#battcest

"what did you do, david?," steve asks so lowly his voice is almost as finely ground as those little pills david handled earlier.

"what?" - david's still playing innocent - "is there a problem?"

steve just tilts his head down a little, to whisper against the side of david's neck, as though his teeth are a gun he's setting a target for. "i think you know very well what i mean."

david's curt hum at the accusation comes out just a little too smug, a little too telling.

really, it's no surprise the dishes end up forgotten, the dining table swiftly cleared, so steve can pin his perverted little son down onto it and fuck him like he wanted. and it's no surprise david loves it so much, either. not when it's so glaringly obvious with how hard he was when steve stripped him for the act, all on his own accord, like just the satisfaction of feeling steve's stiff cock against the small of his back earlier had already made his twitch.

"don't do that again," steve groans right up to david's ear when they're done.

david's breathing heavier too, now, and that just makes steve more desperate. and now david's hard too, and now he's laying back, and steve's on top of him, but surely it's fine. there's no skin to skin, so they've got nothing to worry about, it's not taboo at all.

though it seems that one year makes all the difference, between 18 and 19, when you're pent up and almost forced to be reclusive by your record label. steve barely got to fuck anyone before he was plucked out of school and thrown into a tour bus, so what else is he to do? he doesn't have anyone else this close by to help. not to the degree of sleeping a few feet away from him every night at home.

maybe it is getting strange though, closer still. suddenly their clothes are off, the tension is smouldering, and flashes of pale skin barely register because they're kissing. kissing and fumbling like they're stuck in the awkward adolescent phases they didn't get to shed before being flown to japan.

steve's now finding out what his beautiful older brother's dick feels like against his own, and then it's inside him, because at least david's actually slept around - though he's only ever had his dick in other people, not the other way around. and steve's not allowed to complain, because david's older and he always gets his way, so he just whines, tries not to tense, offers himself up like he should.

both of them articulate through tremors and straining muscles, which is also fine, because they can just see it as a sort of challenge. what's the winning criteria? is it how rough david's getting? is it how, every time he bottoms out, steve sees stars, and almost gets vertigo? is it how both of them are scratching at eachother like this is killing them?

maybe it is, maybe it isn't. steve knows he definitely isn't sure, not when he's too preoccupied by how his reflex is almost to cry about the stimulation, especially when he braces down just right and his dick drags across david's stomach. that shiny little trail of precum is just a new cute accessory for him.

soon enough both of them are shaking, making different noises, chattering and hot and being baptised by the pheromonal tang of sweat and sex and skin and breath. david's perfume is sickly sweet on the peripheral, steve's citrus-y o-zone laced deodorant doesn't help. it's all intense. intense, overwhelming, overstimulating, then a rapture, then louder, then harder, then...

quiet. discounting ragged breaths and vocal shrapnel from throats not used to panting so much after a full day of smoking marlboro's finest.

as undone as david looks, his fringe has stayed intact enough, and he looks just like the sex symbol he promised those dutch journalists he didn't want to be. it's so natural. steve can't help but wonder if he looks the same, or at least similar, because if his brother can stun freshly post-orgasm, maybe he's got the gene that allows it too. his hair's also in his face, which is also dewy and red, just like david's.

maybe that's what they can call it - just a survey to see how far their poses can go. david with his bent knees, parted lips, doe eyes. steve with a little more poise, though with the same almost-concern, same shrugged shoulders, same pleading ivory visage.

then he recognises a ring on the hand holding the bottle. not to mention the hand itself, and then the voice from its owner - "pretend we aren't related!" - loud enough for david to hear, but careful as not to alarm anyone else.

david finishes the bottle without a spill, but can't keep from coughing once he has. he whips around, stares steve dead in his eyes like either one of them is about to end up dead, and pushes him against the wall just by the bar to start making out with him. the scene is sinful, consisting of rage, lust, envy, ravenous hunger, david's spindly hands grabbing carelessly at steve's hair, and steve returning the favour unilaterally to account for the bottle in his left hand.

