#so techincally it can be tagged as pg-13

[vincess-princess]

just another night

some people are interested, so here it is! i kinda experimented with sound and flow and am a little bit nervous how it turned out. also, do you think i should post it to rockfic too? also it’s kinda long so im putting it under the cut. as always, giant thank you to my lovely beta @polska-tankietka , without you this would be so much more trashy

Fandom: Motley Crue Pairing: Nikki Sixx/Vince Neil Word count: 1547

The bar is stuffy and smelly. Music roars in Nikki’s ears, light flounces before his eyes; red-yellow-white, red-yellow-white. Nikki can’t make out the hair colour of the boy who’s been looking at him for the last twenty minutes. Nikki looks back and taps on the counter. Bartender serves both of them Jack Daniels, and he senses an understanding soul.

The boy has a girlfriend, and at first Nikki wants to throw them the fuck out. After observing them a little, he changes his mind. The boy doesn’t even look at her; she sulks, drinks shot after shot, leans on the counter, finally gets up and totters towards the toilet.

The boy watches her until she closes the door. Then he looks at Nikki. And smiles.

Nikki smiles back.

The boy nods, shows him three fingers, empties his glass and disappears in the crowd. The music is so loud the air seems to be vibrating, Nikki will soon be able to see sounds.

Nikki starts counting seconds. The whiskey messes up his count, and he has to start again. He gets angry, starts straight from fifty.

One hundred seventy eight. One hundred seventy nine. One hundred eighty.

Nikki gets up, throws his jacket on the stool and heads to the men’s toilet.

Here, he can’t see well either, but he makes out that the boy has blonde hair. There’s barely enough room for two, Nikki almost knocks his head on the lamp. He still has to lean forward, the boy pulls him closer, his fingers gripping Nikki’s hair, his breath smelling of whiskey. Nikki closes his eyes and opens his mouth, his world is bitter and wet, tasting like cigarettes and smelling like cheap perfume, and the fingers in his hair are pulling demandingly, almost painfully, almost. Nikki’s tired of bending over, he grabs the boy under his thighs and lifts him up, his back against the wall, he laughs without sound, “what a strong boy”, and Nikki thanks someone silently for bad lighting in the room.

The boy accidentally bites Nikki’s lip and quickly apologizes, Nikki wants to tell him that it doesn’t matter, even the taste of blood won’t dilute the bitterness in their mouths, but he doesn’t want to stop the kiss, not now, please. The boy is a very skilled kisser, but it’s not a contest for Nikki: his hand feels the hotness of the boy’s skin, the part of his back right above the belt of his jeans, and he slides his whole palm under his tee, and he just can’t get enough of him.

“We don’t have much time,” the boy whispers in his ear, and Nikki’s mouth feels so cold and empty without the blonde’s tongue in it. The boy’s hands are cold too, and Nikki shivers a little when these fingers brush his skin right above his jeans. Nikki tries not to look, this is not his first time but he still blushes like a schoolgirl. Instead, he looks at the boy’s hair that is darkened at the roots, tangles his fingers in it and pulls him closer. The boy doesn’t resist - he doesn’t need to see what’s down there to handle it, his breath is hot on Nikki’s neck, his hair tickles his cheek. Only now Nikki notices he’s a head shorter than him.

“Are you even eighteen?” he whispers hoarsely.

“Twenty already,” the boy looks Nikki straight in the eyes, resentfully, almost defiantly. His eyes are dark, brown, maybe. “Do you really care?”

“Don’t wanna go to jail because of such trifle.” Nikki smiles insincerely while everything inside of him screams, stop it, he will leave, he will leave you alone here, do you want it?

“I wouldn’t tell anyone anyway,” the boy says indignantly, and for a second Nikki fears he’s too angry to go on. But they’ve already got so far, and the boy, too, feels this growing tension in his crotch, and he doesn’t want to stop.

