Chapter Text
The day had been really long: photoshoots, interviews, the concert itself - not to mention the drive on the bus - and Chris was exhausted. He was standing under the spray of a really, really hot shower. However he had to admit it wasn't particularly helping with how tense he felt, not that he had particularly hoped that it would.
Sitting with his back to the wall, Corey drummed his fingers on the arm of the bench he was sat on. Sighing out softly, he sat forward and lit himself a cigarette. Still slightly humbled by the onslaught of praise that had left his band mate's mouth in an interview a few hours ago, the singer allowed himself a brief smug smirk, and sat back against the bench to continue waiting for the other guys to get themselves together and join him in their journey to their hotel.
As he walked out of the venue's bathroom, with a towel on his head still conspicuously drying his hair, Chris looked around sneakily. He wasn't actively trying to find someone, but seeing Corey sitting there with a somewhat smug grin on his face, shot his temper right up again. He didn't want to see the singer anymore tonight, although if he was honest with himself he didn’t really know why.
Casting his eyes around the corridor he had chosen wisely to sit in, Corey stretched out his legs and crossed them over at the ankle, taking a drag off his cigarette, feeling triumphant over his day’s achievements. He lowered his eyes to the floor and then over at a pair of feet somewhere in his peripheral vision. Identifying the percussionist, Corey's smug smile faded into a silent nod of acknowledgement.
Chris caught a slight motion and answered with an unintelligible sound, that was meant to not encourage any more conversation. He also walked faster towards the dressing room where he needed to pile his stuff in his bag again.
Watching Chris' speedy get away made the singer's smirk return with a vengeance. Deciding he was done sitting watching the action, Corey stood up and followed Chris' route to the dressing rooms, dropping his spent cigarette behind him.
"Chris?"
With a curse, Chris jumped up from where he was crouching over his bag, annoyed at himself that his heart was beating suddenly so fast.
"What the fuck, Cor, can't you knock?"
With a laugh, Corey shrugged his shoulders. "If the door were shut, I would." He replied, looking at Chris' unnerved reaction. "Dude, are you okay? Did I scare you?"
"Yes, you fucking did!" Getting even madder at himself for being so easy to read, Chris rudely turned again and went back to tidying his bag, which mainly involved dropping everything on top of everything else.
"Sorry," Corey smiled through his transparent apology. "I was just wondering what was up with my biggest fan."
Rolling his eyes and fighting to close his bag, Chris wondered what on earth he had been thinking earlier. Not that he didn't mean what he'd said, but why the fuck did he have to go and say it to Corey's insufferable face?
"Will you ever drop it?"
"Yeah, sure." Corey replied, stifling a snicker. "Sorry, I didn't know you regret saying it already man... I was just messing around." With another shrug, Corey's demeanor softened. "I'm gonna pack up my shit. You ready?"
"I'm done and ready to roll, yeah... I thought you were ready, since you were there and all..."
"Well pretty much." Corey replied, looking idly down the hall. "Gotta pack up my Jim and then I'm done."
Chris let out a soft chuckle, and threw the bag over his shoulder. "Well, I'm sure you can get him to move his ass faster if we go and promise him coffee..."
With a nod, Corey turned his attentions back to Chris. "Yeah... coffee and cigarettes." He shrugged. "Maybe some kind of olfactory trail of cigarette smoke will lead him back to the bus."
"If not him, us definitely!" The percussionist quipped.
Because his bag was heavier than he had expected, Chris was soon walking behind Corey, unconsciously watching the singer's ass as he walked in front. However to his mind, he was simply thinking about the wisdom of putting one's wallet into their back pocket.
Leaving the venue and walking toward the buses, Corey threw a glance over his shoulder to satisfy the paranoid thought in his mind that someone was staring at him. Seeing only Chris, Corey gave the percussionist a smile and climbed up on their bus.
As he followed Corey in the bus, Chris was suddenly acutely aware of what exactly he'd been staring at and even worse, that Corey clearly knew what he'd been up to. He simply couldn't believe himself sometimes. As if the whole declaration of genius hadn't been enough. Shaking his head to try and make sense of himself, Chris dropped his heavy bag into the bunk he wasn't going to sleep in that night.
