Cause All these Bodies are Hoping to get Addicted to sound
warnings: threesome, established friendship, exploring sexuality, jealousy, pining, emotional vulnerability, FORCED PROXIMITY IF U MAY
pairing: michael clifford/luke hemmings/calum hood
a/n: ok so obviously inspired by the just kiss moment from this current tour, however I decided to set them on the joshua tree. why you may ask? BECAUSE I CAN.
WARNING! RPF CONTENT DONT LIKE DONT READ
Today was one of those days where Luke was just not feeling it, those days had been increasing lately. Maybe it was because they were on the final leg of the album, and that might have started getting them lazy, maybe there was something that made you slack off when the finish line was just visible, made it easier to put things off. Still, here they were anyway, supposed to be polishing the last few tracks and making the necessary changes, and Luke had spent the last hour scrolling aimlessly on his phone, the screen lighting up his face in the slightly dim studio.
It wasn’t like they came to the studio every single day, either. Sometimes, they’d just stay at the house and do literally anything but work, which had been the point of being out here in the first place. But today they were supposed to actually get shit done, and instead they had spent the last two hours just fucking around, half-working, distracted by the distance from home and the fact that Ashton wasn’t here to keep them on track.
Ashton had been the one keeping them on schedule, the self-appointed “vibe guy.” Luke often thought he was the glue of the group, maybe even the core of it. When he was around, things just flowed so well, but he had woken up earlier, saying he felt like shit, probably coming down with something, and had stayed holed up in his room all day. Calum had knocked on his door that morning, just to check, and Ashton had mumbled something about sleeping it off. They’d left him alone after that.
So it was just the three of them. Luke, Michael, and Calum. That was, unfortunately, a current problem for Luke.
The past few weeks had been weird in a way he couldn’t quite name. Michael and Calum had somehow gotten closer than ever, closer than Luke had realized was possible even for them. They’d always been tight, obviously, like the rest of the band, but something about being out here had pulled them even tighter, and Luke couldn’t stop noticing.
He watched them now from his chair near the console, the big couch across the room holding both of them like it was molded for this exact moment, Calum’s head resting on Michael’s shoulder, their legs tangled together, easy and familiar, while they scrolled through something on Calum’s phone and laughed softly at whatever they were looking at.
Every time Michael’s hand drifted to Calum’s thigh, or Calum leaned in a little closer, that newly familiar sour taste rose in the back of Luke’s throat again.
He told himself it wasn’t a bad thing—they were his best friends. They were allowed to be close. But still, he hated it. Hated how left out it made him feel and hated how he kept catching himself watching them, wondering why it bothered him so much when there was nothing wrong with it.
His phone buzzed against his palms, the vibration strong enough to pull him out of whatever stupid spiral he'd managed to trap himself in.
Ash: you guys actually working or just pretending to
Luke let out a breath through his nose, in reliefm atleast Ashton could distract him for a minute.
Luke: Not even pretending
Ash: don't let mikey convince u watching youtube counts as productivity
Luke: How are you feeling?
Luke snorted quietly to himself, shaking his head as he locked his phone. That, at least, sounded about right. If Ashton had been here, he'd probably be halfway through giving Michael a lecture about getting back to work while Michael dramatically insisted that whatever rabbit hole he'd fallen into was somehow "research."
He set his phone down beside him and rubbed at his face for a second, hoping it'd shake him out of whatever mood he'd been in all afternoon, or more so, all this time. It didn't.
Before he really thought about it, his eyes drifted across the room again.
Michael was saying something Luke couldn't quite make out from where he sat. Calum rolled his eyes, muttered something back, and gave him a shove with his shoulder. Michael barely reacted beyond shoving him right back, never even taking his eyes off the phone this time.
Luke looked away almost as quickly as he'd looked over. They'd always been like that. Honestly, all of them had.
Fifteen years of being practically attached at the hip had a way of getting rid of any weirdness about personal space. They'd shared hotel rooms, couches, bunks, hoodies, headphones, food, drinks, girlfriends—half the time they didn't even think before grabbing something that belonged to someone else. None of it had ever meant anything.
So why the fuck was his brain deciding to make something out of it now?
He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, annoyed at himself more than anyone else, and pushed himself a little farther back into the chair.
The studio itself was quiet except for the low hum of the equipment and the occasional burst of laughter from their direction.
