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It always happens like this. They always end up together, alone, half-drunk and hopped up on adrenaline and whatever else they’ve managed to find that night, and the next thing they know they’re in some dirty bathroom stall in some seedy bar or in the hotel room they share (if they’re smart, you know) or honestly, just in an alley, sometimes. This time it’s the bathroom.
Cliff’s shucked his denim jacket and left it somewhere. Probably with their gear. Kirk is unbelievably hot in leather. Cliff slides his jacket off of his shoulders for him and lets it drop to the floor. “Way to go, asshole,” Kirk says. “That’s the grossest floor I’ve ever seen.”
“Grosser than the wall?” Cliff asks, and then, not waiting for an answer, he backs Kirk up, hands in his hair, and kisses him. The thought flits through Kirk’s head that, yeah, the wall is gross and he’s wearing a white t-shirt so they’ll be able to see just how fucking gross it is, asshole, but then he’s got bigger things to think about. The way Cliff kisses is a weird mixture of urgent as hell and gentle; he’s nicer than some of the girls that Kirk’s kissed and definitely nicer than all the boys.
Cliff breaks it to let them both breathe and Kirk grabs him by the belt loops and pulls him closer. One of Cliff’s hands slips from Kirk’s jaw and pins some of his hair to the wall. “You’re going to need a shower after this,” he says.
“Fuck you.”
Cliff just gestures to their entire situation and Kirk pulls him closer. He is, admittedly, pretty tight up against this wall now, but he wants the only thing he can see to be Cliff. It’s not hard. Cliff is tall and Kirk is not, and anyways, when Cliff bends down to kiss him again his hair makes a curtain that blocks out damn near everything that’s not his face. Kirk closes his eyes and feels his fingers tighten around Cliff’s belt loops. Normally if they’re in a bathroom, unless they’re both, you know, really into it, it won’t go farther than a blowjob. There’s too much risk, and it’s not exactly like this is a gay bar or anything. He doesn’t know exactly where they are but it’s somewhere in the South or Midwest or Bible Belt or something, where they think Metallica is Satanic anyways, the older people do, anyways, and there have been a few times where they have escaped only because it was dark and they didn’t look too close at Kirk and assumed he was a girl, just a tall one who was built kind of like a boy with no hips or tits to speak of. Which Cliff still brings up, by the way, because he thinks it’s hilarious. Cliff’s got long hair, too, but he also grows facial hair and, you know, is six two.
The next time they break, though, Kirk says, half-breathless, “D’you wanna go back to the hotel?”
“’citing in a bathroom,” Cliff mumbles. His fingers curl through Kirk’s hair. But he closes his eyes for a second and then pulls Kirk into a stall, which is, admittedly, grosser, but also then they have at least a little bit of privacy. It is exciting in a bathroom. It’s a mix of nerves and adrenaline and honestly, Kirk’s never been more turned on in his life. And it’s more exciting just right up against the wall next to the sink than the stall, but Kirk really doesn’t wanna get his ass kicked tonight by some redneck bible-thumping moron and his drunk buddies. And he’s just glad that he thought of this before they got too into it, because once you pass a certain point, your brain just turns off.
And they’re really nearing that point.
Kirk’s jeans are about a mile tighter than they probably need to be, but Cliff’s in charge tonight, just by virtue of him being the one who initiated—it’s like when you ask someone out on a date, you pay. When you shove your bandmate up against a wall and kiss him, you decide what’s going to happen. And what’s going to happen tonight is that Cliff is going to pull Kirk’s pants down which Kirk is, you know.
Not upset about.
Cliff kneels, giving Kirk a look that says, ‘this floor is so fucking gross’, which reminds Kirk that his jacket is still on the floor outside, so he feels less bad about Cliff’s jeans. And Kirk’s not wearing any underwear, because even if he wanted to his pants were too tight, so once Cliff gets the waistband edged halfway down his thighs his cock is there. He’s pretty hard at this point, not gonna lie, and so when Cliff takes him in his mouth, his hands on Kirk’s hips, Kirk’s hands flailing for a second before he starts gripping the top of the stall like his life depends on it, Kirk pretty much feels his knees buckle, because this is what he’s been waiting for all night. Every time he’d look over at Cliff he’d feel the anticipation build up, sweeping through his entire body, and now that Cliff’s there, and warm, and giving him so much attention he’s pretty sure he’s going to last about two seconds, to be completely honest.
It doesn’t hurt that Cliff knows exactly what he likes. He knows the exact points and the exact amount of pressure and friction that make Kirk completely weak, because they’ve gotten good at knowing what the other one likes. He looks down at Cliff, who looks up to meet his eyes. They’re locked, Cliff sweeping his hair back, away from his face so that it doesn’t get caught in Kirk’s zipper or anything, which has happened, Kirk pretty much held up with by the side of the stall, his heart doing stutter-steps in his chest. Cliff pulls Kirk forward by the hips, pretty much forcing him to do something other than stand there and try not to fall over, and yeah, Kirk lasted about as long as he thought he would. Cliff spits, he doesn’t swallow, he makes use of the toilet right there and takes some toilet paper to clean himself up a little bit. He sits back on his heels, and Kirk manages to wriggle at least most of the way back into his pants before plopping down to sit across from him.
“You good?” Kirk asks.
“You can make it up to me back at the hotel,” Cliff says. He leans back, pulling his knees up. Yeah, there’s some stuff on there that neither of them want to think about too hard. “Also, I think you owe me some laundry quarters.”
“Oh, then you’re paying that dry-cleaning bill for that leather jacket,” Kirk says. “You can’t just wash a leather jacket.”
Cliff shrugs, and then grins. They sit there for a couple of minutes before Cliff uses Kirk’s knees to push himself up to stand. “Hotel,” he says. “You wanna go get high back at the hotel and we can talk making it up to me?”