Archive of Our Own

It was late by the time Andy got in, pushed from their dressing room by some maintenance crew and that was fine, understandable. He had a propensity to sit and stay in one place for extended periods of time, especially when either his drum kit or laptop was involved. They weren’t due to be on the road for another two or three hours, and knowing his band, Pete and Patrick were probably already on the bus and Joe was buzzing around between bands doing whatever he did when he was out (read: smoking, drinking, being stupidly charming).

The dark bus was nice, quiet, save for the vague ruffling from the back that said someone was there. Andy dropped his bag off at his bunk, still rumpled with clothes from three days ago twisted into the sheets, stopping only to grab his phone charger and head back. The door wasn’t locked, for now, opening it up to surprisingly see Joe sprawled out on the bed with his laptop a little ways away, the sound of Patrick’s speaking voice coming from it. He was naked from what Andy could tell thanks to the glow of the computer screen, the corner of the sheets covering his crotch and thighs.

“You’re in early,” Andy said, shrugging out of his shirt. 

“Didn’t feel like going out,” Joe answered, rubbing a hand up over his stomach. Now it was Pete’s voice coming from the speakers. “How’s Old Republic?”

“Alderaan won’t save itself.” Andy set the shirt down, pausing and grinning over at Joe. “Are you really watching interviews?”

“The interviews from the Reading festival,” Joe explained, fingers clicking before it sounded like another one was starting up. “I haven’t seen them yet and I wanted to hear your answers.” 

There was a smirk at the end of that, tossed in Andy’s direction, making him roll his eyes. He hummed out in acknowledgement, finding the outlet full but Joe’s phone mostly charged, unplugging it in favor of his own. “The band superlative one? Those were good.”

“You really are good at talking in interviews, you know,” Joe murmured, stifling a yawn in his fist before using the hand to beckon Andy closer. “If you wanted to.”

Andy paused to undo his jeans, letting them fall, keeping the boxer briefs on for now. “Wanted being the operative word,” he pointed out, coming to sit at the edge of the bed, stretch his arms above his head to get the ache out.

Joe kept his eyes on the screen, watching the video, but his hand settled at the small of Andy’s back. Andy let out a helpless little groan, those thick fingers working at the knots there, warm and perfect from practice. He rested his elbows on his knees, letting his head bow a little when Joe smoothed his palm up his spine, massaged the nape of his neck and the thick muscles of his shoulders. 

The video was over, Joe shutting the laptop and getting both hands into the massage. He worked at Andy’s back, thumbs on either side of his spine, rubbing until he was pliant and warm.

“Most attractive band member?” Joe said, voice low, mocking like an interviewer. 

Andy huffed out a laugh, hooking his chin over his shoulder to catch a barely-there glimpse of Joe’s eyes before he dipped his head to kiss the top of his spine. “That one’s easy,” Andy murmured, grinning when he felt Joe smile against his skin.

“Oh yeah?” Joe offered, barely-there tongue tracing Andy’s tattoos. “If you say Pete, I’m punching you.”

Andy didn’t doubt it. “Obviously it’s me,” he answered, letting out a peal of laughter when Joe shoved him off the bed, landing in a pile of pliant goo on the carpet. He didn’t want to think about what had been on the carpet before him, resting awkwardly on his hip with his body twisted to look up at Joe’s quiet mirth with a big smile.

“The most modest member, too,” Joe said, settling back on the bed.

Andy took a couple minutes to stand up again, using the edge of the bed for balance. He moved to the door in order to lock it, preemptively, but with Joe naked and the guys prone to not knocking, it was best not to take chances. Especially with the way Joe was looking at him, sober eyes and a faint smile.

“You’re the luckiest member,” Andy pointed out, bracing a knee on the bed before kneeling at the edge.

“Am I now,” Joe deadpanned, tucking his arms behind his head. He moved a foot to brace against Andy’s thigh, toes clenching on the edge of his boxer briefs once, twice, before he got a good enough grip to try and drag them down. “Why’s that?”

