Chase Forever Down (With You Around) — Best Friends to Lovers — Noah Sebastian x Reader
Pairing: Best friend!Noah Sebastian x Reader
Summary: Being Noah's best friend means hiding your big fat crush on him for the sake of the friendship. That is, until the beginning of tour party, where maybe you can just say fuck it.
Warnings: explicit language, making out, cunnilingus, sex in a public bathroom, unprotected sex, simultaneous orgasms
Word Count: 6,491
Read on AO3
Notes: This is a gift/exchange fic for my sweet new friend @measuredingold! I have loved bonding over Bad Omens and having our daily chats. I hope you love this fic as much as I loved writing it!
“Behind!” You shout, gripping tightly onto the stack of boxes you’re lugging.
They’re filled to the brim with various pieces of merch and piled high. The few people in your way step aside as they desperately try to make room. You look comical, eyes barely peeking out as you crane your neck. You're probably racking up endless safety violations and blowing your back out, but this method has worked for the past nine years you've been doing this job, so there's no point in changing it up now.
Once upon a time, merch for Bad Omens consisted of you, a hand cart, and a dream. Now, you've got an entire crew of your own to manage a ridiculous amount of t-shirts, hats, and other various goodies. And even though there are more people and more responsibilities, your days feel the same as they did on your first tour.
You expected things to be different this time, especially given the size of the rooms the band is playing in. Hell, they’re huge compared to the last tour, even. 1,500 capacity venues are something you all have become comfortable with, but 20,000? All those people in hockey arenas just to see a silly little band that all your closest friends are in? It feels unbelievable, especially when you say it out loud.
Even though there are more fans and bigger venues, you’re still plopping boxes down in piles and counting shirts like your life depends on it. In a way, it does. Slinging merch became your career path practically by force. When Bad Omens first began touring, your best friend, Noah, didn’t know anyone else with enough experience. The last thing he wanted was to hand money to someone who could barely count. At the time, you had a few years at Hot Topic under your belt, so to him, it only made sense.
The rest is fucking history. Somehow, your job is to travel all over the world, sell shirts and socks to twenty-somethings, and sleep on a bus. Reality is weird sometimes.
Today is the first day of this monstrosity of a tour. And while you'd normally be already setting up at the venue, you’re occupied somewhere else for now.
Noah’s newest idea is a pop-up shop featuring exclusive pieces available only here, at this storefront rented to the band for the day. So all of the boxes surrounding you aren’t even half of the stuff you’re managing, considering the rest is for the actual merch booths at the show.
The pop-up won’t open for a few more hours, but the line outside grows longer and more impatient with every passing minute. You can hear fans just behind the locked front door talking softly amongst themselves. Anticipation builds higher for them and for you. While you know there are always hiccups this early on, you want it to be as perfect as possible.
You plop the boxes down to create new stacks, organizing by the size scribbled in Sharpie on the tops and sides—something you did days before to make this part easier. You mentally pat yourself on the back for that idea as you swivel on your heels to continue working.
Instead of walking forward, back through the curtains, you bump into something—no, someone. A hard chest that feels far too familiar. You lift your chin, eyebrows creased with confusion.
“What the—”
Noah looks down at you with a full-tooth smile, a black hat covering his grown-out hair, and a slight tilt of his head. He’s like a curious puppy, interested in your reaction. Your body relaxes as recognition takes over. You didn’t expect him to show up here, especially not with how many fans lurk just outside the makeshift storefront. Hell, it’s a mystery how he even got inside undetected. Did the Superman baseball cap trick actually work?
You step back instinctively, putting some semblance of space between your bodies, which feels impossible with the number of boxes directly at your heels. Being that physically close to Noah is a long, windy road you don’t want to go down this tour.
He’s your friend—your best friend, at that. You love him to pieces. There’s not a single person in this world who comes close to where he sits in your heart. And that’s the issue. It’s a really big, 6-foot-3-inch-tall, incredibly hot problem.
Somewhere along the way, you developed a crush on Noah. Maybe it was early on when you were crammed in a tiny sprinter van, using his bony shoulder as a pillow. It could have been more recent, though. Maybe their first full headlining tour or even that show they played with Linkin Park, where you cried during their entire set. You don’t know. It doesn’t really matter.
