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It's always so hot after a show. It doesn't help that Ivan doesn't like to strip even his jacket until absolutely necessary, or when he's home. And it's made worse when Till can barely keep his hands off of Ivan, ever the one to get worked up from the stage first and fast. Till likes to be watched, and Ivan has figured at one point or another that Till specifically likes to be watched by Ivan.
Not that he will ever admit it, or even accept Ivan romantically as long as they're working together.
Which makes it particularly egregious how obviously Till wants his cock.
They're currently stumbling out of the empty parking complex. It's clear that the only cars parked there belonged to people who took ride-shares home, due to being wasted or otherwise, so Till isn't shy about pressing up against Ivan for once. He's palming Ivan's cock through his leather, and Ivan stifles a groan that will betray how much he wants it too, but he wants Till to work for it.
The other bandmates have already scattered and drifted their way home, but Ivan's visible eye does a quick scan of the lot to make sure no one's around. He backs Till onto a vehicle nearest to them; it's been parked there long before the show. Whomever the car belongs to isn't coming back for a while.
When Ivan leans in, his face close enough for their lips to touch, Till's hand comes up to shield his own.
"Ivan. The fuck do you think you're doing," Till huffs, despite still grinding into Ivan's nudging knee. "We agreed to no kissing."
Oh, Ivan's aware; he beams innocently — the shape of his smile felt in the calloused skin of Till's palm. "I was hoping you'd be too drunk to know or care."
Till rolls his eyes, but Ivan feels his little cock throb against his knee. Ivan licks at the sole of his palm and lets his tongue glide all the way to his fingertip as Till pulls away indignantly.
"Ugh, you freak. Fuck me already."
Ivan laughs and guides the roommate he's fucking, or band mate he's fucking - take your pick - to his front against the hood of the car.
"Don't have lube," Ivan threatens into Till's ear, his broad chest completely enveloping Till's shoulders. His cock is strained against the leather material, but it fits so perfectly in the cleft of Till's ass. "I'm gonna use spit."
"Shut up and just do it," Till demands.
Till is currently bent on the aforementioned blue SUV; pressed up to it like this, it's amusing how it seems to accentuates the red flush of Till's body.
His hands are working tirelessly despite Till's impatience. Till could be helping right now: undoing his belt, unbuttoning, pulling down his own damn zippers, but instead Till just shoves back at Ivan's cock, feeling his shape.
Ivan's cock is hard as he grinds and humps against Till's ass. He knows that Till craves his size and girth, the absolute size queen he's become.
"Acting like you're not gonna complain about being sore tomorrow. Admit it: I'm too much for you sometimes. I'm too much," he growls in Till's ear, sounding strangely proud.
When he's done shoving down his pants and underwear, his freed hand moves onto its next mission: tugging on Till's nipple rings until he squirms.
"Ah—asshole!" Till jolts, resisting the urge to immediately melt into a drooling puddle on top of the hood, but he's close to it. At least, Ivan's trying with all his might. "D-don't act like you're all that big when you're average at best!"
Till won't let him kiss, so Ivan does the next best thing and cants his head, pressing his mouth against the crook of his neck. The gentle kiss is sudden, but even more sudden is the way he unhinges his jaw soon after and takes a giant bite on Till's shoulder. Till screams loud enough to echo in the lot, but Ivan covers his mouth before the noise can alert any passersby.
He's shivering from the aftershocks of pain and pleasure, which is exactly what Ivan wanted: to shut Till up as quickly as possible, and also irreversibly mark his body one more time. And the time after that, as many times as Till will let him before he muzzles him for real.
With Till temporarily paralyzed, Ivan straightens up and frees his own cock. It's hot and heavy in his palm as he spits viscous saliva along it, mixed with a bit of Till's blood.
"Average, am I? Then you won't complain if I don't prep you."
