.
“Come on,” he whines again, looking decidedly more and more impatient as you start crawling up the bed, impatient to the point where he grabs you by the neck and pulls, your lips connecting before you can actually do anything else.
You make out for at least two minutes, definitely three minutes, if not four. Time doesn’t seem to exist. It stopped the second that Alex ended up in your lap at the bar, this doesn’t need to end, hopefully Rian and Toby and everyone else are frozen in time where they were last at so that this can last forever.
Alex’s skin is mostly smooth to the touch. Your hand slides down his chest and skims across his sides and thighs, pushing one up so that his leg can hook over your shoulder. Your eyes connect as you push in, slow slow slow, it’s like a spark of electricity and the tension in the room grows tenfold. Sexual tension. It could be cut with a butcher knife and it would still be hard to cut.
A soft sigh escapes his lips once you’re all the way in, pressed flush up against each other, hips to his ass. You angle your head down a little, your lips catching his neck where it meets with his shoulder. His breath is kind of stuttering, you can feel it, can feel his pulse jumping underneath his skin. Your teeth graze his neck, leaving a tiny, barely-there mark. You want to leave more.
“Okay?” you breathe against his skin, lips moving endlessly, mapping out this new and unfamiliar territory. You’d be probably be content to just, map out his skin with your lips and hands but sex is so, so much better.
“Yeah, yeah, c’mon, go,” he breathes, tipping his head back. The column of his neck stretches on and on forever, you can’t help it, you need to mark him, more then a tiny unnoticable bite mark. Your lips latch onto the skin near the corner of his jaw. You hear his breath catch and then you suck hard, teeth nipping and tongue soothing once you’ve declared it worthy.
The first thrust, and Alex makes this noise that makes you wonder if it would be inappropriate to pull out and get your iphone and then set it to record so you can record his noises. It probably would be. His hands link behind your neck, pulling at the soft tufts of hair there. It’s almost lazy fucking, this slow pace that has him rolling his hips into and making these soft little whimpering noises that are ridiculously hot.
Your fingers curl into the sheets where they’re planted on either side of his head, holding up your upper body as you fuck him slowly, pressing hot and sharp (like exotic spices) kisses along his jawline.
Alex starts getting needier, you can tell, moans raising in volume and pitch the longer this goes on. He’s a singer, he’s taken vocal lessons, you wonder how loud and high he could go. A hotel room at shit in the morning is probably not the right place to find out.
(You hope so hard that you’ll get a chance and place to find out.)
The angle doesn’t seem to be working for him. This is fucking fire and brimstone for you, you could totally spend all day fucking Alex Gaskarth. Instead, you pull out and look him in the eye and say, “How do you want it?”
He bites his lip and then says quietly, “I’d kind of really like to ride you,” like you wouldn’t let him do it or something.
Honestly, you would let him handcuff you or wear some kinky cop outfit or use weird toys that you’ve probably never even heard of. Because he’s Alex Gaskarth, a guy who’s got experience because All Time Low have groupies and fans and girls and guys who would let them try sex things on them.
“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes wide, fuck. “Yeah, shit, okay.” The two of you switch positions, sitting up and leaning against the headboard as Alex straddles your hips, biting the inside of his lip as he sinks down, slowly, so fucking slowly.
“F-u-uck,” he gasps, head tilted back because apparently this is working for him, this is working well. He’s slow at first, short, jerky motions, twisting his hips in circles, and if he keeps it up long enough you could probably come from this alone.
Your hands hold his hips, thumbs rubbing back and fourth over the bones and Alex think’s he’s going to go crazy. “Please, please,” he whimpers, head tipping back as he starts really going at the task at hand, hips raising rapidly. His legs will be so sore when he’s done. He’s just as vocal (if not more) as you had fantasized - because you’re not even going to lie, you have most definitely fantasized about him. You start thrusting up to meet him half way down, and his moans just get louder, fucking louder, you hope to God and Allah and other patron saints that there is no-one in the close vicinity of your hotel room. Alternatively, you hope that it’s Mike who’s got the room on the other side of the wall because then this is the perfect revenge of that one time where his girlfriend came on tour and you got stuck with the room that had a wall connecting to the one that the beds headboard is leaning up against.
