rockabillyboy | (no subject)

(no subject)

He's been worrying for weeks, now. He's known Poison for long enough to be able to see it coming: the crash that's inevitable. He's been texting with Kavinsky, knows that Poison's been unpredictable and fractious during recording sessions. They haven't argued, not exactly, but he's ebe intensely aware of just how easily they could be arguing, almost all of the time.

So Jack drives to the studio, and he gets Kavinsky to buzz him up.

"Come on," he says, through the mic into the studio. "I'm taking you to lunch."

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"Yeah, holy shit yeah." Poison's breath caught and he almost choked on it as Jack stroked him. "I wanna watch you, baby."

He won't promise that they'll stay like this, but Poison wants to start here. He tries to take a deeper breath, tries to center himself a little so that ache won't take him over.

Jack takes a moment to fumble Poison's jeans and underwear out of the way. He slicks his husband's cock. It's all a bit hurried, a bit hungry, but he figures that Poison will forgive him. He grins.

"Ready?"

Poison manages to help with that much, shoving fabric down around his knees as Jack gets him slick. His breath catches when Jack grins at him like that.

"Yeah, beautiful. I'm ready for you. C'mon, baby."

Jack shifts his hips so that he can slide down onto Poison's cock, all the way down in one go, and he feels so full up that he has to pause for a moment, his back arched, and his hands pressed to Poison's chest.

"Fuck," he breathes softly.

"Fuck, Jack-- holy shit you feel good," he sighs as Jack sinks down on him. He slides his hands over Jack's hips and up his sides. He rocked up, nudged their bodies together like he needed to make sure they were as close as they could get.

Slowly at first, Jack starts to move, raising up on his knees before he sinks down onto the full length of Poison's cock again.

"Nobody feels as good as you," he says, is head rolling back.

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