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Crosby’s hand held firm just under Stephen’s right thigh, pulling it up just the way he wanted, feeling the blond’s feet on his shoulder. He smirked and darted his warm brown eyes into the desperate blue ones, licking his lips in a provocative act, before turning his face just enough to nip into the hairy skin of Stills’ leg.
“If you don’t stop teasing me I’m gonna kick your fucking mouth.” The younger one said, sounding nothing but completely frustrated at that point. It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy foreplay, for a matter of fact, he actually liked it way too much. But what David did was plain and simple
torture.
The way that he kept glancing into his eyes, softly touching his skin, almost a phantom touch, while biting and kissing just
everywhere
he could. It drove Stephen insane.
And it always started the same way.
David had been laying in a very comfortable sofa, between his fingers he held a half burnt joint, feeling his body warming up as he took another drag out of it. They had been around Stephen’s house so much lately for the recordings it all started to feel too familiar: the spots in the carpet, the flowery wallpaper, even the smell of fresh cleaning products hit way too close to something that resembled that homey feeling that Crosby hasn’t been really able to feel for a while now.
“You’re not on vacation here, asshole,” Those words made David immediately look towards the door, seeing a very pissed Stephen walking towards him with exponentially large footsteps that quickly got him hovering on the side of the sofa, shadowing the light that came out of the window. The Californian sighed as he knew what was coming for him. “Get your dirty feet out of my sofa, grab your damn guitar and start working.”
The older man didn’t respond, quietly getting up to be eye level with the other, observing his dilated pupils and how
high
he was. He smirked as even his own foggy brain could realize what that meant. Stephen had this thing, where he would get high, horny and angry – not always exactly in this order –, and then he’d start picking up fights with everyone, just to to try and get away with a hate-fuck. And Crosby was
always
up to any kind of fuck that he could get away with.
“Holy shit, Croz,”
That
was the main reason that David loved to tease the fuck out of Stephen, slowly working him up to edge, enjoying each moment and the shaky way his name fell from the Texan’s lips so sweetly, trembling as Crosby bit the space between his thigh and ass, letting his warm tongue brush over the pale skin too soothe the bite.
With one of his hands still knitting on the younger man’s waist, David pulled a bit away, just to look up at the blond man and watch how the manner that he had his head thrown all the way back onto the couch’s arm. Stills’ chest rose and fell quickly, trying its best to fit all the oxygen that his blood needed to keep rushing in his body now. The Californian smiled at the sight, especially when the blue eyes that kept drifting off and closing – running away –
finally
locked with his own, in a silent plea for more.
It was exactly like a reward, to see Stephen Stills, shaking in pleasure and letting the tough man front – that he
thought
that he needed to be respected – fall off, and permitting himself to finally be at ease and actually
ask
for something that he wanted instead of demanding or playing those sick little games to try and prove himself.
Even though, in a way, that still was all a part of his great gambit.
“What do you want, Stephen?” David asked in an exhausted sigh, looking at the man in front of him. Although calm, his words seemed to work Stills up even more, as he saw how the Texan’s face went completely red in anger, his drugged brain struggling to communicate the words he needed.
“D’you wanna know what I really want?” The words left his mouth one stuck to the other, a true exercise for Crosby’s ears “I want you to stop fucking around and start to take this band more serious,” He spat the words, putting a finger to Crosby’s chest and tapping on it between words. He took the joint away from his fingers and threw the rest of it to the floor, stepping on it. “You have done
nothing
today but lay on my couch and smoke grass, what do you think we’re supposed to be doing here? This ain’t no holiday, you’re part of the band, man, start acting like one.”
But all of those words didn’t even get David to move a single muscle. Stephen had been on the edge since Neil joined the band. It wasn’t like Stephen wasn’t an attention freak before that, but it seemed like his will of
proving himself
just worsened with the Canadian’s presence; they couldn’t catch a break of Stills trying to run the band like it was navy just to show the others that they could be as good as he was. That, however, was
not
true, Neil was
way
out of their leagues. And deep down, Stephen knew that, and it drove him crazy.
“Just do it, man,” Stephen grunted the words, his body squirming as he gripped the side of the sofa very tightly, his knuckles turning white with the strength he was using. His mouth was hung open, gasping for air as he felt his whole body burning hot; his shirt was just starting to get soaked.
