Picture Challenge: To The Naked Eye
Title: To The Naked Eye
Rating: NC-17. That's right -- it gets sexy.
Pairing: ...Duh.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't you dare fucking sue.
Summary: To the naked eye…he and Ville are just friends, a twosome that’s half idol and half fan, with drunk and high eyes closed against the camera’s flash.
Bam’s ass is perched on the end of the couch while his feet are perched on the floor, and his eyes are intent on what his friends are doing - namely, looking through a photo album they found in a secret corner of his closet, full of pictures he doesn’t want seen. He’s keeping a careful eye on them, making sure they don’t find the real pictures, behind the visible ones, when he sees what they’ve got opened right then.
A chuckle chokes off in his throat; to the naked eye, it looks like two drunken assholes fucking around by chewing an album cover and a pen. To the naked eye, it looks like two beer buddies leaning on each other ‘cause they can’t fucking sit up properly anymore. To the naked eye…he and Ville are just friends, a twosome that’s half idol and half fan, with drunk and high eyes closed against the camera’s flash.
To the naked eye.
Bam leans over the couch a little more to catch the edges of the details that his trained eye will see while nobody else’s will get it. Hint of a flush on their cheeks. The way their eyelashes flutter rather than smack closed, making it look like blue and green eyes are open and closed at the same time. The harshness of the bites on the autograph shit, tobacco stained teeth closed tight on the pen while the other set of pearlies are clamped on the pink paper cover. The closeness of their arms…leading down to closeness of their hands.
When the crew stares at this picture, they don’t see what he sees.
What Ville would see if he weren’t upstairs draped over Bam’s bed, dead with jet lag and the party the night before he left Finlandia.
They don’t see just how fucking close those beer buddies in the picture got that night.
**
“Fuck, this is too gay, man. No way he’s gonna be seen with me in this.” In the bathroom Bam ripped the gray coat with the gold filigree he’d paid out the ass for off his body, throwing it into the trash without a second’s thought, pulling the band tee off after it because after he was around Ville for more than a minute, he knew two layers’d be too goddamn much. Stuffing his beanie in his pocket, he rubbed his hands underneath the faucet, gathering water, and then ran them through his hair.
For some reason everything had to be perfect when he was around Ville Valo. He could run around in mud stamped jeans with puked up pizza on his shirt when he was hanging around with the crew, but that was way too fucking scuzzy for Ville. He’d never. And he couldn’t get too gay either - Ville could do whatever he wanted to with his clothes, eyeliner, lipgloss, leather, lace (that was when they were wasted, they both insisted, because Ville had liked the thong too much for one reason, and Bam had liked it for another), but when Bam was around Ville, he looked like the skate tramp he’d met him as, because that guy had kept Ville.
That guy had roped him somehow into coming back. Again, and again. The borderline fag behind the tramp would ward Ville off, so he kept it punk around Ville and showed the other side to the friends who made fun of it but stayed around regardless.
“Dude, tell me you got Jager back there,” he nudged Ville with an elbow, catching his arm when it almost sent him careening into a couple fans backstage and pulling him tight up against his side with a burning feeling he’d never admit to popping up the second their heat mingled.
“Nah BamBam, no booze, just Brewskies. The good shit’s all on the bus or at the bar, you know it - venue won’t get us any.” Ville slurred a little, nudging Bam back. Bam pretended he didn’t notice the haggard ass jean thing Valo was clad in, pretended he didn’t notice the way his skin prickled with the growl that came out deeper when the Finn was drunk off his ass. Pretended he didn’t notice how cold he felt when that alcohol soaked breath and body layered with weird cloth after weird cloth disappeared from him.
The stupid challenge he’s got going on with Vito and Phil was more than enough leverage to get backstage with the camera, and he figured it was more than enough to get Ville to stay by him, the King of Rock and Roll, no matter what the hell Daniel Lioneye says. He’s supposed to be teaching the fat boys how to kick some ass like that, right? Ville should help.
Everything went by in a blur when it was half scripted, for Bam anyway. Vito hated Russia. His bitch said Vito looks like the Stay Puf Marshmallow dude from Ghostbusters. The band was laughing. The note taking. The show that blew him away as usual, sucking out all his ideas of a great gig and replacing them with the perfect fucking party going on for his ears.
**
It’s when they were at the bar and he got a moment to talk to Ville that everything slowed down.
