Archive of Our Own ^beta

   The muffled thrum of footsteps in the hallway seeped into Jimmy’s dreams, blending with the low hum of voices and the distant clatter of doors opening and shutting. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if it was the crowd from last night still echoing in his head or the hotel finally waking with the sun. The bedsheets were warm and tangled around him, soft with the faint scent of cologne and something subtler—linen and paper, maybe, a detail that didn’t belong to him.

  He stirred, lids heavy as he blinked against the dim light filtering past the curtains. A shift of weight beside him pulled his focus, and slowly, Jimmy turned his head. Grian was there, hair mussed, eyes sharp despite the faint shadows beneath them. For a heartbeat, Jimmy just stared, a sleepy smile tugging at his mouth as if it had been waiting for this moment.

  Jimmy shifted onto his side, a deep ache settling through his body from the night before. He held back a grunt, unwilling to give himself away, and instead reached out slowly to brush a strand of hair from Grian’s face. Maybe it was just to see him better. Maybe it was to test what lingered between them in the daylight.

  “Morning, sunshine…” Jimmy’s voice came out hoarse, roughened by both the concert and the passion that had followed.

  “Sunshine..? How corny…” Grian teased with a grin, trying to mask the way that single word made his heartbeat stumble. But then Jimmy laughed, voice still raw, and Grian’s chest tightened all over again. God. Even hearing him like this — husky, unguarded — was enough to catch him off guard.

  “Sleep well..?” Grian asked, keeping his voice even, trying not to betray the tangle of emotions beneath. He shouldn’t be fussing over a rockstar, and yet, after how rough he’d been, it felt like the least he could do.

  “Yeah… really well. Best sleep I’ve had in a long time.” Jimmy’s cheeks flushed pink, and Grian cursed inwardly. If Jimmy weren’t so honest, so painfully sincere, he might have thought this was part of some perfectly crafted act. But no, Jimmy couldn’t possibly be playing him. Not like this.

  “Hey…” Jimmy’s voice came quiet, almost bashful, tugging Grian back to the moment. “If you’re not in a hurry… wanna have breakfast with me?”

  Grian’s breath caught. He tensed as Jimmy reached for his hand, smiling in that shy, disarming way. Just who was this man, and what was he doing to him?

  “A-Are you sure you have time for that?” Grian asked, voice sharper than he meant, though heat still crept up his face. “Wasn’t your phone ringing a minute ago?” He gestured behind Jimmy, and the blonde’s expression shifted instantly to surprise.

  “Really?” Despite the ache in his body, Jimmy quickly sat up and reached for his phone. Grian followed, feigning nonchalance but stealing a discreet glance at the screen.

J: Where the hell are you?

  “Oh, it’s just Joel,” Jimmy said with a relieved chuckle, already typing back a reply. Grian kept his expression carefully neutral, though a pang of disappointment tightened in his chest. Joel… a bandmate? A manager? Whoever he was, he sounded like someone important.

  “There,” Jimmy announced with a grin, locking his phone and setting it aside. “It’s all settled. They won’t bother us for the rest of the day.”

  “Huh?” Grian blinked at him, face lined with confusion. Jimmy laughed softly at his reaction. 

  Rest of the day? Hadn’t he only asked about breakfast? Grian was still processing the thought as Jimmy peeled the blankets away and stood, not even bothering to check whether Grian was free. The audacity—to assume Grian would drop any plans, even his morning routine, just for him. But then Jimmy turned back. A look of realization flickered across his face, and Grian braced himself for arrogance. Instead, Jimmy smiled sheepishly. 

  “Sorry. Do you want to sleep a bit more?”

  Grian’s mind went blank.

  “You don’t have to get up. I’m just going to shower.” His voice carried a note of guilt, as though the fault lay with his phone for waking them in the first place.

  “A shower..?” The words slipped out slowly as Grian’s mind began to catch up. He reminded himself, Jimmy, so far, wasn’t like most people. He didn’t scheme, didn’t plot, didn’t speak with a hidden edge. He was a man whose thoughts spilled straight from his mouth, whose emotions showed plain on his face. And as hard as it was for Grian to take someone like that seriously, it was the only way he could stand to deal with him.

  “Yeah…I should’ve taken one last night before bed. But I was tired…” Jimmy admitted, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The sight of it undid something in Grian.

  “Fine. Let’s shower together then.” Grian smiled slyly as he rose, enjoying the way Jimmy instantly tripped over his own thoughts.

   “T-together?!” Jimmy’s eyes widened, following Grian as he moved around the bed—only to freeze when the pretty man stopped before him, eyes narrowed and lips curved in playful challenge. Grian reached out, tugging Jimmy by the hand as he led him toward the bathroom.

  “Why not? Don’t want me to see you naked after last night?” he teased, eyes flicking down to Jimmy’s boxers, though truth be told, they’d looked far better on the floor.

  “No…it’s just…I’ve never…” Jimmy’s words faltered, his face burning as he followed, his grip on Grian’s hand tightening. He was in his mid-twenties, yet he’d never shared a shower with anyone before. It wasn’t embarrassment that flushed through him so much as a jittering excitement. Before Grian, before last night, there had been so much he’d never experienced.

