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Entry tags:
- bob/ryan,
- fic,
- kink bingo,
- mcr,
- p!atd
Fic: How It Works (Bob/Ryan)
HAPPY MOTHER HUMPING BIRTHDAY ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dancinbutterfly!!! In honor of this wondrous day, here is some Jailbait Hooker Ryan and Sound Tech Bob porns. Sorry it's not a cookie cake.
Title: How It Works
Fandom: My Chemical Romance / Panic! At The Disco (pre-split)
Pairing: Bob/Ryan
Rating: NC-17 for sex & some bruising
Length: 7, 354 words
Summary: Whenever a tour takes him within spitting distance of Vegas, Bob will make a booking with Ross.
Author's Notes: For the Prostitution square on my![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kink_bingo card. Huge thanks to b_dsaint for the last minute beta. This fic belongs to dancinbutterfly with all my love.
How It Works
They're twelve dates down on a twenty-five date tour by the time the band hit Vegas. Bob's had the show highlighted on his tour schedule from the day Brian shoved it in his hand. It's good to have something to look forward to; something to break up the endless rotation of travel, unload, bump in, knob twiddle, bump out, travel, repeat.
Privacy is impossible, so he makes his appointment via text message, disappointed that he has to miss out on hearing Ross' voice on the phone but it's better than risking a call that could be overheard or interrupted. He's already raised enough questions, opting out of the traditional post-gig bender, and there'll be more questions in the morning if he doesn’t get back before the guys regain consciousness.
It doesn't matter. It's not their business.
Brian's seen this disappearing act enough times to tease him endlessly about his 'Vegas bit on the side'. Bob doesn't worry about him knowing too much, though; the way Brian keeps referring to "she" and "her" shows just how little information he's working from.
Brian's probably the one person he would tell, if he was going to tell anyone. But it's pointless to talk about something that has no future. It's just something that he does, when he can, when he's in the right city. Something to look forward to. Or rather, someone.
At least, that's what he tells himself.
The night of the Vegas show, bump-out takes forever. Bob's trying to unpatch his sound bay and get his cables into some kind of order, which is difficult when he has Bert hanging off him, crowing in his ear about how he's letting the band down by blowing off their post-gig bar and strip club crawl. Bob pleads headache and exhaustion on repeat until Brian finally steps in.
"Leave him alone Bert, he's not coming. Now stop stepping all over his cables."
Bert grumbles and pulls a face, starting to build an argument until Jepha sticks his head out the dressing room door and announces that the support act didn't finish their rider. Bob sends a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of rock n' roll as Bert dives after the free alcohol like a hound on a scent.
Brian joins him at the sound bay, breaking Bob's number one rule by touching his gear, unplugging a cable and starting to coil it. "I can finish this up if you need to go."
Bob glances at his watch. If he leaves right now he will actually have time to shower and change into the one clean set of clothes he's been saving up for tonight. He hesitates for a long moment, the urgency to leave warring with his protectiveness of his gear. He casts an assessing eye over the cable Brian's got coiled in his hand; he's not doing too badly so far.
"You know what you're doing, right?" he asks, dropping a cable into the open road case beside him.
"Yeah, because I've never seen you do this before." Brian shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Such attitude would usually get Bob's back up, but he's in a hurry so he lets it slide and points at a road case.
"Cables in there, decks in their own cases, I'll be back in the morning."
Brian grins and adds another cable to the pile. "Don't keep her waiting."
"Him." Bob corrects, and a fleeting look of surprise crosses Brian's face before he settles into a wide grin.
"Have fun, then."
Bob doesn't bother to answer; he just hoofs it out of the venue.
***
Bobs signs into their usual hotel under their usual fake name (McCartney, Ross has a thing for the Beatles). He takes the key card the snooty uniformed girl hands him and tries not to grip it too tight. His fingers are damp and slippery on the surface as he slides it into the door slot on room 281.
First things first; before he even sits down he reaches for his wallet, counting out green bills into his hand. He doesn't have an envelope so he folds them into a gig flyer and places it on the bedside table. He shakes off the sleazy feeling it gives him. Ross is a professional, just like himself, and he's done enough free and underpaid jobs to know it's simple respect to keep the money side straight-forward and up front.
He dumps his backpack in the corner and slumps onto the bed to wait. He eyes the mini bar but dismisses the idea before it even forms. He was drunk off his head the first time he called Ross' number from the back of a local rag, splashed across a postage-stamp sized photo which was all hips and chest and a blur where the face should be. By the time the kid showed up at his hotel, his long legs clad in spray-on jeans and his floppy hair framing a face that screamed jailbait, Bob had sobered up enough to know it was a bad idea.
But the kid wouldn't leave, even when Bob offered him money; he just took the bills and said "You know I'm not gonna take this without giving something back. That's not how it works." Then he'd buried his face in Bob's neck and found that spot just under his ear with his tongue, the one that makes Bob unglue. When Bob had reached up to push him away, his hand got stuck clutching the kid's bony shoulder.
That was when Bob changed his tune from "go away" to "show me some ID". Because he might be a weak, pathetic loser, but he's not a criminal. Bob's no expert on Nevada driver's licenses but the card Ross showed him looked convincing, and even if he kept his name covered the photo matched and the birth date made him nineteen. That was the point when Bob stopped thinking so much. It was also the beginning of the closest thing he's had to a relationship in the last two years.
Bob tells himself it's because he's on the road a lot, the glamorous rock n' roll lifestyle isn't suited to real relationships, but all the internal pep talks in the world can't turn off the screaming reminders that he's just a john. Not that it stops him coming back every time he's within spitting distance of Nevada, even when he can't really afford it.
Tonight, he can afford it. Twelve dates into a twenty-five date tour with nothing to spend his money on but food and booze, and he's flush. He's booked Ross overnight.
The knock on the door he's been waiting for finally comes and Bob gets up. He wipes damp palms down the front of his pants and takes a deep breath before opening the door. Ross is standing in the hallway outside, looking relaxed, slouched and beautiful under the dim buzz of the fluorescents. Tight jeans cling all the way up his slender legs and sit low on his hips, giving the briefest glimpse of sharp hip bones. The t-shirt he's wearing is practically transparent and so sinfully tight Bob could count his ribs. He's wearing a hint of smoky eye makeup and his hair is longer than last time Bob saw him, light brown bangs hanging messy over his eyes.
The smile he gives Bob is completely unselfconscious and it goes all the way to his eyes. "Hey, you."
God, Bob's missed his voice. He fumbles out a hello, which twitches Ross's smile widen, before he bites his lip and swipes it with his tongue. Bob nearly dissolves at the sight, but he finds enough brain space to take a slow step back so he's not blocking the doorway. Ross scoots inside and latches an arm around Bob's neck, taking his mouth in a wet kiss before the door is even closed all the way.
It's good. Bob likes it this way and Ross knows that. He just gets straight into it, no negotiations, no listing the menu. No reminders of what this really is beyond the fold of bills in a flyer on the bedside table.
Bob slips his tongue into Ross' wet mouth, his hands sliding down Ross' back and around his sides until his thumbs are stroking gently over those protruding hip bones. Ross makes a little noise into his mouth and curls closer and Bob has to fight hard not to squeeze his fingers until Ross vocalizes again. To squeeze hard enough to leave marks. He wants to, he always wants to, but Ross isn't his and he can't put a mark on him. That's not how it works.
So he slides a hand down to grip Ross' ass instead, hauling him closer so their legs are scissored and he can feel Ross getting hard where they're crushed together. Bob's way ahead of him; he feels like he's been sporting wood for hours and he probably has. He rubs it up on Ross and the kid purrs and rubs back down, rolling his hips like a belly dancer and when Bob gasps out of the kiss Ross is staring at him, eyes slit and burning with his mouth all wet. Bob can't breathe.
"Missed you," Ross says, because he knows Bob needs to hear it and all the self recriminations in the world can't stop Bob's heart skipping over the words.
"Missed you, too." Bob doesn't even have to pretend sincerity because he really fucking has. He locks a hand in Ross's hair and pulls him in to devour his mouth again, shoving his other hand down the back of Ross' jeans and fuck he isn't wearing underwear. It's all smooth skin and Bob takes a handful, reminding himself to be gentle even as his hips rock forward to grind on Ross.
It's ridiculous that they're still upright at this point, but moving would require them separating and Bob's not ready to let go just yet. Ross' slender fingers slide under his t-shirt, nails scraping lightly over his chest as Ross sucks his tongue. Bob has to break the kiss and hold very still for just a moment, because they have all night and he's not gonna come in his pants like a teenager when Ross hasn't even made it two steps into the hotel room.