Ivan lines himself up, his cockhead against Till's hole, and clicks his tongue as he begins trying to breach him. "Why are you always so damn tight? Clenching before I even enter you—"
Gripping onto Till's hips, Ivan finally manages to penetrate him, harsh and rough, but Till is so hot and his convulsing walls make his complaints inconsequential in the end.
Till curses when his cock breaches him, his hands curling into fists.
"It's 'cuz you're too fuckin' lazy to prep me— ngh, or remember- to bring lube-!" he grits out between Ivan's rough thrusts. It's not a coincidence that he quickens the pace while Till attempts at speaking coherently. To which causes Till peter out into a groan as his cock continues to assault against his prostate. It should hurt; Ivan doesn't go slow to compensate for using only spit.
"Fuck, Ivan! Stop-" he hisses and has the audacity to reach around to grip on Ivan's ass. Because of course he doesn't mean it when he says 'stop,' just like he doesn't mean it when he says they're only roommates, or only bandmates, and only allowed to fuck but not kiss for some fucking reason.
So of course Ivan doesn't stop. Besides his compulsion to lie to Ivan, Till only means for Ivan to stop when he uses their safe-word.
Which Ivan always ignores anyway, but that's besides the point.
"Too much?" Ivan asks, his hips snapping harder and faster - and fuck, it doesn't even feel that good to fuck him this hard, especially when Till's lubed by spit, but Ivan's determined to make him cry in record time. "You can admit it."
Till hiccups; his efforts to practice restraint undone in the form of tears and sniffles.
"S'not—! Not too much!" he groans.
Ivan drapes over Till's back, his broad chest against his shoulder blades. His calloused fingers grip around the guitarist's throat, pressing harshly against his Adam's apple and abruptly cutting off his air supply.
"Till, baby, look ahead," he says mockingly, knowing that Till hates it when Ivan uses pet names, and especially during sex. He's stuck wheezing for air to protest. "Dash cam."
Ivan releases his forefinger from the vice grip to point at the camera right in Till's crying face, his front arched up by his grip, pressed and fucked against the hood of a random patron's car. Ivan's own face is obscured by fridge of his bangs, identified perhaps only by the red glow of his pupils. All the while he pounds into him loud enough to send echoes throughout the lot.
"I don't recall letting you cry in front of others?"
Till's cheeks are wet, and his throat is scratchy when he manages, "'M... not cryin'...! Ngh- Ivan—"
He licks along his cheek, tasting his delicious tears and groaning against Till's flushing skin; his thrusts are fast but rhythmic, jostling the SUV so hard it creeks and sways with their combined weight.
It's definitely not too much for Till, at least not yet, for he's rutting into the bumper, his little cock still trapped in his underwear.
"You're always such a pretty crier. Kinda pisses me off that the camera is catching all this. I'll take it out on you."
"Wha—"
Suddenly, Ivan grips on Till's hair, shoving off his beanie in the process, and slams his head into the hood so hard he fears, momentarily, that he made the guy pass out.
But he's being somewhat considerate; he made sure the side experiencing the impact doesn't blow on his piercings. He's done that before, and Till was rightfully pissed. Lessons were taught and learned, and Ivan has become worse in some ways, and more considerate in other ways.
Till's walls were first convulsing, but as the shock subsided, so did his muscles, becoming more loose for Ivan to fuck properly. He manages to sluggishly come to, though his anger is undermined by his high-pitched moans.
"Oh- fucker! ...Bitch!" comes Till's predictable cursing as he bounces back against Ivan's cock.
His domineering hand keeps Till pinned in place; first by his hair, then back around his neck again, his grip threatening against windpipe.
The slaps of their skin is loud and obscene; their groans and moaning are overwhelming; if people passed by, they would definitely know what's happening.
"Not gonna smile for the camera? It was you who wanted cock, Till."
Till's legs are shaking, threatening to give at any moment. His hand comes up to claw at Ivan's grip.
