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Crescendo	By : Zylo Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > AFI Views: 1451 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of AFI. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Crescendo
- 1
I own none of the people represented in this story and this is a work of fiction.

The sunset hit him just as the alcohol did and forced him tipsy-topsy into the music room. The piano was the only thing in the almost cavernous space, but seemed to fill it wholly on merit and austerity. Hard wood floors and semi-glossed walls, broken by near westward windows, all seemed dull and rough around the smooth shine of the piano’s polish. Its bench was more stable than his vision, he was sure, and Hunter plopped himself gracelessly down onto it. His fingers rose unthinkingly to the keys and he finally allowed his bottled thoughts to escape through them. If he tried, he could even name them. The light, beginning plinks were uncertainty, then the high-pitched notes danced closer over his ears. Once he let go, his anger, his passion and disbelief rolled outward, pushing against the walls and pressing through to the whole house. This could have been jazz; this could have been noise.

His mind worked quickly, rampantly as his hands traveled in dips and rhythms he couldn’t quite bring himself to understand. Already, the admittedly small amount of beer was wearing off. After all, the alcohol wasn’t the impetus, the thoughts were. And the piano was the solution.

Even from outside, Davey could hear the first fumbling presses of the keys and it drew him in from his sanctuary to Hunter’s. He walked slowly, knowing it would take time to work out the particular code making its way into the music. His clicking heels were in counterpoint and just enough to separate him and his breathing from the sound. They had let the questions and outside problems build up, knowing this is how they would manifest. Hunter’s anger, his deep concentration, soothed Davey’s nerves. Apprehension was replaced with a deep calm and even deeper comprehension. He knew it was happening; it was solving itself.

Davey passed through the last archway and stopped short. Hunter was rocking on the bench, hands moving and arms flexing under his shirt. The half-diluted sunset cast deep shadows across the depressions and stubble of his face. The only thing that seemed alive and right lay in the center of that room like magic. He let his mind stop working and followed his heartbeat farther in, moving slowly closer.

Hunter knew that Davey was in the room. He could hear it in the second tempo and sense the change in the air, but more than that, he could feel the other part of the emotional puzzle locking pieces with his own floating thoughts. It quieted his head and, through that, his hands. His fingers started to send out a different message, one of acceptance, one of lessening fear and growing composure. Davey drifted to the edge of the piano, leaning on it but not interfering. Finally, the song came to an end when Hunter could no longer let his hands take responsibility for his internal thoughts. He pressed the pads of his fingers hard on the ledge and let the sharp black and white of the piano blur before his detaching mind. His thoughts, which moments before had looked like the crazed tornadoes of thoughts and fragments that the music sounded like, were falling into logical place, his rational thinking aided by the one person who let him come to his own conclusions and appreciated him for all his moodiness. Loved him because he could match it.

Davey felt the end of the song like the passing of a black cloud or a rainy breeze after a drought. He didn't feel the need to interrupt Hunter’s thoughts, only stand in contemplation of his own. Of what brought out these moods in Hunter, of how they threw him headlong into the same spiral of whirring ideas and emotions. Of how the conclusions always made him feel pensive, sexy, deeply touched and full. It made them both aware of the slow burn of life and longing. Made him aware of the depth of the man in front of him and how they could always share this, bear this, and be this together.

At length, Hunter glanced at Davey and found him staring back. Part of him wanted to look away, to keep thinking until everything was tucked back into his mental file folders and alphabetized, but he didn't want to lose that moment. He sighed and finally really looked at Davey, up and down, eyes half-lidded. He saw his own eyes reflected back at him through Davey’s; endless miles of understanding played on a loop between them. He saw that body, so different from his own, housing the same mind, the same passion. Hunter reached out and cupped the side of Davey’s right hip. He was almost surprised to find the heat was from Davey’s body and not just in the air between them. His fingers curled tighter and he pulled him closer, slid him down the piano. It made his thighs play a soft musical scale before he rested in front of him. Hunter situated his knees between Davey’s legs and rested his head on his stomach, massaging his hips. Davey’s fingers played over his shaved head and the warm skin beneath the fine hairs. He licked his lips and breathed him in, like a cat scenting the air for its mate. They both enjoyed the closeness and the anticipation, not feeling the need to initiate or qualify, only to share.

They loved each other like this.

Finally, Hunter’s hands slid down the outside seam of Davey’s jeans; they started the dance. He massaged his thick thighs, wrapped around to cup the backs of his knees, moved to knead his ass, lifting it off the piano and letting him fall back with a sharp ring of keys. The rules allowed for time, for teasing, but he never stretched farther than the moment could bear nor rushed them to the finish. Hunter enjoyed the filling heat and the roundness of the flesh in his hands. He tipped his head down and laid his mouth on the skin below Davey’s navel as he folded up the shirt. The pitch of the notes when Davey tensed and depressed the keys let him know where to kiss and scrape. As he lovingly tortured him, Davey’s fingers ran over the stiff wisps of hair on Hunter’s head, the curve of his neck, his ears. In the quiet came sparse jazz where each sound meant so much more, took so much more balance. Yet their music never changed, only the instruments.