Luke shifted in his chair, the cracked leather creaking under him. He initially thought it was just the isolation getting to him, they were out in the desert, not completely far from civilization, but far enough that the quiet could start messing with your head, coming from LA at least.
LA... He missed home, and he was adamantly counting down the days so they could all return to their routines, never having to see the ongoing phenomenon that his bandmates had again.
Luke: Hold on tight cowboy
The string of thoughts that was currently running through his mind felt dumb and pointless. Ashton's text made him stand up, streched his arms over his head until his back cracked. He needed to move, needed to do something other than sit there and fry his brain off.
He walked over to the mini-fridge and grabbed a beer. He popped it open with more force than necessary, only realizing it when the sound echoed through the room. He physically cringed at how loud it was.
He tried maintaining his cool still. “Want one?” he asked, not looking at them.
“Nah, we’re good,” Michael said, his voice relaxed.
Luke took a long sip, the cold liquid sliding down his throat, which didn’t help the heat creeping up the back of his neck. He walked over and leaned against the counter of the control table, watching them over the rim of his can. Calum had shifted, his head now in Michael’s lap, his long legs stretched out along the couch. Michael’s fingers were in Calum’s hair, absentmindedly playing with the strands, and the sight made Luke’s chest tighten.
He couldn’t take it anymore.
“Jesus, just kiss already,” Luke muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. The second they left his mouth, panic set in.
He quickly tried to play it off, rolling his eyes jokingly and adding, “Jeez, guys, haha.” like he hadn’t just said what he was thinking out loud.
Michael looked up, eyebrows raised, a slow grin spreading across his face. Calum’s head lifted too, his expression was more curious than surprised.
“What?” Michael asked, tilting his head.
“What?” Luke mirrored him, in a desperate attempt to pretend he hadn't heard the words that came out of his own mouth.
Luke’s face grew hotter, and he quickly retracted. “Nothing. Forget it.”
But Michael was already leaning forward, his grin turning sharp. “No, no, say it again.”
Luke shifted his weight on the edge of the table, suddenly very aware of how quiet it had gotten. “I said… just kiss already. You two are basically on top of each other.”
Calum snorted, and Michael gasped in mock offense. Then Michael's hand shot out, he hesitated for a second, but eventually grabbed Calum's chin, and planted an exaggerated, loud, obnoxious kiss right on his lips—a cartoon smooch, with all theatrics.
"MWAAAH." Michael announced, pulling back with a shit-eating grin. "There. Happy?" Calum just rolled his eyes, wiping the back of his hand over his lips.
Luke couldn’t help but stare dumbfounded, his brain short-circuited. He had expected a denial or a laugh, not… whatever that was. It was a joke, or at least that's what he thought so. But the sight of it—Michael’s hand on Calum’s jaw, the way their lips had pressed together, even if it had been only for a second, it sent a strange, electric jolt straight down his spine. He realized how he hadn't said a word and forced out of himself a little-too-loud laugh.
“Yeah, hilarious,” Luke said, taking another swig of his beer to hide his face.
But Michael wasn’t done with him, at least not any time soon. He was still looking at Luke with a certain determination that had flourished mere seconds ago. “Yeah? You look a little flustered, Hemmo.”
Calum, who hadn’t interrupted their exchange, watched them with an amused expression and slowly sat up. “You know,” he said, his voice low and measured, “if you wanted to see a real one, you could’ve just asked more nicely.”
Luke’s breath caught. “I…” He started, but he couldn’t even get a full sentence out, instead, his grip on the table tightened.
Michael stood up from the couch, closing the distance between them in four slow steps. He stopped right in front of Luke, so close that he could see the faint stubble along his soft jawline, and the flecks of gold in his celadon eyes.
“Well?” Michael murmured, his voice dropping as his gaze flickered between Luke’s eyes and lips. “You gonna ask?”
Luke’s heart was hammering dangerously against his ribs inside his chest, it was a frantic drumbeat he was sure they could both hear. He looked past Michael to where Calum remained still on the couch, watching them intently. He gave Luke an encouraging look at what he could decipher.
Luke swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I don’t… I’m not sure what you want me to say,” he managed to get out, his voice barely above a whisper. His mind was still trying to catch up, trying to figure out how the hell they’d gone from him making a stupid comment to this.
Michael studied him for a moment, then shrugged, casual. “I noticed you watching. Figured you might be into it.”
