Just A Taste

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Noel gets a bit more than he bargained for when he's unexpectedly invited to Alex Kapranos' dressing room. And that's putting it very lightly, indeed.

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Part I

Contents

Part I

Author’s Notes: Please note, this story contains dub-con and themes of domination/submission. If that’s not your cuppa, spare your mind and don’t read! 🙂

It is not a sexy movement, Kapranos peeling off his trousers like bark from a tree; he makes it look painful, as if he’s losing a part of himself in the action. Noel watches him attentively from the couch, where he was shoved rather unceremoniously only moments prior. He wonders vaguely if he looks like that when he undresses before sex, all feverish concentration and bits of hopping. Some mating dance, that.

Alex isn’t wearing pants, which was half expected, and the heated pink imprints of seams running down his long legs and across his lower abdomen make it look as if he’s still got trousers on. He is pale, so bloody pale, and his cock juts out with little preamble or subtlety. Noel generally dislikes seeing men with pants off and shirts on, as a matter both of aesthetics and equality. As Alex leans over him to suck at the salt of his neck, Noel tugs at his foppish, silky top until he has it half over Alex’s head, where it sticks and stubbornly refuses to move.

Alex leans back, moves to take it off, and Noel takes a good look at his torso. He’s in good shape; lanky, long, and lean, with a confused-looking trail of hair leading down from his navel. Noel’s felt the strength in his forearms already; it’s no mere coincidence he has a penchant for guitarists. Top divested, Alex turns his attention to Noel’s shirt, which seems to melt off his shoulders like butter under Alex’s nimble touch. His fly has already been down for several minutes, erection trying to escape its cloth binds and currently rather close to succeeding. Alex gives it a rough tug through the fabric as he invades Noel’s mouth with an eager, demanding tongue. He tastes dark like cigarettes and red wine, equally decadent and gauche.

Noel wants to drink him. By any means necessary.

He blinks and when the world stops jittering, his boots have been kicked aside, the rest of his clothing has mysteriously disappeared, and they’re writhing against each other like randy teenagers on the worn dressing room couch. Alex maneuvers them lengthwise, and Noel reclines luxuriously, arching his back with a hiss as one of his nipples is captured between teeth. Their groins are ground together, the electric sensation of arousal on arousal. Noel grabs Alex’s arse—firm, like the rest of him—and bucks up against him, greedily.

“What made you think I’d go for this?” He finds himself asking; for it isn’t every day that a man you barely know—aside from a brief scuffle between girlfriends—sends you an invitation to his dressing room and proceeds to have you naked on the furniture within five minutes of your arrival. Takes a bit of nerve, that.

Kapranos gives a short, low moan from deep in his throat, but his voice is unclouded and not a little bit arrogant as he laughs, mouth moving up to Noel’s neck. “You looked like you needed a fuck.” He punctuates with a bite, then another.

Noel wants to hit him, suddenly. He feels terribly naked, and it’s got nothing to do with the absence of clothing. “Well, aren’t you fucking Columbo,” He sneers. “This a shag for charity then? Doing your good deed for the day, Pollyanna?”

“I wanted to fuck you the first time I saw you, insolent twat.” Alex throws him with this; the statement itself is not surprising, only that he said it. Seeing the victory in Alex’s eyes at his momentary lapse, Noel smirks and presses a finger hard to that one spot right behind Alex’s balls, watches in satisfaction he gives an uncontrollable jerk.

“You think you’re the only one?” He finds himself replying, grabbing Alex’s arse with one hand and pulling him closer, the fingers of the other moving back to tease at his arsehole.

“I know there’s plenty of fourteen-year-old girls that would love to get their hands on you, if that’s what you mean.” Alex bites his collarbone, hard, speaking straight to the heart of him, “but I knew I was going to have you.” This is added, almost an afterthought, and then he is disentangling himself and rising from the couch.

Noel is hit with cold; his cock standing at attention looks lonely and stupid. His skin throbs where Alex left his mark. Noel props himself up on an elbow, watches as Alex rummages in a pack on one of the tables, next to the bottles of water and fruit requested on the rider. In the bright, harsh light of the dressing room, the man he’s about to fuck looks terrifyingly imperfect and tangible.

