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Breakthrough	By : BassFerret Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Metallica Views: 1276 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Metallica. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Breakthrough
- 1
Author: Mad Andy, AKA BassFerret. ;-)

Rating: NC17. Whatever that means. Lots of naughty language and the odd naughty act, too. Here Be Slash.

Summary: Phil’s mind went suddenly, horribly blank; in the space he’d filled with quips, quick fire responses and generally Clever Things To Say there was nothing – mental static on all channels, nothing but snow. Normal Service Will Be Resumed Eventually.

Fandom: Def Leppard/Metallica crossover.

Feedback: Oh, go on - I want you to.

Archive: Rockfic, AFF. All others please ask; I'm unlikely to say no.

Author Note: This is all Heather’s fault. I’ll get you, you know? You and your little plot bunny, too…

I hope I’ve done it justice!

Disclaimer: The characters herein described are entirely their own people, and no disrespect is intended with this work of fiction. It’s all a product of a rabid plot bunny and my twisted little imagination. Please don’t sue me.

Set at the Freddie Mercury Tribute concert, which was the first event (for those who don’t know) that Def Leppard performed at with Vivian Campbell on guitar, after the death of Steve Clarke; the setting really happened, but I suspect that the following events did not. *Shame*

*****

He’d almost suggested it when they decided to look for another guitarist. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Almost…but not quite. After all, they shared a manager, and it had been a whisper from one of the management staff – ah, how those girls liked to gossip in the office – that the dark eyed, olive skinned beauty that played so brilliantly wasn’t, entirely…how to put this?...straight. Not gay, but…you know…bicurious. A bit.

Interesting, he’d thought.

Possibilities, he’d thought next.

Anyway, he hadn’t quite had the guts to suggest it to the others, and he dreaded to think what Joe would have said; he’d never been entirely happy with the situation between Phil and Steve, terrified that it would get out and ruin their reputation. Not that either of them was gay, but…

“That’s what they’ll fuckin’ think,” he’d snapped, green eyes crackling with anger after they’d almost been caught screwing backstage one afternoon by the usual meet’n’greet crowd of fans, “and then we’re finished. You want that, Collen? And as for you, Clarkey…”

A year later Steve was dead, and Phil had initially wondered if it was his fault, or Joe’s, or…

Well. Steve’s demons had caught up with him in the end, and Phil suspected that no-one could have done anything about that except Steve himself. And he couldn’t, or wouldn’t. So there they were, first public outing with their new guitarist – not a replacement, never a replacement because you don’t replace family – and here he was, mooching about aimlessly and looking for the man he’d initially wondered about approaching for the spot, a mission half planned in his mind. Vivian saw him, and cocked an eyebrow curiously.

“What’s up with you? Y’look like you’ve lost a fiver and found a quid, y’do.”

He stared at him for a moment, then gave a small laugh and shook his head. “Nah. I’m alright. Just looking for someone that’s all.” And then I’m going to ask him if he wants a fuck. Because he’s been on my mind for months and months and I need…to know.

“Aye? And who would that be?”

“Ah…never mind.” Like you’d understand when not even I do? Yeah, right.

“Well,” and the indigo eyes glittered knowingly at him as Viv dropped a swift, almost-there wink, “Joe’s out there networkin’ f’r all he’s worth, and Sav has buried himself away. I think I saw Rick chatting t’that Lars; the rest of ‘em were by hostility – if you’re lookin’ for ‘em, of course.”

Phil grinned. Vivian Campbell, mind reader and fucking genius. “Cheers. I’ll see you later, alright?”

The Irishman hooded his eyes knowingly. “Sure. Whatever. Have fun – but watch out for Hetfield, know what I’m sayin’?”

*

Pacing the backstage area, nodding and grinning at acquaintances, Phil began to worry. What if that girl had been wrong? After all, he doubted that James would allow anyone who wasn’t entirely macho to remain in his band, surely?

But then, Joe had been okay with him remaining in Leppard, even after he’d found out about the on-again-off-again relationship his guitarists shared. As long as they were discreet about it, of course. So…maybe Hetfield was the same. Or maybe not. Maybe the whole rumour had been cooked up purely to put him in a ridiculously awkward position? Some kind of nasty little joke at his expense?

He stopped, suddenly horrified at the thought. His stomach tightened then swooped with the hideous clarity of the mental image that suddenly presented itself: facing up to Joe and James, both pissed at him and about to do something precipitous about it. Or even worse, about to beat the shit out of each other because of him...while an enraged and offended musician jumped up and down on his hands.

