Martin stood near the synthesizer, wearing earphones; agonizingly trying to materialize all that was burning and boiling inside of him. Reality was disappointing all the time. Something was obviously wrong. He was sure that he was alone in the studio, that's why he nearly jumped up from surprise, when Alan sneaked up from behind. Wilder embraced him across the waist, lifting him up, making his legs take off from floor. Martin resisted him with laughter and after winning this short skirmish, turned to face him, taking off his earphones.
- Hello, - he was suddenly embarrassed by his gaze.
- Hi, - Alan said, - what's going on here?
- I think….probably…. I have… some ideas, - Martin turned away from him, snatching at the topic of a job with obvious relief, - something like that.
He thoughtfully and slowly ran through a melody with one finger, singing along the words, which were on his mind at the moment.
- M-m-mmm-m-m-mmm, - Alan sang along with him, listening with delight, - a good one…. Maybe… Could be, but…
- But? - Martin straightened up and looked at him across the shoulder. Wilder stepped towards and nestled up to his back with his entire body, whispering passionately:
- But… we might need what I call, - he blew in Martin's ear, making him tremble, - a screwdriver work.
Alan casually shifted the strap of his mate's vest, keeping on mumbling some sweet nothing in his ear, and at the same time he persistently stimulated Martin's nipple with index finger. Martin sighed, making him keep on canoodling.
- Teasing, - Martin whispered.
- No. You are teasing, - Alan answered.
He started to stroke seminude skin with both hands, warming it more with every move, more and even more than ever possible. He pressed himself close with his lips to a bared brittle shoulder, he touched protruding bones, and was filled with a weird, almost paternal feeling. He groaned, suddenly embracing his younger brothers' body, as though taking him under his protection, and felt that he was stunned with unbelievable access of tenderness, which covered the simplicity of usual sexual excitement.
He freeze, feeling the beat of Martin's heart with his palms, his heart leaped up; obviously his caress didn't leave the guy indifferent. He turned around in his embrace, wrapping his hands around his neck, standing on a tiptoe for their faces to be on the same height, since Alan was taller.
- What if anybody comes in? - Martin whispered hardly audible so close to his mouth.
- C'mon, the night fell down to Earth. Have you ever seen any workaholics between our lads? - Alan grinned, not letting to adjoin intentionally, but not increasing the distance between their lips. The yearning grew up with every second. Now the closeness of their bodies became the thing that couldn't be ignored. However time run through, but neither of them moved, waiting for one to give up first.
- You. Kiss, - Alan whispered gruffly.
Martin didn't move.
- Mart.
- Huh?
- Kiss, - he repeated.
Martin didn't react.
- Kiss me, - it was hard to understand was it an order or entreaty.
Martin shook his head, the corner of his lips trembled in a smile.
- Why? - Alan asked again.
- No.
- Are you playing around with me?
Alan growled, dug his teeth into Martin's lips, knocking him down to the floor, simultaneously overturning a stand, folding chair and loud speaker.
Martin thrown his head back, uncovering his neck to the passionate kisses. Alan climbed up on him, lifted up his vest, to the throat, with both hands. He ran his tongue over his body, leaving a wet line above the navel. Martin shivered under Alan, provoking in return a trembling joy from the awareness of his domination over this body and the reaction he caused. It was the thing that Alan couldn't get accustomed to. He hardly suppressed the wail of rapture, rushing out of his chest, when he literally had to hold Martins' hands with both his arms, pressing them next to the floor; at the moment he voluptuary licked his chest. He grabbed the hot pink nipple with his teeth, not worrying if such careless treatment hurts. But the sound he made, the calling of his name, made it worth it.
Alan grabbed Martins' crotch through his jeans with his hand, starting to stroke it more urgently, while scratching his flank with his teeth, making him meander under him.
The belt jerked. Bringing freedom to the yearning flash. Alan took him into his mouth. Martin twitched under him like a real racer. Alan placed his palm on his stomach. He didn't stop caressing him for an entire second, increasing tempo of his movements on him. Making Martin breath harder and faster. Squeezing his hips to the bruises and pain, only to understand that he`s gone over the edge himself, even without undoing his own pants.
