'Maybe Tonight' [David Cook/Neal Tiemann]
Title: "Maybe Tonight"
Author: that_1_incident
Fandom: David Cook & the Anthemic
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Profanity, sexual themes
Pairing: David Cook/Neal Tiemann
Word Count: ~7,000
Summary: Being onstage has always been kind of a turn-on for Dave, and you can hardly blame him. The lights, the adrenaline, the screams of the crowd - it’s complete ecstasy for anyone who’s ever dreamed of being a rock star. He usually leaves the stage half-hard, the line of his dick surreptitious against his jeans, and it’s never been a problem but that’s starting to change.
Disclaimer: This isn't real. Title is a really rad song by David Cook.
---<---<---@
Dave doesn’t remember the first time it happened. It wasn’t a particular turning point in their relationship, more like a slow-burn of attraction and flirtation that built over time but never left the stage. He won’t admit it but it’s his favorite part of the show; more than the “whoa-whoas,” more than the a cappella portion of “Lie” when his raw, unamplified voice resonates over a hushed crowd.
Andy Googles stuff when he’s bored, tells Dave there are people out there who want him to kiss David Archuleta or fuck Michael Johns, people who have a name for what he does with Neal onstage every night - and weirdly, that last thing makes him feel the strangest out of everything.
But once he gets onstage the “guitar sex” doesn’t seem weird anymore, just heady and intoxicating, flooding his body with a beautiful high on top of the one he already has from performing. It kills him how Neal never looks at him when he walks over, that he waits until their guitars are practically touching before glancing up and catching Dave’s eye. Sometimes Dave will make faces at him just to watch the smile tug at the edge of his lips, the lights reflected in the metallic glint of his piercings.
When they started doing this, Dave felt kind of weird about how sexual it all was, the brazen way they played off the shared chemistry by touching each other’s instruments, faces and hair. They’re close but not overly demonstrative in any other aspect of their lives, and it’s only when they’re onstage that they can’t keep their hands off each other. It’s the one place that comes with a free pass for that kind of behavior, an exemption from questioning and suspicion, and if the rest of the band has noticed then nobody’s said so, which is good because it’s not really something Dave wants to address. He spends a lot of time not thinking about it, blowing it off whenever a thought bubbles up in his head, and he’s pretty sure Neal does the same. Neal… doesn’t have a problem exactly but he drinks heavily, something Dave mostly chalks up to wanting to have a good time, although occasionally he wonders what his friend might be trying to forget.
They’ve got to the point now where they’re pretty unabashed about their onstage antics. Dave will thrust his hips towards Neal, their guitars mercifully between them, and Neal will lean into him and match his gaze through hooded eyes. When they play together like this, it doesn’t sound like two guitars any more than it feels like they’re two different people. They feed off each other, intertwining to create a gorgeous musical entity comprised entirely of sex and noise. He senses Neal looking at him, gaze smoldering against his cheek as the other man makes sure that it’s good for him, that it’s working. It makes him wonder whether Neal would be as attentive in bed.
The thought makes something inside him roil in a way he can’t explain. He avoids his friend’s eyes, bites his lip and plays.
--
Being onstage has always been kind of a turn-on for Dave, and you can hardly blame him. The lights, the adrenaline, the screams of the crowd - it’s complete ecstasy for anyone who’s ever dreamed of being a rock star. He usually leaves the stage half-hard, the line of his dick surreptitious against his jeans, and it’s never been a problem but that’s starting to change. The other night he caught a glimpse of Neal’s pink tongue flashing out to run across his lips, plump and glistening, and although he’d forced himself to look down at his guitar the damage was done and his hard-on was raging. To make matters worse, Neal had shared a glance with him just before he turned to go back to the mic that left him thinking maybe… maybe.
He figured the sexual tension would evaporate when they left the stage, but it remained crackling beneath the surface. Ever since then, every conversation he has with Neal is charged with what they haven’t said.
--
The band members share an understanding because, y’know, they’re all red-blooded males, they have needs, but they try to keep quiet while jacking off because it’s less awkward the following day. It’s not the end of the world when Kyle moans a little too loudly or Andy forgets to muffle a grunt, but you can bet your ass they’ll get shit about it in the morning.
Dave doesn’t jack off at all on the bus. He’s pretty sure the others think he’s ninja-like in his quietness, but the only time he feels the need is right after a show; if time permits he’ll lock himself in the bathroom, and if it doesn’t then he and the guys will go do whatever and he forgets about it soon enough. But tonight he finds himself lying on his bunk with a sheet over his body and a throbbing ache between his thighs. He exhales noisily, rolls over into the fetal position and curses under his breath as his cock rubs against the mattress.
“Fuck it,” he murmurs, too overcome with arousal to spare a thought for the comments that might fly his way come daybreak. He curls his hand around himself and squeezes just a little, totally unprepared for the small noise this elicits from the back of his throat. He’s harder than he thought. It’s the middle of the fucking night - even Neal’s in bed - so he’s not too concerned about anyone overhearing but he still freezes for a good thirty seconds, the hammering of his heart against his rib cage sounding impossibly loud in his ears. He strokes his finger across the head, finding it slick and sticky with pre-come, and he doesn’t mean to but as he eases into his regular long, twisting strokes he pictures Neal’s eyes, Neal’s lips, the way his mouth curves into a smile despite himself whenever Dave advances with his guitar.
Neal’s name falls from his lips as he climaxes.
--
He can barely look Neal in the eye the next day. He catches the other man looking at him a couple of times with an appraising look on his face and thinks shit, but Neal still chuckles when he curls his lip into a decent Elvis impersonation so Dave’s not so sure he overheard after all.
--
“Hey, heartthrob.”
The opening act is long gone and one of the tech guys has just informed them that they have T-minus one minute before Rick Astley starts blaring and they walk onstage, but all Dave can focus on is leaning into Neal’s touch and wishing he hadn’t. He stares down at Neal’s arm lightly draped over his shoulder and asks, “What’s up?”
“I totally couldn’t sleep last night.”
The words themselves are fairly innocuous but a cold bolt of fear shoots through Dave’s body.
“…Oh?” he manages.
“Yeah. Sounded like you couldn’t either.” Neal pauses. “Glad I could help with that, though. You needed the beauty sleep.”
And with that he thumps Dave on the back and moves off to stand behind Andy, waiting for his cue. Dave stands there slack-jawed until the familiar strains of music come over the sound system and someone pokes him in the shoulder and says, “Go.”
--
He’s kind of dreading “BarBaSol.” He almost doesn’t do it, but then someone in the front row yells out the name and the crowd catches it and starts chanting. He glances at Neal more out of habit than anything, and when Neal looks back his blue eyes are sparkling mischievously. Dave nods in spite of himself and Neal nods back, fingers deftly finding the opening chords.
When Dave walks over there he feels even more of a pull than usual, like he’s being drawn to the music, to Neal. A brief, momentary glance passes between them before Neal draws his left lip ring between his teeth and looks down at his guitar. They play perfectly in sync, riffing off each other’s energies, and when Neal’s hips stutter forwards in an accompaniment to the smooth glide of the note he’s playing, Dave feels his mouth fall ajar. It’s all he can do to focus on holding his guitar firmly at his waist even as his hips push forward, trapping his hardness against the sleek instrument. When Neal leans across to tweak one of the knobs, grinning toothily before dropping his head back and surrendering to the music, Dave almost loses it.
--
The thrum of the crowd is doing nothing for Dave’s… situation, and by the time the chords of the last song fade out he is this close to palming himself right onstage. Neal plants a hand on his back as they do their bows, and he shoots the guitarist a desperate look. He can tell Neal’s trying his damnedest to look all cocky and unaffected, but something’s simmering behind the mask that reeks of uncontrollable desire. He can’t help but swallow; this is real, this is happening, and God only knows what’ll happen once they get offstage.
He can’t wait.
--
As soon as the customary high-fives and handshakes are over with, Dave shoots a significant look at Neal before excusing himself to go to the bathroom, only instead of walking in he dawdles by the door. Sure enough, Neal slips out two minutes later with an expression on his face that’s half anticipatory, half incredulous, and when he catches sight of Dave he raises an eyebrow.
Dave doesn’t say anything, just grabs his wrist and marches him inside, slamming him against the closed door. For a second they just stare at each other, breathing heavily, the fabric of Neal’s shirt bunched in Dave’s fists, and then the moment breaks and they attack each other’s mouths without abandon. Neal has one hand on Dave’s shoulder while the other sneaks down to work on his belt, and Dave’s so hard already that even that slight motion is unbearable. He moans in spite of himself, easing open Neal’s fly with trembling hands and delving into his pants.
