By Queen of Nails and Tom
Carlos looked at the girl in the Interpol t-shirt. “Can you spell that, please?”
His hand trembled as he signed his name across the CD case. The girl seemed happy as she walked off towards
her giggling friends. Carlos glanced to his right at Paul, but Paul’s face was set firm, revealing none of the turbulence
that was currently animating Carlos’ elegant features. It was just a quick glance, but enough for Carlos to understand
not to show a trace of response on his face. That was easier said than done.
Below the table, out of sight, Paul’s fingers were tracing the inner seam of Carlos’ tight black trousers. His palm
was warm against Carlos’ thigh. Carlos swallowed, hard and dry. Another fan approached him, blushing and sweet.
Apart from his shaking hands and a tightness at his jaw, Carlos was able to sign her CDs.
By now Paul’s hand was on the firm curve of Carlos’ inner thigh, almost brushing against the growing mass of
Carlos’ cock. He squeezed Carlos’ taut thigh, smiling broadly, secretly, to himself. Carlos was glad for the thick
layer of Mac powder he had applied earlier with infinite care. Otherwise, he would be blushing wildly. He was
getting an erection, here, now, in this room filled with people. His cock was thick and needy against the tips of Paul’s
curious fingers, probing through the black fabric. Carlos was desperately grasping at self-control, although a part of
him would have done anything to relieve the hot pressure in his groin. An image filled his mind: an image of Paul
fucking him hard over the signing table, while all these fans and the rest of the band looked on.
“C-can I take a picture of you and Paul?” The girl was nervous, but polite.
Carlos glanced at Paul, who was leaning into shot. Under the ruse of posing for the photo, Carlos wrapped his
arm around Paul, pulling the singer’s warm body hard against him. The girl took the photo and moved on. Thrusting
his hand down the back of Paul’s jeans, Carlos pinched the singer’s arse with delicious cruelty. Paul gasped loud
enough to attract an enquiring glance from Daniel.
“Everything okay, Paul?”
Paul was flustered, ever so slightly. “Um, stomach cramp. Something I ate.” He caught Carlos’s eye, staring hard
at him from below the brim of his hat.
Carlos looked over at Daniel. “Paul’s not feeling well. Could we take a break for half an hour? I’ll get him some
water or aspirin or something. Come on, Paul.”
The two fled the table before Daniel could say anything. With an expression of piqued curiosity, Daniel watched
as the two walked quickly towards the back of the store. He could swear they were holding hands.
“What’s the big idea?” Paul said, fixing Carlos with a challenging, slightly agitated stare.
“You only brought it upon yourself.” Carlos’s hand slid down Paul’s chest and over the rising tent at the front of
Paul’s trousers.
“But Carlos, there are still fans mmph.” Paul forgot what he was going to say as Carlos’s mouth attacked his.
So did Daniel. Having been suspicious, as he had been of the two lately, the guitarist was peering through the
doorjamb, praying that he wouldn’t be noticed. He saw as Carlos pushed his tongue past Paul’s lips, he saw as Paul
shoved his hands into Carlos’s hair and heard the quiet moan that came from deep in Paul’s throat. He was half-
tempted to walk in, but bewilderment and disbelief entrenched him firmly in his congealing airspace. He wanted to
look away, or so he thought, but watching Carlos bite ferally at Paul’s lips and pale throat was hypnotic. Trying to
hold his breath, he covered his mouth with his hand; his lungs were already burning.
“I want you. I fucking want you.” Carlos whispered into Paul’s ear. The smile on Paul’s face made Daniel’s
cheeks flush and his mouth hang open, all breath holding forgotten.
“But now?” Paul began, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth.
“Now.” Carlos said, his voice coercively silky and dark as hot syrup.
Paul sighed in amused resignation. “I suppose it is my fault.”
“That’s right! And now you have to finish what you’ve begun.”