***
The next dreary rainy day in the studio passed ordinarily plain and boring. As the day was over, Dave and Alan were already sitting in a little pub, generously rewarding themselves after a hard working day. The band didn't record an entire song during the day, but then they were debating all the time. Alan and Fletch have just stopped talking to each other. Dave and Martin nearly fought a couple of times because of a line in the song, which should be sang in different ways and cause of the kettle, which was cranked by somebody. Alan jabbed hardly-breathing and looking askance, with hatred on his blonde opponent Dave on the street to catch some air. Fletch had just grabbed Martin by the hand, and led him immediately after.
- Why the fuck are you staring at me? - his Enemy was yearning to resume the fight as far as he had been left without supervision, since Fletch had stopped to say something to Daniel.
- STARING? ME? - Dave said with indignation.
They grappled again, trying to break each others' head upon the wall in the studio, while Fletch and Wilder towed them apart, mumbling something unpleasant. Fletch towed his childhood friend in (insert an) unknown direction. And Dave stayed with Alan.
Dave gulped half of mug of ale at once and clattered it on a table.
- I am… treating him… - he started, loudly and pathetically, not caring about beer moustache, - with all my heart, huh? And he? As usual, like an ass.
Alan propped up his cheek with his arm and looked at Dave. Who continued his monologue.
- Arrogant brat. Presumptuous Motherfucker. Selfish asshole. Is it ok that we, miserable people, dare to approach him sometimes, huh? Fucking Genius.
- Who? - asked Alan with rising interest.
- Mister Martin Lee Gore! - Dave bellowed, making some respectable bourgeois guy, sitting at the next table with a mug in his hands, twitch at the neck in a frightened manner.
The red-haired fellow joyfully laughed out loud, throwing his head backwards.
- You care for him, don't ya? - said Alan.
- Me? - Dave asked, drained his mug and smacked his lips.
Alan nodded.
- I don't give a shit, - Dave claimed, - Fuck him. Sideways.
Alan lit a cigarette to hide the grin, held out another to Dave. Dave inhaled, caught a cough. Alan thoughtfully exhaled up a stream of smoke. They were quiet for some time. Dave twirled paper beer stand in his arms.
- Listen, Al, - Dave touched him on a shoulder, - Errm, well… you know we are like talking here. But you are messing with him…I mean you and Mart …kind-a buddies, huh? Has he ever said something…about me?
Alan's foxy features delighted the way only he knew.
- No, never, - he said but recognizing disappointment in Dave's face, he added, - Well, I guess we didn't talk much to him yesterday.
The phrase seemed rather ambiguous to Alan and he added quickly:
- Well, you know, Mart, he is not that communicative…
It was strange, but Dave didn't notice anything. Apparently he was too into a new idea born in his mind.
- I thought, they'd rather come today, - he said, - It is interesting for me, what the hell they are doing with Fletch if they didn't honor us with their presence?
Alan couldn't resist the temptation, and bended to Dave's ear, and told him only one word, which was on his mind, but audibly and in syllables.
- What? - Dave asked as his face blushed.
- I'm joking. Football. They're playing football, - Alan said, turning away.
They appeared later. Andy Fletcher floated into the smoky pub like a cruiser, and, following him, maestro Gore steamed in with the over familiar walk and independent look. They ordered more beer. And more. And then again. Briefly speaking, the evening was good.
Fletch was building some cunning combinations from beer-lids, incredibly excited, explaining strategy and tactics of football and telling how Arsenal scored their neighbors. Martin was quiet. Apparently, physical exercises had drained him of adrenalin and he kept silent, confused most of the time, nodding only.
Later Fletch loudly announced that he should piss. Alan followed him, leaving Martin and Dave together alone. Now they both kept embarrassing silent. Not even dare to look to each other.
- I'm…like-a….uh… - Dave's finally uttered hardly, watching long eyelashes with white tips of down eyes trembled on Martin's cheeks.
- Yeah, - Martin whispered hardly audible, - me too…
Dave exhaled loudly. And silently held out the bottle to Martin, they clinked glasses and gulped.
