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Less than 24 hours later, the tour was over.
Almost immediately it left a hollow feeling in III; like a well that he was anxious to fill with the hope that sprung from what Vessel had said to him before they’d fallen asleep next to one another and the content and whole feeling he’d gotten from being surrounded by the other men, from what they’d all done together.
To add to this new and painful heartache, nervous worry itched at the edge of his waking thoughts; eating him alive even as they all boarded the plane to go home. And he wanted to follow his new rule; he wanted desperately to talk to Vessel about what was bothering him, what they could do about it, but packed together amidst strangers in a sold out flight across the ocean with negative amounts of privacy didn’t feel like the best space to have that sort of conversation.
And much to III’s dismay, the opportunity to have that conversation in a more ideal setting never manifested. When their plane landed, they all went their separate ways with warm and completely innocent embraces and promises to call, to text, to email - especially once the new tour was announced. It felt underwhelming to leave it all on that note, but the man decided that maybe it was better to do just that. There had been idle talk of meeting up in one of their hometowns, in making a weekend of it but part of him knew that that sort of talk rarely transformed into actual, tangible plans. As he made his way to the row of idling taxis, he tried to convince himself that maybe it was better to leave it open ended and loose like this. Nothing promised, nothing lost.
So, quietly and solemnly, III returned to his own version of real life: one devoid of IV and II and Vessel, one where he had to go back to imagining their hands on him, one where he tried not to focus too hard on how badly he missed everything he’d so very nearly missed out on entirely.
In an effort to distract himself, he reoriented his focus to his previous preoccupation of being a fixture at local shows. It didn’t really matter to him if the bands were actually any good or if all they churned out was wild, thrashing noise you had a hard time calling music; if he could lose himself in the crush of the crowd and the thrumming bass and howling vocals, he could be happy, at least for a few hours, and that was enough to keep him from tearing away at the edges of himself, most nights.
—-
‘another show tonight, huh? third one this week…’
III rolled his eyes at the comment IV had left on the show announcement the bassist had reposted to whatever social media it was the others had forced him to get. He mostly hated using it, but saw its merits when he got to feel like he was able to keep his friends involved in his life despite them all being flung across the country, shortening the distance that kept them from one another. He tapped out a reply, unwilling to give in to the guitarist’s sly antagonizing.
‘It’s the only thing keeping me going, you know.’
IV liked the comment nearly instantly and III couldn’t help but roll his eyes again before tossing his phone onto his bed, choosing to instead focus on getting dressed for the show before catching a cab to the venue. He heard his device buzz once, twice as he tugged on his jeans and rifled through his closet for a shirt, pulling the old tshirt onto his slim frame before stopping for half a moment to scrutinize his reflection in the mirror hung on the back of his bedroom door. He adjusted a few folds of fabric, frowning at the reflection of his own face, then the composition of his outfit. He’d never really given much thought to his appearance before this last tour, before everything that had happened between him and the others. Now, though, he caught himself wondering more often than he liked to admit if the others would like the outfit he’d chosen, if it suited him in a way they might like. Just as often, he fretted over what their judgment might be.
Even more frequently, though, he wondered what Vessel would think of his daily attire, if he’d approve. There had been plenty of moments in the last few weeks when he’d snapped a picture of his outfit and very nearly sent it to the man, considering what words to use to plead however subtly for the singer’s opinion, to know if he thought he looked good, to hear or see him say that he looked handsome or beautiful or sexy . So far, though, III’d managed to keep himself from committing that particular brand of embarrassment, but at that moment the alluring desire for the singer’s approval was now ceaselessly gnawing at the base of his skull.
His phone buzzed again and III softly cursed under his breath, preemptively annoyed by what he was sure was more antagonistic trolling from IV. To his surprise, the most recent notification was for a direct message from Vessel. Despite himself, his heart thudded in his chest as III opened the message. They spoke often, usually at least once a day but any time Vessel messaged him first a giddy, childish sort of joy flared in him that was quickly followed by the familiar, simmering heat that always settled into his blood at the thought of the singer.
‘At the show yet?’
‘nah, just about to leave.’
III cocked his head and frowned a little at the message. That was a somewhat strange question for the man to ask. The bassist thought to ask why before three dots appeared on the little screen to encourage him to wait.
‘Oh yeah? Was just thinking about you.’
III read the message three times, the heat in his blood spreading hard and fast as he realized that another message - an attachment this time - had appeared as a companion to the previous one.
Without a moment of hesitation III opened the message, and a soft curse escaped his lips.
