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It’s the middle of the fucking night when Skwisgaar crawls over to him and while his libido no longer surprises Magnus, he’s still allowed to be annoyed by the audacity of the whole thing.
There’s a time and a place for this shit and right now neither of those simple requirements are being met. He doesn’t know what time it is, actually, because the alarm clock is somewhere on the other side of the room out of sight, but it’s pitch black and Magnus had been almost successfully dozing off for a while now. He stops himself just short of letting out an exasperated sigh of frustration because, well.
That’s the other thing. The place.
Ever since Offdensen had gotten them signed, they’d had this deal with the guys down at the recording studio downtown where they were allowed free use of one of the rooms every other Saturday as long as they were on good behavior. So far, as much as Magnus is aware, he doesn’t think anyone’s been on even acceptable behavior. Still, for whatever reason, they haven’t been revoked access yet. Offdensen is apparently pretty good with keeping all parties happy enough with their current circumstances and it also might not hurt that Magnus regularly sells one of the guys some of his pretty good shit at a premium for letting them use their recording equipment (he sells it to him for the same price he sells to anyone except he tacks on ‘at a premium’ and an oily grin at the end of it.)
All that to say that tonight happens to be the other Saturday. It’s probably closer to Sunday morning than anything, really. After a long and tense recording session everyone had decided to crash here instead of at the apartment because sometimes it feels nice to sleep somewhere with working air conditioning that isn’t your shitty apartment for a change without the sound of a fire alarm low battery indicator going off in the hallway once every thirty minutes.
Pickles is snoring on the couch. Murderface is somewhere, Nathan’s asleep on the la-z-boy and Magnus is on the carpeted floor because it helps his back more often than not and Skwisgaar is currently on top of him with his thighs bracketing Magnus’ hips. No one is very far away because this is a repurposed studio apartment.
When Skwisgaar, half-lidded, starts to slowly grind his half-hard cock against Magnus’ sensibly soft cock he shoots a hand out to grip Skwisgaar’s hip to halt his movements. “Dude,” he whispers through his teeth and waits until Skwisgaar makes eye contact with him. “No.”
“Please,” Skwisgaar begs, just as quietly. “Please, please. I’ll be fasts. I needs it.” He sounds pinched off and desperate and sometimes Magnus wonders if Skwisgaar will in fact die if he doesn’t get to cum at least twice a day. There’s no glint of mischief in his eyes to be found and he sounds so earnest that Magnus decides to take pity on him. Or, more likely, Magnus lets himself get played like a fucking fiddle.
Maybe this will take the edge off of the way he’s been feeling these past few weeks. Doubtful, but the feeling of Skwisgaar’s ridiculous dick swelling in his pants does something to him that makes him sidestep his morals. He makes a show of rolling his eyes anyway even as he unzips his pants without another word.
It’s enough of an invitation that Skwisgaar needs and his shoulders sag in relief as he gets his own dick out of his pants, nearly covering Magnus’ body now with his weight propped on a forearm and licking a stripe up his free hand to grip them both in a large calloused palm. It’s painfully dry to the point where Magnus yanks Skwisgaar’s hand up by the wrist hardly a moment later so he can gather the saliva from his own mouth to spread over Skwisgaar’s sweaty palm with his tongue until it’s practically dripping. He takes the time to get his fingers wet as well from root to tip and Skwisgaar apparently can’t do much more than watch Magnus do this before he remembers what the fuck he woke him up for.
Magnus closes his eyes because he’s tired and also because if he actually wants any sort of satisfaction from this he needs to forget where they are. He’s pleasantly surprised that Skwisgaar seems to be at least somewhat aware of how stupid this is because he keeps quiet, probably more quiet than he’s ever heard him as he tucks his face into his clavicle, even as Magnus can feel Skwisgaar’s dick twitching urgently against his own slowly hardening cock while he jerks them off.
Of course, it’s not fast. He can tell, even, when Skwisgaar stops himself from tipping over the edge in order to prolong his own pleasure, muscles tensing and harsh exhales fanning over his chest as he catches himself.
When Skwisgaar noses up the column of his neck to bite under his jaw he’s almost not fast enough to stop himself from making a noise. He tips his head back on instinct and Skwisgaar takes this as an encouragement to latch his heated lips to the same patch of skin and suck at it hard enough for Magnus to let his head drop the rest of the way to the carpet with a soft thud. He’s sucking a fucking bruise under his jaw and Magnus knows that Skwisgaar knows that he knows they’ve never agreed to this but Skwisgaar also knows that Magnus will let him get away with it because if Magnus tries to stop him it’ll just cause a commotion. He can be a real fucking bastard when he wants to be.
After a particularly tight squeeze of their cocks in Skwisgaar’s fist Magnus’ eyelids flutter open on their own accord and he freezes. “Close,” Skwisgaar murmurs into his jaw but Magnus doesn’t even fucking hear him.
As disorienting having his entire field of view being upside down is, he knows it’s not a trick of the light or lack thereof that has him making direct eye contact with an equally caught off-guard Nathan Explosion on the aforementioned la-z-boy above him.
