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To say Tucker was surprised was…well, no, he wasn’t surprised, really. Taken off guard, perhaps. But not surprised.
He just couldn’t believe Anthony went behind his back. He lay in his bunk, knowing that Anthony, too, was in his bunk, that everyone was in their respective bunks, either trying to sleep as the bus rolled under them, or fucking around on their phones. Anthony was clearly one of the latter, if the notification he received was anything to go by—if the video he just watched on their fucking Instagram was evidence enough.
“Tucker, we all knew you had a clean butt, but now it’s confirmed,” the vocalist hums out in his AirPods. “Happy Tucker Thursday. We love you.”
He could only imagine the smug look on Anthony’s mustached face right now, because Anthony knew Tucker was still awake. Anthony knew that Tucker was laying there scrolling through Instagram because when wasn’t Tucker doing that?
His first instinct was to get up and knock the man upside the head, but he had a feeling that was what Anthony expected him to do. The vocalist was probably laying there, hoodie zipped up to keep him warm in the already pretty warm bus, waiting for Tucker to respond, because why else would he wait to post it until Tucker was undoubtedly watching? Tucker couldn’t fall into this trap—he couldn’t let Anthony win. He hadn’t realized they had even been playing a game, but oh, now the ball was in his court, and Tucker?
Well, Tucker was nothing if not competitive.
He wasn’t planning to play a long game, but, oh, Tucker sure was planning to play a hard one.
Anthony was honestly a little surprised. He wasn’t sure what he expected from Tucker – perhaps a comment, maybe a smack, even hiding Anthony’s favourite shirt just to fuck with him – but the fact that Tucker hadn’t done…anything was a little confusing.
He wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. Frankly, if someone had gone on Instagram to tell the world how clean his butt was, Anthony would…well, actually, Anthony would probably thank them. He certainly had some less-than-clean moments with that particular piece of his anatomy in his time, so reassuring the world that he hadn’t shit himself onstage would probably be a testament to how much he’d matured throughout the years. Or, at the very least, how much more control he had over his body.
But Tucker? The man had probably never shit himself in his life—not even when he was a baby. Tucker was probably the perfect baby.
Tucker was kinda perfect in general. Anthony was maybe a little in love with him.
Which was, of course, the reason behind all of this. Because Anthony might have matured over the years, but he was still twelve years old at heart, pulling on the pigtails of the girls – or boys – he had a crush on rather than, you know, communicating with them. And, god, Tucker sure would look good with pigtails—Anthony could just imagine yanking the drummer’s head down onto his cock, forcing him to…
Well, he best not get ahead of himself. Tucker hadn’t even reacted to the video, which meant that maybe Tucker didn’t appreciate Anthony’s attention.
And fuck, if that wasn’t ever…disappointing.
But Anthony was nothing if not professional – to a degree, at least – and he would keep a straight face (could a face even be considered straight if the person wearing it was not?) as he went out onstage and performed his heart out for their devoted fans. It was crazy how quickly the world had scrambled to their feet, how intense a fanbase that had formed around them, and god, Anthony would not give that up for anything—he hadn’t been joking all those times he said the band saved his life, and the fans? Make it all the more worth it.
So, he turned on his smile. Turned on his charm. Went out there and knocked them dead.
In the back of his mind, he couldn’t help wondering what Tucker was thinking as he sat there at his kit in his clean white show pants, but he didn’t let the thought consume him. There was no point in dwelling on it when he had far more important things to think about.
In fact, it might have been better had he kept that thought spinning around his head a little while longer, because maybe then he wouldn’t have been caught so off guard when, almost immediately after stepping offstage, a fist curled into his shirt and yanked him about. Anthony barely registered where or who or what until suddenly he was under the flickering fluorescent lights of a backstage bathroom, head against the door as his captor used his free hand to click the lock. Well, at least his would-be murderer was smart to abduct him while he was still struggling to regain his voice after screaming for the past hour.
But he always knew Tucker was smart like that, so he shouldn’t have been surprised to look down and find the intense stare of the drummer on him.