Crosby smiled at the words, biting the inner part of Stephen’s thigh, his mustache prickling over the skin and making it tingle. Stills took a very sharp breath as the other man’s head finally hovered over where he needed, letting the warm breath blow over it, a strange nervousness sparking as he knew that it was the last bit of foreplay.
The younger man let his death grip go of the couch, and entangled his fingers through the mess that composed David’s hair, letting it get lost along with all the knots that were a direct result of never brushing it. A soft sound left Stephen’s throat and for an untrained ear it could sound like any word, but for Crosby he knew exactly what it was: a small plea for him to keep going. And
how
could he ever say no to that?
“Why don’t you invest all that energy you spend being an asshole playing your guitar?” Crosby says ironically, in that very same calm voice as ever, one that seemed to never tone up if it wasn’t for singing. “That would
surely
be more effective if you’re so committed to being Neil's bitch.”
He knew Stephen
wasn’t going to like it
, and he was surely crossing some kind of line there, but he wasn’t really giving a fuck at that moment. He didn’t care if it hurt Stephen, firstly because it was mostly true, and secondly because the other man needed to back the fuck down and stop thinking that he was his boss just because his ego was at risk in front of Neil or because he wanted to fuck someone. Crosby didn’t work like that. Music wasn’t supposed to be a chore.
Stills could barely believe what he had just heard coming out of David’s mouth, and before he could actually say anything back, he was grabbing his bandmate’s lapels and tugging on it hard. “Have you lost your fucking mind?” He said, almost screaming his words as he could feel his hands shake from the grip.
“Take it easy,” The Californian whispered with a sly smile playing across his lips.
And then his head was being shoved down by Stephen, and he could do nothing else but smile, using his fingers to spread Stills open, as he finally started to work his tongue over the man’s wet entrance, licking a straight line up to his clit. The sound Stills let out of his throat was simply priceless – it was one of those
raw
moans that could make any man go insane –, the sound of finally getting what they had been building up all along.
There was a sequence of sounds that the Texan started mumbling between each half breath he took, choking in the air as he felt the way David’s warm tongue rolled around his clit, pulling the hood back. But between all of those shaky words, the most special surely was the way that Crosby’s name rolled in his tongue, just like a swear and a praise at the same time.
Stephen was just
so
wet that the simple act of spitting to lube his fingers up was for nothing more than just a habit. He teased the slit, his middle finger running up and down as he buried his nose between the dark blond hairs that covered all around his bandmate’s cunt, inhaling deep the aroused scent into his lung, closing his eyes. There was just
something
about the way Stephen smelled that hit just the right parts of his brain, making Crosby let out a small moan at that.
There was no other way around it, David thought and smiled, coughing as Stills’ grip in his lapels started to tighten just enough to make breathing a little hard, “What? You ain’t a fan of the truth?” He asks, raising his eyebrows as he does so, pretending to be surprised at the man’s angry reaction to his words.
Stephen’s nose was already touching his, as his blue eyes burned a deep dark colour, pupils blown wide with hate, lust and drugs. Their hot and shallow breaths mixed together, making the air between them dense in tension, almost impossible to gather any oxygen into their lungs at all.
For a second, Crosby thought that he might have read the room wrong, and that Stephen was really just looking for a fight. In
that
case things were about to get awfully ugly and both of them would probably be leaving at any moment with a black eye and maybe a broken nose. But then Stephen’s lips were on his, harshly, smashing their noses together.
Always at the right time, it was just like a clock.
David smiled into the kiss, satisfied at how needy the other seemed, and Stills took that opportunity to slide his tongue into the other’s mouth. A quickie hand immediately came to grab a handful of the blond’s hair, pulling it to deepen the kiss.
“Jesus,” The Texan called out, but to his mind there was simply no deity at that moment other than David Crosby and the way his tongue ran flat licks over his clit, just before easily sticking his finger into Stephen and curling it up, massaging the soft warm walls with a perfect skill that was only guaranteed to someone with that amount of practice.
There was always
so much
going on in Stephen’s head. So many problems, so many ideas, so many people. Too much of
everything
and all the time. He could barely hear his own mental voice as his mind rushed from one thought to the next, barely letting him register something before skipping to another idea.
And between all the drugs he had tried, the only one that was capable of slowing his brain to
nothingness
was Crosby eating him out.