  When Grian let go to turn on the water, Jimmy didn’t hesitate. He shed his boxers in a swift motion, pulse quickening. His hands itched to reach out, to grab hold of Grian again, but he forced himself to hold back. He had indulged last night; this morning, he wanted something else. He wanted to know Grian, really know him, just as he’d been longing to.

  Once the water reached Grian’s preferred warmth, he slipped off his briefs. Jimmy’s eyes followed instinctively, drinking in the sight of him—clearer now, softer in the steam and the light. When Grian turned to face him with a sly smile, Jimmy found he wasn’t chasing the hunger from last night. What filled him now was something gentler, something he had never known before. Not even the thrill of stepping onstage to live out his dream compared to this.

   “You’re so beautiful,” Jimmy murmured, voice raw and honest. His gaze held Grian’s, and for a heartbeat Grian faltered, shock flashing in his eyes. But it didn’t last. He recovered quickly, tugging Jimmy into the spray with a sudden pull.

  “Come here, wash me. It’s the least you can do,” he said with a playful bite, as though he hadn’t been the one to ruin Jimmy’s body the night before.

  Jimmy obeyed without hesitation, stepping under the water with him. His hands rose immediately, sliding through Grian’s hair to soak it for shampoo. Grian’s chest burned, not just from the hot water, though it ran warmer than usual, but from the way his pulse kicked up at Jimmy’s words and touch. Why was this man like this? So obedient, so eager to please, yet so open and sincere? How could someone filled with sunshine and honesty possibly be the frontman of a rock band?

  Jimmy lost himself in washing Grian’s hair. It was unexpectedly calming, the way his fingers rubbed into Grian’s scalp, how they slipped through the soft, silky strands. And when Grian leaned back under the spray, eyes closed, head tipped toward the water, Jimmy could take in every detail of his face. Relaxed, unguarded, no sharp lines or tightness—just parted lips and an even expression that made Jimmy’s chest tighten and his heart stumble. When Grian stepped aside and Jimmy reached for the washcloth, their eyes met. For the briefest second, Grian’s face was unreadable. Then he smirked.

  “Having fun?” His tone carried lazy amusement. Jimmy smiled, his hands gentle as he began to wash Grian’s body. A quiet sigh slipped out before he answered.

  “Yeah. This is nice.” His voice was soft but full of truth. It wasn’t just the act of washing him, it was the feeling of being trusted, of being allowed to care. Not many people ever gave him that. Which made this mean far more than he could put into words.

  “I’m sure it is.” Grian tried to keep his tone steady, tried to stay in control, but Jimmy was too focused on washing him to notice the faint tremor in his lips. This wasn’t going how Grian had pictured.

  Jimmy had invited him back to the hotel last night, and Grian had assumed it was an invitation for a repeat of the dressing room—hot, fast, wreckless. He hadn’t held back then, and there were still a hundred other things he could do, all of which he’d been more than willing to offer. But instead, exhaustion had claimed them both. Grian hadn’t minded, he supposed some tiny, reluctant part of him had been mindful of Jimmy’s hour-long performance. Still, he had expected the morning to spark things again. Especially when Jimmy had asked him to stay longer. This shower was supposed to be the prelude, the spark to reignite that fire.

  And yet Jimmy only smiled through the gentle work of washing him, then calmly began cleaning himself as Grian stood there, conflicted and adrift. No heat, no hunger. Just quiet care. It shouldn’t have thrown him off balance, but it did. And that unsettled him more than anything else.

  After their curious shower session, free of caresses or even kisses, Grian stood behind Jimmy with a towel wrapped around his waist while the rockstar rummaged through the chaos of his duffle bag. Grian’s heart pounded, disappointment simmering beneath his ribs. The fire from last night had vanished. And though he was certain that, if he leaned in and seduced Jimmy, the blonde would crumble easily, Grian found himself strangely unwilling in this moment.

  His eyes drifted from Jimmy to the room itself, finally letting the reality of last night settle in. Jimmy’s smile lit up when he pulled out a plain black t-shirt, something simple, ordinary, nothing like the glamour the frontman wore onstage. The sight only sharpened the contrast between the man and the rockstar.

  “This isn’t the room you originally booked for the tour, right?” Grian asked at last, arms folding over his chest. His brow arched in quiet suspicion. Jimmy froze, wide-eyed, before his grin returned as he clutched the clothes to his chest.

  “No, it isn’t. I was sharing with Joel, and I obviously couldn’t take you back there.” Bits of the night clicked into place for Grian: Jimmy packing a bag with uneven steps once he could stand again, the quick text to his bandmates about “other plans,” the silenced phone. He’d even called a taxi and booked this room just for them. A considerate gesture, though messy in execution, much like the man himself.

  Jimmy tugged on his jeans and shirt, mind preoccupied with where they might go for breakfast. He’d spotted a café across the street that looked decent enough, and it was close to the venue—safer, easier. But when he turned back toward the bed, his thoughts scattered. Grian was standing there in one of his tank tops and his red flannel, the fabric hanging loose on his frame.

