#tigareth

Then Gareth’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open, the blush on his cheeks deepening, and the camera panned back over to Tig and Grant. Tig was now shirtless and doing some sort of flex to show off the tattooed expanse of his back. Jeff quickly spun the camera back on Gareth and slowly zoomed in, catching the way his eyes glazed over, his mouth hanging open.

Gareth only snapped out of it when a shiny drop of drool began to spill over his bottom lip. Sucking back his spit and wiping his face, he glared at Eddie who actually fell back on the sidewalk, howling with laughter. It was only then that Gareth actually looked up and saw the camera on him, and his blush spread rapidly down his throat.

“Put your fuckin’ shirt back on, Slenderman!” Gareth shouted. “Literally no one wants to see that shit!”

“I think over 12,000 people on Twitter would disagree with you there,” Tig called back and somehow Gareth’s blush deepened even more.

The camera flipped to the front-facing camera, and Jeff and Chrissy’s tired faces filled the view as Gareth started shouting about Twitter and bots.

“There is no way that much stupid can fit inside one person,” Jeff said, exhaustion clear in his voice.

“Especially someone so small,” Chrissy agreed, and the video cut off on her giggle at Gareth’s indignant shout.

Everyone jumped at Freak’s loud outburst, silence falling over the tiny boardroom they were all piled into as they looked at him. He was massaging his forehead, a grimace clear in his expression.

Glancing at the screen of his phone, Gareth flinched as he realized they had been sitting there for forty-five minutes, and forty of those were dedicated to Eddie and Chrissy arguing in circles. Jeff had had his head on the table before Freak’s shout, and his mouth was still a tense line.

“You’re right, Eddie. This is our band, and that includes Chrissy,” Freak said pointedly, and Eddie actually had the grace to glance away, shame-faced, his mouth snapping shut. Seemingly satisfied, Freak said, “Stop being a dick and let her actually finish what she was saying.”

“Thank you, Freak,” Chrissy sighed, sitting back in her chair at the head of the table. “Now, as I was saying, the label can’t have us canceling shows if we’re headlining.”

“Gee, thanks, Chris,” Eddie bit out, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

“It was different when we were openers,” she continued a bit shakily, shrugging a shoulder, “but we’re about to start what the label’s anticipating being a sold-out arena tour.”

Jeff’s expression went slack, and Gareth knew his own eyebrows had disappeared behind his fringe.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” Jeff asked, tilting his better ear toward her. “Did you say sold-out?”

“Anticipated, yes,” Chrissy replied, smirking just a bit smugly about it.

Gareth scoffed incredulously. “Fuck ‘sold-out’, did you just say arena tour?” He looked around the table. “How the hell did we score an arena tour?”

“Between your explosion in popularity and the docuseries deal…” Chrissy said, trailing off as she looked at Eddie a bit sadly. “I’m sorry, Eddie. I know how much you wanted to make this the tour you were back for, but canceling two of our appearances and needing a sub on guitar at the end of Ghost’s tour has the label spooked.”

Gareth sneered at the mention of the sub they were saddled with. When he looked over at Eddie, though, his chest squeezed at the way his oldest friend was staring up at the ceiling and blinking rapidly. All the fight had left him, and Gareth could tell he was resigning himself to the decision. Jeff leaned over to wrap a hand over Eddie’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly.

Eddie sucked in a sharp breath. “Whoever we bring on better be good,” Eddie bit out eventually, his voice thick as he turned a flat look on Chrissy. “We’re not slowing down for them.”

At that, Chrissy actually broke into a grin and clapped her hands together. “Well, you’re in luck because I’ve already brought someone on and he’s ridiculously talented,” she said in a rush, and they all just blinked at her. There was a sinking feeling in Gareth’s gut about the whole thing.

“He should actually be here soon to talk to you— oh, that might be him,” Chrissy continued, hopping up when there was a quiet knock at the door. When she opened it, she smiled politely and said, “Yeah, just send him back.”

Turning back to them, Jeff gestured for her to elaborate. “Are you going to tell us who it is?”

Chrissy frowned and put her hands on her hips. “Oh, c’mon guys, don’t act like you don’t know who it is,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes dramatically.

Gareth immediately thought of the smug behemoth that subbed for Eddie’s guitar parts and grimaced, crossing his arms over his chest petulantly. At the same time, however, the rest of the band’s faces lit up excitedly, even Eddie’s. Of fucking course Eddie would be fine with being coddled, babied— nay, treated like a fucking invalid if it meant some hot, overrated giant was going to be around more often.