A frisson runs through Neal’s entire body the first time Dave touches him, and it’s so pronounced it makes Dave pull back from kissing him. Neal’s face is flushed, the pupils of his blue eyes dilated. His hair is rumpled and he’s panting a little. Dave wants him so much he can’t breathe.
Neal pulls him in again like he recognizes the look in his eyes, and their tongues battle for dominance as they scrabble for each other’s erections. They come to some kind of sloppy consensus wherein Dave is palming Neal’s cock and Neal is grasping them both in his big hand, his callused fingers curling around Dave’s in the process. Neal feels impossibly good - firm and warm and everything Dave could want. With his free hand, Dave grabs at the exposed skin of Neal’s hip, using him as leverage and grinding against him for friction because he needs to get off, like, right now. This, this is what he’s been looking for - close contact, biting kisses and hair sodden with sweat. Who knew a rushed hand job could feel this good?
Neal pulls away and looks down, grinning. Dave wants so badly to kiss the fuck out of those swollen, gorgeous lips, but he follows Neal’s line of sight and the breath catches in his throat. Neal’s big, bigger than Dave, and his cock has the perfect curve to it. He never breaks his rhythm and it’s an amazing thing for Dave to see himself in another man’s hand, rubbing against another man’s hardness. Neal keeps stealing little glances to make sure Dave’s liking it, eager to gauge the effect of his ministrations just as Dave knew he would be, and that’s hotter than anything, that he could’ve predicted something like that.
Dave has the sudden overwhelming desire to drop to his knees and lick at the starkly defined vein, take the glistening head into his mouth and bob up and down until Neal comes down his throat, and he probably would’ve tried to if Neal hadn’t yanked his chin upwards and started kissing him again, causing his eyes to slip blissfully closed.
When he blindly reaches to stroke Neal’s balls, he doesn’t expect the strength of the guitarist’s reaction. Neal bucks forward with a whimper and breaks their kiss to rest his head on Dave’s shoulder, mouthing helplessly at his neck. It’s pretty much the hottest thing in the world. They’ve upped the pace now, and Dave’s gritting his teeth, he’s so close. It’s then he feels Neal’s incisors biting into his skin and emits a strangled yelp, tossing his head back as the tension from weeks of barely concealed foreplay flows out of him. He guesses that’s enough to push Neal over the edge too because soon the guitarist is grunting his own release, arm locked in a vise grip around Dave’s waist as he shudders against him.
Dave’s left utterly drained, debauched and panting, and his vision still hasn’t cleared from the pinpricks of light that exploded beneath his eyelids as he came. He barely knows up from down, clinging to Neal like a shipwreck survivor to driftwood as he becomes vaguely aware of someone tilting his head up and kissing him gently, two stripes of metallic coldness pressing against his mouth.
--
Dave doesn’t really know what to do after he gets his breath back. He doesn’t want to move from Neal’s tight embrace, but at the same time, he’s not sure if this is even okay. Hooking up in a bathroom and cuddling in a bathroom are two very different things.
He raises his head and opens his mouth to say something, but something in Neal’s expression stops him. Neal rarely gets sappy, preferring instead to deflect his feelings with humor or derision, so the look on his face is rare enough to make Dave do a double take.
Neal averts his eyes after a second and chews on his left lip ring like he does when he’s unsure about something before easing them both to the ground, his back still pressed against the door. Dave curls against him gratefully - he’s practically on Neal’s lap, for fuck’s sake - and almost starts purring when the other man begins to gently stroke his hair.
They both realize they have, like, no time at all before one or all of the other guys take matters into their own hands and come find them, and Dave wants to say something about… what this meant to him, or something, but he can’t find the words. Eventually Neal stops touching his hair and hugs him fiercely, pulling him to his chest, and then Kyle raps on the door and the fragile moment shatters.
--
Dave’s not really sure how to act around Neal in the presence of the others that night, but Neal seems able to pick up right where he left off, blending seamlessly back into the atmosphere of familiar friendship and post-show euphoria. Andy shoots them a couple of cursory glances, eyes darting from one to the other, and Dave offers him a shit-eating grin that seems to suffice - at least for now. The corner of Neal’s mouth turns up in a smirk and he elbows Dave in the side, just gently, and Dave ruffles his hair, and everything feels like it always was.
--
They don’t talk about what happened at all over the next few days, carrying on as normal but for a few sly looks out of the corners of their eyes. Onstage they’re hot and cold, jamming together until Dave loses his nerve, Neal looking so cool and unruffled that Dave almost wants to punch him. During the fourth show since… it, Dave steadies his nerves at the beginning of “BarBaSol” and stalks over, a determined expression on his face. Neal looks at him challengingly and juts out his chin like he thinks Dave’s gonna pussy out, so Dave really has no choice but to go through with this. He clenches his jaw and pushes his guitar forward until it’s almost touching Neal’s, eking out the familiar notes with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. By the time the duet is over, Neal’s cheeks are flushed and Dave’s jeans feel achingly tight. He’d never really considered beyond this being a one-time thing, but he needs Neal more than ever tonight and Neal knows it.
The band walks offstage to a flurry of high-fives and hugs, the screams of a sold-out crowd behind them. Dave will never stop being turned on by this, not if he performs every day for the rest of his life. It’s the sexiest thing he knows. He cracks open a bottle of beer and clinks it against Neal’s, carefully avoiding the other man’s gaze, and when he excuses himself he refuses to look in Neal’s direction. He slips into the restroom, leans his forehead against the cool mirror and takes a shuddery breath as he tries to look his reflection in the eye. He’s not quite sure how he got himself into this, why it feels like there’s a knot inside him that no-one but Neal can untie, and when he’s just about to freak himself out by how much he wants this, the door slides open.
--
Neal stands in the door frame for a second, backlit by the lights of the dingy corridor, and Dave takes one look at him and whimpers. Before he even has time to process how ridiculous he’s being, Neal growls under his breath and advances, letting the door bang shut behind him. He lifts Dave bodily onto the countertop and kisses him roughly as Dave paws desperately at his shirt.
This time they don’t even make it to the shoving off their pants stage; Neal simply delves into Dave’s jeans and grips his hardness through his underwear. Even through fabric, Neal’s hands are deft and devastating, reducing Dave to breathless gasps and whines within minutes. Dave comes with his eyes closed and his nose buried in Neal’s shirt, the stale blend of aftershave and sweat permeating his senses. He reaches down to reciprocate but Neal shrugs him off and just holds him there while he catches his breath. Then slowly - almost shyly - he tilts Dave’s head up and looks at him, a question in his eyes.
It takes Dave a moment but once he comprehends what Neal’s asking he falls all over himself to acquiesce, tugging at the zipper of Neal’s pants with hands trembling with impatience and the aftershocks of orgasm. Neal maintains eye contact for a couple more seconds and Dave can tell the other man is trying to gauge how much he really wants to do this, so he nods brusquely and slides off the countertop, embarrassed by how much the idea is making his mouth water already.
It’s then that Neal glances at the door and Dave remembers they’re not alone in this building, despite how it feels. He tilts his head in the direction of one of the stalls and Neal quirks an eyebrow amusedly, then grabs his wrist and tugs.
--
Dave sinks to his knees as soon as Neal locks the door to the stall behind them, his eagerness prompting Neal to chuckle deep in his throat. Neal brushes the straggly hair out of Dave’s eyes almost tenderly, and Dave’s so struck by how gentle he’s being, how caring. He presses his lips to the strip of skin below Neal’s stomach and inhales for a second, the coarse hairs tickling his nose.
Neal slides his hand into his own pants, massaging his length until Dave pulls away with a shaky breath. Neal touches his cheek and he looks up and nods again, fully aware that it’s his last chance to back out of this, and when Neal reaches out to grab his hand they exchange shy grins. Then Neal guides Dave’s fingers underneath his waistband, encouraging him to wrap them around his dick and release it from its fabric prison. It’s even larger than Dave remembers, warm and solid in his hand, and he leans just far enough forward for some of the glistening pre-come on the head to brush against his lips. Neal makes a noise that seems to resonate through his belly, and Dave reaches up to thread a finger through one of the belt loops of the jeans that are still hugging Neal’s hips.