In an oddly timed moment of self-reflection, Noel wonders if this might be a reflection on the company he’s been keeping lately.

He has barely time to ponder this before Alex hands him a small plastic bottle for safekeeping and is back on him, prompting his legs apart with his free hand.

Noel gives him a Look.

“You’re not fucking me, not after that.” He says, pointedly. His legs stay put.

“I think you’ll find that I am.” Alex plucks the lube from Noel’s grasp and Noel is distracted by his obscene confidence, somehow not registering when Alex slicks two fingers with the stuff and presses one to his entrance. He almost yelps, the sudden cold sensation breaking his reverie, his legs falling open as if by higher command. Alex gives him a look; you little slut, you.

“Fuck you,” Noel hisses, but any threats he might have made escape him as Alex’s finger slides inside him a little, then a lot. He glares at Alex, feeling weak with need as the other man simply quirks an eyebrow. The more Alex infuriates him, the more Noel wants him; if he doesn’t bloody hurry up and get on with it, Noel is literally going to scream in agony and inflict a good bit of bodily harm. But Kapranos, to his credit, doesn’t waste time adding the second digit, crooking just so. Noel’s hips jerk forward, a curse escapes his lips, and he is reminded of the other reason he likes musicians. Long fingers.

“Hurry up already, not like I’ve not done this before.” He goads, trying to keep himself from rocking against Alex’s fingers, trying to brush that spot again.

Alex doesn’t seem to hear him, or else is ignoring him as he scissors his fingers in and out, and Noel huffs in irritation. “Come on, get on with it!” He tries not to snap, failing miserably.

A laugh. “Well, aren’t you just begging for it now?” Alex raises an eyebrow once more, green eyes dark. “What’s the magic word?”

“Oh, fuck off,” Noel retorts, wanting to grind down again and trembling with the effort of keeping himself in check.

“Don’t be a brat,” Alex takes the opportunity to scold, running his fingers lightly across the sensitive skin of Noel’s inner thighs, his balls, through the dark curls surrounding his cock; everywhere but where he wants them. Noel is quickly becoming annoyed with this teasing, not least because it makes him shiver and gasp and the last thing he really wants is to give Kapranos any satisfaction.

A fingertip barely brushes the underside of his cock, just under the crown. Noel nearly bites his tongue, gripping the couch as his dick throbs and twitches in response. His hips jerk forward, and he is about to lose all control as Alex hits his prostate again.

“Just do it already,” he groans in frustration, rolling his head a little. So maybe he’s throwing a bit of a strop, but this is getting ridiculous.

Alex sighs with no small amount of amusement, withdrawing his fingers from Noel’s arse and standing.

“Since you haven’t the decency to be polite, why don’t you suck my cock ‘til you decide you want me inside you badly enough, hm?”

The glare Noel gives him is positively withering—he know, he’s done it in the mirror and nearly intimidated himself –but Alex plants one knee on the couch next to Noel’s side and takes his cock in hand.

“C’mon, you know you want to suck me. Just look at you, you’re gagging for it already.” Alex reaches out to tweak one of Noel’s nipples, already pert from chill, and seems to enjoy the shiver it sends through him. Noel vaguely wants to kill him, and the feeling doubles when Alex leans over and takes his cock in hand; he rubs it against Noel’s cheek, smearing a wet line of pre-cum down to Noel’s lips.

Noel doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. Just glares, feels the rush of heat to his groin and face and chest. He shouldn’t be enjoying this. Fuck, he shouldn’t like this at all, but he is, and he can’t stand it, how his cock jerks when he feels the slick head of Alex’s prick rub all over his lips. His eyes shutter closed and he lets out a little gasp, and then Alex has a finger in his mouth, quick as anything.

Noel’s eyes shoot right back open in surprise, feeling Alex slide it against his tongue; but if there’s one thing that turns him on, it’s having his mouth fucked. By anyone, anything.

