“How many people,” asked Marcus, his expression thoughtful as he stared at the ceiling, “do you think are fucking, in this hotel, right now?”
Jens squinted at him, then let his head drop back on the arm of the sofa with a snort. His hand dropped to the heap of beer bottles at his side, rummaging through them until he found the one he’d been drinking from. He shook it, a slow smile creeping across his face as he discovered that it wasn’t, yet, empty.
Two quick swallows remedied that, however.
“Who cares?” he replied, “the only thing I give a shit about is that I’m not.”
Marcus grunted agreement, and went to fetch more beer. Throwing himself down on the other end of the couch Jens was sprawled on, he pouted. From the room next door came the unmistakable sounds of somebody having sex - loudly. Jens flipped them the finger, took a long swallow of beer, then sighed.
“Who’s next door?” asked Marcus, and Jens rolled one shoulder in a lazy shrug.
“One of the Rays, I think.”
“Yeah. Some screw up over the rooms - Kai got moved, but the others are stuck on this floor with us. And you guys.”
“And half a dozen other bands lower on the bill,” brooded Marcus. They listened to the noisy screwing next door for a while - voices raised in yells and howls of what were, presumably, pleasure - and Marcus began to notice something rather odd. He frowned, opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again and drank more beer. He must be mistaken. It couldn’t be what he thought.
Jens snorted, his eyes closed, head lolling on the back of the couch. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were going to. You’ve noticed, haven’t you?”
More howling could be heard through the wall, accompanied this time by the banging of the bed’s headboard. They listened, caught up in the audio-only show going on next door; they couldn’t make out words, but tones and accents came through just fine. And Marcus recognised both voices. Or thought he did, but no. He must be wrong.
He shuffled himself on the sofa, frowning.
Jens began to chuckle.
“You. You’re so funny.”
“Why? I’m not doing anything.”
The voices were yelling now, begging and panting, getting close to their ultimate destination. The banging got faster, and Jens opened his eyes to scowl.
“Noisy bastards. And you, sitting there and almost squirming because it’s two guys in there.”
Marcus flushed and looked away, not wanting to look at Jens. His tone of voice was making him feel young and silly, and he didn’t like that much. Dammit, why shouldn’t he feel uncomfortable? As far as he’d known they were all straight, and--
“They might be sharing a groupie.”
Jens was taking a swallow of beer, and spat most of it out in a sour spray as he laughed. “Oh come on, Marcus!”
“Well, they might!”
Somebody was now yelling yes, yes, oh fuck, YES! and it was, as far as Marcus could tell, Dirk. His accent was unmistakable.
“Get real, Marcus.”
“What, you’ve never done that? Shared?”
Jens gave him a very direct look, and raised one eyebrow. Marcus glared back.
The yell that came through the wall at that point was, also as far as they could both tell, Kai’s. Jens grinned, raising his bottle to Markus in mock-salute.
“I rest my case.”
Marcus glared at his boots instead, and finished his beer. “Bastard,” he muttered, face flaming.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked,” rolled Jens, slumping back on the couch. “You’re just bitter ‘cause nobody wants your ass tonight.”
To make his misery complete, fuck-noises were now to be heard coming through the wall on the other side of the room. And he couldn’t hear a female voice in there, either; Jens laughed under his breath, and Marcus turned to glare at him.
“That’ll be Tobi and Andre,” he said. “They’ve been giving each other the eye all night.”
“Jesus, are you all fucking queer?” and anyway, Andre? He was as straight as a die - wasn’t he? What was he doing next door, screwing Edguy’s lead singer for fuck’s sake?
Marcus felt that a band meeting might be in order for tomorrow. And then they could get all this are-you-straight-or-what shit out of the way once and for all. After all, if Andre was next door fucking Tobi - or being fucked, and his stomach did a strange little lurch at the thought - then what was Hansi up to? Being fucked by Frederik? Or maybe they were both rolling around with Dirk and Eggi, with Felix watching.
Jens was laughing now, a full throated, cheerful sound. Marcus found himself glaring at the underside of Jens’ neck, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed, the glimpses of his cheeks past his jaw as he roared.
“And if we are? Which we’re not, but if we were - what the fuck would it matter?”
He lifted his head, tipped it forward and to one side to look deep into Marcus’ eyes. “We’re still us,” he said with a shrug, never dropping his gaze for an instant. Marcus felt himself blushing again under that intense green stare, and began to have a very fierce conversation with himself in his head. Yes, true, it didn’t matter - but then again, on some weird fucking level it did, and that was all there was to it.
“Marcus,” said Jens.
He managed to tear his eyes away, and glared at his boots. It did matter, so there.
He should get up, go. Wish Jens goodnight and then go - what? Lie in his bed all alone and jerk off to the sounds of fucking all around him? Because his dick could hear the action as well as he could, and it wanted some too. It couldn’t care less who was getting what from whom, it just wanted--
He looked up, still frowning. “What?”
“Don’t knock it ‘till you’ve tried it, my friend,” Jens said with a sly smile, and Marcus shook his head.
“No. No way. Never.”
“Oh come on....”
“Are you coming on to me?”
“And if I was?”
