Work Text:
“We’re fucked. We’re so fucked.”
The resigned voice of your bandmate, Aaron, crackles through your phone speaker.
“Nice empathy, moron,” you scold. “At least try to act like you care. And where the hell are you, anyway? You sound like you’re calling from the middle of the ocean.”
“Driving back from Viv’s. I'm trying out that new Bluetooth thingy. And sorry, that was shit. Is Kelly okay?”
“Uh, not really? She’s in bits, dude. Literally and figuratively.”
“Shit. Shit. God, what’re we gonna do?”
Kelly had called you early this morning in tears from the ER, and you’d driven straight over, heart pounding and stomach swirling. Through her sobs you managed to deduce she’d fallen from a ladder trying to put up a shelf, twisting her arm underneath her in the process. A couple of hours later and the prognosis has officially come out as Bad.
You, Aaron and Kelly have been friends since you were twelve, when you bonded over being school troublemakers. You’re very grateful, now, that you all eventually decided to funnel that preteen angst into musical creativity, or none of you would be where you are now. The three of you spent the rest of your teens and early twenties playing casually – mostly local gigs, swapping in and out of different bands with other friends – until around four years ago when you decided to try and take this whole thing seriously. It turned out you were pretty magic together, actually – and you’ve been riding the wave ever since; releasing two albums and touring the country both at festivals and your own headline gigs.
You’d been over the moon when a rep from the indie label you’re signed to had called to say you’d been offered a Sunday afternoon slot at Greenfields festival. And not even one of the smallest stages – a very respectable medium-sized one. It’s a decent set length, too – forty minutes, you’ll hopefully get ten songs in if you’re lucky. It might even get televised, which is faintly ludicrous. It’s also less than two weeks away – and look, you aren’t a medical expert by any stretch of the imagination, but you’re pretty certain it takes longer than that to heal a broken wrist.
“Do you think someone else could learn in time?” Aaron continues.
You make a noncommittal sound. “Maybe?”
“What about Loz? Or even Ollie G, he plays bass too.”
“They’re on tour until next month,” you say wearily.
Aaron keeps ploughing on. “Or maybe, you could play bass and we could get another guitarist instead -”
“I can’t play bass, what the hell man?!”
“It’s got strings, they’re basically the same.”
“Fuck off! That’s like asking you to play the xylophone!”
“Bet I could, if I wanted to.”
You roll your eyes emphatically, even though he can’t see, and take a deep breath in preparation to put forth your one and only suggestion. “I mean…we could ask Hader.”
Aaron snorts. “You can ask Hader. He’ll definitely say yes.”
“’S that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, c’mon.” Aaron pauses, and you wait for an explanation. Instead he just sighs. “Yeah, ask him, do it. I definitely wouldn’t be mad about playing with him, he’s great.”
“He is great.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“You’re being so weird. I’m gonna call him now. Love you, bye!”
You hang up without waiting for a response.
Bill’s name is one you heard spoken for years before you ever met. Always mentioned as a friend of a friend, he’d become some kind of folk hero that no one had a bad word to say about. All you knew about him was that he seemed to have his fingers in a lot of different pies (at the very least: screenwriting, acting, and sketch comedy, as well as music), and that he was a ridiculously talented bassist. People would talk wistfully about how they wished he’d stick to music, join their band; but these conversations always ended with a reluctant acceptance that he was just too damn good at too many things to be tied down.
You aren’t sure exactly what you’d been expecting when you finally met Bill a couple of years ago. Someone at least fifteen years older than you, probably – a kind of fun uncle figure with a twinkle in his eye. Imagine your shock when your friend Matt introduced you to a lanky, floppy-haired guy in his late twenties and named him as the infamous Bill.
You’ll never forget the way your heart leapt into your throat as he turned and shook your hand, all crooked smile and pretty blue eyes.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” was the first thing he said, which was ridiculous because he was the one who was literally a local legend.
“Oh shit,” you remember saying, glancing nervously at Matt, who just laughed because he was, and continues to be, a bastard.
“All good, I promise,” Bill had reassured you. “Hey. Congrats on the debut record, by the way. It’s totally rad, I’ve had it on repeat this past week.”
It’s fair to say you were truly, instantly smitten – and you hadn’t even seen him play yet. That came less than a week later, coincidentally, when he joined another friend’s band on tour and you made sure you showed up to the local date. And maybe you dressed up a little. And stood at the front. And felt your stomach tingle when Bill spotted you in the crowd and gave you a dorky little wave.
If you’d thought getting to know him better after that would erode your crush, you were sorely mistaken. Bill was a man of contrasts – somehow both extroverted and introverted, anxious but confident, friendly yet distant. You’d go through periods of intense texting only to have him seemingly drop off the grid for weeks. You usually flirt with ease – both to friends and potential romantic partners alike – but you’ve always toned it down when it comes to Bill; never quite sure how he’d react. He’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma that you’re just dying to crack.
Your heart is pounding again as you find Bill’s name in your phone contacts and hit call. He answers almost immediately, sounding cheerful.
“Hey! How’s it going?”
“Hey, Hader – is this a bad time?”
