Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It was a change of scenery, because that fixes everything.

It was vibrant, and bustling, and loud. 

Jacob hated it.

He was spiraling. He knew he was. And when that happened, there was only one thing he knew to do– slink around bars and clubs finding women to take home to fill the empty space that’s been left with Hannah’s absence.

The pressure from her father was too much. Jacob was caught between a friend and a partner who were at odds with each other, and at the end of the day, he realized that he couldn’t be the one to tear apart a family for his own selfish heart. So he did what any man should do, and gracefully bowed out.

His regular haunt was too colored with memories that just made him ache. He tried for a week, falling back into familiar patterns with his womanizer script, picked up women who looked very specifically not like Hannah, and took them home.

It made him feel fucking horrible, and he decided that the problem wasn’t the fact that he had gone back to chasing the physical high of sex with nameless strangers, but the scenery. That was the squeaking wheel that needed greased, not him.

This is the first time he’s been to this bar and he’s already decided that he’s never coming back. Too many people, too little space, too intimate, too loud. Nothing like the warmly lit, quiet, posh bars he’s used to.

He has a personal rule: if he hates the place, he’ll stay only as long as it takes to bag a girl for the night, or for twice the time it took for him to drive there– whichever came first. Tonight, it was looking like the latter.

Positioned at the bar, back to the cooly lit club floor, he swirled a whiskey on the rocks about the little ring of condensation it had created. At the least, the bartender was a striking blonde, something pretty to look at, and the drinks were made with a level of craft that many places don’t care to capture.  

It was a different crowd that what he’s used to, which isn’t necessarily bad. He was out of his depth, fishing at a watering hole that was not his own, not sure what he was going to snag if anything.

It got him out of his penthouse, and that’s all he cared about right now. Maybe it was better that he didn’t take anyone home, because that would mean laying them down on the same bed that he and Hannah–

Tapping the bottom of the glass against the bar top, he knocks it back with abandon. The cubed ice is refreshingly cold against his lips, sending a jolt through him that wakes him back up. Straightening in his seat, he swivels the stool around to face the stage. All he has to do is push the glass towards the bartender, and she’s slipping it from his fingers to refill dutifully. 

Okay, it wasn’t that jazz was bad, but he had only ever heard it used as background noise for Christmas parties. There wasn’t anything inherently wrong with it other than the fact that it was nothing to be paid attention to. So his eyes were roving over the cast members of the band ensemble, idly wondering what it would be like to take home a trumpet player, or maybe a drummer.

Not for the first time, he finds himself picking apart a man with his eyes. He was a fine looking guy, but that’s as far as Jacob’s appraisal of him went. Sometimes they were nice to look at, take his attention from time to time before he carried on scoping out the crowd for a woman to bed, but he’s never acted on any impulse towards them. 

Perhaps it was the stuffy air of the club that was making his suit feel pressed to his body, moreso than usual, the spotlights sweltering and the atmosphere crackling with energy.

Stepping out from beside the stage, Sebastian has a spring in his step that contradicts the paltry couple hours of sleep under his belt and the table scraps in his stomach. It was his second gig of the day and he wouldn’t miss this one for the world– not for how much the owner’s were willing to shell out to little ol’ him. He was aching for the cash.

Unpaid bills, no car insurance, sleeping in his car outside of jazz clubs and dive bars.

He snaps the button of his suit jacket as he took his seat at the piano bench. This was a different band than what the club typically hosted, which made the sum of money for a single night make that much more sense. It didn’t matter to him either way, so long as they knew how to play and played well, he could play in with them.

His cuffs were unbuttoned, fluttering around his wrists as he felt along the ivories. He tests a few chords to check the tuning, then throws a nod at the rest of the band to get started. 

Just a night like any other.

It was a good crowd, owing to the weekend spirit permeating the place. This was one of the more popular jazz clubs (if any of them can be considered popular) in the city, and he made sure to give as good as he got.

Deft, lean fingers fly across the keys, looking as though he were barely pausing to strike a chord with how fast his hands moved. Graceful, with the veins and tendons of his hands flexing, visible, highlighted under the stage illumination.

Jacob blindly draws his refilled whiskey towards himself, watching like a hawk seeing movement in brush.

Hadn’t considered before what it would be like to sleep with a pianist before, but he certainly was now.

Hell, hadn’t considered what it would be like to sleep with a guy until now, but who could blame him?

A tan vest clung to his body obscenely, making him look gift-wrapped as he rose from the bench in the throes of the music. He looked plucked out of a vintage magazine, with matching tan trousers that flared a little at the bottom, and polished leather dress shoes.

The more he got into it, the more his hair fell free from where he had clearly been raking his fingers through it all day, long strands falling across his forehead. It looked soft, glowing gold under the spotlight. Sweat collected along his temple, tracking down to his jaw, framing his sharp, lively smile. 

He slams into the keys one last time at the close of the song, sitting back on the bench heavily with an exhausted, happy grin that he shares with the room, and Jacob is so taken by it that he is completely deaf to the applause from the rest of the club for a few seconds.

Oh, he wanted that smile in his bed now.

Glancing at the bartender, he holds up two fingers and taps them against his glass. She raises a brow at him, but pulls another glass from beneath the counter top, pouring and garnishing before handing it off to him. 

When he looked back towards the stage, the piano bench was empty.

Silently cursing to himself, Jacob scans the club floor desperately, trying to catch sight of that flash of gold that had stolen all his attention only to come up short. He’s about ready to resign himself to a missed opportunity that he’ll mourn for a couple hours before he finds some other blonde to take home when he spots the man edging closer to the exit.

Without wasting a second, having already let him slip away far too fast once, Jacob stands and strides across the busy club until he was encroaching on whatever conversation this musician was having. 

“—Listen, I know, but you gotta– take it up with the owner, okay?” the man said, barely casting Jacob a second glance as he leaned closer to the trumpet player. “I was paid for one song, and I’m gonna be late for–”

“Jacob Palmer,” he interrupts, presenting the whiskey for the man to take. 

His forwardness makes both men fall silent immediately, staring up at him incredulously. Sebastian’s eyes flit down to the drink, and he wearily accepts it.

“Uh, Seb– Sebastian Wilder– who are you?” he says, scowling. This guy looked… far too put together for a place like this. Something about him made his hackles rise, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Oh, just an admiring fan,” Jacob says smoothly, gesturing towards the stage with his drink. “You’re pretty good with your hands.”

Sebastian stares at him, then scoffs, a sardonic smile creeping across his face. Right. Okay. That’s what this is.

“Yeah, it’s my job,” he says quickly, glancing at the other musician and shoving Jacob’s drink into his hands. “Speaking of which, I gotta–”

“Right. You’re gonna be late to your next gig,” Jacob interrupts, tipping his head. “And I’m gonna be late to getting to know more about you. Sounds like you shouldn’t go.”

This close, he realizes that he was a good bit taller than Sebastian. The man has to angle his head up to meet his eyes evenly, and he’d be damned if that didn’t inspire a lick of warmth in his stomach.

