Summary: He knew where this train was headed. (sequel to "watcher of the skies" and "we're waiting for you (come join us now)", and "rainfall means two things")
Disclaimer: : Any similarity between the fictional version of the person or persons portrayed here and the actual person or persons is purely coincidental. This is a work of fiction. This is not an attempt to defame the character of said person(s) on the basis of libel, as the work is FICTIONAL (and NOT an intently false statement created with the express purpose of misleading others about the actual character of said person or persons). I am not casting aspersions on the sexual orientation or activity of the characters represented within, and furthermore if Mr. Peter Gabriel ever stumbles across this, I'm very sorry sir. You're just so hot.
“So we’ve got good news,” was Phil’s greeting when Peter and Mike walked into the studio. Fortunately, nobody commented on their late arrival together, but Tony gave them one of his indecipherable but meaningful looks.
“Do tell,” Mike said offhandedly, going straight for his bass and making sure it was tuned.
“None of the instruments are broken!”
“That’s a relief.”
Mike’s eyes flickered over to Tony, but Tony’s expression was, as usual, blandly unreadable. For some reason, the ground beneath his feet seemed unstable for a second, but suddenly Phil was banging out a count on his drum and Mike was swept up into the music, into Steve’s riffs and Phil’s drums and Tony’s delicate keyboards and Peter’s even more delicate voice and, quietly but insistently beneath it all, the heartbeat of his bass. Nothing in the world was more soothing than the gentle vibrations the rhythms sent through his chest.
Well, he thought, his mind briefly flashing back to last night, to laying in bed, jumbled up with Tony and Peter, almost nothing.
It was fascinating, actually, how quiet Tony was. How easily he took Peter’s musical directions, how he calmly sat back and let Peter – and, to an extent, Phil, who always had a lot of ideas – boss him around, musically speaking, telling him to play a key higher, a measure faster, a note different. He obeyed almost wordlessly, asking only for clarification, and somehow this show of what Mike now knew to be false submissiveness turned him on even more.
By the time they had finished their extremely productive session in the studio, it was getting late, and the band walked back to their hotel together.
“I’m getting an early bus, so I’m going to just crash,” Steve said.
“Me too,” Phil concurred, yawning wide. “What about you, Mike?”
“Mike’s going to have some drinks with us,” Peter answered for him.
I am? “I guess I am,” Mike shrugged, looking at Peter and then glancing at Tony, a question in his eyes. Tony gave the most subtle of nods, and Mike felt a knot of tension in his chest loosen slightly.
“Are we actually going to be drinking?” Mike asked as soon as they were in their hotel room.
“Do you need to be drunk for this?” Tony asked, with only a little humor, the implication being that Mike was having some sort of sexuality crisis.
Mike was not, in fact, having any sort of crisis over what the repercussions might be for his orientation. True, he had mostly dated girls, but he’d hooked up with guys too. He liked what he liked, and he was pretty secure with himself.
Of course, this wasn’t a random bar hookup, this was Peter and Tony…and, perhaps most importantly, Peter and Tony.
Again, he had the curious sensation of the ground underneath his feet shifting. But then Peter slid out of his coat and into his arms, and everything suddenly became solid.
Mike’s hands settled on Peter’s hips as they kissed lazily. Tony made a noise of approval and Mike could feel Peter grin, and suddenly the kiss became a whole lot more pornographic, not that he minded. Moans and groans and tongues and Peter’s fingers tangled in Mike’s hair, the shorter man standing on his toes in order to be able to reach.
After a few minutes, Mike reluctantly broke the kiss, sucking for a moment on Peter’s lower lip. But he knew where this train was headed, and he knew who the conductor was.
“Tony?” he asked, turning towards his friend, whose eyes were nearly black with lust. A shiver went down his spine.
“I want Peter to ride you,” Tony said quietly, complete authority in his tone.
“Yes,” Peter hissed triumphantly, already starting to take his shirt off. Mike just swallowed, trying to stop himself from whimpering at the mental images that were going through his head. He was less than successful on that front.
