Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

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.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter One: The Exception

Five Finger Death Punch music videos had to be bad ass – as bad ass as bad ass could get. Guns, tanks, dirt, hot women – the whole enchilada. The band was decked out in camouflage, bandanas, and boots with too many buckles, and all of them held some kind of weapon: anything ranging from an M8 to a nail bat to a chainsaw. They posed before a backdrop of a battle field as an industrial sized fan kicked up the fake desert sand on the floor and their music played over the scene. After a few seconds of standing with their presented weapons, the director called cut and the band relaxed and walked off the set. Ivan squinted over his shoulder at Chris, whose chainsaw was swinging broadly by his thigh, and turned around to walk backwards a few steps so he was facing the bassist and the stage. He flicked his tongue out briefly to wet his lips and then cocked his chin up so he was peering sharply at Chris, hoping he’d notice him. He didn’t, however, because he turned so his back was to the singer as he talked to Jeremy and set his chainsaw on the floor.

Ivan stood there dumbly for a few seconds with his arms hanging at his sides as he scanned his surroundings. Chris was talking to Jeremy, Jason was talking to Zoltan, but he was standing off by himself with no one to share conversation with. He shuffled his feet some, kicked the ground, and then walked over to Chris’s side. He couldn’t pick up on what they had been talking about, but Jeremy pulled him into a conversation about what they were currently doing. Ivan nodded and glanced down at his hand that was hovering closely to the bassist’s. He twitched his fingers, tempting the idea of touching him.

“I’ve gotta use the head,” Chris said as he took a step back.

“Alright,” Jeremy acknowledged him. He opened his palms, made a face, and said, “Go then.”

“I’ll be back.” He turned around and half sped walked, half jogged out of sight through the large door enclosing them in the auditorium. Ivan looked over at Jeremy who flashed a smile and then directed his attention at the men sweeping the sand back into the taped square on the floor in front of the suspended background.

Ivan set his weapon down, and after some time began tapping his foot impatiently and continuously checked the door for Chris to come back. Part of him wanted him to hurry up so he wasn’t tempted to follow him, but the other part of him didn’t want him to return anytime soon so he’d have more time to decide if he was going to follow him or not. He folded his arms, unfolded them, and then folded them again.

“I gotta use the bathroom, too,” he eventually mumbled, leaving Jeremy for the door.

He heard the drummer say passively, “Take your time,” as he walked away.

Once he was in the quiet hallway, without the scooting of equipment, shuffling of feet, or mumbling voices, he could hear his heart pounding in chest accompanied by the squeaking of his leather boots on the tile floor. From down the hall he heard the flush of water and when he approached the restroom door it swung open and startled him.

“Hey—” his voice caught in his throat and he closed his eyes shortly in mental strain before he managed to say, “Chris.”

“Whoa, hey, sorry!” He had pulled back in surprise and caught the door. “Didn’t mean to almost kill you.”

“It’s cool,” Ivan said with an exasperated breath. Chris began to scoot around him, but Ivan stopped him. “Wait.” He didn’t know what he was doing. A wave of repressed emotions rushed up through his heart and into his mouth, and these emotions – the one’s that made him follow Chris here, stop him in the doorway, and think about him without acknowledging that he was thinking about him – made themselves prominent in his mind. Ivan hated these warm fluttering feelings, so girly and pathetic, so lovey and babyish. The mental block in his brain – the obvious one that stated he felt these emotions towards his bassist – was still in place, however, but perhaps now it was rattling some.

“Yeah?” He halted, and then moved back into the bathroom so they weren’t crammed in the doorway together.

Ivan’s mouth opened to allow the flow of words, but no words flowed out. His lips trembled some in a silent stammer, but they did not form his thoughts into audible statements. He watched Chris cock one of his eyebrows in question of his strange behavior and he felt his heart sink. The spotlight was on him now; he had to say something.

“D—do you remember a few nights ago?” He asked as he unintentionally stared at the older man with piercing eyes out of nervousness.

He could see Chris swallow something and watched his eyebrows flatten and sight harden: he remembered. Ivan blinked and turned his head away to cough like someone who was about to hurriedly change the subject, but his mind could only focus on the current conversation and could not offer a better alternative to it.

“Y—you mean when we were drinking?”

“Yeah.”

“Sort of,” the bassist responded with hesitation. He looked away, but Ivan caught sight of the emotion in his eyes sharpening and he immediately knew he was being judged for bringing it up and making him uncomfortable. “What about it?” Chris said coldly. The singer’s stomach churned.

“Weird, huh?” He said very quietly. He instantly realized how stupid this sounded as well as how stupid they looked standing in the doorway of a restroom. He scolded himself in his mind and pushed himself to say something intelligent.

