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It’s infuriating, Nicholas thinks, how well Taki knows him. How effortlessly he maps the terrain of his mind. How much Nicholas allows himself to be known, and how willing he is to be stripped bare by him.
Taki’s nothing short of an expert, really—an expert in the architecture of Nicholas’ brain, in the science of his needs; of his behaviour, his reactions and the emotions that flicker across his eyes before Nicholas can even process them himself. Taki knows the exact pressure points that get him worked up, possesses the effortless ability to set him on fire whenever he deems fit. He has him figured out down to the smallest of details—details of his wants and his desires—has him memorised inside and out like the lyrics of a well-worn song that sits on all of their setlists. Nicholas is defenseless against the predictability of his own self; all he can do is surrender and follow Taki’s lead.
That is probably why he finds himself here again: a fist tangled roughly in the hair at the base of his nape, two fingers pressing harshly against his tongue. He’s pinned against the wall of their cramped tour bus, entirely consumed already, and so unbelievably hard that he honestly can’t tell if the stars exploding behind his eyelids are the afterimages of the stage lights or the overwhelming rush of his own arousal. It could as well be both.
The rings on Taki’s fingers dig into Nicholas’ bottom lip, stinging as they shift with every shaky breath he takes. The spit pooling in his mouth started overflowing a while ago, dripping down his chin until Taki decided to gather it up and shove it back in. It tastes faintly metallic, like the bands Taki’s wearing. It’s an addictive flavor. Nicholas wants to lick them clean.
He looks down at them, cross-eyed, trying to focus on their shapes, their details.
“Did you—ah—did you steal my rings again?” he asks—well, attempts to, at least, choking on the spit he tries to swallow down in one go.
He gags as the pressure against his tongue suddenly increases, letting out a pained moan when Taki’s thigh pushes upward between his legs with renewed intensity. He’s clearly trying to distract him. Bingo.
“Answer me, you jackass.” Nicholas grabs Taki by the wrist and manages to yank his hand away from his mouth.
Taki raises an eyebrow at him, amused. His confidence might have something to do with the painfully visible tent in Nicholas’ pants; Nicholas really needs to have a talk with whoever approved those too-tight jeans for tonight’s show.
“Lily said they’re cool last time,” Taki says, a challenging glint in his eyes. “Said they’re hot. Don’t act like they don’t turn you on.”
Nicholas hates Taki for many, many reasons. First off, and most importantly, Taki can’t seem to stop stealing his stuff even when repeatedly told to. It’s not just his rings—not just the matching ones he and Euijoo got together to celebrate turning twenty-four. It’s his T-shirts, too, and the beanies Taki constantly takes without asking, and the dangle earrings Nicholas only notices are missing when he sees Taki wearing them on stage. It’s a never-ending story. That boy never learns.
But Nicholas hates Taki’s guts for far pettier reasons, too. For using up the last bit of toothpaste and leaving the crumpled tube on the counter. For finishing the milk and leaving the empty carton right on the fridge door for Nicholas to find. For leaving the toilet lid up after taking a shit, making the whole bus stink just for the hell of it. For singing out of tune in the shower when everyone else is trying to sleep. For stealing the spotlight from Nicholas’ guitar solos, too, with his stupid jumping stunts, or by kissing some random fan at the barricades.
Nicholas hates Taki for sleeping around as well—sleeping around with their fans like a horny, insatiable whore, be it men or women; Taki doesn't seem to care. He hates him for sneaking out the second a show ends and stumbling back to the tour bus hours later, tipsy or shit-faced, waking everyone up as he tries to crawl into his bunk bed. For coming back in one of Nicholas’ favorite T-shirts with half-dried cum stains on it, his fried blond hair sticking up in every direction, one cheek still red with the unmistakable imprint of a palm.
There really are so many different reasons for Nicholas to hate Taki, yet it’s also him who always ends up pressed against every available surface of this cramped space the moment they get a second alone, eager, like a starved animal, for whatever Taki wants to give him.