The picture Vessel had sent was just dark enough to conceal most of where he was, but it was clear he was spread languidly over a bed; his shirt off and pants unbuttoned and tugged off of his sharp hips, exposing the beautiful pane of his stomach just above his cock. He’d left his face out of the image but III knew he was giving him one of his wicked, lazy smiles. His hands were nearly shaking as he typed out a reply.
‘I’m very curious about those thoughts…’
III’s response was not as smooth as he often tried to be, but it was true. He and the singer had exchanged similar texts and pictures a few times before, but all of those exchanges had run dry before they could go too far. Tonight, though? III would ditch all of the plans he’d made for the chance to see all of Vessel, to talk him through touching himself, to have him do the same in return. For the chance to hear him again, to let him take even a sliver of control… he’d do nearly anything. The blonde man nearly dropped his phone when it buzzed in his hands again.
‘but you have a show to go to. don’t be late
‘Fuck the show, i want you instead.’
III swallowed hard and set his phone down. He wasn’t that bold very often, but when he was it always seemed to rattle him in a strange way, as if he was afraid it would somehow disgust Vessel, or turn him off from the conversation. There was a long moment where III wondered if their little game was already done when the phone buzzed again and he picked it back up embarrassingly quickly.
‘and i want you to go and have a good time at the show. you can come home and have a wank to my pics after.’
Frustration surged in III as he glanced at the time. This was part of the game they played every so often since they parted ways. Whatever Vessel wanted, III would do his best to deliver. And while the bassist had absolutely expected all of his friend’s demands to be sexual, or at least trend towards lewd, more often than not his requests were themed towards III taking care of himself, of doing things that made him happy. But even those safe, nearly wholesome commands piqued something hot and feral in III’s bones, and he palmed at his half-hard cock once before typing out a response as he headed towards the door.
‘formal request for more pictures to add to the wank collection in the meantime, please.’
He didn’t wait for a response before he slid the phone into his pocket and made his way out the door and to the show.
—-
The venue was a tiny, dingy place that III loved. It was dark and just grimy enough to keep out of towners away, and it always felt like everyone was there for the same reasons: to enjoy the music and to mind their own business.
That second fact suited III just fine, especially as he’d picked the most inopportune moment to open the messages from Vessel that had been racking up since he’d gotten in the cab. The opener had just finished, and without a second thought he’d opened their conversation only to catch sight of a fair amount of the singer’s cock before he suddenly remembered he was in the middle of an incredibly packed crowd. He closed the message quickly before retreating to a spot against the back wall where he was more certain fewer people might glance over his shoulder. He huffed out a sigh as he opened the messages again, pausing to reply before letting himself take a better look at what his friend had sent.
‘warn me before you send your fucking prick to me a hundred times.’
‘You asked for new material, pet.’
III bobbed his head from side to side in begrudging agreement before scrolling back up to the start of said new material, his cock already twitching at the flash of each image that he passed over until he found the first one: Vessel in front of a mirror, still shirtless but his jeans buttoned up and slung low on his hips. The next one, sent a minute later, was set up similarly but now the button on his jeans was undone, like it had been in the picture he’d sent before III had left for the show. The next few, sent a handful of minutes after the first images, revealed more and more of the singer’s body as they went until the last image, which wasn’t taken in front of a mirror but rather at an angle that implied he was laying in bed again. The dim lighting of the room just barely revealed Vessel’s hand fisting his hard cock, as if to remind III of it’s size and to further imply what may or may not be happening in his bed at this very moment. The blonde man was suddenly very glad for the sparse lighting of the venue as he squirmed: his own cock suddenly too hard, too needy. He licked at his lower lip and replied, breathing just a little harder, blood beginning to pump loudly in his ears.
‘you’re right, i did. I still wish i had stayed home to play.’
‘we can still play.’
A thrill went through III. Up on stage, the headlining band was beginning to perform, and the crowd was quickly riling itself up in anticipation.
‘What did you have in mind?’
‘go enjoy the show first, sugar.’
III frowned at the message, closing it as the band started up their first song. The timing of Vessel’s message struck him as very… well placed. For half a moment, he wondered if Vessel wasn’t there as well, just sending him old pictures to throw him off, watching him from somewhere in the crush of the crowd, or from the bar…
‘Now I’m just being fucking paranoid,’ III thought, pocketing his phone as he pushed off the wall to merge back into the crowd. There was no way Vessel was here, no matter how much he wanted it to be true. He’d mentioned meetings with the new record label executives and studio time, and the man wasn’t the type to shirk his responsibilities when it came to his music. So whatever eerie, watched feeling he was now getting was either all in his head or coming from some other weirdo he hadn’t quite taken stock of. III shook his head, making an attempt to physically push the feeling away as he let himself focus on the music and the pressure of the crowd around him and on how easy it was to lose himself to it all.