Nikki can’t help moaning when the boy’s hand slips under his belt. Nikki strokes his head, he would never think such a non-sexual gesture would work, and the bleached hair under his fingers is stiff, a little bit damaged already, but not in vain, definitely not. The neck under the hair is sun-burnt to dark-red, and Nikki can’t understand whether pain or pleasure is behind the boy’s moans, but he doesn’t try to stop him, so Nikki hopes it’s alright. And those strong fingers down there move faster and faster, and Nikki accidentally bites his partner’s shoulder, but the boy doesn’t listen to his apologies, “let’s talk later, after we’re over”. Nikki puts his hand over his mouth to muffle his screams, there’s another toilet just behind the wall, what if someone will hear him? Yes, a silly concern, the music is too loud, but Nikki doesn’t want to give them out, they really don’t need to be interrupted right now.

And then the world explodes in front of his eyes, and everything goes black and white, and for a few seconds Nikki can’t breathe and only presses his face into the tanned shoulder with a white trace of a strap.

They should have probably brought tissues with them.

The boy smiles, teeth shine like pearls in a brown face. “Was it good?”

“…oh fuck yes.”

Nikki buttons back his jeans. “My turn.”

The boy’s jeans are easy to take off, very useful in a club. “Did you forget underwear on purpose?” They don’t talk – they whisper, soundlessly, the music doesn’t let them hear each other, but it’s ok, Nikki understands almost every word, as though he finally learned to read lips.

“Sure,” the boy blinks in surprise, “why would you need it here?” and Nikki almost laughs, almost, because he’s kind of right.

Nikki got told a lot in the past that he has calloused fingers. He usually shrugged it off - it’s the cost of playing the bass, - but now he’s worried the boy won’t like it. He is wrong. The boy tilts his head back and moans loudly, openly, shamelessly, as though there are no people behind this thin door, but Nikki doesn’t care, not anymore. Let them hear. Let them envy. Something cracks behind the boy’s back, and they clumsily move around to avoid knocking down the fragile sink, and Nikki is not afraid anymore to cling to him, because it’s much harder to knock down the wall, although they probably could do it if they had enough time. Now they have too little of it, but Nikki doesn’t care, he lives in the moment, in their broken breath and desperate moans, in the drops of sweat on a tanned forehead. He holds the boy with one arm while he scratches his shoulders and smears his lipstick on Nikki’s shirt, so submissive, so fragile, and Nikki loves it, and he knows it’s not true, he knows he’s wrong, but one can always dream. They won’t meet again anyway, will they?

The boy whimpers quietly, and Nikki’s palm fills with warm and wet. Nikki holds him so tight it’s almost painful, because if he lets him go, they will both collapse. They stand there panting and don’t look in the other’s eyes and don’t understand why it’s so hard to just release their grips, to just say goodbye. They don’t owe each other anything, right? Seconds are hours, hours are seconds, and time stretches like rubber and sprints like a leopard, and doesn’t obey any known laws. How long it’s been, a minute, an hour, a day?

“It was so cool,” the boy’s whisper breaks the fragile silence. “Are you a guitarist?”

“Bassist.” Shit, so he didn’t like it?

“Even better,” he looks Nikki straight in the eyes and a smile hides in the corners of his mouth. “I love musicians.”

Nikki pulls him into a kiss to not let him notice his blush. They kiss, and Nikki can’t stop thinking that it’s their last one.

“Alright,” the boy breaks the kiss a couple of minutes later. “I gotta go. You have magnificent fingers,” and he slips out of Nikki’s arms and almost turns the doorknob.

”Wait, tell me at least your name.” The last thing to ask in a gay club, but Nikki needs to hold on to something.

“Wharton.” The boy smiles, slyness in his eyes. Definitely lied. “Yours?”

“Frank.” Who could think he would use it again. “It was nice to, uh, meet you.”

“Same. Three minutes, as before?”

Nikki nods, and Wharton leaves. A few seconds that Nikki lingers for, his head still in a haze of his recent orgasm, are enough for Wharton to blend in with the crowd. Nikki looks for him until he’s dizzy from all the music and the lights but it’s all in vain.

He leaves the toilet and plods back to the bar. He wants to get drunk enough to pass out but so much alcohol is beyond his means. He grabs his jacket, and – a piece of paper flies out right under the counter.

It takes him ten minutes, two broken nails and scratched fingers to fish it from under the counter. There are some numbers on it. And a “Call me. W”

Nikki is on his knees, smiling like an idiot.