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Morning Wood

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Awsten wakes up with a problem.

Well, okay, step back.

It’s one of those rare, blessed nights on tour where they get to sleep in a hotel room: real beds, a real shower, the whole shebang. They’re in a standard room outfitted with two queens, so Geoff takes one bed and Awsten and Otto take the other, the way they always do. Geoff has spent most of the day driving, clearly exhausted, and he conks out immediately after showering and getting himself horizontal. Awsten and Otto are careful not to wake him, speaking in hushed tones as they change into their pajamas and settle in for the night. Otto taps out almost instantly after the lights go off; Awsten takes a little longer to fall asleep, leaving a safe foot or two of space between their bodies and listening to Otto’s soft breath in the dark.


And so do we arrive at the Problem.

The first thing Awsten notices when he wakes up is that he’s too hot. The second thing he notices is that he can’t sit up. The third and most alarming thing, as he flutters back into full consciousness, is that he’s sporting some serious morning wood, made much more urgent by the knee pressed between his legs.

Awsten’s eyes shoot open.

He glances to his right, disoriented, eyes adjusting to the hazy blue light spilling through the curtains. At some point during the night, it seems, Otto has managed to roll halfway on top of him, arm splayed out across his body and one leg wedged against his…

Awsten squirms, alarms blaring in his head. Trying to shift to the side does nothing but cause Otto’s arms to tighten reflexively, eliciting a sleepy grunt. Awsten freezes, heart leaping into his throat and lodging itself there.

The last thing he wants is for Otto to wake up and find them in this position; he’s not a good enough liar to come up with an excuse without giving himself away. He makes another attempt to wiggle free, keeping his movements delicate this time.

Otto’s leg jerks, bringing his knee up even harder against Awsten’s dick. Awsten huffs out a frantic breath, gritting his teeth together before he can make a sound. His face floods with heat, stupidly and helplessly turned on, as he tries to quiet his breathing.

This predicament is starting to feel dire. Otto’s hot breath ghosts across his neck where his head rests next to Awsten’s shoulder. Awsten swallows thickly, not sure anymore if he should be moving away or towards the sensation. His dick is throbbing in the shorts he slept in, thigh muscles trembling from trying (futilely) to hold his hips away. Otto’s knee shifts again, digging into him, and Awsten claws at the sheets to keep from yelping.

It’s at the point where Otto’s face drops forward, lips pressing slack and slightly damp against Awsten’s pulse point, that he says fuck it and gives in.

Sending up a silent apology, he grinds his hips up, rocking his insistent erection against Otto’s leg. He tries to keep his movements slow, biting his lip so hard it stings to keep himself quiet, and hopes against hope he can get himself off and be done with it before Otto wakes up.

His heartbeat thunders so loudly in his ears that he doesn’t hear the shift in Otto’s breathing until it’s too late.

Otto’s hand comes up to grip his hip and Awsten startles so badly that he can’t stop the gasp that slips out. He jerks his head to the side and comes face to face with Otto’s intent, and very awake, gaze.

“Otto, I can—” Awsten whispers frantically, panic rising in his chest, when he’s cut off by Otto’s hot palm pressing over his mouth, fingers gripping his jaw.

“Shhh,” Otto breathes, eyes never leaving Awsten’s. “You don’t want to wake Geoff, do you?” As Otto speaks, he nudges his leg purposefully against Awsten’s dick, forcing a muffled cry from him as his hand comes up to cover Otto’s own.

“Ah-ah,” Otto scolds quietly, amusement in his voice. “You can do better than that.” He starts a steady rocking rhythm, grinding down with his thigh. Awsten squeezes his eyes shut and struggles to breathe through his nose. He’s starting to chafe, but the edge of pain combined with the difficulty of pulling air into his lungs quietly is making his head feel hazy.

Otto moves his head to nuzzle into the cradle of Awsten’s shoulder, nosing at the sensitive skin behind his ear. They’re pressed closely enough together that he probably feels Awsten shiver in response. Awsten catches the cedar smell of his shampoo.

When Otto sucks a kiss to his neck, warm and prickling, Awsten jerks and grits out half of a moan before he can catch himself. Biting his lip viciously, he pushes down with his hand over Otto’s, pressing it more firmly against his mouth to keep himself quiet.

Otto hums with interest, and the vibration of it buzzes through Awsten’s own chest.

“There you go,” Otto murmurs approvingly. The hand holding Awsten’s hip moves up to brush through his hair, unexpectedly gentle. “Good boy,” Otto praises, and Awsten’s eyes roll back in his fucking head.

The words send something dark and electric sparking through his body; he cries out softly against Otto’s palm, hips pressing up and back arching. The hand in his hair pauses, then keeps stroking, carding through the strands tenderly.

“Yeah?” Otto breathes, voice honeyed. “That good?” He trails a line of lazy kisses from Awsten’s jaw to his ear. “That’s it,” he whispers, warm and indulgent, “Good boy.”

Awsten’s going to shake apart or leave his body or—come, Awsten’s going to come in his sleep shorts and he doesn’t— He pulls at Otto’s hand over his mouth, pushes at his hips with the other.

Otto stops rocking against him immediately, moving his hand away and propping himself up to get a good look at Awsten’s face.

