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Chris is pissed off. He isn’t sure anymore whether it is at Corey or himself. He isn’t sure either why he’s let Corey stay after the band meeting, possibly to spare Jim who looked so tired Chris had almost offered him a blanket and a pillow. So babies are as bad as everyone keeps saying, though to be fair Jim hasn’t complained, or said much of anything either. At any rate, Chris hasn’t allowed Corey to leave with him, best friend or not.
It was a bad idea, which Chris can’t say surprises him. They all know how Corey feels about Slipknot when he is preparing a Stone Sour album, recording it, touring for it, on holidays, during pauses and really anytime he isn’t in fact trapped in a room or a tour bus with the rest of them. They also all know how vocal Corey is. It’s the point, what makes him such a good frontman.
But then again, there’s vocal, and there’s vocal, in his sitting room, after a band meeting that hasn’t gone all that well and has lasted for a couple of hours already. Chris is tired and, contrary to popular belief, being easy-going doesn’t mean he is a complete doormat. Besides Corey’s been rehashing the same points over and over.
“Fucking Joey never fucking listens. Always thinks he’s better than all of us and we’re so fucking lucky to have him!”
Chris rolls his eyes. That’s old news, not entirely untrue, but still nothing that needs repeating as he reminds the singer.
“Don’t fucking start on that whole being reasonable shit! Clown’s been at it all afternoon and it was already stupid when it was him, like he has any fucking leg to stand on... We’re not his goddamn kids either!”
“Goddammit, Taylor, d’you even listen to your bullshit? You need to shut the fuck up already!” Chris is slowly getting worked up. It feels as if Corey’s goading him, to do what though, he’s fucked if he knows.
“Oh, come on Chris, we all know this is as much about celebrating Paul as it is about milking Slipknot for as long as him and Joey can!”
That last bit is the last straw and he finds himself fingers digging hard into Corey’s shoulders, pushing him until his back connects with something solid, hissing, close enough that he can smell the beer in Corey’s breath.
“Do you hear the fucking shit you're spewing, Taylor? What the fuck? Milking it, what the everloving fuck?” His fingers dig harder and he can see pain flickering into Corey’s face, his smirk turning into a grimace. It doesn’t stop him from shoving the smaller man again, hard enough to feel Corey tensing against the pain.
“You gonna hit me, Fehn?” Chris’s forceful grip wavers and Corey’s smirk comes back full force as he elaborates, “Thought you liked it the other way round...” And sure enough, Corey’s pressing a leg between his.
Chris’s hold on his shoulders turns almost soft, his train of thoughts well derailed. He can’t parse when or how he gave Corey any sort of signal that could have been confused with flirting. And if Corey’s feeling horny why didn’t he just say so? It’s not like he’d have turned him down.
He isn’t given the opportunity to voice his question though because Corey has his hands curled into his shirt and he’s pulling until Chris can barely breathe, let alone find his voice. He glances over to Corey’s face, registering the lust in his eyes, right before bees start to flit into his field of vision. He attempts to gasp to no particular effect. His brain feels like it’s operating through honey. His knees buckle, his hands trying to find purchase into Corey’s shirt.
He’s already starting to slide to Corey’s feet but the singer rolls them around and presses him up the wall, reversing their positions. The leg is still there between his, and it takes his oxygen-starved brain a long time to process the warmth he can feel, and an even longer time to realize he can breathe freely again.
Chris wants to say something, but his throat isn’t cooperating and Corey’s grinding is making his thoughts even stickier. The singer readjusts his hold, pressing his fingers against his neck again, his breath stutters and his knees stop pretending to hold him up. Corey smirks wider.
“That was easier than I’d thought.” He pauses and drawls on, “But then again, you've always been a slut for it, haven't you?"
