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Whatever III thought was going to happen during (and after) the show that night, especially considering what had transpired between him and II at the sex shop earlier in the day… didn’t.
And it didn’t for the next few shows, either. Instead, the others all went on about things as normally as usual. The energy coming from the crowd each night was good, the energy on stage was better, but night after night it went nowhere III was expecting it to. And during load up each night, as the bassist helped pack in their gear, he couldn’t help but feel a little bitter about all of it.
Of course he knew it was his own fault for letting himself get worked into a near frenzy at the thought of what his bandmates might do to him, what they might demand of him. But when those demands never actually came, all of the heat and need that had built up in him just continued to simmer in his blood, making him restless and uneasy to a degree so far beyond what he’d known before, he worried he might do something about it.
This was made worse, somehow, by the fact that from the time after that post sex-shop jaunt soundcheck all the way to now, as he lay in his bunk and stared at the little ceiling of it, all he’d gotten from the others were the same old casual, sometimes lingering glances and idle, tame conversations as usual. It was as if ice water had been dumped on the situation, robbing them of that spark they’d all just started to stoke into something wilder, something more feral.
So, as he’d been doing for the last few nights while they were all settled on the bus and hurtling down another interstate headed for the last city and final two shows of the tour, III let the unease gnaw at him, the same handful of questions on a loop in his mind as an endless cycle of worry on top of worry. Had he done something wrong? Had he missed a cue somewhere or some sort of memo about what was going on between all of them? Had he completely fucked everything up? He had wanted to talk to Vessel about it the first night, knew that that was a better option than stewing over what had (or rather hadn’t) happened but he’d managed to convince himself there never seemed to be a right moment before they had all retreated to their bunks, and he didn’t feel quite right bringing it up to IV or II and then every night after that he’d convinced himself there was no “right time” and stewing was easier.
Part of him knew he was being a coward. He was afraid of what the answer to all of those questions might be and the why’s of them, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle knowing he really had done something wrong or that they’d changed their mind. That rejection, however small and ultimately hypothetical, would break something in him he had only just begun to accept. And it didn’t help that outside of the fact that his friends had not come forward to proposition him for group sex and he was afraid he’d somehow upset them or missed his chance and that they’d decided he wasn’t worth doing that sort of thing with, things between them all were normal . He would even say things were good . It didn’t feel like there was anything looming awkwardly between them, no bitter indifference or snide judgment or even vague dislike. III spent more hours than he cared to admit over the course of a few days wondering if he was the only one feeling any semblance of restlessness about what was transpiring between the four of them.
And to add to his already overwhelming pile of anxiety-inducing thoughts, he still hadn’t quite come clean to Vessel about how he felt. That fact alone hung over him in a way he couldn’t fight off more often than any other recurring, nagging thought, and he wondered if the others could tell; if they knew somehow and that’s what was keeping them away, if he had to redeem himself and stop being such a piece of shit coward.
So by the time they pulled into the last stop on the tour - a two-night run of shows at a big city on the coast - and gotten through the first soundcheck and the penultimate show of the tour with nary a sideways glance or a playful touch or a perverse comment, III was certain he’d really well and truly fucked something, if not everything, up.
He’d retreated to the bus shortly after catching food with his bandmates and some crew members, his thoughts firmly fixed elsewhere but on the conversations flying around him. One of the girls from Espera even asked if he was feeling alright, concern marking her face but he just nodded and got up to clear his trash as the others made their way back to the venue and the buses, getting ready to call it a night. He trailed behind the group, completely wrapped up in his own head to the point that he didn’t realize they’d made it back, and that the others were all nowhere to be seen, and that Vessel was waiting outside of their bus, leaning against it and grinning down at something on his phone like nothing at all was amiss.
III pulled himself to a stop, watching him from where he stood and for a heartbeat he thought to turn and go back out into the street. To run away from this chance to talk, to let things drop and live with that regret. The singer looked up at the same moment though, smiling easily at him and slipping his phone into his pocket.
“Doing alright?” he asked, pushing off of the bus to walk towards the blonde man. III stared hard at his friend, knowing his face had to be stuck in some bizarre mix of disbelief and anguish. Why was it so easy for everyone else to act like nothing was off, like he wasn’t balancing on a tightrope over the little swimming pool that was his and II and IV’s lust and attention and wishing he was brave enough to let himself fall into it. To admit to himself that he wanted it, desperately.
“I’m, uh… I’m okay.” Lie. Lie lie lie lie. III cringed and looked down at the ground, but he could feel Vessel staring at him.
“You sure?”
III hated how gentle the singer sounded in that moment. Not because of the gentleness itself or the probing nature of it. Weeks ago it would have pissed him off because he would have taken it as condescension, as pity. It would have made him uncomfortable, angry even but in such a short time so much had shifted in him and now the hot, tight feeling in his chest wasn’t a defensive mechanism. No, now he hated the sound of it because in less than 24 hours, it was something he was going to lose. He was going to lose the chance to have that gentleness, the man that was behind it. He was going to lose the others, too, what they brought to the table and offered him. But what hurt most in that moment of realization, was that III felt like he was going to lose them; the chance at what he and Vessel might be, someday. Once this tour was over… there was nothing promised. There was no next time, really. Not on paper. Not officially. He was staring one of his very last chances in the face and he still couldn’t work up enough courage to say anything and Vessel fucking knew it. The bassist looked up to see his friend watching him carefully, unguarded.
“Maybe… maybe not.”
“You know you can talk to me, to any of the others, about…what’s happened. Or maybe what didn’t happen. What do you need to say?”
A short, wry laugh escaped from III but even still he felt himself go taut at his friend’s question. How was he always so good at reading him? How did Vessel always know what he was thinking? III scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. He didn’t know where to go from here. He’d never known which way to go. Not with Vessel, not with the others, not with what he wanted.
“You know that’s never been easy for me,” the bassist said quietly, refusing to look up at his bandmate again. “I’m dogshit at things like that. Talking about how I feel and what I want and shit like that.”
“Would it help if I just asked you?”
“What?”
“If I asked you to tell me how you feel, what you want. Made it easy and direct. Then it’s just answering questions.”
“I mean… worth a shot, I reckon.”
Vessel nodded as he took a few steps closer. III kept his gaze anywhere but on his bandmate’s face.
“What is it that you want most?”
The singer asked it so plainly that III had half a mind to ask him to clarify what exactly he meant. Did he want to know what he wanted from this job? His life? … His friends? That last answer was easy: their bodies, their attention, their lust. He knew exactly what Vessel meant. He knew where this was meant to go.
“I just want-“ III stopped short, his words catching in his throat. He wanted everything from his bandmates, his friends. He wanted their hands and mouths on him, he wanted them to make demands of him, to use him. That was the easy thing to say, but it wasn’t the whole truth. He wanted their support and comfort, the warmth of their bodies next to his when he woke up in the morning, the knowledge that they always had his back.