“Hey Tuck,” he croaked out, a warm smile on his face.
The intensity of Tucker’s gaze did not waver, however, fist still tight as ever in Anthony’s shirt, as the drummer licked his lips and asked in a low voice, “Been touching anything that doesn’t belong to you lately?”
Anthony fought the urge to smirk—there was the reaction he was anticipating. Tucker didn’t realize he’d played right into Anthony’s hand.
“That depends,” Anthony said, voice still a little scratchy from the show but nonetheless rife with challenge as he looked down at Tucker, eyebrow raised only slightly below his sweaty hair as it hung in his face. This could go one of two ways, and god, Anthony was hoping that it would go the first way—or the second way, he hadn’t quite ordered them yet, he thought, as he continued, “On whether you’ll let me test my theory in person.”
Anthony was especially caught by surprise when he crumbled to the floor, Tucker’s fist gone from his shirt. He half-expected the drummer to step around him, turn the knob, and leave him alone on the dirty bathroom floor. Perhaps he’d even deserve it.
Instead, he looked up to find Tucker still looking at him intensely as the drummer unzipped his pants. Bingo.
He couldn’t help but lick his lips as the drummer’s pants fell down to the floor – probably not so clean anymore, considering the thoughts Anthony was just having about the state of that floor – and revealed his half-hard cock. No sooner had Anthony looked upon the glorious thing, however, when suddenly a hand was in his hair, tightening around his damp locks and yanking his head back so that his eyes were on Tucker’s. The vocalist couldn’t help but gulp, but his smile still didn’t waver as he looked up at the other man.
“How clean is Tucker’s butt?” the drummer asked.
Anthony again fought the urge to smirk, but he did give the slightest of shrugs as he responded, “It’s a valid question.”
Tucker stepped closer, placing one foot on each side of Anthony’s thighs. If he opened his mouth, Anthony could so easily just take the drummer’s cock between his lips…but before he had the chance to follow that thought any further, he found his head being yanked back even harder.
“Go on, then,” the drummer prompted him. “Tell me just how clean my butt is.”
And, suddenly, Anthony’s head was pulled down between Tucker’s legs, beneath his cock, the drummer’s balls practically sitting on Anthony’s forehead as his mouth hovered just below Tucker’s ass. This was…not an ideal angle – he was pretty sure his neck would be feeling this for the rest of the night – but he couldn’t help the way his heart raced as he reached up to pull Tucker’s cheeks apart, leaned in, and parted his lips.
Tucker’s ass tasted like sweat. A lot of it. God, did that man ever fucking sweat when they were onstage. It probably also didn’t help that it was summer and already warm venues were even warmer, but, man, you’d think that Tucker had just run a marathon or something from the salty dampness of his crack. And, yet, Anthony couldn’t get enough—he licked his way up between Tucker’s cheeks as best he could from this terrible angle, listening to the drummer hiss as he felt the softness of Anthony’s tongue on him.
Despite the strong hold the drummer had on his hair, Anthony was suddenly feeling empowered. It took all of two seconds for him to slip from the other man’s grip – bless Tucker for being distracted by his tongue – and crawl between his legs.
Pushing Tucker up against the door, Anthony knelt behind him, holding his cheeks apart once more as he dove right back in.
The whine that the drummer made when Anthony’s tongue pressed against his hole…fuck, Anthony could almost come from that sound alone. He circled the tight little pucker a moment, teasing him, before pressing deeper and breaching the hot ring.
And, fuck, hot was right. Tucker’s ass was so hot.
Anthony gripped his cheeks harder as he attempted to spread them further to give himself better access, licking even deeper into the drummer’s ass.
He heard as Tucker’s head hit the door, a moan slipping out from between his lips. Bingo, alright.
There was sweat all over Anthony’s face, both his own and Tucker’s, as his nose pressed against the man’s butt while the vocalist’s tongue continued to explore him from the inside. The sounds that emerged from above were becoming louder and more frequent, and that just empowered Anthony even more—at this point he was probably going to bruise the drummer’s ass, but hey, that’s what happened when you played with Anthony motherfucking Green. And, well, he couldn’t help that the thought of Tucker wearing his fingerprints, being marked by Anthony, turned him on a great deal.