Slowly Dave opens his mouth, the head pushing against the crease of his lips and then slipping inside. He presses his tongue against it cautiously, noting the smooth, salty taste, and is again rewarded by a pleased, slightly desperate sound from Neal. He thinks about what works for himself and swirls his tongue more aggressively, remembering to reach up to massage Neal’s balls. Neal’s hips pitch forward voraciously like he’s lost control of his body, and his dick slips from Dave’s lips as Dave tries not to choke. Neal rubs his thumb across Dave’s cheekbone as an apology and Dave gamely takes him back in, alternately sucking and flicking his tongue against Neal’s slit. When he feels Neal’s grip on his hair start to tighten he withdraws a little, so when Neal comes Dave gets half of it in his mouth while the rest streaks across his face in sticky, warm globs.
Neal kind of laughs at him, breathless and ragged, and Dave swallows and kisses the tip of his dick because it feels like the right thing to do. Neal tucks himself back in and swipes at Dave’s chin in an attempt to clean him up, which makes him laugh a little too, at how preposterous this all is.
When Dave rises his knees are stiff and a little damp from the cold bathroom floor, and Neal’s firm hand around his waist helps to guide him to his feet. Oddly enough it’s now he feels shy, and he can feel Neal’s eyes on him but can’t make himself return the look. Neal hesitates for a moment and then squeezes Dave’s hip affectionately, unlocking the door to the stall and pushing him gently towards the exit before sauntering over to the countertop to wash his sticky hands.
--
Thursday is generally movie night on the bus, although no-one can quite remember why or how this started. Halfway through “I Love You, Man” Dave insists on calling his brother just to yell “SLAPPIN' DA BAY-AHSSSS!!!” and then hang up, causing Neal to snort and pull him into an affectionate headlock. Dave looks at him askance for a second before realizing the other guys haven’t so much as blinked an eye at their behavior. He and Neal have always been pretty tactile with each other - hell, Dave gets overly handsy with everyone, as David Archuleta can attest - so he decides to quit worrying and shifts a little to the right, pressing his hip against Neal’s. Neal flashes him a grin, piercings glinting in the light of the TV screen, and reaches up to tousle his hair.
--
By 2:45 everyone is either sleeping in the living area or back in their bunks, and when Dave jolts awake on the couch courtesy of a particularly nasty pothole, he finds Neal’s hand curled loosely around his own. He’s not sure if the action was deliberate, but a warm feeling swells in his chest regardless and he strokes Neal’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
Neal makes a small, sleepy noise in response, then jerks a little and opens one eye.
“Hey,” he says in a gravelly voice, and Dave just looks at him and thinks God, I want to kiss you.
Instead he squeezes the hand that’s neatly slotted into his own and tilts his head in the direction of the bunks.
“You wanna go lie down?”
He probably would never have asked if they were both fully awake but Neal’s gorgeous like this, half-asleep and malleable, and Dave’s defenses are down.
Neal squeezes back and eases Dave off him, then stands and turns to help Dave to his feet. They cross the bus together still holding hands, and Dave would feel so self-conscious if they weren’t under cover of darkness. Neal’s palm is rough and warm, his grip solid as he uses his free hand to pull back the privacy curtain of his bunk and motion to Dave in the weak light of the streetlights flashing by outside. There’s a moment where they just look at each other, searching each other’s eyes to figure out what this new development means before Dave decides to just roll with it. Neal clambers in after him, his big arms drawing Dave close as he pulls the sheet over both of their bodies. Dave’s back is pressed against Neal’s chest and he can feel Neal’s heart beating faster than it should be.
He turns his head, presses a short, sweet kiss to Neal’s lips, then snuggles close and falls asleep.
--
Some parts of the rock star lifestyle are glamorous, like playing to sold-out crowds and not having to wake up until noon. Others, like realizing the bus is out of toilet paper and Cheez-Its in the middle of the night when they’re far from civilization, are not. When a sign for a 24-hour WalMart looms at the side of the highway, Dave almost shouts in relief.
They barrel in, the whole group of them, and pretend not to notice when a girl at one of the checkouts sees Dave and does a huge double-take. The superstore is basically deserted save for a man in a service uniform and several girls of questionable repute, so they’re able to quickly grab the things they need. Andy hefts a giant pack of Charmin into his arms while Dave holds on tight to his Cheez-Its, and they end up just browsing for a while because they don’t have a show tomorrow and there’s plenty of time to get where they need to be.
Neal’s a tactile shopper; he’s compelled to run his fingers over whatever he’s looking at even if he has no intention of buying it, and Dave likes to watch and make fun whenever he touches something awkward. Next to the toilet paper is the feminine hygiene stuff, which Neal thankfully skips over in favor of family planning, and Dave’s about to make some lame joke about why condoms are in that aisle even though they negate the need to plan a family when he sees Neal’s hand pause over a box of Trojans.
Dave actually stops walking - like, full-on freezes - and Andy walks right into him, the soft package of toilet rolls squashing up against his back.
“What the actual fuck?” Andy says, and Neal pulls his hand back before anyone can see, meeting Dave’s eyes for half a second before pointedly looking away. The expression on his face is guilty and hunted, like he’s been caught at something forbidden, and Dave’s thoughts start reeling. He mumbles something about going to grab more snacks and flees to another aisle.
--
The tension between Neal and Dave back on the bus is palpable even to their friends, who thankfully subscribe to the say-nothing-and-let-them-work-it-out school of thought. The look on Neal’s face had made it patently obvious that scoring with a groupie was the furthest thing from his mind, and Dave has no clue how to deal with that. He’s so caught up in being shocked by the idea of Neal wanting to fuck him that he doesn’t initially give himself a chance to consider how he actually feels about it.
It isn’t until he’s lying in bed in the wee hours of the morning that he has time to properly think. He really likes when they mess around, furtive hand jobs in the bathroom and eye sex onstage, but he loves the press of Neal’s lips just as much, the secure, comfortable feeling of Neal’s hand in his own. His world doesn’t stop when Neal’s not around, but he feels inexorably happier when Neal is.
He takes a deep breath and hisses Neal very softly, sure that the other man won’t have fallen asleep yet. And sure enough…
Yeah?
The fact that he can’t see Neal - or anything, really, he’s just staring up at the top of his bunk in the darkness - gives him the courage to say what he wants to, accurately anticipating the sharp intake of breath that follows.
“You should’ve bought them.”
--
Their next hotel stopover is a week away, and both Neal and Dave are ridiculously keyed up about it. Andy notes one afternoon from behind his laptop that the fans are really pleased with the recent spike in guitar sex intensity, and Neal chokes into his beer while Dave battles in vain against the prickling hot blush that is creeping up his neck.
“Apparently I’m doing something right,” Neal says later, grinning ferally as he pushes Dave against the wall of the bathroom stall, his clothed bulge pressing into the cleft of Dave’s ass. After that they stop talking.
--
The hotel’s nice. Ritzy. The lobby has faux-marble floors and every room has a king-sized bed and a TV set with thirty channels. The guys all gravitate to Dave’s room to sprawl on the bed and armchairs, beverages from the mini bar in everyone’s hands, and Dave jokes about having to embark on a second tour just to pay for this shit.
The night wears on and eventually eases into morning, whittling the group down to just three of them, the originals. The conversation is comfortable and it feels just like old times, excepting the fact that Neal keeps staring at Dave with his lips slightly parted and this look in his eyes. Dave hadn’t failed to notice him quietly slipping into a CVS near their last venue, shrugging off Andy’s offer of accompaniment. When Andy’s cell vibrates with a text, Dave does his best to quell the tight ball of nervous excitement that’s knotting up in his stomach.
“Oh, shit.” Andy frowns. “I was supposed to call Jen by midnight.”
“Damn, you’d better, uh…” Neal’s voice comes out a little ragged around the edges, and he clears his throat. “You’d better go do that.”
“Yeah,” Andy says absently, running his fingers through his hair and tapping out a response with his free hand as Dave follows him to the door.
“Night, man,” Dave says, patting him on the back, but Andy’s already too distracted to do anything more than mumble his response.
Dave shuts the door with a click and turns to face the bed.
--
They just kind of stare at each other for a second before Neal breaks into a crooked grin.
“What?” Dave asks, the corners of his mouth curving up into a smile as his nerves start to simmer down a little. It’s still Neal in front of him, the guy who consistently bests him at playing the guitar and out-drinks him on a regular basis. It’s just Neal.
“Nothin’.” Neal pats the patch of bed beside him. “C’mere.”
“Okay.”
