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The haze that the mixture of post-show adrenaline and a skinful of alcohol brought down over Ian’s eyes had always been an odd, unnaturally pink mist that buzzed and blurred softly around the edges of his vision. It spurred something within him; an instinctive, almost primal creature that slithered and writhed impatiently in his chest with an unending ache to touch and be touched in ways that he wasn’t entirely sure existed outside of the dark, dank corners of the tight-fitting, liminal spaces that made up the labyrinth that was a dirty club’s backrooms. It moved him like it owned his body, forcing him to slink instead of walk. In any other circumstance, it would have spoken for him, often using the poetry he’d committed to memory as some uncouth pickup line on some groupie-type with wide, sparkling eyes but… He didn’t need its silvery tongue that night. Not here; not in the tiny, poorly decorated room on the third floor of some third-rate hotel that he was under orders to share with Bernard for the night.
Besides, it wasn’t as if Bernard would have responded to those sorts of lines; those sorts of moves anyway. No, Ian knew that he was cleverer than that and had, more than likely, seen him use them on the strange girls they’d both happened upon on their adventures between Liverpool and home. It would be a futile attempt to even think about trying it that way, to try and blag his way between the sheets the way he otherwise would have been forced to, when he knew that Bernard would respond (and, thankfully, had responded) to something as simple as a covert intertwining of hands while they’d sat in the back of Stephen’s longsuffering Ford Cortina during the short drive from that night’s dingy gig venue to the even dingier hotel.
Now that they were alone, however, locked away from the world outside and its many pairs of prying eyes, Ian could give into the creature’s demands by wrapping his long fingers around Bernard’s unusually delicate wrist and gently pulling him into a deep, heated kiss without warning.
At first, Bernard was frozen with the sudden shock of it; his muscles tense and uncomfortable as he was subjected to the gluttony that was Ian’s kiss; Ian’s insistent touch and the heady mix of tangy tobacco against faint sweat and the musky cologne that always seemed to cling to his skin, before he slowly relaxed and melted into the action as though it were as easy and natural as breathing was.
“Jesus, Ian,” he panted when they’d finally parted, the sound coming out in a weak, breathless little laugh. “Did you leave your patience in the back of Steve’s rustbucket?”
“Summat like that.” Joked Ian, equally as breathless, as he busied his hands with the effortless art of undoing the skinny black tie Bernard had decided to wear around his collar that night. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you from the second you walked into the dressing room earlier, you know.”
“Have you, now?” Bernard snorted, flicking his eyes over Ian’s pale, high-cheeked face with eager scrutiny.
“Yeah,” came Ian’s smooth smirk of a reply, locking those intensely blue eyes on Bernard’s. “If I’m being honest, I’d say that I’d been thinkin’ about kissing you since the last time we shared a shite hotel room.”
“You? Honest?” Hummed Bernard, already having taken to the task of undoing Ian’s shirt buttons, one by aching one, with unhindered ease. “Did Hell freeze over recently?”
Ian’s smirk stretched into something wicked. “Possibly.”
Another deep and hungry kiss followed – this time with the added thrill of overexcited hands fumbling over soft cotton; tugging at coarse denim; soothing against pale, flush-warmed skin as they slowly meandered over to one of the garish, creaking beds.
Bernard was the first to go down, falling onto his back with an unexpected bounce and a whispered, snickered curse rushing off his tongue between languid, drawn out kisses; the kind of hissing curse that made Ian chuckle as he crawled up on top of him.
“Now, now,” he purred upon hearing the cute little whine that had escaped Bernard as he kissed his way down his throat. “No need to get all whiny on me, darlin’. I’ll give you exactly what you want…” He nipped at his collarbone. “In my own time, mind.”