#lashton

It’s been a terrible day—a terrible week, even—and they’ve just wrapped on a photoshoot for some magazine, but Ashton’s got makeup all over his face now, and all he wants to do is get up to his hotel room, wash it off, and go the fuck to sleep. 

It’s been this way for the past week and a half. He can’t play right. It’s led to an odd frustration buzzing underneath his skin, inching outwards, until there’s a visible touch of tension, of underlying aggression in everything he does. He’s spent most of the past few days moping and sulking, and his bandmates have obviously noticed. Usually, they’d leave him to it, to vent out all his annoyance on his drum kit, but they’re all on the move now, and he won’t have access to his drums until rehearsal the next week. Instead he spent an hour at the gym this morning, but if anything, that only made him sore and irritable. 

He’s jittery throughout the elevator ride up to his room, and it earns him a dirty look from the old lady standing beside him, decked out in pearls or whatever. He ignores her. The doors are barely open before he’s shooting out of the lift, power-walking to his door, and swiping his card so hard it nearly snaps. 

Immediately, he’s slipping off his jewellery. He tosses the bracelets and rings onto the dresser. If they roll off and drop onto the carpet, that’s a problem for tomorrow. His skin is tingling, irritation crawling up and out from the base of his spine. His fingers feel raw, constrained, full of an anxious energy he can’t put a name to. 

He’s just about to tug his shirt over his head and throw it across the room when there’s a demanding knock at his door. He groans audibly, almost ignores it until it comes again, louder this time. He stomps across the room to tug the door open, childishly. 

“What?” he snaps, without looking at who it is. 

It’s Luke. He’s wearing a bored expression, no longer in his costume from the shoot. Instead, for some fuckin’ reason, he’s dressed in a button up and a loose tie. His dark hair catches the hallway light as he tilts his head, infuriating amusement glinting in his eyes. 

“Cal and Michael are going out for drinks,” he replies. “I told ‘em I’d go if you’re going.” 

“I’m not going," Ashton replies simply, and goes to shut his door in Luke’s face. 

But there’s something obstructing it. He looks down to see Luke’s stuck his foot between the doorframe and the edge of his door. He lightly shoves at the door, and steps in past Ashton with his hands in his pockets. Like he owns the place. It pisses Ashton off to no end.

“Luke—” Ashton starts, but Luke’s already in his room now, and if there’s one thing he knows about Luke, it’s that he can’t kick Luke out unless he goes willingly. 

“You’ve been a little tense lately,” Luke says. It’s an observation. He doesn’t imply anything, doesn’t offer anything. He strolls lazily to the minibar in the room, looking over the assortment of liquors. 

Ashton shuts the door and sighs. “Mate, I’m really not in the mood f—” “Whiskey?” Luke interrupts. It irks Ashton. His jaw clenches. 

“No.” 

“Suit yourself,” Luke shrugs. He tugs the bottle from the lineup and gets to work unscrewing the lid.

“What do you want, Luke?” Ashton grits, trying to keep the annoyance, the exhaustion out of his voice.

There's silence. Luke lets the question linger so long that Ashton questions whether he even heard. Then, 

“At our last rehearsal,” Luke starts, distracted with his fucking bottle of whiskey, like Ashton’s not worth his time. “You ripped the snare.” 

It’s not an accusation, but Ashton inhales sharply at the words. Yeah, he remembers that all too well. He’d been struggling to stay on beat, which was fucking embarassing because he’s half the rhythm section. The drumstick slipped from his hand, and his fist went straight through the skin of the drum. 

“What about it?” Ashton says, fighting the agitated blush as it creeps onto his face. 

“I don’t really know what's up with you,” Luke goes on, finally uncapping the bottle and measuring out a single. “But you’re throwing off the rest of the band.” Ashton knows Luke doesn’t intend to get on his nerves. He’s only looking out for their functioning as a team. They talk to each other in such plain terms often, especially when it’s important to their music, their performance. That knowledge doesn’t prevent Ashton’s fists from tightening in a foreign irritation, one he hasn’t really felt towards Luke before. The suave lilt of his voice, the relaxed curve of his shoulders all seem to suddenly be getting to Ashton. 

“I’m—” Ashton pauses to inhale deeply, to hold back from exploding. “I’m working on it.” 

“Try to speed up the process,” Luke says. His stubborn refusal to meet Ashton’s eyes is extremely aggravating. 