He got to focus on the way Ville laughs when he brought him the album cover he ripped from his own damn Razorblade disc, that deep timbre in the chuckle that made his stomach flutter beneath the single layer of cloth.
“Oh please, please, sign this for me, Ville! I’ll just die if you don’t!” He wasn’t usually one to make fun of the fans, being one himself, but when it got Ville to laugh like that, it was unavoidable; when it got Ville to focus on him in a whole new light, it was irresistible. Still fucking is.
Slumping into the chair beside his friend, Bam knocked their whiskey glasses together as their elbows brushed, and he could’ve sworn the cold of the whiskey through the glass was matched by the heat of Ville through the clothes.
Just to make sure, he stayed against that elbow, leaning in closer and closer until finally, his dumb ass just fell in Ville’s lap. He felt the bulge against his rib and swallowed; despite all his talk of impotence, Valo always seemed to be hard around him, and he didn’t really fucking get it. Like, of course he was hard, but Ville?
With one hand, he brushed his fingers over the lump in those girl jeans Ville always wore, as if to make sure he really was hard, pressing them down a little too much as he pushed himself back up to sit. His eyes were on his own hand, amazed that he actually had the guts to touch his best friend, and not just that, Ville, so he never noticed how the silver pen in Ville’s hand had started to shake as the fingers trembled. He never noticed the gasp that flew out of puffy lips, or the way long, dark eyelashes slipped closed.
Bam didn’t notice a damn thing until a crack filtered into his drunken haze; glancing up, he caught sight of the little chip in the pen that was suddenly, inexplicably, between Ville’s teeth, and then those green eyes opened, just about swallowed up by pupil, and he got it. Fuck, in a second, he got it, and he swallowed heavily as he stopped what he was doing immediately, going to pull his hand away only to have it caught by one pale wrist covered in black wool and that crazy jean thing that still confused him.
“No,” Ville mumbled around the pen, his lips moistening as saliva visibly pooled under the silver plastic, and Bam gulped again, glancing into those dark eyes and feeling heat in his belly that had nothing to do with the countless shots of Jameson they’d guzzled.
He burped quietly in his nervousness as his breath stuttered and saw Ville’s eyes light with something unmistakably different than anything he’d ever witnessed before, but before he could examine it, it was gone - Ville glanced across the table at something Bam couldn’t see, and then grabbed his face with the hand not holding his when he tried to turn and look.
They kept their eyes on each other as Ville murmured under his breath, “There’s a guy taking pictures over there; move your hand, and he’ll see where it was. But kiss me, and I think the shock’ll be enough to get him to stop.” The slur didn’t stop the words from going straight to Bam’s dick, even garbled further with the pen in Ville’s mouth, and he could feel it as his body reacted to that voice, that suggestion. He’d kissed Ville before - hell, he’d kissed all his friends before - but this was different. This was intentional.
Not looking over at the guy a second, Bam moved closer to Ville, wincing just slightly at the scrape of his chair, and then gently cupped Ville’s cock as Ville’s hand on his wrist pulled him close and the hand holding Bam’s cheek pulled the pen out of his mouth. Before he could breathe another moment, Ville’s tongue was licking at his lips, working them closer, working them open, until their lips met and held. He felt Ville’s moan as his hand squeezed his cock compulsively, shivering as it went down his throat and burst warmth through his nerves.
“Shit…shit Ville…” he gasped, when Ville pulled away, noticing the crack had gotten worse on the silver, grinning when Ville licked his lips, opened his eyes, and whispered,
“He stopped…taking pictures. Hell, I think he’s close to…swooning or something.”
They laughed a little and then went back. Bam’s stomach cramped up as pale fingers clad in fingerless wool rubbed over his own dick. The way Ville knew exactly how to touch him blindsided him, and he had to pull away quick, because even the pressure of Ville’s lips couldn’t muffle the sounds that were coming out of him; grabbing the album cover between his teeth, he let the moan leave his throat, relieved when nobody else could hear it but Ville.
“Uhn,” Ville gasped, as Bam’s fingers got more curious, digging underneath the cover of his button and zipper, rubbing skin without a barrier until Ville’s legs spread under the table of his own accord and he had to stuff the pen back in his mouth to keep quiet.
