full moons & minor keys (3/7)

[behindthec]

Title: Full Moons and Minor Keys (3/7)

Author: lolab

Pairing: William Beckett/Gabe Saporta

Rating: R. ish.

Summary: I’ve always thought William could convert an asexual, a priest, even a motorcycle dyke; and being nothing so extreme myself, I sure as fuck had no hope.

Disclaimer: The keyword in fan fiction is FICTION. Don’t own Bilvy or Gabanti; I respect them very much; just can't help seeing the world through slashy subtext-tinted glasses, and once a story starts writing itself in my head, I have to get it out.

Warnings: BOYSECKZ (warning? more like incentive), plenty of creative swearing, Gabe being all dirty and Gabe-like, flagrant abuse of the '70s handkerchief code, shameless disregard for reality (i.e. girlfriends, etc.).

Notes: This chapter (I KNOW IT'S SHORT AS HELL, don't worry; the next one’ll be longer) would be dedicated to the delightfully charming and talented yourfirsttry, but she hasn't finished my porn yet. :P  Therefore, it is dedicated to the brilliant  ourgossip_lips.  She knows why. ;)

 

Comments = happiness. I also accept hand jobs cookies in place of feedback. <3

 

Previous Chapters:

- Chapter 1 and Chapter 1b

- Chapter 2

 

3.

 

Disregard the footsteps

And we'll never tell a soul

- All Time Low

 

 

 

The third time it happened, three weeks back into touring, we had an excuse: William got stage fright.

 

William never got stage fright – who the hell does after this many years doing it (except Alex, because he’s adorable that way). But god damn it, my luck occasionally hit the jackpot and that’s how I found him, all nerves and bitten nails and darting eyes.

 

We all ran backstage after our set, high off the crowd and falling over each other, our laughter hitting the walls and stagehands, and fell upon William seated in our dressing room looking small and crumpled, legs crossed, bottom lip between his teeth. He didn’t say a damn word, just looked straight at me until one by one everyone seemed to get it that they weren’t supposed to be there -- chalk it up to that delicately commanding aura Bill’s always had -- and the last I heard was Nate’s “But—” before Ryland and Vicky dragged him away and the silence struck.

 

Struck hard; stung, snake-like. Paralyzed me.

 

Or was that just the solitude and the freshly locked door?

 

Maybe we talked for ten minutes, maybe ten seconds. I asked questions, dumb-ass predictable shit, and he answered, equally driven by propriety – “I don’t know, man, I haven’t felt like this since the first time I ever played live,” and he smiled, that radiantly nervous one and all I could say was, “Maybe you’re just stressed, maybe you need to... unwind.”

 

Which was the absolute lamest come-on ever, so lame I didn’t even mean it as a come-on, but another ten seconds later his pants were in a heap on the cold grimy floor, the same cold grimy floor digging into my knees as I sucked him off in the cheaply lit overheated dressing room six minutes before his set, distant backstage footsteps and muffled warm-up music just barely colliding with our violently distracted ears, his grip in my hair twice as rough as I’d consider normal to compensate for the suffocating silence we knew had to be sustained, and I nearly couldn’t bear how much I fucking loved it.

 

I almost came in my pants when he opened his eyes, watching my mouth working his cock like it was my religion, and said, “God, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

 

I thought, shortly after, that that may have been the moment William Beckett officially became a flaming homo.

 

Which really, honestly shocked me, because despite everything, I’d never actually dared to think of him in those terms – or myself, for that matter.

 

And this was clearly a really really bad realization because all it did was fuel and encourage those feelings that told me maybe, just maybe, there was a possibility of an us somehow and believe me, those feelings didn’t need fueling, and if anything, needed discouraging.

 

But gay, straight, bi, pansexual or other; fuck buddies or not... I knew William too well, and I knew my fantasies of him would never amount to anything but just that. I didn’t know if he’d ever really been in love, wasn’t even sure he was capable of it... and god knows if he were, I wouldn’t be the target. That’s just William. I was sure of it. Couldn’t even muster enough logic to tell you why; I was just so fucking, depressingly sure.

 

And reciting this thought in my head like a prayer, I worked so hard, so earnestly to keep myself grounded.

 

I should have known it was futile. Should’ve never forgotten: William is a mystery – the way grass is green and the sky is blue and two plus two equals four. It’s imprinted in his soul, I guess you could say. Forget whatever you think you know, because... shit; you don’t.

 

I’d learn that later, and almost too late.

 

Seven minutes later I watched them from offstage, licking the taste of him off my lips, weak in the knees and not from kneeling on the floor.

 

It was the best fucking performance I’d ever seen him give.

 

 

/ch. 3

Comments

[lolab.livejournal.com]

NO DYING. write. ;)

[conquer-minds.livejournal.com]

SIR, YES SIR.

*un-dies and proceeds to write*

Now you're married to a ghost. :/

But a WRITING ghost at that, so it all evens out, y/y?

[lolab.livejournal.com]

hmm... how does the ghost thing affect our sex life? ;)

(and what's your name, y'know, 'cause we're married now, and so i can put you in my fic acknowledgments.)

[conquer-minds.livejournal.com]

DUHHH we'll have kinky ghosty!sex. ;DDD

You can call me Ess or Essy or something really lame like that. Anything that floats your boat, really.

*is so honoured that she's being ACKNOWLEDGED in a fic!*

<3 xDDD

P.S. Betch, check your e-mail.