Even more, when it came to Vessel, III wanted more than everything from the singer. He’d tried for so many days to dance around it, to ignore it or leave it behind but that had been when there was still time to put it off, when there was a tomorrow to assign the worry to. Now the tour was very nearly over and the reality of what might get left behind if he couldn’t find the courage to just say it, to admit what he felt for the other man unsettled III deeply. If he didn’t own up to it now, if he wasn't honest with Vessel as they stood together outside the bus in the inky dark of near-midnight, the bassist knew he’d never get another chance. Any fear or anger or embarrassment was long gone from him; there was only that strange yearning that had been eating him alive since that night in the dingy shower after the show that he’d fed with teasing and wishing and hoping.
“There’s so much that I want.”
“You can have it, you know.” Vessel’s voice was low but lacked the heat that marked when they’d begun to move into that playful territory III had been waiting for for the past few days, that he’d realized he longed for. This, right now, felt testing; as if he was checking to make sure this was what was wanted and that restraint, in tandem with what the singer had said, how he had no idea how loaded his words were for the bassist, sparked frustration in him, despite himself.
“Can I, though? I feel like… I feel like I’ve done something wrong, like I’m being punished somehow. You waved something I wanted in front of my face and then… nothing.”
“III,” Vessel started, his voice suddenly soft as if trying to soothe a pained and thrashing animal; or a recalcitrant child. “I told you before, you’ve always been in control here. Everything has always hinged on your say-so. I- we never wanted to make you feel like you had to do things with us…“
“I’ve never felt forced,” the bassist said quickly. A jolt ran through him at the singer’s words and he tried to rein himself in, to calm the sudden flurry of panic at what Vessel had said, what he meant by it. “I’ve wanted everything that’s happened. I just… These last few days, I thought maybe you were upset with me, or that I’d done something wrong. That I’d said something wrong.”
Vessel smiled, the grin almost rueful. III swallowed hard, as he stared down his fear of what might come out of the singer’s mouth next.
“It’s not that you did or said anything wrong, you just didn’t say anything at all. I knew you enjoyed yourself when you and I… played those other times, as well as when IV joined in; you’d said as much. But for all of us to try and take you at once? We wanted you to be beyond sure. We wanted you to be in the lead, at least enough that we were confident you were completely on board.”
“I’m on board, mate.” The words spilled out of III so fast he almost had half a mind to be embarrassed, but he was anything but. It was slowly becoming more and more clear to III that putting off the talk had been a bad idea. The worst idea, even, and he cursed himself for his fucking cowardice. Of course they’d been watching out for him. Of course they’d left it to him to make the decision, even if he hadn’t quite realized it. And Vessel at least knew what the truth of it was: once it started, once they had him and he allowed himself to be for them , he didn’t want a say. He wanted to submit and please and be used by them. He wanted to belong to them. And maybe to Vessel more than the others. A weight settled in III’s gut and he knew it was stupid to quit now. Better to lay it all out in the open and see where they landed. Now or never. III finally looked back up at Vessel, meeting his eyes. “I want to do this with all of you. I want all of you, but…”
“But,” Vessel echoed, watching his face carefully. III felt himself flush with that last lingering shred of his embarrassment and looked away, suddenly shy. He couldn’t help but think how, a short time ago, that feeling of embarrassment would have driven him to fear. It would have scared him, and he would have answered that fear with anger and aggression. Now it just made something in his blood thrum, and aggravated that deep-seated ache for all the things he hadn’t owned up to yet, all the things he was still holding back. It wasn’t fair to himself and it wasn’t fair to the others and it wasn’t fair to Vessel. The singer had told him that in order for them to take from him, he had to give. He had to put it all out on the proverbial table for them and allow them to see all the parts of him that he maybe didn’t want to show, that he had to learn to be brave enough to offer up.
“Remember how I made that joke way back, about how you weren’t allowed to fall in love with me?” He glanced up at Vessel once more, screwing up his courage and taking a deep breath. “Maybe… what if I broke my own rule?”
“... You’re in love with me ?”
III couldn’t read his tone and panic instantly set in. He looked down and away, unable to bring himself to look at the man; the uncomfortable burn of true shame flooding him was too hot, his thoughts flying too far and too wild. That wasn’t how he’d imagined the singer would respond, wasn’t what he expected and now his confidence was shot. Maybe he’d really fucked everything up by saying it out loud, and now there was no taking it back. For a long moment the words hung thick in the air between them and III was ready to apologize, to turn and run and hide until tomorrow’s show was over and then he could just bury himself in the nearest pit. But before he could do any of that, he felt Vessel’s fingers gently tilt his chin up, forcing him to look at him directly. There was no laughter or taunting glee on his friend’s face, no disgust or anger or derision. There was only a curious, searching expression that restored just a fraction of the bassist’s courage. III nodded ever so slightly, otherwise staying still as he spoke.
“Well… it might be love. A version of it, maybe. I… after that first time - the first time you touched me, in the showers - I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you. And everything that’s happened since then has been because I wanted to keep feeling like you’d made me feel in the shower and when I was on my knees in front of you on the bus and when I saw you watching when IV was sucking my cock. So maybe it isn’t love, per se, but it’s for you. I want it to be yours . …I want to be yours.”
Another long, long pause and III had to fight back the urge to crawl out of his own skin, the point at where the singer touched him felt too raw, like a white-hot brand searing his skin. Vessel’s expression remained the same, his hand moving from III’s chin to trace his jaw and down the side of his throat.
“What does that mean, that you want to be mine?”
Vessel’s fingers had reached the point where III’s neck met his shoulder, and now they slowly meandered towards his collarbone, tracking along the ridge of bone and up to the hollow of his throat. The blonde man could feel himself practically quivering under the other man’s touch, and his words were a scramble in his head. Vessel’s tone was thoughtful, and the bassist didn’t immediately think he was upset to have heard this revelation. Maybe Vessel would still let him down gently. III swallowed and tried to gather his wits. It would probably be easier to show him, but III had to use his words now, and had to make them count.
“I want to put a damn collar around my neck and hand you the leash. If anyone’s gonna lead me around… metaphorically or otherwise, I want it to be you. I want you to be the one who tears me open to find all the shit I try to hide from everyone else and then sew me back up. I want you to be the one who uses all of that same shit against me and then keeps all my secrets. I-” III trailed off, and in the same heartbeat Vessel’s hand - that had been so lovingly tracing the dip at the base of III’s throat - slid up and tightened around his neck, applying pressure there that made the blonde man gasp in surprise and alarming, delicious arousal.
“What else?” Vessel purred, his tone now trending towards territory that III could recognize. The heat that had been simmering in him for days roiled to life again, flooding him completely.
“I want it to be you ,” III said, calming himself enough to take as deep a breath as he could. Vessel’s grip only bore down on the sides of his neck, leaving his trachea free but the compression was still enough to pose a challenge. “When the three of you decide to fuck me - and I do want all of you to, sooner rather than later - I want you to be the first to have me. I want you to be in control of me, the situation, everything… all of it. And not just the one time. I want you to always be able to take control of me, let me just be mindless and obedient for you.”
III was almost disappointed when Vessel let go of his neck, and he couldn't stop the soft, breathy whine that escaped him when the other man dropped his hand. He still wore the plain, curious expression and it was beginning to drive the blonde man insane. He wanted a reaction from Vessel, something to give him an indication of how badly this all was going to hurt.