It’s not something you can ever act on. So, you steel yourself and keep going as if you didn’t just get an intense whiff of his cologne—vanilla, citrus, and ash. Yeah, you want to bury your fucking nose in the crook of his neck, but whatever.
“What are you doing here?” You murmur, eyes darting around the room as if anyone here would freak out being in his presence.
Noah smirks, shrugging nonchalantly when you finally look at him again. “Davis is being a perfectionist, so I told him I'd tag along and make sure everything is right for the first day.”
Yeah okay. You don’t believe that shit for a second. Noah has a specific vision for the layout and execution of the pop-up. And as per usual, he's pretending not to be a diva about it.
“Don't lie,” you snort, narrowing your eyes. “You were worried we were going fuck the setup.”
His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “I didn’t say that!”
“I can see it in your body language,” you snort. “You’ve got that nervous little shoulder hunch going on.”
“I do not.” He’s suddenly standing two inches taller.
“Honestly,” you start, crossing your arms over your chest. Your muscles are sore from hauling all those boxes, but it feels good to stretch them out. “I’m insulted that you thought I couldn’t handle a little one-day storefront.”
“I think you can handle it just fine,” he says, leaning forward for emphasis as he starts to whisper. “I just don’t know what to expect from everyone else.”
“I hand-picked the entire merch crew. Don’t you trust me?”
It took you close to a month to find people because you were being picky, choosing only from a small pool of people you’d already worked with. Most people you reached out to jumped at the chance to work for Bad Omens. Others already had tours booked for the same time. Regardless, you only chose the best of the best. Noah has nothing to worry about.
He fixes his posture for the second time in this five-minute conversation. Except now, there’s a seriousness lingering in his dark brown irises.
“Of course I do,” he states.
“Then I think we’ll be fine without our boss lingering around.”
“Don’t call me that,” he shudders as his nose crinkles. “Sounds weird coming from you.”
Your stomach twists. This is the part where he calls you his sister and makes you want to puke. You know this because it happens every single time, like he’s purposefully trying to remind you of your place.
You throw your arms up in surrender, desperate to cut him off before he has a chance to break your heart. “Alright, alright! Go micromanage someone else.”
You walk, turning your shoulder to get past him. He reaches out, gently places a hand on your arm, and pivots you to look at him again.
“I came to check on you, asshole,” he blurts out like this level of honesty is the hardest thing he’ll do all day.
As the two of you have gotten older, Noah has lost most of the softness in his features. When you first met, he had chubby cheeks, noodle arms, and an awkwardness that seeped into nearly every part of his personality. He talked softly, walked with his head down. There was no authority to him, no intimidation. He was your gentle giant. Little by little, that changed. It felt like you blinked and he became someone completely different. A hard-cut jaw, pointed features, muscles for days. Suddenly, he spoke with authority, with a deeper voice that made you swoon. You thought it would be easy to adjust, to make room for the new Noah. But then he cut his hair. You never believed that hair held memories until the first day you saw him without his long locks that you were so used to running your hands through. Since then, it’s felt like every moment you shared as young adults is gone, taken away by sharp scissors.
You don’t feel like you’ve changed at all. You’re still the same girl wearing band t-shirts you cropped yourself and out-of-style skinny jeans. You’re still the same girl blindly following Noah around and doing all the crazy things he comes up with. You're still the same girl who is hopelessly in love with him.
And even now, as you stare at him with wide eyes and take in the way his jaw ticks, you feel completely blindsided by him. This random confession from him is too fucking much. The only normal thing about it is his use of an insult.
“I’m fine,” you murmur, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You always get anxious on the first day,” he whispers. You don't mind if people hear him, but it's considerate of him to try to keep it private.
And he's right. You always do. You instantly think back to every single time you threw up or had a panic attack at the start of a tour. The first time you ever worked for Bad Omens, you spent thirty minutes in a dingy, incredibly dirty bathroom puking your guts out. The guys never let you live it down, especially because it happened a few times. One time, you had such a bad panic attack that the venue’s medics made you sit in their designated area and get checked out. It's always embarrassing, and you don't want it to happen again.
You’ve gotten better at keeping yourself calm. Plus, you're so focused on working hard to get this right that you don’t even feel any nerves right now.
Forcing a smile, you reach out to squeeze his arm reassuringly. “I’m fine.”
Repeating the words makes your statement less believable. Noah stares at you, eyes tracing over your face. Joke's on him. You’re way better at lying than he is. Hell, you’ve been keeping a secret for years.
