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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.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter Five: The Fight

Ivan Moody and Chris Kael couldn’t stay away from each other ever since that night. Ivan somehow felt he was giving into the older man when he agreed to an “innocent sleepover”. Completely innocent or not, however, he couldn’t refuse a night of horror movies, beef jerky, and Monster Energy drink, so he arrived as planned at his house on Saturday night and claimed his spot on the couch as soon as he could.

“You know we’re not watching the movie in here,” Chris told him.

“Why not?”

“I’ve got a TV in the bedroom,” he answered innocently. The singer raised his eyebrows and smirked, and the bassist chuckled nervously. “You wanna lay down in there,” he pointed towards his room, “while I get us refreshments?”

Ivan stared at him a long time with the unchanged, stupefied smirk before he rose to his feet slowly and walked to the bedroom without a sound. As Chris anxiously tapped his thighs and walked to the kitchen, however, he heard the younger man call from the other room, “You better not come in here naked! I didn’t order a room service sex scene!”

Chris laughed and called back without thinking, “If my clothes are coming off, you’re gonna be the one taking them off!” His expression immediately dropped and he waited in chagrined silence for the other man to reply.

After a pause, Ivan was heard saying, “Whatever,” from the bedroom as he shuffled underneath the blankets, and the bassist sighed and mentally kicked himself.

He brought in the snacks and cans of liquefied sugar and set them in Ivan’s lap, who was snuggly tucked in the blankets with a content expression on his face. “What’s the movie about?” He asked Chris as he was putting the disc in the Blu-ray player.

“Uh, a dentist who rips out people’s jaws,” he paused, “and, like, their teeth and shit. It’s supposed to be a gore fest.”

“Ah, there’s just nothing like senseless, over-the-top gore and violence. It makes the world go round, really,” Ivan said fondly. He then ripped open a package of jerky and began filling his mouth with the tough meat. Chris joined him under the covers, pressed play on the remote, and as the opening credits and previews started playing he broke open a can of Monster and started chugging it.

Several minutes into the movie, Chris decided to make a move, so he scooted in closer to Ivan and started to slip his arm behind him. He was stopped, however, and the singer peered at him sharply as he said, “What are you doing? You making a move on me?” The bassist retreated and smiled with embarrassment at the television.

“Sorry.” In the silence that followed, he could still feel the other man glaring at him, so he faced him again and said awkwardly, “You know, if you get scared I’ll… I’ll comfort you…”

Ivan looked back at the screen and scoffed, “That’s cute Chris, but I doubt I’m gonna get so scared I’ll need to jump into the arms of a strong man like yourself.”

“You don’t have to be so cold,” the older man mumbled.

“You’re just trying to cuddle me again!” Ivan exclaimed, laughing at the bassist. “During a horror movie of all things! Were you really expecting me to need your comfort—?”

“No! I just knew we both had a taste for violence!”

“Oh my God Chris…”

“What’s wrong with cuddling anyways?”

“It’s weird!” Ivan told him with a wide, desperate grin. “Geez, man!”

“Dude, we’ve humped each other! I think we’re far past the concerns of things being weird,” Chris responded, but he immediately bit his lip: he must’ve mentioned a taboo because Ivan’s smile faded into an icy glare.

“Fuck…” The singer shook his head and turned his attention back to the movie to watch a blood-covered dentist brutally tear out a woman’s jawbone.

There was a pause before Chris went on very quietly, “I know you’re not an idiot; I know you knew I was gonna try something in bed, but you got in anyways—”

“Shove it Chris.” Another woman in the film started screaming when she walked in on the dentist murdering the now jawless woman, and then she started running as he chased her with a dental drill.

Chris let the movie make it to its halfway point before he made a second move. Underneath the covers, he moved his hand cautiously to touch Ivan’s thigh, and to his delight Ivan noticed but did not respond. He rubbed his leg some and then scooted in again. To his pleasure once more, the younger man leaned into him some. With some hesitation, Chris then dared to press his lips fondly to the other man’s temple, but perhaps this was too far because he pulled away some and muttered, “Dude… stop.”

Ivan’s heart was beating faster with the bassist so close to him, but he was also frustrated with his continued attempts to snuggle him despite their earlier conversation. He then felt his large, rough hand touch the side of his unshaven, stubbly face and give it a gentle downward stroke. He tried to glare at the older man again, but when he turned to look at him he only allowed himself to be kissed tenderly on the mouth.

And like that Chris had won.

He felt the all-too-familiar buzz in his genitalia, and he rolled over to let Chris kiss him deeper. The background sounds of a woman taking a dental drill to the eye played behind the sounds of their mouths loving one another and their hands fondling each other’s bodies. The blankets were soft and warm as was Chris’s crotch and pajama pants when they pressed their pelvises together, and Ivan mentally kicked himself for giving in so easily. He wanted it though. He wanted it so badly.