When he pries his eyes open, Ross is watching him, wearing a wicked smile. He presses one thumb into the centre of Bob's lower lip and it's not even a calculated thought when Bob slips his tongue out to swipe it, tasting salt. Ross' eyelids drop to half mast at the motion, his throat working as he sucks on his bottom lip and that is it. Bob only has so much self control. He half pushes, half carries Ross to the bed, slamming him down on his back like a wrestler. Musical laughter bubbles out of Ross' mouth and Bob can't help grinning, Ross looks so free and happy when he lets himself laugh, that little crease of concentration between his eyebrows vanishes and his whole face lights up.
Bob leans over on one elbow and smiles down at him, brushing an errant lock of hair off Ross' forehead. Ross arches up off the bed and takes Bob's mouth, snaking an arm around his back to pull him down so their bodies are flush, all Bob's weight on him. It feels delicious and Bob lets himself enjoy for just a minute before he rolls them onto their sides. Ross' so thin he could snap in half; he doesn't need Bob lying all over him.
Ross makes an exasperated noise that blows his hair up. "I'm not gonna break, you know."
"Shut up." Bob follows the command with a kiss before Ross can argue. Ross doesn't even try; he just kisses Bob back, wet and hungry, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top.
Ross does this body-slide thing that Bob's more than a little in love with, rubbing up and down on Bob so their chests and crotches drag and slide, and even through layers of clothing the sensation sets him alight. He makes an impatient noise and tugs on Ross' shirt. Ross shoots him a wicked smile and sits up, straddling Bob, and all that heat and weight on his dick makes it difficult to concentrate. Any last semblance of rational thought goes out the window when Ross strips off his shirt and tosses it to the floor.
Bob sits up, which jiggles Ross and makes him shift in his lap, the sensation equal parts distracting and distracting. Bob pushes down the urge to flip Ross over and just fuck him already, instead latching his mouth onto his neck, sliding his lips down over all that warm, smooth skin, licking and tasting. Ross smells really good. After living in the company of a touring band for weeks it's something Bob can appreciate, the subtle nudge of cologne in his nose and the salt of clean skin under his tongue.
His mouth quests downwards til he's nearly bent double, Ross tipped back in his lap, torso arched like some kind of soft core model and Bob's eyes are devouring him as his chin nudges the waistband of Ross' jeans. Fuck, he wants him naked. Now. He's such a sight, all that skin, lean planes of his chest, the soft dip inside his hipbones that leads down into his jeans. Bob's fingers are already working open the buttons of Ross' fly, because even though he's got every line of Ross' body committed to memory, he doesn't need to rely on that right now. He can have the real thing.
Ross shifts awkwardly and Bob realises vaguely that he's kicking off his shoes. The thought doesn't get a chance to stick because Ross' zipper gives, releasing his cock and Bob bends over so far his neck aches, pressing his face into the crease of Ross' groin and breathing deep. His tongue darts out, catching briefly at the base, and Ross gasps and twitches. Bob fights a grin and does it again, longer, slower, pressing his tongue flat on Ross' shaft and getting a throaty purr.
Bob's neck is starting to hurt from the awkward position, so he tilts his head up to get an eyeful of Ross, who stares down at him with narrowed eyes, biting hard on his lip and looking at Bob like he's some kind of sex god. It could be an act, but Bob shakes off that thought. He's getting better at not paying attention to that part of his brain when he's with Ross, but he still gets his doubts. But whichever way you slice it, Ross' cock is hard in his hand and he's twitching in Bob's lap like he can't get enough. Bob can take that at face value.
He straightens up and presses Ross back into the mattress, taking his mouth again and Ross kisses back that much more desperately now, all teeth and tongue and sucking lips. Bob loves it; he wants more. His fingers tighten around Ross' biceps and he wonders if he could get away with leaving just a small bruise. His fingers start to grip and dig in at the thought, but he stops short, reminding himself that he wouldn't want to see the mark of some other john on Ross, that it could be bad for business or get him hurt, and the idea loosens his fingers.
He turns his attention to Ross' jeans instead, peeling them down those long, long legs and grunting with annoyance when they get tangled around his feet. Ross just giggles at him and kicks them off, nearly braining Bob with a flailing leg and he doesn't even apologise.
"Hey!" Bob protests, but Ross just smirks at him, crawling over to settle in his lap all naked warm skin and Bob immediately forgives him. He takes his mouth hungrily, sinking fingers into Ross' hair which must be freshly washed because it feels so soft. Ross purrs into his mouth and grinds down on him, rubbing hard denim down onto Bob's dick and making him groan deep in his throat.
Ross pulls up Bob's shirt at the back, cool air flushing goosebumps up him and he raises his arms so Ross can get it off. Ross immediately dives on the bared skin, stroking hands and lips over Bob's chest. Bob tilts his head back and closes his eyes, wanting to feel it without having to see all his own too pale, too soft flesh; one more reminder of why he has to pay Ross to fuck him.
Ross bites him on the chest, startling Bob enough to look down and catch his gleeful grin before he fixes his attention lower and starts unbuckling Bob's belt. Bob has to suck in a long breath when Ross gets the buttons open and grips Bob's cock through the damp material of his boxers. Ross shifts his hand, stroking, and the rub of the material against his screaming skin has Bob panting into Ross' neck.
The pants turn into guttural groans when Ross gets his hand inside Bob's underwear, shoving Bob onto his back and crawling down his body. Bob nearly chokes on his own tongue when Ross' mouth finds him, hot breath followed by warm, wet suction. Ross sucks him, lips pressing all the way down to the root and Bob does choke then, somehow breathing in his own spit and having to hack it up again.
Ross pulls off and eyes him with a smirk that makes him look way too young. "Don't die. We haven't fucked."
Bob coughs again, his face burning and not just from the lack of oxygen. "Fuck you." He barely gets the words out and finishes his fit, panting and wiping his eyes. "So I should reschedule my death 'til later then?"
"If you wouldn't mind." Ross' voice comes out deeper than usual, the comment followed with a swift lick of his tongue up Bob's cock. "Because now would be inconvenient."
Bob tries to think up a suitable response, but his mind is still saturated with naked Ross and cocksucking so all that comes out is strangled noise when Ross sinks his mouth over Bob's dick again. Fuck, he can deepthroat like it's nothing and while Bob isn't all about the porno sex he'd be a damn liar if he said he didn't get off on it so fucking hard. He ploughs a hand into Ross' hair, holding on but not guiding, watching Ross' eyes flutter as he works, listening to his deep nasal breaths.
When he feels the heat building, his balls drawing up under the gentle stroke of Ross' fingers, he catches Ross' face in his hands.
"Wait. Not yet." Ross pulls off at Bob's words, looking up at him, his mouth wet and used and panting. "Want to fuck you." Bob chokes the words out as Ross wraps his hand low and tight around Bob's base, keeping him safely on the edge.
He presses a kiss to Bob's thigh before pushing himself onto his knees, snatching his discarded jeans from the floor and pulling a condom and a sachet of lube from the front pocket.
He doesn't ask Bob how he wants it; he just rolls onto his back and spreads his legs. Bob can feel himself flushing pink right up his chest, neck and face as he watches Ross prepare himself, equal parts tease and torture. Bob notices, not for the first time, just how long and slender Ross' fingers are as he makes them shiny with lube. He has to reach down and grab his cock when Ross hitches his legs up, displaying his ass and the pornography of Ross sliding two fingers inside himself has Bob pulsing in his hand.
Ross watches him while he does it, eyes dancing warm all over Bob like Bob sitting there holding onto his throbbing dick and staring at Ross is the hottest thing to see. Bob knows the show he's getting is so much better, Ross' hand twisting inside himself, his fingers scissoring and stretching as he moans, twitching, grabbing his dick. Ross adds a third finger and it makes him arch, his eyes falling shut as his body twists on the sheets. The tip of his dick is wet now, Bob can see the leaking precome and fuck he wants to taste it, he's so hungry for everything and he wants more.
Ross tosses him the condom and Bob struggles to get it open with fumbling, lust-drunk fingers. Fuck, he's so close, so ready for the next part and it's criminal how complicated this is. He manages to roll it over his dick on the second try and he's barely got it on before Ross is in his lap again, kissing him hard and pushing his tongue into Bob's mouth.
"Fuck, it's been too long. It's been too long," Ross keeps muttering, soft and distracted into Bob's lips like he doesn't even realise he's talking. He's right though, it's been way too long.
Bob slides a hand down Ross' back, grabbing his ass and letting his fingers slip down between his cheeks to press against his opening, all slick and ready for him. Ross moans against his mouth and pushes back on Bob's fingers, every motion wanton, begging, and Bob has to bite down on Ross' lip, gently, gently he reminds himself, he can't mark him but fuck, he wants to.
When Ross leans out of the kiss he's smiling at Bob, his lower lip red and swollen, his panting breaths pushing over Bob's face and he smells like sex. Bob's breath comes out of him in a rush and he leans his head forward to rest against Ross'. He's so turned on he feels dizzy with it, his heart pounding fast and hard, blood screaming through him.
That's it, he can't wait any longer. He grabs Ross around the waist and tries to turn him so his ass is in range, but Ross is off balance and he topples sideways with an undignified yelp.