Ouch.

Lost in thought, he didn’t realise where he was until an amused voice broke into his reverie.

“Hey. You in there? You’re looking a bit lost. It’s Phil, Phil Collen, right? Def Leppard.”

Phil blinked, then smiled as the face he was looking at made a connection in his mind and informed the rest of his body that he’d found the man he was looking for. Responding automatically to the othan’san’s friendly smile and outstretched hand Phil shook it in greeting and gave a small, self-deprecating chuckle.

“Hey Kirk. Just a bit overwhelmed, you know.” Think of dull things, for fuck’s sake. Putting flat pack furniture together. Flying transatlantic at three a.m.. Watching other people’s wedding videos. Weddings; wedding nights…oh fuck…

Kirk’s teeth flashed as he laughed cheerfully, tilting his head back as he shook his hair out of his eyes; a memory surfaced of white-blonde hair being shaken like that, just after –

Do not think about Steve right now. This is Kirk. Kirk. As in Hammett, the one you’ve been admiring from a distance for a while now; the one that might, just might, be into guys. Maybe even guys like me…maybe maybe maybe please god.

“I can get that,” continued the other guitarist calmly before taking a long swig from the bottle of water he’d just snagged from a table.

Phil found himself looking at Kirk’s fingers, the fingers that flashed across a fretboard as fast as his own; it had been Kirk’s skill with a guitar that had caught his attention first as it had been with –

Different. Different men with different talents; but both long and lean, utterly beautiful and completely brilliant. Darkness and light, admittedly – but perhaps that was the attraction. Phil had never bothered to analyse it before, but his brain appeared to be going into hysterical overdrive when actually faced with the object of many a night’s sweaty masturbatory fantasy.

He watched a droplet of moisture slide down the bottle and onto the other man’s chin, and resisted a sudden insane urge to lean forward and lick it off. Kirk swiped his mouth dry with his wrist and smiled lopsidedly at Phil, an almost shy glance from sloe dark eyes under impossibly long black lashes. A look that teased, a glance that maybe, perhaps, spoke volumes. Possibly.

“Fuck,” he snorted, breaking the smaller man’s wistful trance. Phil shook himself and lifted one shoulder in a kind of a half shrug, a wry gesture. Now or never.

“Look,” he said suddenly, with what he hoped wasn’t a completely ingratiating smile on his face, “this may be a bit forward, but -”

“Kwirk! There you are, come on man, you’ve gotta come over here and meet -”

Lars. Annoying little shit, thought Phil and had to suppress another insane urge, this one to kick the shit out of the other bands drummer. With a “hi Phil,” from one and an apologetic shrug and a quick “later” from the other, the pair had vanished into the seething crowd of egos that passed for guests and participants at this event; he sighed, and wriggled through the crowd until he found a nice quiet corner behind a stack of equipment. No one around. Good.

He kicked it, and swore and swore and swore.

*

He was on his third circuit of the huge tangled mess that comprised the outside broadcast technical area before he finally had to admit it to himself. He’d been avoiding the realisation for over an hour now, and the truth was becoming more and more self evident with every turn around the massively complicated trucks and every sideways glance from the techs having a quick fag outside their respective nests amongst the wire.

His nerve had gone. Completely. He had, in fact, ‘bottled it’ as Sav was wont to say.

He stopped, ground his teeth and set his feet to carry back to the cupboard that Leppard had been allocated as a dressing room. And if he bumped into Kirk on the way, well, he’d just have to…er…burn that bridge when he got to it. Yeah.

He passed Viv.

“No luck?”

“Nope.”

“Oh well. Never say die, eh?”

“Easy for you to say.”

“True. I saw him over by the bigger dressing rooms.”

Phil didn’t bother asking who, just thanked Vivian a little more cheerfully than he actually felt and made his way along there. Sure enough, a little gaggle of guitarists was chatting easily outside Brian May’s allocated space; Brian, Slash, Kirk and Bowie. Oh, fuck…

Kirk turned and said hi; Phil forced a grin and returned the greeting. Thank the powers, he managed to come up with some sort of bullshit small talk; there was no fucking way he was going to try and make a move on the guy with an audience like that. Joe would kill him. Repeatedly. So they just chatted easily until someone came and called Brian away and that little fucker Ulrich dragged Kirk off yet again.

Phil went and moped in the dressing room.

“Fuck’s wrong with you?” Joe cocked an eyebrow round the door at his morose guitarist. Sav grabbed his jacket and rumpled Phil’s hair in passing, nudging his singer out of the way with an elbow.