Noel decides to sod trying to save his dignity at this point— because what really does he have left of it, anyway—and swirls his tongue around Alex’s digit, thankful it’s not one that’s been up his arse. He feels a bead of pre-cum gathering at his tip, can’t remember when he was so turned on last. They both know the game by now, and while it’s one that Noel has to be coerced into playing… privately, he isn’t complaining.

“There’s a lad, not so shy now, are you?” Alex coos, running his finger over Noel’s teeth, before thrusting it in and out against Noel’s tongue once more. He leans down close over Noel, grinning devilishly. “You do like it, you bloody little coquette. Why don’t you eat me, hm?”

Unexpectedly, Alex tickles the roof of his mouth and Noel spasms instantly, opening his mouth and pulling his head back, a knee-jerk reaction to the intense, uncomfortable tingling. Once more, Alex takes swift advantage, and Noel finds his mouth being held open, gripped by the chin like a horse about to receive the bit. And receive it, he does. All he can register is the hot velvet smoothness of cock in his mouth, head held in place by both of Alex’s hands.

He tastes good, and fuck Noel wants him. Lying on his back makes for an awkward angle, but then Kapranos is murmuring how hot and sweet his mouth is, and his cock is heavy on Noel’s tongue, and he can’t bring himself to care. Noel shuts his eyes tight and lets his hands wander down to his own neglected erection, feeling the evidence of his arousal that has all but dripped down the entire length of his shaft. He never gets this wet, not for anyone.

Alex must see him touch himself, for he thrusts so far Noel nearly chokes, and his voice is pleased when he whispers harshly, “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? That pretty mouth of yours was made for sucking cock.” He twists his fingers into Noel’s hair and forces his prick in deep once more. Noel is soon blinking back tears, both from gagging and from the sharp pain as his hair is pulled. His ill-advised mascara is starting to sting his eyes; his hand moves feverishly on his own dick, needing more.

Alex’s laugh is clipped, short. “You vain little bitch, I know you must spend hours on that fucking hair of yours.” He’s hitting the back of Noel’s throat and there is an awful, guttural noise to accompany the disgusting gagging sensation that seizes Noel, every muscle clenching and ready to riot.

“Just pray I don’t decide to come all over it.”

And then he is pulling away, and Noel is coughing, rolling over onto his side as he struggles for air, thick spit dripping from his mouth onto the couch, the floor. Even before he is finished gulping for breath, Alex’s fingers are sliding between his buttocks once more, pushing a thumb into his entrance, still slick with lubricant. Noel yelps in surprise at the intrusion, trying not to choke on his tongue this time. Alex pulls out after a moment, just toying with him. Or perhaps reminding him just how much he wants to be fucked right now.

And he hates to admit it, but he wants it. And bad. His pulse is racing, feeling raw, and he can feel blood rushing through him, the heat of his body and mind all centered on his cock, his arse.

“Where were we?” Alex asks, reaching down to the floor in front of the couch to pick up a condom from where he must have set it earlier. Noel looks up at him through his fringe, which is already starting to cling to his forehead despite the chill of the room.

“Please fuck me,” he rasps, coughing to clear his throat.

Ripping open the condom with his teeth, Alex tosses the wrapper aside and chuckles, a low rumble emanating from his thin chest as he rolls the rubber onto his spit-slicked cock and gives it a stroke.

“Bend over and face the back of the couch,” he instructs, tone booking no room for argument. Noel obeys, feeling only a little exposed with his arse in the air. He is no stranger to this, but the situation is unnerving in both pleasurable and uncomfortable ways. Alex uncaps the lube and anoints himself before chucking the bottle aside and pressing the head of his cock to Noel’s entrance.

He thinks something can be said for the stretch and burn, the initial pain of entry, the fullness. Noel hates being too prepared, likes the hurt; all protesting aside, there is a depraved part of him that likes being spread wide open, taken hard. No mercy, all heat and rough and burn.

Alex sinks into him, buried to the hilt, and draws out agonizingly slow. Noel imagines his face, can tell he’s savoring the hot clench like he probably savors aged wines and poncy fucking cheeses. Fucking cunt.