Lily must be one of his recent hookup obsessions, Nicholas figures—one of their crazy fans who follows them to every single stop on the tour. He wonders what she does for a living to afford this much travelling. Wonders if Lily has had those same rings—his rings—in her mouth, too. Wonders if that was yesterday, and if she was the reason Taki came back late and refused to fuck him, even though Nicholas had already stretched himself open for him beforehand. If she boosted Taki's ego too much again, and spent him to his limit. If she rode him well, better than Nicholas does it—better because they were in a hotel room and not trapped in the laughable amount of space they have on Nicholas’ bunk bed.
Nicholas considers asking her about the money thing. Maybe she goes around selling something illegal and could hook him up. Maybe then he’d have a few extra bucks to book them a hotel room from time to time, so he could ride Taki properly. It’s been five weeks on the road already and they’re not even halfway done yet. Jesus. Nicholas needs to be fucked properly for once, face shoved into a proper mattress, a proper bed.
Maybe Lily would book them a room if he asked nicely. If they let her watch, probably. He just worries Taki would abandon him to fuck her instead, leaving Nicholas empty, clenching around nothing, cum dripping out of him with every desperate twitch. Taki wouldn't even help him finish, too eager to get his dick into a pussy as soon as possible. Nicholas briefly wishes he had a pussy. Maybe Taki would want him more then.
“They don’t,” Nicholas tries biting back, but the cock straining against his denim doesn’t seem to agree. Taki feels it twitch against his thigh and snorts like he finds it funny, digging his knee higher, firmer.
A surprised whimper escapes Nicholas’ lips as Taki grabs his chin. Fingers dig into his jaw while a dry thumb hooks behind his bottom teeth, yanking his head forward. Nicholas shuts his eyes, forcing himself not to moan again as he imagines the imprint of his own rings on his face later. He can’t give Taki the satisfaction—not this quickly, anyway.
Taki pulls his thumb out of his mouth, smearing the moisture across his lower lip. He presses down experimentally, his nail biting into the flesh. He only smiles when Nicholas hisses sharply in pain.
“Your friend here seems to have a different opinion,” he teases, tugging the hair at the nape of Nicholas' neck. He smiles wider when it earns him a half-smothered groan and another twitch against his crotch. “I’d go so far as to say he might even be enjoying it.”
Nicholas hates that smile of his so much—that knowing, arrogant grin Taki wears because he knows Nicholas can do absolutely nothing about it. If Nicholas fights back too much, Taki might just leave him blue-balled there, aching. It’s happened a few times before, him simply walking away to find someone else to get off with, leaving Nicholas to jerk off alone in his bunk, entirely unsatisfied by his own quick hands. He still has to say something, though; he can’t let Taki make fun of him this easily.
“Call my dick my friend again and I’ll kill you,” Nicholas spits, the threat coming out as angrily as the grip on his face allows. Taki doesn’t look like he plans on easing it anytime soon.
“It’s not like you use it for anything, do you, now?” he retorts without missing a beat, his tone dripping with mockery.
Nicholas burns hot with shame—with red, blinding humiliation over how dizzy these words make him. How much more aroused he gets, more than he thought possible, undone simply by embarrassment and a little bit of pressure on his dick. He loathes that he allows Taki to treat him like this, and loathes even more how badly he wants to be handled exactly this way.
It’s maddening—Taki knowing Nicholas’ threats are nothing but empty noise, knowing he can do whatever he wishes and Nicholas will greedily swallow anything he’s given. He’s entirely at Taki’s mercy here, and he’s become so hopelessly addicted to it—to his hands, his teasing, his agonizing pace, and the cruel intuition Taki weaponizes against him at every opportunity—that Nicholas is terrified no one else will ever be able to satisfy him again.
Taki watches, laser-focused, as Nicholas’ throat bobs with a struggling swallow. Slowly, his fingers shift from Nicholas' jaw, sliding down the line of his neck where his thumb lingers to trace the frantic pulse point. He stays there for a few long seconds before moving down again, his palm spreading wide over his flushed chest.
“Nothing to say?” Taki asks, his fingers drifting dangerously close to Nicholas’ left nipple, nails dancing around it, teasing.
