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Luke feels drawn to Casey.
The strangest thing is that he's not Luke's type at all. He's all skinny boy, angles with legs that don't even touch in the middle, long and lanky and too much like himself. Luke can't resist attempting to get close. Well, not that he's ever really touched him. He just likes to hit the vicinity and simmer nearby. The extent of their interaction is really only business conversation and sitting on the same couch cushion because Michael decided to sprawl out on the other one, but there's still something— some sort of low-key intensity that Luke can't seem to figure out.
His eyes are dark, and they stay that way when the light hits. They're round as well, big and young— he's older than Luke, but he still seems so young. Luke thinks it might be his smile, cut sharp and bright, wide in a way that has the same control that forms around his syllables. It's definitely something Luke has jerked off to before, a thought that slips into his head, tipping him over the edge and even pushing him a bit more to reach that crisp-white bliss.
Luke can see him in the knot of people formed in the middle of the club, just a bit taller than everyone else. It's early enough that most people are standing around the edges, sizing each other up, gaining enough liquid courage to make a fool of themselves. He may look young, but he carries himself with a shadowed dominance that allows him to easily seem twenty-one, perhaps a bit older. Of course he goes straight for the action; Luke takes a similar approach, though, an extra beer in hand. It's easy while people are still dispersed along the sidelines.
Luke insinuates himself in the crowd, waving to some people he recognizes, before finally coming to a stop. "Hey."
Casey turns, all young eyes and wide smiles. It makes something burn hot in Luke's chest, bubble low in his belly. There's probably something wrong with him if this is how he's reacting to a smile. "Hey."
"You look good." Luke wants to smack himself— he hopes it comes out as one of those not-quite-homoerotic compliments the band tosses around. "I mean, I bought you a beer."
He nods, smile seemingly gleaming in the light like one of those Colgate commercials. "You bought me a beer." Luke's dick begins to show interest and he can't stop himself from fidgeting.
"Thanks," he says. It's slick and good, and his fingers wrap around the neck to tug the bottle out of Luke's grasp.
"You really shouldn't be—" Luke has to remember that he shouldn't be either, but Casey doesn't seem to mind. "Never-mind."
He seems to get the gist, though, and his left pointer finger comes up to his lips.
"Shh, it's our little secret."
The screech of an amplifier signals that the band is about to start, so it wouldn't be out of line to continue standing next to Casey. He could move in closer and they could even ride out the wave of the bass line together. Instead, Luke takes a step back, lips curving into a frown as the the lights go off and the crowd pushes up, crushes forward, and Casey is lost in the sea of tipsy bodies. He fights against the surge of people, making his way to the bar, asking for something strong and pretends to watch the show. He also pretends like he isn't looking for Casey, but that's a regular routine.
-
The set ends and Luke's more drunk than usual, whatever concoction the bartender whipped up adding a nice haze to the evening. He's gotten to the point where he's got the story set in his head, and he can't wait to tell Michael. Michael makes it seem less real, more of a joke, so being hot for a member of your band's baby-band is less embarrassing than amusing. He may even crawl into Michael's hotel room and wait, just for story preparation.
The air outside the club is thick with smoke and laughter, sweaty bodies stinking up the parking lot as young boys and girls mingle, some trying to get closer to the band. Luke wonders if they were even good— he remembers hearing the guitarist making a rookie mistake on the riff, so they may have sucked. He didn't pay enough attention.
There's a smaller group huddled together, and the sweet burn of pot smoke sits hot in his lungs as he nears. They all seem relatively harmless, but he's left enough clubs to know and not join. Paparazzi would have a field day, and he's totally not in the mood. Avoiding them seems out of the question, though, seeing that his car is parked down the street. He'll have to walk past them to get to it.
"Luke."
The voice is steady and familiar, barely slurred but just enough to know the guy has the edge of alcohol in his blood. He's still not sure if he should glance behind him to identify, although being mugged in a decent sized crowd is highly unlikely. It's American, he knows that, and his brain shuffles through everyone he knows.
A hand slides across his hips, fingers rubbing at his belt loop. Casey Moreta, in all his glory, has got his finger hooked in Luke's belt loop. "Hey, you."
Luke's frozen for a second, hand running through his hair. It's stuck with sweat. "Hey, uh, didn't recognize you."
"You're drunk," the frown in Casey's voice says it all, and he pats over Luke's pocket before snatching his keys. "You're not driving."
"But—"
Casey shakes his head. "You're not driving."
"I need to get—" Casey's fingers detach from his pocket, Luke's keys hanging off his thumb and laying across his palm.
"You're not driving, no matter what. I'll get us home. Won't I?"
Luke's fingers close into fists, dick giving a drunken jolt. He nods.
Casey's eyes narrow. "Yes?"
"Yes," Luke confirms.
"I thought so," says Casey, smiling once again, and Luke can feel his entire body respond. His pulse jumps when Casey's breath is hot on his neck. "Good boy."