Before he can immediately jump to the conclusion that there’s no way out of this besides killing himself and everyone else his eyes catch sight of movement at Nathan’s lap. It’s slow and deliberate and completely soundless that Magnus would never have known this was happening if Skwisgaar hadn’t insisted on leaving hickeys on his neck. His skin suddenly feels much warmer than it had a moment ago, heat creeping up the back of his neck uncomfortably. Nathan lets his eyes sweep to an unsuspecting Skwisgaar jerking them off in the middle of the living room and then back to Magnus. He looks vaguely apologetic for some fucking reason as if it’s Nathan’s fault for being in the room at the same time as this. As if it’s anyone’s fault that he’s palming his dick over his jeans to the sight of the two of them on the floor like his own personal fucked up porno.
Imagining this situation in his head would ordinarily mortify him to the point where he’d lose his boner completely and would start to think rationally about whatever risky sex he was about to engage in. For some reason, in reality, that’s not what happens at all. He still feels the inescapable shame squarely in his chest but the knowledge that Nathan is getting worked up over his guitarists fooling around in front of him is doing some type of twisted voodoo magic to his dick that he can’t ignore.
It makes Skwisgaar’s next squeeze on the upstroke that much more potent. He has to squeeze his eyes shut and bite his lip hard to keep himself quiet. It only takes a few more strokes before he’s shuddering through it and cums over his own stomach. For all his trouble, he still makes a noise that feels too loud in their shared space, or maybe it just feels that much louder with the adrenaline rushing to his head.
He’s loud enough at least that Skwisgaar takes it upon himself to cover his mouth with his own. Ordinarily, not a big deal, but Nathan is watching and the weight of his dark assessing eyes makes his skin feel like it’s on fire. The fact that Nathan can probably draw his o-face from memory alone is definitely worse but letting Nathan see how their lips slot together feels like just another thing that he’s laying bare for him that should, realistically, be kept private. He kisses Skwisgaar back anyway, of course.
If he cared that much he probably shouldn’t have entertained this in the first place. It really kind of is his own fault.
He snakes a hand down to add to Skwisgaar’s cock because he needs to take matters into his own hands at this point and not long after Skwisgaar finally pulses in their shared fists with not much more than a hard exhale through his nose. It makes Magnus feel that much worse about his own slip up.
When Skwisgaar cums it goes on seemingly forever. Magnus has stopped letting it get to his head for a while now. The first time he had been surprised, the second time strangely flattered, and every time after that he’d come to realize that Skwisgaar was just built different. Not a good type of different, either. He’d choked himself on it, once, when he felt a shade too confident while sucking him off but it just wasn’t possible to swallow it down fast enough and it had mostly made a mess of his face and his chest. It lends credence to his theory that Skwisgaar will actually die if he doesn’t get it out of his system because Magnus can’t imagine what that must feel like on a daily basis.
As expected, the post-nut clarity hits him like a brick to the head. He’s sweaty, sticky, and he’s got a mark or two on his neck that he won’t be able to cover up with the collar of his shirt even if he wore it closed like a normal person. Oh, and Nathan Explosion is jerking off to their impromptu frotting session a couple feet away from them. If anyone else has woken up, they’re at least being polite about it. God, what a bad idea.
He’s actively listening for Nathan when Skwisgaar disentangles himself from Magnus and he’s perplexed when he can’t hear Nathan at all over their hushed breaths. Did he cum? Did Magnus imagine the whole thing and get hot and bothered over something that wasn’t even happening in the first place? Worse, does he wish it did? What other fucked up shit is he into that he doesn’t even know about?
He takes a reflexive breath when Skwisgaar lazily draws a hand through the mess they’ve made between their bodies that’s beginning to cool from the air conditioner and it shakes him out of whatever useless circles his mind is currently running itself into. Some of the cum drips off of his stomach and onto the floor and Skwisgaar shrugs as he brings his hand to his mouth to lick his fingers clean. “Sorry,” he pouts, sounding not even the least bit apologetic, and all Magnus can do is roll his eyes.
Suddenly Skwisgaar moves, sliding up and off his lap and down the length of his body to bend down and lick at the mess on his stomach, tossing his hair over his shoulder as he does so. Magnus reaches out to give him a warning shove on his shoulder. “Dude,” he says again because really, what the fuck else can he say?
”Mades a mess,” Skwisgaar explains, lips trailing along the path that the stray patch of cum had slipped down his side before returning to where the worst of it is concentrated and a low heat simmers in his abdomen despite everything. “Besides,” he adds on conversationally with a short gesture of his chin to some nebulous place behind Magnus, “I don’ts thinks he ams done, anyways.”
That makes Magnus actually look back at Nathan sharply, craning his neck back in time to watch his adam’s apple bob with a nervous swallow. It’s hard to see from this angle but he can guess via context clues that Nathan is still touching himself and has probably been edging himself slowly this entire time. He can see a bead of sweat on his temple.
”Ja?” Skwisgaar checks in with a coy tilt of his head. He’s not asking; not really. Or, at the very least, he’s surely not asking Magnus.
Nathan just nods, the power of speech seemingly having left him. He gets his hand under the waistband of his jeans and Skwisgaar licks the rest of his cum from the divots of Magnus’ stomach until he’s halfway hard again and no one talks. It’s that easy.
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