Ashton draws closer to Luke, if only to see over his shoulder, to see what’s taking him so fucking long to pour out a glass. He knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t trust himself to be thinking straight right now. All he feels is this sharp, stinging frustration. 

“What are you trying to say?” he manages, irritation evident in his voice. 

He hears the clink of ice falling into a glass. 

“Rehearsals are going to shit,” Luke says. “The tour starts soon. You need to be able to keep up.” 

Ashton steps closer. He’s nearly breathing down Luke’s collar now. 

“You think I can’t keep up?” His voice is lower, gravelly. Almost threatening. 

Luke seems unfazed. 

“Not what I said,” he says. God, he’s really getting on Ashton’s last fucking nerve. “But if you’re okay with playing mediocre music, then—” 

Ashton threads his fingers into Luke’s hair and tugs, hard enough to sting. His head falls back against Ashton’s shoulder, and he laughs upon a moan. 

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re mouthing off to—” 

“Thought I was being pretty clear, actually.” 

“Watch it,” Ashton warns. “Getting a bit too brave, aren’t you?” 

Luke only chuckles. His hand travels along the seam of Ashton’s jeans to cup him through his jeans. Palms him through the rough denim. Ashton hisses through his teeth at the feeling. 

Luke turns in Ashton’s grip to face him, eyes hooded, wearing a smirk. “Y’always this sensitive?” 

Ashton tightens his hold on Luke’s hair. Luke’s mouth drops open, a silent expression of pain. Still, he grins like he’s winning. 

“What’s this?” Ashton taunts, surprised. “Where’s the little Luke I used to bend over my lap back then?” 

Something like anger flares in Luke’s eyes. He pitches forward, fighting Ashton’s hold, to take his bottom lip between his teeth, and bites down. Ashton laughs, the pain satiating something in his belly. He leans into Luke, into his touch, and his fingers slip from his hair to tug at the tie around his neck as he licks into the younger man’s mouth. It’s an angry kiss, something primal and raw. Their teeth clash, breath mixing into groans as they push back against each other. It’s like fighting. Like being in love. Like fucking. 

Luke’s index finger goes around Ashton’s belt loop, and he pulls at it harshly. It briefly throws Ashton off balance. He pulls back. 

“Get on y’fucking knees,” Luke spits, eyes dark. 

Ashton bites back a laugh. “Aw,” he mocks. “Gonna put me in my place?” Luke’s jaw tightens, even as his palm comes to cup Ashton’s jaw. 

“Baby,” he breathes. “You’re gonna be begging for my cock by the time we’re done.” 

“That a challenge?” “It’s a promise,” Luke’s lips curl into a smirk. “Now get on your knees like a good boy, daddy.” 

It strikes a nerve. Ashton wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. Luke has never—Luke doesn’t do dominance. He takes Ashton’s cock and cries around him and writhes and moans, he doesn’t…this is new. 

Ashton kind of wants to see where it goes. It’s funny, almost, how Luke thinks he can take charge. Ashton eases down to his knees, grinning up at Luke the whole time. He’ll let Luke have this. It’ll only make it twice as fun to put him back in his place later tonight. 

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, baby,” Ashton smirks smugly—condescendingly—up at Luke, who cards his fingers through Ashton’s hair. “But it isn’t going to work.” 

“Yeah?” Luke tilts his head. Ashton gasps harshly when Luke presses the sole of his shoe into his crotch. “Then why are you hard?” 

Ashton’s heart races, cheeks flaring in embarrassment as he grasps at Luke’s ankle, trying to get him to take the pressure off. When Luke doesn’t budge, Ashton slides his hand further up and cups Luke’s dick, squeezing hard enough for it to hurt. Luke winces, inhaling sharply. 

“What about you?” Ashton mocks. “Y’like having me on my knees like this? Fuckin’ freak.” 

Luke moves his foot from Ashton’s lap and leans in close. He grabs Ashton by the jaw, hard enough to force his lips open. Immediately, he shoves his thumb into Ashton’s mouth, tracing the line of his gums. 

“Open wide, princess,” Luke says. He pushes his thumb further, pressing down on Ashton’s tongue, forcing his mouth open. Unhurriedly, he unzips his trousers and pulls himself out. Hard and leaking, the tip flushed a pretty pink, Ashton’s mouth waters at the sight. 

He presses a faux-gentle kiss to Ashton’s cheek, then nips at his ear. 

