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Ville is in the bathroom. For Bam, it's probably the first quiet time today.
First he had to make it to California. His flight was super early. He had two skating events, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. Then he made it to the venue, watched the show, hung out with the boys, and now he was extremely yet rightfully tired.
He's gonna tour with HIM for a few days. Tonight he shares a room with Ville, because the hotel was already booked full when he announced he was coming along. It was a last minute decision, actually. He was missing the guys and a phone conversation with Ville made him want to see him again. The dude always knew how to improve his mood and add that little something to his existence.
The bed seems comfortable, even though he hasn't even lay on it yet. It's calling him, luring him, and Bam does feel the sleep taking over, but for some reason he's struggling in order to stay awake. He doesn't want to go to bed. Not yet.
He just wants to distract himself, really, and he thinks that he'd like to hear from Ryan or Dico, whom he left in Pennsylvania this morning - though actually, he's been so busy in the last few days that he hasn't had the chance to get ahold of them at all. Now that time has slowed down briefly seems like the right moment to try and hear from them - maybe from his family too.
But when he clicks on the big button at the center of his cellphone, the screen doesn't light up. He tries again and nothing happens. He tries switching it on and off, and the only thing he sees is the phone company logo appear for a few seconds, then the display is black again.
He sighs, stands up. He's gonna need a charger or someone else's cell phone.
“Ville, dude,” he says against the bathroom door. “Dude, can I borrow something?”
The sound of water running is loud, it just barely covers Ville's voice humming something, a tune he can't recognize, coming from his chest and throat and mouth.
Bam is all for going apeshit in general, is all for that chaotic energy you see him display on TV even in real life, but for some reason, just going for it and using Ville's stuff without his permission doesn't sit right with him. He knocks once, but Ville doesn't hear him, even if the humming has ceased.
So he thinks, he's seen the guy naked countless times, there's no homoerotic tension between them whatsoever, so fuck it. He opens the door quietly, just a little bit.
And he's suddenly reminded of other similar times he's honestly been trying to forget.
Like that time in West Chester some months back. Ville was still with his ex-girlfriend and they'd all been partying at Bam's. It was around four in the morning, when the drinking usually stops and no one grooves to the music anymore and you end up walking over passed out people on the floor if you don't pay enough attention - or worse if you're wearing a nice pair of shoes, someone's spilled drink or even vomit. That time in the morning when you're still a little drunk yourself, but not as much, when you just want to find a spot to throw yourself onto and close your eyes until the room stops spinning and you fall peacefully asleep.
Bam was looking for said spot, maybe a couch (there was someone sleeping in his bed, Bam didn't know who and wasn't sure he wanted to find out, either), and when he thought he'd finally found it, a non-occupied couch at four in the morning in his house, right when he thought he'd finally be able to rest, he caught Ville and his then-girlfriend fucking.
Literally fucking. On his couch. At four in the morning.
Every normal person would just head off, change room, close the door, pretending they hadn't seen anything. They'd get out of the hair and move on. But Bam had never been a normal person, and he was drunk now, too, so of course that's not what he did.
Bam stood there, watching Ville thrust in and out of the girl, his ass clenching whenever he was pushing deep inside of her, breathy moans entangling together quietly, the unmistakable smell of sex pungent in the air. He just couldn't stop watching.
He could feel himself harden and then suddenly Ville's eyes were on him.
Bam was too drunk and tired to bother to look sorry or embarrassed or indignated, which he wasn't by any means, and when Ville looked at him he just stared back. Ville kept fucking her as she was groaning into his ear and scratching his back, he kept fucking her harder and harder, all the while keeping his eyes on Bam, and when she finally came he grinned triumphantly, smugly, obnoxiously. He smirked cockily and looked at Bam, only closing his eyes when his own orgasm washed over him.
They never talked about it.
Bam dismissed the matter by telling himself he was drunk and horny and everyone would be turned on if they saw two people going at it.
He didn't really dwell on the image of sweaty skin, messy brown hair, the occasional flashing of balls and cock he'd caught, he didn't dwell on the cocky look on Ville's face and how his eyelids were heavy and his lips parted.
He didn't really dwell on any of this, but it did appear in his dreams once or twice.
Another time Bam remembers but has been trying to forget, was this once in the back of a club somewhere in Europe. It was between shows and again, they had been drinking a little too much.
When weren't they drinking anyways?
They were drinking and Bam can't remember much, to be fair. He remembers it being dark, darker than other pubs he knew and frequented, he remembers the smell of beer and Ville's laughter and a strong, safe grip on his waist.
