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Fic: In Production (4/7)
Master Post | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7
Previous
***
The wrap party is held at a fancy venue overlooking the water down at the Marina Mirage. It’s huge and already packed by the time Gerard and Mikey show up, Gerard stubbornly sporting his waistcoat-and-tie outfit despite Mikey’s ribbing. The open bar has got the crew bubbling already; everywhere Gerard looks there are congratulatory back pats and messy smiles. It’s going to be a big night for a lot of these guys. The bulk of the crew won't be going on to post production in LA, so this is their last hurrah.
Fueled by alcohol, the number of names on the whiteboard will likely triple before the night is over.
Ray spots him immediately, dragging him into a hug and pulling Gerard into his circle of camera crew. It’s the first of endless conversations about how great the film is, how wonderful it looks, sounds and feels; how it'll set the world on fire. Gerard knows better than to take it all to heart, but the words still buoy his spirits, filling him with an intense elation and excitement.
He feeds all this good feeling back to the gathered crew when he makes his thank you speech, dragging the key cast up with him and forcing the microphone onto each of them to say their part. He hasn't got words enough to say thanks to the glowing faces beneath him, but he does his best, pouring out his gratitude before he throws to the gag reel Bob and Spencer have put together.
The room breaks into raucous laughter as they watch the assembled line fluffs, slip ups and trips, interspersed with shots of the crew looking sheepish and shy. He’s in there, of course, waving vaguely at the camera and pulling a face. There is even footage of Bob and Spencer, Ray’s hand forcing the edit room door open and Bob trying to wave him away. When Brian’s face fills the screen, pointing at the camera and smiling wide, Gerard’s heart skips a little.
He hasn’t seen Brian yet tonight. He’s not surprised to discover that he wants to, and maybe it’s just the incredible mood of the night, the celebratory elation that’s flowing through the room as steadily as the alcohol behind the bar. Or maybe it’s just Bob’s single-word advice he's listening to, when he embraces the impulse and decides to seek Brian out.
It takes a while to disentangle from the grinning cast members once the reel ends, pressing through hazy-eyed smiles and sloppy laughter, scanning the crowd for Brian. It got late fast. The dance floor is packed, which undoubtedly means most people are at least tipsy, but probably more pushing drunk. The smell of liquor is ripe in the room and it wrinkles Gerard’s nose. He’s not even a little bit tempted to swap his diet coke for something harder. He doesn’t need it. He feels fucking invincible.
Frank appears like a ninja, grabbing him around the neck and spinning him in a circle. He smells like beer but his eyes are clear and sharp, crinkled at the corners with his enormous grin. He slaps Gerard in the chest and demands, "Smoke with me," snaring Gerard’s wrist and dragging him outside to the long patio overlooking the marina.
It’s a random collection of revelers scattered around outside. The smokers are huddled down one end, plus a few of the more seasoned crew members who are just looking for an escape from the bass-thumping music inside, with the odd amorous couple hiding in the darker corners. Gerard’s mentally adding names to the whiteboard already, the most notable of which is his own brother and Alicia who, while not involved in any tongue hockey, are standing far too close for a polite chat.
Well, good on Mikey. Gerard always thought Alicia was pretty all right.
"It’s gonna look beautiful," Frank says, leaning of the railing and breathing out smoke. "The film, I mean."
"That’s all you, Frank, you and Ray," Gerard admits, lighting his own Marlboro and sucking in smoke.
"There’s no point making it look good if no one wants to watch it." Frank has a point. "I know a lot of people are gonna write it off as just another comic book movie, but it isn’t, Gee." He turns away from whatever he was looking at, fixing his eyes on Gerard. "It’s better. So thanks." He sticks out a hand and shakes vigorously when Gerard grips it. "It’s nice to be on a good one for a change."
Gerard has no idea what to say to that. Frank’s honesty is more affecting than all the back slaps and smiles he’s been getting tonight. Before he has a chance to form an answer, Frank's already crushing out his cigarette into an ashtray and pressing past him and back inside, muttering something about not leaving his fiancée unattended for too long.
Gerard gives his shoulder a squeeze as he passes and leans back on the railing, fighting down a heady bubble of euphoria. He finishes his cigarette slowly, glad for the moment of almost-peace.
"You got a light?" A body slides in beside him, leaning on the railing and when Gerard turns his head to find Brian smiling at him and waving an unlit cigarette he smiles right back, reaching for his lighter.
"I was about to go looking for you," Gerard admits, as he leans forward to light Brian’s cigarette.
"Sure you were." Brian’s grin is wry around his cigarette as he inhales.
"No, really. I can’t believe I haven’t seen you yet tonight."
"I can," Brian states on an outward breath, "There’s a lot of people wanting to talk to you tonight, Gerard, and I know I’m not your favorite person."
Gerard’s conscience twinges at the last comment. He hasn't been as good at distancing himself from Brian without it coming of stand-offish as he thought. "That’s not true," he argues, eyes flicking to the ground and back up again, cataloguing every inch of the stuntman on the return journey and fuck, he looks gorgeous tonight. Nothing over the top, just neat jeans and motorcycle boots with an industrial-style dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, but the overall effect is mouthwatering. His hair’s shiny and spiked, his skin fresh and clean shaven and Gerard knows he’s staring.
"Isn’t it?" Brian challenges, quirking an eyebrow. "So what, I am your favorite then?"
"Of course," Gerard bluffs, with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He can always hide the truth under a joke, right?
Brian picks up on it though, somehow seeing more than he should. It’s probably in the twitch of Gerard’s brow, the tremor in his lips.
"You know you are the king of mixed signals, Gerard." He says it with a headshake, still keeping some semblance of the conversation being light and shallow.
Gerard’s heart trips, pulse racing, but he holds tight to that one word relax, Bob’s voice echoing in his head. "I didn’t realize you were paying attention to my signals." Jesus Christ is he flirting?
"Well you certainly aren’t. You kind of suck at this." Brian cracks a smile, and somewhere in Gerard’s head there’s an alarm going off. This is the point where he should pull away. This is when he needs to look for Mikey, or go to the bar, or find the restroom. That's how it works. This is the part where he should withdraw, like he always does.
Except tonight he doesn’t want to.
"What is this?" he asks, trying to ignore the way his heart’s beating in his ears. He can tell Brian’s surprised by the question, and that he’s still here to ask it.