- Fuck, - Dave said in a fit of temper.
- You know, how hard it is…. - Martin began, but suddenly changed his mind to continue, brokenly gulped the beer from the bottle.
Dave nodded enthusiastically. Words have just stuck somewhere in his throat, he slapped Martin on his shoulder and sniffed.
***
Martin remembered everything just from the exact moment. Just when Daniel's party started and he gathered half-town in it. Daniel's house was arranged in American style with billiard and playroom in a basement. While most of the guests were dancing and drinking upstairs, Martin stood near the green table, bluntly staring at the cue in the middle of it and feeling himself like a complete idiot for an unknown reason. He tried to flirt with a brunette in red dress, hanging around there, she turned out to be a cousin of his ex-classmate, but some time later he was bored with her too.
Alan was sitting in a leather armchair, behind him, and, as well as drinking a beer, he periodically made comment about every single song, reached him from upstairs. Two plain wenches, sitting on both his sides, were listening to him with amazement and laughing politely when he hinted he was joking. Daniel was talking lively with five guests on a large sofa, pilled up with cushions, and painted in abnormal optimistic colors with hippie-style. Two guys in the opposite corner of the basement played table-football. Only Martin preferred to stand silently near the billiard table and stared bluntly at a cue. It seems that he'd come here with his girlfriend, but she got drunk rather quickly and disappeared in an unknown direction.
Fletch went down from the first floor to a basement, stepped up and stood silently near Martin.
- Have you seen Anna? - Martin wondered not looking at Fletch. Andy shook his head negatively:
- I'll go search for her, - he said and hiccupped thoughtfully, peering at Dave, who had followed him downstairs. Dave had dressed in white trousers and a denim jacket and sprang out a guise of some kind of superhero-macho, making all the chicks on a party drool over him. Plain wenches roused, peering at him, and became more lively.
- Having fun? - Dave examined the melancholy face of his friend understandingly.
- I'm trying, - Gore nodded gloomily.
- What about playing a set, Mart? - Dave wondered.
- Let's play…
Dave's face delighted with a pleasure when he walked to the table. He got in between Fletch and Martin, actively moving his arms and shoulders, though there was plenty of free space around the table; Fletch shook his head and moved away.
- Gave me a cue somebody? Give me a cue, huh? - Patrick and Robert, two dumb, always chewing guys, friends of somebody's friends, peered at Dave gloomily. A pretty girl in a short skirt and with freckles, stood up from a hippie-style couch and handed him a cue, playfully rocking her hips, Dave grinned pleasantly and smacked her ass slightly.
- Have you prepared well, Martin? I'll obviously score more than balls tonight, - Dave grinned, and occasionally grazed Martin with his shoulder, sticking out his plump lip and concentrating on polishing his cue with the chalk.
- Oh, yeeeeaaaaah… - Alan laughed out loud, blowing froth from a just opened bottle of beer on a floor, - Dave rule!
Martin glanced at Dave across his shoulder:
- I'll score to you, milksop, - he grinned, - you will be begging me to stop.
- Whaaat did you say? - asked Dave with a threatening voice and shook his chin in Martins' direction.
Martin grabbed a cue and abruptly turned to Dave, getting so close that they're nearly adjoined.
- You heard, - Martin said and grinned remotely.
Dave just stood in front of him and breathed hardly.
- Hey, hey, break, - Daniel got in between them pushing them apart, - Just crash something here, you geeks.
- Dave had suddenly laughed out loud.
- - Shall we elucidate who's wearing the trousers here?
Martin smirked and frowned jestingly.
- You start, - he said, placing his hand on green velvet of the table. Dave nestled up to him with his entire body and whispered:
- Lady first, - Martin blushed but realized that nobody, except him, heard that and just jabbed Dave with his shoulder.
- Who ever looses, takes off… oooone cloth, - Dave piped up, playing the stripper, rocking slightly his hips and imitating that he's going to take his jacket off; chicks cried out from rapture.
Martin's face stayed stony. He bent above the table slowly, smashing balls apart and luckily pocketing a ball from the first strike. Dave gave a whistle and bent above the table near him, when Martin was preparing to strike again.