Dave crosses the room slowly before sinking down onto the bedspread, and when Neal reaches out to touch his face he thinks the other man is going to kiss him but Neal ends up just leaving his hand there for a while, warm and reassuring against Dave’s cheek.
“We don’t have to,” Neal tells him, even though Dave can tell he’s already half hard, and it’s so weird to be talking about this but at the same time he feels good about it.
“I want to.”
Neal’s hand drops back down to his lap and he clasps Dave’s in both of his.
“I want to too,” he confesses almost shyly, and it’s an odd look for him, this fierce looking man with oral piercings and the coloring of a Viking.
Dave leans forward and closes the gap between their mouths.
--
It happens far more organically than Dave was expecting (and it’s not like he’s played the possibilities for tonight over and over in his head, not at all). Neal eases him down against the mattress and straddles him carefully, kissing him the whole time, and there’s an unspoken agreement that there’ll be no roughness tonight - this isn’t fucking, this is tender.
Dave’s eyes slip shut and he begins to focus on nothing but Neal’s lips sweeping over the planes of his face, pressing gentle kisses to his eyelids and the curvature of his jaw before moving downwards, mouthing gently at his neck. He feels Neal’s scruff brush against his chest, fingertips dusting over the sliver of exposed skin between his T-shirt and jeans, stilling when he shivers.
“Okay?” Neal asks, so close to Dave’s skin that it’s not even a word, more like a hum. He never talks while they’re doing this - although, Dave supposes, they haven’t exactly done it this way before.
Dave murmurs his assent, leaning back against the starched white pillowcase as Neal pulls his shirt up just a little, pressing kisses to the small convexity of his belly. By the time Neal eases off both their pants Dave is almost perfectly relaxed, except for the fact that every nerve ending in his body is quietly on fire.
He’s vaguely aware of rustling and the sound of a plastic cap popping open, followed by a gel-like squelch. Neal presses a kiss to each of his inner thighs, and he’s still recovering from how sensitive the skin is there when a finger brushes up against his hole and his whole body jolts.
Wordlessly, Neal reaches up with his free hand, grabs Dave’s and squeezes.
The time has passed for talking but Neal gauges the situation perfectly in spite of that, waiting patiently for the apprehension to leach from Dave’s body before trying again. It doesn’t feel bad exactly, just weird, and when Neal carefully slips a fingertip inside it sparks a pleasant tension that increases the already insistent throbbing.
Dave really didn’t think this part was even going to feel that good given that Neal’s fingers aren’t the main event here, but soon he’s coming embarrassingly undone, clenching his muscles in a desperate attempt to draw Neal deeper.
When Neal presses a kiss to the heart tattoo on Dave’s chest and then looks up, Dave sees something pass across the other man’s face that is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Neal looks smitten, absolutely taken with him, like in this moment Dave is his whole wide world. Dave groans when his finger slides out.
Neal repositions himself on the bed, easing Dave back against the pillow, and somewhere inside Dave’s mind a distant voice says This is it. As Dave feels the tip of Neal’s dick bump up against him, a reckless part of himself wants to tell the other man not to bother to go slow. He needs this now and so badly, but he knows it’ll hurt a lot more and Neal won’t stand for that.
When Neal slides in it feels like every nerve in Dave’s body is screaming, and even though he's being as gentle as he possibly can Dave can’t fight the tears that are welling up in his eyes. His breathing is getting harsh and kind of panicky, but Neal just strokes his hand until he calms down before giving him a little more, and it’s easier this time, somehow. Neal inches in, calm and controlled, and Dave knows how big he is so that’s sort of impressive.
Neal furrows his brow like he’s concentrating and glances at Dave again, looking nervous. Dave feels so filled right now, so connected to him, and fuck the pain because this is exactly where he wants to be. Neal’s lower lip trembles slightly and when he hesitantly opens his mouth, he gets the same expression from earlier on his face.
“Dave, I…”
“I know,” Dave says huskily after a beat, and how he can even talk right now is beyond him.
Neal partially slides out before tentatively moving his hips forward again, and Dave pulls his lip between his teeth, scrunching his face in pleasure. A few easy thrusts later and Neal’s cock brushes against something inside him that makes him bite down so hard he can taste blood. Neal’s still staring at him, eyes huge and round and full of reverence, and the other man smirks to himself when he feels the frisson running through Dave’s body. When he repeats the motion, Dave thinks he’s going to die, it feels so good.
Neal falls forward against him, the press of his chest yet another turn-on for Dave - not that he needs one. Dave tries echoing Neal’s movements and it feels amazing so he keeps it up, hands rising from the sheets he’d been clenching to fall against Neal’s back, encouraging him. Neal looks magnificent like this, poised between Dave’s legs, face flushed with exertion. Just when Dave thinks this feeling can’t possibly get any better Neal curls a hand around his cock and proceeds to give him the best hand job of his life.
They both know when he’s getting close because his body actually starts trembling, his pool of arousal rising closer and closer to overflowing with every well-aimed thrust. Neal’s barely speeding up, a fact Dave is grateful for because he can sense he’s going to be sore tomorrow in spite of every precaution. Neal rests his head against Dave’s shoulder just as he did that night backstage - the first time they ever did anything like this - and when he growls Dave and pushes in forcefully, Dave comes so hard he sees stars.
Neal keeps moving throughout and Dave’s never felt like this in his life. There are waves of it, aftershocks almost as intense as the initial climax, and just when he thinks he might finally be able to catch his breath Neal lets out a noise that’s halfway between a grunt and a shout and comes inside of him. Dave just gives up at this point and flops his head against the pillow, groaning “Oh my God, I love you back.”
--
Just as the sun’s coming up, Dave awakens briefly to find one of Neal’s arms splayed loosely across his chest, their legs tangled beneath the bed sheets. He closes his eyes and takes a second to just absorb his surroundings: the warmth of the man lying next to him, the dull ache in his body that he’s completely sure was worth it, the protective weight of Neal’s tattooed arm. He rolls over and kisses Neal on the neck, then falls back to sleep.
--
The second time Dave wakes, the sun is high in the sky and there’s a strange tapping coming from the other side of the hotel door. He thinks it’s to the tune of “Light On” but it’s kind of hard to tell. Neal is still slumbering peacefully beside him, his breathing a soothing cadence, and he twitches slightly in his sleep as the knocking continues.
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the misty half-asleep-ness from his mind, Dave picks up his boxers from the patch of floor where they were discarded the previous night, slips them on and makes for the door.
It’s Andy, and he’s wearing a worried expression on his face.
“Hey, man, have you seen the Doctor? He’s not in his room so I figured he either got up early…” (they exchange a look, like yeah, right) “…or got so wasted last night he’s still in there, dead to the world.”
Dave rubs his eyes blearily. “Uh…”
He’s not sure where to go with this because Andy knows him really well and he’s a terrible liar anyway, but just as he’s about to muddle his way through a painfully unconvincing No idea, man, he hears a sleep-scratchy voice from behind him say, “I’m right here.”
Andy peers over his shoulder and they both stare incredulously in the direction of the bed, where a rumpled, shirtless Neal is squinting at them in the bright sunlight.
“Jesus, who opened the fucking blinds?”
Dave snorts before he can help himself, and Andy’s grinning in this weirded-out kind of way like he’s trying to figure out whether this is a joke or not.
“Uh… surprise?” Dave says lamely, smoothing his hair down from its customary rumpled state following a night of sleep and… other shenanigans.
Andy looks from Dave to Neal and back again. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you,” he says, and it comes out more like a statement than a question.
“Scout’s honor, we’re not,” Neal responds solemnly, raising his right hand in the Vulcan Salute, and Andy half splutters, half laughs.
“I guess I’ll… leave you two to it, then,” Andy says slowly, like he’s testing out the concept of Neal and Dave as a couple in his mind and still not quite believing this isn’t a joke. Neal offers a shit-eating grin, and Dave gets a sinking feeling that he knows what the other man is going to say before he says it.
“Neal…” he says warningly, but it’s too late.
“Oh, it already happened last night after you left, so you’re welcome to hang out.”
The expression on Andy’s face is priceless. His eyebrows shoot sky high and he boggles at them for a few seconds before nodding resolutely and saying half to himself, half to Neal and Dave, “I’m just gonna go back to bed now. And when I wake up, things will make sense.”
“Good luck with that,” Neal calls after him as he turns and walks out of the room, and when Dave catches Neal’s eye they both burst out laughing. “Get over here,” Neal growls, patting the space next to him.
Dave grins and obliges.
