Good Girls Go Bad // smut

the price we pay / ashton irwin

CHECK OUT MY NEW FANFICTION (COTTON CANDY / ASHTON IRWIN) 

credit: mukebecause

“Dude, any chance that Y/N could possibly dismount for a few minutes? We’ve really got to get ready to go on,” Michael says, just his head poking through the small gap in the dressing room door.

Ashton abruptly halts the movement of his hands, which were previously guiding your hips to grind against the hardness beneath his jeans. He turns his head toward Michael, shooting daggers from his eyes, and Michael immediately ducks his head out of the door and closes it. Ashton looks up from his position beneath you; his usually light eyes darkened with desire.

“Ash,” you whimper and moan as he thrusts himself strongly into your heated core, his hands gripping your hips so roughly that you’re sure you’ll have bruises in the shape of his handprints tomorrow. You lean down and smash your lips to his as he begins rocking you back and forth again, resuming your previous activities as if you’d never been interrupted in the first place.

“What do you want princess? Tell me what you need,” he commands authoritatively while continuing his ministrations.

“I need you,” you manage to get out through your moans, your head thrown back and eyes shut tightly.

Suddenly, he lifts your hips and sets you on the couch beside him, your eyes popping open in confusion. Your mind is clouded with pure lust for him, and in your disoriented state you’re vaguely aware that he’s moving quickly around the room. He grabs his gray bandana and his favorite drumsticks while slipping on his heavy black boots and black tank top. “Sorry, princess. Looks like you’re just going to have to wait until after the show.” Your jaw drops open in shock and annoyance as he moves toward the door, opening it fully before turning back toward you, “I’m going to love going out there and playing for all of those people, just knowing that my princess is waiting and all needy for me.”

Ashton sends you one last devilish smirk as he rushes out the door, leaving you dumbfounded and completely soaking through your panties. “Well what the fuck?” you ask no one in particular as you contemplate just sticking your hand in your pants and taking care of the problem on your own.

Groaning out audibly, you lie back on the couch and stare at the ceiling in frustration knowing that your own hand will never hold a candle to Ashton’s ridiculously long and skilled fingers. Attempting to ignore the deep throbbing ache in your core, you flip over and plant your face into the couch cushions, thinking that maybe you’ll be able to take a nap while the boys are on stage. Quickly though, you realize that you are far too keyed up to sleep and get off the couch to wander around backstage.

You head over toward the ramp that’s located directly behind Ashton’s drum kit onstage and walk up the ramp slightly to avoid being seen by the crowd. Most of the crew members are busy running the show, and no one takes much notice to you as you’ve become a familiar face to everyone on the tour. For a few long moments, you watch Ashton as he plays. The tight tank top that he’s wearing allows you to see his rippling back muscles as he exerts himself onstage. Mesmerized, you shuffle slightly closer and see the trails of sweat falling from the hairline on the back of his neck and have the sudden urge to run your tongue along them. You sit down on the ramp and watch Ashton for several minutes, listening to the way he hypes up the crowd with his effortless energy.

Suddenly, an idea formulates in your head. You smirk as you crawl slowly on your hands and knees toward Ashton, assessing the danger of being seen as you move closer. When you’re right behind him, you see that there are pieces of the set that will actually block you from being seen from the sides. Mentally high-fiving yourself, you wait for the song change that will allow him a small break.