“No, no, it’s cool. I’m on set, but we’re on break. Got about ten minutes. What’s up?”
You exhale slowly. “Don’t suppose you wanna come play Greenfields with Aaron and I at the end of June, by any chance?”
“With you – wait. What. What’s happened to Kelly?!”
“I’m at the hospital with her now. She just got her x-ray results. Left wrist. Compound fracture.”
“Oh shit. God, that’s devastating. How is she?”
“Devastated,” you say wryly.
“Sorry, sorry. Stupid question.”
“No – no, it’s not. Thanks for actually being concerned. Unlike some other people who will remain nameless but happen to play drums.”
Bill snorts. “So, uh. You guys need a bassist? And…you thought of me? Or am I like, the sixth person you’ve called?”
“You’re the first,” you say immediately. Your voice seems to have gone disgustingly soft. “There’s no one else I’d rather – I mean, we’d both really like you to. If you can. But I guess if you’re filming you won’t be free?”
“Actually, I wrap my part on this tomorrow. I can start practice from Friday?”
Your breath catches in your throat. “Really?! Are – are you sure?”
“Yeah, man, totally! Who’d turn down an opportunity like that?”
“Well, it’s only the Woodlands Stage,” you joke.
“I meant getting to play with you.”
You’re extremely grateful that the smoking area behind the hospital is mostly deserted, and therefore there are no witness to the way you bite your lip and flush bright red.
“Hey, uh, listen. I gotta go, but – I’ll call you tomorrow?” Bill continues, sounding amused.
“Okay,” you say, voice still breathy. "Bye!"
Bill's true to his word – joining you at Aaron’s two days later for the first of many rehearsals leading up to the festival. And you’ve obviously always had a crush on Bill, always, but damn if his dedication to learning all the songs on your new LP in record time hasn’t made you absolutely swoon. You like to think you haven't been obvious about it, but Aaron’s frequent side-eyeing during practice implied otherwise. Hader, for his part, definitely seems like he hasn’t known quite what to do with your increased flirtations – swinging wildly between obliviousness and a lot of reciprocated eye-fucking. Either way, you still aren’t sure if he’s actually interested in you, and it’s driving you a little bit crazy.
That was two weeks ago, and now you’re minutes away from performing. You’re in the tent that’s doubling as a green room; trying to focus on warming up your voice but unable to resist pacing back and forth uneasily. You can tell Aaron’s going through his usual pre-gig internal hype-up – his face screwed up so hard he looks constipated. When you stomp past Bill’s chair for the dozenth time he catches hold of your wrist and looks up at you with a silent plea to stop, his face ashen. You aren’t sure if this’ll be the biggest crowd he’s ever played to, but if not, it has to be close. He gets bad stage fright, you know.
“Sorry,” you murmur, squeezing his hand. His chest is rising and falling rapidly, breaths shallow. “Hey. Are you okay?”
Bill laughs mirthlessly. “No.”
Your heart breaks. You drop to the ground in front of him, between his spread knees, and if the mood were different you’d definitely feel some kind of way about that position. But instead you take his other hand and place it on your chest, above your heart, and look up at him beseechingly.
“Can you feel my breaths?” you ask gently, trying to keep them deep and even despite your own nerves. Bill nods, eyes wide. “Okay. We’re gonna breathe in through our nose and out through our mouth, okay?”
“Okay,” he echoes, voice barely above a whisper.
It takes several minutes before Bill manages to match his breaths to yours, but by the end he’s visibly calmer – jaw unclenched, his grip on your hand looser. From behind him, you spy one of the techs hold his palm up to you – signalling you’ve got five minutes before you’re due on stage.
“How’re you feeling?” you murmur.
Bill nods, smiling weakly. “A little better.” He squeezes your hand again. “Thank you.”
“Of course.”
The two of you share a smile (a proper one, this time) before you stand up and turn to Aaron.
“Hey. It’s huddle time. Aaron, get over here.”
Bill rises from his seat, hand still in yours, and Aaron unfolds himself from the lotus position to join you. You release Bill’s hand in order to slide your arm around his back, and the men do the same until the three of you are snuggled into each other. You don’t speak; just press your foreheads together, and a peaceful calm washes over you.
“We’ve got this,” your voice is quiet, but firm. You turn to press a kiss on the top of Aaron’s head, then lean over to Bill to do the same to him.
“It’s time,” one of the techs calls, and you break apart reluctantly to exit the tent towards the stage. The same tech hands you your IEM and you thank them, tucking the receiver pack into your back pocket and fumbling to shove the earbuds into your ears. You give Bill and Aaron a questioning thumbs up, and when they respond in kind you step out onto the stage.
The crowd greets you with a thunderous cheer. God, there’s so many fucking people. Your heart is pounding as you step up to the microphone and clear your throat.
“Hi everyone, we’re Training Wheels! Thanks for joining us this afternoon. This song is called Wilhelm Scream.”