Luke turns his head just enough to look Casey in the eye. He can feel his shoulders dropping, his vision going tunnel as his knees begin to feel weak. "When?"
Casey just shakes his head, fingers ghosting over Luke's shoulder. He leaves him with that instead of an answer, walking off, calm and poised but making sure that Luke can see where he goes. Luke's nerves are all over the place, jangling, and he's standing there with his dick half-hard and thoughts jumbled into a ball.
-
"Wait, wait. Back up." Michael flops across Luke's bed, head hanging over the edge, looking at Luke upside down. "You're totally hot for Caaaaaaasey."
"Fuck you," Luke informs evenly. "You have no room to talk."
"At least I openly admit to fucking everyone— and I don't buy them booze."
"You do too."
"Depends on how much they require."
Luke's heard all about it, the infamous cock sucking equation. y = mx b; b is initial attraction, m is the number of shots of Jack Daniels, and b is the person's alcohol tolerance. y is, of course, getting your cock sucked. Apparently it's legendary, works every time, but Luke's never tried.
"We all wonder why you aren't in prison yet," Luke huffs, grabbing his shitty hotel coffee and turning around to lean on the dresser. "Beside, it's not like he's not legal or something. He's just a baby."
"He's older than you, Luke," Michael's got an amused look in his eyes.
"Not in band years," Luke replies, sipping his drink. The grinds are there, sticking to his tongue, but he can't bring himself to care. "It was just a one time thing. A power thing. He had the upper hand. I was discombobulated."
"And drunk."
"Tipsy."
"Drunk," Michael repeats. He shifts a bit, eyes still trained on Luke. "Anyway, just tell him that he totally owes you a beer. It'll balance the whole thing out."
"Right."
"Luke, you're doing the thing. Y'know, the agreeing thing where you agree with me, even though you're not listening," Michael starts. "Take it from the voice of experience. I've probably banged at least half the people on tour already, if you don't count the minors; like you said before, at least he's legal. Young people have parents who use scary phrases like 'statutory rape' and 'restraining order' and chase after you with shotguns, so you've got that issue out of the way. Baby-band crushes aren't so bad."
Luke rolls his eyes. "Geordie's brother chased you with a BB gun."
"I'm delicate!" Michael exclaims, making a vague gesture with his hands. "Anyway, Casey's a cutie."
"Don't—" Luke's phone rings loudly with the promise of an awaiting text message. Michael's lunges for it, but Luke's jumping on top of him. Michael shrieks, thudding against the bed covers, phone clutched in his tiny fingers. It's useless.
"You're obsessed with a baby-bander, dude! You've got to snatch him up."
"Is it sad that this is the most action I've gotten in bed this whole tour?" Luke questions, and Michael nods like he's all-knowing.
"You're in so fucking deep."
-
The next time his phone rings, it's the middle of the night. He's been avoiding Casey, avoiding all of Hey Violet, which really doesn't make any sense and has had him losing sleep. Nia thinks he's mad at her and Miranda's been trying to ask what's wrong through very Miranda-like glances. Crushes are too confusing.
The caller identification says Casey, and he feels like he has to pick up. Michael's been teasing him mercilessly since he found out, and part of him tries to not pick up just to prove a point; he picks up on the fourth ring.
"Luke?" the voice is crisp and clear, cutting through the receiver like Casey's shouting into Luke's ear. He feels as if he's going to get tunnel vision again, the world around him a blur.
"Yeah, Casey," he breathes out.
"Have I done something wrong?" is the next thing Casey says. It should've been expected— he's never been a person to beat around the bush. Luke swallows slick, eyes closing for a second too long before opening.
"No. Why?"
"Should I call back another time?"
He can hear Casey breathe through the receiver, and it's almost like he's getting just as hot and bothered as Luke is. It takes too long for Luke to process, and Casey repeats.
"Luke, should I call back another time?"
The option feels too open for Luke. "No, no. I'm— I'm good. This is fine. How're you?"
"Fine, yeah. I'm good— yourself?"
Luke fights a yawn, but it gets the better of him. "Tired."
"Because it's three in the morning," Casey's voice mocks, teasing. It reminds Luke of Michael, and he melts into his mattress.
"Didn't notice."
"Time flies when you're having fun." Luke tries to listen for where Casey is. All he can hear is slow, steady breath. "You've been ignoring me."
It's an add-on to the initial question, Luke thinks. His skin is burning through the pause, and he realizes that it's his turn to speak.
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize."
"Sorry. Is that all you called for?"
Casey's voice remains soft, though all teasing is gone. Calm, relaxed. It reminds him of how his mother had said that children listen more when you speak softer because they have to strain to hear. "Tell me the time."
Luke's cock begins to fatten up at that, head filling out a bit. He looks at the electric clock on the hotel's bedside table. "Three-sixteen."
"That's all? All you've got to say?" His voice remains calm, though a bit harder. Luke's mind flips through the parking lot scenario.
"You asked me, remember?" Luke swallows. "You called me."
"That doesn't mean you don't want something."