"What was that for?" Ross shrieks, fighting a manic smile as he pushes himself upright again, all awkward bony limbs and rumpled hair. He starts to crawl back into Bob's lap but he's angling the wrong way again.
"No, this way," Bob grumbles, scooping an arm around Ross' waist and turning him with firm hands so he's in Bob's lap but facing away. Bob's cock brushes the curve of Ross' ass and he wilts in Bob's arms, leaning his head back to rest on Bob's shoulder.
"Oh, like that," he purrs, "I like that." Ross rolls his body against Bob's and Bob likes that. He likes that a lot.
He firms his hands on Ross's waist, shooting him a careful look to make sure Ross is paying attention this time and he's not going to tip over. Ross gives him a small smile and tucks his face into Bob's neck, sighing as Bob’s hands tighten on his hips and lift, settling him over Bob's cock. Ross reaches a hand back between them, stealing Bob's breath when his fingers find Bob's dick, lining him up. He twists his head awkwardly to meet Bob's eyes as he lowers himself down and Bob gets stuck looking at his open mouth, his lips all lax and wet, the needy look on his face, the way his eyes narrow as he takes Bob in, all of him in one slow motion right to the root, fuck. It's mindblowing.
Ross stays still for a long moment, his slight chest shifting with deep breaths, his head rolled back on Bob's shoulder. Bob presses a kiss to his collar bone, his own breathing coming hard, fighting the urge to buck up under Ross and get moving already.
Ross breaks the stillness first, pushing up on his knees and Bob grasps his waist, helping him to steady and lift. The slide as he sinks back down again tears a moan out of them both and Bob presses his face into Ross' neck, letting his teeth graze the soft flesh there as his breath rushes hot onto Ross' skin.
It feels sublime, but that's no surprise, it always does. He firms his grip on Ross' waist and sets a slow rhythm that Ross rides out with him. Ross' skin is slick with sweat and he groans and goes lax every time Bob bottoms out. For a while, it's enough. It's enough to just move inside Ross, breathe him in and taste his skin.
Bob forces his eyes open, tracing his gaze down the line of Ross' neck, over the jut of his Adam's apple and down his chest, down over his arching ribs and his shifting stomach to the hard line of his cock, swaying with their motions. It's criminal that it's still untouched, but Bob's not sure he can hold Ross up one-handed, even if he weighs practically nothing.
"You should touch yourself," he tells Ross, the words coming out ragged into the soft skin of Ross' neck as Bob lifts and slides again.
Ross groans deep, the sound vibrating through him. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, eyes half closed as his hand moves to grip himself. He hisses out a breath and starts to jack slowly, keeping in step with Bob's frustrating slow pace, eyes fluttering as he watches Bob watching him.
Between the view and the tight squeeze of Ross' ass around his cock Bob might white out, but it's still not enough, he's greedy and the frustration of not being able to move, to really let go and pound into Ross is getting to him.
Seems it's getting to Ross, too. "Bob, come on. Faster." He hitches up his hips, encouraging, and Bob adopts the new pace without even thinking. It's better, fuck, so much better, and when Ross rolls his head to the side and finds that spot under Bob's ear with his tongue, Bob just lets go.
He bucks up off the bed, his grip on Ross' waist tight, feeling the burn in his arms as he lifts and guides him on his cock, faster, harder. Ross lets out a moan on each thrust, twitching and writhing in Bob's lap and his hand never stops moving on his cock. Bob buries his face in Ross' neck, tasting his skin and watching Ross' jerking hand, wanting to see him come, fuck, he must be close. With the way he's breathing and his hand is pretty much a blur, his hips shoving up into it as Bob pushes up inside him.
Bob rests his teeth against the line of Ross' shoulder, keeping his jaw loose so he can't bite down can't leave a mark, no can't leave a mark. Ross bucks down against him, releasing a strangled groan, pumping his hand.
"Bob, shit. Shitshitshit." Ross' voice is desperate.
"Come on," Bob growls, shoving his hips up harder, wanting, needing to see it happen. And it does, Ross lets out a choked noise, his head thumping back on Bob's shoulder as his whole body goes rigid, white milk spurting from his cock. He lets out a high-pitched whine as it happens, his body tightening around Bob's cock and fuck, that's it, Bob bucks up into him, so tight and hot, orgasm burning through his veins until finally, fuck, he comes apart, shooting inside Ross and groaning into his skin.
He can't get enough air into his lungs and his arms are aching, but he feels fantastic. Ross is still draped over him, sloppy and boneless, his panting breaths hitting the side of Bob's neck. He rolls his head upright to shoot Bob a loose grin, his eyes dark and sleepy.
He makes a satisfied throaty noise and lets Bob ease him off, rolling onto his side on the bed and propping his head up on one arm, watching Bob with lazy eyes as he strips off the condom and disposes of it. Even freshly fucked and loose as he is, Bob can't help feeling self-conscious. His body's not made to be naked like Ross'. Ross' body, which is all long limbs and lean muscle and currently laid out across the bed like a centrefold, his stomach still slick with his own come.
Ross catches Bob by the wrist before he can go and fetch his boxers from the floor, and he lets himself be pulled onto the bed, Ross sticking his long legs out and dumping them across Bob's lap so he can't escape. Bob fights a grin and reaches for his cigarettes and lighter, which are just within reach on the floor. As usual, he offers one to Ross and as usual, Ross politely declines, but he watches Bob light up, blowing a cloud up at the ceiling.
"Fuck, I needed that." Bob's voice is raw, from the sex more than the smoke.
Ross grins and rolls closer, wiggling onto his back to look up at Bob. "The sex or the cigarette?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
"Both," Bob answers truthfully. "But mostly the sex." He shoots Ross a smile and Ross sends it back, teeth flashing white in the dim light.
Bob sticks the cigarette back in his mouth and reaches his hand down to tangle his wide fingers with Ross' long thin ones. "Missed you," he admits, keeping his voice soft and calling himself out as an idiot for saying it.
"Same," Ross responds, without even a moment's hesitation and something about the way he says it, Bob actually lets himself believe. Ross fidgets, rubbing his foot up and down Bob's calf absently. "How long are you in town for?" He looks hopeful, but Bob's probably just projecting.
"Just tonight. Back on the road tomorrow."
"Oh," Ross breathes, pulling Bob's hand closer and pressing on his fingernails, watching his skin turn white underneath.
"I'll probably be back this way in a couple of months, though. I'll book you in. Make a date."
"Oh, I won't..." Ross glances up briefly from Bob's hand before casting his eyes back down again. In the split second Bob sees his eyes, he looks desperately unsure. "I'm not gonna be taking bookings anymore."
"Oh right, you must be doing well then, all regulars." Bob tries to smile reassuringly but he doesn't have it in him. It's good news, he tells himself, if Ross only sees his usual guys then he'll be safer and better looked after.
"Oh, no, it's not that." Ross carefully lets go of Bob's hand. "I'm stopping. I'm not gonna do this anymore."
"Really?" Bob's voice comes out too high and he doesn't want to analyse the twinge in his chest at the words. Some kind of shaky hope, or disappointment, or sheer heartbreak, he can't tell.
"It was only supposed to be short term. And I have a thing, like another thing and I want to focus on it, properly. Give it a chance, you know?" Ross peers up at Bob from behind his hair, looking so young and worried, Bob's protective instinct kicks in hard.
"Is it a music thing?" Bob keeps the question vague, not wanting to pry, but he always figured Ross for a musician, what with the calluses on his hands and the way he runs his mouth like he can't shut up, every time they get on the subject of gigs, records and tours. When he found out Bob was an actual sound tech who went on actual tours with actual bands his face lit up like Christmas and he hasn't shut up about it since.
"It's a band," Ross answers in a rush, his voice excited like he's been waiting for Bob to ask that question forever. He rolls onto his stomach and shuffles closer to Bob, eyes all bright. "I don't want to jinx it but, I think, I think we're pretty good and if we just, you know, get our shit together and get tight and get heard, we could make it. Really make it."
It's nothing Bob hasn't heard before, from dozens of support acts and bands needing cheap demos and front of house. But Ross isn't laying that on him, he really believes it and Bob can get behind that. Besides, if Ross' taste in music is anything to go by, the kid's got a definite clue.
"That's awesome." The grin that crawls across Bob's face is genuine. "That's fucking great, Ross. Fuck. I'm really happy for you."
"Yeah?" There's a smile twitching at Ross' mouth but it's not sticking.
"Yeah, of course." Bob let's some his exasperation show in his voice and Ross makes a high pitched noise and grabs him in a bony hug. Bob loops his arms around Ross' back and holds on, feeling Ross' smile pressed into his neck.
"So this is our last booking then." Bob's fingers tighten on Ross' shoulders as the words leak out of him.