- Be gone, - Martin told quietly.
- I like it here, - Dave leaned in closer, breathing in his ear, - Take left, baby, oh, yeah, lower, take these two smooth balls.
- You Bitch, - Martin hissed through clenched teeth, grinning, jabbing Dave in the stomach with his elbow and making him laugh.
One ball hit another, that hit the third, making two balls roll into the different pockets simultaneously. Somebody applauded. Alan whistled. One more strike and another. Dave seemed to lose his whole interest in the game. He walked from Martin and leaned on the opposite side of the table. Martin's head began spinning. No, he didn't understand what was going on at that moment, well, in whole, nothing had happened. He just stopped seeing and hearing anything, except Dave, who was standing in front of him.
As though it was slowed-down shooting, that he saw his hand stroking the surface of the table, like caressing it, slowly and surely. He saw his set aside hips, rocking slightly and impatiently. Dave was looking somewhere and talking to somebody. Martin just watched his lips moving and didn't want to watch anything else. His palms had perspired, his arms began shaking, he just dropped the cue and… missed. Stupidly, unbearably stupidly and cynically missed. Dave's eyes lit up from pleasure.
That was the exact moment when Martin realized, that he had lost this set and lost it, as it seemed, irretrievable. And it was not only about the game.
But though, he didn't lose without the pleasure for the guests and Dave himself, who with indescribable pleasure watched Martin, looking like an unhappy Pierrot, take off his black sweater over his head, slowly and exceptionally wantonly rocking his hips. Even Alan crept closer and tried to thrust him one-pound note in his belt.
Soon Martin went out to wash his face. He went as he was; he had left his sweater in the basement. Half-drunk public on the first floor didn't find anything weird in a seminude man, though some plump lady asked him when the desert will be served and, not waiting for an answer, zonked out and snorted. Both toilet rooms on the first floor were occupied and, according to the sounds, which were reaching from inside, occupied for long.
Martin took the second floor. It was dark and quiet there. He found the door. The Bathroom had been organized by Daniel in old-fashioned Victorian style. Its purple-gold walls were winded round with roses; a copper sink was placed on wooden cupboard with bended stems. There was a bit blurred mirror and endless pink sachets, spilled in baskets, making the air impregnated with rose oil. It should be mentioned, that for an odd reason Martin conceived hatred for this smell after that party. The music resonated loudly in his ears with rumble of concrete walls. Martin turned on the water and washed his burning face, trying to cool it. The door slammed open. Letting the hubbub of people's voices and loud music in.
- Waiting for me? - Alan leaned to the door with tap, demonstratively cracking the door-lock.
Martin glanced at him through the mirror. Alan was gazing at him, his eyes converged, his face and smooth pale chest in undone silk black shirt were glittering from sweat.
- Yes, - Martin whispered hardly audible. Alan had not only heard his answer, but understood him by the movement of his lips in the mirror.
Gore turned around. He walked to Alan slowly, on unbending legs. His face grew pale, the pupils widened so much that the eyes from transparent green, like forest backwater, turned almost black.
Step and one more step towards. He peered at Alan's mouth. The red-haired guy smacked his lips nervously; they became dry in a moment, as though Martin's look was truly able to do this. One more step, Martin laid his hands on Alan's flanks and raised his head, and touched Wilder's mouth with his warm lips slowly and tenderly. Then broke apart for a moment, feeling like electricity stitching his lips, flooding warmth over his whole body. He touched his mouth again softly, as though stroking its smooth skin with his lips like a feather.
Alan grabbed Martin's hands, right above leather bracelets with metal rings, Martin groaned with fervor, excited cause of sensitive contact and freeze, waiting for something more. He stroked Martin's hands, squeezed his wrists, the sense of skin and metal under his palms filled his head with pictures, with their weirdness he was affected by himself. But though something should have been arranged by now, and Alan placed Martin's hands closer to the buckle of his belt.
Martin broke away his lips and looked down, Alan has given him a free hand and he turned and started to undo his belt thoughtfully. Alan gazed at him with greedy eyes, on his frequently heaving chest and shoulders, on touching blonde forelock and half-opened lips, which grew pink from the kisses. He groaned impatiently, biting his index finger, when the goddamn buckle yielded at last.