"What do you want it to be?" As always, Brian gets straight to the point, but Gerard doesn’t know the answer. A fling, a showmance, a one night stand? Friends who fuck? Two professionals working together who happen to be dating? Fuck, he doesn’t know, he doesn’t want to know, he doesn’t want to think, he just wants to do.
"Brian." The name drops from his mouth before he knows what words to put after it. Relax. Relax. Relax. is chanting through his head on repeat, but it’s not working. He can’t get enough air into his lungs.
Brian just looks at him, waiting, displaying a calm patience that would rival Bob’s. He’s not going to move first. If Gerard wants this, he has to be the one to do it. So he does.
He takes a tiny step toward Brian, leaning close and he nearly faints with relief when Brian moves in to meet him halfway. The kiss starts hesitant, a gentle press of lips, until Brian’s hand finds the back of his head, guiding him closer. Gerard has to swallow a moan as the kiss deepens, his mouth softening to let Brian’s tongue find his, sinking into it, the warm liquid rush of arousal soaking down his limbs.
He can’t fathom why he ran from this; why he fought so hard to keep it from happening. His hands flutter up to rest on Brian’s shoulders, warm hard heat under his fingers, Brian’s mouth on his, moving and sucking. His arms slide up to lock around Brian’s neck, his body easing closer until they’re pressed chest to chest. The hand in Gerard’s hair tightens and there’s a warm grip on his waist, pulling him in tighter. Their bodies fit together like they’re part of some larger plan and Gerard just loses himself in the feel of Brian’s lips, the stroke of his tongue, the tug of fingers in his hair.
They stumble backwards, the railing hitting hard against Gerard’s spine but it barely registers above the blood rush in his ears, the hot press of Brian’s body against his; so, so good. It’s like someone opened the floodgates on his desire and now he can’t switch it off, he’s drowning in it. Brian’s keeping him afloat though, firm lips, press of his tongue, hard grip of his fingers keeping Gerard upright.
He scrambles an arm behind him to keep from stumbling, bumping something hard and light off the railing – the ashtray. If fate had any decency it would fall over the edge, splash into the marina, lost and quiet. Gerard’s not that lucky; it falls inwards, landing on the hard floor with a loud clatter, startling both he and Brian and anyone in their immediate vicinity.
Survival instinct kicks in and Gerard leaps backwards, smashing his hip on the railing with a blossom of pain as his, already escalated, heartbeat multiplies. Fuck. Fuck. He just can’t do things by halves, can he? If he’s going to fall off the fucking set romance wagon he’s got to do it at the fucking wrap party, in front of half a dozen production staff and enough various department members that the news will be well circulated by the end of the night.
He can barely bring himself to look at Brian, see those wet, swollen lips, the hazy eyes watching him. Waiting to see how Gerard will react.
His first instinct is to run, get out, disappear. He knows instantly that’s no option; flouncing off now won't erase anyone’s memory of what they’ve just seen. His name's going to be on the whiteboard, on the fucking whiteboard, after all this time.
In the end he does the only thing he can do; he swallows down his panic and shoots a withering glare in a wide arc, like a scatterbomb. A clear "none of your fucking business" look.
And then he runs. Or rather, stumbles on uncooperative feet back through the venue, out through the throngs of people loitering by the front doors, until he reaches the quiet of the parking lot.
Being outside in the relative silence, the venue noise dropped to a low hum, makes his own screaming thoughts that much louder. Loudest of all is simply the word stupid repeated ad infinitum. He leans his hands on the hood of a nearby car, feeling the cool metal beneath his fingers, trying to force the mess of self recrimination down.
He could just walk out to the street, flag a cab and go home. Just leave. Walk away from it all. Except it would be waiting for him the second he stepped back into the production office. And as much as he wants to run from this, the film is too much, he can’t sacrifice it.
His shoes grind on the blacktop, starting to turn, feet ready to take him back into the fray, to face the goddamn music.
He doesn’t get to take a step before Brian’s on him, a full body slam that flattens Gerard back against the door of the car, mouth coming down on his, hard and firm and so perfect Gerard’s trembling from it. He kisses back without thought, sinking into it, grabbing desperately at Brian’s back, waist, ass, just needing to hang on to him. It’s far less gentle than their first hesitant kiss; Brian’s going in like he knows he’s welcome, taking a handful of Gerard’s hair and another of his ass, shoving their bodies together and groaning into Gerard’s mouth.
Fuck, if Gerard isn’t going to white-out from it. It feels like his whole body is sizzling against the cool night air, and everywhere Brian’s touching him is prickling with sweat. He can’t help rocking his hips up against Brian’s, getting an answering shove back as Brian grinds him into the car. He squirms, rubbing himself mindlessly against Brian, hopelessly lost in the rough rasp of Brian’s tongue, hard press of his body, hot burn in his crotch. He sucks on Brian’s tongue, nearly melting at the strangled noise it incites, swallowing it down.
It’s messy and desperate and the only thing stopping Gerard from expiring on the spot from pure mortification is the fact that Brian is exactly where he is - making noises of want, body thrumming with lust. It’s everything his body wants and nothing his mind can deal with, but thank god he doesn’t have to, because there’s no way his brain is functioning right now.
Maybe the evacuation plan could still work; the taxi stand isn’t far and his apartment has a king size bed. Fuck, that’s an idea. His fingers are tightening on Brian’s shoulder, ready to push back, break the kiss and share this revelation when Brian catches his bottom lip between his teeth and bites, just gently, but still bites, making Gerard’s brain unwire completely. His knees liquefy, dropping his feet from under him so he slams back hard against the car. He doesn’t even register the jarring thud, as Brian’s sucking along with the biting now, suckling and pulling and oh fuck oh fuck. There’s an alarm going off in his head.
No, not in his head, literally. They’ve set off the fucking car alarm.
In the too-long moments it takes Gerard’s brain to register that no, it isn’t in his head, it’s coming from the Mercedes right behind them, shrieking shrilly into the too-quiet night, at least a dozen people have noticed them. The darkness might be some assistance in keeping their identities sealed, but Gerard’s not at all confident.
When Brian’s hand wraps firmly around his wrist, dragging him stumbling towards the road, he follows. He should tell Mikey he’s leaving, he should grab his coat from the cloakroom, and he shouldn’t just disappear like this. Those thoughts don’t keep him from following Brian to the taxi stand, or into a waiting cab, fingers dancing on his leg the whole way back to his apartment building. Brian’s apartment is on the fifth floor, he knows this, but he punches the button for level twenty-one anyway.