“Mind the fuckin’ teeth,” he says, before feeding himself fully into Ashton’s mouth. 

Immediately, it’s a struggle. Luke doesn’t give him time to adjust, to catch his breath. His cock hits the back of Ashton’s throat, and he gags, tears springing to his eyes. Ashton brings his hands up to grip the back of Luke’s thighs, to try to control the pace—but Luke only chuckles under his breath. 

“Too much for you already?” he says, mock-pity dripping from his tongue. “Aw. What happened to all that bravado?” 

Luke uses his grip on Ashton’s hair to tug him up and down over his cock. Spit gathers in Ashton’s mouth, dribbles down his chin as he glares up at Luke. His throat tightens every time Luke pushes a bit too far, and he’s struggling to breathe from his nose. He tries to say something, to push Luke away, but his hold is incessant. 

“What’s that?” Luke laughs. “Can’t hear you. Too busy gagging on my cock, aren’t you, princess?” 

Ashton swirls his tongue, trying to open up his airway, but Luke just drops his head back and groans deeply. 

Fuck, it pisses Ashton off—to be used like this, to be looked down at, to be talked to the way Luke’s talking to him. It’s humiliating. His face is flushed—from anger, shame. Lack of oxygen. 

“God, you take it so good,” Luke bites his lip. “Who knew it was this easy to get you to shut the fuck up?” 

Ashton groans something low and threatening around Luke, and it only eggs him on. His pace increases, fucking into Ashton’s throat with a desperation that steals the air from his lungs. Ashton chokes, chin soaked with spittle. He tries to focus on catching his breath, on inhaling through his nose. 

But there’s a fuzzy glaze to his thoughts. The stretch of his jaw feels strangely relieving, and he presses the heel of his hand against his own erection, blinking through the tears. 

“Shit,” Luke says, and the tears gathered on Ashton’s lashline slip down his cheeks involuntarily as he tries to meet Luke’s eyes, tries to convey how fucking scared he should be for how Ashton’s going to return the favour. But Luke’s blind to the heat in Ashton’s gaze. “Look so good with my cock down your throat.” 

His thrusts grow desperate, and Ash can tell he’s close from the way his balls tighten, the way his gasps turn into something more frantic. 

He curses under his breath, and Ashton scrabbles for grip along his trousers as Luke leans into him, Ashton’s nose pressed to his belly as Luke comes down his throat without warning. 

He pulls out almost immediately, and Ashton gasps for breath. Luke’s cum splatters from his mouth, and he turns to the side to spit it out—but Luke takes hold of Ashton’s jaw again, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Swallow.” 

Ashton’s eyes shine with tears, with a sullen disdain for Luke that he hasn’t felt in years, along with a burning arousal that circles low in his stomach. He pants, lips shut thanks to Luke’s hold on him as he glares dagger at the smirking man. 

Two can play this game. 

Ashton moves quickly, swiping a leg under Luke so that the man loses his balance. He lands harshly on the carpet, in a way that undoubtedly hurts. Before Luke can get his bearings, Ashton crawls over him, pressing him down to the ground with a hand on his sternum. Luke chuckles up at him, but Ashton can feel his heart racing underneath his palm. 

He claims Luke’s lips, pinning him to the carpet as he parts his lips, lets Luke taste himself as he passes his climax into the other’s mouth. He pulls back, wiping the residue from his chin as Luke stares, wide-eyed, up at him. “How’s it taste, sweetheart?” 

Luke goes to protest, to rise on his elbows, but Ashton covers his mouth with a hand. 

“Thought I was supposed to be ‘begging for your cock’?” Ashton pouts. “Bit full of yourself, no?” 

Luke frowns at him, clearly trying to speak, but Ashton adjusts his grip. “I’m tired of hearing your fuckin’ voice, actually,” he says. 

Instead, he shoves his leg between Luke’s thigh, putting his other hand on Luke’s hip to press him down. Luke drops his head back, and Ash moves his hand down to unbutton Luke’s shirt, hiking his knee higher. 

“Yeah?” Ashton prompts. “All fucking smug until I get my hands on you, huh?” 

“Fuck you,” Luke spits. 

“That’s the plan.” 

Luke bites his lip, and Ashton wants to lick up the line of his throat. His hips jump, rolling down against Ashton’s leg. His cock is chubbing up again between them. 

“Look at you,” Ashton tuts. “Grinding on my thigh like a fucking slut. Gonna give in so easily? Let me win? Pathetic.” 