The performance honestly goes basically flawlessly, if you ignore the part where you spun around too enthusiastically and knocked over your mic. The audience are excellent – a mixture of genuine fans and festival-goers swept up in the atmosphere. You don’t think you’ll ever get over the sight of hundreds of people singing along to lyrics you wrote; dancing to melodies you helped compose. And fuck, if you don’t just love the way being on stage always lets you be loud and angry and confident, even when you yourself are feeling small and insecure. You sing and sweat and dance and play until your voice cracks and your fingers bleed. Aaron’s never sounded so good, you think – he’s at the top of his game, drumming for his life, his snarling backing vocals complementing your voice perfectly.
But really, if you’re truly honest – you only have eyes for Bill.
You’ve seen him play on stage before of course, plenty of times. But up there with him you’re complete equals – partners in crime, caught up together in the euphoria of the performance. Like you, he’s a bit of a different person on stage; his introvert-goofiness transformed into something intense, purposeful, seductive. You stare openly and often at the way his long fingers slide nimbly over the strings – fuck, you’ve never wanted to be a bass so badly.
The last song of the set features your favourite solo, and you’re damned if you aren’t going to make it count. You step away from your mic and stride purposefully over to stage left where Bill’s playing. He notices you coming over, and the smile he gives you is so dazzling you almost miss your next chord. You recover quickly, step close to him, and as you start the solo you slowly start to lean back, mouth hanging open and eyes screwed shut like you’re having the best orgasm of your life.
Your instruments are touching. The crowd fucking roars.
You feed off it all – the applause, the electricity of the music, the proximity of Bill’s body, you swallow it all and still feel greedy for more. You straighten your spine as the solo starts to wrap up, and you finally open your eyes.
The look Bill is giving you is so intense your hand trembles and you actually do fuck up the last note of the song. No one has ever, ever looked at you that way before. It’s like he’s cracked open your skull, your ribcage, baring all the soft, vulnerable parts of yourself to the world. And you know it’s a cliché but you’re being watched by literally thousands and thousands of people and it’s like he’s the only one who can actually see you.
You realise, then, that he knows. It’s written all over your face, your mind, your heart. He understands how you feel.
You’re still staring at him in shock as you walk back over to your spot, the crowd clapping and whooping and hollering, and you can feel his gaze burning into you even as you lean towards the mic.
“Thanks for your support, everyone! We’ll see you again soon!”
Your head swims as you step off the stage, more than a little discombobulated. You stop to thank the roadies and chug about a litre of water while Aaron’s part-time girlfriend, Viv, throws herself into his arms with a squeal. You resist the urge to roll your eyes and instead wordlessly head back up towards the performers’ campsite. The showers there have proved somewhat unreliable so far, but are about a million times cleaner than the ones the poor patrons get, so you can’t complain. Aaron and Viv immediately disappear together into his tent without bothering to stop for a wash and you can’t decide if you’re disgusted or impressed. Once you’ve grabbed your towel and soap you peel off your skinny jeans and sweat-soaked tee in the cramped cubicle, scrubbing yourself as thoroughly as possible, like you’re trying to ground your soul in your body. You come out of the lukewarm shower ten minutes later clad in just your towel and flip-flops, and almost bump straight into Bill emerging from the opposite cubicle. His eyes widen briefly when he notices you, then he smirks, looking you up and down.
“Nice flip-flops.”
You lean forward to bow sarcastically, then shriek when the gesture causes the knot on your towel to pop open. You just about manage to cover all the important bits in time – hand clutching the fabric to your chest desperately. The other you clamp over your mouth as you reluctantly look back up towards Bill. He’s biting his lip, his chest shaking with silent laughter.
You flip him the bird with all the dignity you can muster, and march back to your tent. When you finally re-emerge dressed in denim hotpants and a tank top, damp hair drying in the late June sunshine, Bill’s sitting cross-legged on the grass nearby, typing rapidly on his Sidekick.
“You better not be telling people about my little towel accident,” you say by way of greeting.
Bill jumps at the sound of your voice, looking up with eyes like saucers. “I would never!”
“Good. I would hate for your suddenly untimely death to ruin an otherwise pleasant weekend.”
He giggles nervously, sliding the keyboard back and stuffing his phone in his pocket.
“So. Wanna head down?” you ask.
“Where’re Aaron and Viv?”
You snort. “They probably won’t be emerging until tomorrow.”
Bill stares at you expectantly, one eyebrow raised, and you sigh.
“Aaron always gets the post-gig horn. I think it’s the main reason he keeps Viv around, actually.”
“Oh. Right,” he grins, and it turns sly. “So…do you?”
“What?”
There’s that eyebrow again. You want to wipe the smirk off his pretty face so badly.
“Yeah, kinda often, actually,” you say faux-casually. “But like, I’m picky. It’s difficult to find someone to uh, relieve the tension with, ya know? Usually I just end up having to sort myself out.”
Bill blinks. “Oh.”
“But like, right person, afterwards?” you shrug, giving him your best suggestive smile. “Definitely.”
You start walking off down the hill, towards the cacophony of sound emanating from various tents and stages, but quickly realise Bill doesn’t seem to be following you. You turn around to find he’s messing with his hoodie, frantically tying and re-tying it around his waist.
“Everything okay?”
Bill’s face is red when he looks up at you. “Uh, yeah. You carry on, I’ll run after you in a sec.”