Looking around the bus; Corey headed over to his own bunk, climbed in and shut the drape. Chris' praising words circulated his mind as he lay in the darkness. He allowed himself to wonder in curiosity why exactly Chris had said all he had.
Once at the hotel, and after about half an hour of surfing on the TV's desperate channels, Chris finally gave it up for being useless and decided to go and get himself a soothing drink. As he walked down the hall and into the elevator, he asked himself what had got him so winded that he couldn't sleep now. Hopefully though, a couple of shots of his favorite poison ought to help.
"...Oh you did? Well it's a little later here, it's about 1am..." Corey told his son, speaking softly into his cell phone, swirling the last of a Jack Daniels around the bottom of a glass. "...Wow, Griff, that's awesome. I'm so proud of you; way to go! Uh-huh...? I bet mom was pleased...she did? That's great!" The singer looked up at the barman and motioned to him for a repeat of his order. "Okay boy, you go have your dinner. I love you, okay? I'll see you soon... I'll be home very soon, I swear."
Walking in the hotel bar, Chris had to repress a sigh at once again, walking straight into Corey. He liked the man enough, but lately he felt like he needed some space from the loud singer and his rather impressive ego. Then again, the bar wasn't big enough for Chris to avoid his band mate, so he made his way to the smaller man and sat on the stool next to him.
"So, how's the family?"
Corey looked up at Chris and smiled, if only because he had just spoken to his son. "Well, thank you. Very, very well." He nodded, silently wondering why Chris was in the bar so late. "Couldn't sleep?" He asked flatly, struggling to make small talk.
"Good to hear that, and no... I don't know what's gotten into me..." There he motioned for the barman and ordered himself a shot of tequila. "I guess today was a bit too crammed with everything."
"I hear you." Corey murmured, speaking into his glass before knocking some back. "It's great to be back though, right?" He asked with a smile before putting his glass back down. "You seem...really into it."
Playing for a second with the shot the barman had just left in front of him, the percussionist couldn't help the broad grin on his lips. "Man, I'm loving every second of it. I mean I know I'm like everyone I bitch and all, but fuck did I miss it all!"
Laughing with a nod, Corey's eyes shot over to Chris.
"Hell yeah!" He agreed, knocking his glass against the percussionist's. "I was so fucking ready for a new Slipknot album. And thank you about what you said earlier in that interview, it meant a lot that you'd bother to... articulate your praise."
Because Corey had timed it just when he was knocking back his drink, of course Chris had to choke on it, mainly surprised that the singer was actually thanking him. For the next two minutes he was too busy coughing to answer anything. Finally, he managed to croak something that he hoped would sound like no problem while the barman brought him a big glass of water to calm him.
Unable to help it, Corey's left eyebrow shot impressively high as he looked over his friend’s reaction. "Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?"
Once he had his breathing under control again, Chris managed to answer weakly. "I inhaled my shot... I dunno, I guess I wasn't expecting you to be so gracious. Usually you're all loud and in everybody's face about how good you are...."
"Dude, come on!" Corey insisted. "You floored me, man. I wasn't expecting you to just say all that stuff." He shrugged. "I wasn't expecting you of all people to praise me, normally I'm unsure if you even like me all that much!"
Chris waved his hand in a sort of dismissive gesture and shook his head. "Man, of course I like you. I mean, you get on my nerves and all, doesn't mean I think you have no talent. I mean, I'd be fucking blind not to see it and the idiots out there totally need to be reminded sometimes, y'know?"
Corey hung his head, feeling a grin spread across his face at the conviction in Chris’s voice. "Thank you." He mumbled softly, reaching to pat Chris’s shoulder, then he added with a small wink. "Now take my cock out your mouth."
"If I was giving you head, Cor, you sure'd know about it!"
Grinning more, Corey glanced at his friend and shook his head. "Oh really?!"
A small smirk lifting the corner of his mouth, Chris turned fractionally towards his band mate. "Oh yeah..."
Cocking his eyebrow again, Corey shifted backward.
"What are you saying?" He asked seriously. "What, uh, are you getting at?"
Chris shook his head and shrugged. "Nothing man... Just informing you that admitting how talented you are, doesn't amount to me sucking your cock."
"You touched my leg, lest we forget." Corey pointed out. "You pretty much gushed - not admitted."
"If you wanna call it that... You're good at what you do, Taylor is what I wanted them to get!"