"i hate you," david almost yells when he pulls back. but steve just laughs - he knows his brother, knows he's joking - and pulls him in again.

and there they persist, infinite, all but fucking eachother against the wall in that ungodly synthetic, cigarette-tar-infested club. david's lipstick stains steve's mouth a prettier red by the minute, and the mainstay predators of the place can't help themselves from telling the two to keep at it, ladies.

the drinks are much more interesting than any conversation going on, even to david. this should be his moment - his big break, his celebration - but in truth, he's sort-of had it with all the social interaction, and all the pleasantries, and would much prefer to spend the rest of the night at home with steve. probably listening to music that isn't even his own.

then, a hand on his thigh. he recognises it on contact - steve's left, dominant, hand. resting. david can't flinch, or even look over too suddenly, lest he raise suspicion or concern, so it leaves him no choice but to sip his cocktail again and mask his intrigue.

it takes a few minutes, but eventually steve makes a bold move. he places his hand right over david's dick, knowing nobody would be able to tell, or see anything going on beneath the table. nobody can see david's furious blushing, either - it's a good thing he put on such a generous amount of foundation to look so untouchable tonight. such irony...

no amount of celebrity-strength mojitos can stifle david's heavier breathing for him, so he's left to fend for himself. it feels like he's eavesdropping on the conversation at his own table, trying to follow along with men in suits higher up the food chain, discussing business that admittedly isn't related to him.

steve knows this - he's tuned into the outside world just as much as david is - so he also knows that, unless those execs actually speak to his son, who they're there for, he's free to do whatever the hell he wants. option #1 for him turns out to be palming over david's growing erection. it's just the grown-up version of entertaining him with a colouring page, really.

david pretends he isn't zoning out to focus on the sensation of it. no, not at all. he's just being thoughtful, the same way he is on the album cover, the same way steve loves to photograph him. he's just -

"pondering the next single, are we, sylvian?"

david phases back into the present. steve does not cease his teasing for a joke as simple as that little number.

"ah? you wish," david laughs softly.

he isn't spared yet. "in all seriousness, though, when can we expect new material from you? sure, you're planning to tour, but everyone writes on the road, don't they?"

david's instinct is to look at steve, as if to verify he's just heard the same nonsense, and though his glance is reciprocated, he receives only silence. oh, and a motion between his thighs that feels like steve's trying to finger delicate anatomy he doesn't have.

it forces david to centre himself and shift in place a little. "sorry, why are you asking so soon?" - he disguises a harder exhale as another brief, quiet laugh - "really, i'll see to that when the time comes, i've no intent to... rush anything."

the next few minutes are just as full of insolent questions that, really, seem like backhanded dissatisfaction with the album. david would probably feel much more insulted if it weren't for how nicely steve's treating his now twitching cock. in that sense, it was a smart decision after all.

"back on topic, though - there's lots of faces around for you, isn't that wonderful?"

david fails to hold in a traitorous little moan. god, he's just so happy, it really does feel so good, god how it does, oh god how it does... "yeah, it's lovely," he sighs, oddly content for once.

"i imagine it must be, you've got to be exhausted after such hard work."

"well, fantastic job! really. we're off, we'll be around... don't get too plastered, will you?"

david laces his fingers together, and clenches every muscle in his hands so tightly they almost go numb. he can only force so much voice into his words - "yeah, thanks," he breathes, "see you around."

he really is grateful, but he's also so damn close, and he can't wait for some certainty nobody's looking at him, so he doesn't have to worry quite as much about what his face is doing.

every second feels like a lifetime, but he gets his way at last. finally safe among the crowd, free to look at steve again, free to nestle against him, free to turn away from prying eyes and whisper desperately about how "i'm gonna cum, you're gonna make me cum - please, please, can we go home after, hah - oh, god..."

david regresses to pointless vocalisations by the end of his verbal love note. he bends over a little, and leans to the side just a bit, enough to hide his face by steve's chest without quite making contact. he figures leaving half his makeup on steve's suit would be a bit unseemly, even in his state.

steve just lets him do what he needs to. lets him whine, lets him spasm (as much as he tries not to, he really does, good boy), and doesn't stop him from nearly breaking his nails on the edge of the table.

"you'll have your way," steve says lowly. "just relax, please - there you go..."