![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[Not completely SFW]
Robert couldn't break his thoughts as he sat in his room alone staring out the window. The hotel was quiet. Tom had taken the bands to their concerts in the limo because Robert needed time to think. That was two days ago and they were all away in San Francisco. The excuse had been to spend time with Rekker who, like Robert, didn't want company right now. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Some raised terror and panic in his chest until he couldn't breath from the crushing weight. Others were taking h is breath for different reasons and raced like electricity through his whole body, tingling in all the right places. He had a glass of wine in hand with the stem pressing into his thigh as he rhythmically tapped the side with a finger. He felt aggitated and nothing was settling him down.
He looked to the time on the clock and then the door and back to the clock with a heavy sigh. He wanted them to comeback and wanted them to stay away indefinitely. Bloody hell it was madness. He emptied the wine glass in one gulp and thought about refilling it but that would mean a trip to the kitchenette. He was too anxious to stand up and do anything. Too anxious to sit still, too, though he remained rooted in the chair.
The sun was going down and the lights coming on in the city. It filled his mind with memories that sent shivers down his spine, calloused hands working the tension out of his back and hips rocking against his waist. The morning waking to warm touch and need for someone he'd spent weeks trying to hold at arms length. Robert stood to get another glass of wine, wondering what the hell he was doing with a man half his age? He took the wine out of the refridgerator and even it had memories attached to it. He set the bottle down on the counter to stare at it. Sighing he picked it up and poured a glass before returning it to the rack. Rubbing his face, he pushed his fingers through his curls, working them through his tangled hair before picking up the glass.
Half way across the room there were voices in the hall, muffled, that sent such strong shivers through his body that his hand trembled. The wine glass nearly went to the floor as he listened to them move past his door and down the hall. He felt jumpy inside as he sat down on the couch again. He could smell Erik in the furniture and in his bed. No amount of room service had been capable of removing it completely and it hung around him causing his breath to refuse normalcy.
He was dreaming about him, or rather day dreaming about the fingers in his hair, pulling purred sounds from him as they worked the tension out of his scalp. Erik was under his skin and Robert didn't like it. It was too fast, too much for his unsorted thoughts and feelings. And he was addicted. Robert had fought actual addiction to pills and booze and all that came with it that left your head swimming and unable to focus on anything else. This felt the same and he wanted to chase the high. The high that let him forget his anxiety and depression. He forgot everything but the feeling of their skin and their bodies the moment Erik touched him, even when it wasn't sexual.
Sipping the wine he saw his phone on the table. It let his mind run away with fantasies. Maybe he could call. Erik wasn't playing, just hanging around. He could send a cab and get him back here in five hours. That got a sigh because that was too long to even consider. They could be kissing faster if he took Tom's car and picked him up at the venue. Robert gasped aloud and then pressed his forehead into his hand to try and avoid the fantasies that crashed in on him after imagining how he could get the young guitarist back here, back in his presence. Hands in his hair, the weight in his lap, and the lips across his collar bones. He set the glass aside and let his hand drift to the inside of his thigh, across the tight fabric of his pants. Thoughts jumped to the morning in the kitchenette with the Swede pressed to his back, reaching around with his fingers delving low.
He still held his head against the madness like a migraine that wouldn't quit, the thoughts permiated his mind, drove his hand to stroke his manhood roughly through his jeans. His mind went wild with thoughts of Erik in his lap, stradling him and grinding down on his body. His hand pressing harder to his body to try and recreate the feeling of that weight and lewd humping. Everything responded to those thoughts immediately; breath quickening and cock hard, ready for someone who wasn't even in the same city right now. The Brit could only laugh as he remembered being a teenage boy with feelings like these. Years had passed since he felt anything even close to this sensation.
There was no stopping the desire to roughly rub himself and push his hips into his hands, both now shoved between his spread legs as he sat on the couch. He wanted the Swede so bad he froze and sat up, flushed red in the cheeks and across his chest. Nothing was filling in for the young man and at the same time the emotions rushed back of feeling like he was robbing the cradle. Erik was old enough to be in a relationship but the age difference hit hard. He'd pay to have the young man here.