But that small twinge of paranoia still chewed at the back of III’s mind as he tried to focus on literally anything else. He couldn’t shake it, couldn’t explain it away and midway through the band’s third song, III was nearly certain someone was watching him. He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and without thinking he reached for it. It was Vessel again and for a blessed moment he didn’t feel like he was going completely insane.
‘having fun?’
‘it’s alright’
‘It’d be better if I was at home watching you cum,’ the blonde thought, grinning wryly to himself as he watched those three little dots flicker on the screen and then turn into a new message.
‘i want to see your cock.’
III chewed at his lower lip and closed the text quickly, even though no one was paying him any attention in the crush of the crowd. Clearly they were still playing whatever little game Vessel had decided on for the night, and now desire overrode the bizarre paranoia still hounding him. Want and lust tightened low in his belly as he felt his cock twitch against his pants. He reopened the conversation to reply:
‘right now?’
In as long as III imagined it might take Vessel to huff out a laugh at his response, there was another message from the singer.
‘yes, now. unless you don’t want to be good for me?’
A slow-burning fire had flooded his veins at what had to be a taunting line from the singer. Because of course he wanted to be good for him, to give him what he wanted. And if Ves wanted to see his cock right now, well… The blonde man glanced around once, twice before winding his way through the crowd towards the dingy, single-occupant bathroom. It wouldn’t be much to take a quick picture and send it off, maybe rub one out since he was already half hard and the thought of sending that picture only served to send pricking heat down his spine.
As usual, there was no line for the men’s room and he slipped inside. He knew, logically, that no one was paying him any attention, not while the band was playing and everyone was so in their own head here, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling the vague paranoia that someone might have tracked him from the crowd to the dark corner of the venue as he locked the door behind him.
Shrugging off the feeling as best as he could, he quickly tugged his jeans down, cursing under his breath at the rub of the fabric against his cock. It twitched, engorging just that much more and III bit at his lower lip again, stroking at it a few times as his mind went blank except for the feeling of his hand on himself, of pretending it was Vessel’s hand stroking him, before taking a picture of it and sending it to the other man. It wasn’t as elegant or aesthetically pleasing as the ones Vessel had sent, but they’d do. He pulled his jeans back up before typing in a message to go along with the image.
‘of course i do x’
A few long moments passed before III’s phone dinged again.
‘that’s my pet. Now, have fun.’
The blonde man blinked at his bandmate’s response. Something about it didn’t sit quite right with him, but in the sanctuary that was that somewhat dingy bathroom at an only somewhat sketchy venue, he allowed himself to overlook it - demanded it of himself, even - and let what he knew to be the singer’s brand of playful condescension send a wave of delighted arousal through him. He tucked the phone back into his pocket and made to leave, unlatching the door to rejoin the crowd but as soon as the door was unlocked someone on the other side pulled it open and slipped inside, pushing him back against the sink and blocking his path from the exit. In an instant, irritation flared hot in III.
“What the fuck-”
“A little bird told me,” the intruder said, voice taunting and sultry and familiar as he turned to relock the door behind them. “That I might find a certain slut hiding out in here.”
Any indignant rage that might have manifested in the blonde man at being shoved back into the bathroom vanished when he realized he knew the owner of that voice. Creeping dread now tinged the heat that was flaring in him, his smile nervous and expectant.
“It’s good to see you too,” he intoned at IV, who was currently leaning back against the door and assessing him with a slow, wicked look. His gaze lingered at particular points of the tall blonde’s body and a flash of embarrassment raced through III that quickly alchemized into the fear-tinged lust that IV was so good at inspiring in him. The bassist shifted, suddenly unsure what to do with himself. III didn’t miss the way the other man’s smile spread just that much wider, his gaze traveling back up his body.
“Did you miss me?”
III didn’t have to think about his answer. He nodded, swallowing hard. He missed all of them. He missed what he’d only barely gotten a taste of, at the end of the tour. He missed that keyed up energy he’d manifested for himself during that time and how it had all played out but having IV in front of him now, speaking to him like he had in that hotel room and on stage weeks ago just reawakened that feeling and he was ready to chase it, to let IV take what he wanted, finally.
