Never Any Peace
Jul. 14th, 2022 10:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rage_rekkerFor "What are we?" 1. prompt sparks when skin brushes skin
The tour put everyone into routine and rhythm, people, bandmates, even those that weren't part of bands. Rekker tried to rush through getting himself together before Bjorn got any ideas to use the hotel room's tiny bathroom. Still, the Brit would not be discouraged from taking care of his hair. It took a long time to brush and set the curls so it didn't become a viciously tangled mess on stage, or just existing. He could already hear the sound of Bjorn rummaging through things to get ready for a night out.
The Brit was still in just boxer briefs when he heard the door to the bathroom slam open. There was no need to look out from under his mane of red hair he was still brushing. The huff had him laughing because he could easily imagine the Swede standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and looking put out by the mirror being occupied.
Grinning to himself he kept on his own task. Eventually, he pushed his hair back only to see his partner giving him to most annoyed look he'd seen in awhile.
“You're taking forever!” He was coming at the Brit with a bad attitude swagger. “You don't need the mirror.”
Rekker was barely listening because Bjorn was standing there in just a pair of pants. Those pink leopard print ones, so tight that the Brit felt his body shiver. It was the lacy, sheer side panels that almost showed off his ass that drove the Brit mad. The original pair Bjorn had brought from Sweden had been shredded one night, months ago, and as promised, Rekker replaced them. Sometimes he wondered why he did that to himself because these particular pants made him feel crazy. Soon Bjorn was shoving himself between Rekker and the bathroom sink to use the mirror. The huge make up bag thumping in the sink.
The anger rose with the action but the touch of Bjorn's bare back on his bare chest derailed it. The Swede's skin was so soft, everywhere was soft, and Rekker clenched down on his teeth to stop the growling. One hand putting the brush in the sink and the other was already sliding down the spandex and lace covering his lover's hip. He couldn't resist the way their bare skin touching still set him on fire like a spark to gasoline.
Bjorn stared at him in the mirror, frozen with the eyeliner pencil in hand. Rekker grinned as he leaned in to kiss the Swede's shoulder, winking at him before he bit his neck gently. He heard the pencil clatter in the sink seconds before his hair was yanked so hard it stopped the bite to gasp.
“They won't notice if we're a few minutes late.” Rekker went back to kissing the bare shoulder while his other hand snaked around the singer's slim waist, pulling him back.
He heard the beginnings of something bitchy that was cut off by a moan as he pushed harder against Bjorn's ass, shoving him against the sink. “You're so fucking....” What? Rekker's mind couldn't think of words and that growl escaped; low, loud and rumbling his chest. Bjorn caused him to feel crazy. Not just in the sexual sense but also in the lack of control. Some shrink would probably say it was a drug addiction if he described the symptoms.
Bjorn let out a sighed breath and pushed back, rubbing against Rekker like a cat in heat. Rekker stopped kissing, gasping from the electric feeling everywhere their bare skin was in contact. The Swede obviously didn't care about making the others wait either as his hips started wiggling to help Rekker pull the skin tight pants down. He never said it out loud, knew Bjorn knew it, Rekker was so wrapped up in Bjorn. From the outside he was the dominant one but as they started kissing, Bjorn's razor sharp nails raking up his thigh, they both knew Bjorn had the upper hand. Bjorn had such control of the Brit as soon as their skin touched and he buckled from want.
The tour put everyone into routine and rhythm, people, bandmates, even those that weren't part of bands. Rekker tried to rush through getting himself together before Bjorn got any ideas to use the hotel room's tiny bathroom. Still, the Brit would not be discouraged from taking care of his hair. It took a long time to brush and set the curls so it didn't become a viciously tangled mess on stage, or just existing. He could already hear the sound of Bjorn rummaging through things to get ready for a night out.
The Brit was still in just boxer briefs when he heard the door to the bathroom slam open. There was no need to look out from under his mane of red hair he was still brushing. The huff had him laughing because he could easily imagine the Swede standing in the doorway, hands on his hips and looking put out by the mirror being occupied.
Grinning to himself he kept on his own task. Eventually, he pushed his hair back only to see his partner giving him to most annoyed look he'd seen in awhile.
“You're taking forever!” He was coming at the Brit with a bad attitude swagger. “You don't need the mirror.”
Rekker was barely listening because Bjorn was standing there in just a pair of pants. Those pink leopard print ones, so tight that the Brit felt his body shiver. It was the lacy, sheer side panels that almost showed off his ass that drove the Brit mad. The original pair Bjorn had brought from Sweden had been shredded one night, months ago, and as promised, Rekker replaced them. Sometimes he wondered why he did that to himself because these particular pants made him feel crazy. Soon Bjorn was shoving himself between Rekker and the bathroom sink to use the mirror. The huge make up bag thumping in the sink.
The anger rose with the action but the touch of Bjorn's bare back on his bare chest derailed it. The Swede's skin was so soft, everywhere was soft, and Rekker clenched down on his teeth to stop the growling. One hand putting the brush in the sink and the other was already sliding down the spandex and lace covering his lover's hip. He couldn't resist the way their bare skin touching still set him on fire like a spark to gasoline.
Bjorn stared at him in the mirror, frozen with the eyeliner pencil in hand. Rekker grinned as he leaned in to kiss the Swede's shoulder, winking at him before he bit his neck gently. He heard the pencil clatter in the sink seconds before his hair was yanked so hard it stopped the bite to gasp.
“They won't notice if we're a few minutes late.” Rekker went back to kissing the bare shoulder while his other hand snaked around the singer's slim waist, pulling him back.
He heard the beginnings of something bitchy that was cut off by a moan as he pushed harder against Bjorn's ass, shoving him against the sink. “You're so fucking....” What? Rekker's mind couldn't think of words and that growl escaped; low, loud and rumbling his chest. Bjorn caused him to feel crazy. Not just in the sexual sense but also in the lack of control. Some shrink would probably say it was a drug addiction if he described the symptoms.
Bjorn let out a sighed breath and pushed back, rubbing against Rekker like a cat in heat. Rekker stopped kissing, gasping from the electric feeling everywhere their bare skin was in contact. The Swede obviously didn't care about making the others wait either as his hips started wiggling to help Rekker pull the skin tight pants down. He never said it out loud, knew Bjorn knew it, Rekker was so wrapped up in Bjorn. From the outside he was the dominant one but as they started kissing, Bjorn's razor sharp nails raking up his thigh, they both knew Bjorn had the upper hand. Bjorn had such control of the Brit as soon as their skin touched and he buckled from want.