“Okay,” he nods. “You’ll be there tonight, right? You’re not going to hide away in your hotel room?”
By there, he means the start-of-tour party. It's a tradition that was once just the group of you getting drunk in the van and has now morphed into crew and industry professionals sipping wine and talking softly.
You’ve been staying at the band’s designated hotel for two days now, opting to fly in early to sign off on merchandise orders, approve the rental space, and get your ducks in a row. You also have had plenty of time to curl up under the pristine white sheets and mentally prepare for the next month. It’s fine. Everything is perfectly fucking fine.
You drop your hand, rub it absentmindedly against your jeans, and flash Noah something between a smile and a grimace.
“I’ll be there.”
~~~
Five minutes into this party and you’re already staring longingly at the exit. Promising Noah you’d be here was a big mistake.
Matt worked with management to have the hotel’s bar reserved for the night. It’s massive and really extravagant. The dimmed lights don’t hide the bright white walls trimmed in gold or the deep emerald green of the chairs and booths. The bartops are a cool gray concrete that makes you snort at the sight of them.
The party’s attendees stick out like sore thumbs, dressed in all black and covered in tattoos. The hotel staff is friendly enough, even though you surely aren't their typical customers. None of you belong here, and it's funny to think that someone attached to the band has enough money for an open bar at a place like this.
You scan the room as you lean against the counter and sip on a glass of lemon water. Everyone is already here, and most are familiar faces. At this point, more than half of these people are far more your family than any of your blood relatives. The few new faces are refreshing to see, holding their drinks close to their chests and keeping to themselves.
Your closest friends are in a huddle, standing together and chatting casually. You immediately notice that one particular person is missing, but you try not to think about it as you watch them laugh and sip their drinks. Folio has a beer while Jolly’s nursing a glass of something—bourbon maybe? They all look freshly showered and somewhat comfortable, opting for dress pants and t-shirts. They didn’t pass along the memo because you’re in a dress. It's black and simple, nothing flashy or crazy, but you still feel out of place. Your free hand tugs at the hem, attempting to pull it further down your thighs.
“No alcohol for you tonight?” A voice made of sweet honey breaks you out of your concentration.
After your quick moment with Noah at the pop-up, you barely saw him for the rest of the day. Once you could trust your staff with the checkout line, you headed to the venue to check on the merch booths and make sure they were set up correctly. You did inventory, spoke with the venue’s merch manager, and even found some time to answer emails. Most of it went smoothly, but you were busy. And so was Noah. You didn’t even get to wish him good luck before Bad Omens’ set. You just had to sneak away and watch part of it from the sound booth.
It's bittersweet, this growth, this level of success. Back in the good old days, you would put out a cardboard sign that read, "Go watch the set with me and buy a shirt after!” and then you'd catch the band’s performance from side-stage. You'd mess with Noah in between songs, hand him water or beer or whatever else you had on hand. Now, you feel so far away. You can't reach out and grab hold anymore. There's so much space between you.
Not seeing him all day means you've had plenty of time to stew. To think long and fucking hard about his earlier actions, the way he looked at you with a concerned softness that made you melt. You know he cares about you. Fuck, you know he loves you. It's just not exactly in the way you've always hoped for.
Thinking about it now makes you feel stupid. How did you let yourself fall for someone who could never feel the same? Your blood boils as you turn to face Noah.
“No vocal rest for you?” You bite back with a grin.
When you see him, the air is knocked right out of your lungs along with your smirk off your face. He's in a new jacket. It's somewhat denim blue, almost grey in this light, but not quite. Silver grommets and buckles adorn the collar, and it ends right at his waist, hugging him in all the right places. A mental image of him wearing it will be burned into your brain for the rest of your sad life. He’s paired it with a simple black t-shirt underneath, black dress pants, and black boots.
If he notices you gawking, he doesn't show it. He just quirks an eyebrow.
“Why would I go on vocal rest when everyone's here to talk to me?”
“Oh wow. Someone’s got a big head.” You roll your eyes as you search open-mouthed for the straw of your drink, and take a sip when you find it.
“That’s what they tell me.”
You sputter, eyes widening while you cough up your water all over the front of your dress.
Noah cackles as he reaches over the bar for a stack of napkins, haphazardly pressing them to the spot in an attempt to help. He’s only making it so much worse as his hands push firmly against your breasts. You stammer backward, pressing yourself against the counter.
