44x5 - Tumblr blog

44x5 · 10 months

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blewis big/small bath sharing situation where when? a sentance? two? a crumb? 🥺🥺🥺🥺

(nsfw) the house is dark when lewis comes home. just the under-cabinet lights in the kitchen on, a lamp in the hallway, a sliver of light cutting across the floor from the ensuite as he pads across the deep, soft rug in the bedroom.

he makes a thing of sliding shut an open drawer, dropping his phone on the dresser, loud enough that bono will hear his presence and won’t be startled when he pokes his head into the bathroom.

“you’re home early,” bono says, eyes shut, looking the absolute definition of blissed out, just his head visible above milky water and thick steam.

lewis takes that as enough of an invitation to step into the room. the scents a little off—not exactly the combo he would use. and bono has forgone lighting any of the mass of candles in lewis’s collection. there’s music though, something deep and soulful creating some semblance of a mood.

“the traffic was better than i expected,” lewis explains, leaning up against the door frame, crossing his arms and then uncrossing them. “i would’ve got an earlier flight if i knew we were having a pamper night.”

bono cracks an eye open then, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. his gaze drags up lewis’s entire body like he’s checking if anything’s changed in the three nights away from each other. lewis fiddles with his sleeve. the water sloshes as bono sits up, arms appearing from the milky depths to hug the side of the bath.

“just wanted to see what all the fuss is about,” bono dismisses easily, hand-waving at the collection of oils and salts (the fuss) before veering off. “how was it? your flight?”

bono’s chest is blotched with pink, slippery slick and entirely distracting. there’s a half empty mug of tea on the window ledge next to his glasses. something loosens in lewis’s chest.

“yeah, it was fine but long, you know. just always a long time to be cooped up,” lewis answers. “i might need to jump in there after you.”

“after?” bono’s eyebrow quirks up, he sits up a little more, revealing more pink-blush skin and puffy dark nipples. he reaches up to card a hand through his fringe, the hair under his arms clings together with wet, curling against his arms. “c’mon, there’s plenty of room, if you want.”

lewis hesitates for a moment. his unwinding time is usually sacred and mainly done in solitude. it’s the only way he can really melt away the buzz in his head, peel off the layers he’s piled on, watch it sink down the plug hole after. but then there’s bono—warm, slippery, naked bono.

“well, if you don’t mind,” lewis answers, smile stretching across his lips, already unzipping his hoodie and letting it slip down off his shoulders. “but no funny business, i’m exhausted.”

bono cracks a smile, shaking his head. “‘course not, bathtime with your boyfriend is very serious business, obviously,” he agrees, voice steady. lewis rolls his eyes, mouths boyfriend, a clench in his chest at how young that is, before he pulls his joggers off too.

bono relaxes back, plays it up a bit like he’s getting himself comfortable for the show. and it’s not like lewis to pass up the opportunity. he takes a little more time pulling off his boxers, rolling them down the curve of his arse as he bends over, saves the full money shot for the moment he uncurls his back. despite the exhaustion, his own flimsy verbal warning, and the itchy thin layer of travel-induced grime, his cock’s already stirring, just at the thought of having bono skin on skin with him again and it bobs under the weight of those thoughts as he steps up to the bath, waiting for the water to settle as bono adjusts.

“all good?” bono murmurs once lewis is snug against his chest, in his arms, in their home. he hasn’t had a kiss yet, he realises, and turns his head to fix that, not worrying about subjecting bono to his gum-stale breath—they’ve both been staler, grosser, and done much worse than a soft, sweet press of mouths.

“mmmm,” lewis hums, feeling three days of eyes all over him and camera flashes and mindless chit-chat start to melt away, seep into the hot water. bono’s hand slides off the side, slips back into the water, the wide span of his palm covering lewis’s stomach, his thumb stroking across the cut of his hip. lewis’s eyes flutter shut. “tell me about what you’ve been up to.”

bono chuckles and it vibrates through lewis’s back. if he lets his mind wander enough, he could be in the cradle of the car, the rumble of bono’s voice instead of the engine, bono’s soft, steady tone still right in his ear. “and that was my incredibly thrilling weekend,” bono finishes, after a tale of bike rides and pub catch-ups and a fight with the dishwasher. “how was yours, superstar?”

lewis’s exasperated laugh comes out as more of a sigh. he melts further into bono as he talks, filling up any of the empty space left between the circle of his arms, in the gap between his legs, water kissing the rim of the bath. he can feel bono stirring against his lower back as his fingers edge closer and closer to funny business. and it’s halfway through lewis grumbling about a mix-up with security that they breach that line, bono’s fingers slipping between his legs, resting under his balls, stroking torturously light at the tender skin.

lewis doesn’t miss a beat, carrying on with whatever tangent he was on. he might part his thighs, he might pull his knees up until they breach the water, his voice doesn’t waver though.