---<---<---@
Author: that_1_incident
Fandom: David Cook & the Anthemic
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Profanity, sexual themes
Pairing: David Cook/Neal Tiemann
Word Count: ~7,000
Summary: Being onstage has always been kind of a turn-on for Dave, and you can hardly blame him. The lights, the adrenaline, the screams of the crowd - it’s complete ecstasy for anyone who’s ever dreamed of being a rock star. He usually leaves the stage half-hard, the line of his dick surreptitious against his jeans, and it’s never been a problem but that’s starting to change.
Disclaimer: This isn't real. Title is a really rad song by David Cook.
---<---<---@
Dave doesn’t remember the first time it happened. It wasn’t a particular turning point in their relationship, more like a slow-burn of attraction and flirtation that built over time but never left the stage. He won’t admit it but it’s his favorite part of the show; more than the “whoa-whoas,” more than the a cappella portion of “Lie” when his raw, unamplified voice resonates over a hushed crowd.
Andy Googles stuff when he’s bored, tells Dave there are people out there who want him to kiss David Archuleta or fuck Michael Johns, people who have a name for what he does with Neal onstage every night - and weirdly, that last thing makes him feel the strangest out of everything.
But once he gets onstage the “guitar sex” doesn’t seem weird anymore, just heady and intoxicating, flooding his body with a beautiful high on top of the one he already has from performing. It kills him how Neal never looks at him when he walks over, that he waits until their guitars are practically touching before glancing up and catching Dave’s eye. Sometimes Dave will make faces at him just to watch the smile tug at the edge of his lips, the lights reflected in the metallic glint of his piercings.
When they started doing this, Dave felt kind of weird about how sexual it all was, the brazen way they played off the shared chemistry by touching each other’s instruments, faces and hair. They’re close but not overly demonstrative in any other aspect of their lives, and it’s only when they’re onstage that they can’t keep their hands off each other. It’s the one place that comes with a free pass for that kind of behavior, an exemption from questioning and suspicion, and if the rest of the band has noticed then nobody’s said so, which is good because it’s not really something Dave wants to address. He spends a lot of time not thinking about it, blowing it off whenever a thought bubbles up in his head, and he’s pretty sure Neal does the same. Neal… doesn’t have a problem exactly but he drinks heavily, something Dave mostly chalks up to wanting to have a good time, although occasionally he wonders what his friend might be trying to forget.
They’ve got to the point now where they’re pretty unabashed about their onstage antics. Dave will thrust his hips towards Neal, their guitars mercifully between them, and Neal will lean into him and match his gaze through hooded eyes. When they play together like this, it doesn’t sound like two guitars any more than it feels like they’re two different people. They feed off each other, intertwining to create a gorgeous musical entity comprised entirely of sex and noise. He senses Neal looking at him, gaze smoldering against his cheek as the other man makes sure that it’s good for him, that it’s working. It makes him wonder whether Neal would be as attentive in bed.
The thought makes something inside him roil in a way he can’t explain. He avoids his friend’s eyes, bites his lip and plays.
--
Being onstage has always been kind of a turn-on for Dave, and you can hardly blame him. The lights, the adrenaline, the screams of the crowd - it’s complete ecstasy for anyone who’s ever dreamed of being a rock star. He usually leaves the stage half-hard, the line of his dick surreptitious against his jeans, and it’s never been a problem but that’s starting to change. The other night he caught a glimpse of Neal’s pink tongue flashing out to run across his lips, plump and glistening, and although he’d forced himself to look down at his guitar the damage was done and his hard-on was raging. To make matters worse, Neal had shared a glance with him just before he turned to go back to the mic that left him thinking maybe… maybe.
He figured the sexual tension would evaporate when they left the stage, but it remained crackling beneath the surface. Ever since then, every conversation he has with Neal is charged with what they haven’t said.
--
The band members share an understanding because, y’know, they’re all red-blooded males, they have needs, but they try to keep quiet while jacking off because it’s less awkward the following day. It’s not the end of the world when Kyle moans a little too loudly or Andy forgets to muffle a grunt, but you can bet your ass they’ll get shit about it in the morning.
Dave doesn’t jack off at all on the bus. He’s pretty sure the others think he’s ninja-like in his quietness, but the only time he feels the need is right after a show; if time permits he’ll lock himself in the bathroom, and if it doesn’t then he and the guys will go do whatever and he forgets about it soon enough. But tonight he finds himself lying on his bunk with a sheet over his body and a throbbing ache between his thighs. He exhales noisily, rolls over into the fetal position and curses under his breath as his cock rubs against the mattress.
“Fuck it,” he murmurs, too overcome with arousal to spare a thought for the comments that might fly his way come daybreak. He curls his hand around himself and squeezes just a little, totally unprepared for the small noise this elicits from the back of his throat. He’s harder than he thought. It’s the middle of the fucking night - even Neal’s in bed - so he’s not too concerned about anyone overhearing but he still freezes for a good thirty seconds, the hammering of his heart against his rib cage sounding impossibly loud in his ears. He strokes his finger across the head, finding it slick and sticky with pre-come, and he doesn’t mean to but as he eases into his regular long, twisting strokes he pictures Neal’s eyes, Neal’s lips, the way his mouth curves into a smile despite himself whenever Dave advances with his guitar.
Neal’s name falls from his lips as he climaxes.
--
He can barely look Neal in the eye the next day. He catches the other man looking at him a couple of times with an appraising look on his face and thinks shit, but Neal still chuckles when he curls his lip into a decent Elvis impersonation so Dave’s not so sure he overheard after all.
--
“Hey, heartthrob.”
The opening act is long gone and one of the tech guys has just informed them that they have T-minus one minute before Rick Astley starts blaring and they walk onstage, but all Dave can focus on is leaning into Neal’s touch and wishing he hadn’t. He stares down at Neal’s arm lightly draped over his shoulder and asks, “What’s up?”
“I totally couldn’t sleep last night.”
The words themselves are fairly innocuous but a cold bolt of fear shoots through Dave’s body.
“…Oh?” he manages.
“Yeah. Sounded like you couldn’t either.” Neal pauses. “Glad I could help with that, though. You needed the beauty sleep.”
And with that he thumps Dave on the back and moves off to stand behind Andy, waiting for his cue. Dave stands there slack-jawed until the familiar strains of music come over the sound system and someone pokes him in the shoulder and says, “Go.”
--
He’s kind of dreading “BarBaSol.” He almost doesn’t do it, but then someone in the front row yells out the name and the crowd catches it and starts chanting. He glances at Neal more out of habit than anything, and when Neal looks back his blue eyes are sparkling mischievously. Dave nods in spite of himself and Neal nods back, fingers deftly finding the opening chords.
When Dave walks over there he feels even more of a pull than usual, like he’s being drawn to the music, to Neal. A brief, momentary glance passes between them before Neal draws his left lip ring between his teeth and looks down at his guitar. They play perfectly in sync, riffing off each other’s energies, and when Neal’s hips stutter forwards in an accompaniment to the smooth glide of the note he’s playing, Dave feels his mouth fall ajar. It’s all he can do to focus on holding his guitar firmly at his waist even as his hips push forward, trapping his hardness against the sleek instrument. When Neal leans across to tweak one of the knobs, grinning toothily before dropping his head back and surrendering to the music, Dave almost loses it.
--
The thrum of the crowd is doing nothing for Dave’s… situation, and by the time the chords of the last song fade out he is this close to palming himself right onstage. Neal plants a hand on his back as they do their bows, and he shoots the guitarist a desperate look. He can tell Neal’s trying his damnedest to look all cocky and unaffected, but something’s simmering behind the mask that reeks of uncontrollable desire. He can’t help but swallow; this is real, this is happening, and God only knows what’ll happen once they get offstage.
He can’t wait.
--
As soon as the customary high-fives and handshakes are over with, Dave shoots a significant look at Neal before excusing himself to go to the bathroom, only instead of walking in he dawdles by the door. Sure enough, Neal slips out two minutes later with an expression on his face that’s half anticipatory, half incredulous, and when he catches sight of Dave he raises an eyebrow.
Dave doesn’t say anything, just grabs his wrist and marches him inside, slamming him against the closed door. For a second they just stare at each other, breathing heavily, the fabric of Neal’s shirt bunched in Dave’s fists, and then the moment breaks and they attack each other’s mouths without abandon. Neal has one hand on Dave’s shoulder while the other sneaks down to work on his belt, and Dave’s so hard already that even that slight motion is unbearable. He moans in spite of himself, easing open Neal’s fly with trembling hands and delving into his pants.