“You trust me enough to let me do that… be that for you?”
“Absolutely,” III’s answer was quick and the most confident he’d sounded the entire conversation. Without prompting, he looked at his friend squarely. This wasn’t part of the game, he realized. This was where they had to step back through the veil and into the real world and be painfully honest with each other, with themselves. They’d have this talk again and again, they’d get better at it - III would get better at it - but it would suffice for now, if Vessel agreed. Another long pause, but this one felt like it was the singer taking his time to appreciate what III had just given him, what he was offering. When he smiled, it was feline and wicked, and it sparked new heat in the bassist.
“You know, we could make the collar happen, if you want.”
“It was a metaphor, you ass. I don’t -“ III paused for half a moment, as if to double check with himself. “I don’t want a literal collar.”
“Suit yourself,” Vessel said, stepping forward to press a chaste kiss to his friend’s mouth. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”
—
It was nearly two in the morning when a message pinged on III’s phone.
He hadn’t been able to fall asleep after he’d had his conversation with Vessel, after the singer had kissed him and they’d both gotten back on the bus. II and IV had already been in their respective bunks and III didn’t push Vessel for a timeline; just trusted that he’d meant what he said. So, despite himself, he settled into his bunk and tried to let sleep find him, tried to remind himself that he’d technically given over control now, and that he wasn’t the one setting the pace anymore. He was at the whim of Vessel and II and IV and he had to be patient. Patient and watchful and ready to obey.
So when the little chime hit his ears, III’s body was instantly keyed up, his nerves almost shot by his sudden jolt of adrenaline. It was from Vessel.
‘Come to the stage.’
III frowned as he slid from his bunk, taking a moment to check his bandmate’s sleeping spaces as he pulled his jeans on. He didn’t remember hearing anyone leave, but after a moment he realized he was well and truly alone on the bus.
He was alone on the bus and he was being summoned elsewhere.
A shiver chased down III’s spine as he quickly pulled on a tshirt and his shoes before he left the bus, nearly sprinting the few dozen feet between the bus door and the venue. He only stopped short when he realized the doors likely would be locked. He was about to text Vessel for further instructions when he noticed a side door - hidden in an alcove and only barely lit by a weak overhead light - had been ever so slightly propped open. Slipping inside, he let the door close fully behind him as he let his eyes adjust to the dark interior. The hall that he now found himself in was pitch black, but he slowly began to walk, staying quiet and listening for the sounds of his bandmates. The venue was silent, though, making his own steps and breathing monstrously loud to his own ears.
It didn’t take him long to find himself in the wings, looking out onto the stage where he and the others had performed just a few hours ago and where they’d be performing again tomorrow night. The stage lights were on, blinding and familiar as he stepped out into them. The house lights were off, making it difficult to see past the edge of the stage.
“There you are.” II’s voice came from somewhere in the dark before him, low and sensual. “Such a good boy for coming so quickly when called. But you’re overdressed.”
III swallowed thickly, trying to pinpoint where the drummer was in the dark. He knew what II wanted him to do, but he stalled. He’d waited so long for this. He wanted to play it out to its fullest potential.
“Maybe our plaything isn’t so good at following directions?” IV’s voice oozed from the dark as well, and that tinge of fear-laced arousal at the quiet, playful cruelty in his tone made III close his eyes. He waited for the direct order, for the command that would set him sinking into that place he’d been longing for.
“Oh he is,” Vessel’s voice was directly in front of him, obscured by the dark behind the too-bright lights just the same as the others. III fought the urge to call out for him, to plead for him to hurry things along. That wasn’t how this was going to be played; III knew this, and so did Vessel. “You just need to be direct. Show them, pet. Take off your clothes.”
He only needed to be told once. He disrobed, slowing when commanded; letting his hands linger at hems and buttons per their whims, taking the time to fold and set all of his garments aside before II told him to kneel and stay still, to keep his eyes forward and wait for his next instruction. III didn’t waste any energy pondering how he should feel now that he was naked on stage, he simply let himself feel the heat of the lights on him, the weight of three sets of eyes watching him. He closed his eyes briefly, letting himself imagine there were more eyes on him, ready to watch him submit .
He didn’t startle when he felt calloused hands smooth down his shoulders, gently pulling his hands behind his back and silently telling him to remain in whatever position he was moved to. II was behind him, and something soft yet unyielding was being wrapped around his wrists, his forearms. He almost asked but II, the most observant of them all, sensed his question before it could escape him.
“It’s the rope we looked at the other day,” he whispered to the bassist, seeming to finish off the knot he was working on and giving it a tug, pulling III back to lean against him. “If you need this to stop, what will you tell us?”
“Red.” III murmured in response. After their little field trip, the bassist had done enough of his own research to know the ground rules they needed to establish. II hummed an approving sound as he dragged his fingers up from the rope binding III’s hands to his spine and into his hair, combing over the bound man’s scalp before gently gripping and tugging his hair this way and that to move his head, as if testing how far III would let him go right out of the gate.
“Good. And if you need us to slow down?”
“Yellow.”
The drummer leaned over him, pulling his head back to kiss him chastely.
“Such a good boy.”
“I’ve wanted to see him like this ever since he had me on my knees for him.”
IV had joined them on the stage, the sound of a wheeled gear case announcing his arrival before it stopped abruptly. III dared to turn his head enough to see the large, waist-high box used to store parts of II’s drum kit set back on the stage a couple yards away. He assessed it quietly, a pulse thumping in his throat as he wondered what it had been brought in for. A sharp clearing of the throat snapped his attention back to the guitarist who was approaching and grinning wickedly down at him, and in a moment all thoughts of the potential prop vanished, replaced with the idea that, considering the look IV was giving him, maybe he should try to pull at the ropes binding his hands behind his back, as if he could free himself and run from him. Then again, III mused, his own little wicked grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, IV would probably like it if he ran.
While II remained behind him, IV came around his front and reached down to take hold of the bassist’s jaw in one hand, a calloused thumb coming up and tracing the edge of the blonde man’s lower lip. For half a heartbeat, III thought about how it would feel if Vessel would do the same thing, how it would be gentler and sweeter and he’d lean into it like his touch was a balm or the only thing keeping him tethered to this world and he began to wonder where the singer was. In that same moment, IV pushed the digit past III’s lips, holding his tongue down and forcing the bassist to drop his jaw, leaving his mouth open. The shorter man’s wicked grin turned into a feral smile.
“I've been dreaming about seeing my cock in this mouth for weeks.”
III’s breathing hitched as he realized between the drummer behind him and the guitarist who had his fingers in his mouth in front of him, he was exactly where he’d wanted to be these last few days. He turned his gaze up towards IV, watching the man as he leered down at him; aloof admiration playing across his face. For a moment III considered pleading, considered attempting to speak around the calloused digits IV had traded for his thumb still holding the blonde man’s tongue down, still lewdly holding his mouth open, but he thought better of it when IV pressed his fingers in just a little more, teasing deeper.
“You’re so hasty,” II chided, his hands gently trailing along III’s shoulders and spine before ghosting up his neck and into his hair again. The bassist shivered at the sensation of it, a weak groan escaping his throat. “Don’t you think it’ll be so much better if we work him into a puddle and then have our way with him?”
