Hugh always heard the same old story, that it was kissing that made it queer, and you could fuck around, and there could be handjobs or even blowjobs, but so long as you didn't kiss, well, you had plausible deniability there, at least - it was just about getting off and not anything else at all. Hugh went along with that, mostly, because hey, he was a motherfucking rockstar, here, and he wasn't going to push his luck. So: handjobs and blowjobs and the occasional fuck, and kissing, well, that was for sissies.

The first time Hugh saw Callum, he thought, fuck the no-kissing rule.

Because Callum had a mouth that was made to be kissed. Callum, actually, had a mouth that was made to suck cock, and Hugh thought about that, too, for a long time after he got home, that first night he met Callum. Thought about Callum dropping to his knees in front of him, thought about Callum rubbing his cheek up against Hugh's cock, his breath hot through the denim, before dragging Hugh's zipper down and his cock out and sucking it into that pretty, pretty mouth of his.

But he also thought about afterwards, after Callum sucked him off and swallowed him down. About how after all that, Hugh would tug him to his feet and about how Callum's mouth would be all red and swollen and used, and about how then, finally, Hugh would kiss him. He knew how Callum would taste - like come, and smoke, and sex - and he knew how fucking good it would be.

He thought about it a lot and he thought he knew how it would go, how Callum would hold back, and hold back, and pretend there wasn't this white-hot energy between them, pretend that he didn't walk too close and look too long and smoke too many cigarettes.

But he didn't know, he never even anticipated, he never even once thought that Callum would be the one to grab onto him so rough, wind his fingers in Hugh's hair and drag their mouths together. And fuck, fucking Christ, this wasn't even smart or safe and there was no deniability here, none at fucking all, just the cold metal of the van up against Hugh's back, freezing even though his coat.

But Callum's mouth was hot, so fucking hot inside, as he opened up against Hugh, kissing him messy and rough and real, and it was so fucking stupid - anyone could come around the corner any second - but Callum was hard up against him and he was holding onto Hugh's hair so tight, and tilting his head just right, just perfect, going for it, and yeah, he tasted like smoke and sex and Hugh's cock was hard when Callum let him go and pulled away.

By the time Hugh heard the footsteps coming from the side of the van, Callum was already leaning back against it, one foot propped up on the rusted bumper, taking a drag off the cigarette he'd had in his hand the entire time he'd had his tongue in Hugh's mouth.

"Take is set up," the crew guy said, sounding bored. "Bruce needs the both of you."

"Right." Callum pushed away from the van, dropping his cigarette and crushing it out under one booted foot.

Hugh took a breath of cold air and tugged his coat around himself, the taste of Callum still in his mouth as he headed off to film the scene. He was a goddamn professional. He could do this.

~end~

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