There was another knock on the door and Chrissy immediately opened it with a grin. “Morgan! Welcome back,” she said brightly, and the name threw Gareth off just enough that his shoulders relaxed and dropped down from around his ears.

He didn’t know a Morgan, he didn’t think, but that was fine! At least it wasn’t—

“Ugh, that’s the name the lawyers use for me,” came an impossibly deep, slightly accented voice as Chrissy stepped back, staring up at the man coming into the boardroom with nothing short of awe.

Sure e-fucking-nough, in walked the very giant Gareth had hoped wouldn’t be returning. The asshole actually ducked his head under the door frame is if it was too fucking low for him to clear it.

“Please, just call me Tig,” the man said before looking around the room with a giant grin, his blue eyes pausing on Gareth just long enough to wink at him.

It had been months since the band saw Tig last, and Gareth hated that he looked good. His hair was a vibrant pink at that moment (very much not the blue it was when he was touring with them) and with complete and utter dismay, Gareth realized he had a new fucking tattoo on his throat. It was almost a blackout tattoo, but on the front of his throat it looked like a honeycomb. The pattern faded into proper blackout where it wrapped around the column of his neck and up to the line of his jaw. It was distracting, and Gareth just wanted to chew that shit off.

Tig had been brought in as quickly as possible at the end of Corroded Coffin’s tour with Ghost when Eddie’s nerve pain flared up to the point that he could barely perform, let alone play his guitar. Despite being unable to play and upset about that, Eddie and Tig immediately hit it off. They had been nearly inseparable, between Tig’s (admittedly genius level) skill on guitar and Eddie’s passion for finding the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable. What was worse was that Tig had the ugliest, grossest, and scariest bugs imaginable tattooed all over his body.

Even Freak had taken a shine to him, actually finding his fucking childish antics hilarious. Jeff barely even hesitated about returning Tig’s over-the-top flirtations, too.

Gareth couldn’t fucking stand him.

Across the table, Freak was looking at him with an eyebrow raised and a little, smug smirk. Gareth flipped him off before crossing his arms and slouching back in his chair.

The first problem he had with Tig was that the man was so goddamn tall. It honestly hurt Gareth’s neck to meet his eyes most of the time, and then the dick went and wore fucking platform boots as if he needed three more inches. Whenever he did that, Gareth was practically eye-level with Tig’s goddamn bellybutton (and the man’s stupid fucking piercing there) which filled him with something that could only be rage with how hot he felt all over. Hot like flames were engulfing him, flames of anger and shit.

The second problem was that Gareth was, apparently, Tig’s fucking fan.

See, Tig used to be part of a masked, anonymous band named Rake as the lead guitarist and unclean vocalist. Their whole get-up, especially in the last era of their career as a band, were full suits and bird-themed masks, leaving only enough skin visible for the guitarists to play and the vocalists to sing. Rake was up there in popularity, even for a metal band, somehow making it big while maintaining their anonymity. That was until, of course, a fateful music festival in Nevada during a record-breaking heatwave.

Gareth was a huge fan of Rake— they were literally his favourite band, so when he found out Corroded Coffin was going to be playing at the same festival as Rake and they were scheduled perfectly so he was going to be able to see Rake perform? He was ecstatic and he weaponized his elbows to get to the barrier.

Their entire aesthetic looked fucking rad but watching them perform in triple-digit weather really put it all into perspective.

Mid-set, it was obvious that the lead guitarist was suffering. Somehow, Tig was still hitting all the correct chords and nailing every single one of his lines, but between songs he was guzzling water, pouring it on himself, turning his back to the crowd to lift his mask up off his face even. He had already shed as many layers of his costume as he could just short of showing off skin. The other members were also having a rough time, but none of them seemed nearly as bad as Tig.

(Since meeting him, Gareth had come to learn that Tig is just annoying and dramatic, especially in any amount of weather hotter than 90 degrees.)

Eventually, Tig swayed unsteadily enough that the other vocalist had to grab his arm to keep him from eating shit. There was a moment where they were clearly arguing, though it was hard to tell with the beaks of the masks being in the way. Eventually, Tig began to roll up his sleeves, exposing very distinctly tattooed forearms that had more than a few audience members shouting in excitement.

The thing was, Gareth recognized the tattoos, but where he recognized them from was escaping him. The tattoo that stood out to him in that moment was the Lichtenberg figure that started on his thumb and crawled up his arm, branching out into a perfect mess of lines and angles. It had been almost thrilling to have that moment of knowing, that split-second where he knew who was under that mask even if he couldn’t actually immediately recall who it was.