“And will you be watching?” he managed to get out without his voice shaking too much.
“No, that’s more your area. I’m a bit more…hands on,” he grinned.
Mike felt himself being guided back towards the bed, and he hit the edge and went down with a slightly thump. He could feel Tony behind him, and the next thing he knew his shirt was being lifted up.
“Very nice,” Tony said conversationally, and Mike blushed a little – although he would deny that if anyone asked. He was neither muscular like Tony nor lithe like Peter – he was just awkwardly lanky, and very tall. But hey, if they liked it…
He was distracted from Tony’s hands roaming up and down his chest by the unbuckling of his belt. It turned out to be Peter, who unzipped his jeans and managed to pull them all the way off, Mike having kicked off his shoes the minute he walked in. Peter’s eyes widened in surprise and delight.
“You’re not wearing-”
“Didn’t have time to put ‘em on this morning,” Mike replied as he lounged there, completely naked.
“You’ve got a naughty streak,” Tony whispered in his ear as Peter clambered out of his own clothes. “Unexpected.”
Mike shivered at the hot breath ghosting across his skin. “I’m a box of surprises,” he grinned, scooting back towards the headboard as Peter crawled, naked, into his lap.
He had been hard before but now it was turning towards desperation as suddenly there was warm, naked skin everywhere he could touch. Peter settled into his lap, their cocks grinding against each other, and Mike hissed, seizing the opportunity to kiss Peter again, letting his hands roam everywhere he pleased, up and down surprisingly muscular arms, over a broad back, down to a slim, tapered waist, and finally grabbing the flesh of Peter’s ass firmly in his hands. Peter wiggled – he was, apparently, as hard as Mike – and Mike took that as the cue that he should get the lube. But when he went to reach for it, he came up empty-handed.
Suddenly, there was a dip in the mattress as Tony knelt behind Peter, over Mike’s long, long legs.
“I’ve got it,” he announced. “Thought you might need a little help with the prep.”
Mike was honestly grateful, because the mere thought of what they were going to do made him feel all clumsy inside. Tony poured some of the slightly coconut-scented oil on his hands and reached down, slicking up Peter’s entrance and sliding one finger inside. Peter gasped, his muscles suddenly tensing and relaxing, a movement that Mike could feel every bit of. Mike leaned forward, beginning to trace his tongue over Peter’s collarbone and up his bared throat, but was interrupted by Tony.
“I could use a hand with this.”
Wordlessly, he held out of his hands and Tony gave him some of the oil. He slicked it over his hand and, holding his breath for reasons he couldn’t quite name, slid his hand down and slipped his finger into Peter, right next to Tony’s.
Peter moaned loudly at that, back arching with the sensation, and Mike couldn’t blame him. He’d be arching off the bed, too, if he didn’t have the weight of two men pinning him down. Peter’s hips undulated as he and Tony slid their fingers together, in and out, stretching him open. It was one of the most intimate connections Mike had ever experienced.
“Please – please, more,” Peter whispered, rolling his hips to get Mike and Tony’s fingers as deep in him as he could. But, evidently, it wasn’t enough.
“Miiike,” he whined.
Mike chuckled breathlessly. “It’s not up to me, now is it?”
Peter huffed. “Tony?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, voice surprisingly calm and even. “I rather like you like this.”
Mike had to admit, despite his raging hard-on, that he was enjoying teasing Peter too. The feeling of him around his fingers, of using him like he would his bass, was indescribable. And, of course, Tony had a pianist’s hands, long and elegant and very, very talented. Together, they played Peter like a song.
Peter whined again, trembling with need, and Tony grinned. “Well, I suppose so. Mike, if you would?”
Mike shifted his hands to Peter’s hips and helped him sink down slowly onto his cock. He hissed at the sensation, restraining himself from thrusting instinctively up into the tight, wet heat. He let Peter take his time, his body adjusting to Mike’s girth, until he was finally fully sheathed inside the elfin singer.