Nicholas shivers at the feeling, tilting his freed head back too fast and cracking it against the plastic wall of the bus’ narrow hallway. Taki laughs instantly, completely unfazed by the death glare Nicholas sends him.
“I thought you’d be more eager to spew nonsense—thought you’d be mad you didn’t get fucked yesterday,” Taki says, having the absolute nerve to pout as he brushes a single nail over the sensitive peak. The touch is feather-light. Nicholas wants to punch him in the face. “I hoped you’d be, even. You’re so cute when you get angry. So pent up. You finish so fast, too—”
“Fuck you,” Nicholas rasps, the words scraping his throat. He needs Taki to stop talking. Needs him to move this along already.
“—and you get so spent afterward, just lying there,” Taki continues relentlessly, his nails shifting focus to the right nipple now. Nicholas almost sobs from the stimulation. “I love fucking you when you get like this. Can get so harsh once you barely have the energy to move.”
Nicholas bites down on his tongue so hard he tastes iron, refusing to give Taki a response when he suddenly moves his other hand down to his clothed crotch, and starts palming him in a slow, circular motion. He grips the edge of the narrow bunk frame next to him until his knuckles go white.
“Oh?” Taki tilts his head, tracing the furious tension radiating through Nicholas’ entire frame.
The unyielding pressure of his palm against Nicholas’ trapped length keeps sending jolts of pained pleasure through his body, but Nicholas forces his jaw to lock, eyes squeezed shut. Taki lets out a short, unsatisfied hum.
“So that's how we’re gonna play today? One wouldn’t believe how much you were bitching about my laundry in the morning with how quiet you are now.”
Nicholas thinks his blood might actually start boiling soon. He wants to throw the morning’s argument right back into Taki’s face, the smelly shirts left on the floor, the absolute disregard—as always—for anyone else’s space, but Taki increases the pressure again, grinding the heel of his palm firmly against the aching crown of Nicholas’ cock until his hips twitch forward involuntarily.
“Shut up,” Nicholas chokes out, but he chases after the touch when it gets lighter again, arching his back helplessly.
“That’s not how you’re supposed to ask for it,” Taki murmurs, his thumb coming back up to brush over Nicholas' bruised, swollen bottom lip. “I think kitty knows he’s supposed to be using nice words only.”
Nicholas swallows hard over the lump in his throat, his vision swimming with humiliation. He hates the stupid nicknames Taki gave him, hates the degrading edge in his voice. They need to speed things up; Nicholas is going to cum in his pants if Taki keeps this up for much longer.
“Please,” he begs, the submission tasting like ash in his mouth, though his hips roll pathetically into the hand still covering his crotch. “God—ah—fuck me already—”
Taki lets out a short laugh, his gaze dropping down to the dark, widening stain currently seeping through the fabric of Nicholas' jeans.
“Look at how wet you are, though,” he taunts, his fingers tracing the damp contour, feeling the pulse of Nicholas' erection underneath. “And there’s not even a single finger inside your ass yet, how cute!”
Nicholas will kill him and he’s going to do it soon, he decides. There’s not really any other option he can see right now, not really a better outcome of this situation. Okay, yeah—they’re not even close to the end of the tour, but they’ll have to manage, somehow. Nicholas will find them a bassist in no time; he’s hopeful that he will. Surely, there has to be at least one of their fans—their less crazy ones, ideally—that can, more or less, play a few of their songs. They’ll make do. Either this or having to deal with Taki. Nicholas has already decided on his answer.
Before he can even get to planning his murder, though, it seems like Taki’s patience cracks.
Of course, it’s not enough to give Nicholas what he actually wants—Taki would never allow that so easily—but it’s enough that his hand finally reaches for the waistband of Nicholas’ jeans. The metal button pops with a practiced flick of his wrist, and the zipper is dragged down in one go. Taki doesn’t bother being gentle as he hooks his fingers under the denim and the fabric of Nicholas’ soaked underwear, yanking them both at once.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Taki says under his breath. The pants barely move from how tight they are. The wet stain in the front isn’t helping much either. “Wear something this small again and I’m not touching you for a week.”