“Oh, I doubt you missed me,” IV stalked two steps closer, the space between them evaporating and III was trapped against the sink as IV’s smirk turned gloating and feral. Despite III being that much taller than IV, when the guitarist had him pressed into that corner with that look on his face… III felt like the other man loomed for miles over him. There was a nearly palpable sense of danger passing between them as IV licked at his lower lip and continued to speak. “As much as I’ve missed you.”
Without preamble IV reached between them, roughly groping at III’s cock over his jeans. The taller man hissed but didn’t move to escape his touch, only looked down to watch IV tease him through his clothes, his thick fingers pressing against stiff fabric in a way that promised a sort of violent affection that III was starving for. With the scantest trace of contrition, III realized that the teasing Vessel had been giving him in measured doses all night had unwittingly set him up for whatever this was about to become, and that he might be the one to end their game early, this time. The thin veil of regret fell away as the bassist braced himself against the sink, his breathing already becoming wanton pants when IV surged forward again, rubbing the heel of his palm against III’s length.
“Remember what I said, back on that stage? About how I can’t help but want to ruin pretty things?”
IV’s mouth was against III’s neck now, all teeth and pressure and lewd, wet sounds as he began to leave a mark. III forgot how to form words amidst the pain-laced pleasure of it all before he managed to gasp out something in the affirmative.
How could he have forgotten?
IV chuckled low in his throat and pulled away, leaving III panting, flushed, and crowded against the sink. The guitarist grinned down at him, languid and feline as he let his eyes wander up and down III’s form once more, his words low and hungry when he continued:
“Well, you look very pretty right now.”
In the back of III’s mind, he knew that he should probably be a little scared of IV. There was a sweltering hunger behind the guitarist’s gaze that promised to deliver on the words he’d said back on that stage, lifetimes ago. He’d hinted at this aggression back in that hotel room, before he’d sunk to his knees and sucked III’s cock and made silent promises to make him pay for his attempt at playing dominant with him. Despite this, III could only return his wicked grin as he held himself up against the sink.
“Show me how pretty I am.”
IV might have growled something in response, or maybe it was just noise but either way it was quickly lost when he roughly pressed his mouth to III’s, their kiss less of a show of affection and more of an assertion of dominance. It was nothing for the guitarist to keep the other man beneath him, nipping at his lips as his hands easily began to guide him down, wordlessly putting III on his knees. IV remained standing, his fingers threading through the taller man’s blonde hair before roughly taking hold of it by the fistful.
“It’s my turn now,” the guitarist muttered, tilting III’s head with one hand while he easily released the button of his own jeans with the other. “Take my cock out.”
III could only approximate a nod as he did as he was told, tugging IV’s jeans and underwear down to his thighs to free his cock. It was already hard and leaking and for a moment III wondered if his friend had been the one watching him this whole time, if he’d been the source of his unusual paranoia. The thought didn’t last long though, as IV dragged III’s head closer to his hips, spearing the tip of his dick against the kneeling man’s mouth.
“Open your mouth and suck my cock. You were so fucking good at it last time-” IV’s rough words were cut off by a shaky intake of breath as III took him as deep as he could manage in one smooth motion, his tongue working along the underside of his bandmate’s length as he tried to remember to breathe. For a long moment neither man moved, as if they both knew the other needed a moment to acclimate themselves to what was happening here. IV broke first though, tightening his grip on III’s hair and pressing his hips forwards enough to fully sheathe himself in the kneeling man’s throat. III fought his gag reflex, his hands instinctively coming to rest on IV’s thighs. The sound that the shorter man made was reward enough for the bassist, and he huffed out a self-satisfied sound of his own.
As if taking that as a challenge, IV bucked his hips against III’s mouth again, again, again: setting up a pace that III scrambled to keep up with. IV, for his part, kept his hand firmly in III’s hair, watching him swallow his cock with heavy-lidded eyes and the ghost of a smile.
“Just like I remember,” he said as he pulled himself from the kneeling man’s mouth. III only sputtered inelegantly in response; taking deep, gasping breaths now that his airway was fully unencumbered. IV had released his grip on his hair, and III kept his eyes down, focusing on a chipped floor tile as he worked to catch his breath. He only looked up when IV lightly slapped his face, his grip holding and tightening on his jaw now to pull his gaze up. “God you’re so good on your knees like this. Wonder how much better you’ll look bent over. Get up.”