And which, the headboard is banging, it’s definitely banging against the wall, because nothing else would be making that steady bang, bang, bang noise. You’re so close, so fucking close. Alex is literally the only thing that’s relevant right now, everything in your whole existence has narrowed down to Alex and his hips and his ass and his lips and his cock.
“Are you -?” you gasp, voice breaking, no shame no shame no shame. He nods, lips wet and red and back curved as he twists his hips on his way back down, more for him than you even if it feels like fucking, cloud nine or something.
“Yes,” he hisses, hands twitching slightly. “Could you just. Please?” he still has some dignity left it seems, and one day, one day, you would really, really like to break him down and make him beg for it. Because he would beg, you can tell that he really totally would.
You wrap your hand around his cock, tugging to a rhythm that is just off to the one that he’s setting with his hips. The rumors on the internet are true, it curves to the left, or sits to the left, whatever it is that Alex says it does, it does something that makes it go left. “Fucking yes,” he moans, low and deep in his chest, curse words flying left right and center as he comes in strings across your chest. “Fuck,” he says, falling forwards, arm flailing out to catch himself on the headboard. “Fuck.”
The angle changes, your hips twitch forward and you can’t help it because Alex is kind of just... existing. He’s like, not asleep because you can see his eyes moving, but he’s just existing while your cock is hard and kind of inside him and it would be really nice of him if you could just come.
“Alex, fuck,” you say, hips twitching again, and he lifts his head and looks up at you, eyelids drooping a little. He’s clearly the manly type who likes to sleep after an orgasm.
“Hey, yeah,” he says, sleepy and sated. He leans in and runs his tongue slowly across your lips, dipping into your mouth for a taste (you taste like him and left over traces of alcohol. Mostly him.) You make a snap decision because this is clearly going nowhere fast, and grab his hips, holding as you flip him over so that you’re on top and he’s underneath you. Again. “Oh,” he says, and you nod.
“Oh.” It doesn’t take long, another minute at the most, not with Alex clenching every few seconds because he really can’t do much else except for lie there and take it, loose and pliant, letting you do pretty much whatever you want.
(Which is mark him, you leave a couple more marks because dammit if this can’t happen again then at least you can mark him so that he, and potentially other people, can know that it did.)
When you come, you bite his shoulder, moaning his name (which is also yours and that makes it just a little bit bizarre). Your whole body shudders, fucking him shallowly through it and then you collapse on him, face tucked into his neck.
“Alex,” he says, and then he pokes you in the goddam side like you didn’t just spend the better part of forty five minutes blowing him and then fucking his brains out.
Or at least, you hope you fucked his brains out. You’d like to think that you did. If you didn’t, you’re not at all apposed to trying again.
You pull out and his breath hitches, slightly, barely, but you catch it. The condom is tied off and thrown in the general direction of the trashcan, which is in the general area of the door so if someone happens to walk in in the morning and steps in a used condom that is absolutely one hundred percent not your fault.
Alex is lying on his back, one arm thrown out to the side, off the edge of the bed. You flop next to him and he turns over immediately, curling into your side with his head on your shoulder. It makes you smile, the way he gropes down the edge of the bed to pull up the duvet so it covers you both, cuddling up and falling asleep almost instantly. He didn’t leave right after which could mean a lot of things: he’s a tired and lazy fuck who doesn’t want to get up, he’s still drunk and needs to sleep it off, he actually wanted this past sex and maybe, maybe maybe wants to stay in the morning too and order room service and then maybe go for another round of sex.
You really hope that he wants to stay and order room service. Pancakes sound good. Pancakes with syrup. Because syrup is sticky. It’s a good reason to take showers together. Showers that may or may not involve sex and/or blowjobs. Yeah. Alex should definitely stay for room service. Or maybe forever. That’d be awesome too.