But then there were gasps in the crowd, and people began shouting something that Gareth couldn’t quite hear properly, and Tig’s shoulders drooped a bit. Looking around himself, Gareth took in the sea of people around him and noticed that a few of them had their phones out. The girl next to him at the barrier was on Twitter, frantically scrolling through the people she followed.

Upon realizing that his favourite guitarist (after Jeff and Eddie, of course) was apparently Twitter famous, Gareth was pissed. It just felt ridiculous that a metal guitarist would be famous on the fucking bird app without their music as the reason. It felt like they sold out, like some influencer was behind the music.

Then Tig stepped up to the microphone and— in an impossibly deep and slightly accented voice that Gareth absolutely fucking knew in a way that had him blushing in the middle of a crowd of metalheads— he said, “well, I guess the cat’s outta the bag now.”

See, Gareth knew on some level that the members of Rake were probably recognizable in some way other than their looks off the stage because none of them ever spoke. They would go on stage, perform their set, and leave. It wasn’t that weird, given their entire gimmick with the masks, so Gareth really didn’t think too much about it. Now that Gareth heard that voice and recognized it immediately as one that frequently featured in his horniest daydreams, the gimmick made a whole lot more sense.

The thing was that Gareth knew that voice and those tattooed arms— and, yep, the man was unbuttoning his shirt to reveal the massive and distinctive tattoo of a cicada across his chest— and they belonged to the one OnlyFans creator he was fucking subscribed to.

“Let’s get back to the show, then,” Tig growled into the mic, and the music immediately picked back up as if a quarter of the crowd didn’t just get their shit rocked.

Later that night when he was back at his hotel, Gareth pulled up Twitter and sure enough, there was a new post from xX-Tamer Tig-Xx. It was a selfie of Tig standing in front of a mirror, completely naked while he held his iconic plague doctor mask over his cock. Black body paint was still on his hands, throat, and around his mouth, as if he just stripped and took the selfie after the concert. It was posted with a caption that read, “So, big news incoming 😳 IYKYK 😏”

The ensuing chaos the news threw part of the metal scene into was nothing short of fucking batshit insane. Gareth and Eddie were eating it all up as they watched YouTube reactors express their opinions on the matter. They watched the way Rake blew up on TikTok now that it was known that at least one of the band members was already a well-known “accountant” on the app. After about a week, the rest of the band unmasked too, and it turned out all of them were sex workers by trade.

It was shortly after that when Rake announced that they would be permanently disbanding now that they were unmasked, which was devastating for Gareth. He mostly understood, of course, because the anonymity was ultimately important to them, so their sex work and music was wholly separated. Plus, Rake was very vocal as an entity on their socials that they were always intending to complete a trilogy of albums and they achieved that. It just felt wrong, as if their hands were forced to announce it early, or they were robbed of their chance to just quietly disappear forever without revealing anything.

After a couple months, Rake sat down for a full profile piece for an article about them unmasking, their feelings about it and the end of their careers as Rake. All five of them seemed happy with the way the band was ending things, that they could finally be more open about their friendships with each other, even outside of their working relationships. Hell, the drummer and the lead vocalist were fucking married. Like, real-life married, and they had to hide that on stage. In the interview, they said they were most excited to be able to actually interact with their opening bands, and something in that made Gareth realize how much that anonymity probably felt very isolating. Thinking about how much Corroded Coffin got to learn from the bands they were opening with and for, he couldn’t imagine that lack of collaboration.

The article itself had images of all the members unmasked and in various states of undress. Tig’s photo was the most provocative, with him standing in profile and completely naked except for his platform boots, one leg bent just enough to keep his modesty. His arms were held up, hands tangled in his own hair, but he was looking directly at the camera over the muscled curve of his biceps.

Despite being subscribed to his OnlyFans, Gareth still saved that image to his phone and told himself that was completely normal behaviour. He had lots of photos and videos of Tig naked on his phone. It wasn’t weird.

Plus, he foolishly thought, it wasn’t like he was ever going to fucking meet the man, especially since Rake was breaking up and none of them had immediate plans to return to the stage, even as a solo act.

Gareth jumped as someone knocked on the table to get his attention, and he glared at the heavily tattooed hand that was there. Turning his sneer up at Tig’s face, he felt something squirm in his gut as the man just smirked knowingly.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tig crooned as he sat down, leaning close to Gareth to ask in a conspiratorial stage-whisper, “miss me?”

