Fic Post: Let Me Follow You Down

[harborshore]

Title: Let Me Follow You Down
Pairing: Lyn-Z/William
Word Count: 2089
Warnings: Mild D/s, mild breathplay, dirtytalk.
Summary: Taking care and holding on. Alternatively, on getting what you need. (Also, in this universe TAI… and MSI are touring together and Gerard and Lyn-Z are not in a relationship.)

A/N: Originally posted over here. I blame airgiodslv. Or William Becket, because he's way too hot on his knees. I'll take responsibility for any remaining mistakes, though, because this is cleaned-up comment porn. The title belongs to Bob Dylan.



William is waiting for her when her set is done, standing side stage and smiling.

She has to look up when she comes close to him, but it doesn't matter, that'll never make her back down; her skin is humming low low bass notes and she wants to touch and she wants to take. And she thinks he wants that too, it's in the way he's standing, open smile, waiting quietly.

So fucking beautiful.

When she's close enough, she hands her bass over to Brenda, their tech, and then steps in even closer. He doesn't move, just breathes in sharply, and she knows she's grinning. If Steve saw her now he'd make a joke about watching out, "Lyn-Z's on the pro-owl," but her band's already in the dressing room and William is looking at her, meeting her eyes steadily.

"Hey," she says, cutting through the noise around them. "Let's get out of here."

--

It's a hotel night, and Lyn-Z is ever so fucking grateful for it, standing in the hallway behind William as he's fumbling with his key card. She wants to do this in his room, knows his band are off "somewhere else", William had said, whereas hers will be around. She also wants to keep it in his room because, well. She’s not the one who needs to feel safe.

She slides her hand further up his back, hooks two fingers into his necklace and pulls, lightly, listening to the way his breathing speeds up.

"Are we ever getting inside?" she asks mildly.

"You try it," he says, and she grins, crowding him closer against the door and reaching around him, wiggling the key card and grinding her hips forward into his. He laughs a little, leaning into her, and she scrapes her teeth over his back through his thin t-shirt when the door swings open.

Pushing, she walks them both into his room. One hand on his hip turns him around to face her again, and she looks at him carefully.

Still with her: good. He's smiling, but he's still for her, shoulders down and relaxed. Shit, how is he this good already?

He doesn't need to tell her what he wants tonight (his stage show did that for him), but: "I want your word," she says. "Just in case."

He closes his eyes for a second and opens them again. "Window," he says, and she nods, repeats it, and then she reaches for his necklace again, hooking two fingers around it and twisting, pulling down.

Fuck, when he folds down onto his knees—it's always like nothing else, like no one she's ever seen before. She can't keep herself from thumbing over his cheekbone, his lower lip, but she twists the necklace tight, tighter to make up for it.

She's not actually preventing him from breathing, not yet, but she doesn't think it's about that for William, anyway. It's that she could, it's that she's standing over him like this and he has to stay still, he has to stay still and wait and listen to her.

And it's about what she tells him. "So pretty like this," she says, low. "You're pretty on your knees, is that why you do it on stage, why you bend like you do?"

He bites his lip hard and Lyn-Z twists the necklace again, pulling a little. "I asked," she says.

Closing his eyes, he nods, and she pulls again. "Eyes on me," she says. "I like the way you look at me."

He shudders at that, and opens his eyes again, looking up at her. His gaze is so dark now, and she knows her own eyes have got to be mirroring that, must be. She bites the inside of her own cheek, because she can't do this too fast, can't.

Maybe—"Arms up," she says, and he raises his arms, stretching them.

Lyn-Z bends low to pull up his t-shirt, scratching over his stomach, and toys with the idea of telling him to hold on to it, to keep his arms behind his head, but she pulls it all the way off.

He's so pale in the soft light of the room. The slow, slow, slow is getting to her but the fact that it’s getting to him, fuck, that's better than speeding it up would be, so much better.

"What if I told you to lean back, just like this," she says softly. "You'd do it, right?"

William shudders again, and she feels it, hand touching his neck, and then she feels it when he nods, breathes a "Yeah."

"Okay," she says, and walks around him, fingers following his necklace until they're curled over the nape of his neck.

"Okay," she says again, kneeling. "Come on, I've got you," and he leans back until he can put his head on her shoulder and she can get her free hand into his hair, scratching over his scalp.

Fuck, but Lyn-Z wants, so much, she wants to pull hard and make him bend further, knows he wouldn't say a word, would follow her hands like a dream, but this, oh, this.

Turning his face into her neck, he mumbles something. She tugs at his hair.

"Again," she says.

"I want to touch you," he says, clearer.

Lyn-Z laughs, low. "You don’t get to touch me until I say," she says.

William nods. "Please," he says, "I want to—please."

Lyn-Z makes a noise without meaning to, because William's almost begging, not quite, but the fact that he asks, like that, shit. She can't help it when her hand tightens in his hair and she does pull, this time, pulls and watches as he arches further into her, into her hands.

That makes her decide. "I'm going to move a little further back, sweetheart," she says, "I’m gonna move further back and you're going to stay right where you are but bend with me, alright?"