Luke bucks up again, hard, and his leg finds Ashton’s neglected cock. The sudden stimulation has him moaning, his defenses momentarily dropping. Luke takes advantage of the moment to flip them over, manoeuvring them so that Luke’s straddling Ashton’s thighs. 

Ashton’s hands immediately go to Luke’s hips. “Not opposed to this view,” he grins. “Have you bouncing in my lap by the end of the night.” 

Luke laughs, not with, but at Ashton. His hands grip Ashton’s wrists, pin them above his head with surprising strength. 

“Shoved my dick down your throat and you’re still talking,” Luke says, hands sliding under Ashton’s shirt, up, up, up. “Gonna fuck you so good you’ll forget your own name.” 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

“Shut the fuck up for once, and maybe you will.” 

Luke tugs Ashton’s shirt over his head, and leans in to make out lazily with him as he brings it up and off—except when Ashton tries to put his hands on Luke again, he realizes he can’t. 

“What the fuck,” he says, tugging at the restraints around his wrists. “Did you just—” 

“Nice and tight, isn’t it?” Luke grins. He’d somehow used Ashton’s shirt to tie down his hands. Ashton tests the give, but the knot holds tight. 

But then Luke is kissing down Ashton’s chest, undoing the buttons on his trousers. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” Luke tells him, tugging Ashton’s trousers down along with his boxers. Ashton’s hard, leaking already as he’s exposed to the cold air of the room. 

“If you wanted to suck my cock, you could’a just asked, baby,” Ashton grins. 

Luke meets his eyes, smiles like he’s got a terrible secret, and suddenly Ashton’s stomach is swooping in anticipation. In something like anxiety, fear. 

“Who said anything about sucking your cock?” 

His head disappears between Ashton’s thighs. 

“What are you—” 

He’s cut off by his own gasp as a wet tongue licks over his rim. Immediately, his thighs try to close over Luke’s head, but the brunet puts his hands under Ashton’s knees and spreads him open further. A violent red tinge rises to his cheeks. 

“Luke,” Ashton breathes. “Luke.” 

Because he can’t find anything else to say—because he’s ashamed, enraged, so fucking turned on he can’t see straight. 

“Yeah, say that again,” Luke says, sitting up. He grins at Ashton, but there’s no humour, no kindness in his eyes. “With feeling this time.” 

Ashton seethes. He wants to spit at Luke, get out of these fucking restraints around his wrists, remind Luke who’s really in charge. But Luke is looking at him like he’s prey, and suddenly Ashton feels very cornered.

Luke’s finger is rubbing loose circles around Ashton’s rim, spreading the wetness there as it seeps into his skin. It’s like a threat, the almost-pressure. Ashton nearly flinches away. 

“God, you’re—” Ashton says, fighting the heaviness of his tongue. “You’re going to fucking regret this.” 

Luke presses into Ashton—barely past the first knuckle, just a taste of what’s to come. But it's dry, and the pad of his finger is rough. It stings faintly. Ashton bites back a surprised gasp. 

“I am?” Luke questions, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “Gonna make me pay? With your hands tied down? Your hole swallowing my fingers like it’s begging for it?” 

Ashton blushes furiously. He can’t bring himself to answer. 

“Or,” Luke continues. “You could always tap out.” 

He shrugs conversationally, like he isn’t easing his finger inside Ashton. Tap out. 

Yeah, fuck no. Ashton’s many things, but he’s not a fucking quitter. Especially with the brunet gloating like he’s winning a race. He stays silent, because he won't give Luke the satisfaction of a reply. 

Luke laughs under his breath nonetheless. Ashton keeps his eyes firmly fixed to the ceiling. 

Luke inches his finger further inside, and it nearly punches the air out of him. It's a foreign feeling, and even with just one finger Ashton feels full. He bites his tongue, overwhelmed. 

“So fucking tight,” Luke says, awestruck. Ashton steels his resolve, tries not to move at all, tries not to show Luke how much his touch affects Ashton. “Nobody ever touch you down here?” 

Ashton’s face burns. He looks to the side, resolutely avoiding eye-contact. 

“Ah,” Luke says, the arrogance in his voice evident as he speaks. “Poor Ashton’s never had a good hard fuck?” 

He leans in to pinch Ashton’s nipple, and the shock is so sudden that Ashton involuntarily whimpers. Luke laughs at the sound, even as Ashton internally curses. 