As soon as the doors seal shut Brian’s mouth covers his and they’re locked at lip, chest and hip for twenty one floors.
The chime of the elevator drags them apart and Gerard’s keys are a puzzle beyond what his lust-drugged fingers can decipher. A frustrated noise escapes him before Brian’s fingers close over his, guiding the keys to the not-quite-all-the-way-in sweet spot that has the door popping open.
Once they're inside he barely gets the door closed before Brian's kissing him up against it, body all warm, hard and close, tongue in his mouth. Gerard can't help but whine and press closer, fingers fumbling under Brian's shirt to the hot skin underneath. Muscles tense beneath his fingers, a throaty noise escaping Brian's mouth as he pulls Gerard forwards.
There's barely enough light spilling in from the windows to see by, but they manage not to destroy any furnishings as they stumble blindly into the bedroom, lips never leaving each other's. The back of Gerard's knees hit the edge of the bed and he falls backwards onto it, a rush of air leaving his lips as he lands. Brian climbs on top of him immediately, body covering his and the warm weight is delicious. He grabs a handful of Brian's ass, pulling their hips tight, reveling in the hard press of Brian's arousal pushed against his own.
Christ, how many times has he thought of this, run it through his mind lying on this very bed? Fuck, he can't even count.
Brian's fumbling with the buttons on Gerard's vest, brow pinched in concentration, lips pink and wet, and Gerard can still taste them on his mouth. He licks his lips, devouring the sight until it isn't enough and he arches up off the bed to capture Brian's mouth again. Brian's hands fall still on Gerard's buttons as he kisses back, fingers clenching in the fabric as his tongue finds Gerard's again. They tussle like that for endless minutes, lost in the kiss, desperate for more contact but reluctant to stop long enough to fathom their way out of their clothes.
There's a groan on Gerard's lips as Brian pushes himself up, cool air rushing between them as he sits up, yanking open buttons on his dress shirt. Gerard scrambles to follow suit, pulling at the knot of his tie, fumbling wrong-handed with his vest buttons. Brian sitting up on him like this forces his weight down on Gerard's aching dick and he can barely hold a thought long enough to undress.
Brian's shirt comes off first, showing all the skin Gerard's seen and a whole lot he hasn't, peppered with dark hairs, sharp lines of tattoos stretched over taut muscle. Gerard's hands abandon their undressing duties to slide up over all that skin, tracing lines of muscle and ink. Fuck, so hot, so firm, so much to touch and taste. He leans up, running his mouth across Brian's chest, his skin salty and warm under Gerard's tongue. This pulls a groan from Brian; he grabs Gerard's head, fingers tight in his hair, chest shifting under his mouth as he pants sharply.
Gerard can't help biting lightly at all that skin under his mouth, his hands falling lower to dance along the thick leather of Brian's belt. There isn't even a question in his mind as he wiggles a finger between leather and metal to pull the belt loose. Button and zipper give easily and Gerard's dipping a hand inside, finding Brian warm and leaking. The fingers in his hair tighten to the point of pain as Brian drags his head up, meeting his mouth hard and demanding.
The mattress presses up behind Gerard as Brian lowers him onto it. He firms his grip around Brian's cock, earning a choked gasp and bitten lip as Brian's body crushes down on his.
Fuck, he could white-out just from this, all the heat and hardness under his hand, Brian's mouth on his, breath on his cheek. Brian slides a hand down to cover Gerard's aching crotch and he bucks up to meet it. Even through layers of clothing the touch is too much, and he knows he's leaking precome inside his underwear.
Desperate for skin on skin contact he drags his free hand to fumble with his belt, Brian's pressure on his dick easing as he scrabbles to get Gerard's pants undone. The moment Brian gets a hand inside and closes it around his naked cock, Gerard melts back into the bed, a keening noise spilling from his lips. Brian kisses it away, covering Gerard's mouth and it's only through sheer force of will that Gerard manages to keep his hand moving on Brian's dick the whole time.
It's white-hot, but it's not enough. He wants more than just Brian's hand, more than just his mouth. He wants to taste every part, have Brian come apart in his arms.
Gerard rolls their bodies over, putting Brian on his back. Brian doesn't fight when Gerard breaks the kiss, sliding down his body, hands stroking down Brian's torso, lips brushing over his chest and down his belly. The smell of Brian's arousal is thick in his nose as his mouth reaches where his hand is fisted around Brian’s cock, hot and damp. He spares a glance up at Brian through his hair, getting an eyeful of the heat and naked want on his face before he ducks his head to swallow his cock.
The noise Brian makes is animal and immediately he's gripping Gerard's head, hair pinched between his fingers and tugging hard. Gerard slides his tongue down Brian's warm length, filling his mouth with heat and salty-slick skin. It's been a long while since he's done this, but practiced habit guides his motions. Brian's hips shift beneath his hands, restless movements, his breath hitching. Gerard concentrates on keeping his head moving, feeling the throb of Brian's arousal under his tongue.
"Gerard." His name from Brian's lips is ragged, pushed out on harsh breath. Brian's tugging his head up, fingers anchored firmly in his hair. Gerard looks at him questioningly, mouth feeling loose, wet and way too empty. "Come here." Two simple words, spoken so softly, and they're sending fire through him. He's nearly shaking with want when he crawls up over Brian; every piece of clothing still attached to his body feels stuck down with sweat and too fucking hot.
Brian kisses him hard, like a promise, melting their bodies together. He gets a handful of Gerard's naked ass, pulling him down so their cocks are flush and it makes Gerard wriggle and rub down on him.
Brian breaks the kiss, breath feathering over Gerard's face, hands gentle as he brushes Gerard's hair back from his eyes. "I'd like to fuck you." Gerard's breath rushes out of him at the words. Brian's hand on his ass slides lower, fingers gently teasing between his cheeks. Gerard writhes, pressing into the touch, already nodding his assent.
Brian’s fingers dip lower, stroking around his opening, making Gerard’s breath hitch and whine.
"I’ve got... stuff..." he stammers, struggling to find words around all the moans his voice wants to make. "In the drawer," he finishes on a hiss as Brian palms his ass, grinding up on him in a way that makes their cocks slide and steals his breath.