His Adam's apple bobbed. “You… noticed me watching?”
Michael nodded once, he was trying not to make a big deal out of it. “Yeah. You’ve been getting this look on your face lately whenever you’re alone with us. Like you’re pissed off at us but trying not to be. Didn’t take much to figure out the cause.”
“I don’t—” Luke started, then stopped. He let out a shaky breath and shook his head. “This is weird. You’re my friends. Both of you. I don’t know what the fuck is going on.”
Well, he reflected briefly in his head, it wasn’t like they hadn’t messed around with each other before, but that had been years ago, back when they were still figuring themselves out, and were practically high on hormones. Not to mention that it was the perfect age for experimenting.
Michael’s mouth twitched, not quite into a grin this time. “We don’t have to figure it all out right now. But you said it. ‘Just kiss already. ‘”
“So maybe stop pretending you don’t want to see what could happen next.” His mouth brushed Luke’s ear for a brief moment before retracting to his original position.
Luke’s stomach flipped. Every instinct inside of him screamed that this was a terrible idea, that he was about to ruin whatever both of them had going on, or worse, their friendship altogether, but his head had long since stopped calling the shots, and now his body had a mind of its own.
Michael caught the hesitation flickering across Luke's face, but the need beneath it was clear. He decided not to make him carry the weight of the moment alone, so he took the lead. Luke's hand was still clinging to the edge of the table, and Michael brushed his fingertips over the back of it before letting them glide slowly up Luke's forearm, a soft touch. Luke's gaze dropped to where their skin met, his breath catching.
When he looked back up, Michael had already closed the distance between them. They were merely inches apart now, and their gazes locked, Luke's lips already parted as his breathing had turned uneven. Michael searched his eyes one last time, then gently closed the remaining space between them and finally kissed him.
Michael’s lips pressed to his while Luke’s hand found Michael’s lower back without thinking, fingers pressing in and pulling him closer until Michael’s knee slid between Luke’s legs. The pressure of it made his hips twitch forward, the friction itself was barely anything, but it was enough to make Luke’s cock twitch harder in his jeans. His mind was a mess—these were his best friends, and here he was kissing one of them while the other watched—but the thought of it only made the heat in his stomach burn hotter. He kissed back, mouth opening under Michael’s, as a shaky moan slipped out of him.
Behind them, the couch creaked. Calum had finally stood, moving across to them. He stopped at Luke’s other side, close enough that Luke could feel the warmth radiating off him. Calum’s hand settled on Luke’s waist, his steady thumb stroking just under the hem of his shirt. “Let us take care of you.” Calum said quietly, voice low against his ear, while he kept focused on his skin.
Calum leaned in and kissed the side of his neck, his teeth grazing just enough to make Luke shiver, and the rocking from Michael's knee kept going, and it was starting to get to Luke. Moans kept slipping from his throat.
“Y’sound so good.” Calum murmured against his skin.
The praise did something to Luke—twisted something tight in his stomach while making his cock throb harder. He’d heard filthy words before, but never from Calum, never while being pinned between both of them like this; it made his head spin.
Michael pulled back from the kiss just enough to look down, his gaze hot and intent. His hand, which had been gripping Luke’s hip, slid around to the front. His palm pressed flat against the hard, undeniable line of Luke’s erection straining against his jeans.
“Look at you,” Michael murmured, his voice a rough scrape of sound. “So fucking hard already. Just from us kissing you.” His fingers traced the length of him through the denim, a slow, torturous drag that made Luke’s hips jerk forward with a choked gasp.
Calum’s mouth was still on his neck, sucking a bruise into the skin there, but his hands were moving too. He popped the button of Luke’s jeans, the snap obscenely loud in the quiet room. The rasp of the zipper followed, a sound that seemed to go straight to Luke’s core.
He then pushed his jeans and boxers down his thighs. The cool air hit his flushed, aching cock, and Luke whimpered, a sound of pure, exposed vulnerability.
Calum’s hand wrapped around him first. His grip was firm and calloused. He gave Luke one long, slow stroke from root to tip, his thumb swiping over the wetness beading at the head.
“Fuck, Cal.” Luke gasped out, his head falling back. It was too much. It was everything.
“He’s beautiful like this,” Calum said, his voice low, and Luke realized he wasn’t talking to him, but to Michael. “So responsive.”