Corey shook his head with a smile and patted Chris’s knee in an overt display of affection. "I'll call it gushing like a fangirl. It was cute and I appreciate it."
Narrowing his eyes at the singer, Chris resisted the urge to stick his tongue out to him. He wasn’t sure why but the implication that he was like a groupie bugged him, so he decided to rile the singer up. "I'm not a fangirl! I don't write nasty shit about Joey and Mick doing each other up the ass!"
Caught by surprise, Corey spat out the last of his drink and blushed heavily, taking a moment to digest the information before cackling loudly.
"WHAT?!"
His eyes twinkling with smugness that he had managed to catch the other man offguard, Chris laughed and patted Corey's shoulder supportively.
"Yeah, man... Fans, they're not how they used to be, they're not happy with buying the shirts and CDs and all. They like to write porn about us..."
"Fuck!" Corey blurted, recovering himself. "Man, that...that's weird." With a shake of his head, Corey looked into Chris' eyes, catching the infectious twinkle. "You read it? Is it hot?"
There, Chris just couldn't help the manic laughter that bubbled up his throat. "Nah man! I've had way enough with the summaries... I sorta got the impression a good number of them think me and Craig are together and that’s just too weird to go and read, y'know..."
"Dude Craig? Man, no way. If you were gay; you'd totally go for someone better looking."
"Like who? No offense, but man, we really are a bunch of not good looking guys!"
"I don't know like who...! In the band? I meant...general guys." Corey replied, casting Chris a glance.
Tilting his head to the side so he could get a better look at his band mate, Chris unconsciously licked his lower lip and tried to puzzle out what the singer was ready to hear. Corey's eyes met with Chris' and he blinked slowly. "So... Come on. You'd go with someone better looking than Craig, right? I mean...anybody."
Letting a rather mysterious smile stretch his lips, the percussionist felt a pang of something he wasn’t so sure he wanted to identify get through him at the intense look from the singer. He wasn't feeling altogether as cool as he was trying to appear and he really had no idea how to answer that question.
With a shrewd smirk, Corey turned his head away from Chris, and lit himself a cigarette. "So you'd go with someone uglier?"
Chris shook his head - more to try and clear his ideas than as an answer. "Nah man... Wait, that didn't come out the way I intended. I mean, being good looking or ugly doesn't really matter to me all that much..."
"A fuck is a fuck, right? I don't know man, I mean," Corey sighed, sitting back to relax a little more and crossing one leg over the other. "I think it matters to some degree. It's easier to get off with a sexy chick."
Shaking his head again, Chris realised they were probably going to stay out longer than he'd expected, so he motioned to the barman for a beer and focused on Corey's comment.
"Well, see... I don't really go for just any old fuck... Looks aren't all that important on someone who's a fucking selfish moron, y'know what I mean?"
Pulling a face that showed he was considering the point, Corey nodded.
"But at the same time; I don't want conversation during sex."
"Nah, but before, after, in between... When they're dumb as a brick you don't want a repeat y'know."
"Giving head is the best thing a chick can do with her mouth. I'd get a repeat of that no matter what her views on anything else."
Chris laughed and took a sip of his beer. "Yeah... When they actually agree to going down on you. But girls aren't all that good at giving head, I gotta say."
With that response, Corey snapped his head quickly to the right and stared at Chris for a moment.
It was the sudden silence from the singer that eventually clued Chris in as to what he'd just implied and he fervently wished he'd kept his mouth shut. "Forget I said anything..." He mumbled into his beer, avoiding to look at Corey.
Smirking, the singer found it near impossible to keep quiet; let alone forget anything.
"I demand more information."
Chris sighed and downed his beer in a few long gulps, then ordered another one. If there was one thing he didn’t want to discuss with the singer that would be it, but he couldn’t see anyway out. Finally he faced his band mate again.
"So, guys give way better head."
Corey's smirk faded, and replaced itself with a mild look of shock as he squared up to Chris.
"You gay, dude?"
The percussionist shook his head. "Nah... I just keep my options open y'know."
"You like guys, though?" Corey asked.
"Yeah."
"Whoa, man!" The singer blurted, reeling back slightly. "No wonder you were all over me today... Jesus."
"You know for someone who's so clever, sometimes you're impressively dense. I like chicks too. Don't start getting ideas!"
