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Honestly, Magnus is pretty close to tapping out of this bar and just going home for the night. The music is bad, the lights are too bright, most of the younger people here are on molly which is just annoying to be around, and… well, that was really it. He just wasn’t feeling it.
What brought him here was a tale as old as time itself. He knows a guy who knows a guy who has good coke so he has to traverse unfamiliar waters in order to secure enlightenment. Textbook Greek mythology bullshit.
The thing is, though, is that it is good. His usual guy was out of commission for some reason or another so he’d had to get creative with his connections and the stuff he has burning up his nostrils so wonderfully right now may actually be worth coming here again for if his usual falls through. He and the new guy make a deal, money exchanges hands, and Magnus is out the door into the cool night air of the back alley to have a smoke before he leaves.
Although this was the way he had come into the bar originally, it now felt completely different to him after a couple lines. The night air felt crisp and almost sharp around the edges and the polluted sky obscuring most of the stars looked nearly picturesque to him at that moment. It was times like these where he had to almost smile to himself and think Things could be worse .
There are a few other people out there as well with more or less the same idea as Magnus and smoking cigs or joints amongst themselves or with friends and as he brings out his lighter he doesn’t really give any of them so much as a passing glance.
Well, until he does.
Leaning against the wall not far from him at all is some tall guy in all white with long blonde hair that looks meticulously cared for and a long but broad pale face that’s almost comical in how classically handsome it is. He’s not necessarily his type but that doesn’t stop him from looking at him while the guy smokes, clearly lost in his own world because he doesn’t seem to feel Magnus’ eyes on him. He places his lighter back in his pocket surreptitiously.
He could say the coke is making him bold, but that wouldn’t be completely true. Sure, it helps, but he’s naturally quite bold and aggressive when it comes to getting things he wants. However, the drugs are a great scapegoat for when things don’t go according to plan and blow up in his face.
The guy finally notices him and turns his head to regard Magnus in turn, one thin brow arched in an unasked question.
He decides not to overthink it. “Got a light?”
It’s easy, it’s cliche, and it works. There’s no reason why it wouldn’t.
He’s beside him now, cigarette balancing between his index and middle finger as he waits for the guy to pull out his lighter. “Ja,” the guy says, and that throws him for a bit of a loop.
“German?”
The guy shoots him a withering glare which he doesn’t think he deserves for asking a simple question but he flips the lighter open for him anyway, letting Magnus light his cigarette over the flame. “Swedish.”
He has a vague understanding of where Sweden is. It’s one of those eastern European countries he doesn’t give a shit about, way out there in their own part of the world that’s nowhere near him. He wonders for a moment if he’s caused some sort of great offense by assuming he was German; some sort of bitter rivalry between Sweden and Germany that he’s not able to recall before he realizes he really doesn’t fucking care.
“Cool,” he says instead. He asks him something else he doesn’t care about as he studies the interesting slope of the guy’s nose. “What brings you out here?”
Here meaning America, here meaning this club, or here meaning this particular back alley directly within Magnus’ sights. He leaves it vague as the guy thinks about how to answer him and to divulge whatever he thinks is necessary for an encounter with a stranger.
“Was boreds. Heards abouts this place, was thinkings there woulds be hot goils here.”
And Jesus, what a stupid accent. It takes him a second to figure out what the fuck he’s even saying.
“Were there?” He hadn’t been looking, actually, so now he’s genuinely curious.
The guy does a little see-saw motion with his hand, screwing up his face a little as he does so before bringing his cigarette up to rest between his tantalizingly full lips and taking a drag, deciding that’s enough of an answer.
“Any hot guys?” He asks. He could drag this out, but why? He’d rather know now if he’s wasting his time or not.
The guy sputters and coughs into his fist, maybe not expecting his blunt question. He glances over at Magnus with fresh eyes as he starts to understand why he was even approached in the first place.
“I means, I’m nots— uh.”
“Alright.” And it is alright, because now at least he knows he’s wasting his time and he can end this conversation here and have the rest of his night to fuck away doing whatever he feels like. He pushes himself off the wall he had been leaning on and nods at him before he leaves, deciding to be polite. “Thanks for the light.”
“Waits,” He says, and he does. “You’s askings me, ja?”
Magnus gives him a look at that, raising his eyebrows at him in means of response.