“Like a fucking toothache, Slenderman,” Gareth spat, and Tig only grinned broadly at him, showing off all of his perfectly white teeth. They weren’t perfectly straight, but they were so fucking white, it was ridiculous. Unfair. Disgusting even.

“I missed you, too, sweetheart,” Tig sighed before turning his attention to Chrissy as she stood back up to start going over the details of him temporarily joining Corroded Coffin.

This was going to be the worst, Gareth thought— nay, he knew.

Not only did he have to spend the day with Tig, but it was hotter and more humid than Satan’s hairy taint and that meant both of them were a pair of grouches. Tig was especially grumpy.

“I fuckin’ hate the heat,” Tig groused as he tied his hair up into a high ponytail, showing off the blond undercut that was normally hidden by his long, dyed— a dark green, at the moment— mane of hair. It also showed off just how high up the black-out tattoo crawled up Tig’s neck and scalp.

“Don’t you live in LA?” Gareth asked sourly, tearing his gaze away from the line of Tig’s neck to stare out the SUV window.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Tig snapped, which actually caught Gareth a bit off-guard. Yeah, Gareth was a huge bitch to him all the time, especially when it was more than 90 degrees out, but Tig never matched his energy. Looking back at the man, equal parts offended and concerned, he could see Tig was already regretting his outburst. “Sorry, that was shitty.”

“Yeah, it fuckin’ was,” Gareth grumbled, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “I just asked a question.”

At that, Tig rolled his eyes. “Yes, I live in LA. Also, yes, I have a low heat-tolerance. We do exist, actually. Don’t you live in LA, too?” he asked, basically pouting across the bench at Gareth.

“Yeah, but it’s the humidity that I hate,” he admitted with a groan, shifting uncomfortably in the back of the SUV. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, I’ve got swass something fierce. Why do leather seats exist in a fuckin’ climate like this.”

Tig got a look on his face that had Gareth’s heart hammering in his chest, the anticipation for the innuendo that was surely about to drop from those lips, in that voice. But then Tig just smirked and shook his head.

“What?” Gareth pressed, pouting when Tig snorted.

“Nothing, low-hanging fruit,” he said with a suggestive waggle of his brow, just as the SUV stopped moving. With a grumpy little huff, Tig rolled his eyes and said, “well, we’re here.”

“Where’s here anyway?” Gareth asked as he followed Tig out of the vehicle, just to stare at the building with growing confusion. They were at… the humane society? He was too hungover and too dizzy from the humidity to deal with animals, and yet here he was, apparently doing just that. “What the hell?”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to bring you but the producers made me,” Tig sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. At Gareth’s affronted look, Tig rolled his eyes and added, “Normally, I love your bitchiness, thrive off of it, really, but this is my thing that I do for me.”

“And what? I’m harshing the vibes?” Gareth snapped, feeling bad because he knew the answer.

Yes, he was harshing the vibes, and he was doing it for no good reason. They were both stuck on this dumb trip out together and instead of burying the hatchet, Gareth was just going to keep swinging and swinging and swinging it until they were both bleeding apparently.

Tig eyed him, and standing at full height had him practically looking down his nose at Gareth, sharp and appraising. It was stupid how hot Gareth thought that was.

“It’s more that this is an outing I would’ve preferred to take you on when you weren’t forced to,” Tig responded after a moment, then shrugged. “Also, yeah, you being a bitch is kinda harshing the vibes.”

“Oh, so like a date?” Gareth asked skeptically, mockingly even but the frown that overtook Tig’s features had Gareth feeling guilty.

Instead of answering him, Tig sighed and nodded toward that door. “Can we just get this over with? Appease the producers and shit and go back to the hotel?” he asked, and Gareth felt an apology on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he sighed instead, following Tig into the building.

Turned out that when the rest of the band was off doing their stupid touristy things with the film crew, Tig was visiting humane societies in every city they hit on their tour. He was, apparently, spending his free time away from the band volunteering as a dog-walker or playmate for unwanted animals, as if the man could get anymore fucking attractive.

Today, they were apparently on Keep the Dogs Cool duty, which involved getting cooling vests wet, filling kiddie pools in the play yard, making sure the dogs were all playing nice in the kiddie pools in the play yard, and replacing the big ice cubes in the water bowls. It was nice, fun even, and Gareth was even starting to drop the whole… schtick he had with Tig. It was especially gratifying when Tig began to smile at him, big and genuine. The full force of that man’s smile, especially with those silver goddamn fangs, was enough to turn anyone’s legs to jelly, and Gareth was absolutely shaken by it, the world spinning around him as he struggled to catch his breath after one particularly blinding grin.