He flipped Chris onto his back and got on top of him – not completely; he wasn’t straddling him; but his torso hovered above his body and his arms both supported himself and stood like jail cell bars around the older man. He kissed him, and then licked from his beard up his cheek, asserting his dominance and displaying his fervent refusal in being the submissive partner. Chris grabbed onto the back of his neck and side and pulled him on top of him. He pushed himself up in the bed and sat Ivan down on his lap, rolling him forward against his groin – and just like that the singer was placed into the submissive role: he was on top of him still, but he no longer had the control he wanted.

He pushed back against the bassist, but pushing forward only slid him more into his pelvis, causing the other man’s hardening piece to press against his asshole. Both men immediately noticed this and they froze and stared at each other with wide eyes. Without breaking the eye contact, Chris subtly rolled his hips upwards and Ivan quickly shuffled backwards off his lap.

“What the hell man?!”

“What?!” Chris exclaimed, immediately going on the defensive. Ivan stammered for a lot longer than he would’ve liked and eventually he gave up on speaking. “I thought we were… We were—”

“No! We ain’t fucking! What the hell, Chris?!”

“I just thought—”

“And why are you hard?”

“Oh like you’re not?!” The bassist snapped back. Ivan checked himself and discovered his half-boner mostly concealed by his jeans, so he pressed his palms into it. “You really can’t expect me not be aroused, and it has nothing to do with being gay either, so keep your trap shut,” he warned, jabbing a finger at the singer’s open, ready-to-speak mouth, “but when you’re rubbing yourself up against me – kissing me and shit – yeah, that gets me going. And don’t act like it doesn’t get you off too! I’ve had enough experience to know when someone’s enjoying it.”

“With men?” Ivan sneered with an arrogant smirk.

“You know what?!” Chris quickly got out of bed and lifted Ivan out of it by his underarms. Ivan fought against him as he was set on the floor where he ripped himself free from the bassist’s grip. Both men started yelling over each other in fits of rage.

“Don’t fucking touch me—”

“What the hell is your problem—?”

“Who the hell do you think you are—?”

“—fucking pretending you ain’t—”

“—constantly thinking you got the right to pull me around—”

“Yeah, why don’t you SHUT THE FUCK UP?!” Chris shouted.

“FUCKING MAKE ME!”

“I swear to God I’m gonna kick your fucking ass—”

“FUCKING MAKE ME, CHRIS! DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT.”

“Do you want me to bash your fucking skull in—?”

“HIT ME BITCH! DO SOMETHING!” Ivan continued to scream.

“Would you—?”

“HIT ME!”

“WOULD YOU—?!”

“HIT ME!”

Chris snapped: he grabbed Ivan by the shoulders and flung him into the bed before putting a knee into the mattress and pinning him down. Ivan, completely hysterical and red in the face, immediately began punching the older man in the gut until he was bitch-slapped in the face and his left arm was pinned above his head. Naturally, he began swinging with his right as Chris grunted in pain, but as the bassist moved his hand from his chest to pin his other arm he accidently gave him an opportunity to shift beneath him and grab him by the neck. He pulled him down with his hand and legs so he fell into the mattress on his side, and then jumped atop him and started strangling him, his rough beard scrunched in his one of his large, violent hands as the other was still bent in his grasp. As Chris coughed and sputtered, his eyes burned furiously as he started crushing Ivan’s hand in his fist.

“Ah!” The singer screamed as he tried to wrench his hand free.

“Mother… fucker…” Chris choked as he attempted to borderline break his fingers; the real goal was just to make him stop, but since both of them were terribly stubborn men, Ivan didn’t seem close to releasing his neck so Chris refused to release his hand. Similarly, Ivan now refused to release his neck because of the hold he had on his hand.

“Ah!” He gasped sharply after he couldn’t take it anymore. He let go of Chris’s neck, pulled his hand free just as the other man loosened his grip, and stumbled backwards onto his feet. “AH! FUCK!” he cursed, cradling his hand and melodramatically twisting around on his feet. “Fuck… ah…” Chris sat up straight and when the singer spied the movement he rushed a single step towards him and spat in his face. The bassist cringed and immediately swept his hand out, but Ivan had retreated.

“Get out of my house!” He shouted, but the singer stayed standing where was, still shaking with rage. “I said get out!” He pointed with a wild gesture at where the front door was relative to his bedroom.

“No!” Ivan snapped like a spoiled brat. His lip was quivering and he couldn’t look the other man in the face.

“GET OUT!” Chris bellowed. He stood up and full-on shoved the younger man so that he fell down, but instead of fighting back, Ivan curled into a ball and covered his crimson face, much to Chris’s surprise. A feeling of sad affection seeped into his heart and he stood over his body quietly until his shoulders started quivering. He sighed and covered his eyes. “I just wanted to be close to you,” he said gently, but even his apologetic tone had an edge of irritation. “Why’d you have to go and—?”

“Shut up!” Ivan snarled, peeking through his hands, showing his wet eyes, “Just shut up!” He pulled himself to his feet and wiped his face. “And don’t say anything about me crying or I’ll beat you senseless, got it?! I’m just angry!” He added defensively.

“It’s alright…” Chris mumbled.