  “What?” Grian teased with a sly grin, striking a playful pose. “I hope you don’t mind sharing.” He had never slipped into someone else’s clothes before, yet with Jimmy, he hadn’t hesitated. Watching the blonde’s face heat up was more than worth it.

  “N-no, I don’t mind…” Jimmy stammered, eyes trailing helplessly before he forced himself to grab his wallet and the room key. He tugged a beanie low over his hair, a flimsy attempt at being inconspicuous. “Let’s…let’s go get some food.”

  Crossing the street together, Grian felt strangely off-balance. This was just breakfast, he reminded himself. Not a date. A formality, nothing more, yet he couldn’t remember ever being in this situation before. Inside the café, Jimmy led the way with surprising confidence, sliding into a booth while Grian lingered a step behind. He sat opposite, folding into the seat with a guarded air.

  “Order whatever you’d like. It’s on me.” Jimmy’s smile was bright, genuine.

  “I know. You’re the one who made the invitation,” Grian shot back, rolling his eyes as he snapped the menu open. His stomach growled, though every so often it swooped for reasons he refused to name. 

  “Man, everything looks good,” Jimmy said absently, eyes flicking down the menu. It wasn’t small talk—Grian was beginning to realize Jimmy just spoke his thoughts out loud without thinking twice.

  For some reason, Grian was taking longer to decide. The menu was held high, a flimsy shield cutting Jimmy from view. The clink of cutlery and low hum of conversation filled the café, but to Grian it all felt muffled, distant, as though his ears were stuffed with cotton.

  “So, Grian,” Jimmy said, voice light across the table. “You said last night you weren’t there for us—for The Rejects. Were you there to support a friend? Or the opening band, Gem and the Scotts?” Grian didn’t lower the menu.

   “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he muttered, aiming for teasing, though heat crept up the tips of his ears. Why was Jimmy asking questions like that? Why did it feel so…personal?

  “I do, actually,” Jimmy laughed, entirely unbothered, taking Grian’s comment as playful banter.

  The waitress arrived, breaking the moment. Grian reluctantly set the menu aside, suddenly exposed. The scent of coffee and fried eggs curled through the air; warm, familiar, and nauseating all at once as his stomach twisted under Jimmy’s steady gaze.

  “You’re staring again,” Grian said, smirking as he shifted against the booth, the vinyl squeaking faintly under him. “Am I really that pretty to you?”

 “Yeah. Pretty, beautiful…my clothes kinda suit you,” Jimmy admitted at last, and Grian burst out laughing before he could stop himself.

  “You’re so stupid!” he choked out between laughs, not caring if people turned to stare. Jimmy looked caught off guard for a second, then joined in, their laughter overlapping in a way that made Grian’s chest tighten all over again.

  “I guess maybe I am,” Jimmy said, softer this time, his smile lingering on Grian with something warmer than amusement. Grian hated it—hated how candid Jimmy could be. For the rest of breakfast, Jimmy kept tossing questions across the table, and Grian was just as stubborn in batting them away.

  “What do you do for work?” Jimmy asked casually, lifting a spoonful of beans.

  “That’s confidential,” Grian replied flatly, sipping his coffee with exaggerated calm.

  “Do you have siblings?”

  “Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Grian leaned his chin against his hand, staring off into the distance with mock seriousness, as though even he didn’t know the answer. Jimmy snorted but pressed on. 

  “Do you like cats or dogs?”

  “I’ll go with option D.” That earned a full laugh, and Grian’s pulse jumped violently in his chest. He swore it was loud enough for the whole café to hear.

  “So how exactly are you two friends? ’Cause we’ve all been close for years. Childhood friends,” BigB pointed out, his tone casual but edged with curiosity.

  Grian’s smile faltered. His throat went dry. He didn’t know a damn thing about Jimmy or The Rejects—not their history, not their inside jokes, not the years they clearly carried together. The hollowness of it pricked at him, sharp and uncomfortable.

  “T-that doesn’t matter.” Jimmy’s voice cut through quickly, too quickly, his words tripping in his rush. “Guys, can you please give us a chance to catch up?” He wasn’t just asking; his expression all but begged for mercy. Something in his tone made the others back down. Their skeptical looks softened, teasing edges vanishing in an instant.

   “Alright, we get it.” Skizz stepped in with his usual smooth authority, flashing a grin as though to lighten the weight of the moment. “By the way, if you haven’t given him a tour of our band bus, you totally should. Think we’ve still got some leftover merch lying around.” Jimmy’s shoulders eased, his whole body relaxing as he gave a grateful smile.

  “We’re also leaving at sunset, so you two better wrap up,” Joel added, already turning away, though not without one last sharp look in Grian’s direction.

  “W-what? Already?” Jimmy’s smile faltered, his voice tight with disappointment.

  “Yeah. We gotta check in to the next spot a day earlier. Booked an interview in that city to hype the show,” BigB explained, his voice lifting with excitement. Jimmy stayed quiet for a beat, then finally nodded, reluctant but resigned. One by one, they gave quick goodbyes, tossing Grian a parting “pleasure to meet you, friend” before heading out of the café.