He lets the guy give him a once over, considering the proposal. They do this sometimes, this stupid internal war with themselves in their head over whether or not they want to fuck around with a man or not. He’s used to it with straight guys.
“I’m parked out back, if you’re interested,” He offers. Then, he realizes he’s missing something. “You got a name?”
There’s a pause before the guy makes eye contact with him again. “Skwisgaar.”
Alright, and maybe he shouldn’t have fucking asked because what the hell . He huffs out a sound of amusement before covering it with a grin that’s all teeth before the guy can take offense and gives him his own name. “Magnus.”
And with that, not much else needs to be said.
—//—
Making out with a guy in the backseat of his car is always fun in its own way, he thinks. It’s the sort of messy desperation he enjoys; just personal enough to feel skin on skin and exchange bodily fluids but impersonal enough that neither party is interested in bringing the other back to their own place for the night.
Magnus’ car isn’t exactly a bastion of cleanliness and the thing smells like an ashtray because he uses it as one but it also smells like whatever remnants desperately cling to the air freshener he has hanging off the rear view mirror. ‘Pine Forest’ or something. He probably needs to replace it soon.
He’s occupied at the moment anyway, sucking and biting at this guy’s— Skwisgaar’s— lips that are exactly as soft as they look, plush and full and wet as he groans into his mouth, uncaring of whatever he sounds like. He bets his lips would look perfect wrapped around a cock but he keeps that to himself for now since he has the sense this guy is having his first gay experience and if he talks too much he might scare him off.
Sucking dick in a car isn’t really as fun as it sounds, besides; maybe it would be if he weren’t six foot four or however tall he is because there’s not really enough room for it in his small shitty car. Skwisgaar seems to be around his height as well so there’s nothing that can be done for it.
He can feel Skwisgaar’s dick against his thigh through the layers of their pants from where he’s draped over him, pushing him down into the seats below as he kisses him with a knee and forearm keeping him balanced. His high only has so much longer before it fades away so he savors it while he can and enjoys the wet sounds their mouths make as they slide against each other and the frankly pathetic whimpers he’s pulling from Skwisgaar, feeling elevated in every fucking sense of the word.
He gets a hand between them to work at his belt and Skwisgaar is on the same page, making short work of his own belt and pushing his underwear and pants down around his thighs without breaking contact with Magnus’ hungry lips. Magnus lets him open up his own pants from his vantage point and pull his cock out in kind.
The thing is, they’re not really in the most secluded area. They’re still in the fucking parking lot of the bar because he didn’t feel like going anywhere else and also because trying to find somewhere else to park in the city at nearly ten at night would honestly be a buzzkill and be more trouble than it’s worth.
He can see people passing by every once in a while in his peripheral vision but no one is really paying them any mind as they focus on getting back to their own vehicles and dodging potholes in the pitted gravel that presents itself as a sorry excuse for a parking lot. If anyone does notice it’s not like anything completely out of the ordinary is happening.
Sure, being visibly gay in this part of town is always sort of a gamble but with Skwisgaar’s long golden hair cascading underneath where Magnus has him pinned could easily have him be mistaken for a woman. If he were wearing a mini skirt right now he could really sell it and Magnus imagines him in a little leather number, tight fabric clinging to the curves of his ass and his dick tenting the front of it and Jesus, alright . His own dick is now aching for anything so he gives himself a hand, tugging himself roughly with a groan.
He gets a better idea and wraps his fingers around both his and Skwisgaar’s dick and the feel of it is fucking electric. Skwisgaar’s hips jerk up into his hand at the friction of it, a reedy whine leaving his throat that Magnus swallows down as he pumps them both, squeezing just this side of too tight.
“Oh, fuck,” Skwisgaar shudders underneath him, turning his face away from Magnus’ demanding mouth for air as he grinds their hips together.
“Yeah?” Magnus breathes against his jaw. Skwisgaar has a clean-shaven face but he can still feel stubble against his lips, the subtle scrape of it intoxicating.
One of Skwisgaar’s hands dips back behind Magnus and slips into the back pocket of his jeans that are still loosely clinging to his ass and pulls him flush against him and oh, fuck, that’s good. Skwisgaar tips his head back against the door as he continues to make noise, either intentionally or unintentionally baring the long column of his neck to Magnus in the process, not knowing that he could tear out his throat with his teeth if he really wanted to.
He could, but he doesn’t.
