#pinksyndication

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All in all, Andy Fletcher was a Very Good Boy. He didn't take drugs (he didn't care what anyone said, pot wasn't a drug) and he liked drinking, but he treated the fans well and he never slept with any groupies. And it appeared that the other guys were starting to be swayed by his good example; all right, Martin was Martin, but Dave and Alan seemed to have stopped bringing girls back to their rooms. In fact, now the two of them would often head back to the hotel together after their gigs and afterparties, grinning and whispering about something or other.

“What do you think those two are up to?” Martin said, when he and Fletch were waiting for their drinks at the bar one night in New Orleans. They were watching Dave and Alan leave the club together, and Dave must have been drunk because he was holding onto Alan’s hips for balance. He did that a lot these days. Fletch thought Alan was a very good friend for tolerating that much touching.

“Dunno,” Fletch said, knocking back the whiskey a grateful fan had bought him. It burned all the way down, warm but funny in his stomach. “Dave said sometimes they read the Bible together.”

Martin laughed until he almost choked on his drink, Fletch patting him on the back until his airways were clear again. “He really said that?” Martin gasped.

“Yeah, must’ve heard him wrong,” Fletch said with a grin. “He said something about getting to know Alan biblically? Must have been stoned out of his mind.”

Martin’s brow was now wrinkled in confusion, his mouth open to ask something before they were waylaid by a group of very excited fans in very little clothing, and Fletch got distracted (okay he was faithful to Grainne, but he wasn’t a priest) and he forgot all about their topic of discussion.

Besides, the whiskey earlier was making him feel a bit odd.

***

A few days later, Fletch was still feeling the effects of the whiskey that fan had given him in New Orleans. He wasn’t sick or anything like that; he just felt like a toy soldier whose key had been wound too tightly, like all his senses had been heightened. If Martin was flirting with someone, Fletch could almost hear Martin’s heartbeat racing as though it were his very own. When one of their female roadies bent over their synths and treated Daryl to a view of her cleavage, Fletch could smell something warm and vanilla-ish, like the spiced fruit cake his mother used to bake.

The worst one was that he also seemed to have gained the knack of accidentally walking in on people making out or about to have sex. On tour, this was a most awkward scenario as Fletch had to work with these people day in and day out for months, so he most definitely did not want to get a glimpse of anyone’s arse or naughty bits. He got into the habit of knocking on any doors to announce his presence beforehand, which was most annoying as Fletch liked the freedom of going where he pleased on tour.

He almost wanted to tell Martin about the very odd things happening to him recently, but he knew Martin would just laugh it off so he decided not to. Strange things happened on tour all the time, and Martin would just tell him to be careful and watch where he was going. Besides, Fletch felt fine beyond the odd thing about his senses being magnified.

Then it all came to a head one night.

After their gig in Los Angeles, Fletch had decided to skip the afterparty because he was a bit too flushed and sweaty. Afraid that he might be coming down with the flu, Fletch went back to the hotel shortly after Dave and Alan themselves did. Ringing room service and ordering himself a nice hot tea and a bacon sandwich, Fletch decided a bath might be the best thing after a long gig; he didn’t care what Alan had to say, all that clapping would tire anyone out.

Fletch had his late dinner, then drew his bath and sat in the steaming hot water for a good thirty minutes, ignoring the moans he was hearing next door. (This was now a nightly occurrence that he attributed to the hotel’s thin walls, trying not to think about how that had never been a problem before). But after it got a bit too obscene for him to ignore, he got up and reached for his towel, drying himself and draining the water.

Fletch was almost done when his eye fell on the bathroom counter, then he frowned down at the items scattered around the bathroom sink. Those were not his toiletries. For one thing, there were too many bottles of cologne and aftershave, and there was also make up - make up! - on the counter. Where the fuck had they come from? Fletch’s heart was starting to thump loudly in his chest in panic. This didn’t look like his bathroom.

Then he heard voices from outside.

Now his heart jumped up into his throat, leaving him stricken in fear. Had robbers come in during his bath, or did fans manage to track him down? He pressed his ear against the door, startled when he heard Alan’s voice. It was both disconcerting and soothing to hear him talking, because at least it was someone he knew and trusted. Then again, what the fuck was Alan doing in his room? Maybe he’d broken in to play a prank on Fletch.