  The quiet between them stretched, heavy in a way that pressed against Grian’s ribs. He could see how conflicted Jimmy looked, his expression caught between reluctance and resignation at the news of leaving early. Grian’s own stomach knotted. Why was Jimmy so upset? He was a rockstar. Schedules changed all the time. That was the job. The tours, the interviews, the constant moving. There was no way his mood had soured because his time with Grian had been cut short. That thought was preposterous, ridiculous—laughable, even. And yet, the small ache in Grian’s chest said otherwise.

  “Do you…” Jimmy’s quiet voice pulled him out of the spiral. “Want to tour our bus?” His words sounded unsure, lost in a way that made Grian’s throat tighten. Grian slid out of the booth, the vinyl squeaking faintly beneath him, and Jimmy looked up as if waking from a daze.

  “Yeah, let’s go. I want some of your merch so I can sell it online to your crazy fangirls,” Grian teased, offering his hand with a mischievous smile. His tone was playful, sharp as ever, but the warmth in his chest when Jimmy’s face broke into that bright, unguarded grin was unlike anything he’d ever felt. Not even finishing his proudest projects had left him with this kind of dizzy, heady satisfaction.

   “Alright. I’ll give you all we have,” Jimmy said with a laugh that carried relief in every note. He slipped his hand into Grian’s, warm and steady, and rose from the booth.

  They stepped out of the café into the soft brightness of the late morning. The air smelled faintly of asphalt warming under the sun, mixed with the lingering scent of coffee clinging to their clothes. Traffic murmured down the street, a steady backdrop to their silence, and the occasional breeze tugged at Jimmy’s flannel draped over Grian’s shoulders. Through it all, Jimmy never let go of his hand.

  Grian noticed the slight dampness of his own palm, the embarrassment crawling under his skin, but he didn’t pull away. Couldn’t. The rockstar’s grip was too certain, too easy—like holding hands was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe, just for these last few hours, Grian could give him this. Let Jimmy have the handholding, the tour, the pretense that this was more than a reckless detour in their lives.

  They walked side by side, shadows stretching long across the pavement, two mismatched figures bound together by the simplest of threads. For Grian, it was already unforgettable.

  “Do you want a drink?” Jimmy asked as he stepped forward toward the mini fridge, stocked mostly with energy drinks, iced coffees, and protein bars. A microwave sat on the counter above, humming faintly as the bus shifted on its tires.

  “Water?” Grian asked, unable to hide his smile when Jimmy looked around and came up empty-handed. Jimmy let out a frustrated groan and pulled out his phone, probably already texting one of his bandmates to grab some before they left.

  “I’m gonna owe you a water…but will an energy drink be good enough?” Jimmy asked bashfully.

  “Fine. I don’t really need the extra energy though…” Grian rolled his eyes, cracked one open, and took a sip, already feeling warmth creep into his body.

  As they moved past the lounge, the bus narrowed into a hallway lined with curtained bunks stacked two high. The air smelled faintly of detergent and stale coffee, and the muffled creak of the floorboards echoed beneath their steps.

  “Joel sleeps up here, and I sleep below him,” Jimmy explained, pulling back the curtain to reveal neatly made beds. Grian wondered if they were naturally this tidy or if Skizz made them keep it that way every morning. Joel’s bunk had a few folded shirts resting at the foot of the bed. Jimmy’s—unsurprisingly, or maybe not—had fairy lights taped along the ceiling.

  “It’s so I don’t bump my head in the middle of the night,” Jimmy tried to explain with a small laugh, cheeks tinted pink. Grian shook his head, wondering what kind of idiot would do such a thing. But his eyes lingered on the tattered notebook tucked under the pillow, the words Lyric Dump scrawled across the top.

  Jimmy let the curtain fall closed and pointed out the other bunks across the way: BigB’s, with gym gear tucked neatly into the corner, and Skizz’s, with a bottle of vitamins waiting in the center like it had its own assigned spot.

  “This isn’t your first tour, right?” Grian asked without thinking, immediately scolding himself for caring enough to ask.

  “No, this is our third one, but our second biggest tour,” Jimmy shared excitedly. “We’re on the road for eight months, with a few breaks here and there.”

  Eight months. Grian couldn’t imagine it, spending that long in close quarters with the same people, even if they were friends. A job that didn’t end at five o’clock, that bled into every hour of every day. But then again, this wasn’t his world, and he reminded himself he had no interest in stepping into it.

  Past the bunks was a compact bathroom, barely bigger than the kind on an airplane. A tiny sink with a streaked mirror hung over a counter crowded with travel-sized soaps, toothpaste, and one razor labeled Joel in permanent marker. The toilet seat bore a taped-up sign with the eternal rule: No solids on the bus!

  “Nice,” Grian muttered with a chuckle, wondering if they actually obeyed it. Opposite the toilet was a cramped shower with plastic walls and a dribbling showerhead that looked more decorative than functional. Grian guessed it saw little use; the band probably stuck to hotel showers whenever they could. 