“I’ll be nice, princess,” Luke mocks. The nickname is pissing him off, but more than that, it’s going straight to his head. He’s turned on beyond belief, all his senses on fire as the blood rushes to his cock, as his mind zeroes in on Luke’s finger, unmoving inside him. 

Luke twists his finger, and Ashton shuts his eyes, exhaling shakily. He grits his teeth, his neglected cock throbbing between his legs. 

“Could fuck you dry,” Luke proposes, simply as though it doesn’t immediately scare the living daylights out of Ashton. “Make it hurt.” 

Ashton’s eyes fly open, and he meets Luke’s gaze, trying not to give away how fucking terrified he is of the idea. Arousal pools hot and urgent in his lower belly, and it’s confusing because all he wants is to pin Luke to the wall and fuck him like punishment, but his body responds to his touch with electricity. 

“I won’t though,” Luke says, drawing his fingers out. “Because I’m real fuckin’ nice, aren’t I, Ash?” 

“You—f-fuck—” 

“Nah, you wet my cock so well with your pretty lips,” Luke goes on. “I think you deserve a reward.” 

Luke coats his fingers in lube from a little packet he conjures from his pocket. Ashton’s entire body is burning up, his muscles tight with restraint. Luke’s finger nudges at his hole again, and Ashton drops his head back when Luke sinks in till the knuckle. He tries to remind himself that he doesn’t want this—that he’s on top, he keeps control, he holds it all together. 

But Luke’s fingers are pumping in and out of him, and he knows he’s clenching down hard, but something inside him is pulsing and he needs Luke to reach it, to coax it out. Already, his cock is weeping against his belly, and Luke’s finger is stubbornly refusing to brush up against his prostate, exploring everywhere but where Ashton needs him. 

“Something wrong?” Luke grins. “You’re looking a little under the weather.” 

“Sh—shut the fuck up,” Ashton spits. 

“Out of steam already?” 

Ashton opens his mouth to bite back, but Luke curls his finger up sharply, simultaneously wrapping his lips around the head of Ashton’s cock and sucking. His hips buck up, further into that wet heat, but Luke pulls away almost immediately. His finger brushes against Ashton’s prostate, teasing, and his head spins.

“Luke, I’m gonna…” Luke massages Ashton’s walls, his hand coming to wrap around Ashton’s dick. He strokes in quick pulls, and it’s too much, it’s too much. Ashton’s head spins, his back arching as he thrusts into the grip, so near to it, almost there—

“Ah, I’m so close, keep going—” 

And then Luke’s grip tightens around the base of Ashton’s cock, and he takes his finger out altogether. The burn is hot, bright, as Ashton’s pulled back from the edge of his climax. He breathes heavily, blinking at the ceiling. His mind clears. 

“Fuck,” he says, catching his breath, and because he can’t help himself: “Shit, I taught you well, huh?” 

Luke’s hand pumps his length twice, and the smirk is evident in his voice. “Gonna fucking ruin you.” 

Ashton laughs breathlessly. “I’d like to see you try,” he snarks. “Been waiting for a challenge all night.” 

He’s lying. Of course he is, but Luke can’t know just how deeply he’s been getting under Ashton’s skin.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, princess,” Luke says sweetly, but his voice is heavy with arousal. Ashton turns his head, chuckling into his shoulder. 

Luke’s finger returns with a renewed fervour. Ashton gasps, inhaling upon every moan that threatens to spill from his lips, but Luke’s relentless. 

When he adds a second finger, the stretch is gorgeous. Ashton’s back arches lightly. Luke immediately scissors his fingers inside Ashton. He feels exposed, looked at, far too splayed out. 

“Fuck, I want—”

“I think you’re forgetting you’ve got no power here,” Luke murmurs. The filthy squelch of his fingers fucking into Ashton fill the room. He avoids his prostate altogether, straddling Ashton’s legs to splay his other hand over Ashton’s chest, playing with his nipples. 

Already, Ashton is close again. Maybe it’s because he was dragged so suddenly away from it earlier, maybe because Luke’s hands are just that good, but Ashton’s vision is growing fuzzy around the edges. He blinks through it, laughs awkwardly at Luke’s words. 

“Yeah?” Ashton gasps. “So why are you—ah…rutting against my thigh like a bitch in heat?” 