Luke's knuckles have probably gone white, fingers trailing over the the slice of skin between his shirt and boxer-briefs, rubbing at the fine hair below his navel. A spike of desire shoots low in his belly. "What do you want, Luke?"
Luke's fingers graze at elastic, blunt nails dragging over the skin just beneath it. "Nothing."
"Liar," Casey replies easy, voice hot, and Luke can see him in the club, sweaty with his shirt clinging between each of his ribs. "Tell me what you want, Luke. I can help."
Luke lets out a shaky breath, a charged silence between to two of them. Casey's breath isn't any different, though. A steady rhythm of in-out, in-out. Luke holds his breath to stop from trying to match it.
"I don't like you," Luke's voice teases, then, attempting to change the subject. His fingers are still tucked under his briefs, pointer finger petting at the base of himself. "You know that?"
Casey isn't having any of it. "Then hang up."
Luke can't. He just… can't. His fingers stroke slowly, base to top, body jerking when his cock fills out even further. Casey hums like he knows what's going on.
"What do you want?"
Luke doesn't answer. He uses his fingertips, not allowing himself to wrap a hand around himself. His cock lays heavy against his navel, foreskin pulled back and tip glistening just a bit.
"Do you want me to hang up, Luke?" The edge is in Casey's voice now, with a hint of warning in it. A challenge. It makes Luke wrap a hand around himself, giving in and starting to stroke himself. "Is that what you want?"
"N-no," Luke whimpers, eyebrows furrowed. "No, not… not yet."
"Then tell me what you want," Casey sighs. Luke doesn't have the words, vocal chords pulled tight, embarrassed and unwilling to admit what he's doing, what he wants, what Casey does to him. Casey laughs softly, and Luke wonders if he knows, knows that Luke's lying in bed, legs spread and jerking off the sound of his breath. "We'll talk again, alright?"
"Wait—" is all Luke can get out before he's cut off by a steady deep, and he groans with frustration, dropping the phone beside him and jerking himself off quickly. He's desperate to come, but his orgasm remains far away. He ends up biting his pillow, eyes shut hard, cock caught between his belly and the sheets. He's pretty sure that Casey's laughing at him down the hall.
-
"You're moping," Michael says, crawling into Luke's bunk. Luke's got himself turned to the wall, staring at the varnished wood.
"I'm not moping."
"You totally are. That's why we're going out again. I can't stand to see you cooped up in your bunk all the time— fuck, you even turned Calum down. Calum is the party-pro."
So Luke and Michael go clubbing again— just Luke and Michael, this time. No, Luke doesn't see Casey there. But that doesn't mean that Luke doesn't mope at the bar the whole time, a beer and a half in when he's asked to leave because his fake ID is shit. Michael's already there when the breeze hits, fiddling with his phone, smelling like Victoria's Secret perfume and Old Spice. It makes Luke want to gag. Instead of bar-hopping, they choose to have a tipsy meal at some cliche, neon diner run by some old woman with a Jersey accent despite them being in Los Angeles, laced in enough cigarettes to give a small town lung cancer.
They've got black coffee, giant cheeseburgers, bacon, hash browns and disco-fries, and Luke's surprised that the grease doesn't drip all over Michael's hands when he picks the burger up for his first bite.
"Tastes like 'Murica." He's got a mouthful of burger when he says it. Luke pops a fry into his mouth, nose scrunching up at the burnt oil taste. "Thank God you've got your own order of fries. I'm sick if you always trying to steal my food."
"I don't steal them. I annex them. It's not my fault that your defensive borders suck," Luke replies easily, inspecting his burger. He's always torn apart his food before he eats it— apparently it's rude. Frankly, he doesn't give a shit.
"I'll stab you with my fork."
"I'll drink your coffee."
"Never-mind, then."
Luke takes a sip from his own cup, groaning when the heat hits his raw throat. The server, some young twenty-something-year-old, shoots him a look that asks if he had a rough night. "You're a menace, like, a danger to society. They're gonna deport you back to Australia."
"Whatever," Michael shrugs, swallowing some hash brown. "That was fuckin' fun, dude. Admit it; much better than the bus."
"We got kicked out, Michael," Luke blinks at him like he's stupid.
"Hm, your point? Moping at a bar is always better than moping in a bunk. Alcohol makes everything feel like some intense, sappy love story," Michael chimes, pushing what he didn't finish towards Luke. He's also unbuttoned his jeans. Oh, the dramatics.
"You're going to die of cardiac disease."
"I know," Michael leans back. "Going out fat, greasy, and happy."
The door chimes as it swings open, bells clashing together. The waitress smiles in the direction of the noise. "Hey, Case."
"Grace, the love of my life."
"You're not getting anything for free. And don't try to charm any of my customers."
"Would I ever?" Casey feigns horror, eyes scanning the room. Of course, there's only Michael and Luke. Michael smiles.
"Hey, Casey."
Just his fucking luck, really. Luke attempts to hide behind his phone, but it's proven a failure when Casey replies. "Hey, Mike. Hey, Luke."