Actually, no, that wasn’t the smile making him dizzy, Gareth realized; it was the humidity and the hangover. That had to be it, right?

“You okay, Gare?” he heard Tig ask, and Gareth just nodded as he stared at the dog he was petting instead of looking directly at the other man.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just gonna go grab a drink inside,” Gareth said, swallowing hard as he stood up and spun on one heel.

Tig’s big hands were on him, one of his long arms around his back and the other around his waist. It was weird because Tig had been a few feet away and crouching, too; how was Tig holding him? Blinking his eyes open— when did they even close? What the hell? — he was looking up at the canopy over the play yard.

He was… on the ground? No, Gareth realized, he was not on the ground. He was in Tig’s arms.

Tig was talking, and there was a flurry of motion around them, but Gareth was too busy staring at the man’s worried expression as he talked to someone else. It was one of the camera guys— Brian? Maybe? — who handed Tig a washcloth, and when Tig turned his attention back to Gareth and saw his eyes open, he grinned.

“Hey, sweetheart, glad to see you back with us so quick,” Tig said, and his relief sounded so fucking genuine, Gareth’s heart ached for it. Then something began licking his face in big, slobbery stripes, breaking the spell of the moment. Tig laughed, shoving the massive Rottweiler away. “Dozer, back off, let the man breathe.”

“What the fuck happened?” Gareth asked, sighing as Tig laid the washcloth over his forehead.

“You fainted, like, straight into my arms,” Tig answered, and Gareth groaned. If that was caught on camera, he could only imagine how the producers were going to spin that in the finished documentary.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Gareth hissed, and Tig helped him sit up slowly.

“Y’know,” Tig started after a few minutes of them sitting and fending off slobber attacks from Dozer. Gareth looked over at him and frowned at the smirk on Tig’s face. With a grin, Tig continued, “If you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“Shut the fuck up, Doug Jones,” Gareth snapped and the bewildered expression on Tig’s face was perfect for cheering him up. When the man apparently had nothing clever to retort to the new nickname, Gareth huffed grumpily and looked around. “Can we call it a day and go back to the hotel? Please?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Tig said, and Gareth huffed at the term of endearment, glancing away from him to hide the blush he could feel overtaking his features.

“Oh, fuck, Gare,” Tig groaned, long and low in his throat, his long fingers twisting in Gareth’s hair tightly. Shivering, Gareth let out a whine as he bobbed his head between Tig’s thighs. “Fuck, baby, gonna come.”

At that, Gareth moaned and focused his efforts on the head, playing with the ladder of frenum piercings with the tip of his tongue. The way Tig shuddered filled Gareth with a dizzying sense of pride, that he managed to make Tig feel that good, he got to have him like that. With another hungry sound, Gareth took as much of Tig’s cock into his mouth as he could, just as Tig’s fingers tightened in his hair.

As Tig spilled down his throat, Gareth reached between his own legs to rub at his dick, shivering as he swallowed. After a few moments, Tig pulled Gareth off of his cock, dragging him up for a hungry kiss. Gareth couldn’t help the startled sob as one of Tig’s tattooed thighs slid between his legs and slotted against his dick and cunt, giving him something firm and warm to rut against.

Pulling away from the kiss, Gareth threw his head back with a shivery whimper, humping Tig’s thigh with abandon as he chased his own release. He was too far gone already to care how he looked, to care what Tig thought of him in that moment, just desperately rubbing one out like some horny teenager. It didn’t take long at all, the tight coil in his gut snapping and punching a sharp cry from his throat.

“That’s it, gorgeous,” Tig cooed, his deep voice washing over Gareth and filling his head with heat. “Holy fuck, you’re so wet, baby.”

Tig’s thigh fell away, and when Gareth managed to open his eyes, he watched in awe as Tig ran his fingers through the slick on his skin before pressing them into his mouth. His eyes rolled back, as if tasting Gareth’s arousal was the most decadent treat possible.

“Need to taste more of you,” Tig sighed, opening his eyes halfway to stare hungrily up at Gareth. After a moment, Tig smirked before framing his lips with the two fingers he just cleaned, sliding his forked tongue out between them and moving the separate tips suggestively.