He does, however, allow himself to bite at the sensitive skin below his jaw, scoring the pale skin with his incisors as the guy writhes under him. It could be a threat but it’s more of a treat just for him; the thrumming of a pulse point jack hammering beneath his lips providing him with a high that no synthetic drug in his veins can ever seem to measure up to. Sure as hell doesn’t stop him from trying, though.
Skwisgaar’s other hand fists their cocks together alongside Magnus, knuckles circling just beneath the heads to squeeze and pull in a way that fucking nearly hurts as Skwisgaar chases his own pleasure. His moans are getting louder and Magnus can feel himself beginning to white out around the edges as well, the punishing grip on the sensitive head of his dick bringing him closer to the precipice at a mounting pace.
It doesn’t last much longer after that and Skwisgaar is the one to break first, his back arching as he soundlessly cums into his own fist and catches most of it while the rest dribbles down past his knuckles and over Magnus’s fingers as well.
Magnus isn’t far behind and he keeps jerking them both off even as Skwisgaar squirms in oversensitivity and when Skwisgaar uses his hand not covered in cum to weakly grab for Magnus’ wrist to wordlessly tell him it’s too much he finally feels his core unwinding as he groans loudly and uses his own hand to stop his release from making too much of a mess.
There’s still a mess though because nothing enjoyable in life comes without a price. He could curse the unfairness of the rules of the universe but nothing would ever come from it so he fishes some napkins out from the middle compartment of his car to undo as much damage as he can.
Skwisgaar is a little antsy afterwards as they partake in the awkward affair of clambering out of the back seat of his car and if he had to he would guess that the guy is feeling anxious because he’s realizing he liked it. It’s not really his problem, anyway.
“Good?” he asks over the top of his car as he makes his way over to the driver’s side.
“Ja, thats was uh. Thats was goods.”
“Yeah. Maybe I’ll see you around, then,” Magnus says even though he really has no intention of seeing this guy again since he figures he’ll be going back to Sweden or wherever the fuck he came from.
—/—
So imagine, then, his fucking surprise when Nathan introduces a similarly shell-shocked Skwisgaar to him at a house party a few weeks later as another guitarist he had found to join the band.
Skwisgaar looks like he’s seen a goddamn ghost from Christmas past as he clings to his solo cup like an anchor keeping him moored to this plane of existence and Magnus can’t help himself from laughing at the absurdity of the situation and Skwisgaar’s overblown reaction.
Nathan looks between the two of them. “I take it you know each other already?”
“Yeah,” Magnus says at the same moment Skwisgaar practically shouts "no".
“Uh, alright.”
“Sorry, you just looked familiar,” Magnus says to Skwisgaar just to fuck with him a little and Skwisgaar glares daggers at him in warning as if he really expects Magnus to outright tell Nathan that they jerked each other off in the back seat of his car in the middle of this party. It’s tempting simply because of how funny it is but instead since he’s such a nice fucking guy he offers Skwisgaar an out for him to save face. “Didn’t you play a set with Decayed Tomb the other month?”
Confusion crosses Skwisgaar’s features before he considers the question and hopefully sees it for what it is. “Ja,” he responds cautiously.
“Oh shit, I didn’t go to that show,” Nathan grumbles. “Were they good?”
“They were alright.” Magnus lets a grin spread across his face, lazy and slow, before he continues with a nod in Skwisgaar’s direction. “He was really good, though.”
Skwisgaar stands straight up casting his gaze to some other point of the room that’s nowhere near Magnus or Nathan in an attempt to hide the heat that’s risen to the top of his cheeks. “I’ms needings another drinks,” he announces. “Byes.”
As he weaves through the throngs of people to not so subtly escape the situation, Nathan looks back over at Magnus with a skeptical raise of his brow. “How do you actually know him?”
Magnus doesn’t kiss and tell unless he feels like it and right now, he doesn’t feel like it. He comes up with a lie easily enough. “I met him after his set. He was totally trashed and puking his guts out so I brought him home. Didn’t realize he even remembered it.”
“Huh,” Nathan muses. “Yeah, that would be kind of embarrassing.”
He thinks about it. Thinks about if he feels like keeping this over Skwisgaar’s head or if he even wants to try opening that door again for a round two. He decides it’s not worth it.
“Eh,” he shrugs after a moment. “Shit happens.”