"Fuck, Gee." Brian looks hazy, brow pinched in concentration. "Get fucking undressed already." He flicks the end of the tie Gerard’s still wearing; Gerard’s got almost all his clothes still on and they’re suffocating him.
Brian rolls him onto his back, sliding across the bed to scrabble in the drawer, finding lube and condoms Gerard hopes aren’t out of date.
Undressing is hard; his tie is too complicated and buttons, fuck, so many buttons. He forces his fingers to work until he’s peeling every last piece of fabric from his body, unable to tear his gaze from Brian’s naked back and ass as he shoves off his own jeans and shoes.
Finally, gloriously naked, Brian’s body covers his and every inch of his skin is singing with pleasure at the full body contact. Brian’s hands stroke down his arms from shoulder to wrist, tangling their fingers together above Gerard’s head and kissing him. Gerard can’t help pressing up off the bed, searching for more contact, more skin, more tongue. It’s delicious but maddening and he just wants to get fucked already.
"Please, fuck, Brian. Please." It’s almost unconscious the way the words leak out, but they do the trick. Brian rolls him onto his stomach, stroking firm hands down his back to his ass, making him shiver and push his dick into the mattress. The snap of the lube bottle has him peering back over his shoulder, getting an eyeful of Brian coating his fingers, and the casual but purposeful way he does it makes Gerard’s cock pulse.
Brian leans over him, breath hot on the back of his neck as warm, slick fingers stroke at his ass. The noise Gerard lets out is needy and embarrassing, pulling a soft chuckle from Brian that he can feel on his shoulder blade.
"You ready for this?" Brian murmurs, tip of a finger pressing gently at his opening. Gerard nods into the mattress, pushing his ass up into the touch, not asking, begging.
Brian’s finger slides in and immediately it’s not enough; Gerard pushes back into Brian’s hand, rubbing himself down into the bed, trying to get some friction on his cock.
"More. Fuck. More," he mutters, not even caring how desperate he sounds. Brian presses a kiss behind his ear, licking the sensitive hollow in a way that makes Gerard tilt his head into it.
Another finger joins the first and Gerard starts to writhe, pressing his ass up off the bed until he’s on his knees, pushing back, wanting more.
"Jesus, Gee." There's a smile in Brian's voice, but underneath that there's something panting and growling for more. Gerard can feel the hot press of Brian's hard-on against his hip and he knows he's not the only one barely hanging on.
A third finger joins the first two and it's almost starting to feel like enough, wringing a pathetic throaty cry from Gerard as he twitches back into it. He can't help it, he has to reach down and grab his cock, hold tight, feel it pulse under his fingers. Fuck, he's on a razor's edge already, it's been so long, he's so out of his mind.
"Fuck, Brian, please. Please..." he begs, one hand clenched in the sheets, the other around his dick, rubbing his forehead into the mattress and trying not to drool. Everything's on fire; every atom of his skin is alive with it.
"What, Gerard?" Brian's voice is pure sex in his ear. His fingers twist, making Gerard's hips buck. "Please, what?"
"Fuck me, God, please fuck me." The words are out of his mouth without a thought, strangled and crushed into the mattress. He should be mortified, but it doesn't register, he just needs more of everything.
Brian's fingers withdraw, making Gerard moan at the loss. He rolls onto his back to watch Brian struggle a condom packet open, holding his dick tight at the base and breathing deep before he stops to roll it on. And Gerard can't quite fathom that this is real. Brian's naked on his bed with a fucking hard-on and its real, and he's about to get fucked through the mattress.
There're few things in the world hotter than the sight of Brian stroking lube over his sheathed dick, eyes slitted, biting down on his lip like he can't help himself.
Gerard's still committing that image to memory, hands fisted in the sheets when Brian moves again, covering Gerard's body with his own, finding his mouth, and it feels like way too long since they last kissed. Warm skin dusted with hair presses against him and Gerard pulls Brian down, pushing closer, needing them fused. Brian kisses him long and deep and searching, one hand stroking up Gerard's ass to the back of his knee, guiding him open.
A needy noise leaks out of Gerard's mouth as he breaks the kiss, panting into Brian's ear as he feels the first gentle press of Brian's cock against his ass.
"Yes. Ahhh," is all he can manage as Brian slowly presses in and fuck it's been a while. There's resistance but it's only an edge of pain, and Gerard can take it. He nods into Brian's neck, grabbing his ass and pulling forwards, every movement encouraging, begging more.
Brian gives it to him, pushing in to the hilt and just staying there, eyes hot on Gerard's face, watching carefully. It feels like he's looking right inside him and all Gerard can do is breathe, hitch his hips up and catalyze the movement he's desperate for. Brian takes the cue, starts sliding in and out so slow it's like being unraveled, unpicked. Gerard arches into him, shoving back against each thrust with his hips, groaning.
Brian's still watching him, eyes looking deep and it's too much, too intimate, like having his soul splayed out. Gerard pulls him down for a kiss because it gives him a reason to close his eyes. Switching off sight just turns touch up to eleven, pushing the intensity until he's moaning into their joined mouths. Brian's hand finds him, stroking his cock and Gerard's brain expires, giving him up to sensation alone. He slides a hand up Brian's sweat-slicked back, resting on the wet curls at his nape, hips moving with every thrust, feeling like his cock's going to blow any second.
Brian moves too slowly, like he knows Gerard’s on a knife edge and he wants to make him work for it. Gerard pushes into the kiss, showing with lips and tongue and teeth how much he wants this. All he can feel is Brian’s mouth, his body, his cock, oh fuck his cock, pushing in and out, filling him up and emptying him out over and over.
When Brian speeds his strokes on Gerard’s dick he has to break the kiss and gasp, panting need into Brian’s neck as he feels his cock sliding home again and again.
"Brian, fuck. Brian... fuck." He’s babbling and he knows it, but it’s good, excellent even, because it seems to unlock Brian’s movements, making him push Gerard’s legs back further than he thought his body could bend, quickening his thrusts and suddenly there, fuck he’s hitting Gerard inside right where he needs it and Jesus, Zeus and Allah or who fucking-ever thank you, holy fuck.
Brian cackles breathlessly in his ear and Gerard realizes that’s his out-loud voice he’s using. But who fucking cares? The grip Brian’s got on his dick tightens and quickens, and suddenly his orgasm is screaming toward him at light speed.