“Are you…?” The bassist started, but he stopped himself. His voice trailed off and his lips rolled in as if trying to pull back what he had said. Ivan’s piercing gaze fixed itself quickly on the other man’s face again, perusing it for something more – some sort of meaning behind what he had begun asking. He saw his long mustache twitch and he felt several quick taps of fingers tickle the inside of his heart in a rapid flutter.

“Am I what?” he dared to ask.

“Are you…” Chris made circular gestures with both of his hands as if he was prompting Ivan to finish his sentence, but he didn’t know what to finish it with. The bassist took a different approach and asked a different question. “Why’d you bring it up?”

The singer started to say something without knowing what he was going to say yet, so he ended up suspending an “s” sound before answering truthfully with, “Been thinking about it,” he paused, “That’s all.”

Chris stared at him a couple seconds before turning his eyes away again to look down the hallway, possibly for an excuse to get out of the unsavory situation. He swallowed hard again and then started to scoot around the other man as he said, “I better get back and, uh, let you use the restroom.”

“Chris,” Ivan stopped him a second time by setting his palm against his arm to prevent him from pushing past him. Why did he keep prohibiting his escape, though? This conversation was destined to turn out as nothing beneficiary; it was a deadly plant growing from a seed of lustful, possibly fulsome, curiosity – curiosity to know what was on the desired person mind, even when the possibility of getting any kind of sought after confirmation could be harmful to their relationship, both the business and friendly side of it.

“What?” Chris asked rather shortly. He seemed afraid – not terrified, but fearful of his reputation and dignity.

“Do you want—?” Ivan couldn’t have gone on even if he had the capability to finish his thought because the bassist interrupted him.

“Ivan, don’t,” he hovered on the word some, “start anything. Please.” The singer allowed him to push past him and out of the restroom, but he stopped him in the hallway with his next words.

“Aren’t you curious?”

Chris stopped and turned so he was facing the younger man at a more comfortable angle. His face displayed how dumbstruck he was, but it softened and he shook his head nervously at the floor. Ivan could see it: he was curious.

“Don’t,” he hovered on the word again, “Don’t talk to me like that.” If that was supposed to have been threatening, it wasn’t.

Ivan shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows, and then the two of them stood in silence in the hallway. Chris started shaking his head at the floor again before he said softly, “We were drunk, you know? You understand that, right?”

“Nope, not really,” he answered with a sharp edge of sarcasm in an equally secretive tone. Chris’s eyes locked with his in a standoffish manner, but they lacked any kind of true anger. When he looked away, back down the hallway again, Ivan gestured near his hip for him to come towards him and said, “Come here.” The bassist looked back at him, catching his hand motion, and his lips parted slightly. “Come here,” the singer repeated gently. He managed to coax him forward and into the bathroom with him, where the door shut softly behind them.

Chris backed himself against a wall slowly and Ivan walked into him. There they were so close to each other – not chest to chest, but close enough, almost intimate enough.

“Ivan, what are you doing?” he asked with a submissive tone, but he squirmed slightly against the wall as if trying to find some ground to stand on that supported his dominant energy and masculine pride.

“You’re curious, aren’t you? Aren’t we?” he added the second part quieter than the first. Chris let out a shaky breath that might have originally been a protest or an argument, but Ivan tested the situation anyways by scooting in closer to the older man, lessening the informal space between their bodies.

“Ivan… Really, don’t…” He raised his thumb to Chris’s mustache and stroked it, feeling its rough softness against his calloused finger – the rest of his fingers curled into his beard – and engaged in deep eye contact with him. The bassist quickly covered up the distinct anxiety in his eyes and tried to match the singer’s steady gaze – the gaze that covered his own restlessness and uncertainty. “Ivan, I don’t swing this way,” he tried to tell him in a level voice, but it shook a little.

The singer brought his hand down and directed his eyes at the older man’s beard of dreadlocks. “You ever… think about making an exception?” He checked his face to see how he felt about the question and saw that his eyebrows were flattened slightly and his eyes were looking down and away. “I’m not gay either, I’m just… you don’t have to worry.” They made eye contact again and Ivan slowly widened the distance between them to ease the stress their intimacy was giving the other man. “You wanna do it? Get it over with? See what it’s like?” Chris stared at him blankly. “Hm?”

He shook his head and then looked at the singer through the corners of his eyes. “Why do I have to know what’s like? Huh?” He gently pushed Ivan back by the shoulder and stepped away from the wall. “I don’t fuck around with men – err, fuck men,” he corrected himself falteringly.

Ivan spread his hands out and scoffed. “Who said anything about fucking? That’s not what we’re talking about here–”

“What are we talking about then?” Chris snapped without missing a beat, his voice raised in irritation.