A frisson runs through Neal’s entire body the first time Dave touches him, and it’s so pronounced it makes Dave pull back from kissing him. Neal’s face is flushed, the pupils of his blue eyes dilated. His hair is rumpled and he’s panting a little. Dave wants him so much he can’t breathe.
Neal pulls him in again like he recognizes the look in his eyes, and their tongues battle for dominance as they scrabble for each other’s erections. They come to some kind of sloppy consensus wherein Dave is palming Neal’s cock and Neal is grasping them both in his big hand, his callused fingers curling around Dave’s in the process. Neal feels impossibly good - firm and warm and everything Dave could want. With his free hand, Dave grabs at the exposed skin of Neal’s hip, using him as leverage and grinding against him for friction because he needs to get off, like, right now. This, this is what he’s been looking for - close contact, biting kisses and hair sodden with sweat. Who knew a rushed hand job could feel this good?
Neal pulls away and looks down, grinning. Dave wants so badly to kiss the fuck out of those swollen, gorgeous lips, but he follows Neal’s line of sight and the breath catches in his throat. Neal’s big, bigger than Dave, and his cock has the perfect curve to it. He never breaks his rhythm and it’s an amazing thing for Dave to see himself in another man’s hand, rubbing against another man’s hardness. Neal keeps stealing little glances to make sure Dave’s liking it, eager to gauge the effect of his ministrations just as Dave knew he would be, and that’s hotter than anything, that he could’ve predicted something like that.
Dave has the sudden overwhelming desire to drop to his knees and lick at the starkly defined vein, take the glistening head into his mouth and bob up and down until Neal comes down his throat, and he probably would’ve tried to if Neal hadn’t yanked his chin upwards and started kissing him again, causing his eyes to slip blissfully closed.
When he blindly reaches to stroke Neal’s balls, he doesn’t expect the strength of the guitarist’s reaction. Neal bucks forward with a whimper and breaks their kiss to rest his head on Dave’s shoulder, mouthing helplessly at his neck. It’s pretty much the hottest thing in the world. They’ve upped the pace now, and Dave’s gritting his teeth, he’s so close. It’s then he feels Neal’s incisors biting into his skin and emits a strangled yelp, tossing his head back as the tension from weeks of barely concealed foreplay flows out of him. He guesses that’s enough to push Neal over the edge too because soon the guitarist is grunting his own release, arm locked in a vise grip around Dave’s waist as he shudders against him.
Dave’s left utterly drained, debauched and panting, and his vision still hasn’t cleared from the pinpricks of light that exploded beneath his eyelids as he came. He barely knows up from down, clinging to Neal like a shipwreck survivor to driftwood as he becomes vaguely aware of someone tilting his head up and kissing him gently, two stripes of metallic coldness pressing against his mouth.
--
Dave doesn’t really know what to do after he gets his breath back. He doesn’t want to move from Neal’s tight embrace, but at the same time, he’s not sure if this is even okay. Hooking up in a bathroom and cuddling in a bathroom are two very different things.
He raises his head and opens his mouth to say something, but something in Neal’s expression stops him. Neal rarely gets sappy, preferring instead to deflect his feelings with humor or derision, so the look on his face is rare enough to make Dave do a double take.
Neal averts his eyes after a second and chews on his left lip ring like he does when he’s unsure about something before easing them both to the ground, his back still pressed against the door. Dave curls against him gratefully - he’s practically on Neal’s lap, for fuck’s sake - and almost starts purring when the other man begins to gently stroke his hair.
They both realize they have, like, no time at all before one or all of the other guys take matters into their own hands and come find them, and Dave wants to say something about… what this meant to him, or something, but he can’t find the words. Eventually Neal stops touching his hair and hugs him fiercely, pulling him to his chest, and then Kyle raps on the door and the fragile moment shatters.
--
Dave’s not really sure how to act around Neal in the presence of the others that night, but Neal seems able to pick up right where he left off, blending seamlessly back into the atmosphere of familiar friendship and post-show euphoria. Andy shoots them a couple of cursory glances, eyes darting from one to the other, and Dave offers him a shit-eating grin that seems to suffice - at least for now. The corner of Neal’s mouth turns up in a smirk and he elbows Dave in the side, just gently, and Dave ruffles his hair, and everything feels like it always was.
--
They don’t talk about what happened at all over the next few days, carrying on as normal but for a few sly looks out of the corners of their eyes. Onstage they’re hot and cold, jamming together until Dave loses his nerve, Neal looking so cool and unruffled that Dave almost wants to punch him. During the fourth show since… it, Dave steadies his nerves at the beginning of “BarBaSol” and stalks over, a determined expression on his face. Neal looks at him challengingly and juts out his chin like he thinks Dave’s gonna pussy out, so Dave really has no choice but to go through with this. He clenches his jaw and pushes his guitar forward until it’s almost touching Neal’s, eking out the familiar notes with his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. By the time the duet is over, Neal’s cheeks are flushed and Dave’s jeans feel achingly tight. He’d never really considered beyond this being a one-time thing, but he needs Neal more than ever tonight and Neal knows it.
The band walks offstage to a flurry of high-fives and hugs, the screams of a sold-out crowd behind them. Dave will never stop being turned on by this, not if he performs every day for the rest of his life. It’s the sexiest thing he knows. He cracks open a bottle of beer and clinks it against Neal’s, carefully avoiding the other man’s gaze, and when he excuses himself he refuses to look in Neal’s direction. He slips into the restroom, leans his forehead against the cool mirror and takes a shuddery breath as he tries to look his reflection in the eye. He’s not quite sure how he got himself into this, why it feels like there’s a knot inside him that no-one but Neal can untie, and when he’s just about to freak himself out by how much he wants this, the door slides open.
--
Neal stands in the door frame for a second, backlit by the lights of the dingy corridor, and Dave takes one look at him and whimpers. Before he even has time to process how ridiculous he’s being, Neal growls under his breath and advances, letting the door bang shut behind him. He lifts Dave bodily onto the countertop and kisses him roughly as Dave paws desperately at his shirt.
This time they don’t even make it to the shoving off their pants stage; Neal simply delves into Dave’s jeans and grips his hardness through his underwear. Even through fabric, Neal’s hands are deft and devastating, reducing Dave to breathless gasps and whines within minutes. Dave comes with his eyes closed and his nose buried in Neal’s shirt, the stale blend of aftershave and sweat permeating his senses. He reaches down to reciprocate but Neal shrugs him off and just holds him there while he catches his breath. Then slowly - almost shyly - he tilts Dave’s head up and looks at him, a question in his eyes.
It takes Dave a moment but once he comprehends what Neal’s asking he falls all over himself to acquiesce, tugging at the zipper of Neal’s pants with hands trembling with impatience and the aftershocks of orgasm. Neal maintains eye contact for a couple more seconds and Dave can tell the other man is trying to gauge how much he really wants to do this, so he nods brusquely and slides off the countertop, embarrassed by how much the idea is making his mouth water already.
It’s then that Neal glances at the door and Dave remembers they’re not alone in this building, despite how it feels. He tilts his head in the direction of one of the stalls and Neal quirks an eyebrow amusedly, then grabs his wrist and tugs.
--
Dave sinks to his knees as soon as Neal locks the door to the stall behind them, his eagerness prompting Neal to chuckle deep in his throat. Neal brushes the straggly hair out of Dave’s eyes almost tenderly, and Dave’s so struck by how gentle he’s being, how caring. He presses his lips to the strip of skin below Neal’s stomach and inhales for a second, the coarse hairs tickling his nose.
Neal slides his hand into his own pants, massaging his length until Dave pulls away with a shaky breath. Neal touches his cheek and he looks up and nods again, fully aware that it’s his last chance to back out of this, and when Neal reaches out to grab his hand they exchange shy grins. Then Neal guides Dave’s fingers underneath his waistband, encouraging him to wrap them around his dick and release it from its fabric prison. It’s even larger than Dave remembers, warm and solid in his hand, and he leans just far enough forward for some of the glistening pre-come on the head to brush against his lips. Neal makes a noise that seems to resonate through his belly, and Dave reaches up to thread a finger through one of the belt loops of the jeans that are still hugging Neal’s hips.