Luke waves, probably looking like a mixture of drunk and greasy. Because, well. Obvious reasons.
"I swear, dude, you know everyone," Michael indulges in conversation, motioning between the waitress, Grace, and Casey. Luke's face is probably burning. He's never been good at facing hookups after one night stands, or crushes— this is, like, one and a half of those situations.
Casey turns a chair and straddles it. "Want to give me the rest of your bacon, Luke?" Luke gives up and puts down his phone, pushing it over.
"Knock yourself out," he mutters. Casey grins.
"Rena fell asleep with Foo Fighters blasting, I'm too scared to wake her up," he's too cheery for one-thirty in the morning. "We're parked right down the street in some lot, figured I'd visit my favorite Goddess. You sure we can't get anything, Grace?"
"Not in your wildest dreams, Moreta."
The conversation fades as Casey eats and Luke plays on his phone. Michael's still somewhat half-drunk and trying to eye-flirt with Grace, which totally isn't working. Michael finishes the last of his coffee. "Luke's got a crush on you, Case."
Luke chokes on his own spit, Casey laughs. "Shut up." Luke kicks Michael under the table.
"What? I'm just trying to squash the elephant in the room. The tension is making my stomach upset," his smile is goofy and rounded, and oh-so-Michael. Casey raises an eyebrow at Luke, Michael too busy attempting to steal Luke's mug.
"I doubt it, really."
Michael wets his lips. "Suit yourself. As long as there's no fucking in the bunks."
"You're the worst best-friend ever, you know that?" Luke's got his face in his hands, groaning.
"See, not interested. Nice seeing you guys, I'm gonna check on the girls."
"I stand corrected. Bye, Casey." Michael dodges Luke's kick this time. "Stop trying to kick me."
"Wear shin guards," Luke retorts, sighing. "Remind me to never tell you anything again."
"He's Casey. He's cool."
"Not when you tell him your band-mate has the hots for him. Did I mention that I hate you?"
"Only five times tonight. Not even close to the record." Michael nods toward the door. "C'mon. We gotta go before the food coma hits. We're gonna get you boning that boy by the end of tour. Mark my words, Lukey-Pookey."
-
They walk to the bus, parting ways into their bunks. Luke blinks blearily at his phone's clock. It's either way too early or way too late, and he's not sure which. All he wants to do is sleep, really, which doesn't explain why he's scrolling through his contacts to find Casey's name and number.
"sorry abt mike lol."
The reply comes about two minutes later, and Luke has to squint to read it. "sorry abt what?"
"what he said."
"its cool. i get it."
Luke frowns at the phone. The question Casey kept on repeating that one night in the hotel keeps on popping into his head. What do you want, Luke? He chews his lower lip before replying.
"good."
There's a thirty second delay before his phone vibrates against his chest with a text message.
"im calling you. answer."
And he does. Luke's still not sure what he exactly wants. He slides down the space he has until his legs are bent, feet pressed against the wood in front of him.
"Casey?"
"Let's see what we can talk about," he drawls a bit. "We could discuss the time."
Luke a little, soft and tired. He lets his shoulders lower, head sinking into his pillow with closed eyes.
"It's actually close enough to morning that people are awake. Wrong, demented people, but people."
"Hm, cool." It's almost too simple for Casey, and that makes Luke nervous. "I saw that you've got the Notebook on DVD, huh?"
"I'm a Ryan Gosling fanatic," Luke rolls his eyes as if Casey could see him through the phone. "Rachel McAdams needs to hop off my man, pronto."
"I'm beginning to think you want to get in trouble, Lukey." It's still light and teasing, but there's something about it that makes Luke's breath catch. Casey lets the sentence hang in the air, heavy with intention. "Is that what's going on here?"
"No. I'm— No." Luke his eyes, listening to Casey breathe.
"No? You don't like trouble?"
Luke has to find his breath around the beat of his heart in his throat. "I didn't say that."
This time, when Casey laughs, it's silk and pressure. It's like the hand Luke presses to the front of his boxer-briefs. "I could come up with some trouble for you, Luke. You know. If you were interested."
Luke's fingers curve around the shape of his dick, and he wants to ask if Casey's touching himself. If he's just as turned on, just as hard. Part of him is afraid of the answer, though, whether yes or no.
"What do you want, Luke?"
"You."
Casey's breath turns to a steady hum, one of praise and approval. "Good boy."
One touch kills the silent phone and Luke places it under his pillow like always, finishing the job he keeps letting Casey start.
-
It's a hotel night the next night, and he gets a text from Casey that morning. It says something along the lines of Luke going to Casey's hotel room at seven. He tells Ashton, simply because he can't contain himself. Despite all the daddy kink rumors that surround Ashton Irwin on various social media platforms, he's actually quite the vanilla guy, and is vaguely horrified by Luke's sex life.
"You do you," he says, hands up in defense. It isn't even that intense. "I'm not the expert, though. I suggest Yahoo answers."
