Written as a gift for kexba, as part of 2014's A Very Kinky Rockfic Ficmas Fest. The prompt was 'Dave Grohl,Anthony Kiedis (Nirvana,Red Hot Chili Peppers): Anthony dresses up for Dave.'
Head held high, Anthony sashayed out of the room and drew the curtain. Minutes later, head tilted even higher, Anthony strutted back in.
His audience of one straightened in his chair and blindly rested his beer on the side table. Dave had chosen well. Anthony could make anything look better than imaginable – his lithe frame modelled a garment like every piece had been made with him in mind. He did have a body that inspired and provoked. He’d sculpted it to that effect. This was a man who was abundantly aware of his power and was an expert in putting it to use.
All he had to put on was a long black skirt and a string of pearls, with fabric just thin enough to mark the outline of what waited beneath but conceal it until it was ready to come out. The skirt dropped and swished around his ankles, hugging his hips and pulling the eyes up to every flex of his torso.
Dave dragged his fingers through his long dark hair and huffed. “God damn.”
“God had nothing to do with this.” Anthony approached the couch in slow, tantalizing strides and rested a foot against the cushion. “I made all you see before you, down to the last inch of skin. The difference between God and me is that I’m all real and you can reach out and touch me any time you like.”
That time was now, and every waking moment since they’d met. Dave stretched his fingers towards Anthony’s toned stomach, but the muscled man brushed them away with an amused pout.
“But only if I let you.”
Anthony’s foot wriggled into the gap between Dave’s legs and rubbed against an inner thigh. Dave let a tiny sigh slip, resting his head against the back of the couch and dropping his hands to his sides. Anthony eyed him carefully, curiously, still deciding what to do with him now that he had him like this. Everything was a game, an opportunity. Keeping watch of his plaything, Anthony began to lift the sides of his skirt, inch by inch, revealing his hirsute but sturdy legs. Closer and closer, eyes on the prize, Dave’s tongue slipped from between his lips and moistened them. The front of his jeans was already tighter than when Anthony had walked in.
Abruptly, Anthony dropped his skirt, stepped back and kept going, moving towards the opposite of the room and the place from whence he’d came. Perplexed, Dave gave a soft grunt and cupped a hand over his jeans.
“I don’t want you to touch me now.” Anthony raised his voice a little to be heard meters away. “I want you to touch yourself.” He found the wall behind him and pressed his palms against it. “Do not get off the couch. Do not stop until we’re done.”
Dave hardly needed prompting. His hand was already moving back and forth across his fly, his hips tilted slightly up to meet his palm. The tiniest of smiles flickered at the corner of Anthony’s mouth, the beads around his neck clinking together as he reclined against the wall, chest puffed out. Dave grew harder against his own touch and it was a matter of seconds before his frantic fingers were attending to his top button. Tugging his waistband and underwear towards his thighs, he wrapped his fingers around himself and rubbed the head of his cock with the ball of his thumb as an appreciative grunt escaped. A quick spit, and he set to work.
For a long moment, Anthony felt compelled to do nothing but watch. He was usually more of a doer than a watcher, but something about the sight and the sounds being presented to him were just as satisfying – maybe more – than anything he could be doing if he were to cross the floor. There was nothing not to enjoy about the power he had right now, knowing that he was inspiring such lust. Before long, he began to sway a little, allowing the skirt to dance around his legs, his arms entwining above his head and his lips dropping open. He let one hand dip slowly into the hollows of his neck, along his Adam’s apple and collarbones, and exploring the terrain of his chest. He entangled the pearls in his fingers and rolled them between the balls of each digit, sliding them against his skin. A more urgent moan disrupted his performance and he refocused on Dave on the couch, his hand pumping faster and his teeth pressing together, on the edge of a hiss.
“Ah, fuck,” Dave managed to heave out.
Anthony smiled again and whispered Dave’s name. Once he knew he had his attention, he slipped one finger beneath the waistband of the skirt, then another, until his entire hand was submerged and exploring himself. For a moment, he just stood with his hand around it, presenting to Dave and teasing him further. But he removed the hand again and smoothed it over the fabric draping over his thigh, ensuring that Dave’s eyes followed every step of its journey.
Dave was lost in the throes of his own passions, his face shriveling in concentration and his free hand tugging his shirt up to tweak himself. He stroked and bucked into his fist, the grunts tumbling from his mouth growing in urgency.
Anthony strode across the room to close the gap between them once more and crouched, skirt rustled up around his waist, to balance himself on Dave’s parted thighs, balancing himself with his hands against the seat back. His own body bobbed slightly as Dave pumped. Otherwise, he did not touch Dave, and simply stared at his contorting face. He knew when Dave was on the edge of glory. It was a very particular look he got in his face, a distinctly sharp curve of his brows coupled with the deepening of his crow’s feet. He counted the droplets of sweat on the drummer’s brow and waited, knowing it wouldn’t be long until they were both rewarded. He clutched his pearls in anticipation, and when the moment arrived, he tossed the jewellery above his head and over the edge of the couch.
“I want a real string of pearls,” he growled into Dave’s face as he leaned down.
The crescendo came with a bang and a whimper, Dave’s howl rattling throughout the room as he released onto Anthony’s neck and chest. His breath jittered and stalled in Anthony’s ear and he kept tugging and spilling until he didn’t have a drop left to give.
Anthony flicked his tongue out to tap Dave’s bottom lip and dismounted, surveying the rumples in the skirt and noticing a tell-tale drop around his waist. He clicked his tongue and raised his head to the spent man on the couch, the long hair webbed across his matted brow but with an exhilarated grin to match.
“So I guess you’re buying me the skirt.”