A familiar, indignant feeling rushed through III at his bandmate’s command and in the half second where he might have simply obeyed, he remembered how much he’d wanted to put up a fight for IV during that last encounter on stage. III grinned and wrenched his jaw from IV’s grip, grinning savagely at him. For the barest moment, something unrecognizable flashed across IV’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a feral sort of smirk: built of equal measures of playfulness and wickedness. A shiver of anticipation slithered down III’s spine. A little fight wouldn’t hurt either of them.
“Such a brat,” the guitarist muttered, surprising the other man with his strength as he hauled him up and turned him around, soundly bending him over the sink. III struggled against this new position, managing to flip himself over to face IV but the man had gotten between his legs and simply pushed him back up onto the sink. The faucet was now digging into III’s lower back, and in a quick, calculated motion IV had his hands pinned above his head against the mirror.
“Only for you,” III muttered between panting breaths. IV made that insistent, impatient growling noise again before dropping one of his hands to the very obvious bulge in the bassist’s pants, pressing the heel of his hand against it again, making approving sounds when the blonde man rutted against it.
“Lucky me,” IV said in a mocking sort of tone as he pulled his hand away to haul III off the sink, facing him towards the mirror and bending him over the low pedestal. Without fanfare he’d reached around and unbuttoned III’s jeans, had pulled them down his thighs just enough before the bassist looked back at him, a flush rising to his face.
“A-are you really gonna-”
“You wanted me to show you how pretty you looked. This is me showing you.”
With what had to be practiced ease, IV reached into his pocket and made a few maneuvers that III couldn’t see but he certainly felt; his head dropping when he felt the cold press of lube precede the head of IV’s cock against his ass. III groaned, focusing on relaxing himself while IV continued to apply pressure, his breathing hissing from him as he pressed into his bandmate.
For long moments, everything beyond the feeling of IV’s cock pressing into him, the cold sting of the ceramic sink under III’s grip, and the muted, distorted sound of the band still performing on stage was nonexistent. Everything coalesced and blurred as III drew in long, focused breaths, as IV sunk deeper into him while his hands smoothing up the blonde man’s spine under his shirt and as the bassist found that deep, sacred place where he could just give , he almost forgot that this was something he’d been wishing for for weeks, something he’d been so hungry and desperate for he’d barely known what to do with himself. All that mattered was that transcendental point, blessed and serene and-
“I bet Ves would love to see this,”
IV’s words snapped III out of his nirvana-like state, and all at once he was very aware of the grip the guitarist had on his hips, the very, very full feeling of the man sheathed in him to nearly the hilt, and the fact that he could very clearly see his and IV’s reflection in the mirror, and that the shorter man had his phone up and directed at their reflection as he slowly, slowly began to roll his hips against III.
“F-fuck, IV p-please-”
“Please what, little slut? Please show Vessel what a filthy little whore you are, taking my cock bent over a sink like this? He’s gonna love it.”
Again, heat flared in III’s face and he opened his mouth to respond, to sass back or beg some more or something but all that spilled from his mouth was a keening, desperate, pathetic moan. IV chuckled above him, reaching down to pull at his hair again, forcing him to look up into the mirror and watch himself, to watch them. III tried to pull away from his grip when he heard Vessel’s voice on the phone, clear as day. His ‘hello’ sounded languid and amused and III was both horrified and delighted to hear him.
“Your little tip was right, mate,” IV said, now clearly speaking to the singer as he continued to thrust against III. “I found the most delightful little slut in the bathroom here. He’s a joy, you should try him sometime.”
“Looks like you’re treating him well,” Vessel said, voice dark. III looked up towards the mirror, to the image of the phone in IV’s hand. He hoped that the singer would be able to see the eye contact he was trying to make, the silent plea for approval he was making. IV snapped his hips hard against III and the bassist saw stars, his own body tensing as pleasure wound dangerously tight in his gut. He was already so close…
“He’s so fucking tight, Ves.” IV grunted, shifting his phone to focus on where his cock was disappearing into III. “If anything he’s treating me well.”
“Is that so?” Vessel murmured. “He’s taking you so well, isn’t he?.” At that statement, something in III went taut and triumphant. Maybe it was the part of him that yearned to be the singer’s first choice, that sought his approval and was so hungry for his returned affections but whatever it was it was enough to make him grip the ceramic tighter and press himself back against IV. The guitarist swore again and nearly dropped the phone. Distantly, Vessel chuckled and the sound of it wasn’t anything dark or wicked but amused and maybe proud? Either way it only fueled the coursing heat in III, pushing him closer and closer to the edge of pleasure and no one had even touched him yet.
IV noticed this, likely felt him tensing beneath him and heard the way his panting breaths got sharper and he bent down a little to speak to him, still holding the phone to include their bandmate.