“Because you get to have sex with me,” Andy answered, laughing and grabbing Joe’s foot when he went to push against his crotch. “And I even let you.”

Joe laughed out at that one, Andy moving enough to flop on the bed next to him. He grinned, large and stupid, when Joe curved a hand over his hip to slip into the back of his boxers, grab an asscheek, and drag him closer with it for a kiss. 

Not only did Joe skip out on smoking, but he’d also apparently brushed his teeth at some point, vaguely minty fresh against stale that Andy knew he tasted like. But Joe didn’t mind, never seemed to mind when Andy was less than clean, only growling faintly into Andy mouth and pushing him onto his back to kiss him harder, deeper. 

“Do I get to have sex with you now?” Joe practically purred, getting Andy to laugh out and kiss him again before Joe was keeping him down, hands braced on Andy’s shoulders, forcing him down into the mattress while he murmured into his ear, “Do I get to fuck you senseless?”

They didn’t fuck all that often for a couple that essentially lived together. You had to be in a special mood to take a dick up the ass, and fucking involved one of them doing that. There were other things in the way, like band members and obligations. Andy didn’t like doing anything when Joe was drunk or high, and that tended to be frequently at night, which was fine. Morning sex was great, except that there was a bus filled with people that could walk in or potentially ruin the mood in about five seconds flat. Plus, Andy was a little loud.

But right now it was just them on the bus, oddly enough. Joe sober as he ever was, and Andy could feel that he was half-hard at just the thought of fucking him. It was flattering, exciting, because after all this time Joe was still exciting to him and vice versa. He briefly thought back to the last time they’d fucked, with Andy pressing Joe against the shower of their hotel room and Joe inhaling some water accidentally, weeks ago in the morning when they’d had the time. Top or bottom didn’t really matter between them, as long as their moods lined up accordingly. 

“Yeah,” Andy agreed, nodding his head, smiling when Joe let out a shuddering sort of noise and his hips involuntarily twitched towards Andy. “Yeah, just gimme like, ten minutes in the bathroom, okay? Go grab the stuff.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Joe answered, nodding quickly, kissing Andy once, twice, hard and audible, forcing his head back into the mattress with every single one. “Yeah, okay, good. I love you.”

It softened Andy, making him smile, work a hand through Joe’s hair to kiss him back. It was pulled back in a bun, faintly soft like he’d showered earlier. “You’re only saying that because I’m going to let you put your dick in me,” he teased, knowing that Joe meant it as much as he meant anything that he said, didn’t say things he didn’t mean one hundred percent. “Which you won’t get to do unless you let me up.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Joe breathed into Andy’s mouth, teeth against his bottom lip. “I promise, just, fuck.”

It wasn’t like they were old, lost their sex drive. They were four years apart and Andy was barely thirty-three. But this, this, was rare. This need from Joe, to touch and kiss and fuck. Andy couldn’t help but respond to it, push back, let Joe shove him back down into the bed to kiss him hard enough to have his lips burning and his hands bruising at Joe’s hips.

“Okay, okay, get up,” Joe said, pulling back quickly and rolling off to the side. They both took a moment to just breathe before there was any action--both standing up, Andy absently reaching out to pinch Joe’s ass only to get his hand smacked away in retaliation.

“Do you have a clean towel I can use?” Andy said over his shoulder once they were out of the back room, knowing that Joe was just behind him, moving to his bunk. Andy didn’t know when the last time he’d done laundry, or where his towels even were.

“Yeah, here,” Joe offered, tossing the towel at Andy. It was Joe’s favorite, too, one that Andy had gotten him for Christmas one year that said “butt” on one side and “face” on another, just so he’d never get confused. “Also,” Joe continued, tossing a plastic square at him that rattled enough to let him know it was soap. “If you want me to eat you out. And I really want to.”