Alex suddenly slams in hard and sets a brisk pace, bolstering himself on Noel’s hips, rutting him into the couch. Noel lets his head fall back, back arching and tensing as Alex thrusts quick and smooth. Each time, Noel is pushed roughly against the scratchy couch, and he pushes against the sagging cushions, trying to rock into Alex. It is awkward, and he knows he’ll be sore later, but the rush of fucking a practical stranger in a seedy dressing room has a certain thrill to it; and he’d be lying if he wasn’t turned on by Alex’s bloody nerve.

“You stupid, dirty slut,” Alex grits through his teeth, voice low and dark. “I could have you any way I wanted. You’d just sit there and let me take it all, wouldn’t you?”

Noel ignores him, or tries to—he hopes the vague heat in his face is just from arousal and exertion. He’s not going to give Alex anything more, not if he can help it. The man seems to be reading his bloody mind, so there’s no need. Alex’s lips quirk into a sharp, arrogant smirk.

“You little fucking whore, look at you.” He drawls as he pulls almost completely out of Noel, sliding back in slower this time, fingers clenching Noel’s thigh. He yanks Noel’s hair back, eliciting a yelp, and their eyes lock before Kapranos releases his hold and laughs. “Mm, the look on your face is so bloody priceless, you’re red as a smacked arse.” Noel feels his face grow even warmer as Alex rakes short nails up his thigh and slaps his arsecheek. “Such a tart,” he purrs. “You were practically begging for a cock, weren’t ya?”

Noel tries to remain impassive, but Alex moves a hand around and underneath to his cock and smears the wetness over his head, and he can’t help but moan. Alex gives a short laugh of triumph, and Noel bites his lip, shutting his eyes tightly as he’s pleasured from both directions.

“Oh, you think I can’t tell this is turning you on?” Alex gives his cock a harsh tug and a whimper escapes Noel before he can rein it in. Alex laughs again, somewhat breathless as he changes his angle and Noel can almost feel it, he’s almost right there. “You’re so fucking lovely, Christ. You’re such an easy, little tart, but you’ve got the tightest little arse.”

Alex releases Noel’s cock, to his chagrin, and reaches again to where Noel’s leg meets hipbone. He uses the leverage to slam into him, and Noel hisses in shock, “Oh, fuckin’—” and rocks back against Alex because he’s hitting just the right spot and it’s so disgustingly good.

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” Alex sneers, and then he’s pulling out, and Noel chokes back a moan of disappointment. White heat is still throbbing through him, pulsing inside where Alex was hitting him only seconds ago.

“Get up,” he realizes Alex is saying in that snotty, rich voice of his, and Noel turns his head—he’s confused, terribly aroused, and feeling more than a little sulky. He watches Alex flop down on the couch next to him, stares somewhat bemusedly as Alex looks over at him and pats his thigh; it would be an inviting gesture, were it not quite clearly a command.

“You’re going to ride me. You’re going to make me come, and if you’re good, I’ll let you make yourself come too.”

When Noel doesn’t move, Alex adds, in a dark tone, “What, are you simple? Get up.”

Noel scoffs inwardly, wondering exactly just when this quick shag had gotten so kinky, but his legs are moving of their own accord and now he’s straddling Kapranos—why in God’s name is he doing this— and trying to ignore the ill-concealed triumph in the other man’s eyes. He slavishly lowers himself onto Alex’s hard dick, the latex already exposed long enough to feel cold against his heated skin. Noel sinks all the way down until he is sitting on Alex, wondering vaguely how he is going to ride anything with only the limp sofa cushions to support him.

Five minutes later, his thighs and buttocks burning from exertion, his once-coiffed hair now sticking damp to his forehead and neck, and his heart hammering in his chest, Noel is starting to despair. He wants to come so badly— sod Kapranos, he can suck his own cock— but he can’t get the angle like this, nor the friction. Alex is leaned back against the sofa, arms behind his head, looking equal parts bored and amused as Noel struggles. He feels more humiliated by the second, and almost sighs in relief when Alex places a stilling hand on his thigh.

“Can’t take all day, got a gig to get ready for,” he states coolly, as if they’ve passed on the sidewalk and were just exchanging pleasantries. Noel wordlessly rises up off him, trying not to wince at the sudden emptiness and attempting to ignore the insistent tremble in his thighs.