“I’m too impatient,” IV answered, pulling his fingers from III’s mouth and stepping aside. “I can’t help myself when I see something so pretty. Just need to… ruin it.”
“You know the rule…” The shorter man warned, finally stepping in front of III. He slid his hands into his pockets and bent over at the waist, putting himself at eye level with the bound man, a lazy smile tugging at the corners of his lips, making deliberate eye contact with III. “ We aren’t doing the ruining this time.”
This time.
They were barely five minutes into the game at hand and already III wanted the next time alluded to with those words. He’d been hard since Vessel had ordered him to strip, had told him to take his time unbuttoning his jeans, to move slower as he shucked off his tshirt. He’d almost forgotten how hot it had made his blood to imagine them watching him get naked under the unforgiving stage lights, how tight his skin had felt as he tracked the subtle worshipfulness in the singer’s instructions and relished the feeling of it all. But now that that adoration was absent, he was left with II and IV’s simple, uninhibited lust and the implication they offered him: that while this time was going to go a particular way, whatever happened beyond that would likely be a very, very different story. That fact alone was enough to drive him mad and the promise of it all only served to make his cock twitch and leak violently, the pressure of his arousal nearing a point of pain. The blonde man wanted so badly for one of them to touch him, to let him cum and relieve the ache that balanced perfectly between euphoric and excruciating that was building in him, threatening to tear him apart. He barely noticed the way his hips twitched when II dragged his own calloused fingers over his too-hot skin. He barely registered that he was following IV with pleading, glazed eyes. He wondered if he’d be able to form words to articulate what he wanted at all, if they bothered to ask. Not that he entirely wanted them to.
“He’s so needy already, mate.” IV chuckled, moving out of III’s sight. “How should we help him?”
“That’s a good question,” II hummed conspiratorially, still standing before his kneeling bandmate. “Judging by the look of him, he probably would like to cum soon. We should avoid that right out of the gate, don’t you reckon?”
“Oh absolutely. Maybe he needs something to distract him.”
There was the quiet, subtle sound of a zipper being pulled down and II sighed in mock exasperation.
“So selfish,” he muttered moving back behind III, his fingers twisting into his hair once more, still speaking around III, as if he wasn’t there. “I’d say you’re the needy one.”
IV only chuckled darkly, not entirely disagreeing with the drummer.
“What can I say? I told you, I’ve been dreaming of my cock in his mouth for weeks .”
When II pulled back on III’s hair, putting him in position to allow IV to press his shaft to his mouth, the blonde man felt it in his cock. He had thought about putting up a little fight especially for IV, but the sensation of being told without words, of having that shred of choice removed sent a shiver through him and he obediently opened his mouth, allowing the guitarist in. He could fight back another time, make him earn it later. Right now… well, if IV was being selfish, so was III.
“Relax,” IV muttered not unkindly, his hand almost tentatively coming to rest on the top of his bandmate’s head, fingers brushing against II’s where he still held him by the hair, keeping him still while IV sheathed himself in his mouth and slowly worked up his pace. The kneeling man was practically trembling, forcing himself to focus on breathing, on relaxing every part of him while his bandmate slowly pulled out and then slid back in, fucking his mouth. III felt II move closer to him, his well-muscled leg pressing against the spot where his hands remained incapacitated against his lower back.
“If it’s too much,” the drummer leaned in, whispering to the kneeling man. “Three taps on my leg. Show me you understand.”
III did as he was told, rapping his fingers in quick succession three times against his friend’s leg. The shorter man hummed his approval before pausing to admire the way IV was now sliding deeper into his mouth, pulling lewd, wet sounds from him with each roll of his hips.
“Give him some more practice and we’re going to have such a perfect little cocksucker on our hands.” II said, his tone still so aloof but the gentle touch he gave III was enough to prove his praise was as sincere as anything.
“He’s such a good boy, taking me like this already.” IV growled out through gritted teeth, the affirmation taking III by surprise but sending a bolt of pleasure through him that had him whining around the guitarist’s cock. IV groaned and tilted his head back, picking up his pace. “Fuck, do that again.”
“You have to earn those, you know.” II said, releasing his grip on III’s hair to trail his fingers down his neck, to his shoulders. “But I suppose I can see about helping.”
While still keeping his leg within III’s reach, II moved to trail his fingers down the bassist’s neck, shoulders, and chest; finding every sensitive point and capitalizing on them, wringing deep-throated moans from the blonde man with every sweep and press and graze of his calloused fingers. III was nearly in tears, overwhelmed by what they were doing to him but it would have devastated him more thoroughly if they stopped. There were no more thoughts in his mind, only the pressure of IV’s cock encroaching on his throat and the gentle, teasing touch of II balancing it out. He felt so removed from himself in the most blissful, euphoric way and the small part of him that was still present , still keeping guard over the reasonable, self-preserving part of himself let him imagine the heartbreaking thought that he could have missed this. That his stupid, useless fear might have kept this from him. He looked up at IV, who was watching him with a glazed over expression of his own. When the guitarist noticed his gaze, he smiled down at him and moved to wipe a track of tears from III’s cheek as he pressed into his mouth once more before he pulled out, stepping back just enough as if he was trying to keep himself from cumming, breathing hard and laughing as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just been able to do.
“He’s gonna be a menace sooner rather than later,” IV panted. II pivoted himself in front of III, his own cock free of his pants and the bassist didn’t wait to press himself forward and sink his mouth onto his other bandmate’s dick. II’s sharp, breathy curse when the entirety of his length disappeared into III’s mouth was intoxicating, and for a moment the blonde man wished his hands were free so he could touch IV at the same time, could please both of them. Instead he seated the drummer’s cock entirely in his mouth, the head of it teasing at his throat and he focused on not gagging on it. He could be good. He would be good, for them. If only to show Vessel that he would be better than good for him .
He felt hands in his hair again and he was pulled off of II’s cock, his head tilted back so he could see both men standing before him. IV had his hand fisted into the kneeling man’s hair now, his gaze hungry and impatient.
“We could see how he does with two cocks,” the guitarist muttered, using the leverage he had on III’s head to tilt it this way and that, toying with him. II made a thoughtful, appraising sound.
“I’m sure he’ll do just fine. Open your mouth.”
III obeyed the drummer’s command without hesitation and he was rewarded with both men shifting their position to put their cocks in range of him, the unspoken command of ‘now take care of them’ a mantra in the blonde man’s brain. Anyone watching, III thought without a hint of shame or embarrassment, would have seen a man on his knees, desperately moving between two cocks, sliding one and then another into his mouth, beholden to the grip his one friend had on his hair and the sounds of their breathy groans mixing with his own wet noises. He wondered if Vessel was still watching, if he liked what he was seeing.
He didn’t get to ponder that train of thought further, as IV’s grip tightened in his hair and he was suddenly very aware of the slightly bitter, salty tang of cum splashing across his tongue. III looked up in time to catch another rope of the guitarist’s seed in his mouth, swallowing it on instinct.