"Yeah." Ross drops a kiss behind Bob's ear and sits back, running a hand up and down Bob's leg. "It's my last booking, actually. I kind of stopped last week, but when I got your text... I figured, what the hell." Ross grins at him wide, but Bob doesn't quite get it.
"You figured...?" Bob repeats, blinking at Ross like that will somehow clarify things.
"Finish on a high note," Ross answers matter-of-factly, crawling back into Bob's lap and kissing him long and slow.
"A high... I'm sorry?" Bob's words come out wet and he can't fit the pieces together with Ross in his lap being all naked and warm and distracting.
Ross frowns and runs a finger down the crease between Bob's eyebrows. "It's just." He pushes out a breath, lip twisting like he can't find the words. "You're like, my favourite."
"Don't." Bob's voice comes out in a hot whisper as he reaches up to cup Ross' cheek, letting his thumb fall over the curve of his lips. "Don't do that. You don't have to feed me some bullshit line. I know how this works."
"Shut up!" Ross' mouth falls open and he stares at Bob like he's gone mad. "It's not bullshit, you asshole." The comment is accompanied by a weak punch to Bob's shoulder. "You think I'm like this with everyone? God, I'm good but I'm not that good."
"Ross-"
"No, shut up, okay? I didn't have to take this booking, but I wanted to. I wanted to, okay? Because it's our last one and you know what? You're fucking it up so stop it." He punctuates the statement with a shove to Bob's chest and Bob just has to sit there a moment and absorb all that. Because really, his favourite? He never let himself consider what Ross really thinks of him, because that's a fucking slippery slope. He doesn't even know exactly what favourite is supposed to mean, but it sounds... good.
"I'm sorry." It's the only response he can think of, but he's so unsure it comes out like a question.
"Don't be. Fuck, I'm probably crossing all kinds of lines by telling you this shit, but hey - who cares?" Ross quirks an eyebrow at Bob, his lips stretching into an easy smile and Bob gets it. It doesn't matter anymore, all the rules and worrying about other johns and Ross and whether he's safe. It's their last time and it just doesn't matter. It's a freeing and frightening thought.
Ross shifts in Bob's lap, wrapping his legs around Bob's back so their bodies are pressed up tight. "Now make it up to me."
He doesn't have to tell Bob twice. There's a growl in his throat when he takes Ross' mouth, biting down on his lip harder than he'd usually let himself. His hands cinch tight on Ross' upper arms, gripping until the flesh presses between his fingers, past the point where any other night he'd stop, but tonight is different, right? Tonight he can have everything he wouldn't usually let himself take and Ross is undulating in his arms, making the most delicious noises in his throat so Bob knows he's not complaining.
Ross pulls out of the kiss, sighing and sucking on his lips like he can still taste Bob on them. He slides down on the bed, pulling Bob with him until they're horizontal, Bob lying all over him and it's delicious, but Bob knows he's heavy and he doesn't want-
"Bob." Ross' voice is raw and throaty, breaking Bob's train of thought. "Promise me something."
Bob forces his head up from where he's gently worrying the skin of Ross' neck, paying as close attention as he can given the amount of naked Ross skin in his reach. "Yeah?"
"Just..." Ross rolls under him, the sensual slide of their bodies stealing Bob's breath. "Don't hold back on me tonight, okay?" Bob glances down at Ross, brows furrowing, but Ross just stares up at him, all fucked up hair and bedroom eyes as he explains. "Just do what you feel. I'll tell you if I don't want it." Ross' fingers dig into Bob's upper arms, hard enough to leave crescent shaped marks and pain ratchets Bob's heart rate up. He hisses in a harsh breath, the move dissolving his recovery time to nothing because fuck if he isn't getting hard again.
He can't find the words to tell Ross he knows what he's saying, so instead he latches his mouth to Ross' slender throat, letting his jaw clench and feeling the press of flesh against his teeth. Ross doesn't protest, just arches under him, one hand sliding into Bob's hair and holding his head there. The noise he makes is throaty and approving and it vibrates against Bob's mouth as he sucks on the skin, feeling it pull into his mouth.
Bob presses his teeth hard into Ross' flesh, biting down letting his teeth drag. Fuck, he hasn't heard that tenor of noise from Ross before. It's new, high and choked off, making his cock leak all over Ross' stomach as he bites and licks. He wants to hear it again. He wants to hear all of Ross' noises, see how many he can draw from his plump lips, feel them rumble against his skin.
Ross moans again, low and wet this time, arching up off the bed to latch his mouth to Bob's neck and suck, hard enough to bruise, making Bob find his own noises. Bob can feel his face growing pink, because that gargling groan was fucking loud and Bob doesn't make noises like that. Except that tonight he does, because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, he tells himself on repeat, because tonight's an exception. He doesn't have to follow the rules and hold himself in check. Tonight's anything he wants.
And right now he just wants Ross. Which is convenient because he's right there, red teeth marks livid on his neck from Bob's mouth and Bob can't help the shudder of feral possessiveness he gets at the sight.
He runs a finger over the crescent shaped mark, shiny from his wet mouth. "Looks good on you."
Ross' hum in agreement sounds like a purr. "Looks good on you, too." His fingers press lightly at Bob's neck; the dull ache under his finger tips tells Bob he's got a hickey there now.
He tilts his head to see but his neck doesn't bend that way. "I'll have to take your word for it." His smile is sheepish and Ross peers up at him from under his eyelashes, looking like sex. Bob's eyes can't stop dancing back down to the mouth mark on Ross' neck. He wants to make more of them. He wants to feel Ross' flesh between his teeth again.
Ross' arm drops down to the bedspread and he takes Bob's hand, scissoring their fingers. "So, what do you want to do now?"
Bob hums, leaning over to cover Ross' body with his own. He can feel Ross is already half hard again, his slender cock pressing into Bob's belly. "I was thinking we should fuck, maybe get some room service, fuck some more. That work for you?"
"Mmmm," Ross purrs, looping an arm around Bob's back and running the hard edge of his fingernail up and down Bob's spine. "Sounds like a hectic schedule."
"I'm good with hectic schedules." Bob's not lying either, his whole life is a hectic schedule.
"I bet," Ross agrees, rolling under him, and the slide of his warm skin against Bob's has nearly got him all the way hard again. "It's a good thing we've got all night."
"Yeah," Bob agrees, leaning down to take Ross' mouth again, letting his teeth drag over Ross' lips as he kisses him. As Ross writhes under him, moaning into Bob's mouth as he sucks on his tongue, Bob decides that's enough thinking for one night. Everything else can wait, right now he only has one thing to focus on and that's the man underneath him.
He'll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. Tonight he can have whatever he wants, and he plans to take it.
***
When Bob crawls back onto the bus in the morning, unslept and aching deliciously all over, Brian's the only one conscious. He's lumped out in front of the TV in the living area, not paying attention to the music videos flashing in front of him with a messy stack of paperwork in his lap. He glances over at Bob, eyes dragging up from his unlaced Chucks past his rumpled clothes to his sex hair.
"Good night then?" Brian isn't smiling, but Bob can tell he wants to.
"Not bad." Bob rubs a hand through his hair, re-plotting his course to the bunks to flop heavily onto the couch beside Brian, unsettling his stack of paperwork. He's probably too wired to sleep anyway.
Brian looks at him sideways, reaching up to tug on Bob's t-shirt, pulling the neck down far enough to expose the hickey Ross left on his neck, purpling and dark against his pale skin. Brian's mouth stretches into a grin. "Looks like it was a damn good night."
Bob elbows him and purposefully doesn't smile, but it takes effort.
"Don't worry, you're not the only one doing the walk of shame. Jeph hooked up with some stripper from club number three. I'm expecting him back any minute now." Brian's getting way too much enjoyment out of this, but Bob's still riding high from his night with Ross so he'll let it slide.
"A stripper huh? Fuck, Jeph always picks up."
"Hey, not all of us have a Vegas sure thing." Brian doesn't look up from shuffling his stack of paper back into order. Bob has no idea how he can concentrate on all that shit so early in the morning. He zones out, staring at some be-sparkled princess on the television who's been auto-tuned all to fuck and tries not to think about how Ross is so much prettier.
"You know, we're back this way in a few months. You can see Mister Vegas again." Brian chews on his pen, eyes not leaving the figures in front of him.
Suddenly Bob feels bone tired. His arms sink into the couch cushions like dead weights and he wants to be asleep right now. He drags himself up off the couch, picking his way around discarded shoes, empty bottles and various detritus, heading for the bunks.
"Bob?" Brian looks up, pen dangling from his mouth, concern etched between his eyes. "You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." Bob presses the heel of his hand to his forehead, like it could push out his own thoughts. "I'll be fine. 'Night Brian."
"Morning," Brian corrects, but he doesn't look back down at his paperwork until Bob's left the room.
Bob's own words run back through his head when he's stretched out on his bunk, trying to find sleep, still chasing the taste of Ross on his mouth. He will be fine, he figures, eventually.
