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It’s not hard to think about what I want when I see it every day. It’s so fucking hard to see him every night touching himself in front of everyone, but he likes it, so I keep playing. He likes it when I roll around on the floor, so I keep doing it. When he walks over to me, I play harder, and my head gets lighter. It feels better when I’ve had a few drinks, it makes me stop thinking— well, overthinking, but I've been told by him I’m a right prick when I'm drunk. I think he likes it.
Tonight was bad; he wasn’t listening to a thing I was saying before the show started. My guitar broke a string from me rolling around like a bloody dog. I swear I’m not pathetic… well… I try not to be, but I suppose it’s obvious that I am.
He was annoying the shit out of me. I knew what he wanted each time he started swinging his arms around my neck and singing into my ear. It was worse when he used to try to take my guitar away from me; I had to give him a few bruises for him to get the point finally. Tonight, though, I knew what he wanted. I was too angry with myself to follow through, so I threw a bottle that might’ve missed the bin on my way out.
My body felt like it was melting from the inside out. I just wanted to take my clothes off and sit in the bath. I could hear everyone calling my name. I could hear Dave telling him to give me space, then there was an argument about me being drunk. I got into the back of the car, leaned my head against the window, and prayed to whatever was out there to take me home. The hotel was the closest option, unfortunately.
The bad thing about these bloody hotels is that there are no tubs. When I took my clothes off, I stared at myself in the mirror behind the door. Running my hand down my chest, I could still feel the heat radiating off me. Maybe his hands would’ve cooled me down, he had a habit of mapping out my back in tasteful kisses. Sometimes when we’d be fooling around, he would hold me down and run his tongue over a spot above my collarbone before kissing behind my ear.
Maybe I should’ve kept my mouth shut and let him take me to his room tonight. I shook my head and got in the shower; it was quite cold, maybe I wasn’t as hot as I seemed. I tilted my head back away from the running water and let it hit my chest, hoping it would calm me down. Soon, I lathered the soap in my hands and washed my body, which by now was numb to the feeling of lukewarm water, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his lips. Pink, wet, and mouthing against the microphone.
“Christ, you're pathetic,” I said with a little anger in my voice.
When I leaned against the shower wall, I closed my eyes and thought about all the things he did tonight to put me in such a state. Kissing my neck during Colin Zeal, messing with my hair when I was switching pedals, singing in my ear before giving me another kiss. I hated him most of the time; he was far too pretty for anyone else to see besides me. His lips should be on me all the time; it’s not fair, really. I turned the water off when I felt myself getting harder at the thought of his lips kissing my stomach. Maybe I’m punishing myself for leaving in a hurry.
Once I have my shirt on and boxers, I debate having another bottle of wine before bed, but decide against it. The bed was exactly where I wanted to be for the rest of the night until we had to pack up and leave for the next city. There was nothing on the telly to satisfy me, so I got up and looked in my suitcase for one of the magazines I was able to stow away for nights like these. I get back into bed and turn the lamp on, flipping through the pages of men and women in different erotic poses, which turned me on more than the act of sex itself. I slid my hand underneath the sheets and beneath my boxers and palmed myself as I studied each page.
Damon would look so beautiful on his back, just like the man in the magazine. I wonder if he’s ever thought about us doing any of these poses. I started to press my thumb harder against the slit of my cock each time I thought about the face he’d make if I were deep inside of him. I could feel my fingers getting wet when I rubbed the head of my cock, God, I was so close, just a couple of more–
The sound of the door opening made my heart drop, and then I heard his voice coming around the corner.
“Oi, Graham, are you still pissed from, oh, uh, my bad.”
“For god sakes, Damon, you could’ve knocked.” I scrambled to put the magazine under the sheets while my face started to burn with embarrassment.
“So this is why you ran off then, huh?” Damon walked around the bed and tried to pull the magazine from under the sheets. I tucked myself back into my pants as best I could before trying to pull his hands away. We struggled a bit before he held me down by my shoulders. “Ah, ah, I wanna see what’s got you so worked up.”
Maybe it was the wrong time, but he smelled really good against my face. I struggled a bit more trying to get the dirty magazine away from him; Damon continued to laugh before straddling my hips. “Get off, you prick, give it back!”
“Not a chance, I wanted to leave with you, and you refused to talk to anyone! I don’t want you ruining my night with one of your moods. As it turns out, this is what you left me for. A dirty magazine, you’re pathetic, you know that? Say it.” His blue eyes narrowed down at me. I stayed silent until he gripped my wrist and pulled it above my head.
“Say it,” he repeated.
“I’m pathetic. I’m pathetic, I can’t help it.”