That had Andy letting out something between a groan and a sigh, rubbing his hand over his eyes. Because it was just so casual, so Joe, that he shouldn’t have been surprised but he was and maybe that was the best part. That Joe could still take him by surprise, make him flushed and hot, and then calmly walk past him and press a kiss to his lips like that was normal.

In the bathroom he could breathe a little more, look at himself in the mirror and then look away because something about seeing himself happy has always been a little off putting, like he shouldn’t get used to seeing it. But it was there in his eyes, in the line of his mouth, popping the plastic soap container and lathering his hands up with it. He washed the normal parts--armpits, neck, crotch and thighs. He knew where Joe liked to kiss, liked to leave marks that will be hidden except for when he’s on stage, when Andy couldn’t hide anything. 

He worked a finger up inside himself, just to see how he was feeling, and he was okay, great. Nothing said danger quite like anal sex, but he was calm, relaxed, trusted Joe enough to do it. He didn’t have the overwhelming urge to shit, because usually after two fingers and some light stretching he knew if sex was a go or not. So he finished up, rinsed off, felt a little cleaner and a whole lot more ready. 

Andy should have probably been more alarmed than he was when he entered the back room again to find Joe with one hand on his cock and the other one holding his phone up to his face. He wasn’t, though, locking the door again and moving his way onto the bed, straddling Joe’s thighs to wrap his own hand around him. Joe let him take over, his free hand moving to his phone to scroll better.

There was enough room on the bed to scoot down, rest on his knees a little, and take Joe into his mouth. He got a low groan in response, Joe’s hips arching off the bed, that same hand coming to cup the back of his neck to hold Andy in place. And Andy could take it, let his throat relax, took a breath when Joe started to thrust shallowly while he still read whatever the fuck was on his phone.

It got tossed away a moment later, Joe pushing his head back into the bed with a low sigh. “Sorry, sorry. Got an email from that dude about the vintage Gibson and--” He broke off when Andy hummed out purposefully around his cock, tongue against the underside of the head. “Shit, okay, yeah I’ll tell you later.” 

And then Andy was being tugged up, pushed and pulled, and he allowed it. Joe was a little bigger than him, maybe, definitely broader, but Andy could put up a fight. He didn’t, though, mostly because Joe pulled him up for a kiss, something sweet now, with just that lingering edge of teeth. He laid himself over Joe, sighing at all the contact of skin against skin, pressing his mouth to Joe’s neck to suck a wet kiss there.

“S’not scarf weather,” Joe reminded him, fingers in his hair to pull his head back. That used to be fun, too, back when Andy had long hair. There had been a lot of pulling. 

The kissing was nice, wonderful, because Joe was a great kisser and sometimes this was just as good as anything else. Laying together and making out like teenagers, touching above the waist only. Except Joe broke the kiss to lick at two of his fingers, staring pointedly at Andy while he did so, and Andy’s stomach twisted pleasantly with the knowledge of how this would be going. 

Joe’s mouth swallowed Andy’s moan as Joe slipped his fingers between his cheeks, using his free hand to pull Andy’s legs so they were spread a little wider, a little more. Joe still kissed him at that languid pace--the wet flash of tongue occasionally, a hint of teeth--even while he worked a finger up inside of him.

“You do this in the bathroom, hm?” Joe mumbled, sticky lips rubbing against Andy’s with every word. “You fuck yourself on your fingers a little to get ready for me?”

“Oh god, don’t talk,” Andy rambled out, fingers digging into the thick meat of Joe’s shoulders. “Just don’t fucking talk.” It was going to be all over embarrassingly soon if Joe did, because he knew all of Andy’s buttons to push, every single one, and exploited them mercilessly.

Like now.

“What?” Joe practically purred, mouthing against Andy’s jaw, the scrape nearly audible as he worked his way back to take the lobe of his ear just slightly between his teeth. “What if I told you about the last time I jerked off?”

“I don’t need to hear about your Jimmy Page fantasies,” Andy gasped out, grinning and shoving at Joe’s shoulder when Joe pushed two fingers in. Joe’s eyes went a little wide in mock surprised, like he didn’t know what he had done, opening his mouth as if to protest but grinning instead.