Author: Amanda, who goes by the aliasapodiopsys
Pairing: Alex^2 (Alex Gaskarth/Alex Roy of Sparks the Rescue)
Rating: NC-17
POV: second person
Summary: “A-lex-and-er Roy,” he says again, and the syllables are just rolling off his tongue, it’s weirdly sexy and really hot and just. Shit. Alex Gaskarth.
Disclaimer: do not own etc don't steal etc title and cut belongs to Sparks the Resuce etc
A/N: this was originally a prompt (Alex Roy is an ATL fanboy) but it changed and took on a life of it's own and evolved into a beautiful pokemon full fledged, 3k+ worded fic. i am literally just having a huge proud mother moment right now. dedicated to Deanna, because she's the one who gave me the prompt, and Gabe, because Alex Roy. also, second person, i'm kind of experimenting with POV. it was fun, definitely fun. I think that's it~
tumblr is here, br0.
cum tell me what you think i will not be appreciative if you read it and then make like a tree and leave.
Alex Gaskarth leans in close to you, so close that he’s almost in your lap, falling out of his bar stool. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and under that, you can smell something that’s obviously the smell of touring: unwashed laundry and the sweat from the last three days at least and also something that might be sex. It’s distinctly a really hot smell. “A-lex Roy,” he says, rolling each syllable around on his mouth, speech slurred by the amounts of alcohol he’s been consuming.
You fight the urge to squeal because of the fact that Alex is leaning on you and breathing your air and this is Alex Gaskarth who’s practically in your lap. “A-lex-and-er Roy,” he says again, and the syllables are just rolling off his tongue, it’s weirdly sexy and really hot and just. Shit. Alex Gaskarth. He makes a handmotion at the bartender, some sort of another drink? that he clearly understands.
“He doesn’t need another one,” you say to the bartender, taking the drink from him when he tries handing it Alex. Alex whines when you down it instead. “That’s miiiine,” he whines, making grabby motions for the now-empty cup, leaning even more onto you. His stool wobbles and you slide a hand around his waist, and one way or another he actually is in your lap now, in your space and breathing you air and lips touching your skin and. His lips are touching your skin.
Alex smells really good. You’ve already established this but like, he’s in your lap and his face is next to your face, you’ve got a mouthful of your hair and he is literally the only thing you can even think about, which might have something to do with the fact that you’re kind of really drunk, it’s that kind of awareness that only comes with copious amounts of alcohol.
If you turn your head just a little, just so, your lips touch, just a tiny little touch and that tiny touch turns into something more, a longer touch, a hotter touch, hands touching skin and the stubble on his cheeks burning where it rubs against your own. His lips part against your own, giving you entrance, letting you lick into his mouth to taste, taste alcohol and lick away that taste until you can only taste him.
“You wanna take this somewhere else?” Alex pants wetly into your mouth, tongue flicking out across your lips. You nod, and he slides off of your lap, taking your hand and leaving a fifty dollar bill on the counter. It’s way, way too much money but neither of you care.
One way or another you manage to hail a cab, manage to keep your hands off him during the fifteen minute ride back to the hotel (even though his hands are all over you, palms skittering across your chest and pressing to the front of your jeans. You press a twenty dollar bill into the drivers hands muttering “Keep the change,” while trying to not make the noises that you want to due to Alex’s insistent groping.
He doesn’t stop touching you, not through the hotel lobby or in the elevator, even though there’s some fiftysomething year old business man who looks really uncomfortable with the fact that Alex is leaned against the wall with you pulled up against him, palming you slowly while whispering all these dirty, filthy things in your ear. The two of you get off at the seventh floor, much to the business man’s relief. You stumble towards your room (791), knocking into walls and doors because Alex insists on walking right behind you with his hands hot and heavy on your hips, mouthing at the back of your neck.
You only fumble once with the keycard, waiting for the light to turn green before pushing down on the doorhandle and pulling Alex inside. He kicks the door closed and there’s a loud thud; you push him backwards against the door, tangling one hand in his hair and holding onto his hip with the other. He’s already expecting it when you go to kiss him, lips parted and pulling you in.