Slowly Dave opens his mouth, the head pushing against the crease of his lips and then slipping inside. He presses his tongue against it cautiously, noting the smooth, salty taste, and is again rewarded by a pleased, slightly desperate sound from Neal. He thinks about what works for himself and swirls his tongue more aggressively, remembering to reach up to massage Neal’s balls. Neal’s hips pitch forward voraciously like he’s lost control of his body, and his dick slips from Dave’s lips as Dave tries not to choke. Neal rubs his thumb across Dave’s cheekbone as an apology and Dave gamely takes him back in, alternately sucking and flicking his tongue against Neal’s slit. When he feels Neal’s grip on his hair start to tighten he withdraws a little, so when Neal comes Dave gets half of it in his mouth while the rest streaks across his face in sticky, warm globs.
Neal kind of laughs at him, breathless and ragged, and Dave swallows and kisses the tip of his dick because it feels like the right thing to do. Neal tucks himself back in and swipes at Dave’s chin in an attempt to clean him up, which makes him laugh a little too, at how preposterous this all is.
When Dave rises his knees are stiff and a little damp from the cold bathroom floor, and Neal’s firm hand around his waist helps to guide him to his feet. Oddly enough it’s now he feels shy, and he can feel Neal’s eyes on him but can’t make himself return the look. Neal hesitates for a moment and then squeezes Dave’s hip affectionately, unlocking the door to the stall and pushing him gently towards the exit before sauntering over to the countertop to wash his sticky hands.
--
Thursday is generally movie night on the bus, although no-one can quite remember why or how this started. Halfway through “I Love You, Man” Dave insists on calling his brother just to yell “SLAPPIN' DA BAY-AHSSSS!!!” and then hang up, causing Neal to snort and pull him into an affectionate headlock. Dave looks at him askance for a second before realizing the other guys haven’t so much as blinked an eye at their behavior. He and Neal have always been pretty tactile with each other - hell, Dave gets overly handsy with everyone, as David Archuleta can attest - so he decides to quit worrying and shifts a little to the right, pressing his hip against Neal’s. Neal flashes him a grin, piercings glinting in the light of the TV screen, and reaches up to tousle his hair.
--
By 2:45 everyone is either sleeping in the living area or back in their bunks, and when Dave jolts awake on the couch courtesy of a particularly nasty pothole, he finds Neal’s hand curled loosely around his own. He’s not sure if the action was deliberate, but a warm feeling swells in his chest regardless and he strokes Neal’s knuckles with the pad of his thumb.
Neal makes a small, sleepy noise in response, then jerks a little and opens one eye.
“Hey,” he says in a gravelly voice, and Dave just looks at him and thinks God, I want to kiss you.
Instead he squeezes the hand that’s neatly slotted into his own and tilts his head in the direction of the bunks.
“You wanna go lie down?”
He probably would never have asked if they were both fully awake but Neal’s gorgeous like this, half-asleep and malleable, and Dave’s defenses are down.
Neal squeezes back and eases Dave off him, then stands and turns to help Dave to his feet. They cross the bus together still holding hands, and Dave would feel so self-conscious if they weren’t under cover of darkness. Neal’s palm is rough and warm, his grip solid as he uses his free hand to pull back the privacy curtain of his bunk and motion to Dave in the weak light of the streetlights flashing by outside. There’s a moment where they just look at each other, searching each other’s eyes to figure out what this new development means before Dave decides to just roll with it. Neal clambers in after him, his big arms drawing Dave close as he pulls the sheet over both of their bodies. Dave’s back is pressed against Neal’s chest and he can feel Neal’s heart beating faster than it should be.
He turns his head, presses a short, sweet kiss to Neal’s lips, then snuggles close and falls asleep.
--
Some parts of the rock star lifestyle are glamorous, like playing to sold-out crowds and not having to wake up until noon. Others, like realizing the bus is out of toilet paper and Cheez-Its in the middle of the night when they’re far from civilization, are not. When a sign for a 24-hour WalMart looms at the side of the highway, Dave almost shouts in relief.
They barrel in, the whole group of them, and pretend not to notice when a girl at one of the checkouts sees Dave and does a huge double-take. The superstore is basically deserted save for a man in a service uniform and several girls of questionable repute, so they’re able to quickly grab the things they need. Andy hefts a giant pack of Charmin into his arms while Dave holds on tight to his Cheez-Its, and they end up just browsing for a while because they don’t have a show tomorrow and there’s plenty of time to get where they need to be.
Neal’s a tactile shopper; he’s compelled to run his fingers over whatever he’s looking at even if he has no intention of buying it, and Dave likes to watch and make fun whenever he touches something awkward. Next to the toilet paper is the feminine hygiene stuff, which Neal thankfully skips over in favor of family planning, and Dave’s about to make some lame joke about why condoms are in that aisle even though they negate the need to plan a family when he sees Neal’s hand pause over a box of Trojans.
Dave actually stops walking - like, full-on freezes - and Andy walks right into him, the soft package of toilet rolls squashing up against his back.
“What the actual fuck?” Andy says, and Neal pulls his hand back before anyone can see, meeting Dave’s eyes for half a second before pointedly looking away. The expression on his face is guilty and hunted, like he’s been caught at something forbidden, and Dave’s thoughts start reeling. He mumbles something about going to grab more snacks and flees to another aisle.
--
The tension between Neal and Dave back on the bus is palpable even to their friends, who thankfully subscribe to the say-nothing-and-let-them-work-it-out school of thought. The look on Neal’s face had made it patently obvious that scoring with a groupie was the furthest thing from his mind, and Dave has no clue how to deal with that. He’s so caught up in being shocked by the idea of Neal wanting to fuck him that he doesn’t initially give himself a chance to consider how he actually feels about it.
It isn’t until he’s lying in bed in the wee hours of the morning that he has time to properly think. He really likes when they mess around, furtive hand jobs in the bathroom and eye sex onstage, but he loves the press of Neal’s lips just as much, the secure, comfortable feeling of Neal’s hand in his own. His world doesn’t stop when Neal’s not around, but he feels inexorably happier when Neal is.
He takes a deep breath and hisses Neal very softly, sure that the other man won’t have fallen asleep yet. And sure enough…
Yeah?
The fact that he can’t see Neal - or anything, really, he’s just staring up at the top of his bunk in the darkness - gives him the courage to say what he wants to, accurately anticipating the sharp intake of breath that follows.
“You should’ve bought them.”
--
Their next hotel stopover is a week away, and both Neal and Dave are ridiculously keyed up about it. Andy notes one afternoon from behind his laptop that the fans are really pleased with the recent spike in guitar sex intensity, and Neal chokes into his beer while Dave battles in vain against the prickling hot blush that is creeping up his neck.
“Apparently I’m doing something right,” Neal says later, grinning ferally as he pushes Dave against the wall of the bathroom stall, his clothed bulge pressing into the cleft of Dave’s ass. After that they stop talking.
--
The hotel’s nice. Ritzy. The lobby has faux-marble floors and every room has a king-sized bed and a TV set with thirty channels. The guys all gravitate to Dave’s room to sprawl on the bed and armchairs, beverages from the mini bar in everyone’s hands, and Dave jokes about having to embark on a second tour just to pay for this shit.
The night wears on and eventually eases into morning, whittling the group down to just three of them, the originals. The conversation is comfortable and it feels just like old times, excepting the fact that Neal keeps staring at Dave with his lips slightly parted and this look in his eyes. Dave hadn’t failed to notice him quietly slipping into a CVS near their last venue, shrugging off Andy’s offer of accompaniment. When Andy’s cell vibrates with a text, Dave does his best to quell the tight ball of nervous excitement that’s knotting up in his stomach.
“Oh, shit.” Andy frowns. “I was supposed to call Jen by midnight.”
“Damn, you’d better, uh…” Neal’s voice comes out a little ragged around the edges, and he clears his throat. “You’d better go do that.”
“Yeah,” Andy says absently, running his fingers through his hair and tapping out a response with his free hand as Dave follows him to the door.
“Night, man,” Dave says, patting him on the back, but Andy’s already too distracted to do anything more than mumble his response.
Dave shuts the door with a click and turns to face the bed.
--
They just kind of stare at each other for a second before Neal breaks into a crooked grin.
“What?” Dave asks, the corners of his mouth curving up into a smile as his nerves start to simmer down a little. It’s still Neal in front of him, the guy who consistently bests him at playing the guitar and out-drinks him on a regular basis. It’s just Neal.
“Nothin’.” Neal pats the patch of bed beside him. “C’mere.”
“Okay.”