“Such a good fucking boy,” The sandy blonde growled, letting go of his grip so II could gently turn III’s head back to him. The bassist felt IV take up the position the drummer had abandoned, settling his leg within reach of III’s fingers, in case he needed that out. The idea of tapping out of this, though, was the furthest thing from III’s mind.
“He is,” II said, his own hands gently threading through III’s hair. “Taking your load like that. Let’s give him another.”
With that, the drummer’s gentle, almost tender touch shifted and in the next moment he was using both hands to hold the kneeling man’s head in place so he could thrust against his mouth as he wished, chasing his own pleasure while III struggled to stay focused, forcing himself to breathe and relax and breathe… II did him the courtesy of not taking long to finish, spilling his own seed down the blonde man’s throat as he sheathed himself in his mouth so completely III felt himself go lightheaded for a moment. When the drummer finally released him and stepped back, III sputtered and coughed; spit and cum dripping from his mouth as he drank in desperate gulps of air.
“Stand him up.” II’s voice was breathy and tight, as if he was already getting hard again. Despite how he likely looked in that moment, III felt victorious: he’d given and they’d taken, enough that they’d come, had used him to find their release and that fact alone flooded him with a perverse sort of satisfaction that he never would have imagined feeling before that damn shower.
Without warning, the two standing men lifted III onto his feet, one of them hanging on a moment longer, helping the taller man steady himself as he paused to wait for the feeling in his legs to come back. Once he felt more steady on his feet, III allowed IV - who was still holding gently on to his upper arm - to guide him towards where II was now standing: a few feet away, near the large case that had been brought out earlier. The drummer’s gaze was fixed on them - on III, specifically - his eyes tracing up and down his body. Despite the fact that II was significantly shorter than him, III felt small under his scrutiny. As they finished their approach, II didn’t say anything, simply continued to let his eyes trail down his bandmate’s slim body and smiled faintly as the blonde man squirmed a little at his prolonged observation.
“You know, I don’t think you quite caught what I said earlier.” The drummer said, finally looking away and motioning for III to approach where he stood near the gear box. “Face the box.”
The order was concise and simple but it sent another wave of languid, burning pleasure through the bassist, reminding him that he was still painfully hard and suddenly he wanted so badly to be touched, even if for just a moment. He considered begging, but thought better of it as he dutifully turned to face the box. When he felt a strange jerking sensation at his back, it took him half a moment to realize that the shorter man was untying his wrists and forearms, the same faint staticky feeling coming to them that he’d felt in his legs just moments before. The tall, blonde man shook his arms and wrists a little, cajoling blood and feeling back to his fingers and hands but then II was on the other side of the box, ropes still at the ready.
“Bend over, and give me your hands again.”
Another thrill of pleasure chased down the bassist’s spine to rest in the pit of his stomach. III obeyed, and in a moment he was tied to the gear box, his wrists caught in simple loops that were anchored to a metal pull on the far side of the box, stretching his torso over the top of the crate. In another moment, he felt hands on the bare skin of his legs as II made a loop around his ankle and tied it to the locked wheel nearest it. He groaned at the realization of what was happening and II only smiled softly before moving to tie his other ankle in a similar way: leaving him spread and bent over the gear case, completely exposed to anyone who came up behind him; unable to move or offer any semblance of resistance.
As if that was even an option he’d entertain.
“Do you remember how I said we weren’t doing any ruining tonight?” II asked, coming back around to his earlier statement. III wracked his lust-addled brain for the correct memory and nodded as best he could with the side of his head pressed against the box. “And who hasn’t shown up to play with you yet?”
It only took half a second for the realization to hit him; a half a second for his cock to twitch violently where it strained against the box, still leaking precum and now unbearably hard. From somewhere behind him IV chuckled before coming to stand before him once more, his own cock half hard again.
“As much as I loved watching you suck my cock,” he cooed at the bound man, running his fingers through III’s sweat-damp hair. “I think I’m gonna love watching you get fucked even more.”
A groan escaped III and he bucked his hips against the case, the rough fabric exterior not doing anything to assuage the aching in his cock. He heard II stifle a chuckle from somewhere to his left and then his mind flashed to Vessel and where he might be. A flare of impatience snapped through the man and in a halfhearted act of impertinence he tested the knots II had tied at his ankles, as if he intended to break free and find the singer himself.
Because truthfully a blunt, needful feeling that reminded III of yearning tinged with fear and gnawing, angry hunger had begun to seep into him and it had begun to stretch him thin in a delicious, teasing, maddening way. It was driving him insane, this overwhelming feeling of dancing along the edge between control and complete loss of self. He wanted so badly to reassemble himself, to gather his mind and his sense and logic back up and reconstitute himself. He wanted to be put back to rights again, to not feel so fragile and wanting and desperate but he couldn’t quite muster the will to do so, couldn’t quite bring himself to pull himself together. Because more than he wanted to find resolution to the warm, yearning ache he felt in his blood, in each of his limbs, behind his eyes, thrumming deep in the very core of himself, he wanted that release to come from Vessel. He wanted the man to drag him through this feeling and destroy him so wholly; so tenderly and viciously and utterly before collecting his shattered remains and telling him how to put himself back together just so they could do it all again, and again, and again…
The blonde man was pulled abruptly from this spiraling thought when he felt large, warm hands trace down his back, over his ass and down the backs of his thighs; and he very nearly came from that touch alone. He knew those hands. He knew that touch. He’d had it only so many times, but he’d memorized the heat of it through his clothes on stage, and had archived the weight and cadence of it through the pelting water of that long ago shower stall. He knew Vessel stood behind him now, and his cock twitched violently as III’s breath hitched and he panted out the man’s name, finally allowing himself to stoop to begging. Because for him, for Vessel , he would. He’d do whatever he wanted. Whatever it took to keep those hands on him, to get his mouth on him, his cock in him.
“We need to get him ready,” the hint of a smile in Vessel’s voice was enough to spark a hint of worry in the bassist. He knew in the rational, sensible part of his mind that this was an absolute necessity and judging from how all of his friends had been talking he was actually in very capable, well-meaning hands, but it was still new territory. Thrilling, intoxicating new territory, but new all the same. He shifted his hips as much as he could when he felt Vessel’s hands slide off and away from his body, but he stilled when he felt something cold and wet and slick begin to drip onto his ass. He wanted to turn and look, but with his hands restrained as they were, he was blind to what was taking place behind him.
“Relax,” II murmured, and for a moment III felt like a wild animal caught in a snare being soothed by the very hunter who’d laid the trap. He felt the drummer’s calloused hands on the meat of his ass, the touch slick and chilled. “It’s just lube, just my fingers, for now. Is that alright?”
III nodded but then remembered his voice, the ‘yes’ that he managed to pant out a halting mix of nerves and impatience. He felt his friend gently pat at his hip as if in silent reassurance before that same hand dipped down to stroke once, twice at his cock and III’s initial yelp of surprise quickly melted into a wanton groan that, at any other time, he would have been ashamed of. But just as quickly as he’d gone in, II had taken his hand away and had moved his attention back to the ring of muscle that was lewdly on display with the help of the way III was tied down. The sensation of someone touching him there , gently teasing and pressing against it was so foreign but not unpleasant. Every so often another splash of cold, slick lube would find its way onto his skin and II’s fingers.