“I’m good,” you squeak as you take the napkins from him. “I’ve got it.”
“You sure?” He asks, still laughing.
“You just surprised me.”
“I can still do that after ten years?”
He takes a step back, tucks his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and rocks on his heels slightly. It’s a habit from the past, something he used to do when he felt uncomfortable. It’s one of the many things you picked up on over the years that instantly gave away his mood. Maybe he has changed as much as you thought.
“You don't even know half of it,” you say as you blow out an exaggerated breath.
“What?” Noah blinks.
You wave him off. “Nothing.”
“Don't be like that,” he tuts, rolling his eyes. “You're being weird. Just tell me.”
Your blood boils. How dare he call you weird when he’s the reason you’re on edge?
“Can you stop?” You snap.
Noah recoils, his entire body curling inwards like he just pressed his palm against a burning hot stovetop. He opens his mouth, then promptly shuts it. You know he doesn’t want to push you any further.
“You just—” you straighten up. “You're impossible, you know that?”
“I haven’t done anything,” he murmurs, voice full of confusion and something else—pain maybe. Did you hurt him with your attempt to put up your walls? Has he seen right through it?
You’re mad, pissed even. He hasn’t done anything? For the past ten years, he’s made you fall in love with him. He’s kept you at arm’s length, turned you into the most loyal best friend, and made you feel so utterly helpless every time he has flashed a genuine smile your way. Fuck, there’s a laundry list of things you can blame him for. How can he not see what he has done to you?
“Are you okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your thoughts.
You slam your drink down on the bar behind you and step close to him, putting all your weight on your toes to meet his eye. Damn him for being so fucking tall.
“You came to the pop-up even though there were hundreds of fans outside just to make sure I wasn’t having a panic attack. And I’ve been thinking about it all fucking day.”
“Yeah? So? That's what friends do,” Noah says matter-of-factly. God, he’s infuriating.
“Is it?” You challenge. “Because that’s what I keep telling myself. That it was just you being nice. That you would have done it for anyone on the crew. And yet, no matter what I do, my brain reminds me that it could mean something else. Something more.”
Noah’s lips press into a thin line, and you swear, if you squint, you can see sweat beading at his hairline. He doesn’t speak. He wouldn’t dare. So you keep going.
“But I think that there’s no way there could be something more. Because you constantly remind me that I’m just your friend. That it would be gross to see me any other way. And it just sucks, Noah. You know that? It really fucking sucks.”
“Why?” He croaks.
“Why what?”
“Why does it suck?”
You laugh. Actually, it’s more of a cackle. It’s filled with anger, frustration, and years of a crush that come tumbling out as you throw your head up and stare at the ornately decorated ceiling.
“Don’t fucking laugh,” Noah spits. When you point your chin down and look at him, you can see pieces of his facade cracking. His lips are downturned in the slightest pout, eyebrows furrowed, body completely still.
“You know why it sucks. You just want me to admit it,” you whisper.
“I'm trying to understand.”
You feel like an animal backed into a corner, ears pointed inward, and tail down between your legs. You know the blame can't be on Noah when you've put yourself here. But now you have to admit a secret you never thought would see the light of day. You don’t really have a choice. He's already watching you fall apart at the seams. There’s no way he doesn’t know something.
“Every time you do something nice for me, it just makes me fall more and more in love with you.”
And there it is. Out in the open, evaporating into the stale air. This is absolutely not where you expected to say it, but it tumbled out, and now it's done. There's no going back.
Noah's face morphs, dozens of emotions wiping over his features. He lands on something that makes your heart break: indifference. His lips curl, and his eyes almost look vacant, like he's trying to find it within himself to care. You want to throw up. No, you want to bang on his chest and scream in his face. Say something. Please. Just let me down gently.
When he doesn't move an inch or mutter even a sound, you decide you can't stand here any longer. You shake your head and stammer forward, shoulder colliding with Noah's as you walk past him and through the doors. You frantically search for the bathroom, practically running into it when you finally see the sign.
You don't head for a stall. Instead, you clutch the sink, knuckles going white instantly. Tears cloud your vision as you stare down at the granite countertops.
What have you done? You're going to lose your best friend over some stupid crush. Why couldn't you just keep it to yourself?