Corey rolled his eyes and looked at Chris.
"Dude, honestly! You can crush on me all you want! Nothing is going to happen, ever, so you may as well get over it. Chicks and guys is fine; just don't think about me when you're jacking off... Dude! You like dudes?! Does anybody else know? You okay with that? I mean, when did you know? When did you find out? Do your folks know?"
For a second Chris just stared at the singer unable to believe he was actually asking him those questions, then he burst out laughing, unable to stop for almost five full minutes. Every time he tried to calm down, he met Corey's eyes and he started off again. Eventually, he calmed down, wiped his eyes and lifted a placating hand for Corey. "Man, I'm not 16 anymore! But it's nice to know you care."
"Dude come on!" Corey insisted, lifting a hand to his slightly flushed cheek. "It's not like that! I'm just like, 'Damn, I never knew?' I was just wondering... Curious."
Feeling smug in spite of himself, Chris gave Corey a gentle pat on the shoulder and took a long swig of his second beer before continuing. "Yeah, it's not something I talk about much... I mean, for the band, it might not be good. Besides like I said earlier I'm not really into one night stands, so it's not such a big thing."
"So you've had... an actual," Corey cleared his throat, "relationship with a guy?"
"Yeah man, me and Craig we've been together for years now!” Chris really wanted to not spoil his serious tone, but he let out a low giggle at the end and he knew he'd just blown it.
"Sure." Corey mumbled, growing slightly irritated by the percussionist's behavior. "Just keep your cock away from my ass and nothing more will be said. You're clearly in some kinda school-boy mood too, so whatever."
Chris hissed at the rebuke and flushed hotly. "Man, seriously! I don't want your ass, and I don't think I want to talk about what I do in bed with someone who seems to think I have no self-restraint!"
"That isn't what I was saying!" Corey barked, looking at Chris venomously. "I was just offering a little support and asking you about something and you threw it back in my face."
Chris narrowed his eyes at the words and spoke dangerously low. "You have been acting like I'm some kind of rapist obsessed with you, ever since I let it skip that I also fuck guys, Taylor. Then, you've been behaving like I'm in the middle of some sort of self-crisis, even though I don't remember giving any hints towards that either. So sorry if I'm not telling you my life story right now..."
With that, he put his glass on the counter, put out enough money to pay both their drinks, then stood up and finally walked away without turning back. He fervently hoped the singer wouldn’t follow because his anger wasn’t as real as he’d made it out. However the feelings burning in his stomach were too uncomfortable to examine, fleeing was the only answer.
Cocking his eyebrow at Chris’s actions, Corey muttered the word Prick. under his breath, nodded at the bartender, casting a confused eye over the fact that Chris bothered to pay for Corey's drinks before following him to the stairs.
“Chris!” He bellowed.
With a sigh, Chris stopped with his hand on the door knob. "What d'you want?"
"A few things! Firstly; I don't think you're any kind of obsessed with me. I was messing around, and the rapist remark was too much." Corey snapped angrily. "Second of all; I could give a fuck if you're gay, bi, straight, into animals; whatever. Your life is your life. I was just trying to be supportive and take an interest – crisis, or adjusted, or not! I'm your fucking friend. And... Thanks for the drinks."
Pushing the door open, the percussionist nodded towards the stairs as he started talking and climbing at the same time.
"You're welcome for the drinks. As for the rest, maybe you were trying to act good, but you came across as fucking patronizing." He pushed the door into the corridor of the third floor and waited until he was in front of his room and ready to open it to add. "I feel like I'm old enough not to be patronized anymore."
"I wasn't trying to be patronizing! I was being genuine." Corey snarled, pushing the door open and following Chris into the hotel room, his need to explain and justify himself taking control of his legs. "I'm fucking sick of you thinking that I'm out to get you all the goddamned time! With your fucking praise on that fucking interview earlier, I thought maybe things were okay. But you're still such a fucking ass that you have no idea who's your friend and who's out to get you and I'm fucking sick of being your punching bag, Chris! Jesus Christ!"