“Please,” Joe began, spreading his fingers a little inside Andy that that stung without any lube and little leadup. Andy winced, squirmed, and Joe kissed his shoulder in an apology, continuing to speak against the skin. “If I’m going to jerk off to any guitarist, I’ll do it right and go for Jimi.”

“Santana.”

Andy couldn’t even say the name without laughing through it. Especially when Joe was groaning out painfully, shoving Andy off of him. And that was fine, Andy sprawling out in bed with a grin, arms over his head.

“I don’t believe in false idols,” Joe pointed out, sitting up and flipping to kneel over Andy. As it were, they were both pretty strong dudes, but it still twisted something in the pit of Andy’s stomach when Joe grabbed him by the hips and flipped him, a hand against the small of his back while the other cupped his hipbone to make him arch. 

It was uncomfortable, slightly, the curve of his back since it was still a little tight from the show. Joe didn’t seem to care, though, pushing and pulling until Andy had his knees from under him and Joe had both hands on his cheeks, spreading him wide.

“Should it be messiahs?” Andy wondered aloud absently, jerking and laughing when Joe slapped his ass hard, hard enough to sting and definitely leave a mark.

The first hit was hard, but the subsequent ones were playful, Andy crossing his arms and resting his head on them to look over his shoulder at Joe. They were rhythmic little taps, Joe probably just enjoying the way his cheeks jiggled with every hit.

“Bongos, bongos,” Joe sang quietly, like maybe Andy wouldn’t hear in the quiet room when all they had to focus on was each other. When Andy laughed Joe looked up, brows furrowed. “Hey, this is my ass. If I want to play bongos on it before I wreck it, then I’m going to fucking play bongos.”

It was sound reasoning that Andy couldn’t really argue with. His ass was Joe’s, and with permission, he could do whatever he pleased with it. Especially since after bongos Joe was ready to get down to business. He sunk down further in the bed, to the point where Andy gave up trying to see him, just pressing his forehead against his forearm and wait for the first wet press of tongue.

He didn’t have to wait long, two of Joe’s fingers on either side of his hole to hold him open before licking into him. It was indecent and so fucking good, wanting to twist away but at the same time push further back. He opted for the latter, rocking his hips back against Joe’s face, because he knew that was what Joe liked. He liked to know that Andy loved what he was doing. Andy, who was quiet unless he had something pertinent to say. Andy, who didn’t talk and didn’t want to talk to people that he knew didn’t care about him.

And Joe was just marvelous at what he did. Andy wasn’t really that difficult, but Joe had him moaning out, reaching for the squashed pillow to further mutilate it. Andy twisted his fingers in the cover, pushed his face against it to smell Joe and sweat. All while Joe spread him with those same two fingers, held him open and licked between them until Andy could hear the wet noises over his own mindless little sounds. 

Now, when Joe slid two fingers in, they went smoothly with just a hitch of Andy’s hips to get them bottomed out faster. He could feel Joe’s grin against his asscheek, pressing a kiss there, before spreading his fingers and licking inside of him. Once, twice, before he was pulling his face back to spit between them and fuck into Andy a little hard, just shy of too much. It had Andy actually whimpering, teeth in the pillow, because Joe was leaning over him and fucking him hard with those two fingers, the rest of them spread and braced against his ass so he could get good leverage.

“Yeah, that’s good, huh?” Joe mumbled, teeth scraping up Andy’s back in time with his stubble. “Like my fingers fucking you? Of course you do, listen to you.”

He really didn’t mean to be so loud, even muffled by the pillow, but with Joe’s body heat covering him and his fingers, not thrusting but pushing down in a half-circle so he felt full, it was a lot to handle. He wasn’t even making sense, just a litany of breathy noises punctuated with the occasional whimper.

When Joe slowed down, Andy felt like he could breathe again. The fingers were barely moving inside of him, making little walking motions, and it wasn’t anywhere near his prostate (thankfully) so he could at least focus a little. 

