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The last note Nicholas hit stretched and rang in the air around them. He pulled it out, gently sliding the string back and forth along the smooth wood. It reverberated in a way that had Vash’s hair standing on the back of his neck. A lot of things about Nicholas had him feeling that way.
There was also the dark wave of hair that obscured his downcast eyes, the movement of those long, slim fingers against the frets, and the smoke from his cigarette curling around their heads.
As the sound faded out, Nicholas looked up. Not obviously expectant, but Vash knew better.
“It’s alright. Needs work, though.” He said leaning back in his chair, hoping that made him look unaffected. He inspected his own calluses to put his eyes elsewhere and to piss his boyfriend off.
“Bullshit,” Nicholas gruffed around the cigarette. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy sitting there drooling over me, you would have actually heard it.”
Caught. “Eh, I don’t know. I handle mine better.”
“Handle your— I know the guy with the fucking five-string isn’t talking right now.”
Vash sat up. “One more word about my baby and you’re not getting blowjobs for a month.” It was an empty threat and they both knew it.
Nicholas chuckled, looked back down at his twelve-string and plucked a few. “Handle yours better… I’ll show you what else I can handle.”
Vash blushed a bit, but didn’t have anything to say to that. Done with the teasing, he settled back again, gesturing for Nicholas to keep playing.
He did, pulling out a few more gentle riffs. They were high and delicate and as he played, Vash again let his gaze wonder. Shame be damned.
Nicholas’ fingers on the fretboard were something to be cherished. The music sounded great, but sitting in front of him like this with the whole view, it was a little hard to ignore just how hot his boyfriend was while he played.
Their rented studio was small, cozy. Earlier, the rest of the band had been there to crank out a few tracks, but nothing much got done. Now it was just the two of them. Just how the nights usually ended.
Vash got a little lost in the beautiful siren sound of that sleek, black beast on his boyfriend's lap, and in the hands playing it. At one particular curl of Nicholas’ fingers, his thoughts took a swan-dive into the gutter.
Vash had felt that before, what those fingers were doing. He imagined himself now, under that attention, how pretty he would sing for Nicholas. He’d long forgotten to control his expression and drool pooled dangerously around his lips. He swallowed, but didn’t dare shift his attention away.
Nicholas stopped picking out more dexterous riffs and mellowed to a pattern that sounded more like a lullaby. Glancing up confirmed his suspicions: Vash was lost in the positions of his fingers. He purposefully slid a string back and forth with his middle finger to make the thing weep, and it had its intended effect.
A small, barely-there whimper escaped Vash’s throat. He quickly choked on some spit and finally turned his blushing face away, but the damage had been done.
Nicholas stopped playing and the air was quiet.
“Come here,” he breathed. Vash’s wide eyes connected with his. Neither of them moved.
“Wha—”
“I said come over here.”
The distance between their two chairs in the dim studio suddenly felt like an ocean. Vash was still confused though, the guitar was still in Nicholas’ lap. He started to stand.
“Needle-Noggin, I want you to crawl.”
A patch of wetness in his underwear greeted Vash as he fell back into the chair when his knees gave out. He hadn’t realized he was that affected yet. He breathed out shakily and slid to the floor.
Nicholas played something again while the distance between them closed. He only stopped again once Vash was on his knees in front of him. He removed his left hand from the neck of the guitar and stroked the curve of his boyfriend’s jaw. Vash’s light stubble tickled his fingertips. He slowly touched all over his face, delicately running his finger tips over his closed eyelids, his arched nose, tracing the line of his brow bone, his cheekbone. His journey ended at those lips. Nicholas had witnessed many sins committed by those lips. Their way of framing filthy words, the dirty dance they performed against Nicholas’ own, the shape of them around his cock. But now they granted his psyche mercy, stilling underneath his touch and allowing him to just feel. Soft, hot breath panted moisture into his palm.
Nicholas was suddenly very grateful for the fact that no one else was due to this studio today.
Finally he pushed his finger against those lips with intent. They gave so easily, silk-soft. It had a small twinge of guilt burying its way into Nicholas’ stomach (he had taught those lips to do that), but it unraveled the moment Vash’s tongue curled to meet them. Another one of those coveted whimpers. Nicholas was hit with the urge to hook his fingers into that jaw and yank him forward, to press that face into his pelvis, but he refrained. He had other interesting ideas.
Vash surprised the both of them when he tugged that wrist away and raised himself on his knees ever so slightly. He held Nicholas’ wrist and looked into his eyes as he inched his face toward the guitar still in his lap. Sticking his tongue out, he ran it over the strings, one by one, in a soundless strum. He closed his mouth, tangy from the copper taste, and looked up. He didn’t know where the nerve to do that came from, but considering his boyfriend’s awestruck expression, he wasn’t about to question it.
The hand he had been holding by the wrist gently shook him off and instead wrapped itself under Vash’s jaw. A thumb brushed over his lips.
“Baby wants to play, huh?” A playful smirk took over Nicholas’ mouth.
Heat flooded Vash’s cheeks. He whimpered. He couldn’t seem to shut himself up anymore.
A sudden grip on his hair was tugging him up, up, down, seating him on Nicholas’ lap. Those long legs spread wide for him to fit between, the Punisher now stretched across both of them.