This time, Chris can’t answer because he has a mouthful of Corey’s tongue. And, even though it’s been years since the last time this happens, it’s still familiar enough that he doesn’t fight it. It’s totally irrelevant that between the air restriction and the grinding, all of Chris’s blood has headed south and kissing’s just adding more happy signals to his cock.
When he’s given some time to breathe, he doesn’t remember what he wanted to say anymore. Corey isn’t wrong, even if sex hadn’t been on his mind, it’s never been hard to get it there. He grasps at the remnants of coherent thoughts he can find, but they’re too slippery and Corey’s pushing on his windpipe once more. Chris moans, or rather gurgles given the amount of air he has access to.
“You’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you?” Corey licks up his cheek, warm and sloppy. “Could have you agree with me about Shawn and Joey, right? You’d say anything I want you to say if I told you. Even agree that Shawn’s a patronizing cunt.”
And Corey pushes his hips into his, his erection warm and heavy against Chris’s. And of course he doesn’t want to agree with the singer, but fuck him for knowing exactly how to get him going.
“Com’on, Chris, say it! You’re not getting anything otherwise.”
His brain overloads with conflicting feelings and needs, his cock keeps insisting to get on with it, right this instant, nothing’s worth delaying their gratification any longer. But his brain refuses to let him sink that low. Shame courses through his veins that he’s even considering it, the warmth settles in his guts, his cock painful in his jeans.
He opens his mouth a couple of times, shaping sounds that don’t come out, until he settles on the only thing that’s both safe and acceptable, “Please.”
Corey’s laugh isn’t kind, nor is it cruel exactly, exhilarated’s closer, maybe fond too. Chris feels a little disappointed that he won’t be pushed further, and a fresh wave of shame rushes through him. He shouldn’t be getting off on that kind of shit.
“S’pity we haven’t fucked in so long, forgot you were such a nice whore.”
Corey pushes him into the wall again, his leg pressing up all but crushing Chris’s balls into his pelvic bone. Teeth sink hard into his shoulder getting a moan of mixed pain and want out of him. The words have finally brought the shame all the way to his face and he closes his eyes, as if not seeing might keep Corey from noticing.
Caught between hard teeth and unmoving leg, Chris doesn’t dare twist. Though if he’s honest, he maybe wants to move a little, just to test how far the singer’s willing to hurt him, see if he can push him a little further. It brings a fresh wave of shame to his face. His hands move on their own, he can feel material giving way to warm skin and Corey’s breathing getting a lot more erratic. Or maybe it’s his own. He isn’t sure.
The teeth have moved up his neck and it’s all he can do not to drop to his knees, like a bitch in heat. He’s fumbling with buttons, whether they’re his or Corey’s he can’t tell. He can however get his fingers around someone’s hard cock and is rewarded with a loud gasp that he knows doesn’t come from his throat.
He doesn’t get much time to settle on what to do next. Corey pulls back, batting his hands away, and flips him around without care. Chris has only enough presence of mind to get his hands up before his face meets the wall. But he isn’t about to protest as Corey is pushing his jeans down roughly and all he wants is to press his ass back into the singer’s crotch.
There’s a loud slap on his backside, which makes him to arch up and press more into Corey’s crotch. He almost doesn’t hear the singer’s chuckle over the sound of the next few, harder, slaps against his ass.
“Greedy slut...” That he does hear, and shame crashes into his lust again. “You fucking want more, don’t you? You’re not getting anything until you ask nicely...”
Chris gurgles before he can reign his brain in, shuffling through what Corey’s most likely to want to hear. He’s opening his mouth when Corey loses his patience and slaps his ass a couple more times.
“Lost your tongue... Or you’ve already come in your pants like the whore you are?” Pressing him harder against the wall, Corey reaches around and tuts. “You so hard and wet... Prolly came earlier and you’re hard again.” He then pushes his hips against Chris’s, forcing a moan out of him.
Almost instantly, Chris feels fingers pressed into his mouth and he doesn’t need to be told what to do. He sucks onto them, hard and sloppy and somewhat teasing and deep in his mouth, just like he would if it was Corey’s cock.