“Doesn’t work like that, Jake,” Sebastian grunts, stepping back and tugging his suit jacket over his shoulders. 

“Jacob.”

“Whatever.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Jacob ventures, breaking one of his cardinal rules without even thinking twice about it– no money. “How much they pay you for a show?”

Sebastian freezes. Slowly, he turns to look at his fellow musician, then back to Jacob. He scoffs, then properly laughs a bitter note that just screams to Jacob that he’s got a perfect voice, even carrying anger with it.

“I’m not for sale, buddy,” Sebastian spits, shouldering on his jacket roughly, hands snapping to his waist to button it shut. 

Realization dawns on Jacob’s face, and he fumbles. It eases the sting of indignation only marginally, seeing the man that reeked of Daddy’s money panic and lose some of the polished, suave edge. But it didn’t erase the humiliation.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that–”

“There’s a tip jar on the bar,” Sebastian says, jerking his head towards where Jacob was just sitting. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he nods his farewell and hurries out the door. His face burned with the insinuation that that man– Jacob Palmer– thought he could fucking buy him. Like he was some pretty face to bribe to bed and not a man trying to make ends meet, chasing his dream career like he were circling a drain.

Jacob stands there, mouth hanging open in shock. The trumpet player had hastily left, returning to the stage, leaving Jacob to fumble about blindly for his dignity before he just decided that maybe an empty apartment was the better option.

Never in his life had he fumbled that hard, not even when he was new to being a pick-up artist. It puts him off from going bar hopping for an entire week, instead immersing himself in commercial ads and abusing himself at the gym.

Nothing removed the way Sebastian looked up at him, those sharp blue eyes framed by long lashes and hair effortlessly tousled to perfection. 

And Sebastian was doing everything he could to forget about the dipshit at the club that tried to make him out like he was a working girl. 

To say he had taken his frustrations and turned it into working himself to the bone would be seriously undercutting just how much he was already doing, but he somehow managed to fit even more into his days. Birthday parties, dive bars– hell, he took a gig for a nursing home. Paid pennies, but he got a decent meal out of it and it was worth it to see the old timers beam at him and sway to familiar music.

There was no time to go home, sleep, shower, change. Best he can do is find a spot where a cop wasn’t going to give him trouble, throw himself in the back of his Buick Riviera, prop his feet up on the door, and let the sun bake out the wrinkles in his suit.

He had an alarm set on his phone for a couple hours. That would be enough to get through the night into the early hours of the morning before he could finally crash at his place. Throwing his jacket over his head and tucking his arms under it, he makes sure he won’t be getting a sunburn before letting his exhaustion completely steal him away.

He should be worried about being robbed or worse– that’s Jacob’s first thought seeing a familiar pair of leather shoes hanging out a vintage convertible. 

Rolling up to the curb and throwing it in park, Jacob taps his fingers along his wheel in thought. He had been thinking about hitting up the same jazz bar that he had met Sebastian at, but he knew the odds of seeing him there again so soon was slim to none. This man didn’t operate like he did, wearing a hole into a specific stool in a specific bar night after night. He went bar to club to wherever would let him play.

So he did a little research, a step further for any person he’s ever been interested in. He figured he wouldn’t be straying too far from a set area, so he looked for local haunts that had live music, rotating musicians, the whole nine yards.

He didn’t expect to get lucky the first night.

Stepping out of his car, he shuts the door gently as he buttons his coat at the waist. Picking his way along the row of cars outside the already bustling venue, he comes to stand beside Sebastian’s shoes. 

The pianist was passed out cold. Probably needed the sleep, as even Jacob had noticed the deep bags under his eyes in the poor lighting of the club they met at. He slept quietly, chest rising and falling rhythmically, keeping a silent tempo that held Jacob’s attention a little too long. 

It was crass. To an outside observer, it was creepy. Hell, if he saw himself, he would’ve chased him off like clearing a vulture away from roadkill. 

His eyes drag over him while he’s got him unaware. The way his vest fit so snugly around his middle, with his arms loosely crossed across his ribs with muscles defined with tension. He was fit, with a trim waist and comfortably broad shoulders and legs that filled out his pressed slacks in a way that–

He finally notices that, in the footwell beside Sebastian’s head, his phone was silently going off with a 6PM alarm. Flipping his wrist over, he checks his watch.

It was 8:32PM. 

Shit.

Roughly, he hits the bottom of Sebastian’s shoe with a loose, closed fist. In the same motion, he backs up, moving towards the back of the car and the entrance of the club. He doesn’t wait to watch Sebastian jolt upright, wrestling his suit jacket off his head, blinking about blearily before he realizes it was far too dark out.

Frantically, he fumbles for his phone– which was now almost dead, fucking awesome– and freezes at the time. 

“Oh, Christ–”

Panicking, still half-asleep despite the sudden flush of adrenaline, he tries to right himself while preening– straightening his vest, fixing his hair, wrestling his arms into his jacket–

He trips trying to jump the car door and meets the pavement shoulder first.

Popping back up despite the searing ache traveling down his arm, he hurriedly straightens himself out as he hurries towards the club doors, thanking whoever it was that rudely woke him for not waiting a second longer.

He was supposed to get there early to talk with the band he was subbing in for. Settle in, check the set list, make sure the energy is right for the night. He can only pray that the band knew he was sleeping out front and had opted to let him get some more rest in, and they hadn’t overlooked him completely. 

The moment he steps into the club, he realizes that he was out for the night. 

The band had overlooked him and assumed he was a no-call. Taking a moment to actually look at his phone, he sees a deluge of missed calls and messages from the band manager, the guilt and humiliation rising up to his throat as he reads through each message. They become angrier and angrier until the last message sent was a hearty go fuck yourself Seb.

His odds of ever getting a gig with this group– this club– were now almost a sum-zero chance. 

Everything in him wanted to leave, to run off to his sad little apartment and lick his wounded pride and drown the shame of being such a poorly put together man in a pack of beers. But he knew that if he had any hope of getting back in their good graces, then he would have to eat his crow and talk to them. Apologize. Do the adult thing and own up.

They were in the middle of a set, and Sebastian tries not to lift his head too high or look towards the stage. He didn’t want the band to see him until they were done, and he didn’t want to look at the piano and see who he was replaced with. 

The band would be sore if only because this guy was half of what Sebastian was on the keys.

Saddling up to the bar, Sebastian nods at the bartender and waits his turn for her full attention. He taps his fingers against the polished bar top to the song played out on stage, everything in him itching and clawing with the impulse to play it out himself. It’s only slightly tempered by shame.

Down the bar, eclipsed by other patrons, Jacob watches as Sebastian fidgets and shifts restlessly in his seat. He wasn’t going up to the stage– wasn’t even looking at it.

He frowns, pausing as he raised his glass to his lips. When he came in, he had assumed that the pianist with the band currently on stage would rotate out. If there wasn’t a chance for him to play, then why would he even come in?

It doesn’t take long for the band to finish their list and take a break. Jacob realized then that he had next to no idea how venues like this worked– Was a new band coming in? Was that what Sebastian was waiting for?