Bam watched as long as he could, noticing when the pink started to infuse Ville’s paleness, seduced by the soft lines of green between fluttering lashes, but his teeth closed tighter and tighter around the album as Ville’s fingers slid underneath the waist of his baggy jeans and boxers and really gripped, and then his head fell practically onto Ville’s shoulder, pressing against messy hair, as his cheeks got hot and sweat started to slide down his neck.
The strokes were getting harsher as both of them grew too close, and Bam’s hips were starting to rut up against Ville’s hands as he panted lightly through his teeth, over his best friend’s image. His hand pulled faster at Ville’s cock and Ville fisted his with more force than he’d thought those slender fingers had in them, and before he could stop himself, before he could remind himself how embarrassing it was, he lost it. With a whimpering moan, he bucked into the skilled pull of Ville’s hand, blowing his load spectacularly in his boxers.
“Fuck,” he gasped, coming down slow, his hand still working on Ville, the cover in his teeth slipping further and further as his face went slack with the collapse of his entire body. He used all the effort he had left to take the last couple jerks of Ville’s hips with careful tugs, and when the silver pen dropped from panting lips and Ville took his mouth for a third time, pulling all the air Bam had out of his lungs when he gasped and shot into Bam’s hand, it was more than worth the cramp forming in his hand.
His voice came out hoarse when he murmured, “So this is why you’re my favorite rockstar,” and Ville’s laugh came out choked as their hands didn’t leave off of the stroking through the aftershocks. He could feel the tingle of Ville’s mustache against his lips as they whined softly, barely more than whispering their pleasure, and when their hands went lax, he didn’t stop. Ripping Ville’s hand from his dick, he took Ville’s sticky fingers with his own and dragged him close for another kiss, shuddering the moment their goatees touched.
**
“Hotel?” he rasped, as they did up each other’s pants with their lefts and knocked back their last shots of the night with their rights. He caught Ville’s eye and his stomach fluttered at the sheer need still there, even after they’d already busted a nut.
The sultry, wicked grin that crossed those puffy, kiss swollen lips felt like a punch to that fluttering gut of his, and when he heard,
“You damn well better get me in a bed if you’re going to try that again,”
…he knew things were about to get a lot better, and the fluttering in his stomach was about to get worse.
Stumbling into a cab, he licked his lips as the hippie jean thing rode up Ville’s stomach and their tattoo showed, and then he dove into the seat and wrapped his arms around Ville, nuzzling his face into his neck to kiss the skin.
To the naked eye, it looked like a drunken fuck falling all over his unfortunate friend, as he spread himself out so they both stayed upright.
To the naked eye, it looked like Ville was dead to the world as his head hit the back of the seat, his eyes closed, and his mouth dropped open.
To the naked eye, it looked like Bam was grabbing onto the nearest warm body there was, man or woman, to stop the world spinning the wrong way.
To the naked eye.
When they got to the hotel, though, there weren’t any more naked eyes to watch them anymore.
Naked hands. Naked lips. Naked chests. Naked groins.
But no naked eyes.
**
Broken from his reverie, one of his favorite memories, by a triumphant shout, he dives forward just in time to stop his friends from revealing secrets, slamming the book shut on the callused fingers that have just discovered the real pictures behind their decoys.
“That’s enough for today, assholes. See if you can find it this time,” he growls, and before they’ve even recovered from how pissed he is, leaves them there, tucking the book under his arm as he hurries up the stairs, the thumps of his Adios sounding more like a temper tantrum than the urgency they actually are.
Walking into the bedroom, he closes the door and locks it, rubbing his face in irritation. They came this close to losing their classified status, this close to getting teased and fucked with about their feelings till the end of time. He came this close to being labeled “the fanboy who fell in love” by his cruel bastard friends.
Still…
When he turns away from the door and sees what’s waiting in his bed, it all seems more than worth it.
Stepping over to drop the book heavily on the bed, he smiles when tired green eyes crack open to glare at him as a long, slender body is jostled by the hit. Kneeling by the bed, he meets that gaze that can pierce all the way through his body and down into his gut, biting his lip.
“Hey Walo…how was your sleep?”
“Interrupted, unfortunately…” the soft grunt makes Bam smile, and he presses a kiss to Ville’s forehead in apology, rubbing a hand over his bare back down to the waistband of his jeans to play with the belt loops. He has a habit of doing it when he’s done something wrong; it relaxes Ville, usually until he forgives him.
“Well, you haven’t heard why I’m interrupting it…don’t judge just yet…” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the small of Ville’s back as his finger keeps playing with the loops at his waist.