“Relax, pet,” II murmured again as his other hand moved to hold III open, his fingers still persistently teasing him, convincing his body to allow entry. “Would a distraction help?”
III squirmed against the other man’s touch but nodded, casting his gaze forward when he felt a hand gently tug his chin to pull his attention away from the drummer and his teasing fingers. IV was before him, crouched enough to be eye to eye with the bound man. The smile on the guitarist’s face was aloof but lacked the wicked sort of playfulness he’d harbored earlier. He rubbed his thumb along III’s lower lip, the touch soft and exploratory and suddenly it was the only thing the bassist could think of.
“Such a good boy,” IV muttered, surging forward softly to press his mouth to III’s, kissing him slowly and sweetly and it was so unlike how he’d been earlier, how he’d been in the hotel room what felt like a lifetime ago but the bound man welcomed this shift and opened himself to the other man, the rabid heat in his groin tightening when he realized that he could likely taste himself, could taste II every time he slid his tongue into III’s mouth, probing and teasing and distracting…
“See what happens when you relax?” II said, pressing a kiss to the small of III’s back. The bassist tried to pull away from IV, to speak or moan or react but IV’s hand was suddenly on his jaw, keeping him grounded in the feeling of their mouths pressing together. Despite this, somewhere further down his body, III was suddenly also aware of a warm, aching pressure and of a subtle movement within it. He groaned low and needy into his bandmate’s mouth, and he felt that aching pressure deepen.
“That’s two ,” The drummer said, voice punctuated by a focused sort of tension, as if he were devoting all of his care and attention to making sure this was good for III, that this didn’t hurt him, that he enjoyed receiving as much as II might enjoy giving. The blonde man whimpered into the guitarist’s mouth this time, and the shorter man finally broke the kiss, pulling away just enough.
“Do you need him to stop?” IV’s voice was low, bordering on worried and III took a moment to realize that worry might have stemmed from the fact that he was shaking, however slightly, and a tear had slipped from him and chased a single path down his cheek. IV watched its progression, still waiting for an answer. III closed his eyes and took a deep breath, silently checking in with himself. He hated that the stinging tears slipping from his eyes and the hot, damp trails they left on his cheeks might have been from overstimulation, courtesy of his bandmates. He hated the tears and his body’s response not because he spilled them at all, or because he couldn't withstand what they were doing to him, but more because he was scared the others might think they meant he wanted to stop, that he was ready to give up. No, no, more than anything III wanted to continue, to let himself get overwhelmed to tears and to let it hurt a little, to let the others stoke an ember of fear amidst the searing coals of lust and mindless, unrelenting want . He was happy to feel like an offering to some nameless god, some concept of devotion long forgotten. It sent lightning through him, flying through his veins until it made contact with that deepest part of him that begged him to give and give and give .
And II and IV, like high priests preparing the sacrifice, tapped that lightning and fed it back to him, their own devotion laced with that same mindless want and too-rampant lust but tinged with a self-serving restraint that kept them in line, kept them from taking too much, from giving too much back. Because this time, III wasn’t for them. Of course they would consume him as scraps, lapping up whatever Vessel might leave behind and bear witness to the shreds of what would be left once the singer ruined him. But once the ritual was done and III was pieced back together? When he was fixed and whole again and then, inevitably, laid bare before them once more?
A violent shiver ran down III’s spine and he opened his eyes to see IV still watching him. It felt like the other three men were holding their breath, as if afraid any movement would scare him off, might hurt him.
“Please don’t… don’t stop.” he breathed, and the grin that broke out over the guitarist’s face was the epitome of feral. IV looked past III, back to II and nodded, his grin still wide and hungry.
“You heard him, mate. Besides, we shouldn’t keep Ves waiting.”
At that III felt II move in him again, that all-encompassing pressure and burn returning and the groan that escaped him wasn’t entirely due to his friend gently, persistently easing him open. The blonde man knew Vessel was watching this, was close by and waiting .
“He’s so tight,” the drummer said, voice still taut and III forced himself to relax and the shorter man standing behind him made a sound of approval as his fingers began to work a little faster, a little rougher. There was another shock of cold and III couldn’t help but gasp at the jarring temperature. IV grinned at him, still at eye level and watching his face as II stretched him, as he slid a third finger into him.
“Christ, you look so good getting stretched like that,” the man said, finally rising to his full height. “Just imagine how good you’ll look with a cock filling you up. Can’t picture anything prettier.”
“F-fuck, please,” III gasped out, pulling against his restraints. “Please, I want… I want it.”
“What do you want?” II asked with a teasing lilt in his voice. He punctuated his question by pressing his fingers into the other man deeper, calloused fingertips grazing a point in him that made his legs shake. Words were almost beyond III now, even the ones he could use to beg and plead for more, for Vessel to come back and touch him. No, not just touch, anymore. That wouldn’t be enough now, and he wasn’t sure if it ever would be again.
“Fuck me, please. God, fuck , please, I want his cock, please .”
III barely recognized himself as he begged to be fucked by one bandmate, while the other two had him tied to a gear case on a stage in a foreign city. It didn’t matter, really, because even if he was a stranger to himself like this, III had never felt more at peace than he did at that very moment, as bizarre as it seemed. He’d finally sunk to the bottom of his waking mind, was deep in that place he’d wanted to be for the days leading up and now that he was there, he was content to let the others guide him, to be theirs. To be his.
“Is this what you want?” Vessel’s question seemed to emerge from a fog and III barely registered it before the singer had begun to slide his cock against his ass, his hands holding tight to the slim man’s hips. III scrambled to place when exactly II had pulled his fingers from him, when he’d stepped away to let the taller man take his place, why it had taken him so long to notice that shift.
Inconsequential details.
“Yes. Please. Please, please, I want you inside me so fucking bad, please.” III’s voice was hoarse and he gasped out a strangled keening noise when Vessel shifted and pressed the blunt tip of his cock against his entrance, nearly slipping in before pulling back, earning a pathetic whine from the blonde man.
“Untie him.”
There were suddenly hands at the bassist’s ankles, at his wrists and in a heartbeat he was free of the soft black rope but he didn’t dare move more than to turn and look at the man behind him. III drank in the sight of Vessel: bare-chested and taking deep, even breaths, the way his hands gripped his hips, fingertips pressing so hard they’d mark him. How the singer was singularly focused on the point where he was pressing into the blonde man, moving with a tempered restraint that drove the slim man beneath him insane. Where II’s fingers had been mutable, plying and teasing and exploratory, the cock that was now pressing past that taut ring of muscle was invariable and as Vessel slid home, sheathing the first few inches of himself inside III, it was like a wire snapped in the bassist’s brain.
There was nothing else in the entire fucking world outside of the heat of the stage lights and the way Vessel eased his cock into III’s ass, the way he began to gently roll his own hips against III’s, fucking him slowly and carefully but holy god Vessel was fucking him. He was fucking him and pressing himself deeper and deeper inside with each languid push and III felt both too light and too heavy, too present and too abstract. Too ephemeral and too eternal.