Turning around at Corey's angry voice, Chris blinked in surprise as he watched the singer walk into his room. But while he was preparing to answer, Corey went on and he felt his anger rise again at the blatant unfairness of what the singer was saying. "What the fuck are you on about? My punching bag? Come on Taylor! You fucking need to open your eyes! Yeah, you get picked on, but I meant all I said this afternoon. I fucking side with you against the rest of the guys most of the time! You can't fucking be serious about me treating you like a punching bag?"
"W-well," Corey stuttered, seeing the usual sparkle in Chris' eyes dull with rage. "Maybe I... That's what it feels like sometimes dude; you're so defensive. I thought we were buds cuz as you say - you do side with me and back me up and spend time with me and all but fuck... Whenever something's up with you or something's going on or there's actually something meaningful to talk about, you treat me as if I'm a huge nosy nuisance! I just wanted to fuckin' hear about it."
Chris rolled his eyes hard and dropped his keys to the desk with a loud clatter. The sound wasn’t as satisfying as he’d hoped, the anger was still burning in his guts, awakening unwelcomed feelings. "Then maybe you should learn not to sound so damn patronizing!" He glared at Corey. "You fucking asked me both how long I'd known, and if my parents knew about it! Maybe it wasn't meant to come out like you were treating me like a retarded teenager, but fuck me if it didn't sound like it!"
"I'm sorry, okay? It wasn't intentional... I just,” Corey paused. “That just came out. I'm sorry! I just said it. But I am NOT patronizing!"
Throwing his hands in the air, Chris stepped up to the singer. "What's sure, is that you take compliments a lot better than criticism! If that wasn't patronizing, then I wonder what would have qualified: You giving me a lesson about fucking guys maybe?"
"Fuck you, dude!" Corey growled, pushing Chris back from being so close. "For fuck's sake! I was just asking two simple questions! Reasonable fucking questions! I didn't ask how many guys or WHO! I didn't ask if you used protection!"
"Oh, you didn't fucking go there!" Seeing things through a red curtain, Chris punched the singer violently in the stomach. Doubling over slightly, Corey panted for breath, thrusting a hand out and grabbing out in front of him, knotting a fistful of Chris' shirt in his hand. From there, he regained some composure, and socked his fist firmly into Chris' belly.
"What man? You can throw insults, but you're too much of a pussy to throw punches?" Chris punctuated his vicious bark by violently pushing Corey's shoulders back.
Narrowing his eyes, Corey snarled and lunged at Chris, knocking the percussionist a few steps back as he grabbed handfuls of his shirt again.
"You're a fucking cock!" He shouted in Chris' face. "For fuck's sake! Learn to use your words not your fists!"
Later, Chris would never really be sure what had gone through his mind with what he did next, because rather than hitting Corey in the face like he should have, he instead curled his fists into his tee shirt and pressed his lips to the singer's, kissing him roughly.
Unable to pull backward as his instincts were begging; Corey was held in place. He could only stare vacantly back at the percussionist, his brow knotted in tight confusion, the anger in his veins replaced almost instantly with a thousand questions and a little guilt.
Surprised at first that Corey wasn't pulling back, Chris soon found himself deepening the kiss. He didn’t want to analyze what he was doing but it knew it was most likely because it had been so long since the last time he'd kissed anyone that mattered to him.
Shutting his eyes to push out the reality of the situation, Corey's stunned lips parted slightly; the feel of Chris' intrusive tongue arousing a fight in him as he tried to battle back, away from the percussionist.
"Nuh...!"
Chris blinked at the sound, and suddenly came back to the here and now. Trying not to panic, he pushed Corey back not too hard, untangled his hands from his shirt and mumbled lowly, fully expecting a punch in the face that he would absolutely deserve. "M'sorry..."
His anger fully subsided and nearly forgotten, Corey reached out for any part of Chris he could reach; not fully sure why.
"D..." He murmured. "Chris?”
Shaking his head and walking back, Chris evaded Corey's reaching hand. "I d-dunno... I'm sorry... Please go..."
"I don't think I should go!" Corey replied forcefully, dragging his hand across his lips. "You just kissed me... We need to work out what's going on."
"Oh, for heaven's sake! Can't you just drop something for once in your life? There's nothing to talk about... Nothing to work out. You're straight and I'm frustrated."
Feeling a growl build in his throat; Corey let out a low snarl.
"Stop fucking telling me what I am! Jesus! You just kissed me!? What the fuck!"
"Fine, I kissed you. And I have nothing to fucking add!"