But more importantly, so will Ross.
~end
dancinbutterfly!!! In honor of this wondrous day, here is some Jailbait Hooker Ryan and Sound Tech Bob porns. Sorry it's not a cookie cake.Title: How It Works
Fandom: My Chemical Romance / Panic! At The Disco (pre-split)
Pairing: Bob/Ryan
Rating: NC-17 for sex & some bruising
Length: 7, 354 words
Summary: Whenever a tour takes him within spitting distance of Vegas, Bob will make a booking with Ross.
Author's Notes: For the Prostitution square on my
kink_bingo card. Huge thanks to b_dsaint for the last minute beta. This fic belongs to dancinbutterfly with all my love.How It Works
They're twelve dates down on a twenty-five date tour by the time the band hit Vegas. Bob's had the show highlighted on his tour schedule from the day Brian shoved it in his hand. It's good to have something to look forward to; something to break up the endless rotation of travel, unload, bump in, knob twiddle, bump out, travel, repeat.
Privacy is impossible, so he makes his appointment via text message, disappointed that he has to miss out on hearing Ross' voice on the phone but it's better than risking a call that could be overheard or interrupted. He's already raised enough questions, opting out of the traditional post-gig bender, and there'll be more questions in the morning if he doesn’t get back before the guys regain consciousness.
It doesn't matter. It's not their business.
Brian's seen this disappearing act enough times to tease him endlessly about his 'Vegas bit on the side'. Bob doesn't worry about him knowing too much, though; the way Brian keeps referring to "she" and "her" shows just how little information he's working from.
Brian's probably the one person he would tell, if he was going to tell anyone. But it's pointless to talk about something that has no future. It's just something that he does, when he can, when he's in the right city. Something to look forward to. Or rather, someone.
At least, that's what he tells himself.
The night of the Vegas show, bump-out takes forever. Bob's trying to unpatch his sound bay and get his cables into some kind of order, which is difficult when he has Bert hanging off him, crowing in his ear about how he's letting the band down by blowing off their post-gig bar and strip club crawl. Bob pleads headache and exhaustion on repeat until Brian finally steps in.
"Leave him alone Bert, he's not coming. Now stop stepping all over his cables."
Bert grumbles and pulls a face, starting to build an argument until Jepha sticks his head out the dressing room door and announces that the support act didn't finish their rider. Bob sends a silent prayer of thanks to the gods of rock n' roll as Bert dives after the free alcohol like a hound on a scent.
Brian joins him at the sound bay, breaking Bob's number one rule by touching his gear, unplugging a cable and starting to coil it. "I can finish this up if you need to go."
Bob glances at his watch. If he leaves right now he will actually have time to shower and change into the one clean set of clothes he's been saving up for tonight. He hesitates for a long moment, the urgency to leave warring with his protectiveness of his gear. He casts an assessing eye over the cable Brian's got coiled in his hand; he's not doing too badly so far.
"You know what you're doing, right?" he asks, dropping a cable into the open road case beside him.
"Yeah, because I've never seen you do this before." Brian shakes his head and rolls his eyes. Such attitude would usually get Bob's back up, but he's in a hurry so he lets it slide and points at a road case.
"Cables in there, decks in their own cases, I'll be back in the morning."
Brian grins and adds another cable to the pile. "Don't keep her waiting."
"Him." Bob corrects, and a fleeting look of surprise crosses Brian's face before he settles into a wide grin.
"Have fun, then."
Bob doesn't bother to answer; he just hoofs it out of the venue.
***
Bobs signs into their usual hotel under their usual fake name (McCartney, Ross has a thing for the Beatles). He takes the key card the snooty uniformed girl hands him and tries not to grip it too tight. His fingers are damp and slippery on the surface as he slides it into the door slot on room 281.
First things first; before he even sits down he reaches for his wallet, counting out green bills into his hand. He doesn't have an envelope so he folds them into a gig flyer and places it on the bedside table. He shakes off the sleazy feeling it gives him. Ross is a professional, just like himself, and he's done enough free and underpaid jobs to know it's simple respect to keep the money side straight-forward and up front.
He dumps his backpack in the corner and slumps onto the bed to wait. He eyes the mini bar but dismisses the idea before it even forms. He was drunk off his head the first time he called Ross' number from the back of a local rag, splashed across a postage-stamp sized photo which was all hips and chest and a blur where the face should be. By the time the kid showed up at his hotel, his long legs clad in spray-on jeans and his floppy hair framing a face that screamed jailbait, Bob had sobered up enough to know it was a bad idea.
But the kid wouldn't leave, even when Bob offered him money; he just took the bills and said "You know I'm not gonna take this without giving something back. That's not how it works." Then he'd buried his face in Bob's neck and found that spot just under his ear with his tongue, the one that makes Bob unglue. When Bob had reached up to push him away, his hand got stuck clutching the kid's bony shoulder.
That was when Bob changed his tune from "go away" to "show me some ID". Because he might be a weak, pathetic loser, but he's not a criminal. Bob's no expert on Nevada driver's licenses but the card Ross showed him looked convincing, and even if he kept his name covered the photo matched and the birth date made him nineteen. That was the point when Bob stopped thinking so much. It was also the beginning of the closest thing he's had to a relationship in the last two years.
Bob tells himself it's because he's on the road a lot, the glamorous rock n' roll lifestyle isn't suited to real relationships, but all the internal pep talks in the world can't turn off the screaming reminders that he's just a john. Not that it stops him coming back every time he's within spitting distance of Nevada, even when he can't really afford it.
Tonight, he can afford it. Twelve dates into a twenty-five date tour with nothing to spend his money on but food and booze, and he's flush. He's booked Ross overnight.
The knock on the door he's been waiting for finally comes and Bob gets up. He wipes damp palms down the front of his pants and takes a deep breath before opening the door. Ross is standing in the hallway outside, looking relaxed, slouched and beautiful under the dim buzz of the fluorescents. Tight jeans cling all the way up his slender legs and sit low on his hips, giving the briefest glimpse of sharp hip bones. The t-shirt he's wearing is practically transparent and so sinfully tight Bob could count his ribs. He's wearing a hint of smoky eye makeup and his hair is longer than last time Bob saw him, light brown bangs hanging messy over his eyes.
The smile he gives Bob is completely unselfconscious and it goes all the way to his eyes. "Hey, you."
God, Bob's missed his voice. He fumbles out a hello, which twitches Ross's smile widen, before he bites his lip and swipes it with his tongue. Bob nearly dissolves at the sight, but he finds enough brain space to take a slow step back so he's not blocking the doorway. Ross scoots inside and latches an arm around Bob's neck, taking his mouth in a wet kiss before the door is even closed all the way.
It's good. Bob likes it this way and Ross knows that. He just gets straight into it, no negotiations, no listing the menu. No reminders of what this really is beyond the fold of bills in a flyer on the bedside table.
Bob slips his tongue into Ross' wet mouth, his hands sliding down Ross' back and around his sides until his thumbs are stroking gently over those protruding hip bones. Ross makes a little noise into his mouth and curls closer and Bob has to fight hard not to squeeze his fingers until Ross vocalizes again. To squeeze hard enough to leave marks. He wants to, he always wants to, but Ross isn't his and he can't put a mark on him. That's not how it works.
So he slides a hand down to grip Ross' ass instead, hauling him closer so their legs are scissored and he can feel Ross getting hard where they're crushed together. Bob's way ahead of him; he feels like he's been sporting wood for hours and he probably has. He rubs it up on Ross and the kid purrs and rubs back down, rolling his hips like a belly dancer and when Bob gasps out of the kiss Ross is staring at him, eyes slit and burning with his mouth all wet. Bob can't breathe.
"Missed you," Ross says, because he knows Bob needs to hear it and all the self recriminations in the world can't stop Bob's heart skipping over the words.
"Missed you, too." Bob doesn't even have to pretend sincerity because he really fucking has. He locks a hand in Ross's hair and pulls him in to devour his mouth again, shoving his other hand down the back of Ross' jeans and fuck he isn't wearing underwear. It's all smooth skin and Bob takes a handful, reminding himself to be gentle even as his hips rock forward to grind on Ross.
It's ridiculous that they're still upright at this point, but moving would require them separating and Bob's not ready to let go just yet. Ross' slender fingers slide under his t-shirt, nails scraping lightly over his chest as Ross sucks his tongue. Bob has to break the kiss and hold very still for just a moment, because they have all night and he's not gonna come in his pants like a teenager when Ross hasn't even made it two steps into the hotel room.
When he pries his eyes open, Ross is watching him, wearing a wicked smile. He presses one thumb into the centre of Bob's lower lip and it's not even a calculated thought when Bob slips his tongue out to swipe it, tasting salt. Ross' eyelids drop to half mast at the motion, his throat working as he sucks on his bottom lip and that is it. Bob only has so much self control. He half pushes, half carries Ross to the bed, slamming him down on his back like a wrestler. Musical laughter bubbles out of Ross' mouth and Bob can't help grinning, Ross looks so free and happy when he lets himself laugh, that little crease of concentration between his eyebrows vanishes and his whole face lights up.
