It’s deafening in here, but Raihan can’t even imagine being anywhere else. Piers is performing on the stage before him. It’s a small place, hot and crowded, a really intimate concert. Despite being pressed on all sides by Team Yell, Raihan could swear that Piers’ deep voice and gyrating hips are for him alone.
When Piers reaches out in the direction of the crowd and their eyes meet, Raihan knows it’s for him alone.
He makes his way forward, somehow, the push and pull of the mass of Piers’ sweaty fans sometimes hindering, sometimes helping. He apologizes as he goes, for the bruises and the stubbed toes but the music is so loud, no one hears, and the singer is so good, no one cares. Not even Raihan. In truth, he’s completely entranced by Piers’ voice, and his face, and his everything. None of the people he apologizes to even register in his mind.
Before long, Raihan is pressed against the front of the stage, boner uncomfortably grinding against the wall as he looks up. He’s close enough now that he can smell Piers’s sweat and feel the heat radiating off him. Sweat beads down Piers’ face as he looks down and smirks at his number 1 fan. Raihan can feel his pants constricting him. He raises a hand high, as if Piers would even respond to that plea.
And yet, somehow, Piers reaches down to grab his wrist as a musical bridge begins to play, and helps hoist him up on the stage. Raihan remains on his knees, awestruck. If he wasn’t so damn hard, he’d say he’s having a religious experience.
That smirk on Piers’ face only widens as the music rises again. Hooking his long, slender fingers of one hand into Raihan’s undone hair—where is his hat?—he jerks Raihan forward as if on cue, pressing Raihan’s face to his crotch as he resumes his singing with a deep moan.
Even the cheering of Team Yell trying to drown out the music can’t distract Raihan from his newfound heaven. Piers is hard, tantalizingly so against his face, and holding him there with that hand in his hair. Going mad with lust and the music so loud it’s almost physically painful, Raihan grabs Pier’s slim hips for balance and begins frantically mouthing the singer’s dick through those ridiculously tight shorts. Piers rewards him with an even more sinful moan than the first one, and Raihan loses all rational control of himself.
He nearly rips Piers’ shorts off his body in his haste to get to his cock, though it did not seem to bother Piers in the least. Raihan engulfs his cock in a swift motion, desperate to get that salty taste in his mouth, and maybe also trying to distract Piers from his song. It makes Piers laugh, almost mocking, though it is appropriate for this part of his song. So is his next line, as he cups Raihan’s head with both his hands, letting go of the microphone stand for a moment to moan, out loud but only for Raihan, “Is this how you want it?”.
Raihan swallows and opens his throat, staring up at Piers.
Piers nods in acknowledgment and thrust his hips forward to fuck Raihan’s offered mouth.
The crowd cheers, most for Piers, some for Raihan, while Piers does his best to finish his song. One of Piers’ hand grabs the microphone and its stand again. Raihan compensates by hooking both his arms under Pier’s legs and holding him tight. Piers doesn’t have a lot of room to thrust, but Raihan is in paradise, breathing in short breaths with his nose almost touching Piers’ pubes. He swallows and swallows and swallows, trying to keep the mess of pre and spit from overflowing his mouth, to no avail. It’s dribbling down his chin, adding to the stain forming in his pants at the tip of his very hard dick.
He can barely hear the music or breathe now. Piers is holding him too tight and fucking his face with abandon. He’s losing his goddamn mind in the ecstasy, but he accepts all of it. He’s looking up at Piers like he’s a god incarnate and drinking the cum pouring directly into his throat. He’s cumming too, he’s pretty sure; his pants feel sticky, but that orgasm can barely compare to the everything of Piers overwhelming all his senses.
“And that’s when I woke up,” Raihan admits with a giggle before taking another swig of beer. Even his leg, folded against his chest, can’t hide how hard he is from recounting all that.
Piers is staring at him incredulously, eyes as big as saucers. He’s also sporting a full-body blush. Judging from the tent in his pants, quite obvious to Raihan, it’s not because he’s drunk, either. “Arceus. Yer filthy.”
That makes Raihan laugh, loud and easy. He’s not drunk either, just tipsy enough that telling Piers about the dream he had about him sounded like a fantastic idea. “Aww, you won’t even consider it?”
“Hell no!” Piers still looks away in embarrassment, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. He huffs and finishes his beer in one long, angry gulp, then throws the can at the recycling bin. It misses.
Just as Raihan is about to apologize to his boyfriend for making him uncomfortable, Piers turns toward him again. Just enough to peek at him through his long bangs, trying to keep his expression a mystery. "... I’d never do shit like that at a real show, but. I might. Think about another way. Wanker.”
Raihan grins and slips a hand in Piers’ to lace their fingers together.