He’s drunk. You’re drunk. But Alex is very drunk. He’s also a very good kisser, you notice as he slips his hands up your shirt fingers tracing up your ribs. Your hands shift, grabbing at the lapels of his shirt and then walking backwards, pulling him towards the bed. Alex falls on top of you, one thigh in between your legs. It’s easy to roll him over onto his back, legs bent at the knees and feet touching the floor.
Alex’s pupils are huge, his eyes are practically just black. His hair is sticking to his forehead, lips parted as he leans back on his elbows. You don’t know what makes you do it, but you slide down onto your knees, kneeling in between his legs. His eyes are closed now, and you manage to make quick work of his pants, even though your hand/eye co-ordination is kind of shot to hell. Your mouth is around him before he even realizes what’s going on and the noise he makes is loud.
The sounds coming out of his mouth are better than the music his band makes. It’s better than his singing, it’s better than when he talks: some part of you wants to record it and then put it on your ipod so that when this is over and you’re both regretting it at least you have something to get off on when you’re alone.
He doesn’t taste good, it’s not something that you actually like, like, but it’s bearable, salty and bitter. He’s heavy on your tongue; you can tell that he’s actually making an effort not to buck his hips. You don’t think you’d mind if he did, actually, you’d probably like it. The thing is you know that you don’t really have a gag reflex, not a particularly strong one anyway, but you’ve never actually given anyone a blowjob before and you’d kind of like to see how far you can go.
(It was with Toby that you figured the thing out about your gag reflex; you were eating popsicles one day and then all of a sudden, bam, you’ve got a cherry popsicle half way down your throat and shit damn that’s funny because, hey, you’ve got no gag reflex!)
His hips do buck up and it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not like, wow, this is fucking amazing I want to do this all the fucking time. You can handle though, it’s really nothing special, and blowjobs are obviously better from the receiving end. This ‘experience’ isn’t entirely lost on you though, it’s not like you aren’t hard because you really kind of are, but it’s more from the sounds that Alex is making then the fact that his dick is in your mouth.
Which, you’d rather currently be doing other things to Alex Gaskarth’s body, now that you have him pretty much naked and squirming in front of you. You’re not quite sober (kind of far from, actually) but you’re there enough that you realize the odds of this happening again when you both are sober are very very slim. So you want to use this for your advantage, make sure that you have some sort of decent memories to get off on other than Alex potentially coming on your face.
You pull off with a slow pop, sucking on the corner of your lip as you look up at him. He looks kind of... unhinged, almost none of the chocolate brown iris of his eyes showing. “Your mouth is good for more than just singing,” he says, all rough and raw. He should really record a song like this, fuck. You flush a little at the compliment.
Alex sits up and pulls you clumsily off your knees until you’re kneeling above him, stretched out across his body. He keeps wriggling until he can kick his pants off, trying to tug off your t-shirt while kissing you at the same time. You’ve both sobered up, this is all about sex and heat and want and feeling good.
Shirts and shoes and pants disappear one by one in record time until you’re both undeniably naked. It’s terrifying and thrilling and it’s Alex Gaskarth that’s pretty much fucking himself on three of your fingers right now, um. Alex Gaskarth as in the Alex Gaskarth you’ve idolised since pretty much forever and you really hoped that you could one day maybe record a song together except that might not happen now that you’re having sex.
Which, sex. Sex. With Alex. Wow. Um. Fuck.
Fuck.
Alex makes this really hot whimpering noise, hips rolling down like he can’t help himself. “Alex, Alex come on, come the fuck on,” he says, voice catching as he keeps rolling his hips.
“Yeah, I. Yeah,” you hear yourself say, and you think, condom, so you get up and wipe your hand on the sheets, pulling your wallet out of the back pocket of your jeans and taking out the condom that’s in it. The foil crinkles as you rip it open (with your teeth, you had to practice to be able to do that and if you wasted all those condoms on learning how to, you might as well try and impress Alex by doing it, right?) and your breath hitches when Alex leans forward and plucks it out of your hands, rolling it carefully over your cock.
He looks up at you with these huge eyes, biting his lip as he slides up the bed, spreading his legs as he goes. You bite back the slut that springs to your lips as you watch him. You’re unsure of how appropriate that would be, if name calling is one of Alex’s things or not.