"Brian, fuck, Brian. I’m gonna-" he pants, only succeeding in making Brian move faster, his grip on Gerard’s dick firming more and he adds a twist that brushes over his cockhead with every stroke. Fuck, fuck fuck that’s it. Gerard grabs two handfuls of Brian’s hair, stares straight at him, straight into him as his loses it, orgasm crashing over him as his cock pulses and releases in Brian’s firm grip.
"Jesus, fuck. Fuck, Gerard." Brian pushes the words out breathlessly and Gerard pants in lieu of reply, a million years from being able to get enough air in his lungs, aftershocks rattling through him. Brian keeps thrusting, faster, harder. All Gerard can do is stare up at him, fixating on the pink spot on Brian’s lip where he’s biting down on it, the way his eyes are so dilated they look almost black.
Gerard’s still boneless from his orgasm, easily taking everything Brian’s got, his body zinging fuzzily every time Brian bottoms out. He can tell Brian’s getting close, the way his moans pitch up and lengthen. He drags his head down, crushing their mouths and swallowing the noises, feeling Brian bucking harder and more erratic into him. He welcomes it, wanting the rest, wanting to feel Brian come apart inside him.
He does, groaning into Gerard’s mouth, hips going elastic before shuddering staccato against him and that’s it. Gerard can feel Brian pulse and release inside him, the groan of completion against his lips that goes with it.
Brian’s head drops into the hollow of Gerard’s neck, breathing hot on his throat as he struggles to catch his breath. Gerard slides his fingers into Brian’s damp hair, pulling him up for a kiss, long and slow. Brian growls low and satisfied into his throat as their lips separate, looking flushed and shiny with sweat. Gerard’s pretty sure he’s never seen anything better.
Gentle fingers push Gerard’s sweated-up hair back from his face and he arches into it like a cat, curling to the touch. He echoes the motion on Brian, brushing back that distracting boyish lock of hair from Brian’s forehead.
It’s hard to separate completely; hard but necessary. Brian keeps it quick, pulling out gently and discarding the condom. He hands Gerard a pile of Kleenex to wipe up with.
Warm, sated and mostly clean, Gerard lets Brian roll him onto his side, happy to be the little spoon as Brian’s body curls around him.
Sleep finds him quickly.
***
"Where the fuck is Gerard?" Pete poses the perfectly reasonable question to Mikey, who just so happens to be engaged in some pretty involved cross-departmental kissing with Alicia at the time, but whatever.
Mikey tears his face from Alicia’s way too slowly, and only after Pete’s poked him in the arm long enough that his finger is starting to protest.
"What?" Mikey demands, in a voice that can only be described as rude, coming from kissed-up lips.
"Your brother. Our esteemed director. Where is he?" Pete asks again, ignoring the daggers Alicia is glaring at him as she refuses to loosen the grip of her arms wrapped around Mikey’s bony shoulders.
"I don’t know. What the fuck? Go away!" Mikey shoves his ‘talk to the hand’ hand in Pete’s face in a severe show of hierarchical indifference. Pete is not taking this, no way.
"Dude, it’s your job to know where your director is. Your job," Pete presses; this is really basic stuff here.
"Hello Pete? Wrap party? Not on the clock right now. Go away." Mikey shakes his head, completely without regard for just how important this is. He turns back to Alicia, moving in to start up the tongue hockey again, but Pete grabs a handful of Mikey’s greasy hair and pulls him up inches short of Alicia’s mouth.
Alicia groans loudly and glares at Pete again, but she totally caves. "Gerard and Brian had a moment earlier. They are probably off together somewhere."
"A moment? What kind of moment? Like, a just rig the fucking car kind of moment?" Pete asks, words rushing out. Shit, this is important.
"No. More like the moment we," she waves a hand between herself and Mikey before continuing, "were having before you," she punctuates the word with a glare at Pete, "stuck your big head in the way. Okay?" She gives Pete a withering (and completely inappropriate) look that clearly screams ‘go away’ which puts Pete’s back right up, but at the same time he’s kind of impressed. And not just with Alicia.
"Fuck. Brian, hey? That explains a lot."
Alicia doesn’t bother answering, just gives Pete a final glare and recommences sucking face with Mikey. Pete lets them be, because he’s nice like that and it is the wrap party after all. Plus he’s got plenty to mull over now.
He wanders back into the venue, nodding to the waiter who tops up his glass, and he sips the Jacob’s Creek Sparkling absently as he rolls that one around in his head. It’s a slippery little fucker and it probably doesn’t help that this is his umpteenth glass of celebratory sparkling, which is taking the edge off his usual sharpness. Patrick falls in beside him, absently clinking his glass to Pete's, and Pete forgets momentarily that Patrick represents LA and the studio and all things evil and runs it past him. Because Patrick has amazing insights sometimes.
"So do you think I should be worried? About the director and the stunt coordinator maybe, possibly having a showmance?" Pete directs the question into his glass of bubbles and Patrick doesn’t even flinch. Of course, Patrick must have already known. He’s so good at picking up on things. It’s why Pete has trouble hating him.
"If you decide you should be worried, is there anything you could do about the situation anyway?" Patrick asks, face considering but open, and Pete’s got to admit the kid’s got a point.
"You’ve got a point, kid."
"Don’t call me kid."
"Sorry." Pete shoots Patrick an apologetic look and Patrick’s expression softens a little. He’s looking a lot less executive-fail-chic tonight in dress pants and a shirt that is free from any kind of pattern. His hat of choice is a fedora, which Pete likes on him a lot, but it really needs to be set at a more jaunty angle.
"Man, wrap parties hey?" Pete scans the room as they wander through it, looking at all the revelers, lost in their celebration like this is really the end, like it's all done and there isn’t months of post and finishing left. He spots Ryan and Bob, talking close in a far corner; over towards the doorway he catches a glimpse of Frank twirling Jamia madly around the dance floor. With Mikey and Alicia outside, and Brian and Gerard who the fuck knows where, there’s a lot going on tonight.
"What about wrap parties?" Patrick asks, reminding Pete he’s only releasing half his thoughts verbally. "I haven’t been to that many."
*Oh right. Just... the hookups. It’s so fucking sex-charged in here tonight, we should be giving out condoms at the door."