“I know,” Michael breathed, his eyes glued to the sight of Calum’s hand on Luke. He looked mesmerized, his own arousal evident in the tight line of his jaw, the flush on his neck. “Let me.”
Michael’s hand slid down to join Calum’s. Not to take over, but to join. His fingers brushed alongside Calum’s, their grips aligning, their rhythms syncing. It was two hands wrapped around him, two of his best friends working him in unison.
The sensation was indescribable. The double pressure, the slight difference in their grips, the shared intent—it overwhelmed Luke’s senses completely. He was panting a little punched-out moans falling from his lips with every stroke.
“Like this,” Michael murmured, his lips against Luke’s temple. He guided their hands, showing Calum a particular wrist twist on the upstroke that made Luke cry out, his knees buckling. “See how he likes that? Listen.”
Luke was beyond words. He was a live wire of sensation, strung tight between their bodies. The weeks of bitter jealousy were incinerated in this furnace of shared touch, replaced by a staggering sense of belonging. This was what he’d been aching for. Not to watch, but to be the focus. To be theirs.
“So good for us,” Calum growled, his own breath coming in ragged gusts against Luke’s neck. Luke could feel the hard press of Calum’s erection against his back, and the knowledge that he was doing this to Calum too, that he was pulling these sounds from him, made the coil in his gut wind impossibly tighter.
“Gonna come,” Luke warned, the words a strained, desperate plea. “I’m gonna—right now, please—”
“Yeah, come on,” Michael urged, his voice a hot, commanding whisper. “Let go. Show us.”
Calum’s hips pushed forward into the touch, and Luke could feel how badly he was straining.
Luke came with a shattered, broken cry that tore from the depths of his chest. His hot release pulsed over their joined hand and as his body convulsed between them. They held him through it, their strokes prolonging yet making easier the waves of pleasure until he was oversensitive and trembling, only being held upright only by their bodies.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of Luke’s ragged, sobbing breaths in a spent and blissfully blank.
Slowly, his own awareness returned. The newfound stickiness on his stomach, on their clasped hands. He blinked his eyes open, dazed.
Calum had brought his fingers close, examining the stickiness, and Michael caught his wrist before he could pull away. “Let me.” Michael said, voice low, and brought his hand up to his mouth. He licked a slow stripe across his palm, tongue warm and deliberate, cleaning off every trace of Lyke with a quiet hum.
Luke’s breath caught. “Jesus.” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re actually doing that.”
Michael looked up at him through his lashes, lips still brushing Luke’s palm. “Taste good.” he said simply, stealing a glance at Calum before returning to Luke. “Don’t you like the sight of it?”
Luke swallowed, throat dry. “No, I do.” he admitted.
A low hum of approval vibrated against his palm before Michael continued to trace the silhouette of Calum's fingers with his tongue meticulously. Luke watched transfixed, as the tip of Calum's index finger disappeared closed around Michael's lips, sucking gently before he released it with a soft, wet pop.
“Fuck.” Luke breathed again, nothing more than a ragged exhale.
Michael, who was still leaning heavily against Luke’s side, chuckled. “Told you he’s thorough.”
Calum gave a slight nod and tucked himself away with a wince, he was hard, the shape was way too obvious through his jeans. Michael noticed. His gaze dropped, then lifted to Luke’s face in a silent question.
Luke swallowed. The weeks of sour jealousy had burned away, replaced by something heavier and hotter. A new urge, he wanted to give back what he’d taken.
He turned in the narrow space, facing Calum now. Calum’s eyes were dark but soft, the same look he got when he desired something. Luke’s hands found the button of Calum’s jeans before his brain could argue. The metal was warm.
Calum’s breath hitched. “Luke—”
“Shut up.” Luke said, he didn’t mean for it to come out unkind, but it was… just urgent. He shoved denim and already wet underwear off. Calum’s cock sprang free, flushed and already leaking. Luke wrapped his hand around the base and felt it twitch.
He dropped to his knees on the worn studio rug. The fibers were rough against his bare skin. Michael moved in behind him, one hand settling on the back of Luke’s neck, thumb stroking the short hairs there.
Luke leaned in and licked a slow stripe from root to tip. Calum’s hand flew to Luke’s hair, not pushing, just holding. The taste was salt and skin and Calum.
Michael’s fingers tightened on his nape. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Get him wet.”
