Hands caress and curl around bodies: one pale, one dark, both smooth and flawless. Fingers paint melodies, pressing their time-learned patterns into elongated necks, reaching, stroking, sliding. The drift of the notes flickers upwards, echoing around the still room. They meld into each other, straining to achieve perfection. Then there’s dischord and laughter.
“Beer?” Christian places his guitar down lovingly on the stand and heads for the refrigerator.
“No thanks, I don’t...”
The ‘anymore’ is placed on the table, unspoken, waiting for the stakes to be raised.
“Problem?”
“Maybe… if you don’t have any soda for me to drink.”
James stands, throwing his old strat onto the couch. He stretches his arms way above his head, fingers entwined, knuckles cracking. The shirt pulls up and flares open at the bottom revealing the dips and swells of a muscled abdomen. He catches the can of coke, laughing as it slips wet through his fingers.
“Ice?”
“Would be nice.”
“Hey, a new song.”
“Kinda short and insincere.”
“I reckon that sometimes the least significant things mean the most.”
Chris sweeps his fingers through long dark hair and places a glass down on the table. He watches as the liquid froths over the cubes and strokes his beer bottle in a predatory, masturbatory way.
“So what do I call you?”
“How about James?” comes the answer, eyes lighting up with amusement.
“We’re friends. I give all my friends pet names. You call me Chris.”
“Everyone calls you Chris.” There goes that laugh again.
“What does your mom call you?”
“James.”
“Oh you’re killing me, man.”
“Moms always use proper names. I think it’s a control thing.”
Chris remains silent for a while, watching James watching him. “What do your friends call you?” he asks.
“James.”
There's a shy smile.
“Your family?”
“What about them?”
“What do they call you?”
“Well, my kid calls me Dad.” James takes pity at the unexpected pout. "Back home I'm Jimmy, but don’t you ever say that name or I swear to God I’ll kill you.”
“Like to see you try and wrestle me down, Skinny.”
“I think I’m kinda starting to like Jimmy now. It sounds a lot better than your version.”
James sips at his coke, plunking the ice cubes down then licking his wet finger and watching intently as Christian runs his tongue over dry lips. “Play some more?” he half asks, half demands, picking up his guitar and runing his fingers lovingly over the strings.
“Anytime you want.” There's another of those knowing smiles.
The music that they make together is lilting yet harsh, a fusion of light and dark. The heat builds and newly showered bodies are soon wet with trickling rivulets of fresh sweat.
“Fuck,” yells Chris as he misses a riff, his fingers sliding on the neck. He stands in irritation and strips off his tee-shirt, wiping fingers and frets with the warm dark cotton.
James watches.
“So freaking hot.”
James nods. He stares at Chris who’s sliding the strap of his guitar down over his bare chest. The leather brushes against his left nipple and the tiny dark bud hardens to the sensation. James shifts in his seat and plays a string of random chords.
“Shit, do that again.”
Chris slips his finger into the cool metal of a bottle neck and plays along, the notes twanging, down and dirty, in rough rhythm and blues fashion. The tension in the trailer builds, both men gulping in breaths of musky air at the excitement of having discovered something new. James scribbles notes and chords onto the back of the script, desperate not to forget.
After extending the verse and slipping naturally into the structure of a chorus they replay the half-written song over and over. Finally, pumped with energy and slick with sweat, James casts his guitar to one side and sinks down onto the couch. His fingers toy with the buttons of his navy shirt, opening them one at a time, then he grabs Chris’s discarded tee and wipes away the blisters of perspiration from his torso.
“Fag break,” he grins, reaching into the top pocket of his shirt and pulling out a pack of Marlboro lights. He offers one to his new song-writing partner who looks guilty but takes one nonetheless.
“Spike talk?” A flicker of interest glows at the back of Chris’s eyes.
“Maybe.” James leans forward and lights the other man’s cigarette, his fingers shaking slightly.