You squeeze your eyes shut and let yourself cry. At least for a few minutes. Time blurs.
After a small pity party, you pick your head up to check out your reflection in the mirror. Except you're not alone. The most familiar silhouette, one you could recognize in the pitch-black darkness, stares back at you from the entryway. Noah. He's not wearing the jacket anymore, as if your words made his skin too warm.
“You can't be in here,” you say as you turn around to face him.
“I don't care.”
“Well, I do,” you sniffle, stepping forward and putting your hands on him. One goes to his chest while the other grips his shoulder. You push and shove, but he doesn't budge. “Someone could see you.”
“Let them.”
“Noah, please, just go.”
“No,” he says sternly, like it's that easy. Plain and simple. Like your entire life doesn't depend on how delicately you handle this.
“No?” You repeat. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”
“Why did you say that you love me and then run off?”
You bristle, straightening out your posture and crossing your arms over your chest. Even though your hands aren’t on him anymore, you can still feel his warmth sizzling against your fingertips.
“I shouldn’t have even told you.”
“Well, you did,” Noah says with a huff. “I just want to understand.”
He's already said that once this evening, but it hurts more to hear it a second time.
“What is there to understand? You don’t love me back, and I have to find a way to live with that.”
Noah’s shoulders slouch as if there’s too much weight bearing down on them, as if your admission is far too heavy. Now that you’re really looking at him, there’s so much pain etched into his face that it makes your heart ache.
“Of course I love you,” he whispers.
“I know, Noah. As a friend. You don't have to remind me.”
“When did I say that?” He asks, throwing his hands up.
“You say it all the time! You call me your sister or say that you’ll always see me as your best friend. And trust me, it’s fine. I’ve learned to live with it. I understand.”
“No, you don’t understand anything,” he laughs coldly.
You blink. “Excuse me?”
“You’ve spent all this time deciding how I feel and not letting me get a word in. If you had let me, I would’ve already told you.”
Your body goes cold. “Told me what?”
Noah steps forward hesitantly. In the sterile white light of the bathroom, you can see the dimensions of colors in his irises. They're no longer dark brown. No, they're ivory and honey and ember. They're almost as beautiful as he is. And right now, he looks practically ethereal with a softness to his face that reminds you of ten years ago.
“That I feel the same way. That I love you too, that for the past ten years, I’ve wanted nothing more than to kiss that look off your face.”
This cannot be happening. You're dreaming. You fell and hit your head, and this is a hallucination. There's no fucking way Noah feels the same way you do.
You open your mouth, promptly close it, then open it again. You're fucking speechless. You probably look like a fish out of water.
“All ten years?” You finally whisper.
Noah’s eyes go half-lidded, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “That’s the part you're holding onto?”
No, you're holding onto all of it. In fact, you’re never going to let this moment go.
“I just…” You swallow hard. “I don't believe you.”
It's the cold, hard truth, but it stings coming up your throat.
Noah softens. All of him. His eyes turn into round saucers, mouth parting open on a sharp, steadying inhale, and shoulders rounding out.
“No?” He asks.
You don't speak. You just shake your head. He takes the opportunity to step closer until your bodies are mere inches apart. Both of his hands cup your cheeks, instantly warming your entire body. You didn't even realize you were shivering. One thumb reaches up and brushes away a few stray tears.
“I have loved you since the day I met you. And I know how fucking cheesy that sounds, but I don’t care. It’s true. I have spent every day since trying to change how I feel, but no matter what I do, it doesn’t go away, doesn’t change. If anything, I’m just falling harder.”
“Why haven’t you said anything?” you murmur.
“For the same reason as you, probably. Because I was scared. Because I didn’t want to lose you. Our friendship is one of the most important things in my life, right beside the band. I thought I could lie and pretend my feelings away for the sake of keeping you in my life and not overcomplicating things. But I just fucking can’t. I love you.”
“Noah…”
“I know,” he hums, offering you a lopsided smile. “It took us a long time, huh?”
You should answer him, tell him all about when your feelings started, and laugh about this. But you don’t. Instead, you snake your arms around his, grab his face with both your shaking hands, and kiss him. Hard.
He freezes, body locking up and eyes widening, but only for a second, just long enough for him to realize what’s happening. When he does, he drops his hands from your face and snakes them around your waist, kissing you back with an intensity that almost knocks you off your feet. The moment your lips press against his, fireworks light in your stomach and take off in your chest, leaving sparks to fizzle out in your throat.