Bob leans over on one elbow and smiles down at him, brushing an errant lock of hair off Ross' forehead. Ross arches up off the bed and takes Bob's mouth, snaking an arm around his back to pull him down so their bodies are flush, all Bob's weight on him. It feels delicious and Bob lets himself enjoy for just a minute before he rolls them onto their sides. Ross' so thin he could snap in half; he doesn't need Bob lying all over him.
Ross makes an exasperated noise that blows his hair up. "I'm not gonna break, you know."
"Shut up." Bob follows the command with a kiss before Ross can argue. Ross doesn't even try; he just kisses Bob back, wet and hungry, pushing him onto his back and climbing on top.
Ross does this body-slide thing that Bob's more than a little in love with, rubbing up and down on Bob so their chests and crotches drag and slide, and even through layers of clothing the sensation sets him alight. He makes an impatient noise and tugs on Ross' shirt. Ross shoots him a wicked smile and sits up, straddling Bob, and all that heat and weight on his dick makes it difficult to concentrate. Any last semblance of rational thought goes out the window when Ross strips off his shirt and tosses it to the floor.
Bob sits up, which jiggles Ross and makes him shift in his lap, the sensation equal parts distracting and distracting. Bob pushes down the urge to flip Ross over and just fuck him already, instead latching his mouth onto his neck, sliding his lips down over all that warm, smooth skin, licking and tasting. Ross smells really good. After living in the company of a touring band for weeks it's something Bob can appreciate, the subtle nudge of cologne in his nose and the salt of clean skin under his tongue.
His mouth quests downwards til he's nearly bent double, Ross tipped back in his lap, torso arched like some kind of soft core model and Bob's eyes are devouring him as his chin nudges the waistband of Ross' jeans. Fuck, he wants him naked. Now. He's such a sight, all that skin, lean planes of his chest, the soft dip inside his hipbones that leads down into his jeans. Bob's fingers are already working open the buttons of Ross' fly, because even though he's got every line of Ross' body committed to memory, he doesn't need to rely on that right now. He can have the real thing.
Ross shifts awkwardly and Bob realises vaguely that he's kicking off his shoes. The thought doesn't get a chance to stick because Ross' zipper gives, releasing his cock and Bob bends over so far his neck aches, pressing his face into the crease of Ross' groin and breathing deep. His tongue darts out, catching briefly at the base, and Ross gasps and twitches. Bob fights a grin and does it again, longer, slower, pressing his tongue flat on Ross' shaft and getting a throaty purr.
Bob's neck is starting to hurt from the awkward position, so he tilts his head up to get an eyeful of Ross, who stares down at him with narrowed eyes, biting hard on his lip and looking at Bob like he's some kind of sex god. It could be an act, but Bob shakes off that thought. He's getting better at not paying attention to that part of his brain when he's with Ross, but he still gets his doubts. But whichever way you slice it, Ross' cock is hard in his hand and he's twitching in Bob's lap like he can't get enough. Bob can take that at face value.
He straightens up and presses Ross back into the mattress, taking his mouth again and Ross kisses back that much more desperately now, all teeth and tongue and sucking lips. Bob loves it; he wants more. His fingers tighten around Ross' biceps and he wonders if he could get away with leaving just a small bruise. His fingers start to grip and dig in at the thought, but he stops short, reminding himself that he wouldn't want to see the mark of some other john on Ross, that it could be bad for business or get him hurt, and the idea loosens his fingers.
He turns his attention to Ross' jeans instead, peeling them down those long, long legs and grunting with annoyance when they get tangled around his feet. Ross just giggles at him and kicks them off, nearly braining Bob with a flailing leg and he doesn't even apologise.
"Hey!" Bob protests, but Ross just smirks at him, crawling over to settle in his lap all naked warm skin and Bob immediately forgives him. He takes his mouth hungrily, sinking fingers into Ross' hair which must be freshly washed because it feels so soft. Ross purrs into his mouth and grinds down on him, rubbing hard denim down onto Bob's dick and making him groan deep in his throat.
Ross pulls up Bob's shirt at the back, cool air flushing goosebumps up him and he raises his arms so Ross can get it off. Ross immediately dives on the bared skin, stroking hands and lips over Bob's chest. Bob tilts his head back and closes his eyes, wanting to feel it without having to see all his own too pale, too soft flesh; one more reminder of why he has to pay Ross to fuck him.
Ross bites him on the chest, startling Bob enough to look down and catch his gleeful grin before he fixes his attention lower and starts unbuckling Bob's belt. Bob has to suck in a long breath when Ross gets the buttons open and grips Bob's cock through the damp material of his boxers. Ross shifts his hand, stroking, and the rub of the material against his screaming skin has Bob panting into Ross' neck.
The pants turn into guttural groans when Ross gets his hand inside Bob's underwear, shoving Bob onto his back and crawling down his body. Bob nearly chokes on his own tongue when Ross' mouth finds him, hot breath followed by warm, wet suction. Ross sucks him, lips pressing all the way down to the root and Bob does choke then, somehow breathing in his own spit and having to hack it up again.
Ross pulls off and eyes him with a smirk that makes him look way too young. "Don't die. We haven't fucked."
Bob coughs again, his face burning and not just from the lack of oxygen. "Fuck you." He barely gets the words out and finishes his fit, panting and wiping his eyes. "So I should reschedule my death 'til later then?"
"If you wouldn't mind." Ross' voice comes out deeper than usual, the comment followed with a swift lick of his tongue up Bob's cock. "Because now would be inconvenient."
Bob tries to think up a suitable response, but his mind is still saturated with naked Ross and cocksucking so all that comes out is strangled noise when Ross sinks his mouth over Bob's dick again. Fuck, he can deepthroat like it's nothing and while Bob isn't all about the porno sex he'd be a damn liar if he said he didn't get off on it so fucking hard. He ploughs a hand into Ross' hair, holding on but not guiding, watching Ross' eyes flutter as he works, listening to his deep nasal breaths.
When he feels the heat building, his balls drawing up under the gentle stroke of Ross' fingers, he catches Ross' face in his hands.
"Wait. Not yet." Ross pulls off at Bob's words, looking up at him, his mouth wet and used and panting. "Want to fuck you." Bob chokes the words out as Ross wraps his hand low and tight around Bob's base, keeping him safely on the edge.
He presses a kiss to Bob's thigh before pushing himself onto his knees, snatching his discarded jeans from the floor and pulling a condom and a sachet of lube from the front pocket.
He doesn't ask Bob how he wants it; he just rolls onto his back and spreads his legs. Bob can feel himself flushing pink right up his chest, neck and face as he watches Ross prepare himself, equal parts tease and torture. Bob notices, not for the first time, just how long and slender Ross' fingers are as he makes them shiny with lube. He has to reach down and grab his cock when Ross hitches his legs up, displaying his ass and the pornography of Ross sliding two fingers inside himself has Bob pulsing in his hand.
Ross watches him while he does it, eyes dancing warm all over Bob like Bob sitting there holding onto his throbbing dick and staring at Ross is the hottest thing to see. Bob knows the show he's getting is so much better, Ross' hand twisting inside himself, his fingers scissoring and stretching as he moans, twitching, grabbing his dick. Ross adds a third finger and it makes him arch, his eyes falling shut as his body twists on the sheets. The tip of his dick is wet now, Bob can see the leaking precome and fuck he wants to taste it, he's so hungry for everything and he wants more.
Ross tosses him the condom and Bob struggles to get it open with fumbling, lust-drunk fingers. Fuck, he's so close, so ready for the next part and it's criminal how complicated this is. He manages to roll it over his dick on the second try and he's barely got it on before Ross is in his lap again, kissing him hard and pushing his tongue into Bob's mouth.
"Fuck, it's been too long. It's been too long," Ross keeps muttering, soft and distracted into Bob's lips like he doesn't even realise he's talking. He's right though, it's been way too long.
Bob slides a hand down Ross' back, grabbing his ass and letting his fingers slip down between his cheeks to press against his opening, all slick and ready for him. Ross moans against his mouth and pushes back on Bob's fingers, every motion wanton, begging, and Bob has to bite down on Ross' lip, gently, gently he reminds himself, he can't mark him but fuck, he wants to.
When Ross leans out of the kiss he's smiling at Bob, his lower lip red and swollen, his panting breaths pushing over Bob's face and he smells like sex. Bob's breath comes out of him in a rush and he leans his head forward to rest against Ross'. He's so turned on he feels dizzy with it, his heart pounding fast and hard, blood screaming through him.
That's it, he can't wait any longer. He grabs Ross around the waist and tries to turn him so his ass is in range, but Ross is off balance and he topples sideways with an undignified yelp.