Lyn-Z twists the necklace when William doesn’t reply right away and he gasps, nods against her and says "Yes, okay."

"That's good," she says, "that's good, you're so good, come on—" and she starts shuffling backwards on her knees, and he has to bend with her, follow her. Lyn-Z has to close her eyes for a second at the way he looks, stretched out like this.

"You can put one hand down, help me hold you up," she says, and he does, breathing carefully. With the way his head is on her shoulder, she's still taking a fair amount of his weight and she grins to herself, because touring always makes her stronger.

"God, I want to mark you up," she says, taking her hand out of his hair and sliding it down his back, tracing his spine.

"I want you to," William says, then flushes, like he hadn't meant to say that.

"Oh, sweetheart," she says, smiling into his hair. "Not tonight, but oh, you’re so good. And I will, I promise I will."

She keeps talking, keeps holding him and touching him and talking and he stays still, so still, until he makes a noise that doesn’t sound like—

"Need to move?"

"Sorry," he says, gasping a little. "It’s just—"

She hushes him and carefully starts moving again, helping him upright and then to his feet.

Lyn-Z walks him a few steps forward until they're standing by the bed. Trailing one hand down his front, she undoes his jeans buttons one by one, slowly, and smiles against his back when he gasps and has to stop himself from squirming.

Then she pushes him lightly.

"Down," she says, and William draws a breath and crawls onto the bed, lying down on his stomach. "Pants, get your pants off," she continues, and he squirms out of his jeans while she watches, aching to touch. Just, so much fucking skin, what is she supposed to do with herself?

She helps him pull his pants off when he's gotten them down to his knees, and climbs onto the bed, straddling his legs.

"No underwear?" she says, running a hand up the back of his thigh and squeezing his ass.

"Ah," he says, "No—haven't done laundry."

"Not because you like it, then?" and she keeps touching, scratching at his inner thigh while he tries not to move.

"No—" and she pinches, hard, "shit, okay, maybe, a little."

Lyn-Z grins. "I like it too," she says, "but I like it best when you’re underneath me, like this. You like it too, right?"

William breathes in shakily and nods against the pillow. "I do," he says, low, "I like it, I like it so much."

"It’s been too fucking long," she agrees, bending to kiss at the small of his back. "I want you, baby boy, I want to fuck you."

"You can," he gasps, shifting again. She pinches him for that, nails scratching down his other thigh, but he likes that, she knows.

"I'm gonna get off you for a second," she says and he shakes his head.

"Don't," he says, and she smooths a hand over his lower back.

"Just for a second," she says, "I have to take off my underwear."

"I could work around them," he says, and she grins. Shit, even when he’s down, he knows what he wants.

"I thought you wanted me to fuck you."

"Later," he says, "Please, I just, I want to touch you, please."

Lyn-Z slides off and he makes an unhappy noise. "Look at me," she says, and he turns his face on the pillow. His eyes are so goddamn dark, she can't—but she makes a decision, then.

"You've been good," she says, "you've been really good, you can have what you want," and he smiles at her, smiles like there’s nowhere in the world he'd rather be than here.

She takes her underwear off while he's still looking at her, then gets back on the bed, right hand on the headboard and tangling her other hand in his hair. "Down, just a little," and he shifts until he's where she wants him. "Work your way up, now," she says, loosening her grip enough so he can move comfortably.

William nods, nudging at her thigh with his nose. Lyn-Z slides her left leg over his shoulder, poking him with her big toe. He grins against her skin.

She maybe likes that the most about him, about them, the fact that they keep laughing together. This, being like this, she’s done it for a long time and it's, it's just her, but he makes her remember there's a joy in it, too.

"Keep going," she says, and he does, because even when he’s laughing, he's so goddamn good.

So he scrapes his teeth over her skin, just enough, getting closer, and she tells him how gorgeous he is, again, how well he’s doing, again, and when he licks up her cunt, licks and licks and licks, she curses and holds him down.

"My show now," Lyn-Z says, breathlessly, and his eyes flutter shut and he stays still, keeps licking, while she rocks her hips up into his mouth and fuck, fuck, this, this.

Coming is like—sparks is a stupid metaphor, and yet that's what it is, sparks under her skin, pulling her under. She thinks she probably says his name, she knows she's laughing again, and when she resurfaces he's looking up at her. His face is—oh, shit, oh.

"Come here," she says, pulling, and he goes, of course he does, follows her hand until he's on his knees between her legs. She traces his cheeks, his lips.

"You look good like this," she says. "I'm all over you."

"I like it," he says, shuddering like he's the one who just came.

Speaking of which. "You want?" she says (he hasn't asked, but he's certainly earned it) but he shakes his head.

"Not yet," he says, "not yet, I just want to, you know."

Lyn-Z kisses him then. "Of course, sweetheart," she says, "of course." Hand gentle in his hair, she gets him to stand up with her so she can pull the covers back, and then they get in, his head back on her shoulder. She's running her fingers through his hair now, slow, slow.

"Like this?" she asks, and he nods. She can feel him settling down.

"Just like this," he says, and she kisses the top off his head.

"Yeah," she whispers. The night moves on.