“He’s in love. Leave ‘im be.”

Joe rolled his eyes even as Phil groaned and dropped his head into his hands. Christ, did everyone know his business? Except the one he wanted to know, of course. Naturally. Story of his fucking life.

“Just be careful, Phil. We don’t want any embarrassing scenes, do we?”

Phil flipped Joe the finger without looking up, and heard him cackle even as the bassist dragged him away.

*

Later. Much later…in fact, the gig (if you could call such a huge event by the three little letters that normally spelled performance) would be over before much longer; Phil had managed two more swift conversations with Kirk but each time one of them had been dragged off to do something, or see someone, or –

He was running out of time, and desperation was beginning to run rampant behind his eyes, the little voices of doubt nagging ever louder:

If he was interested he would have twigged by now, don’t you think?

Not necessarily. He might, I dunno, be as nervous as me. Maybe James is as scathing as Joe.

Worse, probably, so what makes you think that -

“Hey, Phil! There you are, man.” Kirk’s tone was relaxed and the million watt smile he directed at the little blonde was happy; he looked genuinely pleased to see him, and Phil – having been torturing himself about it all day – panicked at the blinding thought of what he was going to reply to Kirk’s next sentence. Which would undoubtedly be a question, and probably along the lines of wondering why he, Phil, had been creeping around backstage for the past eight hours or so looking for him, Kirk.

He sounds really friendly and normal for fuck’s sake so there cannot be any way ohmygod I really can’t do this right now and if I try it I’ll blurt out some sort of -

“Here I am. And here I go. Sorry. Maybe we'll catch each other later?”

Shit. Fuck. Shitfuck. Shitfuckwankbollocks. Blown it!

Kirk blinked at Phil’s rapidly retreating form and shrugged. Strange man. He could have sworn that –

Oh well.

*

“Any luck?”

“Fuck off, Viv.”

“I only asked…”

Everyone was packing up and leaving; various parties were happening all over London to celebrate the triumphant celebration of Freddie’s life and mourn his death, as well as rejoice in the fact that awareness of the plague that had taken him had undoubtedly been raised amongst the Great Unwashed. After all, the community of hedonists he’d been so much a part of had known about it for a long, long time…

Phil was morose. Part of him was glad he hadn’t said anything; after all, if he hadn’t spoken then he hadn’t made a complete cunt of himself in public, had he? No. But. But but but. The rest of him – the part that was growing louder and more insistent by the second – grieved for the lost chances and wondered if he would ever get the chance again. After all, it had been perfect; they so rarely ran into the Metallica boys that even if he had said no it wasn’t exactly going to come back to haunt him that often. Although it wasn’t just a case of saying no that he was afraid of, was it? No. It was a case of being terrified that Kirk would begin swearing ferociously before calling up a certain mister Hetfield to kick the shit out of him; that was what he was really afraid of, and the inevitable row with Joe that would follow. Yup, that would suck donkey bollocks alright.

Phil’s gloomy thoughts, rattling around his mind as he followed Joe and Rick away to their transport were broken by a familiar American accent.

“Hey Phil.”

“Hey.” Panic! “Look, I gotta –”

Joe was suddenly beside him, grinning broadly and patting him on the shoulder. “Nah, no problem. You stay here and chat, we’ll send the taxi back for ya. I know you’ve been trying to catch up with ‘im all day, so we won’t interrupt you now. See you later, OK?” And he nodded to Kirk with a wink and was gone.

Bastard! Come back!

“Lars has gone off somewhere with the management boys, so he won’t be interrupting either,” chuckled Kirk as he raised a hand in farewell to the other members of Leppard as they crammed into their taxi and vanished amidst the seething confusion.

Phil stared for a moment at the other man, who returned his gaze with a raised eyebrow and amused expression. “Seems we’ve done a great job of missing each other all day.”

“Yeah.” If only you knew…

“Look, I know it’s awkward trying to talk about anything at these events – so what you say we hook up later?”

Hope. Oh yes! Hoo-fuckin’-ray. “Sounds good, yeah.”

“Cool. What hotel you staying in?”

Make it sound casual. Casual. Right. “Empire, just round the corner.”

Kirk grinned and clapped Phil on the shoulder with a laugh. “Good taste, man! So are we. Guess that’s what you get for sharing a management company – they must have got a discount.”

“Yeah, tight bastards.” Oh, that was good. Cool.