“and they didn’t try to fix it?” bono asks, voice barely above a whisper, breathing goosebumps across lewis’s neck.

“are you joking?” lewis huffs. the slick from all the bath oil and whatever else bono chucked in here makes the glide of bono’s hand heavenly smooth as it wraps around his cock, stroking him lazily. lewis’s limbs go more liquid, if possible.

it was only three nights, yes, but in the endless expanse of an empty bed, he missed bono something fierce. it still surprises him, sometimes, how he can feel that much for just one person. and how that person can make his entire body sing with just his palm, just his grip, just the pad of his thumb sweeping slow circles around the tip of his cock.

he stumbles over the start of saturday morning, forgets what meeting he was in but he can see the pristine glass walls, bono thumbs over his slit and that room melts away. there was lunch after—soup, probably. but all he can conjure up is static as bono twists, gentle ripples breaking the calm of the water. “i remember saying something about funny business,” lewis mumbles finally, fighting the urge to push his hips up to fuck into bono’s grip.

“is this funny?” bono asks with a squeeze. “i’m not laughing. are you laughing?”

lewis does laugh, quiet and breathless. he’s a ridiculous man. he loves him too much. “if you’re gonna break the rules then at least do it properly.”

bono doesn’t speed up, doesn’t tighten his grip. just carries on this agonisingly slow pace, fingers working like he’s never touched lewis’s cock before, like he’s committing it to memory again, thumb bumping over the veins, tracing the curve of his head. sometime between one stroke and the next, his other hand has flattened over lewis’s stomach, pressing him down, holding them together flush. bono’s fully hard now, the deliciously thick outline of his cock pressed against lewis’s back.

“i don’t think that’s what you need tonight, darling,” bono murmurs, a touch of cheek, a slathering of smug. “you're practically vibrating."

and lewis can feel it. the thrum under his skin. he'd be delusional not to be able to admit, to himself at least, that he loves the attention. loves getting dressed up and shown off and adored. but it's hard to turn off. hard to tuck that away when he steps back into this part of his life. his fingers have been itching to check his phone since the moment he put it down.

he needs to be pulled apart a little, rearranged, slowly slid back together until everything settles back in the right place. bono's always known how to do that, even before shared baths and shared spaces and before their first frantic kiss. just with his voice through the airwaves.

"yeah, yes, okay," lewis gives in, hands himself over, sighing deep as bono presses the tip of his nose to the crook of lewis's neck.

"finish telling me about your weekend." bono's lips graze lewis's skin as he speaks.

lewis tries, voice a touch unsteadier as the heat starts to build deep in his groin, burning up from the bottoms of his feet. the water’s still warm, but lewis is warmer, sweat beading at his hairline, dripping down his neck, mixing with ylang ylang and sandalwood.

it’s dizzying, maddening—the pace so fucking unbearably slow. he’s crawling towards the edge, the wave growing and growing and growing, just about to crash over his head when bono stops, squeezing tight around the base of his dick.

“fuck,” lewis curses, voice rough. he breathes in deep, breathes out again. this isn’t the first time. he doesn’t thrash like he wants to, doesn’t wrap his own fist around bono’s to take charge. his muscles tighten, he gazes up at the blank ceiling. five second breath in, ten second breath out. his head spins.

“again?” bono asks quietly when lewis sounds more steady.

lewis nods. and bono goes again. the steady, delicious drag. it builds quicker this time, pleasure swirling in a thick fog in his groin, sweeping over him so fast and then—stop. squeeze. repeat. and repeat. and lewis is whimpering, throbbing, no friction except what bono gives him.

bono dips his hand lower, blunt finger pressing against lewis’s hole, circling, teasing. lewis would let him slip it right in, would grab the back of his knees and pull them up tight to his chest, spill water all across the tiles so bono had all the room he needs to pry him open.

he can’t take it anymore. he twists his neck, water sloshing as he grips the back of bono’s head and pulls him down, slides their mouths together. the angle’s awkward, but he gets what he needs—a kiss so achingly deep, bono’s tongue dragging across his. it’s sloppy, filthy. a cut-off noise slips out of bono’s throat, deep and desperate. lewis moans into bono’s mouth, feet slipping as he tries to push himself up. he’s so turned on it’s almost painful.