Patrick giggles and Pete’s got to stop a minute and admire it. He’s really gorgeous when he lets himself smile. With the champagne flowing tonight Patrick’s being a bit free and easy with the smiles and Pete likes that. A lot. He gives in to the urge he’s been fighting all night, and reaches up to Patrick’s hat, tilting it to an angle with more character and smiling at the result. Much better.
"It’s not fair, really. Everyone else is gonna run amok tonight and I’ll be going home alone." Pete rounds a doorway, leading them into a quieter corner of the bar, aside from the trill of poker machines.
"Oh, your life. So hard," Patrick teases and Pete just shakes his head, fighting a messy laugh. "I’m sure you could pick up if you wanted to." Patrick’s voice is encouraging and Pete’s surprised to find that he isn’t surprised by the way his heart does a skip at that. Of course, the bonus of being delightfully tipsy is that he doesn’t have to pretend that he hasn’t developed a major crush on the executive. This slightly tipsy version of Pete is surprisingly okay with it, and happy to ignore all the studio-oriented reasons why he shouldn’t be.
"You think I could pick up?" Pete’s fishing for compliments now and he knows it.
"You won't know if you don’t try." Patrick’s ever-present logic seems to have withstood his alcohol consumption. But still, Pete knows it’s more than that.
"It’s not just about try and can. It’s about should and shouldn’t," he explains, even though he’s sure it isn’t necessary. Patrick knows enough about stuff to know that the producer shouldn’t go around hitting on random crew at wrap party. All sorts of dramas come from that kind of shit.
"Inappropriate behavior," Patrick states and Pete can only jump right in.
"See? I knew you’d know. You’re really good at this shit, Trick." Pete’s words pull a smile from Patrick and Pete gets a bit stuck staring at him. He reaches up and adjusts Patrick’s hat again, really just for a reason to touch him, pushing at a loose lock of hair that’s falling across his forehead. Patrick takes the contact well, doesn’t flinch away or tell Pete to stop and Pete can’t help taking that as an invitation to keep going. He lets his fingers trail down Patrick’s cheek, gently stroking down his strawberry-blonde sideburns, knowing he’s pushing it and expecting to be pulled up on it. He isn’t.
Patrick doesn’t call him out; quite the opposite. Those big eyes of his flutter closed and he presses his face into Pete’s hand. Pete’s heartbeat shoots up, blood racing down his arm and through every one of his fingers. Fuck. Now what does he do?
Patrick’s eyes flutter open before Pete has a chance to formulate a plan. He looks hard at Pete, eyes peering right into him. "You know, I’m pretty drunk," Patrick admits, voice level and not slurring even slightly.
"Yeah, I’m pretty drunk. too," Pete chimes in, even though tipsy would be a better word than drunk for him right now.
"You know, I think I’m so drunk that if something happened right now, I probably wouldn’t remember it tomorrow." Patrick’s breath doesn’t even smell like alcohol, Pete can tell because it’s feathering over his face right now, their noses mere inches apart.
"I probably wouldn’t remember it either. I tend to black out a lot."
"Hmm. Yeah. So I guess... if something happened, but I don’t remember it and you don’t remember it. It would be almost like it didn’t happen." Patrick smiles at Pete, soft and secretive. Pete was absolutely right about Patrick’s logic. The guy is making perfect sense.
"Yeah, well if no one remembers it... it’s like the tree falling in the woods thing, right?" Pete poses.
"Yeah. Exactly. Just like the tree thing." Patrick nods, a smile twitching his mouth up and Pete’s heart is beating in his ears. He casts a glance over his shoulder, scanning around the room but there’s no one to see. They’re the only ones in this tiny corner of the bar, surrounded by shrieking poker machines.
So there’s no one around to see when Pete leans in and presses his mouth gently to Patrick’s, feeling first-hand just how soft his lips are. Patrick makes a small noise and presses closer, deepening the kiss, tongue pressing gently at Pete’s lips, encouraging them open and gaining entrance. Pete takes his tongue happily, adding his own to the mix, taking a tiny step closer so their bodies meet and he can really get into it.
Patrick is a great kisser. He’s even better at kissing than he is at budgeting, and Patrick is a total fucking star at that. Pete grabs a handful of the executive’s shirt while the other reaches down to grab his waist and yeah, okay, this is really happening. He’s not going to think about all the reasons why it shouldn’t be happening because it’s not really happening, it’s a silent tree falling in a silent wood, with no one around to hear it.
That’s as much thought as he’s gonna give this. For now he pulls Patrick closer, kisses him harder and lets himself think of a different type of wood.
The plan works perfectly, except for the complete lack of an appropriate location. Patrick's mouth is a thing of wonder and Pete is happily drowning in it until the maniacal tinkling of the poker machines is broken by a thud and a giggle that doesn't come from Pete or Patrick.
Patrick seems to have retained more brain power than Pete as he breaks the kiss first, stepping sideways in a way that is really quite subtle. Pete grasps at what's left of his mind and turns to focus on the intrusion, which come in the form of Bob and Ryan, who seem to have had a run in with Cleopatra's Cash Bonanza. This isn't surprising, given neither of them look like they're paying attention to where they're heading, they're too busy necking.
The upside is they don't seem to have noticed Patrick and Pete are even there, so it's highly unlikely they heard the tree falling in the forest.
Pete opens his mouth to say something, but Patrick shakes his head, snagging him by the wrist and dragging him out of the room by a different exit, then out of the venue. Pete can barely contain his laughter until they get outside, his bark echoing around the parking lot. He has to hold on to Patrick's shoulder to steady himself.
Patrick's not laughing but it's there in his eyes as he smirks widely at Pete. It looks so good on him Pete's breath catches, choking off his laughter. He scrubs a hand over his face, struggling to find calm, but all he comes up with is an intense urge to kiss Patrick again. Patrick's talent for reading people is obviously still working, because all he has to do is incline his head and Pete's following him out of the parking lot.
"Where are we going?" It's not a protest, Pete just likes to plan ahead.
"Come on, it's just across the road." Patrick doesn't even slow down, so Pete lengthens his stride to catch up with him.
Patrick leads him down a pathway framed by wooden rails, the ground softening further and further beneath his feet until his shoes are sinking into soft white sand, sound of the ocean crashing loud in his ears. As his eyes adjust to the darkness, Pete can see the moonlight reflecting on the water, and it's so peaceful he can almost forgive all the Gold Coast's other flaws. Almost.