Christian heads for the refrigerator and grabs a beer and a coke. He pulls the ring of the can and refills James’s glass, dropping cubes of ice into the dark liquid which froths and spills, sliding down and pooling onto the table. He pops the top off his beer and his fingers stroke restlessly up and down the bottle, wiping away the beads of condensation.
“That sounded good. You know we have to record that.” Chris sounds eager and over-excited.
“I think finishing it first would be good, but yeah, fuck, I think it’s gonna be great.”
“We’ll work on it tomorrow.”
“You’re going out with Dave, remember?”
“Crap.” A tinge of resentment spills across Chris’s handsome face, darkening it slightly.
“Thursday's okay with me.”
“Come out with us. “
“Nah, man. I don’t do bars. We’ve got time to work on it some more now.”
Chris chinks his bottle against James’s glass. “To the newest, soon to be greatest, band in the world, Marsters Kane… Kane Marsters… Kane the Marsters. Fuck, we sound kinky whoever’s on top.”
Irrepressible laughter echoes around the trailer. They laugh until they’re sobbing with the pain, until they’re curled up against each other holding aching sides… damp bodies touching...
Fingers sliding, pressing patterns into hot smooth flesh that aches to be touched some more.
There's the snick of a lock, the unfurling of blinds and then silence as they stand inches away from each other, staring with matching intense expressions.
James cards his fingers into dark wavy hair and pulls Christian closer. “You want this?” The words are less than a whisper, more than a breath.
“Yes,” hisses Christian urgently, pressing his mouth to James’s.
James slips a hand between them, halting the kiss.
“Everything’ll change,” he warns. He feels the slide of Christian’s tongue wetting his palm and thinks that it may well be the most erotic sensation that he's ever felt in his forty years on this planet. His eyes roll back slightly as the blood rushes through his body, making its relentless journey southwards.
Christian drags the hand away from his mouth and touches his lips to James’s.
“Let it change,” he says, pulling away and waiting for the inevitable reaction. "Let it fucking change."
James looks at the ashed columns of their cigarettes that lie unsmoked in the tray and realises that this is inevitable, has been inevitable since they first met. He pulls Christian to him once again, but this time it’s in a needy demanding way. Pushing his tongue urgently against the closed mouth, he licks and nips at soft flesh and when Christian opens up to him he slips inside the warm wet cavity, exploring hungrily. His fingers slide over Chris’s golden brown skin and the dance is on.
Christian pulls back, his eyes half-closed, pupils expanded with desire. He slips a hand down to the crotch of James’s jeans, popping open each button of the fly with slow deliberate movements.
James smiles then kisses him on the lips and, full of unusual bravado, removes his jeans and underwear. The clothing falls discarded onto his guitar and it seems appropriate somehow. He stands naked in front of Christian, hips rocking forward in an almost imperceptible manner, erect cock swaying from the motion.
“Your turn,” he says, kneeling before the younger man and pressing his face against the crotch of Chris’s cut offs. He mouths at the rigid shaft and it twitches in response, trying to break its way through the barrier of material.
Christian grinds into James’s face, seeking out a mouth to soothe his growing need and as James's teeth fasten softly around the engorged denim-clad shaft he cries out in frustration.
“Patience,” whispers James but he concedes to Christian's desire, popping open the button and sliding the zipper down. The man is naked beneath his jeans and it makes James wonder. Was Chris waiting for this to happen? Wanting it? Needing it? Has James been played from the start?
As Chris kicks off his pants, James resists the urge to wrap a hand around his own erection. He wants to make this good, he wants to make this last and waits for his arousal to dip slightly before licking the swollen glans and taking it into his mouth. It's been a long time since he tasted cock and he drops light kisses lovingly up and down the length of the shaft then engulfs it once again, swirling his tongue around the engorged head.
