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Five Finger Death Punch	By : mmarc56 Category: Celebrities - Misc > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1552 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Five Finger Death Punch or any of its members, this story is a work of fiction, and I made no money writing it.

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Chapter Twelve: Romance

It was another night together, but different this time. The lights were dim and red wine swirled in their glasses. It was romantic and quiet, smooth and velvety. Chris nibbled on Ivan’s neck as they sat on the couch and the singer absorbed the ticklish scratching of his beard on his neck. He touched his bald head and closed his eyes in relaxation, granting the bassist full access to his tender, yet scruffy, skin and allowing him to push his chin up as he caressed him. Don’t throw words around like love… What was this then? Ivan couldn’t ignore the feathers dancing in his heart when he was with Chris, especially when he was with him like this. He was more than just someone to sleep with, but how could he let him know that? Part of him already knew he understood – understood they had a silent agreement that what they had told their bandmates about being fuckbuddies wasn’t true, but they couldn’t have all their secrets revealed at once, now could they?

Chris moved one of his strong hands across his chest and cupped it beneath his arm. He lifted his mouth to his lover’s and they kissed deeply, quietly, lost in the silky atmosphere, confident that they could make no mistakes with each other tonight. The buzz of the wine was just disorienting enough to cast a fuzziness onto their environment without discombobulating their minds and bodies, and they felt ready, sure, and in love. So very in love. They were in a love that was not so much forbidden as it was idiosyncratic. They were walking on foreign soil, hand-in-hand, undaunted by the possible opinions of thousands of unaware people. But in a way, they were oblivious to it themselves, because it was a love that could not be discussed and would most likely never be fully recognized even inside of their own minds.

Nevertheless they kissed each other and touched each other like it was their goddamn birthright, like the other person was their property that they had the right of law to do whatever they wanted to it – within reason, of course. Passion was overtaking their bodies, jumping behind the controls and steering their hands to explore each other’s bodies. This was their time now.

Chris set a hand on his face and whispered, “Do you wanna go to the bedroom now?”

“Yeah,” Ivan breathed huskily.

They stood up together, arms around their waists, and straggled to the bassist’s bedroom where they stood before the bed.

After a few light kisses, Chris said softy against his face, “We’ve gotta discuss how this is gonna go down, okay?” He pulled back and looked at him with his big, hazel eyes.

“Alright,” the singer agreed and looked into him with an intense blue stare, “How are we doing this?”

“Bottom or top?”

A wide smile broke out across Ivan’s face and he chuckled in his throat. “Are we ready for that?”

“I’m ready. Are you?”

He hesitated with an open mouth. “Uh… Y—yeah, but, ah, I don’t think I want to be taking even inch of this,” he grabbed Chris’s crotch and excited him, “up my ass. That’s not something I’m really into.”

“Would you really know?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Look man,” Ivan said, taking a millimeter step back, “I’m gonna save us the argument. I already know that both of us are gonna want to be in control, so we’re gonna have to take turns; that’s the only way this is gonna work out. So the real question is who’s going first?”

The bassist swallowed. “Should we start smaller? Start with something like giving head? Do you think that’s something you could do?”

Ivan scoffed, “Do you?”

“Well—”

“Did you really think that you were just gonna be the man of this relationship, because I know you’re smarter than that?”

Chris backed up and put his hands up. “Okay, okay… I’ll prove it to you then – prove it can be done.”

“What?”

The older man got down on his knees and shuffled closer to him, making the other man’s heart jump into his throat. “Ah, Chris…”

He unzipped his jeans, removed his flaccid penis, and held it in one of his rough hands. It twitched some and Ivan fidgeted a little waiting for him to do something with it, but Chris looked unsure and apprehensive, obviously regretting his choice to prove a point. Right as the younger man was about to urge him to do something, he opened his mouth and stammered, “N—now I’ve never done this, so… I—it probably won’t be the best. So, ah, d—don’t expect anything great.”

“You’re fine,” Ivan said with a soothing voice, “Go ahead.” Chris continued to hesitate. “It ain’t gonna suck itself,” he eventually commented, “Just start it and I bet it won’t be so bad.” When Chris continued to stare at it nervously, Ivan said with a voice like he was speaking to an infant, “Come on, baby,” as he grabbed his dick by the shaft and moved the tip to the kneeling man’s lips. He accepted it on his lips and then allowed it to be put inside his mouth and the younger man sighed with pleasure. “There you go…”

Chris wrapped his lips around the shaft and did his best with it, wetting it with his tongue and making long strokes up and down its length. The taste was strange, but the feeling was even stranger. He could always feel it in the back of his throat and his jaw had a peculiar ache in it.

As he sucked, Ivan would occasionally speak to him. “Get up on the head— hey!” He put his hand on the bassist’s forehead, “No teeth!”

He pulled off, took a breath, and apologized, “Sorry…” He then licked the rim of the head the way he liked women to do to him and the younger man let out a shaky sigh.

“You’re alright…”

Chris’s confidence grew slightly as he blew him and his body relaxed significantly. He rubbed the singer’s testicles in his fingers and stroked the shaft with the other hand, and he couldn’t help but imagine that he was a woman on a porn set and Ivan was the unimportant man the camera never focused on. He also relished the way he moaned as he pleasured him, and in his mind it only assured him that Ivan was his and his only. After all, he kissed his mother with the same mouth he used to do this to his lover, and that was personal.

Ivan took his dick out of his mouth, rubbed the salvia-coated tip on his beard, and grumbled, “I fucking love your beard… So fucking sexy… Get up here.” He backed up and let go of his cock as Chris rose to his feet.

He stuffed his face into his beard and attacked it with his mouth and the bassist felt a great swell of pride inside himself. His narcissism orbited around the love of his beard and he felt that everyone else should love it too, so Ivan’s exuberant display of erotic attraction to it stroked his ego.

“You ready for this this?” He struggled to ask as the singer licked his facial hair.

He stopped and asked, “What?”

“To get on the bed,” he answered, pointing at it, “Bend over.” He smiled.

Ivan pulled back. “No way! You go first!”

“Oh, no. I’m older than you; I’ve got seniority. You’re going first.”

“Seniority my ass! Bend over!” He pointed at the mattress with an obtrusive finger.

“Heh, no,” he held out the word, “I’ve earned it. I sucked your dick. You’re going first.” Ivan stared at him with a solidly defeated facial expression and then sighed. “Go on.”

“I—I don’t wanna be smothered by you, man,” he said, his voice bearing a desperate edge to it, “Like, I mean, how we doing this? Doggie style? Missionary? ‘Cause you’re a big man! And I know you know I’m not a submissive person.”

Chris nodded with consideration. “Alright,” he said. He then laid down on the bed with his head on the pillow and patted his narrow hips. “Get on top. Then you’ll have the control. I also think this’ll be more comfortable for you starting out – getting used to it, you know.” He smiled.

Ivan was stuck: he couldn’t argue with that. Nervousness began welling up inside of him and he grabbed his cock. “A—alright. Well let’s get started first…”

Chris sat up quickly on the edge of the bed and held his arms out with a welcoming grin on his face. Ivan stepped into his arms, between his knees, and allowed his shirt to be taken off of him. “You know this doesn’t make you any less of a man,” the older man whispered.

“Do you really believe that for yourself?” Ivan whispered back.
He didn’t answer.
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Five Finger Death Punch