“Fuck off,” snapped Marcus, going to rise. Thanks to all the beer he wasn’t quite as quick as he should have been, and long fingers wrapped themselves around his wrist before he could get away. Jens pulled him back down to the sofa, then let go; he sat back, rubbing his wrist and still scowling. He was going to have a bruise there in the morning - fucker was strong.
“Calm down. Anyway, what’s so bad about it?”
Marcus flopped back on the sofa and thought about it. He must be drunk, he decided, or he’d be off back to his room right fucking now and--
“Because they’re guys. Ew. And for fuck’s sake, didn’t they get enough in there?”
The headboard had started to bang again, Kai’s voice babbling away in some sort of delirious haze, from the sound of it. Marcus closed his eyes. Damn.
“Obviously not. And think about it. You know what feels good, don’t you?”
“Ever had trouble getting a chick to do what you want?”
Marcus snorted, a smile creeping across his face despite everything. “Well, yeah.”
“Another guy knows what feels good.”
Incredulous, Marcus rolled his head to look at the other man. Was it his imagination, or was there a hint of heat in those green eyes?
Maybe. He ignored it, ignored the lurch his cock gave in his pants at the thought.
“Oh, come on. Everybody’s different. How is another guy going to know - instinctively - what I like? And I need more beer if I’m going to talk about this. Fuck. I cannot believe I’m discussing--”
Jens rose, patting his shoulder as he went for more beer. “It’s my turn. Gotta make some room, I’ll bring it on the way back.”
Propping himself comfortably in the corner of the sofa Marcus let his eyes drift shut; all that could be heard from both sides now was fucking. Loud, intense, noisy fucking. Complete with banging headboards and panting, screeching and other lustful noises making their way through the hotel’s piece of shit tissue paper thin walls to torment him. If he listened hard, he thought that he could, indeed identify Andre’s voice; and strangely, this time the thought didn’t bother him at all.
He shuffled his thighs, reaching down to adjust his cock to a more comfortable position. It thought the noises were exciting, anyway.
“Getting to you?” asked Jens with a smirk, nudging his shoulder with a fresh bottle of beer.
“No,” lied Marcus, hoping his tone was firmer than it felt.
“Anyway, just because you fuck a guy doesn’t mean you’re gay--”
“Will you stop?”
Jens laughed, and when Marcus looked up there he was, sitting much too fucking close for comfort, those green eyes alight with mischief.
“I bet you--”
“No, Jens. Whatever it is, no.”
“--that if I kissed you it would better than any chick you’ve had.”
Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was getting confused now. Gay, straight, what did it matter? He was hot. And drunk. And horny.
“You’re scared,” grinned Jens, and Marcus groaned. Oh, that was it. This needed to stop right fucking now or the other guitarist would make his life Hell; he’d push and joke and wind him up and generally be a pain in the ass about it until they got into a fight. And then everybody else would want to know why he’d got into a fight and if he didn’t tell them they’d start on him.
Hell with it.
“Fuck it. I bet you’re a crap kisser anyway,” he growled, and sat forward.
Jens put one hand on the back of his head, and moved in for the kill. Next door, Dirk let out a particularly loud shriek and that, Marcus decided, was when he opened his mouth to let the tongue flickering along his lower lip in. Otherwise he wouldn’t have done it. No way. Another guy’s tongue? Ew. It wasn’t something he wanted...
...even if it did feel so damn good there should be a law against it.
He was breathing harder now, the sensations from mouth and lips going straight to his cock. He could hear fucking, and he suddenly didn’t care who he was kissing. All he cared about was the hand tangled in his hair, the lips grinding against his, the tongue - holy fuck, that tongue - that teased and roamed and stroked. Breath panted hot on his cheek, and he didn’t even flinch when long fingers began to caress along his side.
In fact, he arched into the touch, pressing his chest forward into another. And his body didn’t care that there were no tits there to rub against. In fact, it felt great - with no tits in the way, he could feel all of Jens’ chest against him, their thighs pressing together, hot through denim. They were still kissing, deep and hot, and Marcus knew he was whimpering into Jens’ mouth and he didn’t care. At all. He just wanted, needed, had to have a hand on his cock. But when he tried to reach for it his hand was nudged away, another squeezing through the denim and making him break the kiss, flinging his head back and gasping for air.
And then Jens sat back, face a little flushed, but grinning with triumph.
Markus couldn’t breathe, and fell back against the arm of the sofa, lying there sweating and wondering what the fuck he should do next.
The decision was taken out of his hands when the noises from next door racked up a notch - Jesus, didn’t they ever get tired? - and Jens groaned, running his hand along Marcus’ thigh, scratching short nails along the denim. Marcus just stared at it, watching the slide of that big hand along his thigh, spreading white fire along his leg, making his balls ache.
Still not quite sure he believed any of this - perhaps he’d fallen asleep and it was all just a dream, or maybe a nightmare - Marcus extended a hand, and slid his own palm along the strong thigh next to his. Jens hissed, then leaned in to kiss him again.
And if anything, this one was even better. Throwing what little restraint he had left to the winds, Marcus pushed back, throwing himself into the kiss as heartily as Jens.