No instruments are packed up, but the band members diffuse into the crowd with a few approaching the bar. Sebastian spots them immediately and perks up, slipping out of his seat to meet them. Through the throng of bodies and placeholder music being played through the club’s speakers, it was nearly impossible to catch any of their conversation.

But it was clear that Sebastian was groveling.

And the band was not having it.

Sebastian was trying to both justify and apologize for oversleeping his alarm– which earned a derisive, sharp laugh from one of the band members because it is ridiculous what he's been doing to get by. In spite of the flush of indignation, he holds his tongue and tries to placate enough for even a reluctant okay, fine, alright.

“I was right there– right there! Marty, you know I’ve been working like a dog to make ends meet, I didn't–”

“Doesn't matter. You realize how close you got to completely fucking us?” the drummer hissed. “You're lucky we had someone on the back burner with nothing to do tonight.”

“I know, and I’m sorry, just– wait– where are you going?”

“Smoke break, jackass,” Marty growled, brushing against him to squeeze through the crowd. “Didn't stop the show for you.”

Sebastian didn't hesitate, ducking after him and following him out onto the sidewalk. He wasn't getting anywhere with Marty, who he already knew to be a bit of a hardass and a prick at best.

“Just listen, okay? Next few shows are on me. I’ll be there, won't play for anything, and–”

“There is no next shows, Seb,” the drummer hisses around his cigarette. He doesn't even so much as look Sebastian’s way as he speaks. 

“I hear you, but you're not hearing me. I’ll be there, and I’ll pull my w–”

Through the throng of bodies, set back in the bar, Jacob can see the sidewalk right through the front door. His eyes never left Sebastian as he chased desperately after the band member, hands gesturing wildly as he tried to plead his case. It was most certainly not going well. 

Jacob hummed to himself, about to bring his glass up for a drink as he watched passively, when the drummer wheels back his fist and decks Sebastian. 

Sebastian’s head whips to the side from the force of it, staggering backwards from the blow. 

The surprise of it alone almost takes him off his feet. He would be more surprised if one of his molars didn't just crack from how hard Marty hit him, as pain burst out from his jaw and into his sinuses. He growls out his pain in a low groan, the momentum of the impact carrying him to his car just a few feet away where he leans heavily against a door with one hand. The other cradles his jaw, fingers shaking from the pain and adrenaline. 

“Learn to fucking listen, Seb,” Marty mutters, staring at him impassively. 

Sniffling, Sebastian nods and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. After a moment, he slips over the edge of the car door and staggers down into the driver seat. He doesn’t bother to check traffic before he’s pulling out onto the roadway, hand to his busted lip.

It should’ve put him off– rationally, it would’ve put anyone off.

Sebastian was a pathetic, poorly put together struggling artist whose ambitions were ruining him.

Everything fell to the wayside for Jacob after he saw the pianist almost get laid out on the sidewalk. Something in him burned with a need he couldn’t pin down. All he knew was that he wanted Sebastian in a way that nobody has ever inspired in him before.

It wasn’t an urge to take care of, per se. Sebastian was a grown man who could handle himself, that much he could tell. Whether or not he was good at it was a different story, but it wasn’t as though he were a damsel in distress. Maybe it was the fact that he was objectively bad at taking care of himself was what was doing it for him.

He could do it right.

It takes another couple of weeks of fishing around before he finds Sebastian again. It was a total fluke, a night where he wasn’t aiming to search for him as even though he was remarkably dogged in trying to find the gold-haired pianist, he had decided on a day off lest he run himself ragged. He still hadn’t worked up the stomach to return to his typical bar, memories too fresh and the risk of running into Cal still way too high.

Actually, that wouldn’t be so bad, necessarily. He’s had an itch under his skin to talk to Cal about this, like a young man turning towards his father for a touch of romantic advice. However, given how Cal had been the lynchpin for the failure of his last relationship, and also just a staggeringly perfect example of what not to do in a relationship, he’s held off from saying anything to anyone.

This was just for him.

Sebastian was out for the night. Every now and then, he’s unable to completely book himself all the way through, dawn to dusk. It’s an immediate strain on his mind, leg bouncing at the bar as he tried not to think about how expensive rent had gotten since he decided to strike out on his own in the beautiful land of opportunity that is Los Fucking Angeles. He knew he was lucky enough as is for the shitty, hole-in-a-wall apartment he’s got, with water stains and busted fixtures.

He was making a very half-hearted attempt at cruising. His mind wasn’t in it, but he was more hoping that somebody else would see him and pick up the effort.

If it meant he got to sleep in a real bed and not the back of his Buick or in a bedframe far too small for a grown man, he’d take it. He wasn’t being picky.

This was one of his favorite little haunts. Good music, good regulars, good drinks. He only had enough scratch to afford a watered down cocktail, but it was enough to keep his hands busy while he listened to the live band.

The emerald suit Sebastian had decided to wrap himself in stood out like a spotlight from the moment Jacob walked in. It’s so jarring in a bar of muted reds and yellows and blues that Jacob has to step back out, check the cars parked along the curb and– yup, there’s his Buick Riviera. 

Jacob can’t hide the smile on his face as he steps in, heading straight towards the empty stool at Sebastian’s side.

Saddling up next to him, Jacob nods at the bartender for her attention. In the short space between, Sebastian’s gaze slides away from the band and towards the occupant filling out the stool beside his own– then immediately grimaces and groans.

“Oh. It’s you.”

It does nothing to dampen Jacob’s grin.

“Fancy seeing you here tonight,” Jacob says cooly, leaning an elbow against the bar counter.

“What do you want, Jake?” Sebastian says, fixing a pointed glare on the other man.

“Jacob.”

“Jack.”

“And is that any way to treat an admiring fan?” Jacob says, grinning against Sebastian’s glare.

“Is that what you are?” Sebastian says, quirking a brow. “Didn’t think places like this were your style.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, a man can’t have some culture?” Jacob muses, only turning his attention away to speak to the bartender. His gaze is back in an instant. “Where do you think I belong?”

Sebastian gives him a slow once-over. Letting his eyes linger and wonder generously over the man before him. It makes Jacob squirm, shifting in his seat with a blush catching his features that he hides in his drink. 

“Strike me as more a… Apex Heights typ’a guy.”

“Maybe I needed a change of scenery,” Jacob says, shrugging with one shoulder. 

He turns his gaze to the jazz club, properly taking it in for the first time. He had beelined straight for Sebastian the moment he stepped foot in without taking a moment to drink in the sights– old, second-hand chandeliers and sloped, curving booths with plenty of soft furniture littered about the place. The ceiling was low, with red drapes and small lanterns on every table. It was quaint, cozy, and Sebastian was exactly right– not his style.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it,” Sebastian says, narrowing his eyes. Was this guy nervous?

“What else could it be?” Jacob asks, eyes sliding back to Sebastian’s face. In the dim, warm lighting, it cuts out any blue in his eyes and turns them into dark plates of interest. His face caught a splash of the club’s blue lighting, washing out his blush and leaving him intense and shadowed.

