Work Text:
Dave comes up with a plan to corner Martin after the gig.
The lights from the stage have gone dark, the audience still screaming, and the hallway from the stage to their dressing rooms is hardly lit enough to see. Dave steps off first, but immediately he leans into a corner out of sight and lights himself a cigarette, and stands waiting for the other three to come around. Alan strolls past him with a nod, followed by Andy, and then Martin last, closely behind with his head bent low. Dave flicks the ash off his cigarette and drops it, grinding the remains unlit with his heel, and then follows suit, heading up the rear. A few steps in front of him Martin is decked out in layers upon layers of black; harness over camisole, knee-high boots buckled over tights, several belts wrapped around his legs and his waist. It’s going to take him ages to get undressed.
They take seats in the back room and pour themselves drinks, nodding at each other and making light passing comments as they each regain their breath. It’s pleasantly quiet. A couple stagehands come by to offer assistance and Dave waves them off - some nights, they’d all rather be left alone.
Martin undresses slowly and unsurely, as he always is when left alone. Across the room, Dave kicks off his shoes and sinks back in his seat, bringing the cold of his beer to his mouth. He has very few layers to take off, but for now he’s enjoying the pressing insistency that’s growing within the fabric of his jeans as he thinks ahead of what’s to come. An ice cube meets his lips and he pushes it out with his tongue.
Andy and Alan finish changing, and before either one of them can open their mouths to invite him onward to some club or bar for the afters, Dave is already nodding up at them with a wink, his stage presence still pouring out of him. “Catch you later, yeah?” Dave says, and if either of them catch on to any implication, they don’t show it and move right along.
Martin is, as per usual, in his own little world. That little crease has taken its place on his forehead, that forlorn resting face of when he’s buried deep in thought, staring off into indeterminate space as he undoes the clasps on his belts. He seems unaware that Andy and Alan have even left the room, unaware of the company that lacks and of who remains. And Dave - Dave could help, but he’d rather sit and watch instead.
He waits until Martin has gotten off most of his layers – the belts and the boots and the harness gone, until only the tights and the camisole remain – and then Dave speaks up, his voice carefully casual.
“Fancy a bump?” He proffers, nodding towards the restroom.
Martin looks up. His eyes refocus as he absorbs Dave’s suggestion. Then he nods. “Sure, yeah.”
Dave rises to standing, setting his beer cup down on the bench smoothly in his place. He fishes through his back pocket for his little plastic bag as he leads their way to the toilets.
The restroom is small and badly lit; two doored stalls and a single bluish fluorescent light imbedded into the ceiling overhead. A double metal sink lines the opposite wall with a mirror above it. The entirety of the space is big enough to fit maybe three people altogether.
Dave grabs a paper towel from the dispenser and goes about wiping a space at the edge of the sink dry, polishing it smooth until he can make out his own warped reflection. Martin waits awkwardly in the doorway behind him as Dave shakes out the bag onto the clean surface and draws lines through with a fingernail. It’s not the cleanest hit in the world, but they’ve all had worse.
Once finished, Dave steps back and gestures forward his offering. Martin nods and leans over the sink, pressing his left nostril closed with a finger as he goes to inhale.
Dave watches his profile as he does it; the way his mouth parts as he sharply breathes in, then pauses minutely, breathing out, before he goes in for another. The black fabric of his tights are reflecting a hazy white glow in the light of the fluorescents. His hair falls down over his eyes, but Dave can still see his eyelashes blinking rapidly as he takes it in. Dave waits until Martin exhales again, his head still bent, and it’s then that he crowds behind Martin and pins his legs in place against the edge of the sink.
Martin’s body tenses and stills. There’s a brief moment where nothing happens – Martin is still breathing out with his head leaning down as he waits to see what Dave will do, and then he reaches a finger gingerly through the remnants of powder on the countertop and brings the finger to his mouth to rub it into his gums. He breathes out. Dave doesn’t move. Martin reaches behind himself with his other hand to place it on the edge of the sink, to steady himself, and his hand lands right atop Dave’s – who had placed his own hand there first.
“This okay?” Dave murmurs from behind him. Martin’s shoulders are tense, but after a moment he nods.
Dave brings his other hand down to Martin’s clothed left thigh, where his cuffs had been dangling from his belt not ten minutes before. He tightens his grip over the skin, and Martin exhales and lifts up his head, leaning his neck back against Dave to better let the coke settle in. His right hand curls and tightens around Dave’s own on the cold edge of the sink.
Dave tugs at the lace of Martin’s camisole with his left hand. “This comfortable?”
Martin nods, the curls of his hair shifting against Dave’s cheek.