He smiled and nodded, as if I had done something good. I still felt incredibly embarrassed; my boxers were beginning to dampen, and I’m sure he could feel it too. Damon laid the magazine on my chest and began to flip through the pages. He made little hums to himself each time he looked over the pictures. “So you tried any of these out, then?”
I shook my head and closed my eyes. I couldn’t look at him; he was too much for me right now. He moved his hips slowly, just like the pages he was turning. Damon continued to talk, and all I wanted to do was cry because he wasn’t giving me what I wanted. All I wanted was him.
“I think you’d look good in this position. Remember our first American tour when you and I shared a bed in a hotel?”
“You’re killing me, Day.”
“I used to wake up really early in the mornings and watch you sleep. I think those were the only times I saw no worry on your face.” He leaned over and brushed his lips against my cheek. “You looked so pretty, I wanted to kiss you so badly.”
The magazine was closed and tossed to the other side of the bed. His hand let go of my wrist and pushed my shirt up and over my head. My head still hurts from earlier, another reminder to lay off the wine, and my eyes stung from the feeling of wanting to cry in front of him. His lips were so soft when I cradled his head. I pressed him closer each time he kissed me. I swear I could feel him all over me, laughing between each breath before continuing.
His hands were calloused and rough, like I expected them to be; he ran them up and down my waist slowly. I started to squirm under his touch, unable to take it, and I tried to push him away. “It’s too much,” I say, shaking my head.
“Shut up, I can feel you, you know? I know you can feel me, too.” He whispered against my chest before pulling up to look at me; my face was surely blood red. He scooted down and pulled my boxers lower. Before I could say anything, I watched him take his clothes off. He was so tan for a man like him, it made me jealous that I couldn’t look like him and his perfect face, perfect hair, perfect arms, legs… body. It hurt me knowing I couldn’t be him.
When I reached for him, everything seemed to feel much better; he took my hand and guided it to his face. He started shaving less, so the stubble on his cheek was more noticeable to me; nonetheless, I’m glad he was so close to me. He straddled once again and began to run his other hand over my lower belly, then stopped just above where I needed him most.
“I wish you’d stop drinking so much, you're a boring daft when you’ve had too much.” He said with the charming smile I knew far too well just before he got his way.
“‘m’not boring.”
“Come on now, don’t lie to me. You were gonna wank off to some shitty magazine because you couldn’t be bothered to ask me.” His voice was a bit harsher than before; he started to tap his fingers against my stomach, causing me to jerk my hips. “Easy, love. No need to get excited just yet.”
He pulled away from me, causing me to sit up. “Hey, wait,” I said rather desperately.
A hand stuck out just below my mouth, and I knew what he wanted, so I leaned forward, and he laughed, “Come on, that’s it.”
Looking into his eyes, I spat into his hand. He gave me a short kiss, just enough time for him to take both of our cocks into his hand. When I gasped, I felt his tongue in my mouth trying to eat me whole. He worked his way around the base, squeezing just right before sliding up and over the head. My hands gripped the back of his hair, pulling him off my mouth. Damon looked different; he looked hungry.
“Please, faster–” I pleaded.
“Why? You didn’t want me in here in the first place?”
“No, that’s not, god just like that.” I couldn’t finish my sentence when I felt his thumb press into the slit just right. I was a moaning mess under him; I couldn't help it.
“Say it, say you need me.” He grunted, unable to go slowly, he picked up the pace with his hand.
“I need you, need you all the time.” I started to choke underneath him from the overwhelming feeling of having him this close to me. He rutted his cock against mine while I squeezed my eyes shut again, but suddenly I felt a slap across the face and opened them. His other hand squeezed my lower face; Damon looked so pretty on top of me, for a moment, I almost forgot where we were. His mouth was in an open smile as he kept squeezing my face. I had to hold his wrist to make sure he squeezed harder.
The slick sound coming from our cocks in his hand started to make me head spin, and before I could tell him, I felt my stomach tighten up and my head hit the pillow. Damon’s moaning only made it feel a hundred times better. Hehe was doing this to me, with me. I am a lucky bastard, I suppose.
Damon gave him and me a few more tugs before he let go. When I let out a hiss, he sighed and kissed the corner of my mouth. “You shouldn’t waste your time on rubbish magazines.” His deep, slightly tired voice made me laugh and try to push his face away.
“You shouldn’t let me leave alone, I wouldn’t need rubbish magazines.”
“I’m not a mindreader, Coxon,” Damon spoke, looking down at the mess between us. His fingers were massaging the sticky aftermath over my lower stomach as he continued to speak, “I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me, but I’m never going to get a straight answer, am I?”
I shook my head, “No, but I don’t think I’m that hard to figure out.” Damon smiled and shook his head, as if in disagreement, before giving me another kiss.