Fletch found himself grinning. Well, two could play at that game.

Flinging open the door, Fletch shouted, “Surprise, Wilder--” but his voice died because a sweaty Alan was naked on his bed, balls deep in someone who was face down in the pillows.

For a long moment, it was hard to tell who was more horrified: Fletch, or Alan, who was staring back at him in shock.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room?” they both asked at the same time, before the person Alan was fucking raised their head.

“Charlie, what--” A red-faced Dave was blinking at Fletch, who just stared at him, then Alan, then him again.

That was the point where Fletch passed out.

***

When he came to, he was resting on the two-seater sofa near the window. Dave and Alan, who were both wearing the hotel’s fluffy bathrobes, were peering down at him anxiously. “Is he alive?” Dave asked, palming Fletch’s forehead.

Fletch batted his hand away with a squawk. “Don’t touch me with-- that! Who knows where it’s been!” he shouted, scrambling away from the two of them.

Dave actually had the good graces to look hurt. Hurt! As though he was the one who had walked in on his two bandmates plowing each other like a cornfield. “My hand’s clean, it’s not like I had my fingers up Alan’s arse or something,” he said huffily. “We did that yesterday.”

“Dave,” Alan said in warning. “Not the time, mate.”

“He insinuated I was dirty,” Dave protested at the same time as Fletch yelled, “Stop telling me things!”

Alan held out his hands for calm. “Okay, look. Andy, why were you in my bathroom?”

Fletch rolled his eyes. “Excuse me, this is my room.”

Shaking his head, Alan looked even more confused. “No, it’s not. It’s mine.” And sure enough, it was only now that Fletch had a good look around. He could see Alan’s various leather jackets hanging in the wardrobe, his suitcases and boots lined up against the wall.

Now Fletch really, really felt ill. “I need to lie down.”

“You are lying down,” Dave said. When Alan shot him another glare, Dave got all huffy. “What? I can’t point out facts now?”

“This still doesn’t explain how Andy ended up in the bathroom,” Alan said, running his hands through his hair. Then Dave flattened down a cowlick that was sticking up at the back, and Alan shot him a very fond smile. Fletch could hear his heartbeat kicking up too, just like Martin’s had when he’d been flirting with that cute girl.

Oh. Oh no.

“I think I have sex powers,” Fletch said faintly.

Dave and Alan just stared at him. “How hard did he hit his head when he fell down?” Dave whispered to Alan.

“No, you don’t understand.” Fletch told them about the whiskey from that fan, then about his tendency to sense people’s heightened lust, as well as the odd thing about walking in on people in various states of intimacy. Dave just looked confused, while Alan seemed thoughtful.

“I think I’ve heard of this before,” Alan said, pacing about his room while Dave not-so-subtly tried to look up his robe. “It must have been a charm a fan had given to you.”

“But why?” For the life of him, Fletch couldn’t figure out why anyone would do this to him.

Alan shrugged. “Happened to a mate of mine. It usually wears off after a week or so.”

“A week’s a very long time to stop teleporting to where people are having sex,” Fletch said in a huff, before he gestured between the two of them. “Also, when did this bloody happen?”

Dave blushed a deep beetroot red, while Alan cocked an eyebrow at Fletch. “Really? You just gained sex powers, but you’re more concerned about Dave and I making love?”

Fletch had to hold his breath before he gagged, while Dave’s blush deepened, hearts practically glowing in his eyes. “Oh, Al--”

“Okay, I’m going to use my sex powers and, um, teleport out of here,” Fletch muttered, but Alan and Dave were starting to get all handsy again so Fletch didn’t wait and bolted out of the room, running straight to Mart’s.

***

As Alan predicted, Fletch’s sex powers went away a few days after the incident with the two of them. But although he didn’t have those powers anymore, it was hard not to notice whenever Alan and Dave snuck off together. So when Martin commented on it, Fletch told him.

“How did you find out?” Martin was half-sober, so Fletch was counting on him to remember this conversation in the morning.

“My sex powers,” Fletch said.