He remembers the smell of alcohol mixing with the scent of tobacco and the one of skin; he remembers it feeling too hot, too dense, the air making it hard for him to breathe, his hair sticking to the back of his neck.
Ville kissed him.
It was brief but for that moment, Bam kissed back.
They never talked about it either, and again, Bam blamed it on the alcohol. Because, of course, he wasn't interested in guys. Ville wasn't either. Alcohol makes you horny and touchy-feely and cuddly and they'd just happened to find themselves in each other's close proximity, alone, and there's nothing more to it. Just alcohol altering Ville's brain as much as Bam's.
Now he's sober. Sure he's tired and sleepy, but sober.
So he can't really blame alcohol for the fact that his body is reacting to the scene in front of him.
The scene in front of him consists of Ville naked under the water jet, hair all wet covering part of his face, hard cock held firmly in his hand.
Bam's breath catches, and he just wants to close the door and go to bed and pretend he's asleep before Ville sees him, but he just can't. Like that one time when he caught him fucking the girl, just like that one time he's staring, saying nothing, doing nothing, panicking inside and appearing perfectly still.
Ville doesn't notice him. He keeps stroking his cock as the water washes the soap away off his body, his fingers just a tiny bit loose, the movements lazy, idle. Taking his time. Bam watches as the flat of his thumb runs over the head in a circular motion, spreading something white Bam's positive isn't soap all over it, and watches as his bottom lip sticks out in a pout just barely. His eyebrows are knitted together, as if focused, his eyes barely open and fixed on his dick. When the hand goes down, stroking the whole length on its way to the balls, Bam swears he can hear a weak moan. A sound that sends a shiver down his spine.
But it's when the pace grows faster that Bam's cock gets fully hard, constricted by the fabric of his clothes. Ville's strong hand is stroking in earnest now, his back now rested against the wall, his cock looking massive from the amount of blood in its veins, from Ville's rough and deliberate touch. He sends his head back, breathing ragged, almost done, and Bam's fingers tingle. And right in that moment - right in that moment Ville looks at him, directly at him, and Bam's eyes widen.
Just like that time.
Ville smirks. He smirks that smirk of his, the one he wears when he knows he's hot shit, the one that drives girls insane and drops their panties. He isn't mad or embarrassed or apologetic - quite the contrary. He's confident and lustful and unashamed. Pleased.
“Like what you see, Bammie?”
The sentence comes out somewhat strangled, because as soon as it leaves Ville's pink mouth, ribbons of cum spurt out of his cock. His breathing is even heavier now, more ragged, but he still manages to grin in his rapture, to grin and bite his lip.
Motherfucker.
“Your pants say yes,” he says when it's over, cock softer, looking right between Bam's thighs. He chuckles.
Ville turns the water off, comes out of the shower and wraps a white towel around his hips. Looking graceful as fuck even when he does something as simple as that, with all those wet, brown curls framing his face and lips flushed red.
Which is when Bam realizes he still hasn't said a single word, but he couldn't speak for the life of him. His brain is completely empty, as if he was the one having just had an orgasm - not even a simple orgasm, no, make it the best fucking orgasm of his life.
Ville walks over to the doorway where Bam's been standing the whole time, and the latter's heart starts beating fast.
“I thought you said you weren't into dudes… I think you may want to reconsider,” Ville says.
“Remember that time we were drunk off our asses and kissed? God, I don't even remember how that happened. I just remember your lips on mine and you were kissing me like you wanted to fuck me.”
“Ville…”
“What if we did it again?”
“What?”
Bam's breath is short.
“Kissed,” Ville says, looking right into Bam's eyes, piercing green stare transfixing him. His voice is lower than usual, making Bam sigh softly. “What if we kissed again?”
Bam just might not be completely straight after all, all things considered.
He rests his lips on Ville's. Ville's shocked at first, as if he wasn't expecting it, but seems more than happy to return the kiss, resting his hands on the back of Bam's head and probing with his tongue against his lips.
Ville's wet skin makes Bam shiver, the droplets making his lips softer, his hands cold but not in an unpleasant way. And his mouth is warm and inviting, his movements sensual, languid, and Bam thinks that maybe, if this is what he's been missing out on, if this is what it feels like, then he's probably not straight at all .
“Fuckin' finally,” Ville says with a smile when they part. Bam looks down, blushes, but then Ville touches his hand, not quite holding it, but brushing with his fingers against it. It's sweet, and when Bam looks into his eyes again, he's smiling tenderly, reassuringly, in a way that makes Bam's heart burst.
Maybe it won't be that bad.