"What was that for?" Ross shrieks, fighting a manic smile as he pushes himself upright again, all awkward bony limbs and rumpled hair. He starts to crawl back into Bob's lap but he's angling the wrong way again.
"No, this way," Bob grumbles, scooping an arm around Ross' waist and turning him with firm hands so he's in Bob's lap but facing away. Bob's cock brushes the curve of Ross' ass and he wilts in Bob's arms, leaning his head back to rest on Bob's shoulder.
"Oh, like that," he purrs, "I like that." Ross rolls his body against Bob's and Bob likes that. He likes that a lot.
He firms his hands on Ross's waist, shooting him a careful look to make sure Ross is paying attention this time and he's not going to tip over. Ross gives him a small smile and tucks his face into Bob's neck, sighing as Bob’s hands tighten on his hips and lift, settling him over Bob's cock. Ross reaches a hand back between them, stealing Bob's breath when his fingers find Bob's dick, lining him up. He twists his head awkwardly to meet Bob's eyes as he lowers himself down and Bob gets stuck looking at his open mouth, his lips all lax and wet, the needy look on his face, the way his eyes narrow as he takes Bob in, all of him in one slow motion right to the root, fuck. It's mindblowing.
Ross stays still for a long moment, his slight chest shifting with deep breaths, his head rolled back on Bob's shoulder. Bob presses a kiss to his collar bone, his own breathing coming hard, fighting the urge to buck up under Ross and get moving already.
Ross breaks the stillness first, pushing up on his knees and Bob grasps his waist, helping him to steady and lift. The slide as he sinks back down again tears a moan out of them both and Bob presses his face into Ross' neck, letting his teeth graze the soft flesh there as his breath rushes hot onto Ross' skin.
It feels sublime, but that's no surprise, it always does. He firms his grip on Ross' waist and sets a slow rhythm that Ross rides out with him. Ross' skin is slick with sweat and he groans and goes lax every time Bob bottoms out. For a while, it's enough. It's enough to just move inside Ross, breathe him in and taste his skin.
Bob forces his eyes open, tracing his gaze down the line of Ross' neck, over the jut of his Adam's apple and down his chest, down over his arching ribs and his shifting stomach to the hard line of his cock, swaying with their motions. It's criminal that it's still untouched, but Bob's not sure he can hold Ross up one-handed, even if he weighs practically nothing.
"You should touch yourself," he tells Ross, the words coming out ragged into the soft skin of Ross' neck as Bob lifts and slides again.
Ross groans deep, the sound vibrating through him. He sucks his lower lip into his mouth, eyes half closed as his hand moves to grip himself. He hisses out a breath and starts to jack slowly, keeping in step with Bob's frustrating slow pace, eyes fluttering as he watches Bob watching him.
Between the view and the tight squeeze of Ross' ass around his cock Bob might white out, but it's still not enough, he's greedy and the frustration of not being able to move, to really let go and pound into Ross is getting to him.
Seems it's getting to Ross, too. "Bob, come on. Faster." He hitches up his hips, encouraging, and Bob adopts the new pace without even thinking. It's better, fuck, so much better, and when Ross rolls his head to the side and finds that spot under Bob's ear with his tongue, Bob just lets go.
He bucks up off the bed, his grip on Ross' waist tight, feeling the burn in his arms as he lifts and guides him on his cock, faster, harder. Ross lets out a moan on each thrust, twitching and writhing in Bob's lap and his hand never stops moving on his cock. Bob buries his face in Ross' neck, tasting his skin and watching Ross' jerking hand, wanting to see him come, fuck, he must be close. With the way he's breathing and his hand is pretty much a blur, his hips shoving up into it as Bob pushes up inside him.
Bob rests his teeth against the line of Ross' shoulder, keeping his jaw loose so he can't bite down can't leave a mark, no can't leave a mark. Ross bucks down against him, releasing a strangled groan, pumping his hand.
"Bob, shit. Shitshitshit." Ross' voice is desperate.
"Come on," Bob growls, shoving his hips up harder, wanting, needing to see it happen. And it does, Ross lets out a choked noise, his head thumping back on Bob's shoulder as his whole body goes rigid, white milk spurting from his cock. He lets out a high-pitched whine as it happens, his body tightening around Bob's cock and fuck, that's it, Bob bucks up into him, so tight and hot, orgasm burning through his veins until finally, fuck, he comes apart, shooting inside Ross and groaning into his skin.
He can't get enough air into his lungs and his arms are aching, but he feels fantastic. Ross is still draped over him, sloppy and boneless, his panting breaths hitting the side of Bob's neck. He rolls his head upright to shoot Bob a loose grin, his eyes dark and sleepy.
He makes a satisfied throaty noise and lets Bob ease him off, rolling onto his side on the bed and propping his head up on one arm, watching Bob with lazy eyes as he strips off the condom and disposes of it. Even freshly fucked and loose as he is, Bob can't help feeling self-conscious. His body's not made to be naked like Ross'. Ross' body, which is all long limbs and lean muscle and currently laid out across the bed like a centrefold, his stomach still slick with his own come.
Ross catches Bob by the wrist before he can go and fetch his boxers from the floor, and he lets himself be pulled onto the bed, Ross sticking his long legs out and dumping them across Bob's lap so he can't escape. Bob fights a grin and reaches for his cigarettes and lighter, which are just within reach on the floor. As usual, he offers one to Ross and as usual, Ross politely declines, but he watches Bob light up, blowing a cloud up at the ceiling.
"Fuck, I needed that." Bob's voice is raw, from the sex more than the smoke.
Ross grins and rolls closer, wiggling onto his back to look up at Bob. "The sex or the cigarette?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
"Both," Bob answers truthfully. "But mostly the sex." He shoots Ross a smile and Ross sends it back, teeth flashing white in the dim light.
Bob sticks the cigarette back in his mouth and reaches his hand down to tangle his wide fingers with Ross' long thin ones. "Missed you," he admits, keeping his voice soft and calling himself out as an idiot for saying it.
"Same," Ross responds, without even a moment's hesitation and something about the way he says it, Bob actually lets himself believe. Ross fidgets, rubbing his foot up and down Bob's calf absently. "How long are you in town for?" He looks hopeful, but Bob's probably just projecting.
"Just tonight. Back on the road tomorrow."
"Oh," Ross breathes, pulling Bob's hand closer and pressing on his fingernails, watching his skin turn white underneath.
"I'll probably be back this way in a couple of months, though. I'll book you in. Make a date."
"Oh, I won't..." Ross glances up briefly from Bob's hand before casting his eyes back down again. In the split second Bob sees his eyes, he looks desperately unsure. "I'm not gonna be taking bookings anymore."
"Oh right, you must be doing well then, all regulars." Bob tries to smile reassuringly but he doesn't have it in him. It's good news, he tells himself, if Ross only sees his usual guys then he'll be safer and better looked after.
"Oh, no, it's not that." Ross carefully lets go of Bob's hand. "I'm stopping. I'm not gonna do this anymore."
"Really?" Bob's voice comes out too high and he doesn't want to analyse the twinge in his chest at the words. Some kind of shaky hope, or disappointment, or sheer heartbreak, he can't tell.
"It was only supposed to be short term. And I have a thing, like another thing and I want to focus on it, properly. Give it a chance, you know?" Ross peers up at Bob from behind his hair, looking so young and worried, Bob's protective instinct kicks in hard.
"Is it a music thing?" Bob keeps the question vague, not wanting to pry, but he always figured Ross for a musician, what with the calluses on his hands and the way he runs his mouth like he can't shut up, every time they get on the subject of gigs, records and tours. When he found out Bob was an actual sound tech who went on actual tours with actual bands his face lit up like Christmas and he hasn't shut up about it since.
"It's a band," Ross answers in a rush, his voice excited like he's been waiting for Bob to ask that question forever. He rolls onto his stomach and shuffles closer to Bob, eyes all bright. "I don't want to jinx it but, I think, I think we're pretty good and if we just, you know, get our shit together and get tight and get heard, we could make it. Really make it."
It's nothing Bob hasn't heard before, from dozens of support acts and bands needing cheap demos and front of house. But Ross isn't laying that on him, he really believes it and Bob can get behind that. Besides, if Ross' taste in music is anything to go by, the kid's got a definite clue.
"That's awesome." The grin that crawls across Bob's face is genuine. "That's fucking great, Ross. Fuck. I'm really happy for you."
"Yeah?" There's a smile twitching at Ross' mouth but it's not sticking.
"Yeah, of course." Bob let's some his exasperation show in his voice and Ross makes a high pitched noise and grabs him in a bony hug. Bob loops his arms around Ross' back and holds on, feeling Ross' smile pressed into his neck.
"So this is our last booking then." Bob's fingers tighten on Ross' shoulders as the words leak out of him.
"Yeah." Ross drops a kiss behind Bob's ear and sits back, running a hand up and down Bob's leg. "It's my last booking, actually. I kind of stopped last week, but when I got your text... I figured, what the hell." Ross grins at him wide, but Bob doesn't quite get it.