“And here?” Dave slips a finger into the waistband of Martin’s tights and pulls it, so the fabric snaps back against Martin’s skin. Martin jumps slightly, and nods again.
Dave’s right hand twines around Martin’s wrist from where they’re both settled on the counter and pulls it back behind his back. Then Dave does the same with his other hand, finding Martin’s left arm stalled in midair half in front of him. Dave interlocks their fingers and guides it back to join the other so that both of Martin’s arms are caught between them, joined at the wrists.
“And here?”
Martin’s whole posture changes, his body going liquid at the new position. His shoulders sag and his head drops limply, making a sound under his breath that’s something like a pleasant hum. His front leans forward over the counter, all his tension gone, allowing his body to be supported by only Dave’s hands gripping him. His legs widen naturally to where Dave is pressed against his backside.
Dave touches his mouth to Martin’s neck. “Good?”
Martin doesn’t move, so Dave gives his arms a little tug at the wrists. Martin’s eyes flutter in the mirror before them, and he manages to mumble out what sounds like, “Uh huh.”
Dave mouths wetly along his neck, tasting the sweat and the smell of him fresh offstage. He shifts his grip on Martin, taking both of Martin’s wrists into the grasp of his right hand so that he can let his left-hand roam free, feeling downward along the slippery sheen of Martin’s tights and groping along his left hip and thigh. Dave digs into his nails into the density of flesh there, feeling the human warmth that’s caught underneath. He brings his own hips in closer so that he can grind against the curve of Martin’s ass as he does it.
Dave runs the span of his open hand across Martin’s leg until it curls into the heat of his inner thigh. He slides his fingers into the crook of skin there. Then he squeezes. A low gasp escapes Martin, and his eyes open at himself in the mirror, green and glazed over.
Dave lets his mouth move along quicker and rougher, tasting the taut line of Martin’s shoulders and biting lightly at the skin, making warm wet circles as he goes along. He pulls the strap of Martin’s camisole into his teeth and sucks wetly around it, licking the tanned skin underneath, then he leans further over Martin’s shoulders so that he can lick into the dip of his collarbone too. He gives Martin’s caught wrists another yank for good measure and watches the way that he shudders in the mirror.
Dave’s left-hand digs deeper into the gap of Martin’s thigh. He spreads his fingers broader, cupping the space between Martin’s legs and pulling them wider apart so that he can fit his whole hand in between. Martin whines at the contact and arches backward into him, and it’s perfect; Dave grinds forward with his hips and it’s like he can almost fit into that space.
Dave looks up to watch the two of them moving together in the reflection of the mirror. He sees Martin’s body shuddering with his arms twisted behind his back; his blonde hair is shaking and his eyes are at half-mast, his lips parted for breath. Dave buries a smirk into the skin of Martin’s shoulder and pistons forward with his hips, pinning Martin hard against the edge of the sink, slim thighs pressed to the metal. The hand that Dave’s got between Martin’s legs tightens its grip in the gap of his thigh.
Dave nods forward so that Martin can feel the movement against his shoulder. “You see yourself?”
Martin is panting, his eyes in a daze. He isn’t seeing anything.
“Oi,” Dave tugs at Martin’s wrists again. “Look up.”
He coincides his phrasing by cupping his hand over the bulge between Martin’s legs – it’s clothed, restrained beneath the tights and whatever knickers or thong that Martin’s got on underneath, but Martin hisses at the contact all the same. He’s half-hard already, and Dave smiles again and rubs him through it. Martin’s face contorts and he grinds backwards.
Dave fixes his gaze on Martin in the mirror. Martin’s nose is red from the cocaine and his lips are wet from where he’s probably been licking them. Dave gives a light squeeze between his legs and Martin’s body jolts.
Dave kisses his neck twice more. “Keep still,” he murmurs. “Need both hands for a minute.”
Dave gives a final squeeze around Martin’s wrists with his right hand and then releases them, stepping back by an inch so that he can begin to fumble with getting his belt open, watching to ensure that Martin keeps his hands in place. But of course he doesn’t move, still panting audibly; his heartrate is probably doubled by now from the coke. There’s a jangle of metal as Dave unclasps his belt and pulls it free from its loops, fast. Then he’s wrapping it quickly around Martin’s wrists; once, twice, four times, and then he’s looping the end of the leather through the center hole and linking the clasp as best he can. Martin’s posture straightens somewhat as he adjusts to this new addition.
Dave scrubs a hand through the back of Martin’s hair. “Alright?”
Martin nods, just barely, in the mirror.