Luke opened his mouth and took Calum in hollowing his cheeks on the first downward slide. Calum’s thighs trembled. While Luke tried to set a rhythm, he was, certainly out of practice, still he tried to make it the most enjoyable for both, using his hand he worked what his mouth couldn’t reach, and every broken sound Calum made went straight through him.
Luke wondered if Michael could tell how badly he’d wanted this, maybe, beside the obvious, his body language had been betraying him, what if he had been acting like a needy bitch subconciously? and how long he’d been pretending he didn’t.
Every time Calum’s hips twitched forward, Luke felt a small, vicious satisfaction that he was the one pulling those sounds out of him, he felt incredibly proud. He wanted to be good at this, and he wanted Calum and Michael to remember it. He also wanted Michael to watch and be turnt too. He liked that he finally wasn’t on the outside anymore, he wanted to be part of this often—no homo though.
Michael stayed right there, his calloused hand never leaving Luke’s neck, the other already working his own jeans open. The slick sound of Michael stroking himself while he watched Luke suck Calum off filled the rest of quiet space. Luke could feel how Michael’s eyes burned on him, hot and heavy, and it made him take Calum deeper until his nose brushed the soft hair at the base.
“Fuck—Luke—” Calum’s voice cracked. His fingers flexed in Luke’s hair. “Your mouth, god—”
Michael’s breathing had gone ragged. Luke could hear the wet slide of his fist, the occasional bitten-off curse. Knowing Michael was getting off on the sight made something hot curl low in Luke’s stomach.
He pulled off just long enough to breathe, spit connecting his lip to the flushed head. “Want you to come,” he said, voice hoarse, looking up. “Want to taste it.”
Calum groaned. “Luke stop dirty talki—fuck, I’m close—”
Michael’s hand left Luke’s neck to grip himself harder, strokes turning fast. “Do it,” he urged. “Come down his throat.”
Luke took Calum back in and sucked hard. Calum came with a broken sound, pulsing hot across Luke’s tongue. Luke swallowed it all. Michael followed seconds later with a low curse, his release spilling over his own fist.
Luke pulled off slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and Calum’s hand slid from Luke’s hair to his jaw, thumb stroking over his cheekbone.
They stayed like that for a few moments—Luke resting on his knees between them, the three of them catching their breath in the studio while the desert heat pressed against the windows.
Inside Luke’s head, everything was still spinning. He could taste Calum on his tongue, could feel the ghost of Michael’s hand on the back of his neck, could hear the way both of them had sounded when they came. Weeks of watching them from across the room, weeks of that sour twist in his chest every time Michael’s hand drifted to Calum’s thigh or Calum leaned in too close—it was all gone. Replaced by this. By the solid weight of Calum’s hand on his jaw and Michael’s quiet breathing behind him and the knowledge that he wasn’t as lost anymore.
He’d spent so long convincing himself that he was just making something out of it, that he was just left out, just missing the easy way they moved around each other, their usual shared bromance. It was silly, because it had never been that simple. Somewhere along the way, wanting what they had had turned into wanting to be part of it. It had been this. Wanting to be between them instead of watching from afar. Wanting to feel Calum’s cock twitch against his tongue and hear Michael’s low, approving sounds while he stroked himself to the sight. Wanting to be the reason they both came apart.
Luke swallowed again, his throat still tight from swallowing Calum down. His own cock was half-hard again, spent but interested, and the realization that he could want more, that they could give him more, made his stomach flip. He looked up at Calum, then turned his head to look at Michael, and found both of them watching him with the same soft, wrecked expression.
“You good?” Calum asked, as he reached and offered him a water bottle that had been abandoned from before.
Luke nodded. His voice came out rough reaching for it. “Yeah. I’m good.”
Calum’s hand stayed on his jaw, his thumb stroked slow. “You know, this.. thing we have, we don’t even know ourselves what it is” he said, echoing Michael’s earlier words. “But we’re here. If you want this. Be part of it.”
Luke’s chest tightened. He did want this. He was so down bad it scared him a little, but not enough to make him pull away. Not enough to make him go back to watching from across the room.
He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Calum’s hip, breathing in the scent of him, letting the solid presence of both of them anchor him. Michael’s hand stayed on the back of his neck. For the first time in weeks Luke felt like he could actually breathe, free from his own made up misery.
This was what he’d been aching for. To be here and to be theirs.