Andy almost missed the way that Joe used to have to push his hair out of his face in order to kiss him when they did this, but it did leave both of Joe’s hands free to do whatever he wanted. Whatever he wanted apparently consisted of stroking over Andy’s sides, soothing, while the other was pressed firm against his ass with those fingers inside of him.

“You want me to fuck you?” Joe asked, kissing Andy’s cheek, the side of his nose, his temple, the wet corner of his mouth. “With more than just my fingers now? Think you’re ready for my cock?”

The way Andy arched back against Joe was probably an answer enough, twisting and letting a breathy sigh out at the words. “If it’ll shut you up,” he murmured, unable to hide his smile, especially when Joe growled playfully and nuzzled his nose against Andy’s cheek. 

“I brought condoms,” Joe said hesitantly, pulling away from Andy to kneel on the bed and reach over for the foils and lube. 

Andy propped himself up on his elbows, looking over to him with an arch to his brow. “Why?” he asked, not quite sure what Joe was getting at.

Joe blinked once, looking down to the set of three condoms in his hand before up to Andy. “Because you said ‘stuff’ not ‘lube’ so I thought you might want them?” 

Semantics. Andy huffed out a laugh, letting his head drop back down to the pillow as he watched Joe with a light smile. They didn’t always use condoms--it had been a long time since they’d started this, and they were both vehemently faithful partners. It was more about cleanup at the end of the day, or how willing you were to maybe end up with something you didn’t want on your dick. But Andy had a Thing, right up there with Joe doing the Talking Thing, next to Joe’s Marking Thing, and maybe it was part of that because they definitely coincided in their Barebacking Thing.

“We don’t have to. Unless you want to--”

“Nope,” Joe said immediately, cutting Andy off, throwing the condoms over his shoulder and eagerly bouncing his way towards the foot of the bed. He dragged Andy down a little further by his ankles, Andy keeping a firm hand on the pillow to take it with him, before Joe was shoving him up and around the way he wanted--up on his knees and elbows, legs spread wide enough that Joe didn’t need to use his hands when he dove back in, mouth against Andy’s hole.

The wet noises were back, along with a low, shuddering moan from Andy. He was definitely ready for it, just loose enough that it would burn and he could feel it the next day at his drum kit. Joe’s tongue fucking into him was no where near his cock, but it was different kind of good. 

“Look how wet you are for me,” Joe murmured as he pulled back, the cap of the lube going and slick fingers being pressed into him without any preamble. “You’re dripping for me, fucking Christ.”

Andy nodded dumbly, ready to agree with anything Joe was saying since he had his fingers hooking in Andy, fucking them in and out again, hard and fast. Those two fingers held his hole open, palm pushing enough to let Andy know to kneel a little higher, before he was pouring lube directly into him.

“You’re sleeping the wet spot tonight,” Andy gasped out when Joe’s fingers left his body, feeling the way the lube dripped down over his balls and no doubt onto the sheets. “And you’re going to like it.”

The cap of the lube went again as Joe leaned over him, lips pressed to Andy’s ear. “I’m going to fucking love it,” he assured him with a sloppy wet kiss that tasted faintly like soap, the slick sound of Joe’s hand on his cock calculated, telling Andy that Joe was just as worked up as he was. 

There was a time for teasing. There was a time for soft kisses, gentle pushes of their hips. There was a time for tender touches, tracing the lines of their body, seeing where they fit together. This was not any of those times, though. This was hard and fast, Joe lining up and pushing in with a sharp snap of his hips that had Andy crying out and trying to get away off instinct. Not that he could, not with the way Joe wrapped an arm around his waist, braced against his thighs, and kept Andy in place so he could fuck into him 

The slap of their skin was almost louder than Andy’s noises, hitching breathes and low keens in his throat. Joe was brutal with him, baser animal need, biting at Andy’s shoulder until he was sure he would bruise later. He barely had purchase to push back, knees slipping on the bed until Joe thought it was too low and he hoisted him back up, pistoning his hips into Andy until it hurt.