"Dude! Friends just don't go around kissing each other! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
"I don't fucking know! It just happened! I don't usually go around kissing my friends..." Chris’s voice trailed off and he dragged his fingers through his hair. In his mind, anger, frustration, guilt, helplessness and something he had no word for were battling. Lowly he groaned. "But I don't usually come out to my friends either..."
Feeling his lips fall apart in shock; Corey was barely able to ask the questions tumbling around in his brain.
"What...the...fuck!?" he snarled, anger gripping his soul as his hands flew out and pushed Chris into the wall, closing in on him. "What the fuck?! Who the fuck else knows?!"
Taken aback by Corey's renewed aggression, Chris felt sudden fear prick through his guts, almost instantly replaced by anger. "Nobody fucking knows! Not in the band at least and you lot are pretty much all my life nowadays!"
His anger once again subsided to a confused guilt, and Corey hung his head. "Is that why you fucking attacked me? Cuz you were scared? I'm not trying to patronize you; which apparently I've done SO much of this evening... Just fucking tell me what's up. Right now!"
"I didn't fucking attack you! And I'm not fucking scared!" At that moment, however, Chris felt his self-righteous anger deflate and he didn't have much energy to continue. "I don't fucking know what's up... I guess you were too close and I reacted."
"...I have to know what it is... Was it just...? What's going on?" Corey asked, feeling uneasy but not wanting to anger Chris anymore. "Just talk to me?"
“Did you listen to me, Corey? I. Don't. Know. What it is! Call it misplaced lust if you want!" Chris refused to look at Corey though, nor did he try to get away from the hold the singer still had on him. Giving the percussionist a gentle but frustrated shake, Corey sighed.
"Will you stop being so fucking proud and tell me what the fuck you want from me? You won't let me be so much of a confident, never mind a friend, so forget a lover!"
Chris grunted in frustration, trying to cover the shocked lust Corey’s last word had sent through him. "I don't want anything from you! Why can't you understand that not everyone in the world wants to fuck you!"
Breathing out a gasp of shocked laughter, Corey stepped back.
"Whoa, dude. Whoa. You've been kissing my ass all day and came out to me instead of anybody else; you actually kiss me and now you're regretting it? Well fuckin' fine. Do you want me to walk out of here? Cuz I can tell you right now if you don't do something about this tonight you're gonna fucking regret it in the morning!"
"For fuck's sake! Kissing you was the fucking mistake, I'm not going to run after you! You wanna go to your room? Be my guest! I didn't intend to come out to you of all people, and believe me if I could take it back I would!"
Hurt, Corey balled his fist and forced it to lock with Chris' jaw.
Chris's head snapped back and connected with the wall leaving him momentarily dizzy. When he could focus on Corey again, he growled. "What the fuck, man? You'd think you want to hear me say something like 'I want you'!"
"I just wanna hear what the fuck you were thinking when you fucking yelled at me, punched me and then for no reason; KISSED me! What the fucking hell is wrong with you?" Corey screeched, punching Chris in the arm. "And don't fucking sit there and say 'oh I don't know, lalala'. Don't fucking give me that bullshit!"
Deciding he needed to do something to rile Corey enough to leave, the percussionist let his voice drip with sarcasm and used his most falsetto voice to quip. "Oh, Coooooorey! I fucking want you to fuck me right up against the wall!" Then he let his voice go back to its normal pitch, hoping that the slight quiver at the end of his sentence would remain unnoticed. "There, happy now? You can go back to your room to sleep!"
Trying painfully hard to ignore the irritating response, Corey's hands found his zipper, and he edged toward Chris with an angry certainty.
"What were you fucking saying about obsessive rapists?"
Chris's voice dried up as a flash of arousal mixed with fear shot through him when he saw Corey's motion. He couldn't take his eyes off the singer's hands on his zipper, he couldn't find an answer to his question, and he couldn't even keep the pretense that he wasn't majorly lusting after his band mate. Corey's eyes flipped from his own zipper to Chris' face. "Well? What the fuck were you saying?! I have a fucking incredible talent for making people who love me hate me in seconds; so fucking decide what it is you wanna feel before I just fucking grab you."
Not even sure if Corey would hear him, Chris swallowed uneasily and whispered. "Then grab me..."
