To the Beat of My Heart

Impervious

Manchester to Ireland, a proper UK tour. Clay and I know these venues all too well. Before we were globetrotting, living it like kings, we were two lads from the UK, knowing very little apart from small towns and way too much bloody green countryside. It's not the same now. I stare out the tour bus window and feel everything cracking, the world steadily slipping from beneath me. From hotel to hotel, I keep on as if everything's normal, but Clay notices how I will move out of sight when Kai's around, answering him with simple grunts if he even bothers to talk to me. Before I hated that because I wasn't good or charming or funny enough. It reminded me that I didn't belong. Now I just can't stand him being here, a risk to my boyfriend.

Clay had one overdose and his mum put him through a program. The urges were there and some nights were tough. But he pulled through. I had small anxiety attacks when I would find Clay eyeing my meds but even he knew they weren't the kind of high he was seeking. I think maybe it was just an unpleasant reminder, ya know.

Shows were rapid-fire and I grew increasingly anxious and horny. Clay was too knackered most nights and he seemed to be holding something back, something that could break me. Tonight, I feel that potently.

It's the night before we head off to Ireland and I'm snuggled up against Clay in our hotel room, legs intertwined with his. For a long while, we just kissed, and I starved for more. Clay was holding out and kept pushing my hand back as I slid it across his stomach, further down still. I grunted and he kissed me harder. He wants to maintain status quo. Fuck him. I don't want distance, just gratification.

My fingers find their way beneath the thin line of material, taking his cock in my grip. I'm not gentle; I own this. Own him. This moment. This night. Fuck sleep. Not now. Now is a moment for shattering barriers. Finding my feet back on the ground.

Clay's lips break from mine and he stares at me. I press my thumb to his slit, a gentle rubbing, wet. I feel his back arch, taut, feel his tremors and his staggered breaths. He closes his eyes in momentary bliss, walls crumbling.

"Fletch..." he moans. "Babe. Stop."

"Why?"

"I..." I feel my own arousal pressing into the sheets, and I move in, pulling the fabric down.

"Babe," he mutters. "Shit, not now..."

"Yes, now."

"I'm not—"

"Not in the mood?"

"Yes. No!"

"It feels like you never want to..."

"Just because..." He groans. He's not angry, not fed up. He just seems conflicted and that's a state I'm achingly familiar with. "I've just got a lot going on and please don't take this the wrong way. I love it, love you and I just don't know if—"

I don't know why he's fighting even now, so I lean down and take him in my mouth. That shuts him up. I can feel him tossing, feel the shudders rippling through his skin. I lick the head, sliding down, feeling this, feeling everything. I relish Clay's soft moans in between breaths. Deny it all you want; you're eating it up, babe.

Clay groans through gritted teeth and I know he's holding off, fighting the climax. Stop. I'm not searching for oblivion, just pleasure. Yours. Let me have this.

I squeeze his thighs, feel the heel of his foot dig into the arch of my buttocks, taste him as I pump on him harder. He stops fighting, starts thrusting and purring, moaning louder. I feel his veins tense as he jerks and thrusts faster. There's a rise. He groans, more a scream as he comes. For too long we're quiet, just Clay panting, hands bunched in the sheets, and I pull off, swallowing, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I watch him in the wake of his climax, his fall back to Earth.