At those thoughts he gave up. Grabbing his phone he was intent on sending a text to Erik but what to say. He kept typing and erasing things that felt foolishly desperate. After more tries than he cared to count Robert dropped the phone on the couch beside him and picked up his wine glass, quickly sipping down the whole glass. His fingers drumming wildly on the arm of the couch. The questioning of his own behavior came back tenfold. What was he doing obsessing over a young rockstar? The driver laughed at himself as he thought maybe this is what a teenage girl felt like in the crowd. All wound up and nothing to do, questioning themselves about what they felt at every turn. He glanced at his phone wondering what a teenage girl would text their rockstar infatuated crush if they could. The only possible response to his train of thought was laughter so intense his cheeks burned. This was beyond crazy.
Giggling fit undercontrol and wine glass drained, he set the stemware on the table and picked the phone back up. It was still open to the messanger, cursor flashing impatiently as he stared. He pushed his curls back, holding them out of the way while his eyes glazed over and focused again. All the messages before were innocuous. Asks for rides or if he'd seen someone or another, questions about concert times. Robert carried the phone and the glass back to the kitchenette, gawking at the screen the whole way and all through pouring another glass of wine. He turned to lean on the counter; wine in one hand and phone in the other. He sipped more wine and could feel the heat from getting drunk. It drew his gaze to the bottle to see he had nearly emptied it in the past hour, maybe less. Sighing he set his glass down and wiped his damp hand on his pant leg before trying to type. His fingers hesitated and then he typed, hitting send before he had time to second guess himself. The message wasn't lewd or demanding. It was simple and honest.
I miss you.
Robert shoved the phone in his back pocket then walked out to open the balcony door. He stepped out with his wine glass while watching the the cars and city on the move but his whole presence was tense, waiting for the buzz of some response. His heart was racing, pounding painfully, while he accepted his admittance of affections he had just sent out to the Swede. Panic rose and fell in tides. First worrying about his own feelings and then imagining that Erik wouldn't want to hear it or that it sounded clingy or strange. Peering at the wine glass in his hand he understood the punks wanting to throw and smash everything. It takes willpower not to chuck the wine glass off the balcony with all of his strength. He set it down on the outside table, still leaning on the rail and scrutinizing the people on the street below. How he wished for and despised the idea that one of the people walking into the hotel lobby below might be the Swedish guitarist who had infested his thoughts all evening.
Robert couldn't break his thoughts as he sat in his room alone staring out the window. The hotel was quiet. Tom had taken the bands to their concerts in the limo because Robert needed time to think. That was two days ago and they were all away in San Francisco. The excuse had been to spend time with Rekker who, like Robert, didn't want company right now. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Some raised terror and panic in his chest until he couldn't breath from the crushing weight. Others were taking h is breath for different reasons and raced like electricity through his whole body, tingling in all the right places. He had a glass of wine in hand with the stem pressing into his thigh as he rhythmically tapped the side with a finger. He felt aggitated and nothing was settling him down.
He looked to the time on the clock and then the door and back to the clock with a heavy sigh. He wanted them to comeback and wanted them to stay away indefinitely. Bloody hell it was madness. He emptied the wine glass in one gulp and thought about refilling it but that would mean a trip to the kitchenette. He was too anxious to stand up and do anything. Too anxious to sit still, too, though he remained rooted in the chair.
The sun was going down and the lights coming on in the city. It filled his mind with memories that sent shivers down his spine, calloused hands working the tension out of his back and hips rocking against his waist. The morning waking to warm touch and need for someone he'd spent weeks trying to hold at arms length. Robert stood to get another glass of wine, wondering what the hell he was doing with a man half his age? He took the wine out of the refridgerator and even it had memories attached to it. He set the bottle down on the counter to stare at it. Sighing he picked it up and poured a glass before returning it to the rack. Rubbing his face, he pushed his fingers through his curls, working them through his tangled hair before picking up the glass.
Half way across the room there were voices in the hall, muffled, that sent such strong shivers through his body that his hand trembled. The wine glass nearly went to the floor as he listened to them move past his door and down the hall. He felt jumpy inside as he sat down on the couch again. He could smell Erik in the furniture and in his bed. No amount of room service had been capable of removing it completely and it hung around him causing his breath to refuse normalcy.