You squint at him suspiciously. “Okay?”
You’re at least halfway down the track before he catches up with you. Before you can ask what’s going on he launches into a story about the first time he saw the headline act live, staunchly avoiding your gaze the entire time. The throng of people gradually increases the further down you get until it eventually bottlenecks and you’re stuck queuing for at least twenty minutes. When you finally make it to the main stage the previous band are just finishing up their set; so you grab hotdogs and beers from one of the many food trucks and talk and laugh while you wait for the headliners to come out, faces flushed and eyes bright, like you’re sharing some secret, inside joke.
The first few songs are great – you’re feeling a little buzzed from the beer, and have plenty of room to dance. Half an hour in, however, the band play one of their biggest hits and the people around you get more energetic. The crowd surges and squeezes, and you’re left stuck directly behind what must be the actual tallest man at the entire festival (just your luck, really). You catch Bill’s eye in your periphery and mouth, very exaggeratedly, are you fucking kidding me?
Bill laughs so loudly that a group of girls in muddy wellies turn to the two of you in alarm. Tall Guy, thankfully, remains oblivious.
“Can we try to move?” you wheedle.
He tilts his head noncommittally. “Sure, we can try.” You frown, feeling a bit put out, until he continues: “Or you could like, just sit on my shoulders?”
You blink a couple of times, digesting his words, before grinning madly. “Hell yeah. You sure?”
Bill shrugs, smiling back. “Yeah, why not? You’re uh,” he pauses to rub the back of his neck self-consciously. “You’re gonna have to talk me through how to get you up, though.”
Oh, this is priceless. You don’t think you’ve felt this smug since you were fourteen and a very sheepish Aaron reluctantly asked you if you could show him how to kiss (you’d done it twice at that point, so you were a seasoned expert).
“What’s the matter, Hader?” you tease. “Never had a woman on your shoulders before?”
“I mean, not while I’m standing up, no.”
Your mouth drops open in surprise, and to your horror, you blush. Your brain provides a very helpful mental image of Bill flat on his back, looking up at you with dark eyes and a wet mouth as you slowly lower yourself onto his face…
You make an odd sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough in an attempt to pull yourself together. “Right! Okay. Crouch down, as far as you can, and tuck your head in. Then when I say so, stand up. Slowly!”
Bill follows your instructions to the letter, and within seconds you’re up on his shoulders. The view is spectacular, actually – and you spare a brief thought for the people behind you who’ve now just had their own view completely obscured.
You enjoy the rest of the gig, you really do. But what you enjoy even more is the solidness of Bill’s broad shoulders beneath you, and the surety of his big hands grasping your bare legs. Every so often he shifts his grip, and the calluses on his fingers scrape along the soft, sensitive skin of your thighs, and your stomach swoops in excitement.
“You getting tired down there?” you purr in his ear.
“Not even close,” he counters, squeezing your knee.
You can’t deny how uncomfortably turned on you’re starting to get. In retaliation, the next time the pair of you get jostled slightly by the crowd you reach down, tangle your fingers in his hair, and tug. Even through the deafening din of the music, you hear Bill make a sound that’s part-growl, part-moan, and the rumble of his chest vibrates through your entire lower body.
The sun is halfway set by the time the gig finishes. Bill crouches dutifully so you can jump down, feeling a little lightheaded. You turn just in time to watch him roll his neck and shoulders, wincing slightly.
“Sore?” you ask.
He shrugs, eyes sparkling playfully. “I’ve had worse.”
You feel positively giddy as you head back up to the campsite. Bill lights a cigarette and you pass it between yourselves as you rave about the band, ribbing each other gently, words tumbling against each other. When you return to the performers’ area you head straight for the catering tent, wanting to drag the night out for as long as possible.
Bill rolls his eyes at the strawberry cider you grab from the communal fridge but wisely refrains from making a sarcastic comment. The two of you sidle back to where your tents are pitched nearby – coming to a silent mutual agreement to avoid sitting within hearing range of Aaron and Viv.
Bill glances up at the grey cloud looming ominously over the festival site. “Think it’s gonna rain?”
You scrunch your nose up. “Nah. Not here anyway. It’ll go past the hills over there, and then -” you make a dramatic explosion sound, gesturing up to the sky like an elemental wizard.
“Hope you’re right. Don’t wanna wake up in a swamp tomorrow.”
Bill holds his can out towards you, and you knock your own against it with a soft thud.
“Cheers.” You pop the seal on the cider and take a long gulp. It’s sickly sweet – just as you’d hoped.
“Oh, this shit’s gross,” Bill says cheerfully, knocking back another hefty swig.
“How dare you speak ill of our corporate sponsor overlords.”
Bill snorts with laughter, slapping his knee in delight, and you stare at him in wonder. You think that after all this time, especially now, considering all you’ve been through together in the past fortnight you should be used to it but…every time you look at him, it’s like you can’t quite catch your breath. You wonder if it’ll ever stop being like that, or if you’re just doomed forever to feel like you’re standing on the edge of space, about to step out into the unknown, terrified and exhilarated.