“Well, damn it all.” Paul smirked as Carlos pressed him against the far wall. With a swift, strong motion, Paul
reversed their positions, now shoving the tall bassist up against the sheetrock.
“You want me, Carlos?” Paul murmured, his breath teasingly hot against Carlos’s lips. Carlos leaned forward to
kiss him, but the vocalist dodged, instead meeting Carlos’s jaw with sharp teeth. “You want me to fuck you?”
“Yes,” Carlos breathed, seizing Paul’s waist and shoving their hips together with an almost brutal force. Paul
gasped, but quickly regained a grasp on his rescinding self-control.
Daniel, meanwhile, was losing all his restraint. He didn’t realise he was shaking as he pressed his face so hard
into the corner that it would leave a deep indent in his forehead later.
Paul broke away, pushing Carlos back against the shelf with more lust than aggression. He licked his lips and
grinned as Carlos frowned in confusion. The bassist reached to grab the front of Paul’s sweater. Paul stepped back
and shook his head.
“Horny slut.” He smiled enough to soften his words. “Dirty little whore. Are you really that desperate to be
fucked?”
There was no time for coyness. Carlos nodded, his bedroom eyes molten with arousal.
“Touch yourself,” whispered Paul. He glanced around. “It’s okay, no one will see. I want to watch you touch
yourself. Please?”
It was the ‘please’ that did it. Carlos unzipped his close-fitting pants and drew out his long, thick cock. Paul bit
his lip, his face rapt with concentration. He moaned – quietly, sympathetically – as Carlos began to work his dick
with long, sensuous strokes. Carlos felt vulnerable and exposed, but it drove him on, it drove him upwards. The
thought of someone walking in, catching them…it was almost too much. Carlos was hard already and getting harder.
The tips of Paul’s fingers tingled with the memory of holding that beloved cock before. His mouth watered, too, for
all the times he had ran his tongue over that delicious length. Carlos’ parted lips were wet and pink. His breathing
became shallow as this lust took him, more urgent and desperate than ever before. He smiled at Paul through the
strands of his fringe, his hair becoming chaotic as he jerked himself off with less and less restraint.
Paul smiled back. “My dirtiest, darkest little secret; my beautiful boy.”
He stumbled towards Carlos, needing that long pale body against his own. Just outside the door, Daniel had sunk
to his knees. He had bitten his lip hard as he had watched Carlos do…that… to his body while Paul watched. Beads
of sweat had broken out on his forehead. He tugged automatically at the front of his pants, desperate to relieve the
sudden uncomfortable pressure. He was getting turned on. As humiliating as it was to admit, he was getting very,
very turned on. Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t being watched himself, he cupped his hand over the hard
bulge of his cock and pressed his eye to the door once again.
Paul had nearly come himself as Carlos came into his own hand, the milky fluid trickling in between his pale,
slender fingers. Carlos slumped against the wall, only to be attacked by the blonde vocalist, who assaulted him with
lips, teeth and fingers.
He thrust Carlos’s wet fingers into his mouth, licking away some of the fluid. The rest, he undid his jeans and
drew out his own aching cock, placing Carlos’s messy hand on it. He closed his eyes as Carlos stroked him too,
bracing himself on Carlos’s shoulders and trying to remember to breathe. It was all too much.
“Carlos!” Paul finally managed to gasp, hauling Carlos’s hand off his throbbing cock. “That’s enough.”
Carlos nodded and turned over almost automatically, pressing his chest against the wall and his arse against Paul,
reckless, needy, starved. He could hardly bear it; he needed Paul now, as deep and fast and hard as he would go.
The moan that wet his throat was desperate with passion.
He pushed his hips back against Paul. Paul tugged down the bassist’s tight black slacks, revealing his perfect
arse. Daniel bit his lip, trying not to cry out. His own hand had made its way beneath the unbuttoned waist of his
slacks, and he was denying himself the pleasure of watching Carlos—domineering, imperious, sarcastic Carlos—get
his brains fucked out up against a wall by the conversely cool Paul. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t…He found
suddenly that he could as his fingers encircled his own cock.
