Chapter 11 #2
“For you, stud, I’ll make time,” Matt replies, kissing him once more. He lingers in it, sucking Nick’s lower lip between his teeth playfully, reaching down to squeeze his ass. “Fuck, I love hockey butts,” he declares emphatically, making Nick laugh.
“You can take the boy out of hockey…” he says, pointedly grabbing at Matt’s substantial backside.
Nick’s not the only one with a tent in his pants when he presses them together, though Matt’s jeans hide it better. Nick looks down, grinning at the way the glowing pelvis painted on the fabric frames the straining zipper so beautifully. “Got an extra bone in there, Skeleton Boy?”
There’s a beat, and then Matt collapses against him in a fit of breathless giggles—Nick turns red, cursing his lack of brain-to-mouth filter when he’s horny.
“Oh my God, you’re such a dork,” Matt declares, mouthing at Nick’s collarbone, one of the few spots that isn’t covered in fake blood or makeup.
“I wanna blow you so bad.” He tips his head up, as if he isn’t three inches taller than Nick, staring at him with huge, fathomless eyes. “Can I? Please?”
“Fuck.” Nick’s almost ashamed of the way his voice cracks. He nods, and Matt grins wickedly, then all of a sudden he’s on his knees in the darkened closet, pawing at the drawstring of Nick’s shorts.
God damn it, Nick wishes they’d thought to turn a light on. As sexy as it is, hooking up in the dark, he wishes he could see more than just smears of paint and a vague outline of a person as Matt settles in front of him.
But then Matt’s fingers close around him, and all coherent thought flies out of his head.
Now, without sounding like a total slut, Nick’s had his dick sucked by a lot of guys in a lot of places—bathrooms and back alleys, dark corners of bars. He’s experienced a pretty good range of skill sets.
Matt is on a whole other level.
His tongue curls around the head of Nick’s cock, then lets it slide deep into his throat.
Nick tries not to move, not to choke him—but that’s clearly not a problem as Matt grabs him by the hips and yanks forward, grunting impatiently.
Looking down, Nick catches Matt’s eye in the dim light, the angles of his face distorted by the UV makeup as his cheeks hollow around his length.
All the tension that’s been crackling between them all night floods his veins.
Nick’s pleasure curls tight in the pit of his belly, and he knows he’s not going to last long.
Matt hums around him like he’s enjoying every second of this, and a gasp wrenches its way out of Nick’s throat.
Head tipping back against the wall behind him, he slides a hand into Matt’s hair and tugs gently in warning.
Matt doesn’t pull away; if anything, he doubles his efforts, mouth curving in a half-smile.
His hand chokes tight around the base of Nick’s cock, spit-slick and just the right amount of friction, and with one last flick of that talented tongue, Nick’s gone.
His release punches out of him with a ragged groan that he only half tries to muffle—he barely gives Matt enough time to swallow before he’s yanking him to his feet, worming a hand down the front of his jeans.
At some point, Matt has undone his own fly, and a pulse of hot arousal races through Nick at the idea of him kneeling there, jacking himself off while he blows Nick, unable to hold his patience much longer.
Nick’s going to make it worth the wait.
It’s messy and quick but so damn hot, and if the tiny little gasps Matt’s breathing into his ear are anything to go by, he’s sure not complaining.
Matt’s been on-edge for so long, it doesn’t take much to tip him over—Nick holds him tight as his whole body shakes with it, lips pressed to Matt’s painted neck pursed tight against the urge to bite down.
When Matt stills, they’re both breathing heavy, the sound echoing in the tiny room. Matt slumps against him but only for a moment, then he’s twisting, moving away. A jolt of panic races through Nick’s chest—surely they’re not just—done?
But then Matt’s handing him a roll of paper towels, the dim light leaking through the door frame just enough for Nick to catch the lopsided grin on his face.
He cleans Matt up before taking care of himself, tucking the other man carefully back into his jeans. The gentlemanly thing. Definitely not the kind of care Nick has ever shown to his bathroom hookups.
But Matt’s different. In so many ways.
Pressing a languid kiss to Matt’s lips, Nick tangles his fingers in the other man’s hair and leans back against the wall. “We should probably get back out there,” he sighs, though he’d much rather say fuck the party and drag Matt back to his place. “We said we’d get them drinks.”
Matt snorts against Nick’s jaw. “Babe, no one was expecting drinks out of us. Except maybe Marco’s sisters, and I don’t think they’re sober enough to notice.
” Once again, his hands close around the angles of Nick’s waist, thumbs stroking lazily.
It’s … tender, somehow, after what they just did together.
In the fuzzy afterglow of an orgasm, Nick’s chest aches with want.
But that’s not what they are.
“Hey, d’you have to get home to Dolly tonight?” Matt asks, still crowded in close, still stroking Nick’s sides. It’s hard to think with him like that, and it takes Nick a few seconds to answer.
“She’s at Marco’s. Our cats are dating,” he explains, which makes Matt pause.
“I—Okay, sure,” he replies, snorting. “But does that mean I can take you back to my place, handsome?”
“Joel?” They live together—Nick knows that—and he’s aware the guitarist probably knows but that’s a whole different thing to needing to face him the morning after.
“He’s got plans tonight,” Matt assures him, kissing along the edge of Nick’s jaw, making a face when he gets a little too close to the fake blood dripping from the “cut” on his cheek.
“C’mon, baby. As hot as the zombie jock look is, I can’t wait to wash all this paint off you.
I know you have a flight tomorrow but I promise I’ll make it worth your while. ”
Nick draws out a thoughtful hum, though he’s already made up his mind. He doesn’t want to look too eager, after all. “Okay, you’ve persuaded me,” he relents, kissing Matt again.
“Hell yeah.” Matt smiles against his mouth, giving one last sneaky pat to Nick’s ass. “Let’s go dance some more. C’mon.”
They both blink furiously against the glare of fluorescent strip lights as they exit the broom closet, looking up and down the corridor to check they’re still alone.
Matt snickers. “And here I thought I was done coming out of closets,” he remarks, giggling to himself.
Then he stands with his arms wide, expectant.
“Well? Do I look like I’ve been sucking dick in back rooms? ”
“No more than usual,” is Nick’s automatic retort, which earns him a punch on the arm.
“Seriously, you’re fine.” His skull makeup is not as pristine as it was when he first stepped on stage, but the makeup smeared around his mouth hides how puffy his lips are, and the black lipstick has held remarkably well.
Nick’s almost disappointed by how unruffled he looks. “How about me?”
Matt folds his arms over his chest, giving him an exaggeratedly slow once over. “You’re glowing,” he says, and Nick thinks it’s some cheesy attempt at a compliment until Matt steps closer and raises a hand to his cheek. “You got a little…”
When he pulls back, there’s a small smear of white UV paint on the tip of his thumb.
“Oh.” It must have transferred over while they were kissing. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” They’re still only scant inches apart, Matt’s hand hovering between them.
Matt’s brown eyes look almost black in the low light, especially against the stark makeup of his skeleton eye-sockets.
Nick thinks about later, the two of them in a bathroom together, wiping the paint off themselves, jostling for space in the mirror.
Maybe taking turns to scrub at each other’s difficult spots—an excuse for playful touches.
It sounds so domestic and his chest burns once more. He wants, and he wants, but his wants are not enough in the face of public judgement, so he’ll take what he can get.