Dave crosses the room slowly before sinking down onto the bedspread, and when Neal reaches out to touch his face he thinks the other man is going to kiss him but Neal ends up just leaving his hand there for a while, warm and reassuring against Dave’s cheek.
“We don’t have to,” Neal tells him, even though Dave can tell he’s already half hard, and it’s so weird to be talking about this but at the same time he feels good about it.
“I want to.”
Neal’s hand drops back down to his lap and he clasps Dave’s in both of his.
“I want to too,” he confesses almost shyly, and it’s an odd look for him, this fierce looking man with oral piercings and the coloring of a Viking.
Dave leans forward and closes the gap between their mouths.
--
It happens far more organically than Dave was expecting (and it’s not like he’s played the possibilities for tonight over and over in his head, not at all). Neal eases him down against the mattress and straddles him carefully, kissing him the whole time, and there’s an unspoken agreement that there’ll be no roughness tonight - this isn’t fucking, this is tender.
Dave’s eyes slip shut and he begins to focus on nothing but Neal’s lips sweeping over the planes of his face, pressing gentle kisses to his eyelids and the curvature of his jaw before moving downwards, mouthing gently at his neck. He feels Neal’s scruff brush against his chest, fingertips dusting over the sliver of exposed skin between his T-shirt and jeans, stilling when he shivers.
“Okay?” Neal asks, so close to Dave’s skin that it’s not even a word, more like a hum. He never talks while they’re doing this - although, Dave supposes, they haven’t exactly done it this way before.
Dave murmurs his assent, leaning back against the starched white pillowcase as Neal pulls his shirt up just a little, pressing kisses to the small convexity of his belly. By the time Neal eases off both their pants Dave is almost perfectly relaxed, except for the fact that every nerve ending in his body is quietly on fire.
He’s vaguely aware of rustling and the sound of a plastic cap popping open, followed by a gel-like squelch. Neal presses a kiss to each of his inner thighs, and he’s still recovering from how sensitive the skin is there when a finger brushes up against his hole and his whole body jolts.
Wordlessly, Neal reaches up with his free hand, grabs Dave’s and squeezes.
The time has passed for talking but Neal gauges the situation perfectly in spite of that, waiting patiently for the apprehension to leach from Dave’s body before trying again. It doesn’t feel bad exactly, just weird, and when Neal carefully slips a fingertip inside it sparks a pleasant tension that increases the already insistent throbbing.
Dave really didn’t think this part was even going to feel that good given that Neal’s fingers aren’t the main event here, but soon he’s coming embarrassingly undone, clenching his muscles in a desperate attempt to draw Neal deeper.
When Neal presses a kiss to the heart tattoo on Dave’s chest and then looks up, Dave sees something pass across the other man’s face that is simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. Neal looks smitten, absolutely taken with him, like in this moment Dave is his whole wide world. Dave groans when his finger slides out.
Neal repositions himself on the bed, easing Dave back against the pillow, and somewhere inside Dave’s mind a distant voice says This is it. As Dave feels the tip of Neal’s dick bump up against him, a reckless part of himself wants to tell the other man not to bother to go slow. He needs this now and so badly, but he knows it’ll hurt a lot more and Neal won’t stand for that.
When Neal slides in it feels like every nerve in Dave’s body is screaming, and even though he's being as gentle as he possibly can Dave can’t fight the tears that are welling up in his eyes. His breathing is getting harsh and kind of panicky, but Neal just strokes his hand until he calms down before giving him a little more, and it’s easier this time, somehow. Neal inches in, calm and controlled, and Dave knows how big he is so that’s sort of impressive.
Neal furrows his brow like he’s concentrating and glances at Dave again, looking nervous. Dave feels so filled right now, so connected to him, and fuck the pain because this is exactly where he wants to be. Neal’s lower lip trembles slightly and when he hesitantly opens his mouth, he gets the same expression from earlier on his face.
“Dave, I…”
“I know,” Dave says huskily after a beat, and how he can even talk right now is beyond him.
Neal partially slides out before tentatively moving his hips forward again, and Dave pulls his lip between his teeth, scrunching his face in pleasure. A few easy thrusts later and Neal’s cock brushes against something inside him that makes him bite down so hard he can taste blood. Neal’s still staring at him, eyes huge and round and full of reverence, and the other man smirks to himself when he feels the frisson running through Dave’s body. When he repeats the motion, Dave thinks he’s going to die, it feels so good.
Neal falls forward against him, the press of his chest yet another turn-on for Dave - not that he needs one. Dave tries echoing Neal’s movements and it feels amazing so he keeps it up, hands rising from the sheets he’d been clenching to fall against Neal’s back, encouraging him. Neal looks magnificent like this, poised between Dave’s legs, face flushed with exertion. Just when Dave thinks this feeling can’t possibly get any better Neal curls a hand around his cock and proceeds to give him the best hand job of his life.
They both know when he’s getting close because his body actually starts trembling, his pool of arousal rising closer and closer to overflowing with every well-aimed thrust. Neal’s barely speeding up, a fact Dave is grateful for because he can sense he’s going to be sore tomorrow in spite of every precaution. Neal rests his head against Dave’s shoulder just as he did that night backstage - the first time they ever did anything like this - and when he growls Dave and pushes in forcefully, Dave comes so hard he sees stars.
Neal keeps moving throughout and Dave’s never felt like this in his life. There are waves of it, aftershocks almost as intense as the initial climax, and just when he thinks he might finally be able to catch his breath Neal lets out a noise that’s halfway between a grunt and a shout and comes inside of him. Dave just gives up at this point and flops his head against the pillow, groaning “Oh my God, I love you back.”
--
Just as the sun’s coming up, Dave awakens briefly to find one of Neal’s arms splayed loosely across his chest, their legs tangled beneath the bed sheets. He closes his eyes and takes a second to just absorb his surroundings: the warmth of the man lying next to him, the dull ache in his body that he’s completely sure was worth it, the protective weight of Neal’s tattooed arm. He rolls over and kisses Neal on the neck, then falls back to sleep.
--
The second time Dave wakes, the sun is high in the sky and there’s a strange tapping coming from the other side of the hotel door. He thinks it’s to the tune of “Light On” but it’s kind of hard to tell. Neal is still slumbering peacefully beside him, his breathing a soothing cadence, and he twitches slightly in his sleep as the knocking continues.
Shaking his head in an attempt to clear the misty half-asleep-ness from his mind, Dave picks up his boxers from the patch of floor where they were discarded the previous night, slips them on and makes for the door.
It’s Andy, and he’s wearing a worried expression on his face.
“Hey, man, have you seen the Doctor? He’s not in his room so I figured he either got up early…” (they exchange a look, like yeah, right) “…or got so wasted last night he’s still in there, dead to the world.”
Dave rubs his eyes blearily. “Uh…”
He’s not sure where to go with this because Andy knows him really well and he’s a terrible liar anyway, but just as he’s about to muddle his way through a painfully unconvincing No idea, man, he hears a sleep-scratchy voice from behind him say, “I’m right here.”
Andy peers over his shoulder and they both stare incredulously in the direction of the bed, where a rumpled, shirtless Neal is squinting at them in the bright sunlight.
“Jesus, who opened the fucking blinds?”
Dave snorts before he can help himself, and Andy’s grinning in this weirded-out kind of way like he’s trying to figure out whether this is a joke or not.
“Uh… surprise?” Dave says lamely, smoothing his hair down from its customary rumpled state following a night of sleep and… other shenanigans.
Andy looks from Dave to Neal and back again. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you,” he says, and it comes out more like a statement than a question.
“Scout’s honor, we’re not,” Neal responds solemnly, raising his right hand in the Vulcan Salute, and Andy half splutters, half laughs.
“I guess I’ll… leave you two to it, then,” Andy says slowly, like he’s testing out the concept of Neal and Dave as a couple in his mind and still not quite believing this isn’t a joke. Neal offers a shit-eating grin, and Dave gets a sinking feeling that he knows what the other man is going to say before he says it.
“Neal…” he says warningly, but it’s too late.
“Oh, it already happened last night after you left, so you’re welcome to hang out.”
The expression on Andy’s face is priceless. His eyebrows shoot sky high and he boggles at them for a few seconds before nodding resolutely and saying half to himself, half to Neal and Dave, “I’m just gonna go back to bed now. And when I wake up, things will make sense.”
“Good luck with that,” Neal calls after him as he turns and walks out of the room, and when Dave catches Neal’s eye they both burst out laughing. “Get over here,” Neal growls, patting the space next to him.
Dave grins and obliges.
---<---<---@