Luke pats him on the back. "Run off to your land of mediocre porn and lube."
Ashton just grins. "Don't choke on your ball gag."
He barely makes it through the day. Michael knows something's up, and keeps on bothering Luke. Ashton and Calum have locked themselves away in the back room of the tour bus. They're probably watching some weird indie horror movie while Calum's head's in Ashton's lap. It's a bro thing.
He eventually starts trying to make up some handshake with Michael instead of talking about his potentially-kinky sex life, which takes his mind off what's to come.
About an hour before he's supposed to meet Casey, Luke freaks out. He takes a shower, one that'll leave Michael complaining about all the water on the floor, and spends five more minutes than he usually does picking out clothes before settling for what he had on before. At least he doesn't do his hair.
Michael walks in fifteen minutes beforehand and it looks as if a light bulb went off in his head.
"This is about Casey."
Luke nods and swallows.
"You're a girl, Lucas," Michael flops onto the bed. "You are a girl."
Luke's eyebrows furrow, before he runs his hands over his face, flopping onto the bed beside Michael. "I need disco-fries and a nice snuggling."
"You're about three cities too late, my friend. But I'm generous." He angles himself towards Luke, opening his arms. "Bring it in, big guy."
Luke buries his head into Michael's neck, wrapping his arms around Michael's torso and squeezing. The guy's always been kind of squishy, kind of warm. Luke likes to say a personified stress ball, but Michael never seems to loose his shape, no matter how many cheese burgers he stuffs down his throat. Really. The only evidence is a slight tummy he's gained due to tour-diet.
They lose track of time. Luke catches a glimpse at the clock on the desk across the room, and he sees that he's seven minutes late. He scrambles out of Michael's death grip, frantic in his movements.
"Knock 'im dead," is all Michael says, apparently half asleep and about to drool all over Luke's shit. He's sure to close the door as hard as he can.
The hallway seems to go on forever, numbers on the doors passing by in a blur. Calum and Ashton bunk together in room 345, as do Michael and Luke in 347. Nia and Rena, for obvious reasons, in 346. Miranda and Casey are supposed to share a room, 348, but Miranda claims that Casey snores and Casey complains that Miranda leaves her shit everywhere, so Miranda just packs up and moves in with Nia and Rena for hotel nights.
He's fidgety while he waits outside Casey's door, playing footsie with himself and blinking a lot and his hands curl into fists before letting go. He can hear Casey shuffling around inside, purposefully making him wait. Patience. Luke's got butterflies in his stomach.
When Casey opens the door, his eyes are dark. Nearly black, even. Luke knows it's just the lighting. It still makes something in his chest clench.
"You're late."
"I'm sorry."
Casey smiles, opening up the doorway for Luke to come in. "Take off your shoes and hat, please."
Luke does as told, and something about him feels extremely vulnerable. Naked. He doesn't know what to expect; part of him was anticipating, like, a leather flogger or a cattle prod and some sort of leather suit. It's perfectly normal, though. Casey's suitcase has clothes spilling out of it slightly, sheets kind of wrinkled, a king sized Snickers stolen from the mini bar. Unless Casey's got some sort of secret stash, there are no fuzzy handcuffs in sight.
The silence is reassuring. Casey knows— Luke figures that he's known all along.
There's a pressure on Luke's shoulders, a breath on his neck, and he takes the hint to sink down to his knees. He can feel the power exchange, weirdly enough. It's not as scary as he thought it would be. Actually, it's more comfortable than anything. He plays with his fingers while Casey's hand is still a firm pressure on his right shoulder, though less of a command and more of a staple. Something to show that he's not alone, Casey's got him. His right fingers hook his left wrist behind his back.
"Luke, do you want this?" His words are clear, slicing through the still air. He's playing with the sparse hair on the back of Luke's neck, trailing down to the knobs of his spine. Luke nods.
"Do you?"
"Yes," Luke breathes. It feels as if a weight has been lifted off his chest.
Casey's smile is sharp and wide when Luke tilts his head to see. Luke's cock strains a little, showing interest. "Look at you."
"I….I—"
Casey crouches to Luke's height while he's on his knees, heat coiling low in Luke's abdomen.
"Hush," he says first. Luke complies, lips parted slightly to breathe, the only sound in the room. "Good boy."
There's a pause before Casey starts speaking again. It sounds kind of blurred in Luke's ears, brain not fully able to process, the sound sort of swimming around him. It's not a panic attack and he's not drunk, so he's really not sure what it is. The zipper at the front of his jeans scratches against is cock. His hips twitch.
"I need you to stay here for me, alright? Luke, I need you to stay here. You can go under another day— just for today, I need you to stay."
Luke's eyes are still closed, so he opens them. He sees dark eyes, pale skin. Casey strokes Luke's hair back, hand lingering near the back of his head. Luke is oddly grateful. "I'm right here. Almost let you slip there, didn't we? We've just got to discuss some things. Next time, I promise. All the orgasms." Luke's throat is dry, but he laughs anyway.