“That bad, huh? You don’t even need to get touched to cum?”
III could only groan in response, his own hips bucking back against IV as he heard Vessel say something, the words tangled and lost amidst the suddenly too-loud noise of the band, of IV and their bodies writhing together. He only barely caught IV’s words, only barely registered that they were meant for the man who was still on the other end of the call.
“You might want to say that again, I don’t think he quite heard you.” There was a ghost of a laugh in IV’s words that pulled III back faster than anything else. The blonde man looked up in the mirror to watch the guitarist continue to fuck him as he held the phone closer to III.
“I don’t want him to come yet.” Vessel’s voice was strained in a way III wasn’t sure he recognized. IV huffed out a laugh before it melted into a choked off groan and curse, his hips stuttering. III watched as his bandmate’s attention went back to where he was sunk into him, felt him pull out and watched his handsome face go perfectly slack as he came on his back, the heat of his spend feeling like little brands on his skin. For another long moment, they were all still and silent, their panting covered by the noise still thrumming outside the bathroom door.
“Don’t move,” IV murmured. III knew at that moment that he wasn’t going to get anything else from the man; his tone had softened, and he’d returned to the gentle, easygoing person that always seemed to disappear when his cock got hard. III dropped his head in frustration, focusing on the sound of IV moving around behind him, of his voice as he promised Vessel that he’d call him later and the way he laughed and apologized half-heartedly in response to something the singer said. “Here, get some water on this.”
IV had handed him a swath of paper towel and III couldn’t help but huff out his own laugh as he took it and did as his friend asked, handing it back to him a moment later.
“What are you even doing here?” III asked as IV cleaned him up, the cold press of the paper towel completely at odds with how intensely warm and tight his skin felt. He was still too keyed up, his cock still painfully hard. For a moment, he thought about ignoring what Vessel wanted and finishing himself but the thought stung of guilt and he let it go just as quickly as it had come to him.
“Have a family thing to attend tomorrow. Would have said something earlier to you, made better plans but it was a bit last minute and Ves came up with the idea to surprise you. Sorry if it was a bit much. There, at least you don’t have cum all over your back anymore.”
The shift from having IV pounding into him to apologizing for not making better plans and cleaning him up gave III whiplash. He stood and tugged his pants back up, gritting his teeth against the rub of the fabric against his softening but still sensitive cock. He’d been so close to finishing, and now everything felt too taut and strangled.
“Thanks,” the bassist said, half laughing and turning to face his friend, forcing himself to act like he wasn’t three seconds away from asking his friend to finish him. “I’m glad I got to see you at all; getting accosted by you in a grimy bathroom is a massive bonus.”
“Only the best for my mates, you know that.” IV cheesed, winking at his friend. III rolled his eyes and glanced back in the mirror, making sure he looked mostly presentable and not like he’d just been fucked and forbidden from finishing.
“You’re so charming. Although I think we’re pressing our luck, being in here so long.”
IV agreed and the pair left the bathroom, both of them relieved that no one was waiting outside and marginally certain no one noticed that they’d exited simultaneously. They made their way back to the edge of the crowd just as the singer on stage announced their last few songs. Neither of them said anything, taking it all in in silence, but III could feel IV swing his gaze to him every so often through the songs, as if watching for him to react or do something unusual; and every so often IV’s hand would gently brush against III’s, against his arm or thigh casually and none of it quelled the arousal still flooding the bassist.
When the last song finished, the pair made their way outside with the rest of the crowd, waiting to talk until they were in a quiet corner of the lot outside the venue, watching the other concert goers as they dispersed into the night. III kept his attention on the other figures disappearing into the dark, but felt his bandmate’s eyes on him, watching him closely.
“You alright?” IV asked, leaning against a low wall that separated the venue’s property from the shop’s next door. III glanced at him briefly before looking away and nodding, unable to keep himself in the moment. Almost as if he could tell III’s thoughts were elsewhere and knew exactly where they might be, IV pushed off the wall and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Night’s still young, you know.”
“You want to finish what you started?” III asked, maybe a little more eagerly than he meant. The guitarist grinned ruefully and ducked his head.
“I think…. I don’t feel that’s in the cards for me tonight.”
The tall man rolled his eyes but gave his friend a somewhat pained smile of his own.
“I get nothing but suffering when it comes to you, don’t I?”