Carlos made an urgent sound, pressing back against Paul uncontrollably. “Please, Paul, please,” He begs, almost
visibly flushed; it showed in his lips, the only place he wasn’t wearing makeup, and they were red and ripe with
kisses. Paul sank his teeth into the bassist’s shoulder as he pushed in, biting hard to distract him, but it seemed there
was no need for it; Carlos pushed back against him every moment, truly desperate, truly hungry. He reminded
himself vaguely of what to expect from now on.
“Fuck, Paul, yes,” Carlos moaned thickly, his fingers digging into the plaster walls.
Daniel was tempted; he wanted to moan those things too. Lost in his self-pleasure, he gnawed his lower lip to
keep silent; he didn’t want to be caught now. His face was still pressed hard against the doorjamb and his breath
reflected hotly against his face as he avidly watched the show unfolding in front of him.
Paul was fucking Carlos harder and harder, faster and faster. Daniel was amazed by how aggressive it looked.
Something inside quivered at the violence, the passion. The look on Carlos’ face was a glimpse of a world of
pleasure and pain he had never dared imagine. His entire consciousness was binding itself to the act in front of him,
tangling his friends to him with the tiniest, strongest tendrils. So involved was Daniel that he began to jerk himself in
time with Paul’s powerful thrusting, as if he were an intimate part of the act he watched.
“More.” Carlos was pushing back into Paul, slamming his tight arse back against the singer’s hips. Paul’s
fingers gouged his hips, his nails scratching into the flesh, enough to sting. “More!” Louder, like a starving man
begging to be fed. The pain was just another sensation to work through. The idea of being marked by Paul’s lust,
autographed with the beautiful wounds of his desire…Carlos’ cock twitched, hungry for its own attention.
“Paul? Touch me! Touch my cock, please!”
Paul paused in his fucking. His face showed the effort as he reached forwards, and firmly gripped Carlos’ stiff
organ. His other hand slid temporarily across Carlos’ flat belly, still concealed beneath that silky, slinky shirt. His
hand simultaneously squeezed Carlos’ slender tummy and pulled the whole of the bassist’s body back into him.
Carlos mewled wildly. He could feel every inch of Paul, from the swollen tip to the thickened base, trapped deep
inside his hot secret cavity. He keened, quietly. Carlos had lost all personal control, writhing and panting, his fingers
scrabbling at the wall. Paul was a little better, using Carlos’ body as an instrument for his pleasure, picking the
rhythm, driving them onwards. The bassist mewled again, his beautiful mouth stretched wide and red as he his body
was inundated with such pleasure, such wanton arousal. He squirmed slightly, and Paul bit harder into that strong
shoulder. He relished signing this pale, perfect body with his teeth and nails, tattoo-like reminders to be traced with a
sympathetic tongue later on. Paul jerked Carlos’ cock, with lust, with authority, almost with disdain.
“Ready? Ready for more, you filthy little tart?”
“Yes,” whispered Carlos. His glossy black hair fell across his face like a shadow as he nodded. “Yes.”
“Yes,” came a third voice.
Carlos gasped.
Paul’s head snapped towards the door.
Daniel had blown it; he knew this the moment he’d opened his mouth. “Fuck-all,” He muttered, rising
unsteadily to his feet, ready to make a break for it if either of them moved; as it was, he twitched nervously with
every one of Carlos’s loud, panting breaths. He still watched through the doorjamb, praying they couldn’t see him as
both those gazes fixed in his exact direction.
After a minute or so of pure silence—broken only by Carlos’s heaving breaths and the disbelieving stares cast
towards the door—Paul turned back to his winded conquest, who moaned in desperation, nuzzling his nose into the
fine, wiry hairs at the back of Carlos’s neck.
“I think someone’s out there,” He mumbled with a small smile, so quietly only Carlos could hear him.
