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It was a stupid idea. Thankfully, Vinny specialized in those.
Justin and Vinny had been making out for a while now — no real purpose past enjoying the moment, the sensations, the jokes laughed against lips. Justin was shirtless and Vinny was perched, naked, in his lap, their hips grinding and rocking as Vinny lowered his mouth to bite down on Justin’s shoulder hard and long enough to leave an ugly mark.
Ryan was supposed to be sharing a room with Justin, technically, but Ryan had abandoned the two to hang out with Rick of all people, so they’d decided it was as good as time as any to get off. After breaking the door handle on the tour bus bathroom trying to hook up in there, they’d been barred from tour bus sex, so both of them were pretty fucking pent up.
In fact, now that Vinny was thinking about it, he needed Justin fucking him. “Strip,” Vinny ordered, standing up and clambering onto Ryan’s hotel room bed. He flopped on his back and grinned at Justin as he stood, taking in the sight of all the hickeys and bite marks he’d left on that broad expanse of chest Justin sported.
“Someone’s being bossy today,” Justin remarked, wiggling out of his jeans. “You’ve been spending too much time with Rick.”
Vinny held up a hand when Justin started to get on the bed. “First of all, fuck you. Second, grab that.” He pointed at the camera on the bedside table, just out of his own (comfortable) reach. It was Ryan’s, but for some reason the guitarist hadn’t brought it with him, so it was basically up for grabs.
There was no hesitation, even as Justin said, “Ryan’ll kill you for touching this, dude.” He handed it over anyways, watched as Vinny fiddled to figure out how to uncap the lens and turn it on. “Can I get on top of you now?” he asked, tilting his head.
That sounded like a wonderful idea, especially with Justin buck-ass naked in front of him and still half-hard. Still, Vinny had a vision. He lifted the camera, pointed it at Justin. “Say hey first,” he instructed.
Justin grinned. “‘Sup, fucker?” He clambered on the bed, making it dip beneath Vinny, and for a split second, Vinny worried he was going to drop the stupidly expensive camera. He could see his tombstone now. Rest in peace, Vincenzo Mauro. Cause of death: bandmate’s wrath.
“No, no, it’s not a video, dude. I just got you with your mouth half-open,” Vinny informed Justin, wiggling a bit in excitement but managing to snap a few pictures of Justin getting closer.
There were certain moments where Vinny was taken aback by the size difference between Justin and himself, and this was one of those. Justin was on his knees in front of Vinny on the mattress and still towered over the drummer — but, god, wasn’t that a hot visual, too?
Click, click.
“Then why did you tell me to say hey?” Justin retorted, humoring Vinny’s photography moment by fisting his own dick and letting Vinny get a good shot of that. The framing was probably terrible, but it was a picture of a big, fat cock. It was beautiful by nature.
Vinny shrugged. “Habit, I guess. Update: I left the lube in the bag,” he announced, snickering when Justin dropped his head back and groaned. “Go fetch, big guy.” And maybe he took the opportunity to snap pictures of Justin’s bare ass.
By the time Justin was braced over him, Vinny was still committed to the bit. He fiddled with the camera as best he could, pulled it back and held it at an odd angle to snap a photo of them kissing — he mumbled and managed to find a way to view the pictures, pleased to see they were in frame (but off-kilter, of course).
Justin manhandled Vinny around and snagged the camera from him. “Are we, like, doing this?” he asked, gesturing to the device before focusing on getting a good photo of Vinny on his back, legs spread, cock hard at the rush of being recorded like that.
“Until one of us forgets,” Vinny answered easily, reaching out to drag his blunt fingernails down Justin’s chest. “Give it while you prep me.” The angle was questionable, honestly, as Justin worked him open with thick, long fingers. The pleasure made it even more difficult, and several photos were blurry as Vinny snapped shots of Justin’s face, of his own cock leaking against his stomach, of the way Justin’s body bracketed his.
They swapped the camera again when Vinny was ready to be fucked, and Justin took a moment to smear the lube all over the bedsheets, wiping his fingers as best he could before snagging it. “Dude, we could have just videoed this. It would’ve been easier,” he reasoned, nudging at Vinny’s entrance with the head of his cock.
Vinny shook his head. “No, we’d do that for—” Justin’s dick pressed in just enough to steal his breath, catching on Vinny’s rim for a moment before Justin fucked up into him rough but shallow. His eyes scrunched shut and he dropped his head back, moaned something filthy and pleased.