Luke freezes, his subconscious thrusts against Ashton’s leg stopping altogether. Ashton laughs, unabashed, mocking. He tugs slightly at the ties around his wrists. 

“Jus’ say the word,” Ashton promises, “And I’ll give it to you so good you’ll feel me for da—” 

Luke twists his fingers cruelly. Ashton moans, high pitched and embarrassing. The pressure builds and builds, quicker, more desperate. Luke spreads his fingers, driving them into Ashton, alternating between aiming for his prostate and massaging his walls. Ashton plants his feet against the carpet, thighs shaking as he grunts and gasps, drawing closer to the edge, building, rising, growing—

Luke’s fingers disappear.

His approaching orgasm ebbs away like a sad little wave, and he whines—a pathetic sound, as he thrusts up, chasing the edge as it leaves him, too far out of reach. The coil in his stomach aches now, the sting of being denied for a second time sharper. 

He collapses back, brows knitted in frustration, and he registers the tears that have gathered along his lashes. His skin is tingling.

“Gonna give in to me?” Luke coaxes, stroking Ashton’s thigh placatingly. “Gonna let me take care of you?” 

Ashton gathers his wits, exhales through the haze of agitation. 

“Fuck you.” 

“Thats the plan,” Luke grins, mimicking Ashton’s earlier words. 

Immediately, Luke thrusts three fingers in. The pain is sharp, shocking, but it fades into something divine. 

“Shit,” Ashton moans. “Oh—fuck.” 

It’s impossible to think straight. Luke aims his fingers directly at Ashton’s prostate—quick, sharp stabs of stimulation, and Ashton rolls his hips, grinding down onto Luke’s fingers, tears gathering in his eyes again. 

“Ah—harder,” he gasps, and he hears Luke’s amused exhale. 

He can’t hear himself anymore, all his focus fixated on finishing, on chasing the high, tipping over the edge. His skin is on fire, his wrists burning as he struggles against the knot. Luke’s fingers are so good, so hot and fast inside him. The way he twists his twist, curls his fingers and presses into Ashton until he’s seeing stars. 

And every time Ashton feels it building inside of him, Luke’s fingers slow down, pull away, aim just past his prostate. It has Ashton’s breath hitching, his hands curling into fists, nails pressing crescents into his palms. 

Luke’s other hand comes to play with Ashton’s cock, and the stimulation is so jarring, like sparks along his skin—Ashton whines, frantic, and he’s so close. He turns his head into his shoulder to hide the tears—he’s so close. He’s on the verge of begging, all he wants is to finish, the pleasure blinding, hot and ice-cold at the same time. 

“L-Luke—” 

He’s trying to hide it, trying not to let Luke know how close he is to coming, but the brunet is rubbing incessantly at Ashton’s prostate, the grip of his other hand around Ashton’s shaft is so right, and he feels it then, the approaching wave, the blissful heat, the coil unfurling in his belly, and just when he’s on the cusp of it—

Luke pulls away. 

Ashton mewls. 

His shoulders shake as he chokes on his gasps, his mind fuzzy, thoughts scrambled. He feels entirely unraveled, shaking desperately, the muscles in his entire body aching with tension, with frustration at being dragged away from something so close, but just out of reach. 

“C’mon, princess,” Luke shushes him, palm traveling soothingly up and down the sensitive skin of his thigh. Ashton almost shrinks away from the touch, but Luke speaks again. “Feels good, doesn’t it? To get out of your head f’once? Focus on just how you feel?” 

“Sh-hut—d-don’t…” 

“Give in to me, baby,” Luke continues. Ashton tries to blink past the tears, but they’ve already slipped down his cheeks, and he burns with shame that Luke can see him like this, that Luke knows how it feels. 

Ashton can’t reply. Won’t. 

So Luke’s fingers thrust inside of him again, and Ashton’s back immediately arches. Again, there’s a foreign aggression to his pace, and Ashton’s barely recovered from his previous go, so his orgasm is already creeping up to him, his cock twitching, the muscles in his belly tight with anticipation. He can’t breathe, he can’t feel anything but the heat of his orgasm, the anxiety of being denied again because— 

He won’t last. He can’t…he can't let it be taken away from him again—he wants it so bad, and…he’s been so good, he’s listened to Luke, he’s cried nice and pretty for Luke’s fingers, he’s taken them so well, he—

Luke's touch disappears. 

Ashton sobs.

