cake oneshots || book one

No Control (E)

Credit: dazedlight

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Luke hears it in the early hours of the morning, a whispered "Fück", followed by a loud groan, and he thinks about all the times he could've backed out the band and, therefore, not have had to endure the sounds of two of his best friends going at it in the next room. Another groan bleeds through the walls, and he grabs a pillow to smother himself with as he flops onto his back. He fumbles for his phone and some headphones and jams them in his ears once he finds them tangled in the sheets, jabbing desperately at the home button. A drained battery icon blinks tauntingly back at him, and he lets out his own groan because of course, of course, his phone would be dead the one night Michael and Ashton decide to break the quiet sex rule.

He buries his head further into the pillows as he turns on his side, narrowing his eyes at the clock on the bedside table. It's too early for them to be having sex. He knows they're all jet-lagged but, Christ, isn't there something else they can do? Literally anything else?

Calum seems entirely unbothered by the noises floating through the walls, his body rising and falling steadily with his even breaths. Luke glares at his smooth back, jealous of his blissful ignorance. He thinks about waking him up, forcing him to sit through all of this shït with him, but he's not that much of a dïck, and instead spends the next twenty or so minutes pretending he can't hear.

The moans and bed-thumping are beginning to drift into background noise as his eyes slip shut when there's a very poignant, very loud cry that dissolves into Michael gasping "Ash, fück, fück, fück" over and over again, and Luke just can't handle it anymore. He pushes himself up and bangs on the wall, face burning. Everything stills as a quiet settles over the rooms.

"Some of us are trying to sleep, assholes," he yells anyway, even though he's sure the knock on the wall was enough to get his point across.

There's a beat of silence in which Luke thinks they may be contemplating feigning innocence but then a chimed, "Sorry" is coming through the wall. He scrubs a hand over his face and slips back under the covers. He puts up with so much, he really does.

Just as he's settling in, he hears Michael call out, "Can we at least finish?"

Luke buries his face in his hands. "I fücking hate this band." He listens to Michael cackle, followed by Ashton hissing something at him. He sighs. They owe him a long-äss wank session tomorrow, no interruptions, no complaints because he is a saint, honestly. "Fine," he breathes out, and it's not long before they're at it again, Luke holding a pillow over his head to drown out the noise.

*

The next morning he takes his time in the shower, cashing in on his deserved Me Time. When he climbs out, feeling refreshed and relaxed, Calum is just waking up, blinking blearily at him. He eyes him carefully while Luke pulls on some clothes before mumbling, "Did you have a wank?"
He blushes because even though they're all ridiculously close - too close, Luke thinks sometimes - he still gets embarrassed when they talk about "private time." Still, he turns to face Calum and levels him with a look because goddämmit, he deserved to get off this morning. "Yes, I did."

Calum raises his eyebrows at his challenging tone and says, "Alright, as long as you didn't use up all the hot water" and then heads to the bathroom himself. He probably did use all the hot water but whatever. He had to listen to his best friends have sex last night; he can use all the hot water he damn well pleases.

Ashton and Michael are already in the kitchen once he gets there, looking rumpled and half-awake. Ashton's making coffee, and there's something burning on the stove, but he doesn't seem to notice as he places a cup in front of a dead-eyed Michael, dropping a kiss on his forehead absentmindedly. When he enters, they both snap to attention, skirting around him sheepishly. He ignores them, grabbing the bread that pops out of the toaster even though it's probably Ashton's and rescuing the burnt eggs from the stove. He sits down across from Michael carefully and takes his time cutting up his eggs and toast before placing each bite in his mouth, chewing slowly and staring Michael down. He squirms a little in his seat, and Luke revels in it. He's an ässhole when he wants to be, and he definitely wants to be now.