With the hand on his head, Dave turns Martin to face him so he can kiss his mouth, licking the spit off Martin’s lips and letting his own tongue inside. Martin makes a small sound into the kiss. His eyelashes move against Dave’s face.
There’s the sound of a zipper opening as Dave begins to open his trousers to get his cock out. He pushes down the hemline of his boxers and reaches inside to free himself, running a few strokes over the length to gain some slickness. Then he snakes his other hand back around Martin’s front to pry his legs open again, and aligns himself to push into the crook of Martin’s thigh.
Even through clothes, Martin whines aloud at the tight pressure that slides in between his thighs. The stocking material isn’t smooth against skin; the black fabric lends to a slow drag against Dave’s cock, and he has to guide the movement with his right hand as he pushes himself into the gap. Martin’s hips jerk against the sink’s edge. He shifts his legs closer together to create a tighter pressure, and Dave hums appreciatively.
Dave hooks his chin over Martin’s left shoulder so that he can stare into the mirror, a small smile hidden behind Martin’s back. Of course the movement between their legs isn’t visible, but Dave is watching both of their faces; Martin’s has taken on a strained expression like he’s trying to fight back his own arousal. His cheeks are growing red like the room is overheating.
Dave’s thrusts are slow at first. He’s still holding himself in place as he moves, angling himself upward into the heat of Martin’s thigh, grazing deliberately over Martin’s clothed cock as he does it. Martin’s panting is turning into audible groans, his body tipping slightly over the counter with each push forward.
Once Dave has finally reached full hardness, he releases his right hand and lifts to grip at Martin’s bicep instead, squeezing his arm as he continues to thrust inward, quickening his pace. Martin is working his own hips backward too, trying to fuck back against him, his legs pressed tightly together to give Dave as much pressure as he can.
Martin’s nose drips in the mirror, and Dave huffs a laugh against his shoulder.
“Ugh,” Martin says under his breath. He goes instinctually to wipe it, but his arms are still restrained behind his back, and he wriggles instead, his shoulders twisting; his back arches unintentionally against Dave, who moans and grips Martin’s shoulder to keep him still.
“Hey, hey,” Dave chides, and he moves his grip from Martin’s right arm to place it loosely over Martin’s throat instead, reminiscent of a collar. Martin’s breath actually stutters; Dave can feel his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows, his body stilling.
“That’s better, right?” Dave whispers at him, and gives a little squeeze of pressure around Martin’s neck. Martin moans, his head tipping forward. Dave can feel the vibrations all through his hand.
Dave clicks his tongue, retaining the pressure. “That’s it.” He jerks forward, and he can feel his own cock leaking wet against Martin’s tights. The pressure is very good – not skin on skin, but this extra friction is just what he’d wanted.
Dave winds his left hand around to grab between Martin’s legs, feeling for his hardness. Martin jolts against the counter when Dave finds it, a little mewl of a sound escaping him - he’s fully hard himself, or else very near to it; as much as his body will allow while trapped beneath the constraints of his tights. They must feel like a cage by now.
Dave rubs two fingers roughly between Martin’s legs in time with his thrusting. Martin grinds down and back, trying valiantly to ride Dave’s fingers, but it’s fucking up their pacing - when Martin starts to move too much, Dave tightens his other hand around his throat; a soundless reminder to hold still. Martin’s thighs are beginning to shake around him.
Dave tugs at the fabric of the tights, pulling and letting them snap back right over the flesh of Martin’s thigh, who winces. “D’you want these off?”
“No,” Martin says immediately. It’s the first proper word he’s spoken aloud since they entered the room, and it grabs Dave’s attention; Martin’s eyes are wide and insistent in the mirror. He shakes his head, his throat shifting in the palm of Dave’s hand.
Dave nods slowly. The pace of his thrusting had slowed too in his surprise, and he resumes it now, shoving his hips roughly forward. He squeezes Martin’s thigh in the soft flesh where he’d snapped the tights and digs his fingers in there, groping. “This doesn’t hurt?” He asks, careful; he means Martin’s restrained hardness.
Martin licks his lips, hesitant. “…It does a bit,” he allows.
Dave nods once and continues. He lets his left-hand venture upwards, winding over Martin’s hips and up past the hemline of his tights, sliding his fingers underneath the tight bunched lace of Martin’s camisole. Dave feels his way along the warm expanse of skin, grabbing in places, twisting and pulling, playing along the ridges of Martin’s ribs until he reaches a nipple to roll his thumb over. Martin grinds backward, reticent.
“You surprised me tonight,” Martin says quietly. His eyes are downcast and hidden by his hair. “I wasn’t thinking that…” He tapers off, pensive.