Luke’s touch is featherlight as he traces a finger up and down along Ashton’s cock, and the tears are falling freely now, his wrists aching from how badly he wants to reach out, to touch, and he’s heaving wet sobs, whimpering from the stimulation, little noises of protest, of plea. 

“Luke,” he gasps. “More.” 

Luke smiles. “There it is.” 

His touch withdraws altogether. Ashton whines because he’s worried Luke’s just going to leave him here for the rest of the night, wet and wanting and aching. But there’s a sound like a plastic wrapper opening, and then Luke’s hands are on Ashton’s thighs, spreading them open farther. The ache in his joints is delicious. 

There’s a weight, pressing against Ashton. Luke lines himself up, but just before he sheathes himself in, he stops. He looks at Ashton, reaching for him to tenderly wipe the tears from his cheeks. 

“Luke,” Ashton murmurs, and his voice is wrecked, broken. His lashes are clumped with tears as he blinks at Luke sitting between his thighs, just fucking teasing Ashton’s hole without doing anything.

“Beg,” Luke says, voice hard. 

Ashton exhales, cheeks burning. His mind is detached, but his skin is wet-hot, his muscles shuddering, and Luke’s almost inside him, he’s so close. 

Ashton tries to take Luke in himself by pressing his hips down, but Luke stops him with an iron grip. 

“Beg for it, Ashton,” Luke says. And, fuck—fine. 

“Please,” Ashton mutters, voice small, ashamed. He can’t meet Luke’s eyes. 

Luke grinds his hips forward, and his tip catches the rim of Ashton's hole. Ashton shudders, whimpering at the feeling. 

“Didn’t catch that,” Luke smiles, almost mercilessly. “Get fuckin’ loud. ‘Please’ what?” 

“Please fuck me,” Ashton gasps, but it isn’t enough. Luke slaps the outside of his thigh, chiding. 

“Shit—please fuck me, Luke,” Ashton says, closing his eyes to the humiliation. His voice shakes. 

“Yeah?” Luke prompts. He rolls his hips in intervals, and Ashton mewls at the feeling each time. Ashton’s gone fully, he just wants to come, and he’s not above begging. Not anymore.

“Fuck me,” Ashton gasps. “Please? Please…please, I just want to come, I just want—I want to come on your cock, Luke, I—” 

Luke pushes into Ashton in one persistent push, not stopping until his hips are flush against Ashton’s ass. The stretch is incredible, and Ashton feels so full, like a missing puzzle piece is falling into place inside him. 

“So fucking tight,” Luke grits, grip iron-strong on Ashton’s hips. 

Ashton can just hold on, pleas and incoherent words spilling from his lips as Luke draws out all the way, painfully slow. The emptiness returns, and Ashton shivers at how suddenly cold he feels without Luke inside him. 

Luke pushes in, a slow glide, slotting himself inside Ashton fully. Ashton’s mouth drops open in a high-pitched whine as Luke’s cock brushes against his prostate. He’s been near the edge for so long, he won’t last with the way uke’s moving, teasing and steady and slow. 

“Luke,” Ashton gasps. “Please, more, more.” 

Luke laughs. “Fucking greedy,” he says. “You’ll take what I give you.” 

Ashton’s head falls back against the carpet and his voice cracks upon a yelp when Luke pulls out, only to grind his hips inside again. He fucks Ashton deep, making sure he feels every inch, every bit of Luke’s cock that has him babbling with pleasure. 

There’s tears of frustration in his eyes. He knows he’s cried off all the makeup from their shoot earlier that day, and they only serve to make the tracks stand stark underneath his eyes. Luke rolls his hips into Ashton, and Ashton moves, trying to meet every thrust, trying to coax Luke to move faster. 

“Please,” he moans. He blinks at the ceiling, voice ragged, gone to the pleasure. 

Every time Luke aims at that spot inside Ashton, he shivers, letting out a garbled, shaky whimper. He can’t do much else but take it, let Luke have his way, take his own sweet time. 

“Touch me,” Ashton begs. “Luke…I—please, touch me.” 

Luke’s hips snap harshly into Ashton, tearing a wet gasp out of him. 

“I don’t know if you deserve it, baby,” Luke pouts. “You’ve been so bad today.” 

It stings. Not just Luke’s words, but the rejection, the teasing—the knowledge that he’s so close but he won’t get what he wants until Luke wants it too. He cries out, arms straining against the shirt holding him down. He’s saying something, but he can’t tell what it is, too lost to chasing what he wants. 