“Asshole…you know that turns me on. How’m I supposed to sleep with you this close and your hand right there?”
“Didn’t I just say I didn’t want that?” Bam says with a smirk, pulling himself away and stripping off his shirt, only to put his hand right where it was again and rub a little harder. Ville starts to thrust a little after a few minutes, rubbing his hips against the bed - Bam’s the only one who knows how much getting touched there affects him, and he uses that knowledge sinfully often.
“Mmm…gimme a second, BamBam, I’m still half gone. Meet you in the bathroom?”
Bam grins and leans down to lick Ville’s temple as he whispers,
“Hell yeah…just come quick. I love you, but not enough not to throw your ass over my shoulder and carry you in there if you fall asleep again.”
Ville sits up, slow, pushing himself up on those large hands that know Bam so perfectly, and smirks that smile that makes Bam’s knees go liquid and his cock push against his jeans.
“Quick, mm? I was thinking of making it nice…and slow…” he purrs, and Bam has to smirk back, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to say something that will sound eerily close to take me.
Regaining his composure, he nods.
“We can do slow.” before he smacks Ville’s ass, hard, yelling,
“Just get your ass down the hall!”
He strips out of his jeans as he hears the snarl of outrage behind him, kicking them away and running into the bathroom down the hall, laughing as he throws himself into the shower and turns the knobs so hot and cold water flow over him, mingling into warmth that seeps into his bones.
Ville walks down the hall with purpose minutes later, heading directly for the bathroom with a rapid stride, barefoot with his jeans halfway open already.
To the naked eye, he could have to piss like fucking hell.
To the naked eye, Bam’s in the shower while he’s headed in to brush his teeth.
To the naked eye, Ville’s going to walk in, joke with his friend, drain his bladder, and leave.
To the naked eye.
To the naked bodies behind the bathroom door, the truth is never clearer than when wet skin drapes over wetter skin and dripping lips mesh.
To their naked hearts, stripped by the pure devotion between them, whether the men know or not, the truth outlines their every move.
To the naked lovers laid bare against the tile, they’re obviously meant to be.
But not to the naked eye.
Not ever to the naked eye.
Rating: NC-17. That's right -- it gets sexy.
Pairing: ...Duh.
Disclaimer: Not mine, don't you dare fucking sue.
Summary: To the naked eye…he and Ville are just friends, a twosome that’s half idol and half fan, with drunk and high eyes closed against the camera’s flash.
Bam’s ass is perched on the end of the couch while his feet are perched on the floor, and his eyes are intent on what his friends are doing - namely, looking through a photo album they found in a secret corner of his closet, full of pictures he doesn’t want seen. He’s keeping a careful eye on them, making sure they don’t find the real pictures, behind the visible ones, when he sees what they’ve got opened right then.
A chuckle chokes off in his throat; to the naked eye, it looks like two drunken assholes fucking around by chewing an album cover and a pen. To the naked eye, it looks like two beer buddies leaning on each other ‘cause they can’t fucking sit up properly anymore. To the naked eye…he and Ville are just friends, a twosome that’s half idol and half fan, with drunk and high eyes closed against the camera’s flash.
To the naked eye.
Bam leans over the couch a little more to catch the edges of the details that his trained eye will see while nobody else’s will get it. Hint of a flush on their cheeks. The way their eyelashes flutter rather than smack closed, making it look like blue and green eyes are open and closed at the same time. The harshness of the bites on the autograph shit, tobacco stained teeth closed tight on the pen while the other set of pearlies are clamped on the pink paper cover. The closeness of their arms…leading down to closeness of their hands.
When the crew stares at this picture, they don’t see what he sees.
What Ville would see if he weren’t upstairs draped over Bam’s bed, dead with jet lag and the party the night before he left Finlandia.
They don’t see just how fucking close those beer buddies in the picture got that night.
**
“Fuck, this is too gay, man. No way he’s gonna be seen with me in this.” In the bathroom Bam ripped the gray coat with the gold filigree he’d paid out the ass for off his body, throwing it into the trash without a second’s thought, pulling the band tee off after it because after he was around Ville for more than a minute, he knew two layers’d be too goddamn much. Stuffing his beanie in his pocket, he rubbed his hands underneath the faucet, gathering water, and then ran them through his hair.