You know you should be more relaxed by now – the adrenaline from your own gig long worn off – but instead you’re restless; fidgeting where you sit, fiddling with the ring-pull on your can.
Even Bill has noticed how wound up you are. “You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just…it’s been a weird day, right?”
“And it’s not over yet.”
You huff a laugh. “Is that a threat?”
“More like a promise,” he says, voice low and eyes shining, and the feeling bubbles up in your chest like static.
You bite your lip, drain the rest of your cider, and flop down on your back on the grass. After a beat Bill joins you. He’s lying very close. The two of you share a moment of companiable silence as you stare upwards. The sky is the colour of wet slate, and the air smells of ozone.
“Hey. Thanks again, for earlier,” Bill says tentatively.
“Hm?”
“Y’know. Before the gig.”
“Of course.” His face is doing something complicated, and your stomach fizzes uneasily. “Is it…is it always like that?”
“Every time.” He sounds so sad that you instinctively reach for his hand again, and his eyes light up at the contact. “You really did help, though.”
“Well then, it’s settled. I’ll just have to be backstage before every gig you play for the rest of time.”
Bill laughs. “Yeah, okay.”
Your shoulders are pressed together tightly, dry grass tickling your bare skin. He still hasn’t let go of your hand. You turn your head back towards his, and find he’s already staring at you – a soft, lovely smile playing at his lips.
“Your eyelashes are so long,” you say dreamily.
He narrows his eyes. “Is that a compliment?”
You punch him lightly on the shoulder. “Of course it is! You’re pretty.”
Bill makes an odd strangled noise in his throat. “You gotta be careful saying stuff like that, man.”
Your heart is pounding, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “Why?”
“’Cause I already, like, really like you. Y’know, if you carry on like that I’ll be in real trouble.”
“Well, get used to it mister, because I’m not stopping anytime soon,” you scoff. “I’m gonna – wait. You like me?!”
Bill looks at you like you’ve put on a tall, pointed hat and sat yourself in the corner of the classroom facing the wall. “Are you kidding? You’re the hottest, coolest girl I’ve ever met.”
“Well just ‘cause you think someone’s hot doesn’t mean you wanna do anything about it!”
“Of course I want to! You’re just…you can be a little intimidating, y’know?”
“Am not!”
“Sometimes you look at people like you wanna eat ‘em alive.”
You roll your eyes dramatically. “Only you! Because I wanna eat you alive!”
Bill gives you a look that’s somewhere between aroused and disturbed. You ignore him.
“Anyway, you can’t call me intimidating! You’re so fucking cool, and funny, and talented. Everyone wants you to play for them! And you’ve got all those groupies -”
“I do not.”
“Hader, oh my god! You know those girls who always hang around after your gigs and ask you about your equipment don’t give a shit about your setup, right? Like, they are not even a tiny bit interested in amps and effects pedals. They are very clearly trying to fuck you.”
Bill frowns. “Well, they’re not gonna get anywhere. I’ve got my eye on someone.”
You can’t help but smile, then. “Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”
“Yeah, you know her.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, really well.”
Your faces are very, very close now. Bill glances down at your mouth, soft smile playing at his lips, and you close your eyes in anticipation as he leans in.
A fat raindrop splashes right on your eyelid.
“Ah, shit -”
The heavens open and you both jump up, scrambling towards your tent.
“Get in!” you yell, frantically unzipping the tent and practically throwing yourself through the door.
You’re giggling a little hysterically as Bill zips the tent up behind him and turns to you; his boyish smile and shining eyes just visible in the light spilling from the single sad flashlight tied to the roof of your tent. You reach over to push his damp hair back from his face, and your thumb catches accidentally-on-purpose on the corner of his mouth, and he turns his head so he can press a kiss to the tip.
You’re both grinning as you lean in, your lips softening when they meet his own. Bill kisses the same way he plays bass – bold, intense, deliberate. You like to think you can hold your own, maintain at least a little control, but within seconds he’s reduced you to an overwhelmed, desperate mess. You slide your tongue into his mouth and smile into the kiss when you realise he tastes of that stupid cider.
Bill hums contentedly as you pull apart. “Shit. I’ve – I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”
“Why didn’t you then, you ridiculous man?” you scold lightly.
He huffs a laugh. “Didn’t realise you were interested.” His tone is lighthearted, but his face betrays vulnerability. “Not until we were on stage.”
You pull him in for a bruising kiss, satisfied when it leaves him gasping. “I’ve always been interested. Very interested.”
“Show me.”
You grab his t-shirt to pull him on top of you as you lower yourself down onto the thin groundsheet, listening to the rain pound on the canvas of the tent, smothering the sounds of voices and laughter and the distant thump of a light-night DJ set. You break the kiss briefly to nuzzle his neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. He smells of smoke and sweat and summer, and it’s inexplicably erotic.
His hard cock is pressing against your stomach through layers of fabric, and you angle your hips up and wrap your legs around his waist so he can rut against you properly. Your core throbs and you moan into his mouth as the length of him rubs against you – fuck, he feels so big.
“Take this off, please,” you say desperately, plucking at his shirt, and Bill laughs breathlessly. “I mean…only if you want to.”