Blushing, dark and hot, Gareth rolled his eyes and looked away. “I can’t fucking believe you. I literally just came,” he grumbled, ignoring the way his tummy fluttered at the thought of being brought to another perfect orgasm on that tongue.

“Yep, and I’m going to eat you out until you come at least two more times,” Tig promised, dragging Gareth into another hungry, filthy kiss. It felt like the kiss went on forever, yet somehow it wasn’t long enough.

“Tig,” Gareth whined when the man pulled away, his head fuzzy and face hot with his blush.

“Alright, baby, don’t be shy, now,” Tig cooed, sliding his big hands around to grab handfuls of Gareth’s ass and pull him upward. Smirking, he added, “Sit on my face.”

And with a command that perfect, how could Gareth disobey?

They were stuck in the middle of the crowd and obviously it still sounded amazing, and the energy was still fucking perfect, Gareth couldn’t help the scowl that fell over his face. It was still the opening bands, so there was still time to bully his way to the barrier, but still… he didn’t want to have to bully his way to the barrier.

“You’re pouting,” Tig’s voice rumbled against Gareth’s ear as the first opening band exited the stage and he jumped, swinging his elbow and catching his boyfriend’s hip.

“Not pouting,” he snapped back and Tig just laughed, sending Gareth’s stomach into a series of somersaults. It was a good thing he wasn’t looking at Tig when he laughed like that because Gareth knew he would be embarrassing about it.

He always was.

“Okay, well, that definitely looks like a pout, Gare,” Tig insisted, and only then did Gareth actually turn his head to look at him.

It was always fucking devastating to look at Tig, especially in the shifting lights of a concert, especially when Tig was done up in all that leather and denim, eyes lined in black and his long hair pulled back to show off his undercut. His hair was platinum blond again, too, which was doing something for Gareth for reasons that were far too embarrassing to fully admit to while completely sober.

“Aren’t you enjoying the concert?” Tig asked, and Gareth had to take a deep breath before he said something nasty. See, Tig was gorgeous, and a considerate partner, and the most perfect boyfriend probably ever, but he was famous for his stupid questions.

“Yeah, I’m sure the concert is great when you’re, fuckin’, Slenderman,” Gareth said snappishly, gesturing at Tig’s six-foot-fucking-six frame. Then he pointed at the man standing right in front of him and added, “I get to watch the sweat spot between this asshole’s shoulder blades grow. Can’t see jackshit else.”

When Gareth looked back at Tig again, he immediately felt bad for his complaining. He genuinely looked guilty, his brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth turning down. Just as Gareth was about to back-pedal, though, Tig got a little smirk on his lips that had Gareth nervous.

Leaning close enough to Gareth’s ear that his lip piercings brushed against his earlobe, Tig murmured in a perfect accent, “Shall I describe it to you? Or would you like me to find you a box?”

Gareth reared back to stare at his boyfriend, eyes wide and nostrils flaring at the cheeky little smirk on Tig’s lips as mortification flooded through him. Not for the first time, Gareth found himself plotting the most effective way to put Nair in Eddie Munson’s conditioner without risking Steve in the crossfire. It was Eddie’s fault that Tig knew about the obsessive crush he had on Legolas at all, and since finding out about it the man was insufferable.

Unfortunately for Gareth, Tig saying that line in a perfect imitation of the accent with platinum blond hair had a completely different feeling taking precedence.

“Dipshit,” Gareth grumbled with a roll of his eyes, and he reached for Tig, scowling at the shit-eating grin that split his face.

Perhaps the man expected to be shoved, because Tig visibly braced himself only to stumble a bit when Gareth’s hands wrapped around the leather straps of the harness he wore and tugged. Their lips crashed together and Tig instantly melted into it, opening for Gareth’s questing tongue before pressing forward with his own. The sensation of Tig’s forked tongue against his had Gareth’s head going fuzzy and hot, and he had to force himself to pull away.

“If we weren’t in public right now, I’d have my head between your legs,” Gareth said thickly, kissing Tig again.

“Making a pretty good case to get somewhere private immediately,” Tig hummed, just as the second opening band came out and started up.

“If you get me to the barrier, I’ll do a lot more than suck your cock later,” Gareth promised and the heated expression Tig pinned him with had him reconsidering staying at the show entirely.

But then Tig had him by the hand and was snaking through the crowd, and Gareth found himself standing at the barrier in no time. Of course, Gareth is a man of his word, and he absolutely intended to make good on his vow the second they got somewhere even remotely private.