“ Breathe ,” Vessel’s voice was low, the word bookended by only slightly unsteady breaths of his own and III obeyed, letting out a shuddering breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. The singer’s hands moved from III’s hips to his back, skating up and his spine in long, soothing strokes in time to his thrusts. “How do you feel?”
An impossible question to answer. Words were foreign concepts now and besides, he wasn’t sure he’d even know the right ones to use in the first place. But Vessel had asked and III knew he needed to give an answer. He wouldn’t hold back from him, not anymore. Not when holding back because of fear or worry or some stupid lack of the right words almost cost him this. Never again. And maybe he’d never really ever get the words right, maybe he’d always fall short of the truth because the truth was less something he could describe and more something he could only hope to feel , a high he’d chase for the rest of his life but if Vessel asked… well, for him, he’d try. He’d start small and with the obvious, and someday he’d make him understand.
“So… so fucking full,” III breathed, getting brave enough to press his hips back against his bandmate. Vessel sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth and his hands went back to the slender man’s hips and the bassist could have sworn he heard the other man mutter to himself about needing to slow down, to stay gentle before he rasped out another question.
“Does it feel good?”
Another long pause because of course it felt good , it was far beyond anything he’d felt before, enough that ‘good’ was almost laughably inadequate. Trying would have to be enough, again.
“Good… doesn’t even begin to cover it.” III murmured, twisting his torso to look back at Vessel over his shoulder. The man was moving against him again with a new, faster pace and the blonde man moaned in response as his hips bucked back to meet him. “You - shit, fuck - please, more… harder.”
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Vessel said, curling himself over III’s back to whisper it into his ear. The blonde man tried to arch his back, to press his ass against his friend and take what he wanted but the darker haired man shifted himself to slip a hand between the gear case and III’s body, finding the blonde’s hard, still-leaking cock. The sensation of any sort of attention that wasn’t the rough texture of the exterior of the gear box had III cursing again, hips spasming as Vessel now stroked him while he remained still, cock buried halfway inside him.
The babbling, incoherent thoughts III tried to string together into wanton pleas fell from him in torrents. He could feel Vessel smile against his neck as he kissed his pulse point, the spot just below his ear, his jaw. At this rate, III was going to cum in a matter of seconds, was going to spill all over Vessel’s hand and there was a looming sense of finality that haunted his impending orgasm so he fought it off.
“Not yet, please. Y-you first, please, please.” More begging, more pleading. It would never be enough.
“But what if I want to hear you cum first? Maybe I want to feel you cum in my hand before I give you mine. And don’t you think the others deserve to see the fruits of their labor?”
The combination of his words and the reminder that II and IV were still there, still watching was enough to push III over the edge, his entire body wracked with shuddering moans as he spilled into Vessel’s hand, the singer stroking him through it. When III finally stilled, panting and twitching, Vessel gently pulled away from him, leaving him feeling strangely empty.
“Here, put him on his back,” the singer said, clearly directing the other two since in the next moment the bassist felt familiar hands on his body, gently lifting him onto the case completely, carefully helping him to turn over to lay on his back as the other man had requested. This position was infinitely more comfortable, even when III felt Vessel’s hands tug at his hips, encouraging him to scoot himself closer to the edge, putting him back within easy reach.
When he was situated, IV came to stand at III’s head, gently taking the bassist’s hands and interlacing their fingers together before pressing them down onto the case on either side of III’s head. It was a tender action that belied the guitarist’s true goal of holding his hands down, restraining the blonde man again as Vessel traced lazy patterns along III’s thighs, his stomach, along the dips and curves of his hips: everywhere but his cock. The blonde man whined high in his throat, undignified and petulant but the other man just smiled, continuing his idle teasing as III lifted his head enough to watch, nearly groaning at the sight of Vessel’s cock just inches away from him but so wholly out of reach. When Vessel’s fingers strayed close to his entrance, teasing him there, III dropped his head back and groaned with ragged impatience.
“I was right, you know.” IV said, glancing down at III while Vessel dragged his fingertips up the flat pane of the man’s stomach, past his navel to his abs and then back down again.
“Wh-what? Right about what?” III was finding it difficult to divide his attention.
“You’re at your prettiest when you’re stuffed full of cock and moaning like the slut you are.”
III’s cock twitched and IV chuckled, as if he’d said what he had just to get such a reaction.
“That’s all it takes to get him going again, huh? A little dirty talk?” II drawled from somewhere to the right, and III turned his head just in time to see the shorter man reach over to stroke at his half-hard but still overstimulated dick, earning him a panting sound of protest. “Knowing that, we should really try edging him sometime. Like maybe over a few days…”
“I never took you for a sadist .” IV replied, lowering his head to press a sloppy kiss to III’s mouth, swallowing the keening sound he was about to make when II picked up his pace, jerking him off with a tight fist. III cursed and bucked his hips up into the man’s grip, pulling against the hold IV still had on his hands.
“I like seeing him squirm,” the drummer replied matter-of-factly, as if at that very moment his bandmate wasn’t cumming again , his seed spilling up onto his stomach and II’s fingers. The drummer kept stroking him through it, sucking on his teeth when he finally let him go. “What a mess. Let me borrow his mouth a second.”
IV complied with the other man’s request and made room for II, who offered his cum-laden fingers to the bassist. III took them into his mouth without hesitation, licking his own cum off of them, swallowing it as both men looked on, grinning at him as if he were a dog that’d just learned a new trick.
“You’d think he’d done this before,” II said, trailing his now spit-soaked fingers down the bassist’s body, leaving wet trails in their wake. “ Have you, pet?”
III could only shake his head ‘no’, his attention back to Vessel’s hands pushing his thighs apart, making room for himself.
“Natural talent, then.” II murmured, moving off the gear case a moment before Vessel slid inside III again with no warning. This time he didn’t stay at the languid, gentle pace he’d set before, and the man could only let his bandmate rock against him, fucking him into the top of the case while IV continued to hold his hands down.
Again, everything fell away except for the point where Vessel’s hands held his thighs and the overwhelming pressure of his cock buried in his ass. Laying on his back, held down and exposed, III watched as Vessel took from him; chasing down his own pleasure as he rode the blonde, hands gripping his thighs and holding him open and it was everything III had wanted in these past few weeks, everything he’d come to desire from the other man. Vessel’s pleasure was his own; seeing the singer’s face twist into a look of anguished bliss, hearing the way his breathing hitched as he finally slid home inside III, buried to the root, was its own small heaven and III was greedy for it. He knew in those moments, as Vessel’s pace quickened and his hands gripped flesh impossibly tighter, that nothing would ever come close to satisfying him the same way. He could take a dozen, a hundred lovers - men or women or anything in between - but no one would ever some close to giving him the bliss he felt with Vessel, how correct it felt to have the man inside him, fucking him and chanting his name like a fervent prayer.
And when Vessel came, groaning out curses between shuddering breaths, III realized IV had let go of his hands and he reached for the singer, pulling their bodies together as the dark-haired man stilled in him to catch his breath. It only took a moment for their breathing to match pace, and slowly, slowly they rejoined the rest of the world.