Vash shifted a bit to get comfortable. “This… isn’t what I thought–”
“C’mon, babe, just play it. You were so excited before.” Nicholas’ left hand stayed on the neck of the Punisher, keeping her steady of their legs, while his other hand found Vash’s waist under his shirt, gliding all over his skin.
Vash shivered and brought his arms around the massive instrument. He was always so secretly impressed that his boyfriend played a twelve-string. It wasn’t often he was impressed with anyone’s playing beside his own. He’d truly found a match in Nicholas; in more ways than one.
He gripped the neck, his hand next to Nicholas’.
“I’ll play the chords, love, hows about you just focus on strumming for now?” His lips were right against Vash’s ear, sending shivers up his spine. And that wandering hand finding its way to his waistband was not helping his case.
Vash relented and used his left hand to grip Nicholas’ thigh instead. For a few minutes, that was all that happened; Vash strumming out a decent tempo while Nicholas changed the chords. But his hand was petting at Vash’s lower stomach now, clear with its intent.
And Vash was never wrong when it came to Nicholas. Pretty soon his jeans became unbuttoned. He shifted again and again, his tempo already suffering.
“Honey,” Nicholas breathed into the nape of his neck and pressed himself ever closer. His chords weren’t faltering in the slightest. “You’re terrible at this. Are you sure you know how to play?”
Vash’s eyes widened, his mouth opening to give him a piece of his mind, but that treacherous hand slid all the way into his underwear, down into the warm and the wet of him and all he could do was moan.
“Oh, what’s this? My baby can sing too? Let’s hear it.” And his fingers dipped dangerously between his folds, where he was so badly soaked.
“Nick, Nick–” Vash gasped, his hips jerking against Nicholas’, but the other man didn’t budge, keeping him right there between his legs, between him and the Punisher.
“No, no, Needle-Noggin, you’re not done. Play some more for me.” Vash’s hand had come away from the strings, grappling for Nicholas’ arm around him. Reluctantly, it went back to its position, strumming irregularly. His other hand, though, was now gripping Nicholas’ leg punishingly tight.
Nicholas’ right hand found Vash’s clit and Vash rocked against him, alternating between leaning back and panting into his neck and curving forward.
“Ahh, Nick, Nicholas, please.” It was an insistent rubbing now, almost the tempo he would be doing if he were strumming the strings instead. It was then that an awfully arousing thought occurred to Vash. His pants turned into whimpers, high sounds that he couldn't control. Somehow he was still strumming the guitar. The notes rang around them, still connected to the amp.
“What’s that all about, baby?” Nicholas asked, sounding hardly affected. His ring finger was inside of Vash now, barely giving the poor thing what he needed, just barely rocking in and out while his index and middle finger played with his clit. He could feel Vash pulsing stronger suddenly.
“You– you’re– I’m just– Ahh,” he could hardly speak. Nicholas added a finger, plunged them deeper, which made him louder. “You’re– playing me!” He gasped out finally. His head lolled back onto Nicholas’ shoulder.
“And listen to how pretty you sound,” Nicholas huffed into his hair. “We shoulda kept the mic hooked up, eh? Turn it all the way up, let this whole building hear the best instrument ever crafted.” He was rambling now, saying dangerous things like Vash wasn’t already on the edge.
It should have been embarrassing, how close he was just from a hand in his pants and the thought of only being an instrument to his boyfriend; something to be handled, a skill to be mastered.
Three fingers stroked in and out of him, sweat dripped from his brow, and his hand was practically flopping against the strings, barely even hitting them all on each strum. He was strumming faster now, and in a brief moment of clarity, he realized their song was sounding mildly interesting. He was going to have to ask Nicholas what chords he was using. Also maybe moans wouldn't sound too bad layered on…
Nicholas had started grinding as gently as he could against Vash’s ass. Vash was so wet and hot around his fingers, he wanted nothing more than to get his cock in between those long, pretty legs, but he could hardly think straight with how pretty Vash sounded just from his fingers.
“Keep strumming, baby, you’re making such a pretty song for me. Keep singing, baby, keep singing,” he was close, rambling like a mad man and about to come just from grinding against his boyfriend like a high schooler. He felt crazy around Vash. Always bathing in his spotlight and never wanting to leave. The worst part about dating him was sharing him with the audience.
“I’m gonna– Oh, Nick, fuck.” A gulp, a cough. “Fuck, I’m gonna come, baby, please don’t stop.” Vash was clenching around his fingers, stronger this time. His strumming had ceased, this time with no complaint from Nicholas. He simply held the edge of the guitar with one hand, present enough to not let it fall, and Nicholas’ hair in a death grip with the other.
He started to come with a high whine, his legs jerking and spine bending back against Nicholas’ chest. He gushed wet around Nicholas’ fingers and had enough of his wits about him to be shy about it, but couldn't do much due to the fingers continuing to massage his walls.
Nicholas brought him back down ever so sweetly. Kisses against his nape, the guitar being moved from their laps, a hand petting gently over Vash’s stomach.
He chuckled. “Usually you only do that when you’ve fucked me full.”
Hips stuttered against his back while a long, deep moan was pressed into his hair. “Oh, fuck,” Nick groaned behind him.
“Did you really…?” Vash glanced behind him to find what looked like a giant kicked puppy. A kicked puppy that recovered way quicker than him.
“I don’t wanna hear it from the one who likes being manhandled.”
Vash smacked his arm. “Says the one who does that manhandling!”
“Not the insult you think it is, Needle-Noggin.”