“take me to bed,” lewis pants as they pull apart. and bono does. not in a dream-like romantic sweeping off his feet—they’d both end up with season-ending injuries. but they’re wincing against the cold air in one moment and sprawled across the sheets the next, still damp, limbs loose and uncoordinated from the dizzying heat.

bono follows him down, crowds over him, kisses him and kisses him as lewis cock drags across bono’s broad stomach, the slide so delicious. a sob falls past his lips. he fingers shake as he touches bono all over, his full chest and his sharp jaw, clutching at the thick meat of his arm.

“c’mon, i’m not done yet,” bono says hovering over him with a gaze that’s too tender, lashes stuck together and hair a mess.

and as quickly as bono is gone, and lewis is pulled down the bed and rolled over, bono’s mouth is back on him, a kiss pressed to the small of his back before he’s being spread by strong fingers, cold air sweeping across his hole.

lewis gasps, stretches his arms above his head, fists the sheets as bono’s tongue flattens over him, lapping at him until the taste of the bath is gone. from the build up, from the heat stripping his skin, he’s so, so sensitive, raw all over, cock swollen and sore. everything feels like too much—the scrape of bono’s stubble, the tip of his nose pressing into the cleft of lewis’s arse, his tongue pressing past the tight furl of muscles. lewis groans. heavenly, silky fabric slides across his weeping cock as he searches for friction amongst the sheets.

“please,” lewis mumbles, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. bono knows how much it takes for lewis to ask for more, he doesn’t make him ask again.

suddenly everything is slick again and the fingers that were once teasing are now relentless, stretching him open and blooming white, hot pleasure all the way up his spine. lewis curses, feels the edge hurtling closer and closer and bono deliriously thick fingers fuck into him, hard and fast, squelching with every thrust.

bono’s murmuring something, voice deep and rough and, “god, you’re so fucking gorgeous. so good for me.”

lewis tumbles over the edge, thighs shaking with it, gasping for air as he ruts against the sheets, spills across 500 thread count. the buzz settles, his spine goes liquid, he melts across the bed.

“this is why i don’t let you in on selfcare time,” lewis mumbles after a long pause, cheek smushed against the bed, lips pouted. “distracting.”

bono chuckles, laying on his side next to him, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind his ear, like it’s going to change the mess that it probably is now.

“yeah, with hindsight, probably a wise idea,” bono says. his cheeks are pink, eyes still dark, fingers stroking up and down lewis’s back.

lewis blinks blearily, reaching out a lazy hand. “here, let me–”

“lewis,” bono says gently, taking his hand and entwining their fingers. “later,” he says and kisses the back of lewis’s knuckles.

#ohhh my goodness gracious #lh #pb #bonolewis #fic

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44x5 · 10 months

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Lewis as a best man at a wedding and rolling up to steal the show and Sebastian's heart (is Sebastian the brother of the bride? I'm unsure). Thoughts on this inane half baked concept I had drunk off two glasses of wine and a truly excellent evening swim in a lake?

[not quite the same idea but ty for giving me Wedding Thoughts]

the first time they run into each other, it's 14:42 and lewis is frantically trying to find a spare outlet to charge the extra battery for his keyboard. he usually likes the older venues—more character—but not when it comes to electricity.

when he finally finds a spare conference room, there's a guy (white, blond, in a rumpled tux, guest) in there pacing with a notebook. he tries to make conversation ("are—you must be one of nicola’s friends, i’m sorry, we haven’t met, i'm sure") but lewis is already fifteen minutes behind a very carefully crafted schedule. he needs to finish getting his indoor stuff set up, and check in one more time with the planner, and do a hair and make-up check if he can find a staff bathroom somewhere, and then get the keyboard set up outside for the processional. "swing by the DJ booth later and i'll give you a business card," he says, ducked under a desk to plug in the battery, and then makes a break for it.

at 16:04, the processional starts. lewis is ready, barely; never let them see you sweat. the welcome music as guests come and sit down is always the most boring, but it also always calms him down—there's only so stressed he can be while plinking through clair de lune. the processional song itself is a nice choice—nothing wrong with beethoven—and the bride gets points for wearing those heels even though she's definitely already taller than the groom. the guy from the conference room is the best man. he's found a comb somewhere. he gives a reading: something from rilke, first in german. romantic as lewis is, by now he tends to tune out the ceremonies until people start kissing. maybe that helps him stay romantic; better not to hear how unoriginal all of it ends up being. the best man tears up ten seconds into his reading and has to take a moment to collect himself before he switches to the english translation. “it is also good to love: because love is difficult," he says, voice thick. "for one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation.” lewis tunes back out again. he knows very well how hard it is.

at 17:15, lewis is shoving his face full of vegan canapés just out of sight of where the wedding party is taking their photos. lesson learned in the first month of doing this: negotiate a break for food into the contract, or you'll end up fainting in the DJ booth and get asked for a refund.