For some reason everything had to be perfect when he was around Ville Valo. He could run around in mud stamped jeans with puked up pizza on his shirt when he was hanging around with the crew, but that was way too fucking scuzzy for Ville. He’d never. And he couldn’t get too gay either - Ville could do whatever he wanted to with his clothes, eyeliner, lipgloss, leather, lace (that was when they were wasted, they both insisted, because Ville had liked the thong too much for one reason, and Bam had liked it for another), but when Bam was around Ville, he looked like the skate tramp he’d met him as, because that guy had kept Ville.
That guy had roped him somehow into coming back. Again, and again. The borderline fag behind the tramp would ward Ville off, so he kept it punk around Ville and showed the other side to the friends who made fun of it but stayed around regardless.
“Dude, tell me you got Jager back there,” he nudged Ville with an elbow, catching his arm when it almost sent him careening into a couple fans backstage and pulling him tight up against his side with a burning feeling he’d never admit to popping up the second their heat mingled.
“Nah BamBam, no booze, just Brewskies. The good shit’s all on the bus or at the bar, you know it - venue won’t get us any.” Ville slurred a little, nudging Bam back. Bam pretended he didn’t notice the haggard ass jean thing Valo was clad in, pretended he didn’t notice the way his skin prickled with the growl that came out deeper when the Finn was drunk off his ass. Pretended he didn’t notice how cold he felt when that alcohol soaked breath and body layered with weird cloth after weird cloth disappeared from him.
The stupid challenge he’s got going on with Vito and Phil was more than enough leverage to get backstage with the camera, and he figured it was more than enough to get Ville to stay by him, the King of Rock and Roll, no matter what the hell Daniel Lioneye says. He’s supposed to be teaching the fat boys how to kick some ass like that, right? Ville should help.
Everything went by in a blur when it was half scripted, for Bam anyway. Vito hated Russia. His bitch said Vito looks like the Stay Puf Marshmallow dude from Ghostbusters. The band was laughing. The note taking. The show that blew him away as usual, sucking out all his ideas of a great gig and replacing them with the perfect fucking party going on for his ears.
**
It’s when they were at the bar and he got a moment to talk to Ville that everything slowed down.
He got to focus on the way Ville laughs when he brought him the album cover he ripped from his own damn Razorblade disc, that deep timbre in the chuckle that made his stomach flutter beneath the single layer of cloth.
“Oh please, please, sign this for me, Ville! I’ll just die if you don’t!” He wasn’t usually one to make fun of the fans, being one himself, but when it got Ville to laugh like that, it was unavoidable; when it got Ville to focus on him in a whole new light, it was irresistible. Still fucking is.
Slumping into the chair beside his friend, Bam knocked their whiskey glasses together as their elbows brushed, and he could’ve sworn the cold of the whiskey through the glass was matched by the heat of Ville through the clothes.
Just to make sure, he stayed against that elbow, leaning in closer and closer until finally, his dumb ass just fell in Ville’s lap. He felt the bulge against his rib and swallowed; despite all his talk of impotence, Valo always seemed to be hard around him, and he didn’t really fucking get it. Like, of course he was hard, but Ville?
With one hand, he brushed his fingers over the lump in those girl jeans Ville always wore, as if to make sure he really was hard, pressing them down a little too much as he pushed himself back up to sit. His eyes were on his own hand, amazed that he actually had the guts to touch his best friend, and not just that, Ville, so he never noticed how the silver pen in Ville’s hand had started to shake as the fingers trembled. He never noticed the gasp that flew out of puffy lips, or the way long, dark eyelashes slipped closed.
Bam didn’t notice a damn thing until a crack filtered into his drunken haze; glancing up, he caught sight of the little chip in the pen that was suddenly, inexplicably, between Ville’s teeth, and then those green eyes opened, just about swallowed up by pupil, and he got it. Fuck, in a second, he got it, and he swallowed heavily as he stopped what he was doing immediately, going to pull his hand away only to have it caught by one pale wrist covered in black wool and that crazy jean thing that still confused him.
“No,” Ville mumbled around the pen, his lips moistening as saliva visibly pooled under the silver plastic, and Bam gulped again, glancing into those dark eyes and feeling heat in his belly that had nothing to do with the countless shots of Jameson they’d guzzled.