Madness took over, and before he knew it they were writhing against each other in a sweaty, beer scented haze. Panting, shoving, hands roaming to grab and stroke, his cock aching and desperate to escape. He reached down, popped the button on his jeans; Jens must have heard, because his hand was in there in a flash, stroking and pulling at his cock.
Oh Jesus. This was--
Jens was sitting back, tugging at the edge of his shirt. Marcus stared at him, brain awash in alcohol and sex, and for a moment he couldn’t hear anything over the buzz of lust in his brain and the yells and howls coming through the walls. Jens touched his lips with his thumb, stroking across their swollen dampness, and laughed.
“Shirt. Off. You think it’s been good so far, you just wait.”
Still moving in that daze, he yanked his shirt over his head and moved forward, running his fingertips along Jens’ muscular flank. The other guitarist moaned, then pounced on Marcus with a growl. This time he pushed him flat, grinding their crotches together while they kissed, Marcus almost losing his mind at the sensation of their cocks rubbing together, bucking up with a yelp when Jens wormed his hand between them and held them both. Fucking his friend’s hand he moaned into his mouth, wrapping his hair around his fingers, tugging at it to break the kiss. He buried his face in the strong shoulder, flexing in time with his throbbing cock, and bit at the sweaty, salty, delicious skin he found there.
Kisses and bites worked their way down his chest, Jens slipping off the couch to kneel in front of him. He pushed Marcus’ thighs apart, shuffled between them; Marcus knew what was coming next, and the rational part of his mind was shrieking that this was wrong, he shouldn’t let--
Jens had been right. It was better. It was as though he’d given him a detailed list of all the ways he liked his dick sucked, his balls squeezed, his foreskin played with; Jens even took the little fold of skin between his teeth, tugging on it gently and making Marcus cry out, lifting his voice to tangle with those still to be heard through the walls. Green eyes glittering with wicked intent, he went back to making Marcus howl, sucking hard, stroking and squeezing and--
He grabbed his head between his hands, snarling, and fucked Jens’ mouth fiercely. Grunts and moans came from between his thighs, felt all along his cock, and with a last spastic thrust he came, shoving his cock as far into that greedy, hot cavern as hard as he could while big hands squeezed his balls almost to the point of pain.
Sitting back on his heels, Jens wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and watched Marcus. He’d flopped against the back of the couch, panting, red faced. Sweat gleamed on his skin, and his mouth was hanging open; Jens thought it was the hottest thing he’d seen for a very long time. Hoping that the other man wouldn’t snap out of his haze only to deck him he joined him on the couch, sitting close enough that their bodies were in contact from thigh to shoulder. Marcus rolled his head to one side, and stared into Jens’ face for a moment before breaking into a brilliant smile.
Jens breathed a sigh of relief, and his cock - which had also been a little worried and considered wilting - jumped back to full attention again.
“I’m not going to hit you,” breathed Marcus, reading the expression before flopping back again and closing his eyes.
Risking a touch, Jens ran his finger along Marcus’ thigh. He opened his eyes and stared at it for a second, then sat up a little and turned to him, now looking at the purpled head of Jens’ erection emerging from his open jeans with a thoughtful expression. Neither man spoke, Jens almost holding his breath. The sounds from the other rooms had slumped to the occasional gasp, and all the two men could hear now was the blood thundering in their own ears.
He reached out a finger, and ran it up the underside of the cock. Jens dropped his head back and closed his eyes; Markus’ fingers, when they closed over him, were strong and sure. He pulled, squeezing a little, and then the sofa dipped and bobbed as he shifted position. He wouldn’t, would he?
Well, no. But Jens couldn’t complain; he was getting a marvellous handjob and being kissed deep, hot, passionate. He bucked his hips up, and Marcus chuckled into his mouth.
“It’s OK?” he asked, breaking the kiss for a moment. Jens stared into the brown eyes, amazed to see the pupils dilated, the flush and the desire so close.
Then he grabbed Marcus’ face in both hands, and dragged him down to kiss him again.
It didn’t take him long, and he would have laughed to feel Marcus flinch when the jet of come hit him in the chest if he hadn’t been so busy fucking the tight fist that held him. Each splash hit a little lower, the final one running over Marcus’ hand; he cocked his head to watch, opening his fist to smooth the spilt semen down the skin of Jens’ cock and make him wriggle for the feel of it. He looked back at Jens with a raised eyebrow, then let himself be pushed back as he licked all the come from his chest, mock-growling into his skin the whole time.
They flopped together on the sofa, somehow managing to find a comfortable position with Jens’ head on Marcus’ chest. They lay there for a while, listening to the silence of the room, breathing the air that was now filled with the smells of sex as well as that of beer.
“So?” said Jens.
“Not bad,” Marcus replied with a chuckle.
“Bastard,” murmured Jens, and listening to the steady beat of the heart under his ear fell asleep.
Marcus lay awake a little longer, wondering if he ought to go back to his room. Maybe when one of them fell off the sofa in the night, or if Jens snored, or--
Oh, fuck it. It wasn’t like any of the others could say anything about it, after all.
Smiling, he let himself doze off.