It was a hard pace with little sustainability, because soon Joe was slowing, pulling back and moving the hand around Andy’s waist to cup his hip while the other went to his shoulder. It was a little better, a little slower, less overwhelming because Andy felt like he could breathe this way. Each thrust became a slower roll of Joe’s hips, his entire torso one smooth ripple, pushing deep and thrusting shallowly. They were both breathing hard already, Andy’s heartbeat loud in his ear, taking the interlude to calm himself down, reach a hand between his legs and squeeze the base of his cock because he didn’t remember the last time he was so hard.

“You look so good like this,” Joe commented, using his thumb to hold Andy’s cheeks apart, look down at the sight before spitting onto where they were connected. Joe pulled out all the way, hushed the noise of protest from Andy by thrusting three fingers in the wake of his cock, spreading Andy wide with him while he watched. “So pretty, just for me.”

If that wasn’t the understatement of the year. It had always been Joe that could have him like this, do this to him. When the fingers left so did Joe’s warmth from behind him, moving to sit with his back against the wall, cock glistening against his stomach in the dim light of the room. Andy knew what he wanted, knew what he’d eventually get, but for now he keeled over onto his side, chest still rising and falling, watching Joe watch him with that same stupid mix of love, adoration, and hunger he usually had.

It took Andy a couple of moments to remember how to work his legs, moving to his knees and shuffling over to straddle Joe. Joe’s hands started at the back of his knees, pulling him forward until they pressed close, and worked upwards. Further and further, up over Andy’s thighs, his hips, skirting around to slide one up his stomach and the other up his back. And then they were kissing, something sweet, barely there pressure that made them both smile and watch each other through lidded eyes. 

“Open up your hangar, my starfighter needs refueling,” Joe whispered, dissolving them both into laughter, even as Andy reached back to hold the base of his cock and sink down into it. That melted the laughter into moans, soft ones, mixed between their mouths.

Andy didn't so much bounce but rock back and forth, forearms on Joe’s shoulders to brace himself while he felt Joe shift inside of him. It was good enough for now, because Joe could reach down and wrap his fingers around Andy, begin to milk him slowly. The speed didn’t even really matter--Andy was too close. It was too much, having been hard for what felt like hours now, the constant dull throbbing and tightening in his stomach and groin. 

“You’re going to make me cum,” Andy warned, breathing the words into Joe’s mouth, feeling his lips quirk into a faint smile.

“That’s kinda the point, yeah?” Joe offered, thumb rolling against the underside of Andy’s dick, just under the head, callused and perfect in its friction.

When Andy started to move in earnest, rest his hands behind him on Joe’s thighs and really start to ride him, Joe stopped actually moving his hand and just let Andy fuck up into his fist. Down onto Joe’s cock, up into his fist, setting his own pace. 

“There you go,” Joe encouraged once he found a good rhythm, head falling back with his a low moan. “Yeah, fuck. Ride my cock, baby, shit.”

It had been necessary a little, in the beginning. They needed to tell each other what to do, what the other one liked, because communication was key to great sex and they both really, really liked great sex but didn’t have a lot of experience working around a dick that wasn’t their own. Now, it made Andy almost fond to listen to Joe talk to him still, because Andy had stopped using words at the same time he’d stopped holding back his noises. They both suited the same purpose. And right now he was panting lightly against Joe’s open mouth, not even really kissing, their lips sticky when they rubbed together. 

Another downward thrust paired with a roll of his hips and Joe was hissing out a sharp, “Fuck,” before the interlude was over. More like act three, really, where nothing really happens aside from setting up for the climax in act four. Joe wrapped a hand around Andy’s throat and one around his thigh, using his body weight and momentum to slam and into the bed without pulling out of him. From there, the bruising pace picked up again--Joe holding Andy down by his throat, brows screwed together in concentration while that other hand pressed Andy’s leg down into the bed to spread him wide.