Thrown slightly off guard by the mouse-like response, Corey felt his anger flare up again as he grabbed Chris and pinned him face first into the wall. He wrestled his pants and boxers down, then reached around again to do the same to Chris, exposing his ass and then slapping a hand to one of his cheeks tightly.
“You fucking want this?!" He cried, his own cock growing tense with the confused rush.
With how hard he already was, Chris didn't really see any point in denying his want longer. He pushed his ass back towards Corey and whined his approval – not caring if he sounded desperate or begging. He wanted the singer to fuck him and he wanted it now.
Terrified of his own actions, Corey stroked his cock twice before pushing a finger up inside Chris and then another and a third in quick succession, unsure when to judge. He pulled his fingers free and positioned his cock under the percussionist, putting both hands on Chris’s shoulders and dragging the percussionist down on him.
Chris had jammed one hand in his mouth as he felt how rough Corey was being - not that he couldn't take it, but because he didn't want to risk waking the neighbouring rooms. Then he realised Corey was pushing him down against his cock, and for a terrible moment, it felt to painful to bear. He yelped pathetically until the singer was buried all the way inside him.
Unsure what to do next, Corey loosened his grip on Chris’s shoulders and gently rubbed the other man's back. "S'okay, Chris." He whispered, gently rocking his hips in circles and pawing uselessly at Chris’s shirt, lifting the material up to stroke his tanned skin. "S'okay - s'all okay." He hissed, tipping his head back as a wash of pleasure ran over him. "Stop whining, okay? M'not gonna hurt you."
Hissing through gritted teeth, Chris tried not to sound like he was whining again. "Dun move... please... Corey, dun move!"
Corey sighed, but did as he was asked, and stopped rolling his hips.
"You okay?" He asked eventually.
Chris dropped his head into his arms on the wall and focused on relaxing. He knew he was going to be okay, but this hadn't been that painful since his first botched attempt when he was 15 and experimenting. "Yeah... gimme a minute..."
Slightly unnerved, Corey gently massaged Chris' shoulders. "We got lots of time." he whispered, "I, um," He paused, glancing worriedly over his shoulder. "What can I do, Chris? You said do it - so I did it and now...?"
Because he was more relaxed now, and the pain had receded, but especially because the whole fight component had felt so good, Chris ignored the worry in Corey's voice and answered lowly. "Fuck me!"
Rolling his eyes at the arrogant response, Corey began to thrust his hips, hissing out in ecstasy at the tight restrictive stimulation on his cock.
Chris wished he could grab something, but the wall was too smooth and fisting his hand wasn't satisfying - Corey's motions behind him on the other hand were perfect, exactly what he wanted and needed. He moaned breathily and started pushing back against the singer.
Beginning to pant slightly, Corey hissed and gently rested his head on Chris' back, pulling him a little nearer and reaching around for his cock. "B-bed." He hissed. "I want to fuck you properly. Want you over the bed, wanna be lubed and inside you."
Chris wasn't sure what got to him - if it was the words, or the tone, or maybe Corey's hand on his cock - but he was sure the lust and pleasure coursing though his veins were resenting the delay implied in the singer's words. On the other hand, he really wanted things to last, so he gathered his wits and grumbled. "There's lube in my bag... Somewhere..."
With a soft, reluctant sigh, Corey slowly tugged himself free of Chris' body and stroked the percussionist's back. "Move to the bed." He commanded. "Bend over it."
Ignoring the demand, Chris asked. "Sure you don't want help with the lube?"
Holding back on a scowl, Corey looked at Chris with a sort of vacant expression. "Now who's being patronizing? I can deal with lube."
"It's just that my bag isn't exactly tidy..." Chris explained, but he didn't offer his help again. Slowly, he leaned in against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cool surface, trying to reign in his racing emotions and feelings.
Corey sighed and looked toward Chris’s bag. "I'm sorry... You can get it if you'd prefer. My head's all over the place."
Rolling against the wall, the percussionist glanced at the smaller man standing in front of the bed, still half clothed, he offered a small smile and pushed himself off the wall. "Right, lemme see..." He crouched next to his bag and started blindly rooting through it, until he flashed a triumphant grin and pulled the lube out of it.
With a smile, Corey reached out and took the lube off the percussionist, pulling off the rest of his clothing before concentrating his attentions to the tube in his hands. His eyes then met with Chris's.