“You okay?” Otto whispers, looking concerned. “Was that too much? I’m sorry, I—”

“Not too much,” Awsten pants, struggling to get words out. “So good, I just don’t want it to be—” he has to stop and catch his breath, moving his hands to Otto’s hips to illustrate his point before continuing, “—to be just me, I want… can we?” He lets his hands drift to the waistband of Otto’s shorts, curling his fingers into it. He can tell that Otto’s hard, can see the tent in the fabric even in the darkness between their bodies.

“Yeah,” Otto breathes, “Yeah, of course. Here,” he says, and starts to tug Awsten’s bottoms down his legs. When Awsten lifts his hips encouragingly, Otto pulls them just low enough to get his dick out.

Awsten, struck by sudden shyness, hooks his thumbs into Otto’s shorts and pulls them down too, as much for a distraction as to move the action along. Otto’s cock bounces free, heavy and flushed. Otto sucks in a breath when Awsten reaches out to brush his fingertips along it, curious. It’s already sticky with precome at the tip; he suspects his is even more so.

Otto brings his hand to Awsten’s mouth again, but doesn’t muzzle him this time. “Lick?” he instructs, sounding almost like a question.

Awsten groans softly, more than happy to oblige. He drags his tongue in a broad swath across Otto’s palm, chasing the faint tang of salt. Otto’s dick twitches where it rests loosely in his fingertips when he slides his tongue to the base of Otto’s fingers, the calluses from years of holding drumsticks a rough contrast. Awsten runs the tip of his tongue across the webbing between them, earning a hoarse but quiet groan. He really wants Otto to push his thumb into his mouth, wants to suck on his fingers, but. Maybe another time.

Otto, apparently satisfied, pulls his hand back and wraps it around himself, then lines their hips up so he can take Awsten in hand too. Awsten hisses, pushing into the touch.

“Is this okay?” Otto asks; at Awsten’s nod, he strokes once, then takes Awsten’s hand and guides it to their dicks. “Then let’s do it together, yeah?”

Awsten grips the both of them, fingers tangled up with Otto’s, and starts to stroke. The feeling is unusual—familiar in a way, yet so unfamiliar—but Otto’s cock is hot in his hand and Otto’s grip is tight and slick on his own.

“Ohh fuck,” he groans, “Otto, fuck.”

“Shh, shh,” Otto hushes him, free hand coming up to push into the hair below Awsten’s ear. “Gotta stay quiet. Be good, okay?”

Awsten’s body jackknifes like he’s been shocked, biting his tongue to keep from crying out. When Otto talks like that, it does something to him, makes him want to go all… pliant and obedient for him, do whatever he asks.

Otto notices and smiles slowly. “That’s right. You’re being so quiet, doing so good for me,” he whispers sweetly, leaning close and stroking Awsten’s cheek with his thumb. Awsten trembles with the strain of trying to stay silent, his grip on their dicks going slack even as Otto’s firm strokes speed up.

“I can’t, I can’t,” he chokes, resting his forehead against Otto’s, “can you—”

Otto tilts his head with the hand on his jaw and kisses him deeply, still stroking him off.

Awsten muffles a frantic noise into the kiss, then another as Otto sucks on his bottom lip. His fingers spasm when Otto licks along the seam of his lips, opening for him and letting Otto guide their tongues together.

Otto pulls away just long enough to whisper a “good boy” against Awsten’s lips, and that’s all it takes for him to come, muffling a moan into the kiss.

Otto strokes him through it, mouth sealed over Awsten’s to keep him quiet, as he rides it out.

He whimpers from overstimulation before long, tender from the rough grinding earlier, and Otto lets him slip from his fist, still working his hand over his own cock. Awsten’s mouth goes soft and yielding, his lips sliding along Otto’s own, and before long Otto is grunting, come dripping onto Awsten’s stomach where his t-shirt’s been rucked up. Awsten tilts his head back into the pillow as Otto pants into his neck.

Quietly, without moving too far, Otto scruffs his shirt off and uses it to wipe at Awsten’s belly, then his own hand. Awsten watches him in a daze, shuffling his shorts back up.

Otto drops down beside him with a gentle whoof, pulling the covers up over their heads. It’s hot and smells like spunk and will definitely be too humid before long, but for now it feels private, comfortable and sequestered and safe.

Awsten looks up at Otto in the semidarkness, already stressing himself out about what to say, how much to give away; he sees his own uncertainty reflected in the crease of Otto’s brow, the tension of his mouth.

“Um, so,” Otto whispers before Awsten can get a word out, “Is this a good time to tell you that I’ve wanted to do that for a while now?” he asks, expression sheepish but not masking the nervousness in his voice.

Awsten’s heart flutters.

“Uh-huh,” he whispers back, grin tugging at his lips. “Because just between you and me?” He leans even closer for dramatic effect, until their noses almost brush. “So have I,” he giggles, feeling giddy, like a weight’s been lifted from his chest.

He sees Otto’s eyebrows shoot up, blurry in his too-close cross-eyed vision, before he beams.

“And you know what else?” Awsten continues. “I think I really want you to do it again,” he says, brushing tentative fingers over the warm skin of Otto’s bicep, then his shoulder.

Otto looks pleased. “Well, I think that can be arranged,” he says mock-seriously, nodding. When Awsten laughs, he flashes him a smile before tugging the covers down under their chins. They both take a breath of fresh air.


Geoff, who had been expecting something like this to happen for at least the last three months, sleeps soundly on with his eye mask down and noise-canceling earphones in, none the wiser.