Actually, he thought Martin would undo his pants too, but suddenly Martin stepped back. He went down slowly, looking Alan in the eye, and stood on his knees.
Alan was waiting. But nothing has happened. Martin was just standing on his knees, on the tiled floor, humbly waiting, but doing nothing.
- By yourself? - Alan asked but didn't get the answer, - You won't?
Martin shook his head negatively, Alan recognized the game.
- Good… - he said, - Okay… good. If you want…
Martin grinned bizarrely. Alan too, but with some kind of self-confidence now, demonstratively undoing the fly of his own leather trousers and getting out his already rather hard cock. He squeezed it slightly in his palm, ran his hand over the sensitive skin, and even this touch made him sigh voluptuary.
- You want this, Mart, don't you? You want him?
He grabbed Martin's chin with the other hand, demandingly squeezing it with his fingers and inducing him to open his mouth.
- Open it, - Martin's behavior started to annoy him, though he tried to cover it with laughter, - open your mouth, you stubborn slut…
He ran his cock over Martin's lips, loudly exhaled the air through clenched teeth from shock caused by a touch of other's skin.
- Come on…stop wasting my time, - now his voice gave away his desperate desire, - don't be idle, you have a job to do, babe.
To his surprise, this time Martin submitted at once, more then this, he'd submitted with unexpected enthusiasm. He not only touched tenderly a wet tip of cock with his lips, but he thrusted his hand under Alan's, steel squeezing hard dick and grabbed his balls from below.
Martin staggered backwards, feeling Alan's taste, and smacked his lips slowly, convinced that his lover's eyes were chained to his mouth. But this time he didn't tease him for long, because his lips were burning with desire to feel the velvet touch of his cock again. Martin kissed him again, and then he took deeper, more and more with every second and every movement, getting lost and dissolving in this urgent endless rhythm of joy, and he touched Alan's hand, holding himself in a dead grip, and almost set him free from the passionate captivity.
Alan screwed up his eyes, concentrating on mind-blowing sensations. He placed his free hand on Martin's shaved nape, motivating him to continue. Though Martin wasn't going to stop, it should be mentioned, to his honor, that he was working very well.
Alan had thrown his head backwards, cranking it upon the wooden door colored in dark paint. The pleasure grew in him with every second, with Martin's every movement on him, tickling his balls and spreading warm shoves of blood over his body from stomach to the heels.
He felt Martin's excitement too and it really didn't resist the possibility of withholding the swiftly coming orgasm. He nearly tore out his hot, wet cock and pulled Martin away, breathing heavily.
- Don't you, - he whispered, - want to ask me about anything?
Martin straightened his legs, throwing himself backwards, on elbows, and stretched on a floor. He grated his lips, glancing at Alan, rising above him, frowningly, his arm slipped down, pleasantly stroking his chest and stomach. And then lower, just like this, kept on gazing at Alan, squeezing his cock right through the thick denim of jeans and kept on stroking himself. He groaned, throwing his head backwards; everything went dark before Alan's eyes.
Why should I ask? - Martin said with gruffness, there was sound of provocation in his tone.
- Bitch, - Alan said in a fit of temper and stepped forward. He threw Martin's hand rudely from his fly with his shoe. He climbed up on his seminude body, pressing it to the floor, making Martin sob from rapture, caused by this touch.
Alan ran his finger over Martin's lips, who took it in his mouth. And the other hand Alan stretched backwards and grabbed Martin's balls. Though physically it wasn't possible, Martin bent under him and groaned.
- Bitch, - Alan Wilder ascertained the fact doomly.
He took off his hands, descended with his ass across the other's stomach, grabbed Martin's face in his arms, and moved his lips closer to him. But not to kiss him, no.
- You see, - he began whispering, - answering your question, I guess, I should explain to you what exactly is going on here.
Martin's eyes had suddenly opened with interest. It was hard to tell what he was thinking about at that entire moment, but he was contemplating, that's for sure.
