Work Text:
It was an all-night show, packed with sweaty screaming bodies, all of them crammed together like the victims of a mass murder with tags jingling on their toes. He could hardly see under the milk-white lights, sweat simmering from his pallid skin, long salt-and-pepper hair roped across his eyes like nooses that had been snapped. Still, he stood strong behind the microphone, tapping his foot on the cement; the music he made throbbing around him like a living thing ready to fight.
One, two!
One, two, three, four!
Another song began and he opened his mouth to croon into the microphone, the lyrics leaving his lips as easy as dead skin and bubbles of blood. The crowd, all of Spikemuth, sang along like it was their own anthem, a song sung for the lives of every soul that had been misplaced and ultimately lost.
After the show he was congratulated for the performance, everyone chanting his name, wanting a piece of him or giving him pieces of themselves. He was handed drinks of cheap lukewarm beer, and lace-trimmed undergarments were discretely tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket, names and phone numbers written on the neon pink fabric with permanent ink.
His throat was sore and he wanted to lie down, but the town and the songs that he had screamed into the air would not let him rest. Somebody feeling really generous slapped a pill onto the palm of his hand, a Sneasel’s simpering face printed onto the powder blue capsule. He swallowed it dry even though he had a beer in his hand, the capsule cutting its way down his precious throat as if it were a shard of frosted glass.
He felt giddy after that, not so tired anymore and was even friendly to all who came up to speak to him; grinning like a Gengar during every selfie when he would usually duck his head down low and look away from the camera’s unblinking eye.
“You did great out there tonight, Piers. I only wish you were as good at battling as you are at music,” Without having to turn and look, he knew that voice, and could easily see the smirking toothsome mouth in which it belonged to.
“Raihan, what are you doing here?” He knocked back the rest of his beer in a single gulp, wiping the foam from the corner of his mouth afterwards; his medicated mood being the only thing keeping him from leaving right then and there.
“Just wanted to hear some good music, and Spikemuth is the best place for it,” Raihan threw an arm around Piers shoulder as he leaned in close; and Piers could tell from the smell of him that he had been drinking something far stronger than the weak beer that was being served in red plastic cups.
“Best place for music, huh?” He didn’t know how else to reply, and found himself leaning into Raihan’s broad shoulder, the muscles under his skin tingling with galvanic sparks of pleasure.
“You wanna get out of here? Get some fresh air, Piers?”
He let out a long and heavy sigh when Raihan’s hand slipped down to his elbow, squeezing him gently before settling onto his hip. His skin felt warm, his blood whipped and sweet and the lights strung across the chain-link fence glittered like neon stars.
He nodded with his eyes closed, piano-key colored hair in his face. He kept his body pressed against Raihan’s as they made their way to an emptier, more intimate area of Spikemuth.
They kissed with insatiable open mouths, gasping and sighing their quiet yearning for one another. The air smelled of stale cigarette smoke, gloomy like the darkness inside of a dragons lair, home to one young man and hell to the other.
Piers bit his lip as his neck was tasted, hard white teeth bruising his skin, marking him with a brutish affection. He gasped as a large heavy hand groped for his sweat-laden skin, slipping under his shirt to better touch and fondle at what little he had to offer.
He gasped when his nipple was pinched, jerking in great surprise as the pink nub was caressed by Raihan’s gentle tongue. He moaned out a desperate little noise, swallowing another sound when Raihan began to suckle.
Russet brown fingers lined Piers lips briefly before slipping inside of his mouth, greedily exploring that which was already known by heart. They fed each other in the darkness, ate without eating, and by the end of it, all Piers could think of was how he was going to explain the bruises to his little sister.