Dave twists the nipple between two fingers and gives it a little pull. “Wasn’t thinking what?” He replies lowly, not paying much attention. He pinches Martin’s nipple and Martin clenches his thighs in response, his brows creased with focus.
When Martin speaks his voice is a little wet and choked; probably to do with the coke. “I can… I can feel how wet you are,” he murmurs. He’s got his legs pressed tight like he’s trying hard to feel it. “You’re dripping through me.”
He means through the tights, but the words still conjure up an evocative image; Dave’s imagination takes over as he imagines exactly how that would feel, and then his hips jerk forward involuntarily and his vision fully whites out as he comes into the warm gap of Martin’s thighs, burying his face into Martin’s back as he moans. His hips dig in, and Martin leans forward with a grunt, trying to support both of their weights against the sink’s metal edge as Dave goes boneless against him.
“…Fuck,” Dave utters. It takes him a moment before he can reopen his eyes and lift his head. Martin’s eyes are pitch-black and fixed on him in the mirror. He feels Martin swallow, his throat bobbing, and remembers his own hand around Martin’s throat. Dave lifts it off and Martin exhales audibly, but his eyes are still boring into Dave with a heavy heat, and now Dave can see why; in the rush of his climax he’d tightened his hand around Martin’s neck enough to leave grip marks.
Dave looks down. “Did you come?”
Martin shakes his head, still staring at him in the mirror.
Dave steps back from him and grabs a paper towel from the dispenser over the sink to wipe himself clean. He tucks his cock back inside his trousers quickly and attends to Martin’s bound hands, undoing the belt and slipping it back into the belt loops of his jeans. Martin rolls his wrists and brings his arms back around to his front.
“Turn over,” Dave instructs, once he’s finished fixing himself up. Martin turns around to face him, leaning with his back against the sink counter. There’s a slow dribble of come running down from between his black-clad thighs. Dave crowds over his legs and kisses him immediately; open-mouthed, one hand in Martin’s hair and the other on his jaw. “D’you wanna come?” Dave asks into his mouth.
In Dave’s grip, Martin shakes his head. “No,” he mumbles.
“Then,” Dave is talking in between kissing him, tilting Martin’s head back accordingly so he can kiss over his flushed cheeks and his jawline too, “’Got one last thing I wanna do.” Dave reclaims Martin’s mouth with his own, Martin chasing his tongue meekly, and brings both hands down to the thin black straps of Martin’s camisole, pulling them both down his arms. Dave rolls the lace halfway down Martin’s chest to get his tits out and brings both hands over them. He sighs into Martin’s mouth.
“Will you reach into my back pocket?” Dave asks.
Martin complies without a word. Dave can feel Martin’s hands snake into his back pockets and feel around, both because Dave didn’t specify which, and that feeling is nice in itself. He brings his own hips up over Martin’s thighs, almost straddling him, and then feels Martin extricate the plastic bag from within Dave’s pocket. He pushes it into one of Dave’s hands, never breaking their kiss.
“Mm, cheers,” Dave hums. He pulls back by inches so that he can get a clear view of his hands as he gets the little bag open, and gently pushes Martin to lean further back with his other hand; Martin gets the idea and arches his back to help with the angle. Then Dave shakes the bag out to form a messy line across Martin’s tits. Dave hums again, licking his lips, and gives Martin one more quick kiss before he leans down to clean the line off Martin’s chest. He reaches a hand between Martin’s legs to give a casual squeeze to his erection, and Martin hisses back a moan, his back arching further. Dave lifts his head up, grinning.
He pushes the plastic bag back into one of Martin’s empty hands and brings his own to wipe over his nose, squeezing his left nostril as he inhales. Dave’s other hand comes up with come smeared on it, and he smiles wider and pushes the fingers into Martin’s mouth. Martin accepts them with an eyebrow raised, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips too. He must be so hard that its painful.
“You comin’ out?” Dave nods at the exit door.
Martin pulls off his fingers wetly. “Think I’ll need a minute,” he says. His eyes have returned to half-mast, and his hand is curled in a white-knuckled grip around the edge of the sink.
Dave nods and leans in to kiss him. He can taste himself in Martin’s mouth, as well as the dry drip from the coke in the back of his throat. Dave grabs blindly for another paper towel to dry off his fingers with and steps back. Martin is a sight of debauchery before him with his cheeks and ears and throat red, a messy smear of white between his black clothed thighs. He’s biting into his bottom lip now, barely holding himself back. “See you in a bit,” Martin says.
Dave nods. I love you like crazy, he wants to say. “See you,” he says instead, barely keeping back his own smile, and at last leaves Martin alone to take care of himself.