“Yes, Chris... Such a good cocksucker,” Corey pauses as his teeth graze Chris’s nape and he pulls his fingers free. “But you’re so much better with a hard cock up your ass, aren’t you?”
If Chris is meant to answer, he doesn’t get time for it as the singer pushes his wet fingers inside him with ease. The words melt on his lips, turning into a meaningless moan. He isn’t sure whether the spike of arousal comes from the physical invasion or the sharp humiliation at Corey’s words.
It’s good though and he pushes back, his hips moving, taking Corey’s fingers deeper in spite of the slight pain. He wants the ecstatic rush he knows can be so easy to set off, but Corey’s deliberately not crooking his fingers.
“So desperate already... Want me to fuck you, Chris? You wanna be my bitch?”
Smarting once again at the tone, Chris wants to tell Corey to shut the fuck up and get on with it already, but his brain is too hard-wired into perverse kinky shit and he bites his lips not to beg yet. Instead he pushes against Corey’s fingers, only to feel them desert him. He can’t help the whine that falls from his mouth, nor the fresh rush of shame that accompanies Corey’s condescending laugh.
“If you want my cock, Chris, I told you, you gotta ask for it... And better be convincing, s’not like I need you.”
“Please...” That’s the easiest bit, but Corey tuts in answer and it seems that isn’t nice enough. “Corey, please, fuck me... Wanna feel you. Your big, hard cock... Please... Never get off as good as with you... Please...”
He isn’t really paying any attention to his own babble and it turns into a full on moan when Corey pushes into him. Something he’s said must have pleased the singer, or he just couldn’t wait any longer. And that’s a lot more likely if the rhythm of their fucking is anything to go by. Not that Chris is complaining, in his book hard and fast is better by far than slow and teasing.
Corey isn’t even pretending he wants to make it last, thrusting into him hard enough that Chris has trouble not hitting the wall. For a few seconds, he takes it, moving along then his cock reminds itself to him. But Corey is both plowing too hard into him and holding his wrists against the wall, resisting everytime he tries to pry himself free.
“No, you’re not.” Corey manages to speak without missing a beat, and to bite down hard onto his shoulder again, before adding, “Sluts only come after, if they did good!”
Chris lets out a low breathy moan, half pain, half humiliation and pushes back against Corey, meeting every thrust and somehow getting the rhythm even faster. It’s good, almost good enough for him to get off, maybe if he can keep Corey going a little longer. But the singer is already clawing at Chris’s wrists, as his hips stutter against his ass and he comes.
For a few seconds, Chris scrambles at his brain, trying to decide what to do next. He ponders how he can get Corey to suck him, or failing that just give him a hand. Except Corey’s already pulling out. He pats Chris’s ass without a word and there is the unmissable sound of zipped up trousers.
His cock still leaking and desperate for release, Chris twists against the wall and slides down. He watches Corey make his way through the room. The singer’s walking slowly, as if daring him to beg but Chris isn’t going to give him the satisfaction of either shooting him down, or even just acknowledging how fucking bad he wants it.
At last he can hear the front door close and his hand is wrapping around his cock as if it might fall off. It almost hurts getting as much friction as he wants after starving from it, though he apparently still has precome to leak. He closes his eyes, knowing he isn’t going to last, but determined to savour it.
“Y’think you deserve that? ‘Cause you didn’t participate all that much. Shoulda worked harder, really.”
Chris isn’t sure whether it’s the obvious sneer in the tone, or the words themselves that sting the most, but a fresh rush of humiliation goes through him and he comes right there, hips arching off and his eyes slide shut as he breathes hard. He can still hear Corey’s footsteps and he just about manages to unglue one eye open. Corey’s looking over his shoulder flashing him a grin and a kiss. He smiles back, his head falling against the wall.
[the end]