The two friends shared a laugh before they parted ways, IV promising to call him the next day, to see about properly catching up later on after he’d finished his business. III gave him a non committal answer before watching the shorter man catch a taxi and vanish into the night. And it wasn’t because he didn’t want to see his friend, wasn’t excited about being able to have a real conversation and spend time with him, but he was just so goddamn miserably and unbearably horny .
Every other thought had left him as he made his own way to find a cab and head home, unwilling to stay out and prolong his suffering. A few minutes into the ride home, his phone pinged.
‘It really was good to see you. And sorry about leaving you hanging. Don’t be mad at me :)’
III didn’t respond, simply closed the message and continued to watch the passing scenery until his phone pinged again. Part of him sincerely considered ignoring it but there was an itch in his fingers to check, to make sure IV hadn’t changed his mind.
‘Little wound up, are we?’
Vessel’s message felt like a caress down III’s spine, but frustrated ichor rose in the bassist’s chest, spilling out in his reply.
‘ I was so close to finishing but it’s like IV is on your payroll the way he listened to your stupid order’
There was a long pause before the three dots announced an incoming reply.
‘call me when you get home.’
The rest of the drive was a blur. III felt like maybe he’d made a mistake in what he’d said to Vessel, but he couldn’t quite let go of the frustration he was still feeling from what had happened before and during the show. He was truly wound too tightly, too cagey and needy and the carrot had been dangled just close enough that he’d gotten a bite, but one was most certainly not enough. He nearly ran from the cab up to his apartment, phone dialing the singer as he took the stairs two at a time. He’d just gotten inside his door and locked it behind him when Vessel picked up.
“I take it you’re home now.” The man’s voice was even and so neutral it almost scared III. He swallowed the brunt of his heated frustration, dousing his temperament before he could say something he’d regret.
“I am.” The words fell flat from him and the blonde man scrubbed a hand over his face. None of this was going how he’d envisioned earlier, how he’d wished.
“I thought you’d enjoy running into IV like that.” Still too neutral, too tempered. III took off his shoes and moved towards his bedroom.
“I did, it was good. It was really good, I just wish-” He cut himself short, unsure of how to phrase it without sounding like he was upset with Vessel. “I’m just, uh… I’m still gonna have to go through with the plan from earlier.”
There was a long silence between them and III waited through it uncomfortably, unsure of what Vessel wanted from this call.
“You’d be thinking about me, right?”
Vessel’s question caught III off guard. The tall man blinked once, twice, before sitting down on his bed, licking at his lower lip.
“Yeah, of course.”
“You wouldn’t be thinking about how he touched you? How he fucked you?”
III eyes went wide before his throat went dry and his breathing hitched. He knew the tone that laced those words, almost as intimately as if he’d said them himself.
“Are you jealous ?” There was a sort of scoffing noise on the other end but Vessel didn’t reply. Something in III softened as the realization of how correct his guess might be set in and he spoke again. “Did you wish it was you?”
“I did,” The singer said, voice breathless. “I thought I’d be alright, not being physically part of the scene.” The singer started, his voice low as if he were confessing a sin. “I wanted IV to show me, to let me watch and for a second it was fine, but then you looked up at the phone through the mirror like you were looking at me and I was done for.”
III wanted to laugh in disbelief or play it off like he might have before everything they’d gone through but the truth was that he desperately wanted to tell Vessel that he had been trying to look at him. He had been silently pleading for his approval and his affection and to know that Vessel had seen him and matched that want blow for blow. Hearing his friend admit to be own desires instantly rekindled every slow burning fire in him. III opened his mouth to confess his own truth but Vessel spoke again, his words still low but back in that tone that sunk III into that place he loved so much, into a state of submission that he always wanted to give to the other man.
“And it wasn’t that I didn’t want you to come at all, you know. I said that I didn’t want you to come yet . I wanted to be the one to do it, even if I just have to use my voice. I wanted it to be for me and no one else.”
The groan that escaped III was involuntary and feral. He was already palming his cock over his jeans, his own touch much gentler and teasing than IV’s had been; more aligned to how Vessel would touch him, if he were there.
“Please.”
It was the only syllable III could eke out as he divested himself of his outfit, imagining it was Vessel’s hands pulling his shirt up over his head, unbuttoning his jeans and tugging them down his legs. Already his cock was painfully hard, and he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to cum now, if he wasn’t careful. A part of him didn’t want to be careful, though. A part of him wanted that release so wantonly that he would find a way to be alright with Vessel simply being along for the ride, this time.
“You’re hard again already, aren’t you?” Vessel sounded hungry, eager for the details.