He was dreaming about him, or rather day dreaming about the fingers in his hair, pulling purred sounds from him as they worked the tension out of his scalp. Erik was under his skin and Robert didn't like it. It was too fast, too much for his unsorted thoughts and feelings. And he was addicted. Robert had fought actual addiction to pills and booze and all that came with it that left your head swimming and unable to focus on anything else. This felt the same and he wanted to chase the high. The high that let him forget his anxiety and depression. He forgot everything but the feeling of their skin and their bodies the moment Erik touched him, even when it wasn't sexual.
Sipping the wine he saw his phone on the table. It let his mind run away with fantasies. Maybe he could call. Erik wasn't playing, just hanging around. He could send a cab and get him back here in five hours. That got a sigh because that was too long to even consider. They could be kissing faster if he took Tom's car and picked him up at the venue. Robert gasped aloud and then pressed his forehead into his hand to try and avoid the fantasies that crashed in on him after imagining how he could get the young guitarist back here, back in his presence. Hands in his hair, the weight in his lap, and the lips across his collar bones. He set the glass aside and let his hand drift to the inside of his thigh, across the tight fabric of his pants. Thoughts jumped to the morning in the kitchenette with the Swede pressed to his back, reaching around with his fingers delving low.
He still held his head against the madness like a migraine that wouldn't quit, the thoughts permiated his mind, drove his hand to stroke his manhood roughly through his jeans. His mind went wild with thoughts of Erik in his lap, stradling him and grinding down on his body. His hand pressing harder to his body to try and recreate the feeling of that weight and lewd humping. Everything responded to those thoughts immediately; breath quickening and cock hard, ready for someone who wasn't even in the same city right now. The Brit could only laugh as he remembered being a teenage boy with feelings like these. Years had passed since he felt anything even close to this sensation.
There was no stopping the desire to roughly rub himself and push his hips into his hands, both now shoved between his spread legs as he sat on the couch. He wanted the Swede so bad he froze and sat up, flushed red in the cheeks and across his chest. Nothing was filling in for the young man and at the same time the emotions rushed back of feeling like he was robbing the cradle. Erik was old enough to be in a relationship but the age difference hit hard. He'd pay to have the young man here.
At those thoughts he gave up. Grabbing his phone he was intent on sending a text to Erik but what to say. He kept typing and erasing things that felt foolishly desperate. After more tries than he cared to count Robert dropped the phone on the couch beside him and picked up his wine glass, quickly sipping down the whole glass. His fingers drumming wildly on the arm of the couch. The questioning of his own behavior came back tenfold. What was he doing obsessing over a young rockstar? The driver laughed at himself as he thought maybe this is what a teenage girl felt like in the crowd. All wound up and nothing to do, questioning themselves about what they felt at every turn. He glanced at his phone wondering what a teenage girl would text their rockstar infatuated crush if they could. The only possible response to his train of thought was laughter so intense his cheeks burned. This was beyond crazy.
Giggling fit undercontrol and wine glass drained, he set the stemware on the table and picked the phone back up. It was still open to the messanger, cursor flashing impatiently as he stared. He pushed his curls back, holding them out of the way while his eyes glazed over and focused again. All the messages before were innocuous. Asks for rides or if he'd seen someone or another, questions about concert times. Robert carried the phone and the glass back to the kitchenette, gawking at the screen the whole way and all through pouring another glass of wine. He turned to lean on the counter; wine in one hand and phone in the other. He sipped more wine and could feel the heat from getting drunk. It drew his gaze to the bottle to see he had nearly emptied it in the past hour, maybe less. Sighing he set his glass down and wiped his damp hand on his pant leg before trying to type. His fingers hesitated and then he typed, hitting send before he had time to second guess himself. The message wasn't lewd or demanding. It was simple and honest.
I miss you.
Robert shoved the phone in his back pocket then walked out to open the balcony door. He stepped out with his wine glass while watching the the cars and city on the move but his whole presence was tense, waiting for the buzz of some response. His heart was racing, pounding painfully, while he accepted his admittance of affections he had just sent out to the Swede. Panic rose and fell in tides. First worrying about his own feelings and then imagining that Erik wouldn't want to hear it or that it sounded clingy or strange. Peering at the wine glass in his hand he understood the punks wanting to throw and smash everything. It takes willpower not to chuck the wine glass off the balcony with all of his strength. He set it down on the outside table, still leaning on the rail and scrutinizing the people on the street below. How he wished for and despised the idea that one of the people walking into the hotel lobby below might be the Swedish guitarist who had infested his thoughts all evening.
