Hugh liked sex. He liked it hard, and rough, and fast. He'd spent a lot of damn years touring, and that didn't lend itself to lazy, romantic evenings with wine and roses and all that shit. Touring meant getting blowjobs in the green room from groupies who smelled like cheap beer and giggled too much until he stuck his cock in their mouth to shut them up. Touring meant giving blowjobs in the dirty alley behind the clubs, shoving a lean guy (like the one who'd pressed up against the front of the stage and screamed all the words to Hugh's songs right along with him) up against the rough brick wall hard enough to hurt. It meant getting down on his knees and undoing the jeans one-handed, mouthing at the guy's cock through the denim, while the guy begged for it up above.

Hugh was used to that. Hugh was good at that. He'd never taken it slow and easy, and there was never much kissing.

Or there hadn't been, until he met Callum. It wasn’t that Callum was a pussy - he wasn't at all, not even close. He was a real guy's guy. Didn't say more than needed to be said, smoked too much, and didn’t drink at all. He was a tough guy, and not at all Hollywood, the way Hugh had expected him to be.

And he could kiss like nothing Hugh had ever imagined. Kissing was kind of superfluous to Hugh - he'd rather have a cock in his mouth, really, if he was with a guy, and if he was with a girl, he had better places to put his tongue than her mouth.

But being with Callum was different. Different from being with anyone else, even if they were just smoking and talking. There was a connection between them, and maybe it sounded like a stupid fucking thing when you said it right out, like he thought they were fucking soul mates, but that wasn't it. It was just that he got Callum in a way he was certain no one else did, and Callum sure as fuck got him. When they first met, hung out, really talked, it took everything in Hugh's power not to say, "Where've you been all my life?" like a goddamn romance movie.

It took about another two minutes before he thought fuck it, and said it anyway.

He didn't fucking care, and Callum got that, too, just the way he got everything else about Hugh. Callum just let his lips curve up a little, and slouched further down in his seat and stole Hugh's lighter to light his cigarette.

The first night they met was the first time they kissed, and Hugh couldn't fucking tell what was different from the get-go, what stopped him from turning this into quick, hot sex. He wanted quick, hot sex. He was good with quick, hot sex. But for some reason when he finally got Callum alone - and god knew he'd been trying to, been trying to all night, wanting it all night. He wanted it so bad that he had to fight not to follow Callum to the men's room. He dug his fingernails into his palms in order to stay in his seat instead of going in there and dragging Callum into a stall and getting down on his knees right there.

But there hadn't been a chance, hadn't been a goddamn chance all fucking night. People in the coffee shop, people on the street, every alley well-lit, every doorway already occupied. Hugh was good at reading people, and he was pretty damn sure Callum was feeling the same way he was, from the way he lit too many cigarettes, and crushed them out half-smoked, from the careful way his head tilted, just a tiny bit, to check out the same corners and doorways and alleys. Callum was careful, but Hugh noticed.

Hugh noticed every goddamn thing about Callum.

And when they finally stood, shivering on a street corner, Hugh with his hands in his pockets, turning his lighter around and around, he finally, again, said fuck it to himself. "Where are you staying?" he asked abruptly.

"The Metropolitan."

"Fuck the Metropolitan. Stay with me."

Callum lifted his cigarette to his mouth, takes a long drag, before saying, "Yeah, okay," smoke coming out along with the words.

Hugh felt something ease up in his chest, even though he'd fucking known the answer would be yes. He'd known that that like he knew his own name.

When they got to Hugh's apartment, there was this fucking energy between them that felt like it had been building with every step they took. Hugh was hard already, wanting Callum so bad he hardly knew what to do with it. He waved Callum in and kicked his door shut behind them. And Callum was the one who turned on him then; Callum was the one who had him pinned against the door, all his weight up against him so hard that it took Hugh's breath away. He had his hands wrapped in the thick wool of Hugh's coat and he just stopped for a second, looking at Hugh, his eyes all dark and his breath coming a little fast.

"What?" Hugh said when Callum just held there. Hugh was so fucking hard in his jeans, and Callum's mouth was right fucking there, and just - "What?" he said again, desperately.

"You," Callum said, and stopped again, and then, "Fuck," and he was kissing Hugh. He was up against Hugh against the door and he was kissing Hugh so hard and so good that Hugh could hardly stand it. He moved his hands, finally, hanging on to Callum, trying to drag him closer, trying to hold on. Callum's tongue was in his mouth and he was kissing Hugh and Hugh wanted to do eight million things to Callum right then, wanted to suck him and fuck him and get him off six ways from Sunday, but he couldn't do anything, not any fucking thing but hang on and kiss him back.

Callum tasted like coffee and smoke; he smelled weirdly flowery, which Hugh knew was his hair gel. Hugh's hair gel made him smell like a girl, too - all the good stuff did. Hugh had his hands up in Callum's hair, now, hanging onto him, dragging his mouth close, tilting his head to get a better angle. He wanted to eat him alive; he wanted to kiss him right here for the rest of the goddamn night. He thought he could get off, right here, just from this, just from Callum stroking his tongue into his mouth, over and over, moaning up against Hugh's lips like a goddamn slut just fucking asking for it.

When Callum pushed away, Hugh, dizzy, gasped out, "Fucker," and tried to drag him back. But Callum just laughed, and worked his hands between them, undoing the buttons on Hugh's coat swiftly. He moved back in close, his hands slipping in under Hugh's coat, under his sweater, cool against his back as Callum slid up against him and pressed his tongue into Hugh's mouth again.

Hugh wanted him, he wanted him so bad, but he couldn't move away from this, couldn't pull himself from this fucking intense concentration Callum gave to kissing, like it was all he wanted to do, all he'd ever wanted to do. Like he was entirely unaware of his hard cock pressed up against Hugh's thigh. Like he couldn't feel Hugh humping up against him with increasing desperation, needing this and more than this, wanting to fuck Callum but never wanting to take his tongue out of Callum's mouth.

When Callum shifted, moved his thigh between Hugh's legs, Hugh's fucking head spun. He was so fucking close, and if Callum didn't stop that - didn't stop doing that, pressing up against him in that goddamn rhythm that was going to get Hugh there fast, so fucking fast, he was just going to - fucking Christ, he was going to -

"Don't," he panted desperately against Callum's mouth. "Don't, just - I have to - you've got to -" And he just lost it, pressing his mouth up hard against Callum's and coming right there in his jeans, up against Callum's thigh.

They hadn't even done anything yet. Kissing wasn't supposed to get you off.

"Asshole." Hugh banged his head back against the door, trying to get himself together.

"C'mere." Callum's hand was on the side of Hugh's face, and he kissed him again, all hot and messy. His hard cock was still pressed up against Hugh's hip. "Where's your bedroom?"

Hugh blinked at him, and pushed off the door, turning Callum around by force and pushing him in the direction of his room, his bed. Callum wrapped one hand around Hugh's and tugged him along close behind him.

~end~

---

Back to brooklinegirl's CKR/HD Page