So much so, in fact, that Anthony couldn’t help but drop one of his hands, despite how difficult it made it for him to continue exploring the other man’s hole, and slipped it into his own pants, enclosing it around his cock as be began to tug.
Another whine emerged from the drummer’s mouth, and a thought came to Anthony.
He snaked the other hand down between Tucker’s legs and grabbed the drummer’s cock, jerking the both of them as he continued eating the man’s ass.
It was…well, probably sloppy as fuck. It was hard enough for him to focus on stroking two cocks at once, especially when one was above him and the other below him, but trying to do that while tonguing the inside of the drummer’s hole was…a lot. But Anthony was nothing if not determined, and he was inspired by every slutty little noise he heard from above him, so he kept going, insistent on ensuring they both got what they wanted.
And, sure enough, it wasn’t long before Tucker was shuddering and gasping out, spilling all over Anthony’s hand and the door.
Anthony, however, wasn’t finished—he continued to lick inside the other man, outside the other man, alternating between his hot hole and sweaty crack. Finally, when he heard what almost sounded like a cry from Tucker, Anthony couldn’t hold back any longer—he knelt back onto his heels and jerked himself rapidly before crying out, spurts of come flying all over the bathroom floor. At least he’d already determined that that floor was already dirty, because he refused to feel guilty for making a mess—not when that mess was the result of him finally getting the attention he wanted from the drummer.
He wasn’t sure how long he knelt down there on the floor, hot and sweaty all over, but when he looked back up at Tucker, the drummer had turned around and was leaning with his back against the door, softening cock still hanging out between his legs.
It took another moment for Anthony to catch his breath before he croaked out, “That’s pretty fucking clean if I do say so myself.”
Tucker stared at him a moment. And—
Laughter. Tired, exhausted, happy, sated laughter. Oh, Anthony could melt from the sound of that mirth coming from the other man’s mouth, especially knowing that he was the cause of it. He really was so fucking gone for Tucker, and it really should not have taken this to get the drummer’s attention – Anthony was a grown man in his forties, he knew he was capable of talking about his feelings like an adult – but he was also so glad that this was what did the trick.
“Fuck, Tony,” the drummer began, simmering down to a chuckle as he choked on his laughter. “You win,” he told the vocalist, looking down at Anthony with a somewhat surprised look on his face. Anthony, meanwhile, didn’t even realize they were playing a game.
Or, well, no. He did. He started it, after all, with the video, didn’t he? And he won.
But he couldn’t resist the smile that climbed to his face as he climbed to his feet, knees cracking like a motherfucker, and tucked his cock back into his pants. “Honey, with an ass as clean as that,” he said, “you deserve all the trophies.”
And if he was thinking about what Tucker would look like with a trophy shoved up his tight, clean hole…well, that was between Anthony and himself.
Tucker was in a daze as the vocalist, looking completely wrecked, winked at him before reaching for the doorknob and clicking open the lock. No sooner had Tucker managed to pry himself off the door than Anthony had disappeared out of it, leaving the drummer alone under the flickering fluorescent lights of the very dirty bathroom—a very dirty bathroom that had just become all the more filthy, thanks to the two of them.
He couldn’t believe he lost control of the situation so quickly. It was almost like Anthony wanted to eat Tucker’s ass. What was he thinking? Of course Anthony wanted that—and the vocalist was so enthusiastic as he did so. Tucker was…
Maybe a little in love with him. Fuck. When had that happened?
Reaching down for his pants – fuck, they really needed a wash now – he wondered whose court the ball was even in now.
Well, he supposed he’d find out soon enough. It sure wasn’t like Anthony to pass up another chance for mischief, and when he did…well, this time Tucker would be ready for him. Because Tucker was nothing if not competitive, and Anthony had just initiated a long game.