Wrapping fingers around cock James strokes the solid flesh with fascinated delight. He pulls his mouth away for a moment and grins when he hears Christian sigh in disappointment. Looking upward he fellates his finger, putting on one hell of a show and is pleased with himself when he feels the thrust into his fist. His wet finger tickles its way along the path of taut flesh then circles the tiny indent, applying just enough pressure to make Chris want more. He works his way inside, rubbing intricate patterns onto the erection that pulses in his palm, playing it like it's one of his guitars. Staring up at Christian, he knows that he has never had a more attractive lover in his life. The man is open-mouthed and panting, his tongue wetting dry lips and James wishes he had the power to kiss and finger and suck and fuck all at the same time.
Swallowing Chris’s cock he taps at the secret gland inside and Christian howls with the pleasure, writhing shamelessly against James’s hand and grinding back and forwards between finger and mouth.James feels like a god. He's flying high on this surge of power and arousal and he never wants this to end; wants to stay locked in this time capsule forever.
Chris's balls draw up tight against his body. He holds James in a painful grip, pumping into his mouth and it's so dirty fucking wonderful being used like this that James nearly comes spontaneously. He sucks harder until Chris is there and, having come down from his climax, the man buckles. James has never felt this rush of elation from pleasuring anyone before.
Recovering slowly Chris pants and stands up straight, hanging onto the wall for support. “Drink?” he asks.
James nods. His erection is hot against his skin, but he knows they have time. He watches Christian swagger naked around the trailer and wishes he could be that confident. With him it’s all an act; with this man it’s pure self-belief.
Christian swigs from a beer bottle and places James’s glass on the table then he sits down and pats the space on the couch next to him. James lays his head on Chris’s lap and breathes in the scent of sex. His eyes close for a moment then open in sudden shock as he feels the slide of something cold against his overheated body. He watches the ice in Christian’s fingers melt, spilling rivulets of water that trickle a wicked path over his ribs. He hisses as the chill passes over his nipples and wriggles further back ‘til he is splayed out across Christian’s knee. Grabbing some pillows he props himself up so he can watch the path of Chris’s hands, moaning as the ice dips into his navel and follows the contours of his body down into the wiry dark curls of pubic hair.
“Not a natural blond then?”
“Shhh, that’s my secret.” James smiles and bucks upwards, wanting the game to recommence.
Christian snorts with laughter and runs the ice into the crack of James’s ass. James spreads his legs, propping one up on the table and Christian grabs another ice cube and slides it over James’s aroused cock, making him beg and plead and whimper.
Christian takes pity and slicks his fist up with spit, sliding it over James's cock.
James pulls away. “Your hands are cold,” he laughs.
“Vampire fingers,” sniggers Christian in a bad accent.
They wrestle each other down onto the floor then Chris lies in between James’s thighs and their cocks meet each other for the first time. Grinding slow and hard, Christian bites at James's nipple.
James yells out and grabs at Christian’s hips, pulling him down against him. ‘Do it a-fucking-gain,’ he almost pleads.
Reading him like a book, Christian concentrates on the hardened nipples for a while then moves downwards, marking his path with a trail of reddening skin.
James thrashes beneath him, moaning and crying out for more and, as Christian slips a hand down to their cocks and squeezes as much of the sticky hot flesh as he can, James feels omnipotent once again as he edges so fucking close to heaven.
Chris pulls his hand away from their cocks and rolls them over until James is on top then-- Jesus Christ!--James cries out as he's slapped hard on the butt. He fucks his body desperately against Chris, yellling out over and over as the spanking continues.
Please.
Don't stop.
One more stinging swipe and he’s coming, high from the climax the way he hasn't been in years.
Chris shudders beneath him. “Fuck, Jamie,” he murmurs, wrapping James up in his arms and bathing him in warm wetness.
When he's recovered enough to speak James laughs. “What’s with the Jamie?” he asks.
“Pet name,” says Chris sleepily. “All my friends have them.”
DONE