“You’re just weak as fu—” Nicholas tries to snap back, but his voice dies in his throat when Taki hauls the stiff denim down past his knees on his second try, leaving them pooled around his ankles.
His cock springs free, aching, a thick drop of pre-cum welling at the tip. Taki grabs him by the hips and drags him the two short steps to the end of the narrow hallway, shoving him backward onto his bunk. Nicholas collapses onto the thin, miserable mattress with a punched-out sound.
Taki looms over him, blocking out the hallway lights as he climbs halfway onto the bed, trapping Nicholas’ hips between his thighs. The laughably small space suddenly feels suffocatingly hot. Nicholas feels like he’s dripping with sweat.
“So snappy,” Taki murmurs, unfazed by the murderous glare Nicholas is trying—and failing, probably—to maintain.
He brings his hand up, the one still glistening with the spit he’s gathered from Nicholas’ chin earlier, and reaches down between his thighs. It’s an awkward position to be doing this, really, face to face with not even a visual of where Taki’s hand is going, especially weird in this limited space—but Nicholas lets him. As long as he gets to stretching him out, he thinks.
Instead of giving him what he’s been practically begging for, though, Taki just traces the very edge of his entrance in a single, agonizingly slow circle. Nicholas gasps, his hips pushing back to chase the touch, but Taki pulls his hand away immediately.
“I didn’t say move,” he scolds him.
He presses his thumb against the tight, sensitive bundle of nerves right outside, hard enough that the cold metal of Nicholas' stolen rings brushes over his skin. He lets a bit of spit pool in his mouth for a second and spits it into his palm to help with the dryness when he reaches under him again. Nicholas curses under his breath as he clenches around nothing. Taki drags the slick around the rim, refusing to slip even a fraction of an inch inside. The touch sends blinding sparks of heat straight to Nicholas’ leaking cock.
“Taki, fuck—,” he chokes out, his fingers digging into the cheap sheets. “Put them in or I’m doing it myself.”
Taki scoffs at that, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at Nicholas' desperate expression. “Go ahead then. Try it.”
But before Nicholas can even think about freeing his hands from gripping the sheets, Taki leans in with his whole body forward, the mattress groaning under their combined weight. Without warning, he bites down at the skin of Nicholas’ chest once, watching the mark as it blooms red in seconds. Nicholas fakes a hiss of pain in an attempt to stop a high-pitched moan from escaping him.
“Just joking,” Taki says, sending him a wide smile—laughing at him even, as if what he just did was absolutely hilarious. “You can finger yourself some other time. When I’m not here, preferably.”
When I’m fucking someone else again, Nicholas finishes the thought for him, but he doesn’t say it out loud. He stops himself from rolling his eyes. Truly, it’s whatever. At least he’s here right now.
After what feels like ages of teasing, Taki’s index finger finally dips into the heat, but only to the very first knuckle. He stops right there, letting Nicholas’ greedy, pulsing walls clench around almost nothing. It makes Nicholas let out a wet, broken sound, trying to arch his back, to force Taki's finger deeper into him, but Taki’s body weight on him is relentless, holding him flat against the bed. It goes unsaid that they both know Nicholas is stronger than him and would free himself without much effort if he wanted to.
The torture continues; Taki curls his single finger just barely inside, testing the friction, mapping out the tight entrance with no rhythm and no pace to it. He withdraws it until it’s almost entirely out, letting the air hit Nicholas’ slick, exposed skin, before slowly pressing back in to the second knuckle. He twists his finger inside once, then twice, and the maddening cycle repeats again.
Nicholas’ blood is roaring in his ears. Every slow, dragging movement of Taki’s finger sends a fresh wave of suffocating need straight to his groin. His jaw aches from how hard he’s grinding his teeth together, trying to lock away the sounds climbing up his throat. The frustration builds and builds heavily in his chest until it almost physically hurts.
His vision starts to glaze over, the low ceiling of the bunk swimming above him. It’s not long until a hot tear spills over his upper lash line, slipping down his temple and disappearing into his hair. Another one follows it closely behind.