(He heard the faint sound of a camera clicking.)
Only once Justin had buried himself in Vinny to the hilt and settled, had gone completely still, could Vinny think enough to finish his statement. “We’d do that for Rick. Ryan doesn’t do videos, he does pictures. So we gotta— Are you always this fucking thick?” he finally interjected, hips rocking. It felt like he was being split in half in the best way, and he could only imagine how he looked as he blinked up at the camera.
Justin laughed. “I might be extra hard because we’re taking pictures. I guess I’m into it.” He nudged his hips forward, bumped up against Vinny, and even that was enough to earn a pathetic little noise.
It took them a moment to settle on a rhythm, something slow and languid. Between Justin trying to get pictures and Vinny’s brain leaking out alongside his precum, they had to build up gradually, but it felt so fucking good that Vinny couldn’t find it in himself to complain that he wasn’t been pounded through the mattress like he usually was.
“Stick your tongue out,” Justin randomly instructed, and Vinny complied without thinking: tongue lolling out, lips already parted so he could pant heavy and deep, and his eyes rolled back a little. “Shit, Vin. You’re good at this. Who knew you were such a slut for a camera?”
Eventually, though, Justin growled softly. “Okay, if I don’t fuck you, I might lose my shit.” He fumbled with some buttons and then sat the camera down next to them on the mattress, out of the way enough that it wouldn’t be knocked over but with the lens facing them.
Before Vinny could ask, Justin hiked his legs up, wrapped them around his own thick waist. “You've been making doe eyes at that camera like it was the thing fucking you,” he grunted, one hand palming at Vinny’s stomach and the other settling on his throat. He never really squeezed, just rested it there when they fucked, and Vinny sometimes wondered what it would feel like if he did.
Not that he was thinking much of anything now. Justin slammed into him repeatedly, harsh thrusts that slapped loud and sweat-sticky, and the whole bed shook a little as Vinny started to stroke himself and tightened a little around Justin, made the bassist move harder, faster.
“God, your dick’s so cute. I hope I got enough pictures of it for Ryan. I bet he’d love how little it is too. Perfect for a slutty little bottom like you, yeah, Vin?” Justin was breathless, rambling, and all Vinny could do was nod.
Vinny was pretty sure he would have agreed to give Justin his Twitch channel if Justin had asked in that moment.
The peak had built so slowly that it swelled and swelled, and Vinny kept expecting to tip over the edge, but instead it swelled further. Justin actually came first, snarling softly, and Vinny fisted his own dick faster, grip a little tighter, to cum a moment later.
It was so bright and sharp that Vinny wailed, the back of his eyelids a rave as his body shuddered and spasmed with pleasure. He panted, “More, more, more,” to keep Justin moving, desperately riding out every spark until he finally sagged against the mattress and mumbled something that might have been English.
Vinny was still half out of it as Justin reached over to grab the camera.
“Vin said you didn’t need a video,” Justin said, and Vinny barely bit back a What the fuck are you talking about? as Justin focused the camera on him. “I, personally, thought you needed to hear him. You’re welcome.” He pulled out slowly and then slid his free hand behind Vin’s knee, shoved it so his thigh was pressed to his own chest; Vinny was vaguely aware that Justin was moving the camera lower, to his fucked-open and leaking hole.
After a few comments about how used and sloppy Vin looked, Vinny licked his lips and finally managed, “Who the fuck are you talking to?”
Justin laughed and sat up on his heels, camera fixed on Vinny’s face again. “Future Ryan. I figured we would drop the camera if we tried to take pictures, so I vetoed the video rule. Tell him bye so we can— Vin, are we in Ryan’s bed?” he suddenly asked.
Vinny blinked. “I— Yeah?” He shook his head because, really, that didn’t matter. “And, Ryan,” he said instead, tone bright enough to catch Justin’s attention, “make sure to like, comment, and subscribe. And think about this the next time you ditch us for Rick, yeah?”
Once the camera was turned off, lens cap replaced, and put back on the bedside table, Justin grinned at Vinny. “He’s gonna kill us for using so much of his memory card,” he informed Vinny, though there wasn’t a hint of concern in his voice.
A shrug from Vinny. “Yeah, well, and he’ll jerk off about it. So what.” A split-second silence. “You want to order some wings?”
“Fuck yeah, dude.”