“Overfished your usual watering hole is my guess,” Sebastian says wryly. He was having a hard time looking at Jacob head-on, a spotlight striking the profile of his face from where he was seated. The house had adjusted the lighting for the band, and Sebastian hadn’t thought he’d be facing the opposite direction of the stage to navigate around it.

“Is that what you think of me?” Jacob pushes. He’s utterly rooted in place by how the sharp lighting makes Sebastian’s eyes a blue so clear he could drink from them, his hair being cast into the brilliant golden glow again.

“You ask so many damn questions, I want you to know that,” Sebastian scoffs, angling away from the other man.

“You ask them, then,” Jacob says, unwilling to let go of Sebastian’s attention. He’d happily play twenty questions at this bar all night and go home alone so long as he kept Sebastian to himself.

“Alright,” Sebastian hums, fingers tapping the neck of his cocktail glass. “Are you trying to take me home?”

Jacob is struck speechless for a moment. He hadn’t expected to be called out for his intentions so brazenly, used to playing cat and mouse with those he was trying to court. He was immediately cast out of his depth, and he quickly found that he didn’t mind one bit that his confidence was all but cannibalized by the other man.

“Yeah,” he says, having to swallow dryly to get the words to come out. “Yeah, I am.”

This is the only time that Jacob has felt a prickle of self-consciousness raise the hair along the back of his neck, letting somebody step into his penthouse. Nevermind the goal of bringing Sebastian back to his place being much the same as any other time with anyone else, it made him feel as though he was looking at his own apartment as a stranger with Sebastian. 

His eyes are immediately roaming, taking in every little detail. The cool, almost sterile lighting, the marble-top counters, the brutalist style.

Sebastian lets out a small, derisive snort.

“You have a piano for decor.”

“You don’t know why I have it,” Jacob says reflexively, taking his suit jacket off and meticulously folding it over the back of a chair. “Maybe I play.”

Sebastian doesn’t even need to look at him for Jacob to feel the incredulous, unimpressed look he’s making at the piano.

“Maybe I have a type for pretty pianists,” he says, following in Sebastian’s footstep as he steps further into the penthouse. 

“You get off on pissing people off?” Sebastian says flatly.

Jacob pulls a face and clicks his tongue. “Nope.”

Slowly, Sebastian approaches the piano. It was covered in a layer of dust, untouched without even the trace of curious fingers drawn across the smooth, black wood. Either Jacob was efficient in his bedding, or he hasn’t had anybody over in awhile. 

His tugs off his suit jacket, laying it across the bench in a sharp contrast of emerald on black. Taking a seat beside it, he delicately lifts the lid and scrutinizes the keys. The cover had done its job, shielding the ivory from growing a dust bunny warren, but that didn’t mean anything to him until he heard it.

He’s had the pleasure of playing a decrepit piano in an old, rundown church before, and the age distortion to the strings made it sound heavenly. He can look past appearances.

Laying his fingers across the keys, he tries something simple and short. A delicate melody that he defaults to when testing the tuning of an unfamiliar piano. He makes a quiet noise of surprise to find that it is, at the very least, tuned to near perfection.

Distantly, he hears the clink of glasses being moved about. Glancing about, he spots the back of Jacob at a small bar in the open kitchen, fixated on preparing something. 

Classic pick-up artist. A little bit of booze and easy company will win almost anyone over.

Except that Sebastian still hadn’t quite figured out Jacob’s angle. Sure, there were the abundantly flirtatious comments here and there, the numerous drinks bought to him, the offer to come back to his place, but he hasn’t done anything. It was painfully obvious that Jacob wanted something out of him, and if it wasn’t sex then he was at a complete loss.

Not that he’d mind. Jacob was objectively a very handsome man. Sure, picked straight out of a Fashion 500 magazine with little to no personality behind the persona, but he was a stunner. Tall with a sharp jaw and keen, sky-blue eyes. A tasteful amount of stubble. A polished-to-a-point silver tongue. 

But there was just something to him.

Turning back to the piano, Sebastian shunts it from his mind. Either Jacob would make a move on him, or he’d enjoy a drink and the keys beneath his fingers until he was shooed out. Really no different than a gig, if he was being honest.

The song he picked was slow, crawling, and heady, if Jacob could consider the idea of a unbacked piano melody sounding sexy. He pauses where he was finishing the garnish on their drinks to simply listen.

He could get used to that.

Carefully, he tries to adjust his gait to quiet his shoes as he approaches Sebastian in his blind spot. He didn’t want to interrupt the melody, unable to figure out how lost in the music the man was and if a simple noise would break the spell.

He stops behind him and stretches an arm out, setting Sebastian’s drink on the top of the piano. It only gets a quick glance, the music never hitching for a moment until Sebastian decided he was done. Then, and only then, does he reach for the drink. It gives Jacob a few minutes of watching his fingers work the ivory, unabashed in his ogling.

Bringing the drink to his mouth, he pauses and takes a couple curious sniffs, then pulls it back to properly inspect it.

“Is… this Germain?” 

Jacob waits until he gives it a small sip, letting the flavor melt down the back of his throat, before saying anything. He had been agonizing over what he would make for Sebastian on the drive back to his place, having seen him put away any liquor readily available to him with no clear pattern.

“Figured you weren't a neat bourbon kinda guy,” Jacob says mildly, watching Sebastian carefully. He doesn’t know why he needed his approval so desperately, but it made him ache to see any reaction he could have withheld.

Sebastian considers it, tilting the glass in thought. He leans forward and sets it back on the piano. 

“It's fine.”

The way the flat, almost bored evaluation of Jacob’s effort makes him immediately on edge should be studied. Something in his chest tightens, a prickle of determination creeping up his spine. 

It couldn't be that much more difficult to woo a guy– what was he doing wrong?

Sebastian’s attention turns back to the piano, completely tuning everything else out. It was just him and the keys, needing the quiet reprieve more than anything the world could provide in that moment. Jacob seemed content to have a pretty pianist playing away in his living room, and Sebastian couldn't lie– it wasn't a bad set up. 

He can't stifle the reflexive flinch at the first grace of fingers along the side of his neck. At once, his brain is supplying him with images of American Psycho, his hindbrain lighting up like a prey animal at the slow, meandering creep that follows his pulse. Jacob slides his palm against the side of his throat, the length of his index passing along the cut of his jaw and encouraging him to tip his chin up higher.

He keeps playing, his melody slowing to a curious, certain song as his head is coaxed back. 

Jacob looks down at him, eyes half-lidded. His fingers are cold, slightly damp from his drink. It sends a shiver through him. 

“What's your angle?” Sebastian says, voice low and pulled tight with the angle. He can tell Jacob’s attention sharpens to a fixed point, locking in on how his voice vibrates beneath his fingers. 

It distracts him. He's considered plenty of guys’ voices attractive– smooth, low, rolling. Sebastian’s was staticy, a touch of fray to his words, dragging against his throat. Settled in that mid-range of tone that can only inspire idle thoughts about how high it could go. 

He only hums, his palm slides along the lean column of his throat, feeling his adam's apple against it. 