“What’s your room number? I got some shit to catch up on, calls to make. I can swing by when I’ve finished, grab some food or some shit? Sound good?”

Panic. I dunno, what is my fucking room number? Joe did say. Fuck, I can’t even remember my bloody name, let alone my sodding – oh god. Now what do I say? “Ah – you know what it’s like, mate. You have to remember so many of the damn things I don’t even bother any more. Joe did mention it but I guess I wasn’t paying attention.” Brilliant! Tell the truth without spilling your guts. Collen, you’re a genius.

“Well, I must pay more attention than you do. I’m in ten-nineteen; think you can remember that?”

Oh yes. I can remember that…no problem. It’s got you in it, how could I forget? And he’s looking at me like that again; there’s that sort of glint that says – that says – fuck knows what it says. But I hope to find out.

“Yeah, sure.”

Kirk grinned and nodded, then turned as his name was shouted from further along the scrambling row of taxis and limos. “Lars. You think the guy would take a fucking hint, wouldn’t you? Anyway, see ya later, man.”

A brief wave, a flash of a smile and he was gone, leaving Phil standing a little forlorn as he waited for his own transport.

*

And Phil's heart was racing and he almost wanted to actually call the hotel's front desk right then and leave a message for Kirk saying he can't make it after all.

But he didn’t.

*

Eventually – a mile away in space and several hours in time – he found himself walking down the hallway to Kirk's room. He wasn’t entirely sure how he’d got there; his body had apparently become fed up of waiting for his mind to decide what, precisely, it wanted to do about the whole situation and had taken over, dragging said mind up to the corridor that led eventually to The Door. Of room ten-nineteen, wherein lay…what? The future?

Get real, Collen.

And he really, really wished he'd got what he had to say out while they were at the show. In a crowd. With a million plausible excuses for a quick exit when things went badly. A huge part of his mind, the bit screaming with panic, still wanted to turn around and call the front desk; after all, they'll be alone. And Kirk will say, “So what'd you want to say earlier?” And he'd have to clear his throat and try not to let his face turn red. And then he'd have to cough out, “I was wondering if...I know it's late...but well...um...dinner? Maybe? Or...if not...that's...yeah, it's no big deal.”

By the time he was lifting his hand to rap on Kirk's door, he'd imagined eighteen different ways Kirk could answer the question. Some of those ways made it awfully tough for him to go ahead and knock, not being particularly into getting his head kicked in at the best of times. And he suddenly realised that he hadn’t told anyone where he was going, so if he should get, for instance, beaten actually to death –

Alright, that’s enough. Now go ahead and -

As if on cue the door suddenly jerked open, frightening the life out of Phil and revealing an equally startled Kirk with an ice bucket.

“Hey!” He said with a huge grin in reply to whatever Phil’s expression was. He’d lost track. “Go on in. I'll be right back.”

And then he was left to stand alone in the middle of the suite's living room wondering what to do with his damp palms, and hoping like hell that the trembling he felt in his guts wasn’t actually visible on the outside; how the fuck would he explain that? Not to mention considering almost hysterically what else he can could come up with to say when Kirk finally got around to asking what he wanted earlier. “But maybe you blokes would consider touring with us?” Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Kirk returned with the ice and the two men idly chit-chatted about the concert and this and that as Kirk dumped it musically into glasses and offered Phil something to drink. A little startled to discover that Phil didn’t do the alcohol thing but seemingly at ease with the fact – “Hey, that’s cool, whatever,” - he was quite happy to sort out some juice to go with the ice. Each with a filled glass in their hand they stood in the middle of the living room facing each other, and Kirk asked the dreaded question. Phil’s mind went suddenly, horribly blank; in the space he’d filled with quips, quick fire responses and generally Clever Things To Say there was nothing – mental static on all channels, nothing but snow. Normal Service Will Be Resumed Eventually.

Desperate to fill the waiting silence he made what may have been the biggest mistake of his life.

He blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I, uh...was.... I was wondering if you were free...for...uh....” Say it! “A date.”

Oh shit. When I said say it I didn’t mean…ohmyfuckinggod you stupid fuckwit. This is it, you’re going to die this time. Definitely. Absolutely. Quick! Try and cover it up!

Silence. “I mean. Not... Uh....”

Kirk looked at him. Face serious. Not a flicker of emotion. More silence.

Phil began to wish that the ground would simply open up and swallow him whole; this was going to be bad. Worse than he’d imagined. His mind began to race; would Kirk punch him? Call James, who would punch him and then probably kick him too?