Mike was still holding on to Peter’s slim hips when Tony’s hands covered his, anchoring them both and helping to set a pace as Peter began to shift his body up and down, pulling himself almost all the way off before sinking back down again, fully impaling himself on Mike’s cock. Peter was surprisingly silent for the moment, making delicious little breathy noises, biting his lower lip. Mike leaned up and kissed him gently, sensuously, nipping a little and enjoying Peter’s whimper.
At Tony’s guidance, Peter began to move faster, and Mike broke their kiss to look over Peter’s shoulder, and there was Tony, right there, pupils blown wide with lust and looking so very beautiful, and dangerous. Peter tilted his head to the side, giving them room, and suddenly Mike was kissing Tony, fast and hard and exactly how he had wanted to for so, so long.
Tony growled in the back of his throat as their tongues slid against one another, as if battling for dominance, although everyone in the room knew who was in charge. Tony’s hands squeezed harder, and so did Mike’s, and Peter was probably going to have bruises in the morning, but none of them cared. Hell, Mike wanted to see bruises on his pale, perfect skin, wanted to see the marks he left, wanted evidence that this wasn’t some fever dream…
“I can’t see you guys from this angle,” Peter huffed, voice strained.
Tony chuckled darkly. “How about on your knees, hmm? Would you be able to see us kissing from that angle?”
Peter moaned wantonly, voicing his approval, and Mike couldn’t help but agree. God, he wanted to do that, to do everything and anything that was possible with the three of them – that is, if the two men would have him. He pressed his lips to the side of Peter’s throat, gently but firmly leaving a mark. Tony, following his lead, did the same to Peter’s other side, the younger man writhing between the two of them. Tony’s grip had loosened, allowing Peter to ride Mike in earnest, as hard and as fast as he wanted. Mike slid a hand around Peter and, after a moment of fumbling, grasped Tony’s cock, which was achingly hard.
“Yes,” Tony gasped, his fingernails digging into Peter’s chest and dragging down as Mike began to jack him to the same rhythm Peter was riding him.
There may have been tension in the room, but it was nothing compared to the tension in Peter’s body, and he came first, shaking all over, seed spattering across Mike’s stomach. He slumped forward for a moment, Mike catching him and holding him close, but a light slap on his ass – courtesy of Tony – got him moving.
“Keep going,” Tony ordered. Peter moaned brokenly, but obeyed, letting Mike pound into his spent body.
“You like this, don’t you?” Mike said, voice low and deep. “You like being fucked, being used, like a slut-”
“Yes,” Peter whispered, face resting in the crook of Mike’s neck.
Tony gasped, an unexpected sound. Mike looked up, locking eyes with Tony, and that was what pushed them both over the edge. They came within seconds of each other – Tony all over and Mike deep inside Peter.
They slumped like that for a moment, Mike supporting the weight of the three of them, letting the aftershocks course through their bodies. Then they began to disentangle themselves, Tony helping Peter slide off of Mike. The singer, utterly worn out, barely moved. Tony began to get off the bed, but Mike stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
“No. Let me.”
Tony looked at him with a curious expression on his face – it might have been nervousness, in a different setting. But Mike was firm. He got off the bed and went to the bathroom, wiping Peter’s come off himself before retrieving a warm, damp towel and returning to the bed, gently cleaning up the other two. Peter mumbled appreciatively, and Tony smiled enigmatically.
He was good at taking care of people. He always had been.
“That was bloody fantastic,” Peter sighed, rolling over and smiling sleepily.
“I thought so too,” Tony said, back to his calm self. “What did you think, Mike?”
Mike collapsed on the mattress, suddenly exhausted, his bones humming with the satisfied feeling he normally only got after playing an amazing show. “I think you two have ruined me for girls, is what I think.”
“Well, our fans are sure to be disappointed,” Tony chuckled.
“Leaves more for Phil and Steve,” Peter grinned.
“Ugh, don’t mention them while we’re in bed.”
Mike laughed along and watched as Tony twisted a lock of Peter’s hair around his finger. Something twisted in his chest too, but he ignored it.