“What's yours?” Jacob presses. 

“I dunno. Maybe I’m just desperate. I was thinking I could slip a couple bills from your wallet after you pass out,” Sebastian murmurs. 

He was kicking himself. He should not be getting this worked up by some asshole with so much gel on his head he could weld an industrial leak shut. 

“Desperate, huh. Didn't even buy you a drink and you didn't care to learn my name. I don't think desperate is a strong enough word,” Jacob muses, lip curling into a smirk. 

“What's that make you?” Sebastian challenges.

Jacob takes a step forward, bringing his front flush to Sebastian’s back. He keeps ahold of his drink, and somehow it makes it that much more sultry with only one hand on Sebastian being enough to bring him to a stop. 

“Still trying to figure that out myself,” Jacob murmurs. 

“What does that mean?” Sebastian says, quick and low with a scowl pulling his features. 

Jacob doesn't say anything. His thumb pets along Sebastian’s jaw, feeling his facial hair with almost reverence. 

That's when it clicks. 

“You've never slept with a man.”

At that, Jacob's awareness suddenly cuts back, his eyes edging open wider with his focus back on Sebastian proper. He says nothing in his defense, and it only makes Sebastian laugh. 

“Oh, my. And you picked me?” Sebastian croons with a blush of mockery in his words. “So you're desperate, or just stupid.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” Jacob counters despite how Sebastian’s jeering cuts straight through his core. His fingers twitch around his throat, and he suddenly loses the warmth as Sebastian turns. 

Swinging his legs around, he turns on the piano bench until his back is resting against the keys, a low note calling out with his weight. 

“That’s why you haven't made a move,” Sebastian says. His gaze was quick, keen, disassembling Jacob right there. “You have no idea what you're doing.”

“‘Course I do,” Jacob says, quick to be defensive.

“What, you also take me for a sweet and slow typ’a guy?” Sebastian says, quirking a brow as he reached back blindly to find his drink. 

Jacob watches his lips press against the glass, how his throat bobs with a swallow.

“I’ve been right so far.”

“'Bout, what–” Sebastian presses, smacking his lips. “The desperate part, or–”

“Not a neat bourbon guy,” Jacob says easily. He steps forward, between Sebastian’s knees where they're splayed comfortably. “And the pretty pianist thing.”

Sebastian swallows dryly. Looking up at Jacob in the mood-set lighting of his penthouse, he feels something in his guts squeeze. Jesus Christ, this guy wants me. 

“Pick-up artists never try so hard,” Sebastian says, hiding his mouth in his glass. “What gives?”

“Don't think you're worth chasing?” Jacob says. He'd never admit to how hard he's chased, going bar to bar just for him, tuning everyone else out. 

It stopped being about trying to forget Hannah the moment he caught sight of the golden blonde hair and cutting smile. 

“Those aren't the rules.”

“Didn't take you to be a goody two-shoes,” he says, a grin pulling at his features. Fuck, he knows he's red– he knows Sebastian can see his blush worsening the longer he looks up at him through his lashes. 

Sebastian makes a quiet noise at that. Pointedly, he drags his eyes down, slow and intentional, to his groin. It's the type of attention he's well-accustomed to. Hell, even from other men, though he was quick and polite to shut it down in the alleys and bathrooms of clubs. It just never elicited the same thrill to the degree he got from women.

He feels himself twitch in his slacks. With how Sebastian’s eyes flick up to his again, he wonders if he somehow saw it.  

“You need some pointers?”

“What?”

“Are you gonna stand there and stare at me all night, or do you need some help, playboy?” 

Oh.

Sebastian swears that he sees Jacob’s eyes dilate like a predator sighting something plump and perfect.

He dips down, bending at the waist with a hand finding Sebastian’s jaw. It wasn’t curious and cautious like before, collecting the scent of Sebastian’s cologne on his fingertips– this was intentional, demanding, greedy.

The piano lets out a sharp note from his elbow hitting a key, being pushed back with the force of Jacob’s lips on his own. The hand on his jaw firms, squeezing, his mouth falling open under the pressure with a shuddering breath.

He tastes like the elderberry liquor Jacob poured, smells like cherry wine and incense. His lips were dry, his stubble prickling against his own. There was so much to chase, and it lit a fire in Jacob he never knew was snuffed until he felt the heat right against him.

Sebastian’s hands hover in the air in his surprise, then find the hard muscle of Jacob’s chest. Not pushing, but groping and feeling and pulling at him to move closer, and Jacob is nothing if not a generous lover. He leans down into him, meeting him where he cranes his head up, preening into the kiss like an insistent cat demanding more.

Jacob’s hand slides from his jaw back, fingers carding through that perfectly trouseled, golden hair. 

Tongues pushing together, he catches the soft noise that Sebastian breathes out. It’s soft, almost silent if it weren’t being pushed into Jacob’s own lungs– a happy, little sigh.

Straightening, Jacob pulls away with a stubborn rope of drool tying them together before it breaks with the moment.

Sebastian blinks up at him, dazed by the abrupt retreat. Jacob looks down at him, swirling his drink before bringing it to his lips and draining it.

“You gonna sit there and stare at me all night?”

The scowl Sebastian gives has Jacob fighting to maintain his composure. He didn’t know he could feel cuteness aggression from another person before, but that pout does it.

“You treat all your hookups like this?” Sebastian says, petulant even as he stands from the piano bench. There’s a slight sway to him, and it wasn’t from the alcohol– he barely touched his drink.

“No, just the ones I really like,” Jacob muses, lip twisting into a smirk as it does nothing but further annoy Sebastian.

“Flattering,” Sebastian says dryly.

“I don’t see you complaining.”

“I’m about to.”

“Hold your applause ‘til the end of the show,” Jacob croons, letting his empty glass join Sebastian’s on top of the piano. 

Sebastian scoffs. “Oh, please.”

“I get that a lot,” Jacob muses, turning and stepping into Sebastian’s space. He takes another step, surprising the shorter man who edges back to give him room. 

“What are you–”

“Walk.”

Reluctantly, Sebastian lets himself be walked backwards through the apartment. He doesn’t have a choice to turn around or falter, not when Jacob’s insistent stride. He only stops when he suddenly hits something soft, flinching.

With a sure hand, Jacob reaches out and pushes at Sebastian, fingers splayed over his heart, and coaxes him to sit. Then, he’s kneeling down, getting to work taking Sebastian out of his shoes.

It makes Sebastian laugh.

Jacob freezes, glancing up at him through his lashes. 

“Quite the gentleman you are,” Sebastian teases, settling back on his palms. 

Biting his tongue, Jacob focuses on his dress shoes. Taking his time to undo the laces, slipping it off his heel, fingers exploring the firm line of his ankle beneath his trouser leg. He tucks the shoes under the lip of the bed before he slowly raises to his feet and sinks a knee between Sebastian’s thighs.

“Slow and steady wins the race, huh?” Sebastian continues to tease. “Nervous?”

He was getting too much enjoyment seeing Jacob try to find a happy median between angry and aroused. He can tell he’s never had a challenge.