To his utter horror, he heard his own voice. Jesus, did he know how to dig himself into a hole or what.

“I mean…uh, that is…not that you’re into guys or anything…but I just heard…you know -”

Shut the fuck up, Collen.

Oh, this is bad. Scarybad.

Suddenly the other man was laughing; not just a chuckle, or a snort of amusement. Nope, a great big whooping laugh of sheer good humour; eventually he had to put his glass down and collapse into a chair, still hooting loudly and now having to wipe tears from his eyes.

Phil blushed. Come on, just leave, now. Before this gets any bloody worse.

But he didn’t move; couldn’t. All he could do was stand there and watch the glorious creature he’d been following around all day like a kicked puppy, and let the horrible feelings of shame and loneliness wash over him. He’d been so sure – well, almost. Kind of. A bit.

Eventually Kirk got his breath back, and leaned forward in the chair. Elbows resting on his knees, hands dangling loosely, he gave Phil a long, long look before shaking his head and hissing softly through his teeth.

“That’s what you’ve been trying to tell me?”

“Yeah.”

“All fuckin’ day?”

“Uhm…yeah.”

“Shit.” Kirk held out one elegant, long fingered hand. “Come here. Come on, I don’t bite. Really.”

One step, then another. Phil couldn’t break the lock those brown, brown eyes had on him; he still feared a kick or other blow but couldn’t have turned away if his life depended on it. Hell, maybe it did, and he still stepped closer.

Without meaning to, he finally stood by the smiling man and his arm – totally of it’s own accord – reached out to place his fingers within the grasp of the offered hand. One strong pull, and Phil found himself off balance and falling; not to the floor, whence he would be delivered of a good kicking, but sitting astride those long, long legs. Kirk firmly placed his hands on Phil’s hips and slid him a little closer; they could feel each other’s body warmth and even smell whatever cologne each had used that morning. So close.

He was still afraid. What if -?

“You know what?” muttered Kirk, affectionately, “all you had to do was fuckin’ ask.”

Phil looked blank. “What?” What?

“Ask. Y’know. Like you just did. Only without all the umming and ah-ing and running around the fuckin’ place.”

“Oh.”

Brilliant, Collen. ‘Oh’. Come on, the guy probably expects a little more than that…

Kirk laughed again, a far softer sound, then pulled Phil even closer to him; bodies lightly touching, he ran his fingertips across the blonde man’s cheekbones and finally held his face between his palms. Smiling again, he moved their faces until their lips were almost touching; Phil felt his breath warm as he said –

“Maybe we should talk later.”

- and then completely lost the ability to think in straight lines as Kirk closed the last tiny gap between them and kissed him.

He lost himself in that kiss; his hands crept up to the small of Kirk’s back even as one strong hand cupped the back of his head and another wound it’s way around to his backside, pulling him even closer until their crotches were pressed firmly together. Phil flared his nostrils as he struggled to get enough air to breathe; he wasn’t going to disengage their mouths, oh no. Not when they fit together so deliciously, tongues exploring gently and stimulating nerve endings he’d forgotten he had.

He heard himself whimper as Kirk tightened his arms around him, and he wriggled on his lap in an attempt to rub both their tightly swollen crotches together. Kirk broke the kiss and arched his back, pushing himself more firmly against the smaller man.

“Ah! Jesus…”

He felt a hand fumbling at the button of his jeans; he leaned back, and in a moment was free. He had to close his eyes, then; the sensation of two rock hard cocks being slowly massaged together was almost more than he could bear. He hissed a breath, almost in tears with the intensity of the fire burning in his guts and shooting comets up his spine to explode in the base of his brain. Pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“Kirk – I – oh, Jesus…”

He found himself pulled back into another searing kiss, and then they were up, somehow; stumbling toward the bedroom and awkwardly shedding clothing, tripping over jeans and clashing teeth as arms tangled getting rid of shirts. He had no idea what happened to his underwear; such things had ceased to matter a lifetime ago.

They fell onto the bed, crawled up onto it and rolled together, exploring skin feverishly, sliding on breaking sweat and tasting the sweet salt of it, rubbing their individual muskiness together to create a new, heady perfume comprising sex and sweat and lust and –

Oh, he was something special, this one. Phil rolled on his back and yelled as he felt a mouth close over him, devour him and massage him once more to almost the point of no return; the disappointment of that mouth leaving his cock was as nothing compared to the spike that arched his spine with where it went next. He found himself screaming and realised he didn’t care; he was being fucked with a tongue and had never…ever… felt anything that good…ever.