"Ivan," he grits out, his voice wet despite it.
Better than any safeword, it's the way Till says his name that makes his hips stutter - but only for a moment, because Till would scold him if he stopped. This is how he wants it, what he craves for, and it so happens that Ivan is the perfect man to fulfill his physical needs.
He fucks deeper and harder, and reaches around to grip on Till's leaking cock. "You ready to cum?"
Till moans loudly, thrusting into Ivan's hand, "Wanna cum— Ivan."
But his hand remains unmoving, and so are his hips after he seats himself deep inside, punching the air out of his lungs.
"Nah."
Ivan laughs against Till's nape even though he's not doing much better about keeping himself together. Ivan likes fucking in public, and he likes it even more if they're recording. He doesn't know why he hasn't thought about fucking in front of a dash cam before.
"It's too soon," he continues.
"What?!" He's clearly outraged, trying to stand upright and turning his head around. Angry tears stream down his face, his makeup smeared in the process. But despite it, when he clenches around Ivan, and he throbs back, Till's wild green eyes roll back slightly. Ivan smugly grins, sweat prickling at his temple, waiting for Till to finish his thought. "I- I—!"
Ivan snaps his hips and bullies against his prostate again— then again, and again.
Till melts against the hood. "I— fuckin', hate—ngh, you," he groans, his words punctuated by Ivan's brutal thrusts.
Despite pounding into him, slow but surely not enough to send Till over the edge, Ivan keeps Till's cock squeezed tight, not letting him cum.
"You always cum too soon. Always all talk— now there's video evidence of it on a random person's dash cam. If you mark their car, they'll definitely look into the recording."
That seems to snap some shame into Till, who keeps the sexual nature of their relationship entirely hidden.
This time, his palm reaches back to futilely prevent Ivan fucking him closer to climax. He was already close before, but now anxiety keeps it at bay.
"Think we're famous enough yet—? If we were, it'd cost a pretty penny for TMZ to acquire the footage. Money is the best motivator."
"Ivan!"
"Imagine it. A sex-tape of Unknown Sorrow's own Till, bent over a random car and fucked by the band mate he swore he doesn't have feelings for."
"Stop!" Till yells, his walls clenching.
"Stop?" Ivan mocks.
Yeah, right. Especially now that Till is yelling at him to stop, his hand in turn grips his throat tightly - much tighter than before - and begins a brutal pace that rocks even the parked car. His hand has let go of Till's cock, giving him the freedom to cum if he so pleases.
If Till doesn't want to mark the car, he'd best stave off his climax.
"Don't you wanna cum? Gonna cry again because you can't? My Till is the cutest."
Till makes a noise; Ivan's grip and pounding forces his back to arch, instinctively trying to relieve the pressure and get the air Ivan deprives him of and clawing at Ivan's fingers.
"I- ngh—" he starts, coughing. It's likely difficult for him to put together a sentence in his mind, much less speak it. "Fucker! Fuckin' pussy!"
He seems proud that he can grit that out, at least, but it's not nearly as full of venom as he'd like. Till squeezes his thighs together, as if it does anything.
In fact, it only makes him tighter, and while it does feel good now that Till is all nice and loosened up, it makes fucking him at the pace he wants quite difficult. His core flexes with effort to prevent himself from finishing before Till — which normally takes a bit longer, but Till's humiliated tears and cursing, and the fact that something is recording them — it turns Ivan on so much it might make him pass out, especially when Till keeps squeezing him as hard as he is within his walls.
Ivan has to make him cum, and make him cum fast. They've been lingering here for too long now.
He pumps his cock like he isn't playing around anymore; Till is easy regardless of Ivan's expert ministrations, trained to specifically make Till fall apart, but right now the anxiety of a sex tape seems to have messed with his concentration.