“Don’t think you’d appreciate me ripping your suit,” Jacob says tightly. He wasn’t going to admit that he was nervous, running through his head all the different ways this was different from his usual lays.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ve ripped plenty of girls’ dresses,” Sebastian says casually. 

And that makes Jacob stop in his tracks where he’s gotten his hands on Sebastian’s belt.

He looks at the pianist evenly, unmoving. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to tear the clothes off Sebastian’s body, to see how much of it was hidden by his slim-cut clothes, see if he had any other beauty marks for him to discover. But he was operating with only what he knew, and that was to be sweet and slow with strange girls from bars who were often nervous and shy.

“Is that what you want?”

“Where’s the Jacob Palmer that demanded I skip a gig and go home with him?” Sebastian presses, cocking his head. “Why are you asking me what I want?”

“Do I seem like a dick?” Jacob says, scowling,

“Wrong guy to ask that,” Sebastian says, grinning sharply. He leans back a little further, letting his legs splay further apart.

Jacob’s hands were right there. He’s been hard for half the night, ever since the other man had slid his hand along his jaw, palm to his pulse. He was getting impatient, making it known as he strains his hips forward, the hard line of his cock obscenely tenting his trousers.

The taller man’s eyes snap down, locked onto the shape of Sebastian. His throat bobs with a heavy swallow, and he abandons Sebastian’s belt to frame his hips with his larger, broader hands. His thumbs sweep along the curve of his hipbones, light pressure making Sebastian’s breath catch.

“C’mon. Gonna get soft at this rate.”

“Just–” Jacob starts, unable to formulate a proper thought as he gets caught up in exploring, feeling, testing. “Shut up.”

“Oh– you've never been with a guy, and you’ve never been with a brat.”

Jacob’s hands squeeze his hips, and Sebastian doesn’t try to hide the grin it inspires. He raises his hips, trying to spur Jacob along to do something, feeling his boxers beginning to cling to his cock with the painfully slow pace.

“Being an asshole isn’t being a brat,” Jacob bites out, finally relenting and going for Sebastian’s belt.

“How would you know?”

He’s pointedly ignored now as Jacob grows impatient for an opportunity to shut him up. He felt in over his head, drowning in Sebastian’s easy attitude that comes so quick to his tongue, the confidence he exuded sprawled out on Jacob’s bed.

Shit. This was so different.

He gets the belt unbuckled and rips it from the loops, the leather smacking and making a sharp fwip! as he wrenched it free. Grabbing the front of Sebastian’s pants, fingers catching under his boxers, he unkindly pulls, forcing the button open and zipper down with one move. 

Sebastian lets out a noise, a short and pleased hum.

“There ya go,” he purrs, raising his hips to let Jacob pull his trousers all the way down. He doesn’t miss how Jacob slows, eyes catching on the slide of emerald revealing flushed, warm skin.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Jacob shied away looking him in the eyes, wanting to hide from the differences between him and all the women he’s been with. Having never been with a man, watching his cock leak against his stomach might be too–

He jolts when Jacob’s hand, warm and broad, immediately wraps around him. 

“Get your own shirt off,” Jacob huffs. He shifts, looming over Sebastian as he felt the weight of the other man in his palm. 

“Is that any way to treat a lady?” Sebastian tuts, hands moving quickly to pop his buttons free. 

Jacob clenches his jaw, muscle in his temple working as he bit his tongue. There are a thousand things he wanted to say as he familiarized himself with the shape of Sebastian in his hand–

If that’s what you want to be– Why do you keep bringing it up?— “You’re not a lady.”

“Ouch,” Sebastian pouts, working his vest open and his arms out of his shirt sleeves. “Is it the cock?”

Jacob finally looks up at him, glaring through his lashes. He squeezes once, hard at the base, and feels a thrill of satisfaction when Sebastian’s chest shudders over his next breath.

“It’s the attitude.”

He's stunning. Lean and trim like he pictured him to be beneath the colorful suits– if not moreso. He wasn't anything more than middle-of-the-road average, but his build was just made for this with a narrow waist and toned stomach. It's all Jacob can look at for a long moment. 

It enlivens him to tear out of his own dress shirt.

“Wow, eager,” Sebastian muses with a smirk curling his lips. “Been awhile?” 

Jacob doesn't humor him with a response, focused on getting undressed in a bid to feel himself against the other man as fast as possible. 

Sebastian watches, amused and achingly hard. It's been a bit since he's been with someone who was tripping over themselves to get at home, and he's never met someone so dogged to get him in their bed as Jacob. There's no way he could afford this enthusiasm to every single one of his bed fellows.

He's stripped in record time, coaxing Sebastian further into the bed and leaning over him for the nightstand. The musician watches him with a cattish glint in his eyes, tracking his hands as he pops the cap on the lube and generously pours it into his palm. 

“Sure seem to know what you're doing, first-timer,” Sebastian muses, thighs falling apart to let Jacob in. 

He jolts when Jacob forgoes trying to warm the lube in his hand and presses the pads of his fingers against his taint. The cold shocks him, and Sebastian glowers up at Jacob’s smug smile. 

“Maybe I don't.”

Sebastian huffs and relaxes into the bed, allowing his shoulders to meet the plush comforter as he watches what Jacob does. Letting his eyes rove over his body– his defined pecs, his sculpted, playboy-cover abs, his unfairly pretty and long cock that bobbed under its own weight and curved. 

Sucking in a gasp, Sebastian preens into the soft, curious press of Jacob’s fingers against him. He's slow, careful with him, petting across his hole and making sure he was amply slicked before daring to press in. He can't stifle the reflexive shiver that travels down his spine as he sinks one finger in, exploring.

He only lets his eyes shut for a moment before he's glaring again and sitting up to grab at Jacob’s jaw. Crushing their lips together, he drags him down until he's practically blanketing the smaller man with his frame, only kept up by a palm planted in the bed.

His legs shut around Jacob’s arm, stubbornly keeping him in place, and he makes sure he hears every little noise he wrings out of him. The quiet sighs and short hitches when he almost finds his sweet spot with one, the low and happy moan pressed between their tongues when he does with two, and even the soft whimper when he hooks three fingers into him and catches that bundle of nerves just right. Working his hips down on his fingers, helping him find that spot over and over greedily, feeling his release start to warm his core. 

The slow, rolling, and heady press of tongues is cut short with Sebastian nipping along his lower lip and pulling back. 

“Are you just gonna show off that pretty cock or are you gonna let me feel it?” Sebastian says breathlessly, even as he continues to grind down against his hand. 

Jacob’s face flushes beet red, and after another dutiful pass over his sweet spot– slow and drawn out in a way that makes his chest tighten– he sits up and slips free.

“All you had to do was ask,” Jacob says, trying to be playful in return when all he can think about is how tight Sebastian still was. 

“‘M not asking,” Sebastian says wryly, watching as Jacob shifts and settles against the too-many pillows at the head of the bed. When he realizes what he's doing, he quirks a brow. 