You’d love to find out.
“Come on,” he whines again, looking decidedly more and more impatient as you start crawling up the bed, impatient to the point where he grabs you by the neck and pulls, your lips connecting before you can actually do anything else.
You make out for at least two minutes, definitely three minutes, if not four. Time doesn’t seem to exist. It stopped the second that Alex ended up in your lap at the bar, this doesn’t need to end, hopefully Rian and Toby and everyone else are frozen in time where they were last at so that this can last forever.
Alex’s skin is mostly smooth to the touch. Your hand slides down his chest and skims across his sides and thighs, pushing one up so that his leg can hook over your shoulder. Your eyes connect as you push in, slow slow slow, it’s like a spark of electricity and the tension in the room grows tenfold. Sexual tension. It could be cut with a butcher knife and it would still be hard to cut.
A soft sigh escapes his lips once you’re all the way in, pressed flush up against each other, hips to his ass. You angle your head down a little, your lips catching his neck where it meets with his shoulder. His breath is kind of stuttering, you can feel it, can feel his pulse jumping underneath his skin. Your teeth graze his neck, leaving a tiny, barely-there mark. You want to leave more.
“Okay?” you breathe against his skin, lips moving endlessly, mapping out this new and unfamiliar territory. You’d be probably be content to just, map out his skin with your lips and hands but sex is so, so much better.
“Yeah, yeah, c’mon, go,” he breathes, tipping his head back. The column of his neck stretches on and on forever, you can’t help it, you need to mark him, more then a tiny unnoticable bite mark. Your lips latch onto the skin near the corner of his jaw. You hear his breath catch and then you suck hard, teeth nipping and tongue soothing once you’ve declared it worthy.
The first thrust, and Alex makes this noise that makes you wonder if it would be inappropriate to pull out and get your iphone and then set it to record so you can record his noises. It probably would be. His hands link behind your neck, pulling at the soft tufts of hair there. It’s almost lazy fucking, this slow pace that has him rolling his hips into and making these soft little whimpering noises that are ridiculously hot.
Your fingers curl into the sheets where they’re planted on either side of his head, holding up your upper body as you fuck him slowly, pressing hot and sharp (like exotic spices) kisses along his jawline.
Alex starts getting needier, you can tell, moans raising in volume and pitch the longer this goes on. He’s a singer, he’s taken vocal lessons, you wonder how loud and high he could go. A hotel room at shit in the morning is probably not the right place to find out.
(You hope so hard that you’ll get a chance and place to find out.)
The angle doesn’t seem to be working for him. This is fucking fire and brimstone for you, you could totally spend all day fucking Alex Gaskarth. Instead, you pull out and look him in the eye and say, “How do you want it?”
He bites his lip and then says quietly, “I’d kind of really like to ride you,” like you wouldn’t let him do it or something.
Honestly, you would let him handcuff you or wear some kinky cop outfit or use weird toys that you’ve probably never even heard of. Because he’s Alex Gaskarth, a guy who’s got experience because All Time Low have groupies and fans and girls and guys who would let them try sex things on them.
“Yeah,” you breathe, eyes wide, fuck. “Yeah, shit, okay.” The two of you switch positions, sitting up and leaning against the headboard as Alex straddles your hips, biting the inside of his lip as he sinks down, slowly, so fucking slowly.
“F-u-uck,” he gasps, head tilted back because apparently this is working for him, this is working well. He’s slow at first, short, jerky motions, twisting his hips in circles, and if he keeps it up long enough you could probably come from this alone.
Your hands hold his hips, thumbs rubbing back and fourth over the bones and Alex think’s he’s going to go crazy. “Please, please,” he whimpers, head tipping back as he starts really going at the task at hand, hips raising rapidly. His legs will be so sore when he’s done. He’s just as vocal (if not more) as you had fantasized - because you’re not even going to lie, you have most definitely fantasized about him. You start thrusting up to meet him half way down, and his moans just get louder, fucking louder, you hope to God and Allah and other patron saints that there is no-one in the close vicinity of your hotel room. Alternatively, you hope that it’s Mike who’s got the room on the other side of the wall because then this is the perfect revenge of that one time where his girlfriend came on tour and you got stuck with the room that had a wall connecting to the one that the beds headboard is leaning up against.