"C'mon, Till— baby, sweetheart." Ivan's abs burn, but he keeps the brutal pace. His hand loosens slightly so Till can have a moment to fill his lungs with fresh air before Ivan chokes his throat. "Fucking whore—"
"No—!!" Till uses his spared breath to whine, falling apart, always one to be into Ivan degrading him, and then his hips stutter.
He bucks into Ivan's hand, drool spilling onto the hood of the car as he spills onto the hood, his cock and walls spasming all around him. All the while Ivan doesn't allow Till to sag onto the hood; after he helps empty Till's twitching cock, Ivan coils an arm around Till's middle, keeping him upright so that the camera can have an uninterrupted view of Till's spent body, his softening cock bouncing uselessly after having been forced a climax out of him, as Ivan pounds into his hole, chasing his own climax.
"Smile— bet you'll look so good— mm," Ivan's words are breathed hotly against Till's neck. "Can't wait to see it— when it circulates online..."
Till is too out of it to care; his mind is already ringing from the lack of oxygen earlier, now suddenly his lungs are full and again and he's wheezing breathes as best he can while being speared with cock. He's gotten the fight utterly fucked out of him, and all he can do is nod, hazy and suggestible, because this is how Till always wants it: he wants Ivan to fight for it, and be rough with him; if Ivan stopped his assault, he wouldn't hear , that he would kill Ivan. then, when they're home later, Till will complain that and call him pussy. And when he gets in this state, he'll later complain that Ivan wasn't kinder.
Either way he wasn't going to win.
His breath makes the side of Till's face wet, but it was already wet anyway from his tears and sweat and drool. Ivan uses him for all he's worth, the obscene sounds coming from their bodies almost drowning out Till's moaning.
"You think- they have the kinda cam that records audio too? You're so loud. I love it—"
If not for Ivan's arm, Till will have surely slipped off down to the cold floor. Till tries to shake his head indignantly. "Nuh-uh!"
As relentless as his thrusts are, Ivan doesn't last much longer with Till like this.
A couple more thrusts, and Ivan spills deep inside him. He doesn't even keep it all in there; wanting to make a mess of him, Ivan pulls out and finishes on the small of his back, dirtying his spine and a bit of his tank that he hiked up earlier.
When he's finally pumped the last of his spend, he lets Till sag back onto the car, his cheek hitting the hood a thunk, and then spanks his ass hard enough to leave a clear hand print. "Good job."
Till only manages to groan, jerking forward from the impact. Other than that, he hardly reacts.
It's a shame and a crime that it takes the dirtiest, cruelest sex for Till to become adorable, but that's fine. Ivan luckily feels no shame and he'd commit all kinds of crimes for his Till.
He cleans himself up first, tucking his cock away and zipping up. He's been working and working with Till for good amount of time that he's prepared for trysts like this now, so he keeps cleansing wipes in the inside pocket of his jacket. He's quick with the mess on Till's back, who's so helpful by keeping himself slack against the hood. Notably, he's very gentle about the mess between his legs.
In fact, Ivan is pushing his cum back inside of him the best he can.
Till stirs from the dull stimulation; he's not trying to stroke against anything sensitive, but Till is just sensitive all around. It's unavoidable.
"Don't—" he hisses without any heat, reaching back to wave Ivan away from his ass.
"That's especially rich coming from the greediest little whore for my cum."
Ivan kneads into where his hand spanked and left a mark, like massaging pain away, and then he helps pull up his underwear and pants, along with all of his annoying but sexy little accessories.
"If you manage to keep it all in, I promise I'll make love to you later," Ivan teases, meaning every word. Even if Till would never believe him.
Till's knees are trembling, but he does shoot Ivan a vague look of distrust. "Make love to—? Ugh, don't be gross."
Still, he isn't making any effort to clean up further. Ivan likes to think that the cum will remain there, and he'll have an excuse to be an annoying later. It'll be fun. The threat of making love to someone who only wants to be fucked unconscious.
"What? Don't you think I'm capable of it? I'm a lover at heart."