It's deep, passionate, everything you've ever hoped for.
Before you can relax into it, Noah’s already moving, lifting you off your feet by his grip on your hips. Your eyes widen, and you scramble, throwing your hands out to your sides. They meet cold, slightly wet granite.
“What are you doing?” You ask breathlessly.
“Making you closer to my height,” Noah explains, sliding you further onto the counter.
“We can’t do this here!” You look around, eyes wildly searching the bathroom for any signs of other people. There’s no door to listen out for since this is a fancy hotel with an open corridor that leads straight in. “Let’s go back to my room.”
Your room is on the fifth floor, and from what you understand, it’s far enough away from most of the crew’s rooms that sex noises won’t raise any suspicions. You’re not really one to hook up with people while on tour, but Noah has a distinct enough voice that anyone who knows him will be able to point him out immediately.
“No,” he says simply, stepping even closer to you. His body presses against the edge of the counter, and he forces your dangling legs apart to slide in between them. Leaning forward, his mouth presses against your neck, peppering it with kisses.
You squirm in a feeble attempt to push him off, but it’s no use. He’s much bigger than you, and he’s on a mission.
“Noah,” you whimper.
“I want you now,” he growls, voice low, rough, and full of need.
It makes you shiver and ultimately, give in, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him up to your mouth. He kisses you back hungrily, tongue pushing against your lips to force your mouth open. You oblige, letting him in with a heady whine. His tongue explores, tracing over your teeth before it dances with your own tongue, fighting for control.
You don’t expect to win. You’ve known Noah for ten years, and everything about him has always screamed dominant and controlling until now. He yields for you, melting into the kiss, letting your tongue push against his.
You pull back, chest heaving.
“You want me now?” you ask, repeating his earlier words. He looks like a deer in headlights, eyes wide and glazed over.
“So fucking badly,” he answers.
“Then take me. Right here.” He moves, leaning in to take your mouth again. You tut teasingly, putting a hand on his chest to push him back. “Oh no, big boy. If you’re going to make our first time be in a bathroom, you’re going to do it my way. On your knees.”
Noah blinks, sucking in a surprised breath, but he listens just as well as you expect him to. He looks breathtaking on his knees, his gaze up at you, awaiting further instructions. You smile softly at him and press your palms against the countertops to slide forward. With how tall Noah is, he lines up perfectly with where you want him.
An hour ago, you felt out of place in your dress. Now, you’re thankful you decided to wear it as you hike it up over your hips. Your panties are on full display now. They’re simple, a black and lacy thong.
Noah lets out a hungry groan at the sight. “Fuck, baby.”
You flash him a sinister smile as you shimmy the panties off your hips and down your legs. Noah moves before you can say anything, practically ripping them out of your hand and shoving them into the pocket of his dress pants.
You raise an eyebrow at him. “Did I say you could keep those?”
“Try to take them from me,” he challenges with a tilt of his head.
You laugh, pointing your chin up toward the ceiling for a moment before looking back down at him.
You never thought you’d be here: propped up next to an expensive sink in a public hotel bathroom with Noah, of all people, on his knees, seconds from worshipping you.
“You want to waste time playing around?” You ask. “Or do you want to taste me?”
Pure greed flashes in his eyes. He doesn’t answer, simply because he doesn’t need to. You both already know how he feels. Instead, he leans forward, places a hand on each of your inner thighs for leverage, and feasts. His tongue presses flat against your folds and laps at them repeatedly, humming low in his throat like you’re the most delicious thing he’s ever tasted. You throw your head back, eyes s queezing shut as pleasure wracks through your veins. Noah focuses his efforts, moving his mouth to surround your clit. He flicks at it with his tongue, and you jolt, body sliding forward. You didn’t know shiny, pristine granite could be so slippery. You feel the pulsing pleasure for only a moment before Noah wraps his lips around the sensitive bud and sucks at it, changing the sensation to something completely all-consuming. Your mind swirls, body tensing.
You want to savor this, live in this moment for as long as you can. But the reality of where you are means you don’t have much time. You snake your hands through Noah’s hair and tug. He looks up at you, mouth hanging open and chin glistening with your juices. God, he looks so fucking hot like this, on his knees for you.
“Fuck me, pretty boy,” you demand as you drop your hands.