His muscles are still quivering under his skin and everything seems almost too real. He's got no clue what happened, and Casey has him laying between his legs, hands steady and reassuring. Luke's still got a hard cock and a foggy mind.
"Are you okay?" It feels like the first think Casey's said in a while.
"Yeah."
"I'm going to get you some water, okay? Then we have to talk about some things. You're really sensitive, you know."
Luke's eyes follow Casey's legs, heart thumping with the sound of boots on carpet. Casey comes back quickly, and Luke has to grip the glass with two hands.
"Don't drink too fast," he advises. "Have you done anything like this before?"
Luke hums his answer. "I didn't even know I wanted this before you."
Casey laughs lightly, playing with the threads on the carpet. They're the same, now; Casey could even be classified as strangely submissive. Strangely vulnerable.
"You needed this." Luke agrees with a nod before Casey has the chance to go on. "Needed an anchor."
"You're my anchor," Luke says.
"But anchors need to know when to stop sinking," Casey replies easily. "Thus, the safeword was invented."
"Stop?" Luke questions, but Casey just laughs.
"Nickelback."
Luke feigns offense, setting his water down next to him. "I fucking love Nickelback."
"Chad Kroeger's a total mood killer, Luke." Casey smiles. It's different, though. Soft, nearly slight. Less dominant, more of a baby-bander. Luke thinks he's okay with that. "Face it."
Luke nods along. "What about Tony Abbott?"
"That's just inappropriate."
"Nickelback it is, then."
Luke almost ends up crashing in Casey's room, but Casey insists on walking him back to his hotel room. When they get outside the door, he presses his fingers against the hollow of Luke's throat before sliding down, nails scraping at Luke's collarbone.
"I think this is going to be fun."
-
"What?"
"Don't be a dick," Luke groans. Michael takes a bite of his croissant, licking the melted chocolate that oozes out so it won't drip onto the table.
"I'm not. I'm just, you know. Impressed. Are you sure? That sounds like he's messing with some freaky shit, Luke. Satan shit."
"Shut up. It's just, like, a chemical reaction. It was so— you've gotta try it, Mike. You feel like your floating and drowning at the same time, and everything just—"
Michael actually does laugh this time, licking at the chocolate on his bottom lip. "You're a girl, Luke. I'm telling you— I'm pretty sure this is what grandmothers talk about at their 50 Shades book clubs."
"You just have a boring sex life."
"You didn't even have sex."
There's a pause there, before Michael's grinning into his coffee cup. "Casey's fuckin' evil. That's so cool. Truth or dare, Hemmo?"
"I'm not taking my pants off, Michael. We're running out of coffee shops to get kicked out of."
"No we aren't. We're in butt-fuck nowhere, Wyoming. More cows than people." Michael's coffee sloshes. "Is that a truth?"
"Yeah. Truth."
"You're totally turned on talking about this, right?" Luke turns bright red. "You slut!"
"Oh, shut up!"
"I knew it!"
"You're an asshole, Clifford." Luke shoves a piece of Michael's croissant in his mouth, licking the chocolate off his fingers.
"You better spruce up on your cock sucking skills for your new man."
"He's not my new anything. Don't be a dick."
"He's at least your new jerk-off material." Luke thinks Michael's going to break is face with his smile, and he's only hoping for it to happen a little bit. "You know, since we're speaking of dick."
"Calling you a dick isn't the same thing," Luke says, rolling his eyes and snatching the rest of Michael's croissant. "Nice try."
"But he totally is your jerk-off material. You didn't deny it."
Luke winks. "You're very clever." He takes another bite of the croissant then, speaking around it. "I mean annoying. Wrong word."
"You love me," is all Michael says before switching the subject. "You should text him."
"It doesn't work that way. Not yet, I don't think."
"Your sexual rituals are alien to me, Hemmings."
"You sound like you need to get laid," Luke inquires, swallowing. "We're totally going to have sex. I think, at least. You know, that whole get-on-your-knees-and-wait thing was totally foreplay. An unorthodox blowjob?"
"You need to call him or something."
"He'll call me."
"Is this another one of your kinky power-struggle adventures? Since when did you care? You're hot shit, people would kill to get into your pants."
"No they wouldn't! Well, maybe. But Casey, I just… I don't know. He says things and I just want to do them, you know? Obey."
"So what's telling you that you can't call?" Michael noses, eyes narrowed.
"It's not… right," Luke musters out. He has no clue why he can't call, really; it feels as if he'd be breaking some sort of rule.
"This is so kinky." Michael smiles like a shark, like he's got something up his sleeve. Luke just slumps, pressing his hand against his cheek. The heat of his coffee clings to his stubble.
"Maybe."
"And by 'maybe', you mean that you want him to tie you down you flog you." One of the patrons glances over their table. Michael just waves, smiling. "We're speaking in metaphors. Don't worry, enjoy your latte."
Luke drops his head. "A danger to society."