“You alright?” Vessel asked, hoarse and still panting as he pulled away just enough to hover over III, searching his face. The bassist nodded, wholly uninterested in forming words in that exact moment. If he was being honest with himself, he was still trying to inventory his body, the aches and pains that were now manifesting as the adrenaline of what had just happened began to melt away. Vessel smiled softly at him and groaned low in his throat - less feral and wanting and more sore and overstimulated - as he pulled his softening cock from III. Left suddenly empty and pointedly aching, the bassist gave his own groan and moved to sit up as Vessel climbed off of him.
“We’re gonna go get things ready at the bus,” IV said, his voice somewhere further away and Vessel made a sound of acknowledgment as he straightened up, but III didn’t bother to move, choosing instead to focus on the heat of the stage lights on his suddenly too-cold skin, and then the startling addition of another cold, damp sensation against his backside.
“M’just gonna clean you up a bit. Enough to get back to the bus at least.”
Ah yes. The bus. Because they were still on tour, and they had to go back to that real life, that work and a reality that maybe didn’t encompass what had transpired between the four of them here. III let Vessel do what he wanted, let the dark haired man help him sit up, help him pull his pants back on before guiding him back to that side door, back to the bus. It felt like he’d walked through that slightly ajar door months ago, like he could have lived lifetimes in the time between then and now.
Neither man spoke as they slipped from the venue and climbed back onto the dark tour bus. III was glad for the silence, for the chance to think and center himself a little but that silence had given rise to a too-familiar, persistent feeling of dread in the back of his mind, dressed in new questions and worries.
He’d given, they’d taken… and where did that leave them? What if it hadn’t been enough for them? What if he hadn’t been enough, hadn’t been good enough? What if Vessel had decided he didn’t want this anymore, that he would be fine to act like none of this had ever happened once the tour was over, once they all went their separate ways?
III barely noticed as Vessel guided him towards the large master bedroom at the back of the bus. More often than not it was a disaster, full of their luggage and spare instruments and generally used as everything other than a bedroom, but as they stepped inside, III was met with what appeared to be a mostly usable, somewhat tidy space.
“I thought it might be easier to sleep together if there was an actual bed.” Vessel murmured to the blonde, slipping a hand into his. “ If you want to sleep together. If you’d rather we all fuck off back to our bunks we absolutely can do that. Just say the word.”
III turned to look at Vessel. II and IV were behind him, as if waiting to hear what the bassist would prefer for the sleeping arrangements. III blinked and looked back to the bed, suddenly overwhelmed in a way he couldn’t quite understand. He’d gotten what he’d wanted, he’d enjoyed himself, he felt good but it was like a switch had been flipped in him. Barely managing to shuck off his pants before wordlessly crawling into the bed, III curled into himself and tried to focus on… fuck, not crying? It felt like a wave had suddenly crashed over him, leaving him drenched and disoriented and scrambling for a footing as he was swept out into open water.
“Hey, hey,” Vessel said, his weight sinking the mattress as he sat down next to III. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”
The one thing he’d told himself he would do from now on. No holding back. III took in a shaky breath and glanced towards his bandmate.
“Just… fuck, I don’t know. It’s a lot? I feel… weird.”
“It’s normal.” Vessel offered. “We might have gone a little overboard there. Can I lay down with you?”
III nodded, and when he felt the heat and weight of the other man at his back, the overwhelming feeling immediately began to dissipate.
“I don’t think you went overboard.” III said, finding his voice. It was still thick with tears and he scoffed at himself. Vessel only huffed a short, breathy laugh at that.
“Was it good for you?”
The immediate answer he wanted to give was ‘yes’. Because it
had
been good for him. It had been incredible. But now that it was done, now that Vessel was gently curled around his back, a hand chastely stroking whatever tract of the bassist’s skin it could reach, III began to realize that it hadn’t really been what he’d expected.
He’d expected the exchange of power, the unspoken permission to take what he gave with nothing promised in return. He’d expected to be used, he’d expected to be teased but when it came to letting Vessel fuck him, he’d been prepared for something much, much different. He’d expected to be torn to shreds, to be eaten alive and shattered in such a way that he had little hope of coming back the way he’d gone in. He’d been ready for that life-altering breaking, to embrace the change the other man might inspire in him but what he hadn’t been prepared for was how
whole
it had made him feel.
Letting the others tease and play with him, letting Vessel fuck him hadn’t broken him into parts that needed to be remade. Instead III felt like he’d found some sort of missing piece in them, some sort of integral process that, up until that point, he hadn’t realized he’d been going without. And while it felt overwrought and dramatic and maybe he wouldn’t ever tell it to the other man in quite so many words, III felt complete, in a way. In a way that mattered only to him, that might matter to the others, too, someday. So III smiled, first to himself and then he turned to face Vessel, meeting his hazel eyes and offering it to him.
“I don’t think I could have asked for better.”
“Think you’d want to do it again?”
III’s heart fluttered, some of the dread he unwittingly summoned for himself earlier dying at those words.
“Only if you lot wanted to.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” IV said from the doorway. II pushed past him, flopping onto the bed behind III as he added:
“We absolutely want to.”
And III’s smile widened just a little, and he felt just a little more at peace as the four of them settled themselves together in the almost too-small bed, bodies pressed in together as they one by one drifted off to sleep. III could feel his eyes growing heavy, the steady cadence of II and IV’s breathing behind him a surprisingly effective siren song of rest. In the dark, he let his fingers trace at Vessel’s collarbone, the singer’s breathing deep and even. III let out a soft sigh, and was only a little startled when he felt Vessel’s hand take his, lifting it to press a soft kiss to the back of his palm.
“Can’t sleep?” his voice was barely a whisper, as if he might break the peace that had fallen over the four of them if he spoke any louder.
“I’m getting there. You?”
A long pause.
“I was thinking.”
“Generally a bad idea.”
“Shut up. I was thinking about earlier, when you told me you… you thought you might be in love with me? Or, what did you say, a version of love?"
“I might have said that.” III’s heart tightened at the thought of that conversation, where this one might be leading now. He’d meant it. Whatever he felt for Vessel felt so much like love, and as he laid there, curled into him and waiting to find sleep in his embrace, III was certain that’s what it was but if he had to settle for something adjacent, something that could pass for it, he would.
“I was thinking about how… unfair I was, in that conversation.”
Again, not what III had been expecting.
“What do you mean?”
“You had the nerve to confess to me and I couldn’t even do you the courtesy of telling you how I feel.”
“You don’t need to, you know.”
“But I want to. I should have said it before, but I was so damn relieved to hear you say it that I just… the moment got away from me. To be honest with you, I think we both lost that bet, you know. I know I lost it long before it was even made.”
A crushing warmth flooded III, and it was enough. They didn’t have to parse it all out now, didn’t have to have every huge conversation right at that moment but it felt right, knowing that. And for now, maybe it would be enough to let that ember settle in both of them, the knowledge that some sort of love was there, something they could work at together, something that might finally put those last licks of dread III felt in his chest to rest. III smiled and pressed forward enough to kiss Vessel’s mouth, smiling against his lips as he returned the kiss.
“It’s a bet I’m happy to have lost.”
“Me too.”
And in the dark of the tour bus, sleep finally found them, while outside the sun began to rise.