"You're definitely incapable," Till grumbles, grimacing. His jaw must ache too, because he keeps cupping it.
See, Till likes it rough, and Ivan likes it when he's able to leave marks on his body.
"You know me so well," he says easily, helping him up and grabs his beanie. Ivan fixes his hair before fitting it where it belongs on his head.
Just then, Ivan's gaze fixes on a dark spot trailing down Till's nostril. His brows twitch in a blink-and-you'll-miss-it concern. He swipes across it with his thumb, which only smears it into his cheek.
"Too rough?"
Till sways on his feet, then angles his face away from Ivan's touch. "You think I can't take it?"
Ivan sighs. "I'm wondering if I gave you a concussion."
So yes, he is concerned but for some reason can't bring himself to say. Like it will become too real for Till that he's concerned and Till will get scared off.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Till says, shooting Ivan a look. From you, his gaze almost continues, and Ivan has no argument against that. Maybe the only thing that has changed is that Ivan's grew beyond the boundaries that Till had set for them.
He produces a fresh wipe and cleans the blood, and along with it is the sweat, tears, and his smeared makeup.
Till always looked strangely innocent without his makeup, and it makes Ivan's stare linger.
He moves in closer. "— Are you good to walk?"
"I'm fine."
And the stubborn ass of a guitarist pushes Ivan's offering hand away; Ivan bypasses it by taking him by the forearm and swinging it over his own shoulder, keeping him upright and dragging him to their car.
It's like Till wants Ivan to fight for it, and he leans on him in the end.
"I'm not bein' stubborn— fuck." His hand come to rub jaw again.
An apology hangs at the tip of Ivan's tongue, but Till hates it when Ivan apologizes, when he's concerned for the rough-play that they regularly participate in, and what Till asks for.
He would argue that he'd be less concerned if they were dating. In a relationship. Where there is clear communication about what they are beyond the scope of their job.
But Ivan isn't so lucky.
"Should I carry you?"
"No," Till says after a moment of consideration. "S'gonna take us forever to get anywhere."
This time, Ivan finally rolls his eyes. He leans in and scoops Till up by the underside of his knees and picks up the pace.
"That's— hey! Ivan!"
"You've never said 'yes' to me once in your life," he huffs.
He wiggles for a moment, then settles with an exasperated expression, sagging his full dead weight into Ivan's arms. "I totally have."
"Then let me take care of you without you fighting me for once."
Till is actually quiet for once, like everything has made him consider seriously.
Ivan guides Till into his car and seat-belts him in place.
"Stay here."
He would have fought it, but Ivan's accusation seem to have tempered him, and he sinks into his seat with his arms folded. "What are you doing."
"Just gotta make sure there's no damage to that car. Be right back."
Ivan shuts the door before Till can continue his line of questioning. He grabs a bat from the trunk and paces back to the car.
Inside Ivan's car, Till is completely oblivious to the sudden smashing of a glass window and a car alarm bell.
Ivan returns the bat back into his trunk, and then opens the door to the blaring alarm. When he shuts it, Ivan's surprised by how completely sound-proof the car is. No wonder Till looks confused only when Ivan returns.
"The fuck did you do?" Till asks, suspicious.
"I might have damaged something, so I just left insurance information," comes Ivan's half-truth, half-lie.
"You tellin' me you fucking me didn't set off the alarm, but you managed to set it off just by setting down a note?"
"Fine," Ivan concedes, and then reaches into his pocket to toss a camera on Till's lap. "I borrowed the camera. For the footage."
Till is in shock, staring at the camera — the very dash cam he's been staring at while being pounded by Ivan — even as Ivan starts the car and begins driving away.
But when Ivan glanced over, Till's face is fully red — well, he can't see it because he's resolutely staring out the window, leaning into his palm.
The only thing giving way to his flush is his bare shoulders matching the tips of his ear, and, of course, that red tie around his neck.