He burped quietly in his nervousness as his breath stuttered and saw Ville’s eyes light with something unmistakably different than anything he’d ever witnessed before, but before he could examine it, it was gone - Ville glanced across the table at something Bam couldn’t see, and then grabbed his face with the hand not holding his when he tried to turn and look.
They kept their eyes on each other as Ville murmured under his breath, “There’s a guy taking pictures over there; move your hand, and he’ll see where it was. But kiss me, and I think the shock’ll be enough to get him to stop.” The slur didn’t stop the words from going straight to Bam’s dick, even garbled further with the pen in Ville’s mouth, and he could feel it as his body reacted to that voice, that suggestion. He’d kissed Ville before - hell, he’d kissed all his friends before - but this was different. This was intentional.
Not looking over at the guy a second, Bam moved closer to Ville, wincing just slightly at the scrape of his chair, and then gently cupped Ville’s cock as Ville’s hand on his wrist pulled him close and the hand holding Bam’s cheek pulled the pen out of his mouth. Before he could breathe another moment, Ville’s tongue was licking at his lips, working them closer, working them open, until their lips met and held. He felt Ville’s moan as his hand squeezed his cock compulsively, shivering as it went down his throat and burst warmth through his nerves.
“Shit…shit Ville…” he gasped, when Ville pulled away, noticing the crack had gotten worse on the silver, grinning when Ville licked his lips, opened his eyes, and whispered,
“He stopped…taking pictures. Hell, I think he’s close to…swooning or something.”
They laughed a little and then went back. Bam’s stomach cramped up as pale fingers clad in fingerless wool rubbed over his own dick. The way Ville knew exactly how to touch him blindsided him, and he had to pull away quick, because even the pressure of Ville’s lips couldn’t muffle the sounds that were coming out of him; grabbing the album cover between his teeth, he let the moan leave his throat, relieved when nobody else could hear it but Ville.
“Uhn,” Ville gasped, as Bam’s fingers got more curious, digging underneath the cover of his button and zipper, rubbing skin without a barrier until Ville’s legs spread under the table of his own accord and he had to stuff the pen back in his mouth to keep quiet.
Bam watched as long as he could, noticing when the pink started to infuse Ville’s paleness, seduced by the soft lines of green between fluttering lashes, but his teeth closed tighter and tighter around the album as Ville’s fingers slid underneath the waist of his baggy jeans and boxers and really gripped, and then his head fell practically onto Ville’s shoulder, pressing against messy hair, as his cheeks got hot and sweat started to slide down his neck.
The strokes were getting harsher as both of them grew too close, and Bam’s hips were starting to rut up against Ville’s hands as he panted lightly through his teeth, over his best friend’s image. His hand pulled faster at Ville’s cock and Ville fisted his with more force than he’d thought those slender fingers had in them, and before he could stop himself, before he could remind himself how embarrassing it was, he lost it. With a whimpering moan, he bucked into the skilled pull of Ville’s hand, blowing his load spectacularly in his boxers.
“Fuck,” he gasped, coming down slow, his hand still working on Ville, the cover in his teeth slipping further and further as his face went slack with the collapse of his entire body. He used all the effort he had left to take the last couple jerks of Ville’s hips with careful tugs, and when the silver pen dropped from panting lips and Ville took his mouth for a third time, pulling all the air Bam had out of his lungs when he gasped and shot into Bam’s hand, it was more than worth the cramp forming in his hand.
His voice came out hoarse when he murmured, “So this is why you’re my favorite rockstar,” and Ville’s laugh came out choked as their hands didn’t leave off of the stroking through the aftershocks. He could feel the tingle of Ville’s mustache against his lips as they whined softly, barely more than whispering their pleasure, and when their hands went lax, he didn’t stop. Ripping Ville’s hand from his dick, he took Ville’s sticky fingers with his own and dragged him close for another kiss, shuddering the moment their goatees touched.
**
“Hotel?” he rasped, as they did up each other’s pants with their lefts and knocked back their last shots of the night with their rights. He caught Ville’s eye and his stomach fluttered at the sheer need still there, even after they’d already busted a nut.
The sultry, wicked grin that crossed those puffy, kiss swollen lips felt like a punch to that fluttering gut of his, and when he heard,
“You damn well better get me in a bed if you’re going to try that again,”
…he knew things were about to get a lot better, and the fluttering in his stomach was about to get worse.
Stumbling into a cab, he licked his lips as the hippie jean thing rode up Ville’s stomach and their tattoo showed, and then he dove into the seat and wrapped his arms around Ville, nuzzling his face into his neck to kiss the skin.