  “And this is our little writing nook,” Jimmy explained as he pulled back a thick black curtain, revealing a smaller, cozier area with a couch and a bolted-down table. At the moment, it was cluttered with boxes of posters, shirts, and accessories stamped with the band logo, but Grian guessed this was usually where they spread out to write or brainstorm while on the road. He could almost picture Jimmy here, notebook open, pen tapping as he scribbled down lyrics. The whole bus carried that same chaotic-but-comforting energy, a strange blend of frat house, sleepover, and workplace.

  “Say, Jimmy…” Grian’s voice slipped into something more deliberate, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back against the table, testing its sturdiness beneath his weight. His eyes gleamed with that mischievous spark Jimmy was quickly learning to recognize.

  “Yeah?” Jimmy asked, curiosity piqued, wide eyes focused entirely on him.

  “When you’re on tour—on the road like this, crammed in with your mates day and night—” Grian’s gaze flicked meaningfully toward the bunks they’d passed, “and even at the hotels, you said you were sharing with Joel, right?”

  Jimmy nodded slowly, still unsure where this was going. Grian’s smile only widened, his eyes narrowing in a way that was half-playful, half-mischievous.

  “Oh, god,” Jimmy choked out, his breath shaky, eyes darkening as he leaned closer until their lips hovered only inches apart.

  “This time…” Grian whispered, his words brushing against Jimmy’s trembling mouth, “I’ll let you top me.” That was all it took. Jimmy surged forward, capturing him in a deep, hungry kiss that stole the air from both their lungs. It was raw, unrestrained, everything they’d been holding back the night before. And for once, Grian let him lead.

  “Haaa…! Good..!” Grian gasped, his fingers curling tight in Jimmy’s hair, tugging him closer, urging him on. Jimmy’s hands slid over the planes of his back, caressing with need, roaming upward before gliding down to grip firmly at his waist. Their mouths broke apart for a gasp of air, but Jimmy didn’t waste a second — he latched onto Grian’s neck, kissing, licking, sucking the same spots he’d marked last night, desperate to claim them again.

  “Yes!” Grian cried out, throwing his head back. The cramped back room filled with the sounds of ragged breaths, gasps, and the heated friction of two bodies already burning for more. When Jimmy started tugging on the flannel, Grian shook his head.

   “No…I wanna keep it on…” he insisted weakly, and Jimmy obeyed without hesitation. Instead, he pushed the tank top up, revealing Grian’s marked chest. His lips immediately closed around a nipple, hot and eager, and Grian’s fingers buried themselves in Jimmy’s golden hair—hair that seemed to gleam brighter under stage lights, and now even more under his touch. Jimmy swirled his tongue, flicking and teasing, then gazed up at Grian, watching every twitch, every gasp.

   “Oh, Jimmy!” Grian cried out, unrestrained, when teeth caught on the sensitive nub. It stung, just enough to etch the sensation into memory. Jimmy lavished both, licking and biting until they were flushed red, before trailing lower. By the time his hands reached Grian’s waistband, he began to undo the button, only for Grian to stop him.

  “Go…get the lube,” Grian demanded, voice wrecked with need. Jimmy moaned low at the order, his body shivering with anticipation. The expression on Grian’s face; flushed, needy, lewd, nearly unraveled him. He scrambled to his duffle bag near the bus entryway, snatched the bottle, and turned back.

  But the moment he stepped behind the curtain, he froze. His jaw slackened, fingers clenching the bottle so tightly it creaked. Grian had already shoved his pants to his ankles and was bent forward over the table, ass high and waiting for him. Jimmy’s breath caught. 

  “Come on, Jimmy…” Grian purred, trying to sound enticing—though it wasn’t necessary, not with how eager Jimmy already was. To his surprise, the blonde immediately dropped to his knees. Strong hands gripped his plump cheeks, and Grian cried out in delight at the sudden, needy touch. Jimmy kneaded the flesh like he couldn’t get enough, relishing the velvet softness in his palms.

  “Grian… you’re so beautiful. Gorgeous…” Jimmy murmured, and the raw sincerity in his voice made Grian moan, his body jolting at the praise. A sharp nip against one mound drew a sharper sound from him, the sting only amplifying the pleasure. The rockstar’s tongue followed, hot and wet as it slid over pale skin, tasting, teasing, leaving Grian painfully hard with every languid pass. 

  Then Jimmy’s mouth moved lower. Grian froze, panting, gripping the table so tightly his knuckles ached. He could feel the warm breath ghosting closer to where he needed it most—his tight, puckered hole—and his chest heaved at the realization. Was Jimmy really going to—

  “I like tasting you,” Jimmy murmured against him, and before Grian could even respond, his tongue swirled around the entrance.

  “Ahh! Jimmy!” Grian gasped, his whole body jerking from the sudden sensation, unable to bite back the shameless sounds spilling from his lips as Jimmy licked him there, relentless and hungry.

  “C-Close..!” Grian warned, his knees trembling as waves of pleasure wracked through him, the talented tongue caressing the sensitive nerves at his entrance. Jimmy didn’t let up, and then came the slick sound of the bottle snapping open, sharp against the muffled quiet of the bus. A cool slickness followed, mixing with the heat of Jimmy’s mouth, and Grian shuddered when the first finger pressed in, stretching him slowly.