"Seriously, though, is that what you want him to do to you? Like, there's nothing wrong with it, but playing is gonna be a bitch."
"Shut up, Michael."
"A little leather never hurt anyone." Michael's about to say something else as a man in uniform comes up to them. Luke recognizes the look of management. "Can we help you?"
"Don't worry," Luke butts in, reaching for Michael's wrist and tugging him out of the seat. "We're leaving." As they're speed walking out, Luke slaps his hand across Michael's mouth. "Don't make it worse."
Michael licks Luke's palm, and Luke hisses but doesn't release his grip until they're outside. Michael scrunches his nose. "I was going to scream leather dildo, fucker. You could've just said I have Tourette's."
"That's not even funny."
"Exactly. Tourette's is a serious medical condition."
"One that you don't have."
"I could, you don't know."
"You don't even know what Tourette's is, do you?" Luke starts walking, matching his stride to Michael's. It looks like a mess of legs. "You're a horrible person."
"It's part of my charm," Michael grins.
-
He sleeps until noon two days later, courtesy of a day off, and slips on his sunglasses while walking to room 348. He's craving Casey, weirdly enough, and he figures he could just ask to order pizza. It's a brilliant plan. Casey opens the door a minute after he knocks, hair over his face and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. It's youthful. Endearing.
"Wanna order pizza?" The question tumbles out of Luke's mouth, almost too quick to be genuine. Casey yawns, nodding.
"Yeah. Come in."
The hotel room is nearly the same, despite obvious hotel differences and instead of a Snickers being missing, it's a Milky Way. No chains or whips. Casey still tells Luke to take off his shoes. Luke still complies. It's a simple action with a big meaning, and Luke can feel a tug low in his gut. Jesus Christ.
He sits on the bed and pretends to fiddle with his phone while Casey gets ready, sneaking glances whenever he can and inspecting. Casey's wearing sweatpants and a tee-shirt, a slice of his stomach showing. It's all milky white and flawless, a trail of fine, dark hair disappearing underneath the waistband. He's skinnier than Luke initially thought, nearly vanishing when he turns to the side.
Casey spits out a gob of toothpaste and rinses his mouth out with water, dropping the toothbrush into the sink. "Undress."
Luke blinks. "What?"
"Now."
Luke scrambles off the bed and onto his feet, obedience burning in his veins. Casey sees right through him— a blush spreads over his cheeks, down his neck and to his chest. He's pulling his shirt over his head; the room is cold enough that bumps rise on his skin, chills chasing up and down his spine, fighting against the heat pooling in his crotch. The fucker probably did it on purpose. He's undoing his belt and hastily getting at his fly when he realizes that Casey isn't helping. No, he's watching, arms crossed over his chest.
"You're not undressed yet, Luke," Casey edges, a warning in his voice.
Luke focuses on the zipper, undoing it and kicking off his pants, stepping on the fabric to slip the ends over his heels. There's a damp spot in the fabric of his briefs, right where the head of his cock is, and he pulls the elastic over his cock, shoving them down and stepping out of them.
He assumes where he should be, down on his knees like the time before, cock bobbing against his stomach as he sinks down. Casey smiles, a quiet praise, fingers dancing along Luke's bicep. But it's all gone then, and Luke nearly mewls.
"Patience," Casey says, voice hushed but firm in a way that makes Luke shiver. He scrapes a nail over Luke's right nipple, and Luke's cock jerks. "Pizza? Really? You could've just told me what you wanted, Luke." Casey's mouth is curved to a smirk, fingers ghosting along Luke's jaw, calloused fingertips against stubble.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. You should've told me. Can you behave?" Luke feels as if he's on fire, opening his mouth but not speaking. "Luke, can you behave?"
"Yes," he chokes.
"Show me, then. Up, on your back. Close your eyes."
The control Casey has of the situation is unreal. Luke's fighting the urge to rush, willing his body to stay loose and relaxed. He can feel his cock drag against his tummy, the wet smear of slick sticking to his navel. His muscles clench.
"Relax," Casey breathes, a sort of awe in his voice that makes him seem unexperienced and naive. There's a silence that makes Luke nervous, makes his breath hitch, a shuffling in the background before he feels the weight of Casey on top of him.
There's another long silence when he hears something click, something familiar yet foreign. It makes him tense when realizes that the object is a lighter, flame spiting in his ears.
"Are you scared?" Casey's voice is nearly taunting. "Wondering what I'm going to do to you?"
Luke holds his breath, stomach dropping. He nods, a barely-there incline of his head.
"I don't believe you." Casey runs his nails down Luke's sternum.
"I w-wouldn't lie."
"I think you are."
"W-Why?"
Casey's nails reverse direction, scratching upward. "Your eyes are still close, Luke."
"You told me to close them," Luke answers. He knows it's the wrong answer, and Michael would probably yell at him at this point if he were here, but where Casey is concerned it's the right answer. Luke can't find it in him to care about much else.