“No, I—I was—” But he doesn't have the words. It’s too much and not enough, his skin sensitive, sticky with sweat. Luke’s movements are corrupting his thoughts, all he can focus on is the steady push and pull, the angle of his cock.

Luke suddenly thrusts in hand. His hold on Ashton tightens, and his pace goes from a glacial slowness to a hurried, frantic one. His hips piston harshly into Ashton, abusing his prostate, and Ashton cries, sobs, mewls. 

“Thats it,” Luke coaxes. “Take it, baby.” 

Ashton writhes under him. Luke reaches down and plays with the head of his cock, and Ashton’s gone, he’s gone—

“All that pride,” Luke says, his voice winded. “All that bravado, but you’re just a slut for cock, aren’t you?” 

Ashton can barely hear him. But Luke takes his jaw, turns him so that he meets Luke’s gaze through a teary haze. “Answer me.”

“I am,” Ashton responds immediately. “I am, I am—all f’you…for your cock, Luke, I—” “That’s right,” Luke nods, and the sweat from his hair drips onto Ashton’s skin. “All you needed was a good fuck for y’to get that stick out of your ass, huh?” 

He fucks into Ashton without pause, never letting him catch his breath, chasing his own orgasm. 

Ashton is hiccuping through his tears, digging his nails into his hands as the pressure builds again, loud like a screaming in his ears, Luke relentless in his movements. 

Luke, terribly, horribly, slows his pace again, and Ashton’s eyes fly open. His hands scrabble for something to hold on to.”Please!” he cries, uncaring to how fucking embarassed he feels, because all he wants is to finish, to feel good. “Please let me, please I was—” “What do you say?” 

“I don’t know,” he says. He can’t think straight. Luke’s still got a hand around his dick, and its all too much, he can’t feel anything but the blinding pleasure, the desire to come. 

“Then you won’t come,” Luke says simply, hammering his hips into Ashton again. “No,” Ashton gasps. “Please, Luke. Please, I’m…oh, god.” 

He can’t think. He can’t…his mind is overheated, distracted, overheated by all the sensations creeping over his body. He searches blindly for an answer, and the fog clears, and—

“Thank you.” 

Luke smiles, like Ashton’s got it right. His grip tightens on Ashton’s cock, and he strokes him quick, matching his thrusts to the flick of his wrist on Ashton’s shaft. Ashton’s still speaking, the words lost to him as he spews some rendition of thanks, of apology, of plea. It’s sweaty, hot, and Luke’s hips stutter, and Ashton clenches down because he knows he’s right there, he’s right there—

He sees stars. He can’t get any air into his lungs, and he throws his legs out, arching his back as he comes, spilling all over his belly and chest. He feels it down to his toes and he shakes from the force of it, whimpering as Luke fucks into him a few more times, until he’s bending over Ashton and emptying himself into the condom too. They stay like that, breathing in each-other’s gasps, counting breaths. 

It takes him a while to come back, to open his eyes, and when he does, Luke’s still there. The brunet cards his fingers through Ashton’s hair as he wipes with a wet cloth between his legs. Ashton winces at the feeling, still sensitive. 

“How do you feel, baby?” Luke asks, meeting Ashton’s eyes. The snark, the arrogance from earlier is all gone, replaced instead with a tender earnestness. 

Ashton can’t help a smile. “Feel so fucking good…like, floaty.” 

A pause. 

“Can’t feel my legs.” 

It draws a laugh from Luke. Ashton’s never felt this way in his life. Like he’s lying on a cloud. Like he’s melting into the floor. He’s so relaxed. All his stress, frustration, worries are gone, leaving behind a sore, satisfied ache in his muscles. 

“You did that on purpose?” he asks Luke, as the brunet discards the cloth and crawls up to lie beside Ashton until he’s ready to stand.

“Worked, didn’t it?” 

“Asshole.” 

“I know,” Luke grins mischievously.  

They sit in silence for a while, Ashton counting Luke’s breaths, matching them to his own. 

“So,” Luke says, conversationally. There’s an undertone of something to his voice. “What you said back there…about me ‘regretting all this’...same time tomorrow?” 

Ashton wants to shove at Luke’s shoulder, but his limbs are jelly. He rolls his eyes, exhausted, exasperated. “Oh, fuck me.” 

Luke licks his lips, amusement glinting in his pretty blue eyes. “If you insist.”