“K—kissing!” Ivan exclaimed, stammering on the awkwardness of having to state what he had thought was obvious.

“I—” the bassist fumbled angrily on his words, but even his anger wasn’t so much fury as it was embarrassment and mental discomfort. Finally he exhaled loudly, his shoulders fell, and his eyebrows slanted in confliction and defeat. His fingers twitched and his chest rose more visibly with his heavy breaths.

“Are you alright?” Ivan asked with caution.

“I…” He wet his lips, his narrow tongue brushing against his bushy mustache, tempting the singer’s insides. “Yeah,” he said with a heavy shrug. His voice dropped low and soft, “I wanna know.”

Ivan’s countenance relaxed into an expression of delicate surprise. There was a long pause in which the singer felt a velvety feeling of affection bleed into his chest. Chris turned his head to look at him and they watched each other breath for several long seconds. The singer then took a few cautious steps towards him, slowly, carefully, until they touched each other’s muscular forearms with their fingertips. The intimacy of their close proximity to one another was made greater by the closeness of their touch. “Just once?” Ivan asked under his breath. Chris did a strange nod as if his answer didn’t matter.

The two men drew close as Ivan titled his head up very slightly to enable their lips to meet, but when their bodies came into contact both men hesitated with the unspoken acknowledgement of “This is happening,” in their minds. Ivan decided to push through the hesitation by moving on and wrapping his arms around the bassist’s back, but the fear of never being able to go back on the event to come festered in his mind and prevented him from pressing his lips against the other man’s.

Chris genuinely surprised him, though, by raising his hand to the side of his face and stroking his thumb lightly across the lashes of his left eye. He moved closer, but their shared inability to do the deed made a smile involuntarily spread across Ivan’s mouth. This was all so silly; it was never this hard to kiss a woman. Yet the thought of what Chris’s thick beard would feel like against his stubbly face was both compelling and repulsing; it was so thick he could hardly see his mouth through it when it was closed and he couldn’t even begin to envision what it would feel like.

“Are we gonna get this over with or what?” Chris asked quietly, his voice light, yet nervously playful. Ivan gave a little nod as he told himself to just do it and not think about it. No one would know but him and Chris; it would be their secret, a secret he was one hundred percent sure the bassist would never breathe a word of.

They were just centimeters away, and finally Ivan decided to toughen up and make it happen. He shut his eyes and leaned into the older man, felt his mouth connect with his, but more than that felt his beard of dreadlocks scratch and rub against his face. It was difficult to tell how soft his lips were through the beard, but he relished the pressure of Chris’s mouth on his lips when their kiss briefly parted and reconnected.

It was not over as soon as both of the men had expected it to be due to their unforeseen enjoyment with the activity. Ivan slipped his tongue into the other man’s mouth, testing the terrain and his boundaries, and was responded to by Chris returning the warmth and wetness of his own tongue. It became so much deeper than before and he felt a sensuous heat begin welling up in his crotch and the pit of his stomach. He didn’t want it to end. He wanted more – more of Chris’s body, more of his affection and passion. He wanted to do things with his hands to the bassist’s body, but he dared not test those limits.

Their kiss broke when Chris ended it but Ivan couldn’t stand the separation of their bodies, which came soon after when the bassist took a step back. Their tongues were no longer intertwined, but their saliva remained mixed together, and though their bodies were no longer touching, their fingers remained on each other’s arms for neither one of them wanted the intimacy to be ended so abruptly.

They stared at each other for a long while, but it was a broken stare with occasional glances to the side and both men wondering what was going to happen now that the event had been concluded. Ivan eventually let his hands fall to his sides and did a sort of shuffling step backwards, his boots sliding against the tile floor. He unconsciously licked his lips although they were already very wet, and then raised his hand up to wipe them dry with the back of his palm. He caught Chris doing the same, and then both of their hands dropped together in a synchronized motion.

They watched each other carefully, observed the new side of their friend – the one they could never look at the same again – and both counted on the other to say something to break the silence floating between them. They somehow seemed much further away now, though it was only a couple of steps.

Chris then cleared his throat and said, “A—alright.” Ivan had to give it to him: it was something.

“Wanna, um,” he tried to snap his fingers as he struggled to remember the rest of his sentence, but they failed to make the proper noise and only produced a sandpaper sound, “uh, head back?”

“Did you have to use the bathroom?”

There was an uncalled-for pause as Ivan eyed the stalls with a solid stare before saying, “Might as well,” softly.

“I’ll… head back.” Chris pointed a thumb over his shoulder and looked at his shoes as he turned for the door. Ivan acknowledged him somewhat with a barely audible noise and then approached the urinal after he had gone away. Something was changed in him, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.
- 1
- 2
- 3
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Five Finger Death Punch