And Andy took it, hands going above his head to twist into the sheets, hooking a leg around Joe for some leverage as he pushed back against the thrusts that threatened to send him over the end of the bed. He was surprised he wasn’t howling, lips parted in a constant whimper or keen, knowing his lips and ass were probably red by now from thorough abuse but that was something for the morning. That was something to deal with later, when he woke up in the middle of the night to piss only to find a second hole to hell between his asscheeks.

This time, when Joe wrapped his hand around his cock, (kept a hand on Andy’s throat, squeezing lightly) Andy knew that it was all over. The ache in his balls was getting uncomfortable, and he knew Joe had been staving him off so they could at least cum somewhat close together. Andy tended to get too sensitive after an orgasm, and getting Joe off first was difficult. Andy thought it was because most of his pleasure came from his partner’s, from knowing he’d satisfied Andy, and that was what Andy would give him, gladly, all over their stomachs and even on the underside of his own chin. 

But Joe fucked him through it. Fucked him through the trembling, the clenching, the choked-off scream of his name because Joe was kissing him, swallowing down every keen and whimper and sigh. He fucked Andy until he was soft, spent and pliant, overly sensitive and just perfect. 

“Cum for me,” Andy whispered when he had the mind to, smirking when Joe bit off a moan and his rhythm faltered. “Cum inside me, come on. I wanna feel it, wanna feel you fill me up.”

It was stupid, because he really couldn’t feel much of anything, but it was the trick. It was the switch in Joe’s brain that went off, thrusting hard twice before pausing, thighs trembling, and then the erratic thrusts came while he chased the aftermath of his orgasm as they kissed. Open-mouthed and messy with too much tongue and not even caring in the least, the hand around his throat soothing into a caress that went down to his stomach, smearing the cum there, and then back up to grip Andy’s face so they could kiss more deeply.

They stayed like that until Andy’s legs began to hurt, tipping them over to rest on their sides. Joe’s cock accidentally slipped out with the movement, Andy huffing out a moan and burying his face into the sweat-slick curve of Joe’s neck. And, because it was Joe, Andy let out one more moan when Joe’s fingers pressed between his cheeks again, touched the wetness of his hole, smiling satisfied against Andy’s mouth.

It had been pretty intense sex, and nothing was more important than the cool down. Touching and caressing while they kissed chastely, touching newly made marks with fingers and mouths again. It had been fantastic sex, absolutely mind blowing, but without the haze of lust, Andy had to ask, “Is something wrong?”

Joe’s briefly guilty look was enough of an answer, though Andy didn’t know why. He was patient, letting Joe press his face into his neck, hide away while he gathered himself.

“Do you know what tomorrow--” Joe lifted his head, narrowing his eyes at the clock to read it, “--today is?”

Andy honestly had no fucking clue. It wasn’t Joe’s birthday, or his birthday, wasn’t their anniversary (mostly because they didn’t have one), so no, he didn’t.

“What?” he asked, more curious than anything else. He rubbed his hand down Joe’s arm, laced their fingers to bring them up to his mouth, ignoring the way they smelt like cum and sex and kissed each knuckle.

Joe was a goofball at heart, so the somberness in his eyes at times always startled Andy. “It’s been three years since you...” he trailed off, looking at Andy. And Andy actually had to think about it, long and hard, remembering the month, thinking back three years, and oh.

“Oh,” Andy finished for him, remembering, because, yeah, he could see why that would be important to Joe. Three years since the odd dark hole that he had somehow managed to find himself in alone, without anyone, trapped and unable to think of an escape that didn’t end with opening a locked case and blowing his brains out. “Oh, Joe,” he finished more softly, pushing their noses together.

“I know you’re okay now,” Joe said quickly, too quickly, like he was afraid he’d upset Andy. “I know that you’re better and you’ve learned and it was just a thing but…”

“It’s okay, I know,” Andy murmured before kissing him, nodding his head. “I get it, don’t worry.”