Nicholas hates Taki like no one else in the world, and that says a lot—he hates a lot of different people. He wants to tear him apart into pieces, wants to find that new bassist yesterday, and throw Taki out on the next highway stop, under another bus, preferably.
“Aww,” Taki coos as he tracks the tears wetting Nicholas’ flushed face. His finger finally sinks all the way to the base, deliberately hitting a deep, sensitive spot that makes Nicholas sob out loud, his whole body twitching beneath him. “Crying for it. Fucking beautiful.”
Nicholas is almost sure he leaves this earth at that moment, only coming back to reality minutes later to the overwhelming sensation of three of Taki’s fingers inside him, working him open. His body is a trembling mess at this point, struggling to keep still against the mattress. He no longer tries to stay quiet, though; needy, broken sounds escape him in a steady, embarrassing stream every time Taki strikes that exact, punishing angle, abusing the spot over and over, with a merciless friction that makes it clear he wants Nicholas to cum from his fingers alone.
Nicholas does not want that to happen. He needs Taki inside of him—now.
“Please, can—ah—can you—” Nicholas chokes out, his hands flying up to grip Taki’s shoulders, his fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “You know I’m ready, fuck, give me your dick—”
Taki lets out a shaky breath at the demand, his arrogant composure finally fracturing from how bad he wants it too. He yanks his fingers out with a wet slide and wipes them half-heartedly on Nicholas’ chest. The sudden emptiness leaves Nicholas whimpering, clenching around nothing.
“Not a shred of manners,” Taki mutters, though the words are too breathless to carry any real bite. “When will you learn to wait patiently?”
He shifts his weight in the cramped bunk, his movements suddenly hurried as he fumbles with his belt buckle, shoving his pants down just enough to free his hard length. He grabs Nicholas by the thighs, ruthlessly hauling his knees up toward his chest to open him completely in the narrow space. Nicholas would laugh at his desperation if he wasn’t about to start vibrating with need himself.
He glares up at him through a mix of tears and sweat.
“When you learn not to be the most annoying person on earth,” Nicholas rasps out, the petty venom still sharp on his tongue despite how hard his body is trembling for the friction. “I’ve waited enough.”
“Oh, shut up.”
Of course—Taki doesn’t give him the satisfaction of the last word. He lines himself up and drives straight down, burring his cock inside Nicholas in one deep thrust that hits the absolute bottom of his core.
A sob escapes from Nicholas’ throat immediately, echoing in the narrow hallway of the bus before he can even think to muffle it. It’s probably loud enough to be heard outside, the plastic walls a laughable sound barrier against their actions. His back arches entirely off the mattress, his fingers clawing into Taki’s shoulders so hard he swears he can feel the fabric giving way. His vision goes white, almost, from the fullness of it, his already over-stimulated walls clamping around Taki like a vacuum as his body desperately tries to stretch around the sudden intrusion.
“Fucking hell, Nico,” Taki groans, his forehead dropping against Nicholas' chest, trying to hold himself still to let them both adjust to the feeling.
His hips stutter not long after, though, as he can’t help but grind down, a punched-out, broken moan leaving his lips. The rings on his fingers press into the flesh of Nicholas’ waist, marking him with the intensity of his grip.
“You’re so tight you’re almost cutting me off.”
Nicholas can barely hear him over the deafening sound of his pulse in his own ears. He manages to move his legs, hooking his ankles around Taki’s back instead, pulling him even closer than they already are, skin to skin in this small space.
“Move,” he begs now, without needing to be told to, his tough facade completely forgotten. “Taki, please, just start moving—”
One thing about Taki is that he doesn’t need to be told that twice. The last of his restraint snaps, and he begins to move, pulling back almost all the way before slamming back inside with a newly found force.
Nicholas lets out another high-pitched cry, his head banging back into the thin pillow. The slow teasing from earlier is completely gone, replaced by a rhythm that could almost match the heavy vibrations of their falling-apart tour bus when its engine rattles on the road in the middle of the night. Taki is relentless now, hammering into him with a hunger that shakes Nicholas to the core.