Bill gives you a fond, exasperated look and sits up so he can pull his t-shirt over his head. You take a moment to run your hand down his chest; feeling the tickle of his hair on your palm, learning the shape of the lean muscles, pinching at his hard nipples. He’s breathing hard as he pulls you in for another kiss, faster now, and a thrill runs through your body at how easy this feels, how good at this you are together; bodies harmonising in perfect sync, like you’re back on stage. You gently push him away so you can wriggle off your own top, throwing it unceremoniously into the darkness.
“Oh, wow,” Bill breathes.
You don’t think you’re that much to look at, really – but the way he’s gazing down at your mostly-bare torso like you’re some lost Renaissance masterpiece has you squirming. Bill grabs hold of your waist and pulls you back to him, kissing you hard, before sliding his mouth down to your neck; scraping his teeth along your pulse point then sucking a bruise onto your skin. You’re writhing now, almost overwhelmed, desperate for more contact. As if sensing your need, Bill pulls one of your bra straps down and pops your tit out of the cup, rubbing his thumb over the nipple, and you cry out.
Bill winces and pulls his hand back like he’s been shocked. “Sorry, sorry!”
You stare at him, completely bewildered. “Why’re you sorry?!”
“I just – I thought maybe it hurt? I know my fingers are kinda rough.”
“So are mine.” You reach out to take his hand, lacing your fingers together, string-callused skin on skin. “I like it, it’s okay.”
You reposition his hand over your breast, gasping as he squeezes. He mouths back down to your neck, two-day-stubble scraping over sensitive skin, and your hips jerk up uncontrollably as he simultaneously bites down just above your collarbone and pinches your nipple. Bill hums happily against your neck and moves his hand down further, fingertips ghosting over the waistband of your shorts.
“Can I touch you?”
“Be a little offended if you didn’t.”
He grins at you, then you feel his deft fingers pop the button on your shorts and pull the zip down. He wastes no time slipping his hand under the denim. It’s dark and the angle is bad but he manages to find your clit straightaway, pressing a finger against it through the cotton of your underwear. You let out a high-pitched whine as he begins to rub in slow circles.
“You make the prettiest sounds,” Bill says, his voice low and gruff. “I knew you’d be like this. So responsive.”
He seems far too smug for your liking, so you kiss him again, biting down on his bottom lip then soothing it with a lick.
“Thought about this before, have you?”
“Maybe once or twice,” he admits, reaching down further to pull your underwear aside and slide his middle finger inside you.
“Fuck,” you gasp, pushing against his hand, moaning again when he starts to pump his finger.
“Your pussy feels so good,” he whispers, and you wail, wriggling against him, trying to widen your legs but finding yourself constrained by your clothes.
Bill takes the hint. He peels off your shorts and underwear in one motion, leaving you in just your daisy-print bra and high-top Chucks. You spread your legs again eagerly as he leans back down to kiss you and sinks two fingers into your cunt. You’re gasping into his mouth as he starts to move his hand, then moan loudly when he curls his fingers inside you.
“Yeah? Does that feel good?”
You think he’s teasing you again – surely he must know? – but when you squint up at him in the darkness he’s wide-eyed and sincere.
“It’s so good,” you pant, grinning. “Keep – keep doing that.”
“Mmm.”
You’re hot and shaking as he works you, the buildup steady and delicious. Bill slides his mouth down to your still-exposed breast, sucking hard on your nipple, and you whimper, grinding down onto his hand, the deep, overwhelming pleasure from his fingers bringing tears to your eyes. You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can watch the place where his fingers disappear into your body, the rhythmic slick sound sending thrill after thrill through you.
“Oh my god,” you whine, head slamming back down against the ground, hips arching towards his touch.
Bill makes a pleased hum, speeding his fingers up slightly, and then you scream as you feel the hot, wet slide of his tongue against your clit. Your hand flies to the back of his head, tangling in his hair, pulling on the long strands, and Bill moans against you, and you feel it deep, deep in your core, and then he presses his fingers up one more time and you come hard with a cry. Your back lifts clean off the floor, thighs gripping his head as he works you through it, dutifully continuing the motions of his hand and tongue. Once you’ve stopped convulsing and your grasp has gone slack, he pulls his fingers out of you slowly. A dry sob rips from your throat at the loss, and he whispers an apology, pressing a gentle kiss to your clit.
You look down at him with half-lidded eyes, your smile loose and dopey. “Hi.”
Bill grins, giving his chin a quick wipe. “Hi. Sorry. I just – I couldn’t resist.”
You stare at him silently for a beat. You’re pretty sure your brain has dribbled out of your ears. “You’re – you’re sorry?!”
He giggles. “I mean, not actually -”
“C’mere.”
You pull him back up so you can kiss him, again and again, sloppy and dirty, licking the taste of yourself out of his mouth. You fumble with his belt, unzipping his jeans hurriedly so you can get a hand down the front of his boxers.
“Holy shit, Hader,” you say, almost laughing with disbelief as your earlier suspicions are confirmed.
“What?”
You squeeze his cock, and he makes an incredible little choked-off moan.