He could just close his eyes and throw his head back, mouth opened for air – and the moans that insisted to escape –, feeling the sweat dripping from every single inch of his body and soaking his shirt. He gripped his fingers tighter, pulling Crosby’s hair as a whine left his trembling lips and his thighs closed around the Californian’s head, silently showing how good of a work he was doing.
It was almost like a dream, the way that David’s fingers moved, in and out with a steady rhythm in smooth movements, while his mouth – Jesus, his
mouth
– was sucking hard on his clit, making those wet and clicky noises that drove him crazy. His breath was picking up, as sparks of pleasure hit the small of his back, making his arch his body up, toes curling up into his boots.
He was most definitely not proud of how quickly he would start to get on the edge, barely looking down, because
that
was a mistake he had made before, and he knew that if his eyes crossed Crosby’s brown ones it would be his last straw. It was just unexplainable, how David’s eyes would make his whole body feel like jelly, with that
one
playful look he always had during sex, which highlighted how all of it was so natural for him.
David really loved sex. There was almost nothing in the world that would bring him more happiness than having his mouth full of pussy.
Maybe
having his mouth full of cock. He slid one of his hands over Stephen’s right thigh, moving up to his hip, and pulling his bandmate down to meet his face and fingers even further.
His wrist was just starting to cramp when a gasp left Stills’ throat, and that was more than enough of a message for Crosby to know how close the other man was.
“Shit.” Stephen whispered, sounding completely breathless as his hips buckled without his own consent and Croz simply hummed in response,
savouring
his bandmate – the sounds, the smell and the taste.
And then Stills looked down, at the mess of hairs his hand was helplessly tugging, as his body squirmed and shuddered in pure pleasure. It felt like Crosby was everywhere, filling and occupying, overloading each one of his senses, making shivers run down his spine as whatever the fuck that he had taken made his body even hotter, sweating with the effort of all that blood running.
The blond man reached for air one last time, holding his breath as his body spasmed forwards, feet shaking as he
finally
came. David didn’t stop, enthusiastically still moving his experienced fingers and tongue with a true mastery, until Stephen was clutching in his hair, indicating that it was enough.
He was breathing hard as he pulled away, a sly smile across his glistening lips. It was always such a workout. He slid his fingers out of Stephen just to clean them with his mouth, closing his eyes at the so familiar sour taste that took over his mouth and he honestly could never get enough of it. “You taste so good.” He whispered, voice sounding a bit rough around the edges.
The younger, though, was not even listening properly to whatever was being said, as he could feel his heart beating in his ears, racing fast as he finally let his fingers untangle from Crosby’s hair and drop it by his own chest, looking completely exhausted.
Stephen licked his lips, “Gimme a second,” his voice filled the room, immediately followed by a cough, his eyes closed as the afterglow made his eyelids
so
heavy. The effect of the drug was starting to wear off and he felt the wave of tiredness covering him like a warm blanket. When was the last time he had really slept?
Crosby couldn’t help but smile at that sight – one of those smiles that got his eyes almost closed –, the way Stephen looked so tired, fighting to not fall asleep and simply failing. It made anything else that they were trying to fight about before simply disappear from his mind, no space left for it as his own body was pleading for some rest.
Stills didn’t know how much time had passed when he felt a gentle hand running through his hair. He first tried to dismiss it, murmuring something, but when his awakening brain reminded of what was happening before his apparent sleep, he immediately opened his eyes, ready to get up to his feet again.
“Hey,” Crosby’s voice was gentle, pressing a hand to his chest to stop him from getting up, and making Stephen fall right back down in his lying position on the couch. “It’s alright.”
The Texan’s eyes took some time to get used to the light again, as he realised it was already getting dark outside. “What time is it?” He asked, immediately looking down and seeing that his pants were already fixed in place.
“You’re fine, it’s just past six,” David said, sounding calm, “It’s been a while since everyone went their way, there’s just me and Nash, you can sleep.”
They stared into each other’s eyes through the dim light that illuminated the room. There were a lot of words, stuck just at the top of Stephen’s throat, but refusing to leave his mouth. He had
so much
to say to Croz that he couldn’t even organize his thoughts properly to actually be able to tell him anything. So he simply nodded, letting out of his lungs a breath that he didn’t even notice that he was holding.
“I’m gonna crash at Graham’s, we’ll be around in the morning.”
And then Crosby left, even though Stephen could be
just sure
that he had said a faint “stay”.