“You're too pretty to just be laying on your back,” Jacob says lamely, his slicked hand carefully working over his cock. Not wanting to give himself too much.

“Is that what it is?” Sebastian huffs, all the while working his legs under himself and crawling over and up into Jacob’s lap. 

As his weight settles down, his hand is replaced by Sebastian’s. He feels the pianist’s fingers wrap around his cock, feeling along his length with a few curious strokes before he’s pressing the head against him. Any retort that Jacob could’ve been forming dies on his tongue as soon as he feels the slightest bit of pressure give way to blissful, tight heat.

His groan is far louder than Sebastian’s own quiet moan, his hands immediately finding their way to the shorter man’s waist to squeeze. He can’t tell if it’s impatience or overzealousness or what that makes Sebastian take him all the way to the hilt in one smooth drop.

He just barely fights down the reverent curse, alternating between squeezing and petting Sebastian’s waist. He loses that battle as soon as Sebastian starts moving, rolling his hips in confident, slow waves. Deliberate in the way that he can rut his cock against Jacob’s stomach, dragging against the sparse, neatly trimmed happy trail.

Sebastian enjoys the lax pace, watching Jacob’s face twitch and his brows cinch together as he soaks in what Sebastian gives him. A bit boring, maybe, but nice. 

Except he wasn’t here for nice. He was here to fuck the hot guy from the bar that kept following him around.

“You fuck so daintily. No wonder you crawl around bars. You have no repeat customers.”

Tipping his head back into the pillows, he glowers at Sebastian. Hating more than anything the little cocky smirk on his face, never faltering as he languidly bounced in his lap. It was infuriating, making his blood run hotter and hotter.

He was letting Sebastian set the pace because this was new to him, he didn’t want to fucking hurt him doing something he wasn’t supposed to. His resolve on that front was quickly thinning down to nothing.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Thought you said you got a lot of ‘oh, please’–”

Tightening his hold over Sebastian’s waist, he forces him to still in the same moment he bucks his hips, sheathing himself to the hilt in one fluid motion.

Sebastian’s eyes snap open, completely losing his words in a short, sharp gasp. A tremor passes through him, Jacob feeling it in the base of his cock.

“You were saying?” Jacob says flatly, quirking a brow.

Sebastian stares down at him, mind fixated on each individual point of Jacob’s fingers dimpling his hips. He’s gotten his patience whiddled down to nothing, the cracks in his polished, practiced facade shining through with an aching promise that makes his cock twitch, pre smearing across Jacob’s stomach.

“You fuck like a girl,” Sebastian says– tone bordering bored. He sees immediately the scowl start to crease Jacob’s handsome features and fights to restrain his grin. “As in, you’re fucking me like a girl, and you’re not even good at—”

The next word is completely lost as Jacob drives his hips up into him– and doesn’t stop.

Pleasure rips through him, Sebastian pitching forward with the force of Jacob’s thrusts. Jacob, for all his pretty muscles and roguish, magazine-cover looks, has some actual strength that surprises Sebastian. He braces his hands against Jacob’s chest, finding himself held firmly in place by a bruising grip on his hips.

Heels digging into the bed, he makes sure to give Sebastian everything he was asking for. If he was going to complain that he was being dainty with him, then he’ll happily show him how rough he can play.

The sound between their bodies– the wet slick of Jacob’s cock slamming home over and over, the clap of skin meeting skin– completely overtakes their haggard panting.

He shudders above Jacob, arms trembling where he’s trying to steady himself against his relentless pace. Jacob gets an unabashed view of his face as he bites his tongue, clearly restraining himself from making too much noise– something so deeply ironic for a musician to do. 

“C’mon, baby,” he goads, “make some noise for me.”

“Shut up,” Sebastian hisses through clenched teeth. He can feel every inch slamming into him, making his stomach ache with the dizzying force of it. 

“Lemme hear that pretty voice.”

“Fuck you,” he bites.

Jacob makes a little noise, almost contemplative.

He doesn’t even realize he’s unconsciously trying to leverage away from it until Jacob rebuffs him and forces his hips back down to the perfect angle to jackhammer his cock into him.

“Oh–”

Jacob pointedly wrenches him down even further, causing his hips to burn with the strain. And he sees stars as Jacob finds his sweet spot with the slightest shift in angle.

“— fuck.”

It’s suddenly too much, too fast. 

He’s unable to stop the sharp, frantic gasp as he fights against Jacob’s hold over his hips. The building pressure between his legs suddenly races to meet him, a shiver ripping through him viciously as he’s brought to the brink faster than he’s–

A weak, cloying moan escapes, a strand of drool slipping off his teeth as his orgasm clutches him with a terrifying viciousness. He shudders, tensing, squeezing his eyes shut against the mind numbing pleasure tearing him apart.

His cum paints Jacob’s stomach, shooting as far as his sternum as he fucks Sebastian through his orgasm. He answers his moan with a growling rumble of his own, back arching into the maddening tightness bearing down around his cock. 

“Wait–”

There’s a persistent shiver running through Sebastian now. He blearily picks his head up, lips shiny with drool and flush from his teeth along them. 

“Jesus Christ, Jacob–”

His insides were too sensitive, each thrust driving stakes of pained-pleasure straight through his core. With trembling legs, he tries again to leverage his hips away, to get Jacob to stop, slow down, give him a break–

“What?” Jacob growls.

“Hold on, I-I need a second–”

Jacob stops, releasing his bruising grip on Sebastian’s hips and letting him drop fully into his lap. 

He would never own up to the reedy, strangled noise that tortures out of him, nor the weak rope of cum his cock manages. 

“You can’t–” he starts, trying to collect his thoughts, readying to scold Jacob for not giving a man a moment to recover between rounds.

Pushing a heel into the bed, he rolls them over and leaves Sebastian sprawled beneath him. 

His hands hook along the tops of Sebastian’s thighs, wrenching him flush with his hips and ripping a gasp out of him at the sudden depth.

“Jacob–”

“Girls don’t need to wait to get hard again,” Jacob says gruffly, rolling onto his knees as he steals a second to grind as deep as he could fit into the other man. 

Then he’s laying into him with deep, heavy strokes. 

Crying out, Sebastian arches off the bed as he’s completely blindsided by the sharp overstimulation of too much pleasure. His hands tear at the bedding, trying to find some way to ground himself as Jacob fucks him into the mattress. 

He was only half-hard, but he could feel the stirrings of another orgasm already coiling in his gut. He’s never been one for long affairs, compared to the womanizer who's used to going round after round. The thought of Jacob wanting to keep going after he gets off makes Sebastian warble out a fluttering, shaking note.

Managing to crack open his eyes a sliver, he’s able to properly take in how debauched Jacob looked. He can only fathom the state he was in, but any deviation from the well-manicured, immaculately put together appearance was monumental.

Some of Jacob’s gelled down hair was coming loose, the hold weakened with exertion. Sweat beaded along his temples, catching along the angles of his face. It was unfair that he looked so handsome even all sex-muddled. 

Jacob’s hands migrate to his waist, fingers fanning over where bruises are already sure to form, and splits Sebastion’s thighs around his hips.