"You figured...?" Bob repeats, blinking at Ross like that will somehow clarify things.
"Finish on a high note," Ross answers matter-of-factly, crawling back into Bob's lap and kissing him long and slow.
"A high... I'm sorry?" Bob's words come out wet and he can't fit the pieces together with Ross in his lap being all naked and warm and distracting.
Ross frowns and runs a finger down the crease between Bob's eyebrows. "It's just." He pushes out a breath, lip twisting like he can't find the words. "You're like, my favourite."
"Don't." Bob's voice comes out in a hot whisper as he reaches up to cup Ross' cheek, letting his thumb fall over the curve of his lips. "Don't do that. You don't have to feed me some bullshit line. I know how this works."
"Shut up!" Ross' mouth falls open and he stares at Bob like he's gone mad. "It's not bullshit, you asshole." The comment is accompanied by a weak punch to Bob's shoulder. "You think I'm like this with everyone? God, I'm good but I'm not that good."
"Ross-"
"No, shut up, okay? I didn't have to take this booking, but I wanted to. I wanted to, okay? Because it's our last one and you know what? You're fucking it up so stop it." He punctuates the statement with a shove to Bob's chest and Bob just has to sit there a moment and absorb all that. Because really, his favourite? He never let himself consider what Ross really thinks of him, because that's a fucking slippery slope. He doesn't even know exactly what favourite is supposed to mean, but it sounds... good.
"I'm sorry." It's the only response he can think of, but he's so unsure it comes out like a question.
"Don't be. Fuck, I'm probably crossing all kinds of lines by telling you this shit, but hey - who cares?" Ross quirks an eyebrow at Bob, his lips stretching into an easy smile and Bob gets it. It doesn't matter anymore, all the rules and worrying about other johns and Ross and whether he's safe. It's their last time and it just doesn't matter. It's a freeing and frightening thought.
Ross shifts in Bob's lap, wrapping his legs around Bob's back so their bodies are pressed up tight. "Now make it up to me."
He doesn't have to tell Bob twice. There's a growl in his throat when he takes Ross' mouth, biting down on his lip harder than he'd usually let himself. His hands cinch tight on Ross' upper arms, gripping until the flesh presses between his fingers, past the point where any other night he'd stop, but tonight is different, right? Tonight he can have everything he wouldn't usually let himself take and Ross is undulating in his arms, making the most delicious noises in his throat so Bob knows he's not complaining.
Ross pulls out of the kiss, sighing and sucking on his lips like he can still taste Bob on them. He slides down on the bed, pulling Bob with him until they're horizontal, Bob lying all over him and it's delicious, but Bob knows he's heavy and he doesn't want-
"Bob." Ross' voice is raw and throaty, breaking Bob's train of thought. "Promise me something."
Bob forces his head up from where he's gently worrying the skin of Ross' neck, paying as close attention as he can given the amount of naked Ross skin in his reach. "Yeah?"
"Just..." Ross rolls under him, the sensual slide of their bodies stealing Bob's breath. "Don't hold back on me tonight, okay?" Bob glances down at Ross, brows furrowing, but Ross just stares up at him, all fucked up hair and bedroom eyes as he explains. "Just do what you feel. I'll tell you if I don't want it." Ross' fingers dig into Bob's upper arms, hard enough to leave crescent shaped marks and pain ratchets Bob's heart rate up. He hisses in a harsh breath, the move dissolving his recovery time to nothing because fuck if he isn't getting hard again.
He can't find the words to tell Ross he knows what he's saying, so instead he latches his mouth to Ross' slender throat, letting his jaw clench and feeling the press of flesh against his teeth. Ross doesn't protest, just arches under him, one hand sliding into Bob's hair and holding his head there. The noise he makes is throaty and approving and it vibrates against Bob's mouth as he sucks on the skin, feeling it pull into his mouth.
Bob presses his teeth hard into Ross' flesh, biting down letting his teeth drag. Fuck, he hasn't heard that tenor of noise from Ross before. It's new, high and choked off, making his cock leak all over Ross' stomach as he bites and licks. He wants to hear it again. He wants to hear all of Ross' noises, see how many he can draw from his plump lips, feel them rumble against his skin.
Ross moans again, low and wet this time, arching up off the bed to latch his mouth to Bob's neck and suck, hard enough to bruise, making Bob find his own noises. Bob can feel his face growing pink, because that gargling groan was fucking loud and Bob doesn't make noises like that. Except that tonight he does, because it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, he tells himself on repeat, because tonight's an exception. He doesn't have to follow the rules and hold himself in check. Tonight's anything he wants.
And right now he just wants Ross. Which is convenient because he's right there, red teeth marks livid on his neck from Bob's mouth and Bob can't help the shudder of feral possessiveness he gets at the sight.
He runs a finger over the crescent shaped mark, shiny from his wet mouth. "Looks good on you."
Ross' hum in agreement sounds like a purr. "Looks good on you, too." His fingers press lightly at Bob's neck; the dull ache under his finger tips tells Bob he's got a hickey there now.
He tilts his head to see but his neck doesn't bend that way. "I'll have to take your word for it." His smile is sheepish and Ross peers up at him from under his eyelashes, looking like sex. Bob's eyes can't stop dancing back down to the mouth mark on Ross' neck. He wants to make more of them. He wants to feel Ross' flesh between his teeth again.
Ross' arm drops down to the bedspread and he takes Bob's hand, scissoring their fingers. "So, what do you want to do now?"
Bob hums, leaning over to cover Ross' body with his own. He can feel Ross is already half hard again, his slender cock pressing into Bob's belly. "I was thinking we should fuck, maybe get some room service, fuck some more. That work for you?"
"Mmmm," Ross purrs, looping an arm around Bob's back and running the hard edge of his fingernail up and down Bob's spine. "Sounds like a hectic schedule."
"I'm good with hectic schedules." Bob's not lying either, his whole life is a hectic schedule.
"I bet," Ross agrees, rolling under him, and the slide of his warm skin against Bob's has nearly got him all the way hard again. "It's a good thing we've got all night."
"Yeah," Bob agrees, leaning down to take Ross' mouth again, letting his teeth drag over Ross' lips as he kisses him. As Ross writhes under him, moaning into Bob's mouth as he sucks on his tongue, Bob decides that's enough thinking for one night. Everything else can wait, right now he only has one thing to focus on and that's the man underneath him.
He'll deal with tomorrow, tomorrow. Tonight he can have whatever he wants, and he plans to take it.
***
When Bob crawls back onto the bus in the morning, unslept and aching deliciously all over, Brian's the only one conscious. He's lumped out in front of the TV in the living area, not paying attention to the music videos flashing in front of him with a messy stack of paperwork in his lap. He glances over at Bob, eyes dragging up from his unlaced Chucks past his rumpled clothes to his sex hair.
"Good night then?" Brian isn't smiling, but Bob can tell he wants to.
"Not bad." Bob rubs a hand through his hair, re-plotting his course to the bunks to flop heavily onto the couch beside Brian, unsettling his stack of paperwork. He's probably too wired to sleep anyway.
Brian looks at him sideways, reaching up to tug on Bob's t-shirt, pulling the neck down far enough to expose the hickey Ross left on his neck, purpling and dark against his pale skin. Brian's mouth stretches into a grin. "Looks like it was a damn good night."
Bob elbows him and purposefully doesn't smile, but it takes effort.
"Don't worry, you're not the only one doing the walk of shame. Jeph hooked up with some stripper from club number three. I'm expecting him back any minute now." Brian's getting way too much enjoyment out of this, but Bob's still riding high from his night with Ross so he'll let it slide.
"A stripper huh? Fuck, Jeph always picks up."
"Hey, not all of us have a Vegas sure thing." Brian doesn't look up from shuffling his stack of paper back into order. Bob has no idea how he can concentrate on all that shit so early in the morning. He zones out, staring at some be-sparkled princess on the television who's been auto-tuned all to fuck and tries not to think about how Ross is so much prettier.
"You know, we're back this way in a few months. You can see Mister Vegas again." Brian chews on his pen, eyes not leaving the figures in front of him.
Suddenly Bob feels bone tired. His arms sink into the couch cushions like dead weights and he wants to be asleep right now. He drags himself up off the couch, picking his way around discarded shoes, empty bottles and various detritus, heading for the bunks.
"Bob?" Brian looks up, pen dangling from his mouth, concern etched between his eyes. "You alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine." Bob presses the heel of his hand to his forehead, like it could push out his own thoughts. "I'll be fine. 'Night Brian."
"Morning," Brian corrects, but he doesn't look back down at his paperwork until Bob's left the room.
Bob's own words run back through his head when he's stretched out on his bunk, trying to find sleep, still chasing the taste of Ross on his mouth. He will be fine, he figures, eventually.
But more importantly, so will Ross.
~end