Alex stands as well, turning to face him straight on. He tilts Noel’s chin up—a sudden, strangely intimate gesture that reminds him unnervingly of Julian and almost makes him scowl—and seems to appraise him.

“You did well,” he says, simply, before moving in to kiss Noel for the second time. It feels odd, entirely too familiar and all too nice for what has transpired in the interim. Noel’s legs feel like they might buckle, but it’s got nothing to do with the kiss, surely, nor the hand cupping his cheek. But he tolerates it, because he needs to come before he simply passes out, and Alex’s other hand is stroking his cock and he can’t help it, he whimpers and bucks, and if his head comes down to rest momentarily on Alex’s chest, it isn’t his fault he’s exhausted.

Alex backs him up into the couch and Noel finds himself once again on his back, legs hooked over hard shoulders. He feels a bit of annoyance at all this needless back and forth, as if Kapranos keeps changing his mind just to mess with him. Or perhaps to prolong his agony. Alex pushes into him again, and it hurts because the lube has all but evaporated, but now he’s fucking him, fucking him properly, and Noel could weep for how relieved he is.

Alex is just watching him now, not berating or praising; just silent, breathing through his nose with soft whuffs as he thrusts. Noel bites his bottom lip, eyes drifting half-shut as he feels the heat building in him, the tingling anticipation. Alex changes his angle, hits him where he needs it, and he moans open-mouthed as his back arches, muscles tensing. He fumbles blindly, trying to grip the cushions— anything to anchor him to this feeling.

“Yeah?” Alex murmurs, and it’s low and deep and electric, goes right through him like the thrum of pounding bass, and Noel bites his lip again, legs trembling wildly. And then, Alex is pressed so, so close and his arm is wrapping around to grip Noel’s cock and he thrusts deep and hard—and Noel’s eyelashes flutter like aspen leaves as his vision rolls back into blinding blackwhitecolour, silently screaming and choking on blood and sweat and sinew, and there is sweet, blessed release.

Alex leaves minutes later, and Noel is left alone, still lying on the couch, stomach splattered with his own semen. He hadn’t said a word when Alex made his exit, but the man’s parting words were still rattling inside his skull…

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

+++

A week later, at the after-party for his band’s second show at Brixton Academy, Alex Kapranos finds himself being rather unsubtly approached by one Ms. Dee Plume, who saunters up and throws her arms around him, discreetly slipping a folded wad of bills into his pocket.

Alex gives her a wry grin as she pulls back. He likes Dee, now that he’s gotten to know her marginally better than before. For dating Fielding, she’s not half bad. “Would’ve done it without that, really.” He feels obligated to say it, because it’s true.

Dee just shakes her head, lips wearing a secret smile. “Nah, I owed you one. And besides, you’re doing me a favor.”

She chuckles at Alex’s raised eyebrow and explains, having to rise on her toes to bridge their height gap. “He’s just been such a whiny fucking bitch ever since Julian got too busy looking after his family. He needed someone to put him in his place. It’s too much for one girl.” She pulls back, laughing at this.

Alex tilts his head, curious as he leans in and speaks in a lower tone. “And you don’t mind? Him being with men?”

Dee shakes her head, shrugging a shoulder. “He’s happy, I’m happy. Everybody wins.” She whacks his arm jovially, adding, ”C’mon, we all have our vices.”

Alex doesn’t miss the quick dart of her eyes to somewhere, something behind him, and then he suddenly recalls the slim, blonde woman he’d seen orbiting around Dee earlier in the evening. Curiosity stirs once more, but he quells it, for now.

“Well. I’m glad I could be of service.” He hesitates, but only for the briefest of seconds, before a small grin finds its way to the corner of his mouth. “Let me know if…” is all he needs to say.

Dee laughs brightly, and he can see now why Noel would never be able to leave her. “I think we’ll be talking again,” she winks. “Very soon.”

Alex watches her slip off through the crowd, and his thoughts drift back to the other arse he’s seen those polka-dot jeans on. Perhaps, he muses idly, Eleanor wouldn’t object to such a casual arrangement.

After all, he’s never been satisfied with just a taste.