“You know what,” you say, and you’re trying to tease but the breathiness of your voice gives away how affected you are by him.
You push his jeans and boxers down far enough to free his dick, and start to stroke him properly. Bill whispers a little “fuck”, head flopping down to nestle under your chin, and when you run your thumb over the wet head of his cock he whimpers into your neck. It’s unbelievably hot; having this talented, beautiful man that you’ve wanted for so long reduced to putty in your hands. You hum in appreciation and speed up the motion of your wrist.
Bill grabs your hand suddenly. “Wow, okay. You’re gonna have to slow down unless you want this to be over real quick.”
“Yeah?” you tease, slowing your hand dutifully. “You getting close already?”
Bill groans. “Do you have any idea how hot you look when you come? I nearly fuckin’ busted then and there.”
“Mmm.” You pull him against you for a kiss, digging the nails of your free hand into his shoulder, and he gasps.
“You got a condom?”
“Yeah, yeah, course.”
You fumble about in the semi-dark with your rucksack until you find one tucked in the inside pocket. You lay back down as he rolls it on, spreading your legs and tucking one hand behind your head in a way you hope is vaguely alluring.
Bill, concerningly, seems to just be gazing down at his dick.
“Um. Is…everything okay?” you ask.
“Yeah. Is this thing ribbed?”
“So?” you say defensively. “They say it’s for her pleasure. That a problem?”
Bill giggles. “You know that’s just, like, a marketing ploy, right? It doesn’t feel any different.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“Alright.”
The grin on his face drops as his gaze becomes more intense, and he reaches down to open you up, rubbing the tip of his cock over your slit. You push your hips against his, trying to slip him in, but he slides his dick up instead to tap the head against your clit, and you whine.
“Hader. C’mon, just put it in.”
Bill raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t have you down for begging.”
“I’m not begging, I’m demanding.”
He laughs again good-naturedly, then finally, finally pushes inside you. Despite the prep from his fingers and how turned on you are, it’s still a delicious stretch. He stills, leaning down to kiss you tenderly.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
Bill grabs hold of one of your thighs and wraps it around his waist as he grinds into you slowly. Fuck, he’s so deep. You moan loudly, lifting your hips and wrapping your other leg around him too, heels digging into his back. He starts to pick up the pace; a fast, steady rhythm. And look, you’re no stranger to sleeping with musicians – it kinda comes with the territory – but the way he seems to instinctively know how to play your body like it’s one of his basses is almost absurd; fingers and mouth and dick working together in perfect synchronicity to bring you to the brink.
Bill sits up to change the position, and the back of his head collides with the ceiling torch.
“Shit! Fuckin’ – no space -”
You laugh breathlessly as he lets go of your waist to fumble with the knot, freeing the torch and throwing it behind him indignantly. You’re a little sad he’s even less visible, now. He pulls your hips onto his lap, anchoring you there with one hand and sliding the other up to your neck; and he doesn’t quite squeeze, not really, but his grip is firm and your pulse gallops beneath his touch as he starts moving again. The new angle hits you in all the right places, and the pleasure curls its way up your spine like liquid smoke.
“Hey, want me to -?”
He reaches down before you can respond, presses his thumb to your clit. The intensity of the pleasure is so shocking you almost forget to breathe. He keeps fucking into you as he strokes your clit, filling your body up with starlight.
“Shit, that feels so good,” you sob, eyes rolling back in your head.
“Yeah?” Bill rubs you faster. “You gonna come for me?”
“Fuck, oh my god. Yeah, yeah, I’m gonna come – fuck, Bill -”
You clutch his arm to anchor you as your orgasm hits; cunt fluttering, drenching his cock. Bill keeps thrusting the whole time, steady and deep, wringing every last drop of ecstasy from your body.
“So fucking hot,” Bill pants. “Shit, I can’t -”
You grab his face and kiss him, slow and filthy, press your body up into his, squeezing him as tight as you can. He shudders above you, hips working frantically until he comes, moaning into your mouth. He collapses on top of you afterwards, your chests heaving, then he yelps when you bite down on his shoulder.
“What – what was that for?!”
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”
He laughs, sounding borderline delirious, and heaves himself up so he can pull out.
“Uhhh,” Bill looks around, clearly searching for a place to dispose of the condom.
“Just chuck it outside,” you say dismissively, keen to start the post-coital cuddle section of the evening.
He narrows his eyes disapprovingly. “I don’t think that’s really in line with the Greenfields code of ethics.”
“Ugh, fine.” You roll over towards your bag and fish around until you find a tissue. “Shove it in there for now. Just please let’s not forget about it tomorrow?”
Bill scrunches up the used tissue and places it gingerly by the door, before flopping back down and pulling you towards him. You make a soft, contented noise, laying your head on his chest as he wraps his arms around you.
“So, how was it?”
Your eyes widen in shock. Surely, surely he must be able to tell that he just railed you into next week…?
“What?!”
“The condom. Y’know. The, uh – the ribbing?”
“Oh, right!” You pause to think for a moment. “Hmm…hard to say.”
“Why’s that?”
“I mean. That was definitely the best sex I’ve ever had in my life, no contest, but I’m not sure the condom was a contributing factor.”