To the naked eye, it looked like a drunken fuck falling all over his unfortunate friend, as he spread himself out so they both stayed upright.
To the naked eye, it looked like Ville was dead to the world as his head hit the back of the seat, his eyes closed, and his mouth dropped open.
To the naked eye, it looked like Bam was grabbing onto the nearest warm body there was, man or woman, to stop the world spinning the wrong way.
To the naked eye.
When they got to the hotel, though, there weren’t any more naked eyes to watch them anymore.
Naked hands. Naked lips. Naked chests. Naked groins.
But no naked eyes.
**
Broken from his reverie, one of his favorite memories, by a triumphant shout, he dives forward just in time to stop his friends from revealing secrets, slamming the book shut on the callused fingers that have just discovered the real pictures behind their decoys.
“That’s enough for today, assholes. See if you can find it this time,” he growls, and before they’ve even recovered from how pissed he is, leaves them there, tucking the book under his arm as he hurries up the stairs, the thumps of his Adios sounding more like a temper tantrum than the urgency they actually are.
Walking into the bedroom, he closes the door and locks it, rubbing his face in irritation. They came this close to losing their classified status, this close to getting teased and fucked with about their feelings till the end of time. He came this close to being labeled “the fanboy who fell in love” by his cruel bastard friends.
Still…
When he turns away from the door and sees what’s waiting in his bed, it all seems more than worth it.
Stepping over to drop the book heavily on the bed, he smiles when tired green eyes crack open to glare at him as a long, slender body is jostled by the hit. Kneeling by the bed, he meets that gaze that can pierce all the way through his body and down into his gut, biting his lip.
“Hey Walo…how was your sleep?”
“Interrupted, unfortunately…” the soft grunt makes Bam smile, and he presses a kiss to Ville’s forehead in apology, rubbing a hand over his bare back down to the waistband of his jeans to play with the belt loops. He has a habit of doing it when he’s done something wrong; it relaxes Ville, usually until he forgives him.
“Well, you haven’t heard why I’m interrupting it…don’t judge just yet…” he murmurs, brushing his thumb over the small of Ville’s back as his finger keeps playing with the loops at his waist.
“Asshole…you know that turns me on. How’m I supposed to sleep with you this close and your hand right there?”
“Didn’t I just say I didn’t want that?” Bam says with a smirk, pulling himself away and stripping off his shirt, only to put his hand right where it was again and rub a little harder. Ville starts to thrust a little after a few minutes, rubbing his hips against the bed - Bam’s the only one who knows how much getting touched there affects him, and he uses that knowledge sinfully often.
“Mmm…gimme a second, BamBam, I’m still half gone. Meet you in the bathroom?”
Bam grins and leans down to lick Ville’s temple as he whispers,
“Hell yeah…just come quick. I love you, but not enough not to throw your ass over my shoulder and carry you in there if you fall asleep again.”
Ville sits up, slow, pushing himself up on those large hands that know Bam so perfectly, and smirks that smile that makes Bam’s knees go liquid and his cock push against his jeans.
“Quick, mm? I was thinking of making it nice…and slow…” he purrs, and Bam has to smirk back, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to say something that will sound eerily close to take me.
Regaining his composure, he nods.
“We can do slow.” before he smacks Ville’s ass, hard, yelling,
“Just get your ass down the hall!”
He strips out of his jeans as he hears the snarl of outrage behind him, kicking them away and running into the bathroom down the hall, laughing as he throws himself into the shower and turns the knobs so hot and cold water flow over him, mingling into warmth that seeps into his bones.
Ville walks down the hall with purpose minutes later, heading directly for the bathroom with a rapid stride, barefoot with his jeans halfway open already.
To the naked eye, he could have to piss like fucking hell.
To the naked eye, Bam’s in the shower while he’s headed in to brush his teeth.
To the naked eye, Ville’s going to walk in, joke with his friend, drain his bladder, and leave.
To the naked eye.
To the naked bodies behind the bathroom door, the truth is never clearer than when wet skin drapes over wetter skin and dripping lips mesh.
To their naked hearts, stripped by the pure devotion between them, whether the men know or not, the truth outlines their every move.
To the naked lovers laid bare against the tile, they’re obviously meant to be.
But not to the naked eye.
Not ever to the naked eye.