It’s that tiny, half-inch-deeper difference that makes Sebastian choke on another moan, eyes rolling back in his skull. 

Sprawled on his back, Jacob gets a better view of how Sebastian tenses, body tightening under pressure, his cock twitching and jumping as he comes again. Fucking him through another orgasm, Jacob ignores the burn of his core and thighs as he makes sure to wring every last drop out of this cocky little brat.

“Ja–” Sebastian’s voice is hoarse, breaking, hiccuping over his name, “—acob—”

A hand weakly comes up to push at Jacob, and he can feel his fingers tremble against his chest. He can barely open his eyes, filled with overwhelmed tears. His thighs shiver so violently around his hips, entire body simply alight with over-wrung nerves.

Knowing he did that– has done all of this– makes Jacob feel lightheaded. 

“See, I know how to take care of you,” Jacob rumbles, not clearly thinking about his words. He shifts, thighs bracketing Sebastian’s hips, and settles into a slow, gentler rhythm. Just jostling Sebastian, keeping him fucked full on his full length, never pulling out more than halfway. 

“‘S too much,” Sebastian tries, voice thick with drool and tears. “I-I’m not a… I can't–”

“You can.”

Sebastian makes a weak noise of protest, shaking his head lazily. His loose hair is fanned out around him, creating a halo.

“I-It was a joke,” Sebastian gasps, stomach twitching and hips bucking every time he bottoms out. It was so hard to speak now, head stuffed full of cotton. “You're… You're gonna break me.”

Jacob sucks in a breath, biting down on his lip to stop himself from saying something truly embarrassing. Oh, how he ached to break this man in a way that he's never felt towards anyone. The curl of possessiveness watching him as a relative stranger over days, becoming more fixated on what all he could do with him, it has him by the throat. 

It's only gotten tighter since he's realized he can do anything to him. 

“Then why did you keep saying it?” Jacob says hoarsely, settling back on his haunches. 

His hands find Sebastian’s knees, petting down his thighs to the soft pillow of his meager love handles. They're so pronounced like this, giving the impression of something to properly grab. He ignores it in favor of running his palms over his stomach, thumbs through the cum spattered up along the line of his navel and abs. 

“I… It was… I’unno,” Sebastian mumbles, head lulling as he looks down the curve of his body to watch Jacob’s hands. He can see his own blush has spilled past his pecs, down onto his ribs. Christ, that's never happened before. 

Jacob never thought he'd be endeared by the sight of a man's softened, spent cock, but it's all he can look at. He can't help the little reflexive buck of his hips, driving himself home a little harder than he means to and wrenching a sound out of Sebastian that sounds too close to a sob. He knew he was objectively good, but only by measure of the women he's been with. It was trickier, their tells more subtle, internal, something that needed worked out carefully– and he loved it. 

This? With the undeniable proof that Sebastian has more than just enjoyed himself painting both of their stomachs, his blush trying to work its way to his hips, his chest shuddering with ragged, reedy breaths– he could absolutely get used to this. Might even be spoiled by this, if Sebastian would let him. 

“You ever been fucked like this before?” Jacob asks with a sharp edge to his tone that stirs Sebastian's full attention. 

“...No,” he says, which isn't necessarily untruthful. He's had rough partners, but Jacob? He was…

“You like it?”

What a fucking egoist.

Sebastian manages a weak glower, and a halfhearted meh.

Jacob smirks. First time that night that one of Sebastian’s barbs hasn't dug into his skin, because he can see clear through it. It makes him preen, and puts an idea in his head. 

One of his hands slides along the sweaty curve of Sebastian’s hipbone to pass his thumb along the line of Sebastian’s spent cock. It elicits a weak jerk, body flinching under the contact, as Sebastian sucks in a breath of surprise. Pushing the soft pad of his thumb beneath the head, he strokes the glans in a circular motion much as he would a woman’s clit. 

At once, Sebastian tenses, a hand flying out haphazardly to try and knock his hand away. 

“Jacob– Jake–” he croaks, only for Jacob to rebuff his attempts to move his attention away. “No, nonono—”

“One more, baby,” Jacob croons. 

“I-I can't–”

“You will.”

Jacob manages to capture his wrist, leaning forward and forcing it down into the bed above Sebastian’s shoulder. Looming over him, Sebastian tries to use his remaining hand to push Jacob off, but gets nowhere with his efforts. 

He can feel his peak coiling in his gut, stoked and tended so dutifully and carefully as to make sure he let Sebastian have everything he could've wanted and more before he let go of himself. He was an extremely selfish lover, if only because his angle was seeing just how good he could be– how many orgasms he can wring out, how loud he can get them to scream. Some people call it generous, but that's until they get beneath him. Then he's just greedy.

His pace only picks up slightly, using the inertia of Sebastian's body being rocked back and forth to fuck him just a touch harder. 

Thumb slicked with Sebastian's own cum, he passes it along the head of his cock over and over, watching his face raptly as he comes undone for a third time. Mouth falling open with teeth clinging together with drool, eyes rolling back, the tendons of his wrist squeezing under his palm as his entire body tensed and arched. 

Jacob feels his release prickle at the base of his spine, and he lets go of Sebastian just long enough to fuck him in earnest– slow but deep, grinding in as far as he can, feeling out the space he had created within Sebastian that was just for him.

Sebastian is barely lucid enough to watch Jacob come apart above him, hardly processing the aborted, stilted bucks of his hips as he fucks his load as deep as he can into him. All he can manage is a shuddering moan, feeling heat bloom in his stomach, before he was out like a light. 

Panting, Jacob blinked the sweat from his eyes as he came back to himself. Scowling through the afterglow haze to realize that Sebastian had passed out. 

Can't say he's ever had that happen before. 

His guts clench with a thrill he has no name for, just knowing that he did that.

Gently, he eased out, eyes fixed on the wet ruin of Sebastian between his legs as he went. How his load slowly follows after him, trailing down to the bedsheets. He was absolutely ruined.

He carefully shuffles Sebastian, rolling him to his side before slipping from the bed for a warm, wet rag. Clean up was simple, quick, and not once does the musician rouse out of his fucked-out sleep. 

Jacob tries to not let it go to his head that Sebastian absolutely needed a good, long sleep, and that he was never going to give it to himself. That it took Jacob fucking him stupid, pounding the attitude out of him, for him to get it. And he’ll make damn sure he gets it, locating his phone and tossing it on the living room couch before slinking back to bed. 

He wavers, staring at the pile of Sebastian’s clothes on the floor.

Tugging open his closet, he quietly pulls out more comfortable clothes– just sweats and a t-shirt. He bundles up his suit and sets it beside his little offering, and finds the shape of his wallet in the pocket of his trousers. It had been a thought in the back of his mind all night, that Sebastian was out a gig he sorely needed, and rather than hunt down another one he had spent the evening with him. He slips him a few generous bills from his own wallet, having no good basis of how much he gets paid for a show but only knowing how much he'd pay for Sebastian’s talent– a very healthy disparity between reality and this.