"Did I hurt you?" He asked softly.
Walking to the bed, Chris imitated Corey, shedding his clothing along behind him. "Yeah, a bit..." He shrugged as he spoke, trying to convey that it was no big deal.
Reaching out to stroke Chris' back, the singer bit back an apology and set to work lubing his fingers and cock clumsily. "You're okay though?" He checked, stroking his firm cock softly, coating the lube more evenly. He looked up, taking in the sight of Chris' body in front of him. He licked his dry lip and cleared his throat.
Waiting to catch Corey's eyes, the percussionist nodded with a slow smile.
"Where did you say you wanted me?"
"Over the bed...b-bent over the bed."
Chris kept walking, brushing past the other man, and bent over the bed. Then he glanced at the singer over his shoulder. "Like this?"
With a nod, Corey followed and stood behind the percussionist, placing both hands on Chris’s shoulders and pushing him down a little more. Stroking himself hard again, he gently pushed the head of his lubed cock in slowly. "Ugh, yes..." He whispered, tipping his head back. "Just like that."
Chris arched up, pushing his ass closer to the singer, getting more of him in and letting out a soft moan. He lowered himself further, so he could drop his hands to the bed and ball the sheets up satisfactorily.
Thrusting his hips slowly, Corey tilted his head back down and looked over Chris’s back, hissing in pleasure as he pushed inside the other man. He moved both hands to Chris’s hips and gently controlled the speed of their fuck.
Gradually Chris got less and less satisfied with the pace Corey was setting, until he just couldn't bear it anymore and he shoved back violently against him, growling. "Fuck me!"
Slapping a hand to Chris’s back, Corey pushed Chris down and began to speed up. "Shut the fuck up!" He hissed.
Chris allowed himself to be pushed fully down on the bed, but he didn't obey Corey's commend. "Fuck! More! Gimme more! I'm not a fucking chick, Corey!"
Feeling his cheeks begin to burn, Corey thrust a little harder; his angle straight onto Chris's prostrate as he pounded quickly. His legs began to ache but the pleasure taking over him outweighed it.
"F-f-fuck! Y'just said I hurt you!" The singer growled, "I don't wanna hurt you again!"
"Yeaaaaaah! There, there! Dun fucking stop, man!" Chris didn't care that he sounded like a whore, nor that he wasn't articulating enough to be easily understood. All he cared about was Corey's cock going in and out of his ass and how every thrust got him closer and closer to the edge.
Reaching for Chris’s cock to wrap his fingers around it, the singer was encouraged by the groans coming out of Chris as he continued to thrust quickly. "Oh-fuck-Chris-I'm-so-goddamned-close!" He snarled as he slapped Chris’s hip with his free hand.
Chris wasn't really paying attention to what Corey was saying, but the slap made him jerk up and push back roughly, trying to get more. His climax was right there, he could taste it already and he knew it wasn't going to last, but he didn't want to stop. He curled in his muscles, tightening around Corey as he tried to stave off his climax.
Corey grunted and hissed under his breath, muttering obscenities in a vague effort to distract himself from the intensity; unsure if he should release inside Chris or pull out. He whined softly, closing his eyes as his body made up its mind for him. His seed burst out of him, and he released his grip on Chris' cock.
Frantically, as he realised Corey wasn't touching him anymore, Chris reached down to his cock and swiftly finished himself, biting on the bed covers to stifle his almost scream.
The singer pulled back; grunting and whining as his body was suddenly freed from the pressure. "Oh, god Chris!" He cried, leaning back and watching Chris finish himself off.
Savouring the last strands of his orgasm, Chris realized Corey wasn't behind him anymore and slowly, it dawned on him what they had just been doing. For a second; full blown blind panic hit him like a brick wall, before it receded to something more like anxiety. He squeezed his eyes shut and didn't move, hoping Corey would assume he was the kind that fell asleep straight after.
A brief curtain of worry fell over the singer as he watched Chris remain lifeless on the bed. A little afraid to be alone; he stepped closer. "C-Chris?"
The percussionist swallowed back his anxiety, and turned around on the bed so he could look at the singer. He smiled hesitantly. Returning the small smile, Corey eyed the door and then quickly collected up his clothes.
"So we don't talk about this?"