   “Good..!” Grian moaned, his hips canting forward as he tried to chase the sensation, only to be pinned in place by Jimmy’s steady hand. The tongue kept circling, soothing, coaxing, while the finger slid deeper, stroking and curling, making Grian’s eyes roll back. The combination was intoxicating—the slick glide of lube, the wet flicks of Jimmy’s tongue, the firm grip keeping him from losing himself completely. He felt consumed, undone, and more cared for than any partner had ever managed. In that moment, he knew no one would ever compare to the rockstar unraveling him here.

  “Mmmm…Grian…you…sound so good…” Jimmy groaned between licks, his tongue still not letting up as he licked around the fingers that were working Grian open. His face was red, and his entire body was covered in sweat. Every time the enticing insides squeezed around his fingers, Jimmy’s cock twitched painfully. He was so hard, to the point he had to undo his button and zipper.

  “J-Jimmy!” Grian gasped as he pushed himself up to his palms against the table, glancing back to meet Jimmy’s blown-out eyes, and that made him moan sweetly. “I’m ready…”

   “G-ahh!” Jimmy closed his eyes as he moaned against Grian, his fingers still eagerly moving but he forced them to stop. He pulled them out, and Grian successfully managed to suppress another embarrassing sound. The sudden emptiness left him trembling, his breath shaky. Jimmy got up quickly, tugging his pants down, his hands trembling so badly it almost made the bottle slip from his grip. He poured more lube and lathered himself, his skin slick under the dim light.

  His heart was pounding in his ears as he lined up, breath catching with every second that passed. The bus creaked faintly around them, the air warm and heavy, the muffled sound of voices and footsteps outside only making the moment feel sharper. Was this really happening? Grian was letting Jimmy have him? To take him like this, in the back of the tour bus, with him braced over the table? The same table Jimmy used more often than the others, scribbling lyrics that sometimes became entire tracks, words that later echoed across arenas. And now, here he was, about to etch something onto it that no one else would ever know.

 “Grian…” Jimmy’s voice was deep, raw, laced with something Grian had never heard before. His body jolted when a hand settled firmly on his hips, not to restrain him, but to anchor them both. The heat of Jimmy’s palm burned through his skin, grounding him just as the blunt tip prodded at his pulsing hole. Grian bit back a sound, his jaw tight. Jimmy was doing it again—driving him insane. And if he weren’t so desperate, so unbearably eager for this, he would’ve shoved the man off and chewed him out for taking too damn long.

  “Grian…” Jimmy whispered again, closer this time, his breath hot against the back of Grian’s neck. Grian wanted to snap back, demand what, but no words came. His teeth ground together, his breath hitching as the tip pressed insistently against his tight ring of muscle. God, it had been so damn long, and he needed this more than he cared to admit.

  “Jimmy—” Grian started, his voice catching into a whine, but the words were swallowed by the sudden press of lips against his neck. The soft kiss made his entire body shudder, and then Jimmy pushed in. The tip breached, stretching him, and both of them cried out, voices echoing in the stillness of the bus. Jimmy’s grip tightened, fingers digging into Grian’s hips hard enough to leave bruises, while Grian’s insides clamped down greedily, adjusting to him, clinging before he was even fully seated.

  “Oh, Grian!” Jimmy groaned as he kept pushing inside, slow and deliberate, savoring every sound and twitch from the man in front of him. “Your insides… they feel so good—so hot, so tight.”

  “Ahh..!” Grian moaned at the praise, a hot wave washing over him from the realization that Jimmy was actually inside him, that they had come this far. Not even twenty-four hours ago he had laid eyes on this man for the first time, irritated by what he thought was just a wannabe rockstar with a cocky grin. But Jimmy… Jimmy was so much more, and Grian couldn’t stop the noises spilling from his lips.

  “Grian… I’m going to move,” Jimmy’s voice was deep, ragged, and overwhelmed, and the sound only dragged Grian deeper into the pool of pleasure.

  “Yes..! Move..! Need it..!” Grian’s voice was strained, every syllable dripping with urgency, but he managed not to beg, though he was frighteningly close. And then he gasped as the delicious length pulled out, leaving him momentarily empty, only to cry out louder when Jimmy pushed back in.

  Jimmy settled into a rhythm, steady and strong, his hands gripping Grian’s hips with a grounding firmness as the table beneath them gave the faintest creak with each thrust. The air between them was hot, sticky with sweat, their ragged breaths tangling as if the bus itself had shrunk around them. Every push and pull fed into the fire they had both been chasing since that very first kiss, each movement a wordless confession neither of them dared to speak aloud.

  Jimmy’s pace grew more confident, his hips snapping forward as Grian braced against the table, knuckles white where he gripped the edge. Every thrust sent a shockwave through him, dragging broken moans from his throat that he couldn’t contain. Jimmy’s chest pressed close to his back, his breath hot against Grian’s ear, mingling with the sticky heat of the bus’s air. The rhythm was intoxicating—each drag out and push back in left Grian trembling, his body torn between the unbearable stretch and the overwhelming need for more.