Ivan sniveled crazily as he tried to stop his crying, and then suddenly – with no warning – he spun around and tackled him back into the bed. Chris grunted in surprise and they started wrestling on the bed, shifting the covers around and knocking a few pillows to the floor. At one point one of them would have dominance, but then it’d get switched around and the other would have the upper hand, but then things would get switched around again. The wrestling match eventually led to their knees being in between each other’s legs and Chris holding himself above his opponent as Ivan wrapped a leg behind one of his and tried to push him off. They were both sweaty and panting and the bassist’s head was swimming as he looked down at the younger man with dizzy eyes.

As he resisted his tired, obdurate efforts to throw him off, Chris gazed down at the singer, enraptured by every detail of his countenance. He observed his snarl and the hand print bruised across his face, and his ears breathed in his frustrated grunts and short groans. He watched the sweat bead on his forehead and his parted lips shine with salvia. His scruff was especially thick on his upper lip and combined with his goatee it almost looked like a poor man’s mustache-goatee combo. Everything about him was so masculine – everything but his sensitive attitude that is, but he could forgive him for that occasionally – so why was he so attracted to him, especially in this moment? Chris was heated up and he dipped down to press his mouth against Ivan’s, whose eyes grew wide with surprise. His muscles froze, but once Chris disconnected from his face he quickly spat upwards and his slobber hit the older man’s beard and stuck there.

Chris stared at him blankly for a second before he returned the favor and spit onto his face. Ivan contorted his face into a wince as the salvia pooled right under his eye on his cheek, and then slowly cracked open the other eye to glare at him. There wasn’t the same fire in his eyes now, however, but the mood was still hostile enough to be invigorating.

He wiped the spit from his cheek using his fingers and the blankets, and the bassist did the same with the back of his hand, but he only managed to make the wet spot on his beard bigger.

Ivan then wrapped his arms around him and started rubbing his back, pulling at his t-shirt, until they started kissing more passionately than ever before. They were both heated up, frustrated both emotionally and sexually, and in that moment no force in the world could’ve prevented them from giving into their bodies’ animalistic desires.

Chris fell into the bed beside him and they hooked their legs together to enable them to slowly thrust against each other. They moaned into each other’s mouths, but soon Ivan became fidgety and rougher with his hands and he sat up quickly, removed his legs from the other man’s, and began unzipping his pants to reveal black and gray checkered boxers. “What are you doing?” Chris mumbled, but he received no response.

Ivan got on him again, re-hooked their legs, and now on top of him thrust himself against him as he kissed him roughly. Both of them were completely erect, but it wasn’t the same pointless issue it was before; now it was pleasure. Ivan broke their kiss, pressed his face against the side of his head, and moaned, “God, you’re dick is so fucking hard…” He stopped drying humping him to reach down and grab ahold of it, and Chris inhaled sharply.

“Ah, Ivan, don’t…” he mumbled, but he rolled his hips into it and pushed his shoulders back against the mattress. The singer shushed him and then got off of him and pulled him up so they were sitting on the edge of the bed together. He then gripped his cock through his pajama pants and started jerking it off as he leaned into his body. “You’re so big,” he muttered under his breath, “Take it out.” Chris pulled his head back and gave him a questioning look. “Take it out,” he repeated.

Chris didn’t argue and obliged: he pulled his erection out through the hole underneath the drawstring in the front of his pajama pants and Ivan did the same through the hole in his boxers. Not knowing he was going to do it too, the bassist was surprised at its reveal as was Ivan at the sight of his. “Hot damn, man,” the singer said. The older man was hung; his cock was both long and thick, and it throbbed with sexual urge, and Ivan suddenly felt shown-up because his dick was stouter, yet still quite thick. “I can see why you’re so confident…”

A deep chuckle shook Chris’s throat and he placed his fingers under Ivan’s chin and kissed him before his fingers went to his mouth so he could spit on them and wrap them around his penis. Ivan quickly spat into his palm and grasped his too and rubbed it up and down its long shaft. They sat there, leaning into each other, breathing heavily with hot, moist breaths, and handling each other’s cocks until their breaths became heavier, hotter, and wetter. Chris had his arm wrapped around the singer’s back and he grabbed his side tightly as he began creating restricted moans in his throat. Ivan jerked him harder and faster, and the older man copied his increase in effort so that he was also coming close to losing it.

Soon Chris cried out and his cum sprayed out in a few short burst onto their laps, and Ivan, suspended in a state of all-consuming pleasure, followed shortly after him, grunting in indulgence, red in the face, until he fell apart as his orgasm hit him like an earthquake. He leaned more into him as if he had fallen and Chris pulled him in closer.

They both sat there quietly, catching their breath in silence, holding onto each to hold onto the intimacy, until Ivan whispered, “There’s no going back now…” Chris nodded and ran a hand across his forehead.

After sitting there a while longer, Ivan leaned over to reach the tissue box on the nightstand and he and the bassist started cleaning themselves off. “Are you still staying the night?” Chris asked.

“That was the plan wasn’t it?”

“Mm-hm…”

“Chris?” Ivan said suddenly.

“Yeah?” The other man looked into his eyes.

“Don’t you ever say a word about this.”
He scoffed with a shake of his head and said, “Don’t worry about it. I won’t.”
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Five Finger Death Punch