He was cradled, rolled into an embrace and lay there panting, listening to the thundering double beat of his lovers heart; neither seemed moved to say anything until Kirk nuzzled gently into his neck, smiling again.

“You want me to fuck you?” The voice was gentle, oiled silk making the words that could have been so harsh sound like the invitation to ecstasy that they surely were.

He’d died, that was it. Died and gone to heaven. Or hell, if this beautiful beast didn’t get inside him right now.

“Christ…yes…”

Kirk lazily stretched out an arm and retrieved the lube from the bedside table.

“See? That wasn’t so hard to say.”

Phil laughed, a little breathlessly. “So, what. You’re saying that if I’d come up to you and said ‘Kirk, wanna fuck?’ you’d have -”

Kirk rolled him over, lifted his calves to his shoulders. “Been on you in a fucking second, yeah.”

Phil laughed. And then he gasped, and after that he just felt heat, and light, and all manner of wonderful things.

*

“Kirk! Get the fuck up, man. Come on. Get up!”

Hammering on the door. Loud, insistent hammering. Bad tempered voice. Phil turned over, curled into a warm embrace and felt a gusty sigh stir his blonde mop of hair.

“Wh’ss’p?”

“Ah,” yawned Kirk sleepily, “I’s only James.”

Phil was suddenly awake. Very, very awake.

“Oh! Oh…fuck…”

He was pulled down, rolled over and kissed into submission, rubbed and teased until he relaxed and writhed against those talented, devilish fingers. Nuzzling into the angle his neck made with his shoulder, Kirk snorted with amusement. “There. Now chill out, OK? It’s only James. Don’t panic. I can handle him.”

Crawling carefully out of bed – they had, after all, been screwing for most of the night - Phil made his way to the bathroom while Kirk pulled on a robe and answered the door.

James pulled a face as his guitarist was revealed, sweaty and dishevelled and not looking too happy to be disturbed.

“The fuck? Jesus, you stink.”

“Morning James.”

“You coming to breakfast or what? No, forget it, you look busy and I really don’t wanna know -”

Emerging cautiously from the bathroom Phil listened to the voices, and began to relax as he heard the aggressive, angry voice soothed and calmed by Kirk’s lighter tone. Thank fuck for that.

But then another voice joined in, and he sank his face into his hands. Oh no. Oh god, no. Anything but that.

“Morning guys. Anyone seen Phil? Can’t find him.”

James turned on Joe, a glint in his eye. “And why the fuck would we know where he is?”

Smelling a fight, Joe frowned. “Because he was looking for Kirk last night, that’s why. No need to get your knickers in a knot over it -”

Taking a deep breath and fearing the worst, Phil caught Kirk’s eye and stepped into view. Grinning, Kirk pulled him into an embrace and bussed him noisily on the lips; turning to face the two frontmen in the doorway Phil was awfully glad of the baggy sweats he’d grabbed from the bathroom floor. After all, with Kirk not only standing behind him, trapping him with his arms and gently rubbing a hardon against his arse…well, like he said, he was awfully glad of the baggy pants.

He folded his hands over Kirk’s. “Morning Joe. Problem? I thought we were free today.”

Joe blinked.

James blinked.

Theokedoked at each other.

James finally shrugged, rolled his eyes to the ceiling and sighed gustily. “Well, that’s my plans fucked. I guess these two won’t surface for the rest of the day…want some breakfast? I’m fucking hungry. You hungry?”

Joe looked between James, Kirk and Phil before shrugging carefully. “Yeah. Whatever. And you,” pointing at Phil, “just…oh, never mind. Whatthefuckever. Yeah,” to James, “I’m hungry. Come on.”

The two men turned and left, and Phil sagged briefly against Kirk before pushing the door gently closed and turning in his arms, kissing him and rubbing his hips against the evidence of Kirk’s…excitement.

“You daft bugger. That could have been really nasty.”

He just smiled again, gently cradled Phil’s face in his hands and kissed him slowly. “Nah. But your Joe better watch out; James can be a real Big Bad Wolf when he’s fired up like that.”

Phil frowned. “Eh? You don’t mean -?”

Kirk grinned.

“Joe and -?”

Nod.

“No way. No fucking way.”

“Yes way. Now. You coming back to bed or what?”

Phil gave up, and let himself be drawn back to the sweaty nest they’d made amongst the covers. Joe was a big lad. He could look after himself.

Probably.

And then he was being kissed again, and the rest was just incidental background noise.
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Breakthrough