Stax wasn't the least bit surprised to find himself here. After a show, pressed roughly against the wall of the hotel room, Hollywood's thin hips and fingers pinning him there, deceptively strong. Not that he fought against it. He pulled Stax's shirt over his head and threw it across the room, as if he didn't care where it landed. As if he didn't care that their bandmembers might walk in on them at any moment and catch them like this. Stax almost wished they would. What would their expressions become to find out that their singer was regularly fucked up the ass by their lead guitarist?

Their mouths met again, always kissing like this. Displaying nothing to each other but lust and desperation, never anything more. Stax moaned into the kiss despite the bitter taste that it would have left in his mouth the next morning and ran his fingertips across Hollywood's scalp, messing up whatever crazy hairstyle he currently had. It didn't matter, Stax had seen them all, been there when he got the inspiration for each one, and consequently messed each one up by running his hands through it in situations exactly like this one.

He had a girlfriend at home. It didn't matter. Hollywood was the exception, he always had been and always would be. No one knew it, of course. They acted completely different around each other outside of these situations. Outside of these situations, these people didn't exist. Stax was in control then, he could put Hollywood in line with a well-placed nickname or inside joke which he was nearly always the butt of. But as Stax was pressed onto his back against the stiff hotel bed, he was reminded that if there was one thing he definately wasn't here, it was in control.

Hollywood's mouth descended from his own, biting, licking, sucking, kissing his skin. Stax lost track of where he was, but it didn't matter because it was always the same. And it never failed to drive him absolutely insane with lust, transforming him into some sort of malleable substance he'd never become for anyone else. Boots, socks, pants and boxers pulled off quickly and with practiced ease. Then short, sharp nails down his back and a mouth on his again, that tongue burning an imprint into his own with it's ferocity.

"Put your legs...here...like that," the voice hissing in his ear, always the same low timbre. It was almost irritating to him how quickly he complied to the command, but he didn't have time for irritation. Hollywood was inside of him again, not hesitant about his movements. He snaked an arm around Stax's back as it arched up off the matress, tensing at the intial pain. Pulling his body up a bit more, Hollywood's tongue darted out, moving quickly over the flesh, waiting until the proffering nod from Stax to start to thrust into him. They both knew the steps to this dance; they could hardly remember creating them anymore.

He couldn't think anymore after that about how routine this had become, how he'd felt every shift of Hollywood's hips a thousand times before, because each one still blew his mind. Nothing about this could be taught. Not the way that Hollywood growled out his name, not the way that he knew the slightest tensing of Stax's fingertips on his back meant for him to go harder. How he knew the exact moment in time that was right to slide one hand between their slick bodies to wrap around Stax's cock, the perfect amount of pressure to apply to the head, the distinct way to thrust into him and the specific spot to press against. It was all routine.

Stax's back arched again and Hollywood drew him up even further this time, mouth latching onto a sensitive nipple. His breath escaped through his nose in short, sharp exhalations, cooling Stax's sweat-covered skin as it ghosted across. He barely had time to notice before his entire body tensed up, his stomach constricting tightly as he clenched his jaw and came, just as hard as every other time before. And Hollywood, like always, was only a few seconds behind him, drawing himself out of Stax directly before his own release to keep from causing him any excess pain. Falling onto his back next to him, gasping for air. Lighting a cigarette, not exchanging one word as he smoked it.

Then they'd get dressed, and head back downstairs to meet up with their bandmates at some nearby bar. Stax would jokingly complain that Hollywood had to fix his make-up or his hair and held them up forever, since no one else in the band ever wore so much as eyeliner and it was another thing that singled him out from the rest. But at that moment, turning his head to catch sight of Hollywood's profile as he exhaled a plume of smoke into the air, eyeliner smeared down his cheeks a bit from sweating so much, Stax knew that he couldn't do that again. Not without asking.

"Why do you fuck me?," the question took Hollywood by surprise. It seemed harsh, offensive and intrusive, although the way it was asked was none of those things.

Raising his head off the pillow, he looked at Stax laying next to him, sweat still drying across his chest which was still heaving to regain all the air he'd lost.

"Because you're sexy," he tried, giving a winning grin. Stax's expression didn't change, he looked like he wanted a better answer, so Hollywood tried again. "Because I like it."

"Why do you like it?," Stax inquired, completely monotone like he didn't give a damn about the answer.

Hollywood shrugged his shoulders a bit and rolled onto his side, his gaze roaming across Stax's chest.

"I like it because it feels good. It's comfortable," he started. "Because I know what I'm doing. I know how I can make you squirm, I know the exact pitch of the moan you emit when I suck on the skin right...there."

One of his hands had trailed down Stax's bare chest and slid over his hip, pressing lightly against the dip in the skin right beneath it. True to form, Stax shifted slightly against the matress, but said nothing. He was still looking up at Hollywood as if expecting more of an explination. Hollywood obliged him, moving closer.

"Because I know how this spot tastes," he pressed his lips to the curve of Stax's shoulder, then dragged his tongue along the tan flesh to his collar bone. "And this one."

Stax shivered lightly but still remained stoicly quiet.

"Because I know all these things, all these places that drive you insane, and I love paying attention to them just as much as you do," Hollywood went on. "Because that means that I do know them, and every time it has an effect on you, I know I'm doing something right. Doing something right feels good, too."

Continuing completely of his own accord now, Hollywood moved back between Stax's legs, propping himself up on his elbows above Stax's shoulders to look down at him.

"And I like this, being right here against you," his gaze wandered down Stax's chest as he talked. "Because it feels right, like being inside you does."

One hand lifted, running down Stax's side and across his ass to his thigh. He brought the thigh up, encouraging Stax to wrap the leg around his body, which he did. Hollywood pushed inside of him, surprisingly hard again, causing Stax to tilt his head back and moan. He rested there, just inside of him, unmoving, until Stax brought his head back to look at him.

"You feel it too," Hollywood said, his voice a touch lower. "I can tell you do, every time this happens."

Stax conceded with a nod, wrapping his other leg around Hollywood's thin torso and urging him silently to move further inside of him. He didn't pay attention to the plea, however, moving his arm back up to prop himself above Stax again but remaining in the same position otherwise.

Their eyes locked onto each other and they stayed that way, each gaze intense, until Hollywood lowered himself against Stax's chest. With his head on his shoulder, his hands slid down to grasp his upper arms, and he spoke against the skin.

"I like it, after we both come, and we're too exhausted to move. When I can just lay here like this with you, being held by you, and it doesn't mean that I need you, or that I'm weak, or that I want more than this from you, it doesn't mean that we were fucking made for each other."

Stax literally blanched at his words, his fingertips stilling themselves on Hollywood's shoulderblades. He forced himself to pull his jaw back up but couldn't for the life of him resume a normal breathing pattern as Hollywood lifted himself up again to look down at him.

"After all, it's just sex, right?"