And the best part was Andy did get it. They’d been through Pete for over a decade, had known the demons in his mind and saw what they could do. It was a recurring cycle with Pete, highs and lows, thankfully lessened now, but Joe was still scared. He would never stop being scared. So when Andy went through something similar, and it really was just a one time thing for him, it made Joe nervous. 

“I’m okay, I’m here,” Andy soothed, stroking Joe’s sweaty forehead, pushing back some stray tendrils. Joe nodded, and Andy knew he would be alright eventually, just probably not right now. He thought to the suspiciously empty bus, the way no one had interrupted them or their phones hadn’t gone off, and immediately knew this was planned. Not for Andy’s comfort, no, but for Joe’s. Because it was something he needed, and Andy could give it to him.

Andy sat up slightly, grabbed the comforter to wrap them up in it, not wanting to leave to do any cleanup. When he settled back down, Joe wrapped his arms around him tight, squeezing, keeping Andy’s back against his chest and kissing whatever skin he could reach. Over his shoulders, the nape of his neck, absently tracing some of the Andy’s tattoos, like he could never get enough of touching Andy.

Andy was half asleep when he heard it, Joe settling his face into the curve of Andy’s neck, murmuring, “I love you.”

“Love you, too,” Andy whispered, tongue feeling thick in his mouth, squeezing Joe’s hand when he felt him smile against his skin. 

The morning came with Joe sprawled out (in the former wet spot) while drooling onto their shared pillow. Sunlight was barely seeping through the windows, just enough to wake Andy up, have him take in a deep breath and try to move his body to no avail. Joe’s arm was heavy around his waist still, protective, hard to move but eventually Andy managed to sneak out wearing a pair of basketball shorts that definitely weren’t his and some seriously fucked up hair.

His body screamed everything they did last night, from the dried cum flecked on his stomach to the barely-there bruises on his throat, faint fingertip marks that would fade. The bitemarks would take longer, especially the dark, angry bruise on his shoulder from Joe’s teeth. But he cleaned himself up minutely, took a piss, and splashed some water on his face in order to be ready to greet a new day.

He remembered what it was like to not see a point to this, to waking up. He remembered when his girlfriend left him, when Fall Out Boy was over, before Joe came to him and wanted him in The Damned Things. He remembered walking by people on the street, people that didn’t care about him and wouldn’t notice if he was gone. He remembered thinking about their fans, how they’d be sad in passing maybe, then thank God it wasn’t Pete or Patrick because a drummer can be replaced. There wasn’t anything special about Andrew Hurley.

Pete and Patrick were both sitting in the lounge when Andy made his way in almost a half an hour later, both of them looking up in unison. Patrick had his headphones on, Pete balls deep in a bowl of cereal, but they both smiled at him and Andy knew. He knew even before he saw Joe, standing in his boxers with scratches down his chest and marks to match Andy. He knew even before Patrick took his headphones off, or Pete swallowed his more recent bite of cereal. He knew before Joe came over to him, kissed him square on the mouth, and smiled down to him.

“It’s a brand new day,” Joe whispered, kissing Andy’s cheek, the curve of his neck, before hugging him and resting his head on his shoulder.

Pete and Patrick got up, too, and suddenly everyone was hugging him and it made Andy’s chest hurt. How stupid it was of him, to think they would forget because he had. He knew they still didn’t forget to this day, sitting in a hospital waiting room while Pete got his stomach pumped. They didn’t forget the conference call on Pete’s birthday, congratulating him on making it to twenty-eight. 

“The sun is shining,” Patrick pointed out, his mouth near Andy’s right ear, sounding soft but happy.

“We’re glad you’re here with us,” Pete finished, his head resting against Joe’s, pressing a quick kiss to Andy’s temple.

It was something he’d realized long ago, after the fog had started to clear and Andy was thinking like Andy again. When Joe had called him with a proposition for the new band, when Patrick had called him and said they wanted to get back together. 

If nothing else, he would be missed by his family. By these stupid assholes.

“Glad to be here,” Andy said, and found that he was.