“Oh.” Bill’s grin is big and pleased. “Well, maybe we should, uh. Run some tests. Y’know, for science.”
“Tests?”
“Well, they’ve got those ones with the dots on too. And we’d need to use a regular one at some point, as a control group.”
“And I guess we’d have to try them all…multiple times, right?”
“Oh yeah, that’s the beauty of uh – testing a hypothesis. You gotta repeat the experiment as many times as possible, so you can ensure the accuracy of the results.”
You tuck your face into his shoulder to hide your smile. “Why is this doing it for me.”
“Probably ‘cause I’m talking about how much I wanna fuck you again?” Bill says matter-of-factly.
“Hnnng.”
He kisses you hard, and your body ignites once more.
“I didn’t bring any more condoms, though,” you say regretfully.
You expect Bill to be disappointed, but he just smirks and lowers his mouth to your chest. “We can work around that.”
**
You have no idea how late it was by the time you and Bill finally decided to give it a rest last night, but you do know that you definitely haven’t slept enough when you’re rudely awakened by Aaron yelling your name from somewhere outside your tent.
“Knock knock, rockstar. Wakey wakey eggs and bakey!”
You groan loudly, rubbing your eyes, and feel Bill stir beside you. You’re sweaty and sticky and your mouth feels like the Sahara.
“Aaron, what the fuck? What time is it?”
“It’s almost nine, we gotta get our shit together and head out. The line in the parking lot is already way backed up. Have you seen Hader? He’s not in his tent.”
Bill blinks at you, wide-eyed and conspicuous, and you just shrug and grin.
“Hey, man,” he calls out, voice croaky. “How’s it going?”
There’s a pause, and you wonder if Aaron hasn’t heard. Until –
“For fuck’s sake.”
The pair of you dissolve into giggles. You roll over, rummaging in your rucksack for some clean underwear, trying to shove your clothes on as quickly as possible. Bill sits and stretches as best he can in the cramped space. You can’t help staring as he yawns, your eyes dropping down to his impressive half-hard morning wood.
“Hey, we don’t have time for that. No funny business,” Bill warns, following your gaze.
You pout, giving him your best puppy-dog eyes. “We could be quick. Pleeeease? I wanna suck your dick again so bad.”
Bill leans over and gives you a tender kiss.
“Next time we do this, I don’t wanna be quick,” he says softly. “I wanna make it last. Invite you over. Have a long-ass bubble bath together. Maybe light some candles. Be in a proper bed,” he pauses briefly, reaches over to grab his t-shirt. His eyes are very dark. “And then, y’know. Really take my time.”
Once again, he’s managed to reduce you to some kind of sentient puddle. “Oh. Yeah, okay. You’ve convinced me.”
Bill grins as he pulls his boxers and jeans back on. You unzip the tent, grateful to the overnight rain for cooling the air. You crawl out onto the damp grass and stand up to survey the campsite, your sore thigh muscles screaming as you stretch. It’s absolute chaos: a sea of hundreds of half-dressed, hungover musicians scrambling to hightail it out as soon as possible. You take a deep lungful of summer air, feeling a profound sense of contentment and belonging.
Bill follows you out a moment later, barefoot and tousled hair and adorable, clutching his trainers in one hand.
“Hey, I’m gonna go sort my shit out, if that’s cool?"
“Yeah, of course,” you smile. “Whoever finishes first can help the other one?"
“Sounds good.” He leans down to kiss you, then, and you don’t know why you’re so surprised he’d do this so easily, so soon in public, but you can’t keep the grin off your face when you break apart.
You slap his ass playfully as he walks away and then, unfortunately, you manage to make direct eye contact with Aaron who’s finishing up dismantling his tent. He looks so fucking done with the two of you already. You grin even wider, and flip him off cheerfully as you turn to head back into your tent.
The three of you make surprisingly quick work of tidying up. You chuck your tents and bags in the back of your van, then rescue your instruments and equipment from the storage area; packing it all in neatly with utmost care. Aaron had already volunteered to drive the two hours back to the city, and you’re looking forward to having a fat nap to make up for last night’s lack of sleep. The three of you climb into the front of the van, and once you’re buckled up Bill slides his arm around your shoulders. You nuzzle against his chest, tired but happy.
“Oh. So you guys are actually a thing, now?” Aaron asks as he turns the ignition, sounding a little resigned.
There’s an awkward pause, and you shuffle apart from each other subconsciously.
“Uhhh -”
“We haven’t – I mean -”
“I mean, I want if you want -”
“I want. I very want.”
“Yeah?”
“Oh my god, I’m literally gonna drive us all off a fucking cliff,” Aaron interrupts, groaning.
“We aren’t near any cliffs,” you say testily.
“I’m very resourceful.”
You make a disapproving noise, and tuck yourself back into Bill’s side. He visibly relaxes, leaning down to press a kiss into your hair.
“Listen,” you say cautiously. “If we’re gonna do this, you have to promise not to keep disappearing for weeks at a time.”
“I promise.”
“Then…okay.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.”
He’s smiling at you like he wants to give you the world, and you can’t wait to share it with him.