  “G-Grian!” Jimmy gasped, his eyes squeezing shut as Grian clenched down around him, the sudden tightness making his rhythm stutter, just enough for his cock to slam straight into Grian’s sweet spot.

  “Yesss! There! Feels good..! Your cock—don’t stop!” Grian cried, his voice breaking as he collapsed forward, both hands braced against the table while his hips rolled back to meet every desperate thrust. The sharp squeak of wood beneath them mixed with the wet slap of skin on skin, filling the cramped space with the raw sounds of them losing control.

  “Oh, god—!” Jimmy groaned, his grip tightening around Grian’s hips hard enough to bruise as he hauled him back, matching him thrust for thrust. Sweat dripped from his brow, rolling down his temples, his breath hot and ragged against Grian’s spine. “I’m— I’m gonna fill you..!”

  “Do it! Do it! Give it to me!” Grian demanded, his pitch rising, voice so high and broken that even he barely recognized it. His whole body was burning, teetering on the knife’s edge of release, and then Jimmy leaned down, teeth sinking into his shoulder in a mix of desperation and need.

  “Ahhh—!” Grian wailed as his orgasm tore through him, his body convulsing so violently that he would’ve crashed forward if Jimmy hadn’t caught him against his chest. Jimmy’s hips drove in again—once, twice, a final desperate third—and then he spilled deep inside, groaning brokenly as the hot pulse of release filled Grian to the brim.

  The vice-like squeeze of Grian’s spasming walls milked him through it, making Grian feel as though he were coming a second time, stars bursting behind his eyes. His whole body went limp, trembling, and Jimmy clutched him tighter, their ragged breaths mingling, the musky scent of sweat and sex heavy in the stifling air of the bus.

   For a long moment, neither of them moved, the world reduced to the sound of their labored breaths and the faint rumble of traffic outside the bus. Jimmy’s forehead rested against Grian’s damp shoulder, his arms still wrapped firmly around his waist as though afraid he’d slip away. Grian could feel the frantic hammer of Jimmy’s heartbeat against his back, the warmth of his breath cooling on his skin. Slowly, his own body began to unclench, the fire fading into a languid ache, leaving only the strange comfort of being held.

  The sky bathed in hues of purple and orange looked beautiful as twilight fell, the sun already swallowed by the tall skylines nearby. The cool air pressed against Grian’s still-heated skin, the faint chill of the metal tour bus at his back grounding him. He tugged idly at the hem of Jimmy’s tank top, shoulders bare, phone heavy in his hand, his body buzzing and lightheaded all at once. A quiet chuckle slipped out of him—he still couldn’t believe what he had done in less than twenty-four hours.

  The sound of footsteps off the bus stairs made him turn. Jimmy was walking over, a crinkling bag in hand and that big, stupid smile lighting up his face. Grian’s throat tightened, and he fought not to mirror the expression, even as heat crept across his cheeks.

  “Here. A few posters, a t-shirt, and two of our newest albums. I signed them all, so I’m sure you’ll get a good price for them,” Jimmy said with a wink, his voice warm with mischief. Grian hated how his stomach swooped. How could Jimmy act so casual after everything that had happened?

  “Thanks. I’d sell your flannel too, it’d probably go for a fortune. But it’s covered in sweat, so you can have it back,” Grian teased, flashing a sly grin even as his pulse raced. Jimmy’s flush deepened as he took the flannel carefully, almost reverently, as though it were fragile. The gesture made Grian’s chest ache in a way he didn’t want to name.

  “Y-you’re keeping my tank top, though, right?” Jimmy asked, voice tentative. Grian snorted, unable to stop his laugh.

  “Duh! I’m not going home wearing the same shirt from yesterday. And it’s not like it’s some designer brand or anything.” Even as he tried to brush it off, Grian’s skin was burning all over again. 

  Jimmy suddenly had a serious, thoughtful expression on his face, his flushed cheeks giving away what they’d been doing less than thirty minutes ago. Grian parted his lips, ready to say something, thank you? that it was fun? nice to meet you? But the low rumble of an engine cut him off. A yellow taxi rolled to a stop behind them, and Grian’s chest grew heavy, his legs stiff as lead—though he told himself it was just from what Jimmy had done to him. He stared at the cab, torn, before slowly turning back.

   Jimmy was suddenly inches away, his hand brushing against Grian’s in a touch so gentle it sent a jolt up his arm. Before Grian could react, Jimmy plucked the phone straight from his hand.

  “H-hey! What are you—”

  “I’m giving you my number,” Jimmy said with that maddeningly calm smile, as though this was the most natural thing in the world. Grian grit his teeth, his hand twitching with the urge to snatch the phone back, but before he could, Jimmy’s own phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and his grin spread wide as his eyes lit up. 

  “Perfect,” he said, flipping it around so Grian could see his own number flashing on the display. Grian’s jaw dropped. That sneaky little shi—

  “Don’t worry, I won’t bombard you with calls or texts,” Jimmy added quickly, voice soft but earnest. Grian growled under his breath, his face hot as he glared, though the heat in his chest was harder to deny.