He scrambles off his knees and back to his feet, already working at his belt. He barely pushes his pants down his thighs, letting them pool around his ankles. In any other circumstance, you’d laugh at how ridiculous he looks. But right now, you don’t care because you’re too busy staring at his hard cock, thick and long and absolutely perfect.
Living in vans and buses with him means you’ve inevitably seen it before, but this is different. This is all for you.
Noah grabs at your hip with one hand and pulls you further off the counter, using his other hand to position his cock against your entrance. He inhales just as he pushes in, exhaling the moment he feels your tight pussy clench around him. The stretch feels immaculate, the slightest sting radiating through your core, making you hiss. Noah shushing you lovingly as he finds a rhythm.
It’s fast, messy, and desperate, like he’s making up for lost time. You always imagined your first time with Noah to be passionate, slow, and full of love, which is the total opposite of what you’re experiencing. Well, except for the love. Right now, it’s tangible. You can’t even begin to question if he feels the same way because it shows in the way he’s holding onto you tightly and watching you intently, like you’re going to disappear if he so much as blinks.
The pace is punishing. Noah’s cock drives into you over and over again, winding you up with every thrust. You’re unraveling, and you know he is too. One of your hands grips his back, fingernails digging into his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt. The other slides down between your bodies and finds your clit, rubbing fast circles into it. You whine, but it mixes with Noah’s own moan at the feeling of you tightening around him.
“God,” he groans, lust-filled eyes meeting yours. “You feel perfect.”
The compliment sends a wave of heat over you, starting at your toes and focusing on your center. It makes you clench again, resulting in Noah’s rhythm stuttering. You giggle, getting a devious little idea to move your hips and match his pace. Your bodies writhe in tandem, meeting in wet squelches that echo and bounce off the white-tiled walls. You’re not even trying to be quiet. And honestly? You’re surprised no one has come in and gotten you two in trouble. Maybe the noises are what’s keeping them all away.
Noah tenses, forcing your focus back to him.
“Are you close?” You ask breathlessly.
“Mhm,” he hums. “Are you?”
God, are you? Your body is practically screaming for it as your toes curl and your skin tingles.
“Yeah,” you nod as you pick up the pace of your fingers against your clit. “Cum for me, sweet boy. Show me just how much you love me.”
And he does. Noah groans, heady and loud. His body strains for a moment, going completely straight, before he collapses, practically toppling over. You can feel his cock twitch as his cum pumps inside of you.
And that’s what sends you over the edge. You lean forward, head knocking against his as your muscles lock together. Usually, it’s a gradual feeling. This time, it happens all at once, crashing over you in a wave of pleasure that pulls you under and leaves you a whimpering mess.
Noah takes his time and lets you settle back down before pulling out. You feel so empty when he’s gone, and you realize just how fucked you truly are. Now that you know how good this is, you’re going to be all over him, begging for it every single day. You don’t know how you’re going to get through this tour.
Noah steps back to give you space as he pulls his pants back up and tucks his spent cock into them. You slide off the countertop, and your legs wobble as you feel like a baby deer, struggling to find your balance. For a moment, you and Noah stare at each other, soaking in the reality of what just happened.
It’s Noah’s giggles that break the silence. He sounds downright giddy, using a hand to cover his mouth and stifle it.
“I love you,” he declares again. God, you’re never going to get tired of hearing him say that.
“I love you too,” you murmur, unable to hide the smile that pulls all the way to your eyes and makes the corners of them crinkle.
“I’ll leave first,” he says as he fixes his clothes, pulling his shirt down to straighten it out.
“Okay,” you breathe.
Noah pauses, taking in the sight of you, properly fucked and completely in love. He blows out a breath as he shakes his head like he can’t quite believe that you feel the same.
“Meet me at your room in ten minutes,” he instructs. You nod in agreement before he turns on his heels and strolls on out.
You watch him leave, eyes focused on his broad shoulders until he disappears from your line of sight. Then, you take a second to compose yourself, fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress as you pull it back down. You don’t bother turning to face the mirror because you know exactly what you’ll look like. Instead, you just take a deep breath, pick up your chin, and walk out.
The first person you see is Folio, leaning up against a wall across from the bathroom entrance. He’s sporting a shit-eating grin as he crosses his arms over his chest.
“Oh fuck,” he says in a hearty laugh. “Jolly owes me a hundred bucks.”
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