fic: reckless abandonment (B/T)
possible starter for part one of my No Really, I'm Fine arc
[i don't own TH or its members]
There are times when it's too much. Times when everything goes so well, so fast, speeding past Bill at a blinding pace. He gets caught up in it all, letting it carry him away and he forgets the places and the faces because no matter where he is, he's on top of a world that's spinning too fast and he can't find time to care.
Nothing can help when he gets like this; nothing but the press of bodies as he arches up, nothing but Tom's grip on his hips holding him down, grounding him as their lives blur past them with the cities and the landscape and the rest of the world. Here, the fans don't matter and the critics don't matter, nothing matters as long as Tom is braced above him, panting and cursing and holding Bill down so forcefully he knows there will be bruises. Bill pulls at his own hair and then at Tom's, forcing him down for a kiss. It's harsh, needy, quick because he can't breathe through the enormity of it all. The world loves him, and the world can go fuck itself because he has everything he needs right here. The fanatics, the haters, the obsessed, the jealous: Bill doesn't care about any of them right now. They can keep rushing past while Tom holds him down, keeps his body in one place as Bill's mind flies. Ecstasy and adrenaline and complacency and fuck, yes, love, love, lovelovelove as Tom groans and comes inside him. It's so much and Bill wants to scream, opens his mouth but nothing
happens as Tom pumps the orgasm out of him.
It doesn't stop time. It doesn't slow down the pace of their lives, but it does help Bill's perspective. He can't get lost in the raging speed if Tom holds him in place. So they stand in the middle of the rush, hand in hand, and smile because the world loves to love them, and loves to hate them and together like this, they get to choose to not even care.
[i don't own TH or its members]
There are times when it's too much. Times when everything goes so well, so fast, speeding past Bill at a blinding pace. He gets caught up in it all, letting it carry him away and he forgets the places and the faces because no matter where he is, he's on top of a world that's spinning too fast and he can't find time to care.
Nothing can help when he gets like this; nothing but the press of bodies as he arches up, nothing but Tom's grip on his hips holding him down, grounding him as their lives blur past them with the cities and the landscape and the rest of the world. Here, the fans don't matter and the critics don't matter, nothing matters as long as Tom is braced above him, panting and cursing and holding Bill down so forcefully he knows there will be bruises. Bill pulls at his own hair and then at Tom's, forcing him down for a kiss. It's harsh, needy, quick because he can't breathe through the enormity of it all. The world loves him, and the world can go fuck itself because he has everything he needs right here. The fanatics, the haters, the obsessed, the jealous: Bill doesn't care about any of them right now. They can keep rushing past while Tom holds him down, keeps his body in one place as Bill's mind flies. Ecstasy and adrenaline and complacency and fuck, yes, love, love, lovelovelove as Tom groans and comes inside him. It's so much and Bill wants to scream, opens his mouth but nothing
happens as Tom pumps the orgasm out of him.
It doesn't stop time. It doesn't slow down the pace of their lives, but it does help Bill's perspective. He can't get lost in the raging speed if Tom holds him in place. So they stand in the middle of the rush, hand in hand, and smile because the world loves to love them, and loves to hate them and together like this, they get to choose to not even care.