Patrick kicks off his loafers and Pete follows suit, slipping out of his shoes, too. The sand slides between his toes, cool and grainy. He knots his shoelaces and kicks through the sand, grabbing Patrick by the hand and dragging him down the beach to the water's edge. The sand is wet and sloppy under his feet when he takes Patrick's face in his hands and kisses him, not even pretending to be drunk anymore.
Patrick kisses back eagerly, his hands sliding down Pete's back to rest gently just above his belt, fingers burning points of heat through Pete's shirt. A noise escapes Pete's mouth as he leans closer, deepening the kiss, pressing a hand up Patrick's neck looking to sink into his hair but encountering his hat first. He spears the brim between his fingers and tips it off, leaning out of the kiss to check out what Patrick looks like without it.
"Hey, come on - not fair." Patrick reaches for the hat but Pete holds it at arm's length, brushing back freshly revealed strawberry blonde hair with his other hand. Patrick looks impossibly young without the hat and somehow it just makes Pete want him more.
"What? I like it. Why you gotta cover your head all the time?" Pete slides in closer to Patrick, leaving his arms loosely resting around his shoulders. "You take it off to shower, right?"
"Pete." Patrick drops his voice low, a note of warning in it. "Don't push it."
Pete just flashes his winning smile, tossing the hat over his shoulder so it lands on the dry sand before curving his arm to pull Patrick back in, kissing the frown off his face. Patrick rolls his eyes at him but Pete can feel the smile twitching under his lips as he crushes their mouths together again.
They kiss messily and Pete flashes back to high school days of outdoor makeouts in parks when you have nowhere else to go. Apparently he's regressing. He doesn't even care.
Patrick eases him backwards and Pete lets himself be guided, backing up until the sand under his feet is soft and dry, before letting his knees give way and Patrick follows him down to the ground. Patrick presses him backwards until his back hits the sand and Pete looks up at him, one hand pressed over the throbbing pulse in Patrick's neck. Fuck, this is such a bad idea, but he can't even bring himself to care. He just slides a hand around Patrick's waist and drags him down on top of him.
Patrick finds his mouth again, kissing him warm, wet and insistent; tongue pressing inside and Pete arches underneath him, sand trickling down the back of his shirt as their legs tangle together. The weight of Patrick's body pressing down on his is exquisite but the layers of cloth separating them are maddening. God, it's like being back in high school, all kissing and touching over clothes in semi-public places. He really is regressing.
Pete's nearly got a handle on it; he's almost managed to scrape together enough brain cells to actually form words when Patrick's body slips down on his, pressing them flush and jesus Patrick's enjoying this just as much as he is. Pete can't help grinding up on Patrick, locking his arms around him and pulling him down kissing him hard. Wanting to be closer, wanting to crawl inside him.
When Patrick's hand finds his belt, Pete's got no will to fight it. He fumbles for the button on Patrick's slacks and wonders what this is going to be. A fumbling handjob in the dark, or will he get Patrick's mouth? Oh lord, the thought of either has got him hard enough to burst a seam on his underwear. He arches up under Patrick as a warm hand finds its way into his briefs and fuck, Patrick's fingers closing around him is a slice of heaven he doesn't deserve.
Patrick's above him, filling his whole field of vision and Pete can't think of anything he'd rather look at. His head drifts closer to Pete's, voice low and growly as he mutters at him, "You like that?"
All Pete can do is make a strangled noise and buck against his hand. Patrick grips him firmly, a sly smile pulling his lips up as he starts to stroke and fuck if Pete isn't unraveling already. He's not going to last, not with Patrick's hand moving and his eyes all hot and his mouth...
Pete groans and arches up off the sand to lock his mouth to Patrick's and fuck, bliss, every nerve-ending in his body fires with it. He flaps his hands desperately at Patrick's pants, somehow finding enough dexterity to get his fly open and a hand inside, swallowing Patrick's choked moan when his fingers find his cock. Patrick melts down onto him when he finds his grip, tongue pressing into Pete's mouth insistently. It's like Pete flipped a switch; suddenly Patrick is all over him, mouth devouring, hand moving on Pete's dick faster, firmer, perfect.
Oh shit. A groan chokes out of Pete and he has to reach down with his free hand, shoving between their bodies to grab Patrick's wrist, stilling the sublime movement. Not yet, not yet... Patrick breaks the kiss, looking down at Pete with a question on his face, but Pete can't form words to explain so he just shakes his head at him, flipping Patrick onto his back so suddenly it makes him bark out a surprised laugh.
"What, is this funny?" Pete teases, no malice in the words. "Am I funny, Trick?" He burrows his head under Patick's shirt, licking up his chest as his hands find a grip on Patrick's pants, yanking downwards. Patrick makes a noise that Pete can't translate beyond keep going so he does, pressing his face into Patrick's crotch, wiry curls tickling his nose as he breathes in deeply the scent of sex.
He tilts his head to press his lips to the base of Patrick's cock and he bucks up under Pete's hands, trembling and making a wonderful breathy noise that Pete wants to record and play back over and over. He licks Patrick's dick from bottom to top, before wrapping his lips around the head and pushing down, so slowly, until he can feel the press at the back of his throat.
Patrick stays perfectly still beneath him, aside from the tremors of him shaking and the delicate touch of his hands dancing along Pete's nape. It's all the encouragement Pete needs to start moving, stroking up and down Patrick's cock with his mouth, tasting salt and sex.
"Fuck, Pete, oh fuck, your mouth." If Pete didn't have his mouth full, he'd tell Patrick a few things about his own mouth and just how much it's been on his mind the last ten weeks. But he doesn't have the ability to speak right now; he's too busy breathing through his nose and sucking and swirling his tongue in a way that makes Patrick's hips buck up abortively, like its taking everything he's got not to just fuck Pete's mouth.
All this self control is a little hard on Pete's ego, so the next time Patrick arches, Pete tightens his fingers on his hips and pulls up, guiding the motion, encouraging more. Patrick gasps as his dick hits the back of Pete's throat and fuck, it makes Pete's eyes water and his cock pulse. He wants more.