And which, the headboard is banging, it’s definitely banging against the wall, because nothing else would be making that steady bang, bang, bang noise. You’re so close, so fucking close. Alex is literally the only thing that’s relevant right now, everything in your whole existence has narrowed down to Alex and his hips and his ass and his lips and his cock.
“Are you -?” you gasp, voice breaking, no shame no shame no shame. He nods, lips wet and red and back curved as he twists his hips on his way back down, more for him than you even if it feels like fucking, cloud nine or something.
“Yes,” he hisses, hands twitching slightly. “Could you just. Please?” he still has some dignity left it seems, and one day, one day, you would really, really like to break him down and make him beg for it. Because he would beg, you can tell that he really totally would.
You wrap your hand around his cock, tugging to a rhythm that is just off to the one that he’s setting with his hips. The rumors on the internet are true, it curves to the left, or sits to the left, whatever it is that Alex says it does, it does something that makes it go left. “Fucking yes,” he moans, low and deep in his chest, curse words flying left right and center as he comes in strings across your chest. “Fuck,” he says, falling forwards, arm flailing out to catch himself on the headboard. “Fuck.”
The angle changes, your hips twitch forward and you can’t help it because Alex is kind of just... existing. He’s like, not asleep because you can see his eyes moving, but he’s just existing while your cock is hard and kind of inside him and it would be really nice of him if you could just come.
“Alex, fuck,” you say, hips twitching again, and he lifts his head and looks up at you, eyelids drooping a little. He’s clearly the manly type who likes to sleep after an orgasm.
“Hey, yeah,” he says, sleepy and sated. He leans in and runs his tongue slowly across your lips, dipping into your mouth for a taste (you taste like him and left over traces of alcohol. Mostly him.) You make a snap decision because this is clearly going nowhere fast, and grab his hips, holding as you flip him over so that you’re on top and he’s underneath you. Again. “Oh,” he says, and you nod.
“Oh.” It doesn’t take long, another minute at the most, not with Alex clenching every few seconds because he really can’t do much else except for lie there and take it, loose and pliant, letting you do pretty much whatever you want.
(Which is mark him, you leave a couple more marks because dammit if this can’t happen again then at least you can mark him so that he, and potentially other people, can know that it did.)
When you come, you bite his shoulder, moaning his name (which is also yours and that makes it just a little bit bizarre). Your whole body shudders, fucking him shallowly through it and then you collapse on him, face tucked into his neck.
“Alex,” he says, and then he pokes you in the goddam side like you didn’t just spend the better part of forty five minutes blowing him and then fucking his brains out.
Or at least, you hope you fucked his brains out. You’d like to think that you did. If you didn’t, you’re not at all apposed to trying again.
You pull out and his breath hitches, slightly, barely, but you catch it. The condom is tied off and thrown in the general direction of the trashcan, which is in the general area of the door so if someone happens to walk in in the morning and steps in a used condom that is absolutely one hundred percent not your fault.
Alex is lying on his back, one arm thrown out to the side, off the edge of the bed. You flop next to him and he turns over immediately, curling into your side with his head on your shoulder. It makes you smile, the way he gropes down the edge of the bed to pull up the duvet so it covers you both, cuddling up and falling asleep almost instantly. He didn’t leave right after which could mean a lot of things: he’s a tired and lazy fuck who doesn’t want to get up, he’s still drunk and needs to sleep it off, he actually wanted this past sex and maybe, maybe maybe wants to stay in the morning too and order room service and then maybe go for another round of sex.
You really hope that he wants to stay and order room service. Pancakes sound good. Pancakes with syrup. Because syrup is sticky. It’s a good reason to take showers together. Showers that may or may not involve sex and/or blowjobs. Yeah. Alex should definitely stay for room service. Or maybe forever. That’d be awesome too.