“Your sex what?” Martin goggled at him, so Fletch told him everything that had happened. At the end of it, Martin didn’t quite look like he believed Fletch, but he wasn’t quite laughing him off either.

“So do you still have them?” Martin asked after a long silence, staring down at his own tumbler of whiskey with suspicion now.

“I hope not,” Fletch said miserably. “I probably already need years of therapy after catching Alan and Dave like that together.”

Martin was starting to smile again. “At least Dave wasn’t lying when he said he was getting to know Alan biblically.”

“You’re a silver lining kind of bloke, aren’t you?” Fletch rolled his eyes at him, because he really wasn’t kidding about the therapy.

Martin patted him on the back sympathetically. “Come on, I’ll buy you a drink then. What do you want?”

@pinksyndication

Mo, Mo, Mo, Mo, Mooooo. You've given us so many beautiful pieces of artwork and my Top 3 favourites of yours constantly shift because you keep producing stuff that makes me so excited and awestruck! Your work has character too: the humour in it, the little unique details we never see anywhere else, etc. My fave piece of yours is always changing, but today I'm going to go with your Ultra Dave striptease because saph and I were recently raving about it, but at the same time I recently fell so hard for your 50s Housewife Dave!

@songsofgayanddevotion

I will never ever forget when I first saw your artwork, especially the one of Dave and Striped. There's something in the sheer happiness in Dave's blushy face that made me tear up, and the tender way he's cuddling Striped? I feel like you understand Dave (the person) so well and it comes out in the way you portray him. I can't decide on my favourite of yours today either so I'm going to go with Dave and Striped as well as your amazing rendition of Personal Jesus Dave!

@what-could-have-been

You're an insanely talented artist (especially your work with plants and flowers) and I think I've rambled to you so many times about your gift for detail, how everything looks like it's been drawn with the utmost care many times over? I can always see the amount of care and love you put into your pieces. This one of Dave and Alan cuddling after sex will always, always be my favourite (although it is so hard to choose from yours too) and I also have a special love for (semi-NSFW) Dave and Alan in the shower too!

@shinybrandon

I think I have gone on and on about how crazy talented you are in our DMs together, but no harm letting everyone else see how highly I think of you, right? ;) It always amazes me that you can both draw AND write, and I still remember the loud gasp I let out when I first saw this artwork of Alan putting make-up on Dave. I think everyone has their different strengths, and yours is in the infinite amount of detail that makes the clothes and hair of your characters come alive and jump off the page. Again I'm torn between my favourite pieces of yours, so I will just go with both Alan putting make-up on Dave as well as your Ultra Dave showpiece!

@maiyashu

. Alan knew he wasn’t alone the moment he shut the door to his chamber. He’d been on guard ever since he - and the rest of their entourage - had set foot in this foreign kingdom. There was something not quite right in the land of Essex, a seafaring kingdom that was rumoured to be established by pirates. The more Alan saw of the coarse land and even coarser people, the more he’d been tempted to head straight home to Londinium. But he couldn’t let his brothers and his people down; they needed access to the well-equipped, strategically positioned ports of Essex, so Alan had led the Londinium delegation here without a complaint.

Now, after a whole day of fruitless negotiating with the frustratingly tight-lipped Prince Martin, Alan just wanted dinner and a hot bath. 

The chamber given to royal visitors was far more luxurious than Alan had expected. Upon opening the door, one was greeted with a neat and cosy solar, equipped with a lush couch and an oak desk that provided ink, parchment and candles for Alan to do his work. The solar had a secondary door that led to the main bedchamber, where a massive four-poster bed draped in the lushest silks awaited him. The windows overlooked the sea too, which was a view Alan admittedly enjoyed.

Although there was no one in the solar, there must have been someone waiting in the main bedchamber. The air was spiced with traces of a sweet, musky perfume meant to entice, and Alan could see the flickering light of the fireplace already lit. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Alan stepped into the bedchamber, his eyes widening at what he saw.

A man was reclining across his mattress on his side, his head propped up with an elbow on the bed. One look at the man’s attire and appearance told Alan all he needed to know about why he was here; the man was dressed in white silk pyjama bottoms that looked soft to the touch, his upper body covered only with an indecently sheer tunic that left nothing to the imagination. Even then, Alan didn’t miss the black slave collar around the man’s neck. 