He can't ask verbally, so he just keeps pulling with his hands, telling Patrick more, harder, let go and fuck, Patrick absolutely does. His fingers tighten in Pete's hair, guiding his head and his hips start bouncing up and down, thrusting between Pete's lips and it's everything Pete needs. He's on fire; his mouth feels full and used and his untouched cock feels like it could burst, he's so turned on.
A moan rumbles up his throat and over Patrick's dick, making Patrick howl so Pete does it again, bouncing his head faster until Patrick's grip on his hair is nearly painful.
"Pete. Shit. Pete... I'm gonna, I'm gonna-" Patrick chokes the words out, trying to pry Pete off his dick but Pete's having none of it; he sucks harder, twisting his head and flicking his tongue over the tip. Patrick arches up off the sand, taking Pete with him as his cock pulses in Pete's mouth. He comes with a shout and Pete swallows it all, fingers digging into the soft flesh or Patrick's hips, forehead pressed hard into his belly.
He's damp with sweat when Patrick drags him up, arranging Pete's body over his, all trembling and twitchy and ready to pop. Fuck, he's barely been touched but he's hard as a rock, taste of semen in his mouth, lips raw and aching. When Patrick locks their mouths, tongue pressing inside to stroke his and taste himself, Pete's already trembling. The first touch of Patrick's fingers to his dick has his hips twitching down, searching for more.
Patrick strokes his tongue over Pete's as his hand finds a grip and starts to move. Pete's sliding all over him already, shaking and rubbing and rolling; he can't keep still. He feels high as a kite and Patrick's hand is the only thing keeping him from floating off. He's not going to last. He groans into Patrick's mouth and is so thankful when Patrick doesn't tease. He strokes Pete firmly, fingers rubbing over the head on each pull and Pete bucks against him already. Oh fuck, it's coming, so hard and so fast it's embarrassing but he gives himself up to it, biting down on Patrick's lip as it catches up to him three strokes later.
It's like he's emptying himself out; his whole body spasms as he shoots all over Patrick's belly, sweaty forehead pressed to his, every atom singing with it. Fuck, it's like dying and being reborn all over again. He flops down onto Patrick, whole body gone to liquid, his head buzzing on a feedback loop.
"Jesus," Hhe pants, reaching down to find Patrick's hand, sticky and sweaty, and pull it up to his mouth. He kisses the palm gently, tasting himself, "Fuck, amazing. That was so amazing."
"Are you talking to me or to the hand?" Patrick poses the question with an arch of his brow. Pete glances up at him, mouth still pressed to his palm when he answers, "Both."
"Oh. All right then."
"Seriously, you should get your hands minted." Pete leans up over Patrick, brushing their noses. "You have seriously fucking amazing hands." He closes the last inch between them and kisses Patrick long and deep, breaking to continue in a breathless whisper, "And mouth. Fuck, your mouth," before dropping back down to kiss him some more.
Patrick's hands stroke up from his ass, over his back, to sit on his neck, warm and heavy. Pete rubs down on Patrick as they kiss, feeling like he's falling into him, like their bodies are fusing in some way, and not just from the sweat and come.
When Patrick finally breaks the kiss, Pete snuggles into him, tucking his head into Patrick's neck and clinging on.
"Fuck," he breathes in wonderment, not able to make real words yet. Patrick just brushes gentle fingers through his hair, settling him with the calming touch.
If Pete could speak, he'd probably say something about inventing giant soundproofing devices for forests. Because fuck those noisy falling trees, he's doing this again. As many times as Patrick will let him.
***
Gerard forgot to close the curtains last night, so he wakes way too early to a room bathed in sunshine. He's ready to groan and push his face into the pillow but the sight of Brian lying beside him catches the noise before it's made. Brian's still asleep, face slack and relaxed in the golden glow of morning and he looks beautiful, skin warm and brown, eyelashes dark and fine.
Gerard props his head up, leaning on his elbow and looking his fill. The sheet lies diagonally across Brian's chest and before Gerard realizes what he's doing, he's tracing the lines of Brian's tattoos with a gentle finger, fascinated by the shapes, the way the designs bend and stretch over bone and muscle.
Brian stirs and Gerard's hand stills, too late. He knows he's wearing a guilty expression when Brian's eyes flutter open to find his face.
"Morning," he says, not even bothering to move.
"Mmmph." Brian's response is non-verbal at first, which Gerard can understand; it's certainly unusual for him to be this perky first thing in the morning. Brian's gaze traces down Gerard's bent arm and back up again. "Were you-"
"Watching you sleep? Only for a little while."
"That's creepy, Gerard."
"I am kind of creepy."
"I know. That's okay." Brian rolls into him, pressing his face into Gerard's neck. Under the sheets, Gerard can feel that he's hard, his morning wood brushing Gerard's hip. He has to swallow a little gasp.
Brian mouths at his neck, one hand trailing across Gerard's chest and he's really loving this floppy early-morning version of Brian.
"I should take you out to breakfast," Gerard mutters, squirming under Brian's hands.
Brian's fingers slide lower, curling around Gerard's own morning erection, warm and firm.
"Blow jobs first. Then breakfast."
Gerard can't argue with that.
***
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oh pete, come to mama. let me pet your dumb head.
PATRICK, i love that you are such a secret tramp, getting blowed all by pete while being forceful...NEVER STOP. YOU ARE NOT A TREE, WE ALL HEARD YOU FALL.
write sex always foxie, always.
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i think we need a new icon
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lololol. So much mileage from one very dodgy metaphor.
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Aahahahhaa. GO AHEAD AND KILL THAT METAPHOR PETE. KILL IT TO DEATH.
I'm glad you liked the porns bb. Porn is the one thing I think I will always default to.
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I may as well take the opportunity to tell you that I am finding your Gerard truly delightful. *smishes him*
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I'm glad you are loving Gerard! He is a mad artistic director with VISION.
Thanks bb! Hope it keeps floating your boat.
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That is why beaches are not appropriate places for sexytimes! Or, at least, not on dry sand - wet sand is more conducive to shenanigans. However, as it is not me who has to put up with the consequences, I say: carry on!
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Except the scene of Pete bothering Mikey and Alicia was lovely and then I just went JACOB'S CREEK SPARKLING LOL through the whole of the rest of it. *is secretly a wine ponce*
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AHHAHAHAAAHAHA JACOB'S CREEK SPARKLING. HAHAHAHAAAA. Dude I swear they've served this at every wrap party I've ever been to. CHEAP BUBBLY CATPISS.