“Y-yes,” the bassist stuttered, laying down on his bed and fighting the urge to just take hold of himself and fuck into his own grip with reckless abandon. Instead he’s traced feather-light touches everywhere but his dick, teasing himself until the man on the other end of the line gave him instruction or permission. “But I’m just- fuck - I’m only teasing now. Don’t wanna cum too quick.”
“Would you want it slow? Want me to tease you for hours until you’re a puddle and begging me to let you cum? Edge you until you’re in tears, until just the thought of a hand on your cock is enough to finish you?”
An impatient noise rose from III’s throat and his dared to snake his hand down a little further, toying with his balls just enough to distract him from the thought of Vessel’s hands on him everywhere, how he might use his mouth on him, how he’d drag him up to that precipice time after time until he was a whimpering, quivering mess. Vessel chuckled in response and let out a shaky breath on the other end of the line.
“You don’t want that, do you? You said you didn’t want to cum too quick but you’re so hard for me, and you’re so needy after getting fucked like that in the bathroom. Fuck, let me hear you cum. Want you to make yourself cum for me. Be a good boy and cum for me, III.”
It was the only command III needed. It took four solid pumps of his fist and the quiet, muttered encouragement of Vessel in his ear to have him tensing up, the muscles in his lower stomach fluttering, his hips twitching against the tight circle of his own hand and a moan that might have been a song with how much the other man praised him for it.
III had never really understood what others had meant when they claimed to see stars when they climaxed, had never experienced anything quite like that but now? He felt he had a much clearer idea of the concept. He’d found his pleasure with such intensity and violence it had edged on being too much. His choked off sounds bordering on gasps of pain subsided quickly, but III stayed still for long moments after, breathing hard as little secondary waves of pleasure crashed over him, eliciting more twitching and squirming against his hand still wrapped around his now softening cock. When he released his grip, it came away with pearly ropes of spend clinging to his skin.
“You alright?” Vessel asked a few minutes later, once he heard the bathroom faucet turn off once III had cleaned himself off. The bassist flopped back into his bed, mind still reeling from how hard he’d come, his body loose and coming down from the dopamine high.
“Very alright. But I feel like I didn’t do much for you.”
“Don’t worry about me, I got what I wanted.” The laugh in Vessel’s voice nearly made III’s heart burst. Another silence fell between them, comfortable despite the feeling that there was much, much more to be said.
“Did you really put IV up to that?” III asked quietly, the silence of his room and the steady, barely perceptible breathing of the man on the other end of the line beginning to lull him to sleep.
“What did he tell you?”
“Not much outside of that you came up with the idea for him to waylay me in the bathroom.”
“Yeah I might have suggested that I could try and rile you up so he could swoop in and relieve you a bit,” Vessel laughed softly, the sound of it self-conscious and rueful. “But it looks like I’m not as good at sharing as I thought I was.”
III opened his mouth to reply but shut it again. This was… not what he’d expected to hear. Something like satisfaction swelled in III, some sense of gratification that plastered a wide grin on his face. He didn’t need the singer to say it so plainly when it was obvious that he was giving III what he wanted as well.
“I don’t mind. I think it’s sort of cute when you get a little possessive.”
“Did you want to revisit that talk about a collar?”
Both men laughed as III immediately shut down that line of conversation, insisting he was still uninterested in that sort of thing. Somewhere outside his window, an emergency vehicle’s siren kicked off, wailing into the night.
“I miss you,” III’s words were soft and earnest and he couldn't help but imagine how far he’d come in being open about his feelings, about his wants. A scant few months ago, he would have never said that out loud. He also wouldn’t have imagined he’d let his best friends fuck him in various scenarios but here they were. But he meant it, profoundly, and he wanted the other man to know, and wanted to be able to share… everything with him. The quiet intimacy of the silence that had again fallen between them reminded III of the plane right home, and how badly he’d wanted to talk with Vessel about the things that had been bothering him, and how there had never been a good time. He thought about dredging his mind for all of those prickling worries and laying them out, of asking his friend to spend the time untangling the threads of those fears with him but in that easy shared silence, words found him easily. “You know, ever since the flight home I’ve been afraid of how much I’d miss the others. Of how much I’d miss you. I’ve been worrying that this break would change things, somehow. Between us, I mean. That you’d all… change your mind or lose interest.”
“Are you still worried about that?” Vessel’s voice was calm and soothing. There was no judgment or presumption there, just an open space for the conversation to bloom, if it needed to. III let himself consider the question a moment before smiling to himself, the answer manifesting effortlessly.
“No.”