Breath

Offstage (Tim Commerford)

For @Jar0fR0ttenApples.

Short Prompt, Second Person POV, Smut warning

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It is sweltering outside, even for Phoenix. The roots of you hair had slowly become sticky with sweat, but the rest of your body had been drenched since five minutes after stepping out of the hotel.

The sky is all indigo except for a sliver of orange on the horizon. You glance at a clock on the wall and see that it reads 8:01 PM. You huff and peel your t-shirt away from your slick back. The band will be starting any second.

Despite the heat, you're happy to be there and share the experience with your boyfriend. It's not Rage's first tour, but they had blown up quite a bit in the past few months, so the audiences are much larger and they get more press.

Tim is pretty ambivalent to the recognition. He loves playing and sharing music, but he could take or leave the attention they had recently garnered.

"Hey," a gruff voice greets from behind. Strong arms wrap around your middle.

Speak of the devil. 

"There you are." You untangle yourself from him and turn so you're facing each other. The edge of his shoulder ink peeps out from the sleeve of his shirt.

"Aren't you supposed to be onstage right now?"

"Yeah," he admits, but the soft smile on his face makes you think he has something else on his mind.

"What?" You cock an eyebrow at him, but he just keeps smiling and squeezes your hips. A heat of a different kind builds up in your core. He leans in and rests his forehead on yours. Because of the height difference, you have to tilt your head back to see him properly. He kisses you lazily and slides one hand around to your ass. 

You draw back and bask in his desire. 

"We have three minutes," you state. His eyes flash and he pulls you forcefully into a dimly lit alcove. 

It's even hotter in the stuffy spot and both of you breathe heavily. He lifts you up to his waist and presses you up against the wall. You wrap your legs around his torso tightly.

"So. Fucking. Beautiful," he gets out in between kisses. You giggle against his mouth.

He drags his lips down your neck, eliciting a quiet gasp form you. Deft fingers undo the button of your denim shorts and slip beneath the elastic of your underwear. Although it had been damp from sweat before, the fabric is fully wet now.

You rest your head against his shoulder as his thumb puts pressure on your clit.

"Fuck," you say between gritted teeth. He cups the back of your head with his free hand and continues his movements at your center. Despite the short time-frame, you are rapidly approaching climax. 

His fingers are always so good.

"Fuck, Tim."

"Shh."

Your eyes are closed and your brows pushed together, nonsensical words slipping from your mouth. It's hard to stay controlled with him. 

Just when you start to feel your orgasm approach, he slides two of his thick fingers inside you and caresses that spongy spot near the back. The wave of pleasure crests and crashes. You clench around him hard, riding it out. 

He groans against your neck softly as you come down from the high.

"Shit. That was...amazing."

"I gotta go now," he says, gently letting your feet come down to the floor. You had had your fun, but the evidence of his arousal was still a noticeable bulge in his pants.

"See?" he asks, spreading his arms wide. "This is what you do to me?"

"I don't see how you can be calm about this. You can't go out there with a raging hard on." 

"Whatever. I have my bass; It goes in front of me anyways."

You shake your head at him in exasperation. The casualness with which he's approaching this is amusing, if a little concerning.

"Okay," you say in defeat. "Love you."

He grins at you one more time and heads onstage. To your embarrassment (and slight excitement), you see him lick your arousal from his fingers as he's turned away from the audience. 

That wouldn't be your only orgasm of the night.