“I don’t care.” Carlos said thickly. “Please, Paul, don’t stop now.”
Paul smirked at Carlos’s shamelessness. He shoved his hands under Carlos’s shirt and raked his nails down the
white flesh, leaving bright red streaks on the pale skin as he started his rhythm up again.
“Fuck, yeah, Paul!” He moaned, pushing back against him so hard that their bodies shook with the force. Paul
jerked at Carlos’s thick cock, a smile pulling his mouth taut in a rictus grin.
“Yeah? You like that, Carlos, you slut?”
“Oh fuck, Paul, yes,” He moaned, his mouth hanging open. Paul bit a little harder at his neck, and Carlos cried
out; Paul licked a small amount of blood off his lips, looking satisfied at his handiwork, a row of crimson jewels
among a garden of purple love bites. Words flickered through his mind: twisted. Sick. Perverted. But Carlos
seemed not to mind, and Paul certainly wasn’t going to stop now.
Daniel nearly fainted at the sight of blood, staining Carlos’s half-undone shirt, as Carlos’s whimpers rose in
pitch, coming closer, closer, all three of them. Paul slammed against Carlos as deep as he could go, driving his hips
hard into him, and Carlos shuddered, every breath an incantation of Paul’s name.
The bassist arched like a drawn bow, moaning for all he was worth, and Daniel lost it. He forgot about being
silent as Paul, too, succumbed to the rolling wave of orgasm, and he moaned, spilling into his own hand, his head
down and eyes closed.
He looked up; Carlos and Paul were moving towards the door, doing up buttons and belts, and Daniel panicked,
leaping to his feet and bolting.
He stumbled back through the record store, wiping his hand on some tissues from his pocket. He knocked into
his seat as he retook his place at the signing table. Sam looked at him with concern.
“Everything okay, Dan? You look kind of flushed.”
Dan murmured something, anything, to get him to lose interest. He pressed his palms against the coolness of the
table, willing his breath to slow, willing his heart to stop pounding, leaping in his chest like scratched vinyl. He
glanced up at the queue of fans, convinced that every one of them knew.
“You’re being paranoid. Keep it together.” He muttered to himself, and Sam was too busy waving at some girls
to overhear.
He glanced up, behind him. Carlos and Paul were languidly strolling towards him. Neither was blushing, neither
looked ashamed. In fact, Paul was grinning broadly and whispering to Carlos, who smiled back. Carlos’ hair was as
neat and straight as ever. A suit jacket covered his blood. Looking at them, you would never know. Daniel
swallowed and stared down at his hands, turning them over to inspect the palms. Something gnawed at the edge of
his consciousness, something like envy; something like lust.
Paul sat down next to him, reached for a pen and shared his smile with the black-clad mass of fan-dom that
swooned back at him. He glanced at Daniel.
“I’m feeling much better, Dan. Like a new man.”
Daniel looked back at him, his cheeks glowing rosy with ill-concealed shame. His belly squirmed, sick and
sexual. But then Paul was nodding at the promoters and handlers and Daniel felt relief take him like a cool tide. He
sighed quietly, and took a sip of drink.
Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder. Carlos. He had leaned across Paul and tugged lightly on Daniel’s
jacket to get his attention. He grabbed Daniel’s hand and pressed something hard and cool into his palm. After a
couple of achingly long moments, Daniel glanced at his hand. His tiepin.
“You must have dropped it,” murmured Carlos. A smile flickered over his lips like static electricity.
Paul was hiding a complicit grin behind the rim of a Martini glass. He placed a hand on Daniel’s thigh and
pushed his warm mouth against Daniel’s ear. “Next time, Daniel, it would be polite of you to knock. We would make
sure you got an uninterrupted view.” He squeezed Daniel’s leg and withdrew his hand.
Carlos glanced once more at Daniel with an inscrutable and irritating smirk playing at the corners of his mouth,
before turning to the young girl who stood in front of him, holding out a CD and asking for a signature.
“Could you spell that please?”