- In short, - Alan said, - you have a choice. Yes, you have. You don't have to ask me. You just do not have to tell me anything, oh, no problems, - he smirked, - I'll just thrust my fucking dick into your mouth again, and that's all. But don't think that I will let you come.
Martin meandered under him, unpleased, Alan grabbed his hands and extended them behind Martin's head.
- Yeah, babe, can you imagine how does it feel to stay in such a condition, like you now, mmm? You seem to imagine, - Alan licked his cheek, making Martin screw up his eyes. - Or you gonna tell me what I should do with you, and, Marty, kind Uncle Alan will do his best to please you, and you won't forget it until day-after-tomorrow. Come on, don't waste my time, or my balls will grow blue.
Alan was going to stand up and do it, as he promised.
- Alan…
- I am here, Mart.
- Do it.
- What, Mart? Do what?
- Fuck you, Alan… are you kidding?
- The hell I am. All that I want is you to just tell me what you want from me? WHAT should I do?
Martin looked at him desperately.
- You ask me to fuck you or I'll just come in your pretty mouth and we'll say goodbye to each other until the next suitable occasion?
- Alan…
- I am here, Mart.
- Fuck me.
- AHA!
Alan climbed up on him with the wail of the winner, striping the jeans from Martin's hips and turning the guy over on his stomach. All in all, they didn't care about ceremonies and he didn't, he didn't even move Martin's legs apart, directing his cock with a sure hand. He fucked Martin, lying on top, squeezing his hips with his own, making their confluence so intensive, that he nearly wailed every time he made forward movements. He grabbed Martin's hair, pulled his head backwards, and dug his teeth into his neck to quiet his own groans. In fact, he didn't lie, he was not only enjoying himself, but he really helped his mate soon. He turned them both over to one side, and was stroking his lover until he trembled under him and cried gruffly, through clenched teeth, making him entirely lose control and shiver in uncontrolled agony of orgasm.
It seemed that some time passed, but it was hard to say what time exactly.
A Loud knock on the door and offensive screams made them both leap up from the floor like being stung. To put their clothes right in a huddle with shaking hands. Alan nearly forced a lock, indignating about his misbehaving hands.
The door swung open.
There was Dave waiting for his turn for a long time and skipping impatiently.
- Alan? - he greeted him smirkly, - hello, buddy, Alan, I thought you left, I've been looking for you everywhere for an hour.
While they were shaking each other's hands and happily slapping each other on a shoulder, Martin tried to duck imperceptibly by the wall.
- Ma-a-a-a-a-a-a-arty, - he shivered from unexpected hail and stopped, turning around. Dave stepped in closer to him, it seemed that he'd forgotten for a second a general reason of his appearance in here.
- What were you two doing in there? - Dave asked with a slight slur caused by the alcohol, - Together, huh? Behind the locked door? Is it scary to pee alone? - he grinned.
Martin's lips trembled in a smile even against his will.
- I guess I over drunk, - he forced himself to say, his lips misbehaved, he looked down, - and I feel bad.
- I should have helped my friend… - Alan said, grabbing suddenly bent for an unknown reason Martin at his waist. Even though Dave was drunk, the exact precision of touch didn't pass him by. Alan didn't understand what was going on, but the space between Martin and Dave grew with electricity suddenly. Dave glanced at Alan's hand one more time and turned around to go away, but he changed his mind at the last moment.
- I almost forgot… - he placed his right hand on Martin's nude shoulder, stopping his ability to breath for a second, - your chick, - he forced himself to laugh out loud and dried his eyes with his free hand, hiding his face, - they're there…licking with Fletch, drunk like hell… Fun-fucking-tastic.
He looked straight in Martin's face, Dave's eyes were black and terrific, but though blonde's face didn't react in return, he was just gazing at him, he even didn't blink. Dave didn't endure first and lowered his gaze. He looked at his hand on his friend's shoulder, utterly tenderly stroked the mark near Martin's neck, which grew pink, from lover's teeth.
- What the hell am I talking about… you don't give a fuck… - he replied with weird mixture of sadness and disappointment in his voice, and looked in the green eyes again, swiping him with words:
- Snake… - he said through his clenched teeth, - viper.
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