Every deep, bottoming-out move hits the exact spot Taki has just spent twenty minutes mapping out. Blinding sparks of heat explode behind Nicholas’ eyelids. His hands slide up from Taki’s shoulders, his fingers locking directly into the fried blond hair at the back of his head, pulling him down into a messy, desperate kiss just to try and swallow the unhinged moans tearing from his throat.
He’s kissing him, Nicholas realizes—something he hasn’t done in ages, something that the last time it happened left Nicholas alone, halfway there, unfinished. He’s about to freeze up, to panic, to apologize in tears, and to beg Taki to keep going when he eventually pulls out as he understands what’s happening—but Taki pants into his mouth instead, greedily swallowing the whiny sounds Nicholas makes with each thrust forward.
Taki doesn’t pull away; he deepens the kiss, his tongue forcing its way past Nicholas’ lips with that same territorial want as his hips. He tastes like copper for some reason, metallic, like the rings, hot and overwhelming. It twists and turns Nicholas’ stomach, all of his insides, really—that taste and the situation itself—as the heat in his groin stirs even worse.
The panic that usually follows this kind of accidental intimacy between them gets completely smothered under the bruising weight of Taki’s mouth. Nicholas’ lungs burn, his chest heaving against Taki's as they share the same ragged, stolen breaths. Fantastic, he thinks, he’s going to come untouched because he’s kissing Taki and Taki’s not stopping it. Way to go.
Taki shifts his weight, sliding his hands down from Nicholas’ jaw to grip at his hips again, his thumbs digging in ruthlessly right above where the waistband of his dropped jeans was. He picks up his pace, his thrusts turning shallow, brushing against Nicholas’ sensitive walls right at the entrance before drawing back and burying himself all the way in.
Nicholas lets out a choked, muffled sob against Taki’s lips, his ankles locking tighter around his lower back. The friction makes his cock twitch violently against their bare chests, the edge of his release teasing him, right there within reach.
“Taki—wait, I’m—,” Nicholas tries to warn him, pulling his mouth away just enough to gasp for air, his eyes wide and unfocused as white pleasure threatens to spill over.
“Look,” Taki pants, his hold on Nicholas’ waist tightening hard. He drives forward with deliberate slowness, stretching Nicholas to the absolute limit. “I can almost see myself in your belly. Touch it; feel how deep I am.”
Nicholas has changed his mind—he’s the one dying today, not Taki. He whimpers weakly at his words, the command frying the last remains of his brain completely. He doesn't want to obey him, doesn't want to give Taki the satisfaction, but his hand moves against his will, curious to find out. Shaking, his fingers slide down his own stomach, pressing right above his pelvic bone.
He gasps; he can feel it, right there, beneath his skin—the heavy, pulsing shape of Taki’s length, inside of him. It’s too much, touching him from the outside while being filled to capacity—too much for his overstimulated body to handle. His inner muscles clamp around the intrusion harshly, so hard that Taki freezes mid-thrust, a strangled groan torn from his throat.
Nicholas’ hips twitch upward automatically; it’s all it takes for the white-hot heat in his groin to finally overflow.
“Taki—fuck—” Nicholas gasps, breaking. He comes at once, the release splattering blindly against their bare chests between them, his whole body seized by helpless tremors.
The desperate, clenching spasms of Nicholas’ climax instantly push Taki past his own point of no return. His hips stop moving, his entire body trembling heavily over Nicholas as he prepares to pull out to finish in a few quick strokes of his hand.
But he can’t escape; Nicholas doesn’t want him to today. His hands fly up to lock into Taki’s hair while his legs wrap tight around his waist, pinning him securely in place.
“Don’t,” he begs against his neck, his voice shaking as he rides out the aftershocks. “Inside, please—finish inside.”
Nicholas tries not to think about what it means when Taki lunges forward, crashing their lips together in another frantic kiss. He tries not to wonder why it takes that exact intimacy for Taki to bury himself one last time, unloading deep inside of him. Tries not to analyze the way Taki slumps forward, hiding his face in the crook of Nicholas’ neck as his tremors subside, panting heavily into the suddenly silent, narrow hallway.
He tries not to, but he’s also just a man.