The shirt crumpled in his hands, inching upwards until his mouth couldn't meet the skin that was revealed. Davey’s stomach clenched and rippled as he leaned back and took it off. The material was lost on the other side of the piano. Hunter was satisfied to merely watch Davey move from that extreme angle. He contemplated how it softened his chin and shortened his face, how his hair seemed to float and continue on out of sight. As Davey straightened, he locked eyes with him, back at nearly the right angle. Hunter spread his hands out and up his chest, hooking his fingers over his shoulder with one hand and using his other to map the skin at pace with his eyes, drinking in everything Davey made his body into, enjoying his skin. He held Davey by the waist and imagined his hands were a frame for the metaphorical center of that trust.

“Kiss me.”

Obligingly, Davey leaned down for a deep, slow kiss. Hunter made quick work of Davey’s belt, and it landed on the ground with a clank and a soft thump. His own belt he took more time on, enjoying the tug of the leather through the clasps and the supple press of its length between his fingers, momentarily wishing he could let Davey enjoy that pull from the receiving end. Instead, he worked off Davey’s pants slowly, methodically, with deliberate weight guiding his hands. Every motion gave him another chance to cling and smooth with his palms pressed flat.

Davey was still calm, still hot, and not in the least embarrassed being naked in front of a fully clothed Hunter. It was never about power. He watched as Hunter unbuttoned his shirt for him, opened his pants and pulled himself out. He looked up and waited, sitting clothed yet utterly exposed for Davey. Hunter took his hand by the wrist, not grasping but leading outward with fingertips and eyes. It was not a command, it was a request. Davey granted it, reaching out and laying his hand on Hunter’s shoulder, under the shirt. He sat on the keys with a harsh clang and smoothed his fingers over the batwings, his nipples, the lines of his chest that he knew so well, occasionally catching skin with a too-long nail. Seeing Hunter slipping his fingers in his mouth, he returned both his hands to his shoulders and kneaded lightly in anticipation and encouragement.

Hunter’s fingers were slick at Davey’s opening and he eased them inside. He took without asking because he knew Davey would give freely and willingly. The rough pads of his fingers pulled at his tender inner skin and caught deliciously even as his muscles loosened. Their sighs would have drowned out the quiet wet sounds of his fingers and the almost imperceptible clicking of ivory on wood had they not been listening for them. Hunter spread his legs and braced them steadily to the floor, parting Davey’s legs wider in the process. He slipped his fingers out and repositioned them, guiding Davey down to sit on his mid-thighs until they were ready.

Legs spread almost the point of pain, Davey lifted and rested his knees against the side of the bench, letting Hunter fully support him. Both hands reached for Hunter's cock to coax out more pre-come. One hand worked his shaft in a loose fist, as the other tickled around the skin at his base, feeling the scratch of wiry curls against smooth flesh. Hunter’s hitching breath hit his face and he opened his mouth to receive it. He spread the fluid around the head with the pad of his thumb and raised it to his mouth to lick away the excess. Their eyes locked as Davey shifted, bracing one leg on the bench and one on the floor as flat as the height would allow. His hands banged down on the keys, but the noise wasn't nearly as loud as the quiet or the blood rushing in their ears. His hips were supported by Hunter’s strong hands, bearing his weight as much as guiding him closer. Davey swung down until Hunter’s cock nudged at his hole, spreading his cheeks and putting just the slightest pressure on them both. The puckered skin gripped Hunter’s tip with every heartbeat. Their breathing was labored just from the anticipation and, finally, they lowered him onto Hunter, the slickness just enough to ease the way but let them feel every inch of raw friction. It took longer to fully seat him, but neither was distracted by the wait.

Buried and filled, their sighs gave way to true silence as they both adjusted. Davey’s heartbeat fluttering around him was too much, and Hunter began and set the pace. He rocked and grinded against him, thrusting only deep enough to repeatedly rub against his prostate. He could feel Davey’s approval rumble through him as he placed one hand on his chest and the other on his hip. The dryness between them was enough to heighten the pull of skin, but Hunter controlled the friction, lessening the pain and focusing on the intimacy. The cling of flesh and muscles, growing heat, and hammering keys pushed them up even as they were bearing down.

Davey’s hands and arms shifted and hammered with increasing violence, pounding the keys down and using it like the percussive instrument it really is, mimicking the aggravated heartbeats and powerful rocking rhythms that played it. Davey’s cluttered skin contrasted so sharply with the pristine smoothness of the piano, and Hunter had to use one hand to brace himself on the key as the headiness threatened to take him over. Sweat and sex and mahogany sat heavy around them, suffocating it its strength, intoxicating it its intensity. Quiet gasps and sighs weaved through the notes with rising abandon and eyes were closed as if it prayer. The bench scratched deep lines into the floor as the music sped, and its low hiss and whine imitated the fevered musicians. The frantic jazz of earlier rematerialized and spun around the room, pitching off the walls and slamming into other notes at random. Then finally, the miasma of broken thoughts and breaths crashed together in one long, final screech of passion. The fury of its sound hung rigid over the room, suspended in its glory before it gently disengaged. Shattered fragments of that ultimate whole fluttered and swirled lazily back down, settling in the cracks of the floorboards and in open mouths like dust. The staggering sounds of the music stayed behind like a film, rushing through their ears like blood.

Overwhelmed, Hunter collapsed against Davey’s chest and sank into his fulfilling warmth. He laid soft kisses there, against both hearts, as his hands sat limp atop the seat. Davey’s head was thrown back, staring at the fading colors behind his eyes, despite the long-set sun and the absent moon. They slowly caught their breath and regained the ability of motion, but neither used it except to move closer. The room was again empty from sound, but fuller still with fire and memories.
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Crescendo