They’d sent a pleasure slave to his room.

The man raked a hand through his hair, which was dark as a raven’s wing. It was a nice contrast against his pale skin, and his lips were the lushest Alan had ever seen on a man. At this point he licked them, leaving them even more moist and inviting.

However, that all paled in comparison to the main focal point of this astoundingly pretty picture: the man’s eyes. They were a warm greenish brown in the candlelight, framed by a set of long, dark lashes and full, masculine brows. There was an amused glint in those eyes too, which meant that Alan had been caught staring.

“What is this?” Alan kept his face as calm and impassive as possible. 

The man shot him a knowing smile with just a touch of slyness. “The king sent me, my lord.” His voice was surprisingly sweet and husky, the vowels curiously elongated and rounded - typical of the Essex accent.

Alan arched an eyebrow at him. “Prince Martin told us the king is occupied with other matters.” 

“So he is.” The man stretched out on the bed like an indecent feast. “Doesn’t mean the king can’t make sure his guests aren’t well taken care of.”

“Is that what you’re supposed to do?” Alan washed his hands in the little basin with the jar of water waiting for him. “Take care of me?”

Letting out a dirty laugh, the man grinned at Alan as he let his legs fall open. “All that and more, handsome.” He patted the bed. “Come here, I’ll make you feel good.”

Alan would be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted. He’d always preferred the company of women, although there were a few men who’d managed to turn his head. The man in his bed was leagues above them, in possession of every single attractive trait Alan liked about men.

Unfortunately, the collar on his neck reminded Alan that the man wasn’t in possession of his own free will. Alan’s brother, King Stephen, had outlawed slavery in Londinium fifteen years ago, but it wasn’t surprising that a kingdom like Essex - with a history steeped in piracy - would still be in favour of such an antiquated practice. In Alan’s opinion, sexual slavery was even worse. Forcing someone to warm your bed was a deplorable act. “No,” he said.

The man’s eyebrows jumped upwards. “No?” His mouth flattened into a thin line. “Does my appearance displease you?”

Alan couldn’t help his scoff. “On the contrary. If you only knew how pleasing you are to me, then you’d know how difficult it is for me to turn you away.”

The man’s face brightened. “So what’s the problem?”

Alan splashed his face with water before drying it with a towel. “I do not wish to force you.”

Now it was the man’s turn to scoff. “Believe me, mate, nothing about this is forced.” He eyed Alan with a slow, lazy smile as he began tugging down the hem of his silk harem trousers. “Just come over here. Then I can report to the king that I made you happy, and you’ll be in a good mood for the negotiations tomorrow.”

Alan flashed him an understanding smile. “I suppose the king wouldn’t be happy if I sent you away without...partaking of your services.”

The man shrugged. “He would be most displeased, yes. But you don’t have to worry about me.”

Alan had no idea what gruesome punishments awaited pleasure slaves who had not carried out royal orders. He didn’t want to get this poor man into trouble. “Look, what’s your name?”

“My name doesn’t matter,” the man said.

Alan fixed him with a steady look. “It matters to me.”

Surprise bloomed on the man’s face, followed by something that looked like curiosity. “Dave. My name is Dave.”

“Well, I’m Alan.”

Dave’s mouth curled up a little at the sides in amusement. “I’m well aware of who you are, Prince Alan.”

“No need to address me as so.” Alan gestured at the door leading to the solar. “I’m going to sleep on the couch outside. You can sleep in the bed and leave in the morning, if you like. So the king thinks you’ve fulfilled your duties.”

This actually made Dave bolt upright in astonishment, the sexy and coy act forgotten. “Wait-- you would let a lowly slave take your bed while you slept outside?”

“You’re not lowly.” Alan nodded at him in farewell as he shuffled out of the room. “Have a good night’s rest, Dave.”

As he suspected, the couch was far more comfortable than it looked. Alan unbuttoned his tunic before settling in on the couch’s soft cushions. He was so exhausted from days of travelling and the day’s pointless negotiations that he found himself nodding off quite quickly. Just before he drifted off to sleep, he thought he felt someone carefully draping a blanket over him.