The lighter whirs to life again and Luke doesn't flinch. "Hm, I did." The lighter snaps shut and he has to grab the sheets, trying hard not to jerk at the sound. Luke obviously doesn't succeed as well as he had hoped, because Casey laughs and tightens his knees, holding Luke still. "Don't move."
It's a command wrapped in a purr and Luke holds his breath, waiting. Seconds feel like hours before a drop of burning heat drips onto his collarbone, splattering and rolling down before cooling and hardening. The contrast between the air and the wax make Luke whimper, back arching a bit. The drops keep falling in a regular pattern, over his nipples and down his belly, just touching the coarse hair at the base of his dick.
The drops change then, longer pauses but larger drops each time the candle tilts. His hips thrust as Casey grinds, the wax licking at his skin, hands shaking and gripping onto Casey's thighs. "Oh God. Y-Yes."
"Look at me."
Luke's eyes open, the gold glow of the candle blurred in his peripheral vision, but he's focused on Casey above him. Everything smells a bit waxy and he can feel the lines of wax drying, pulling on the fuzz that covers his chest. Casey smiles, innocent and wicked all at once. Luke wants him now and deep, but instead he feels the sharp rip of wax pulling free, off with the scrape of Casey's nails against his tender skin.
"Fuck!" Luke's whole body seems to contract, hips attempting to buck upward while his teeth grit. Casey tightens his thighs even more, resting his hand against the front of Luke's throat, curving his palm over his Adam's apple and pressing just enough to keep Luke still.
"Told you to hold still." He pulls his hand away and rips off a splotch of wax. Luke twists his head to the side, eyes wide, trying not to move beneath him. Casey hums, satisfied, and another sharp sting of heat drips just below Luke's navel.
Luke cries out and Casey leans in, candle trailing up Luke's abdomen until he can feel heat and smell burning. "Do I need to gag you, Luke?"
He's not too sure if Casey's serious or poking fun, but the next splash of wax at the base of his throat makes him gasp. Casey laughs softly. "Open your eyes."
Luke can't really remember when he'd closed them again. The candle casts a glow over Casey's skin, giving him a halo. Luke can't stop staring, the edges of his vision white, cock hard and aching.
"Open," Casey instructs. Luke does so, and he can feel the pads of fingers pressing down on his tongue. He nearly gags around the digits, come dripping against his stomach, sticking strings caught between the tip and his skin. His head sinks into the pillow, feeling oddly floaty, the tip of his tongue pressed to the inside of his bottom lip.
He loses track of time, of everything. Casey still drips the wax and his cock keeps on spurting out slick. The sting feels distant when Casey rips it off his skin, a bit more there when it gets caught in his hair. Eventually it stops all at once, candle tossed somewhere on the floor and Casey's fingers leave a wet trail down his chin. Luke opens his eyes through a haze of pleasure and pain.
"Gorgeous," Casey smiles. Luke smiles back, dazed, feeling inordinately pleased with himself although he hasn't really been doing much of anything.
The pressure against the tops of his thighs lets up and tears spring to Luke's eyes, panic spreading in dark lines through the white film of his vision. Casey's only gone for a few seconds, but then fingers are massaging Luke's scalp and he calms down even more when the tips of fingers run through the wet mess on his stomach.
"Such a good boy." His voice is soft, soothing, and the tension eases slightly. "Did exactly as told."
Luke nods, sighing softly, limbs heavy. Luke wants to say something, but he's not sure if he wants to thank Casey or beg. Instead he rolls his hips upward into nothing, making a noise deep in his throat at the disappointment of nothing. Casey raises an eyebrow.
"More? Is that what you want, Luke?"
Luke nods and Casey lets Luke hump into his hand until he comes. Luke can barely hear himself moaning, eyes watering, a bubble of intensity pressing down on him. He should be choking on it, but he swallows it down instead.
He drifts out of it slowly but surely, starting with a circle of pain at the base of his ribs that he can't describe. It feels numb but hurts all at once. He can feel Casey running a towel over the stickiness on his thighs and stomach, cold and wet against the burns there. Casey's humming something by Van Halen and it makes Luke laugh, although it only cracks in his dry throat.
"Welcome back." There's a hint of humor in Casey's voice. It makes everything feel a bit less real, a bit more like kinda-friends helping each other out. "Water?"
Luke says yes through blinking and Casey seems to understand, coming back with a class of water. He tips it back slowly, Luke swallowing it greedily. "Slower, don't want you to choke."
Luke goes slower. It feels better. "I…"
"Shh, not yet. Rest. I'm not going anywhere."
Luke sinks back against his pillow as Casey works the towel upward, resuming what he was doing before. Luke feels Casey press a gentle kiss to his shoulder when the towel gets to his chest. "Th… th'k you."
"Mm," Casey hums. Luke can imagine him, close lipped but smiling. "My pleasure."
Casey eventually crawls under the sheets with Luke, careful when they press close together. He strokes a hand through Luke's hair, matted to his forehead with sweat. The intensity simmers to a low boil.
Luke knows exactly what he wants.