  “I-I’m a busy person! I probably won’t be able to reply to you quickly or anything like that,” Grian said firmly, though his heart was hammering in his chest. Why was he saying that? He should have told Jimmy not to reach out at all—that this was a one-night stand, two days at most, and nothing more than a reckless mistake. Something he’d forget. Or at least, something he’d try to. This was stupid. Reckless. And it would never go anywhere. Never.

  “That’s okay. I promise to be patient. Like I said, I won’t bombard you,” Jimmy replied softly, his voice so earnest it almost made Grian’s throat tighten. He leaned in again, but instead of kissing him, he reached past and pulled open the taxi door. The engine idled low, headlights spilling across the parking lot, and Grian felt his stomach lurch.

  “We didn’t get to talk like I wanted us to,” Jimmy continued, each word careful, sincere. “Maybe we can slowly get to know each other better this way. If you don’t mind the questions. You don’t have to answer them until you’re ready.” His tone was so open, so genuine, that Grian could hear his own pulse in his ears, could feel the burn building behind his eyes. Frustration knotted inside him. Why was Jimmy so insistent? How could he be this ridiculous? This stupid?

  “But I’d like to hear about your day sometimes. Or any troubles you have. Sometimes it’s good to just—”

  “Shut up,” Grian snapped. Jimmy’s eyes widened in shock, his breath catching like he’d just been punched. His lips parted as if to apologize, but before he could, Grian leaned forward, kissed him hard—brief, fierce, enough to cut him off completely. Jimmy melted into it, stunned and eager all at once, and by the time he blinked back into himself, Grian had already slipped into the cab, door closing firmly between them.

  Jimmy stood frozen, mouth parted, dazed, clutching the flannel like a lifeline. The exhaust curled warm in the cool evening air, headlights brightening the edge of his sneakers. The window rolled down and Grian looked at him, expression flat, unamused, but his eyes burned with something Jimmy couldn’t name.

  “You’re so full of yourself, you know that?” Grian said, voice edged with annoyance, but Jimmy caught how his dark eyes glistened faintly in the low light, and it made his heart flip. “Not everyone’s dying to talk to you and have your attention. Especially me.” Jimmy couldn’t help smiling. He adored that stubborn streak, the way Grian’s bite never quite hid the softness underneath.

  “I know,” Jimmy said gently, echoing the same quiet sincerity he’d used the night before. “But I still want to try.”

   “Ugh…” Grian rolled his eyes, cheeks burning red as the taxi’s air grew suffocating. “Alright, alright. Keep trying, and let’s see where it gets you.” Jimmy’s laugh rang out, light and joyful, and Grian’s fingers dug sharply into his thigh. Why wasn’t this damn, oblivious rockstar letting it die already?

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Jimmy said warmly. “Thank you for spending time with me, Grian. It’s been the highlight of my tour—”

  “Argh! That’s it! I’m done!” Grian snapped, slamming the window up. Within seconds, the taxi rolled forward and pulled away. Jimmy stepped back and waved anyway, smiling as the yellow car dwindled into the distance. His chest felt painfully tight and achingly light at the same time. With a sigh, he lifted his flannel, burying his nose in the fabric. The scent of Grian clung faintly to it, making his pulse quicken. God, he wished he’d never have to wash it. But it was his favorite flannel.

  “Oh my god! Are you for real?” Skizz’s incredulous voice cut through the quiet. Jimmy jolted, lowering the flannel in a panic. He froze when he spotted them — Skizz, Joel, and BigB, all leaning against the far side of the bus, watching him like they’d been there the whole time. Joel’s smirk screamed caught in the act. BigB looked one heartbeat away from howling with laughter. And Skizz? Skizz had his arms crossed, shaking his head like a disappointed dad.

  Jimmy’s whole face went scarlet.

  “Y-you three! You were not just watching us, were you?!” Jimmy demanded, his whole body shaking with a mix of rage and embarrassment.

  “We were wondering if you were wrapping up with your friend anytime soon,” Joel said with a knowing grin, and BigB elbowed him, choking on his laugh.

  “Wh-what do you mean by that?!” Jimmy sputtered, frozen halfway between storming over and hiding forever, while Skizz calmly climbed onto the bus first.

  “Oh, nice—you opened the windows. Thanks for the consideration.” Skizz’s amused tone nearly made Jimmy combust on the spot.

  “Hey, Jim, I know we’re also your friends and all…” BigB began, still grinning as he followed Skizz, “…but please don’t ever treat us the way you treat Grian.” The other two burst into laughter, leaving Jimmy’s face a deeper shade of red than his flannel.

  “Come on, Jim, we gotta go,” Joel called back, his amused smile promising the road to their next stop would be full of merciless teasing. Jimmy groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he reluctantly followed.

  He was halfway up the steps when his phone buzzed in his pocket. For a moment he froze, heart thudding, certain it couldn’t be who he wanted it to be. But when he finally pulled it out, the screen lit his face, and his chest swelled with hope just as the bus roared to life, headlights cutting through the dark parking lot. Jimmy couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face.

G: Your bandmates are fools. Have a nice trip.