at 18:12, appetizers are being served, guests are seated in the ballroom, and lewis is three songs into Family Friendly Easy Listening Mix (White, Under 40) when he hears "is this a bad time to ask for the business card?" the best man is looking up at him, rocking back and forth on his heels with his hands in his pockets. it's better now than during the first dance, and lewis says so while rummaging in his backpack. he does actually have business cards somewhere, he designed them himself on canva and everything. "ah, well, i have to get through my toast before then anyway," the guy says. "two speeches in one day, that's tough," lewis says, popping up with a card and passing it over the table. the guy tips his head back and forth, noncommittal. "my friends would say i do not find it a hardship to talk. you as well, probably—" he looks down at the card. "lewis. given that i am doing it now." he looks up again. his eyes are quite blue. "i am sebastian, if you would like to complain about me later." lewis just snorts. "hey man, i'm just enjoying the novelty of a guest talking to me while sober."

at 18:30, lewis has got his phone out and (hopefully) out of sight, tapping away at a response to the email he got from a festival organiser earlier today, when the maid of honor stands up to give the first toast. lewis just gets bits and pieces as he scrolls through his calendar. the maid of honor loves nicola, of course. they're best friends, of course. met while both modeling for the same agency, lived together in milan, can't wait to have kids who play together. sounds nice. good applause. the second toast is the best man. sebastian. lewis puts his phone back in his pocket. he needs to be ready, anyway—the first dance is right after this.

at 18:42, the newlyweds—nicola and mick, that's the groom's name, hashtag mickola, how could lewis forget—take to the dance floor. "can't help falling in love." after the first verse, the bride's parents step out; then, sebastian leads a blonde woman who must be mick's mother out to the floor, both their eyes still wet with tears.

at 19:10, dinner plates are being cleared away, and the cake is being set up, and sebastian is back. "i thought i would ask before it gets too loud if you take requests," he says. lewis clicks his tongue. "i dunno, man, i've got a pre-approved playlist, you look like you'll get me in trouble." the extravagant way sebastian rolls his eyes makes him laugh. "listen, if you can guess something that's on the list, i'll play it for you, how about that?" "the beatles, then." "not a whole band, man, guess a song." there is one on the list, but this is more fun. "nice toast, by the way." sebastian clicks his tongue. "i'm sure you say that to all the best men." "well, in fairness, i don't speak german, so i only got about half of it. german half might've been crap." sebastian's face crinkles up at that, his smile bright and wide and out of place in this dark corner of the party. "well, the last wedding i spoke at was mine, so let's hope these two are luckier," he says, and then he's called away for cake.

at 19:45, the dance playlist is in full swing, though still in the early few tracks that baby boomers will recognize and the kids won't hate. the newlyweds can't keep their hands off each other. sebastian is back with two pieces of cake. "don't suppose that's vegan," lewis calls to him, and his face falls. "fuck me," he says, and lewis has to laugh. "is 'in my life' on the list?" he asks, and lewis shakes his head.

at 20:33, he brings over a glass of water. lewis has a hydroflask under the table, but that's room temperature, so he reaches out and takes it. "'she loves you?'" sebastian asks, yelling over ABBA. he's lost his jacket at some point in the night. lewis shakes his head. he drains the glass, and sebastian waits to take it back from him.

at 21:19, sebastian is empty-handed aside from a mostly-empty wine glass. everyone under 30 is on the dance floor yelling along to old town road. sebastian's sleeves are rolled up; his forearms are covered with soft hair. no rings. "'all my loving?'" lewis shakes his head again, and he can see sebastian curse under his breath even if he can't hear him. "for someone not on the dance floor, you know a lot of love songs," lewis shouts to him. sebastian makes a face, takes a drink. "hard to be solo at a wedding," he says, which isn't an answer. lewis looks at him. sebastian looks back, then says, "why haven't you told me to fuck off yet?" lewis chews on his lip. fuck it. "in the conference room, before, did you think i was a model?" he asks, biting down on a grin, which isn't an answer either.

at 22:00 flat, sebastian brings over a paper bowl of strawberries liberated from the chocolate fountain. "'here comes the sun,'" he says, absolutely sure, and lewis takes a bite of sharp sweetness as he cues it up, the last slow dance of the night.

at 22:30, low lights are back on in the ballroom, and sebastian is hovering at the DJ booth as lewis shoves gear back into bags. "do you need help with this?" he asks. then, "there's still time to tell me to fuck off." lewis shakes his head. "kind of on autopilot at this point," he says. how did that happen, anyway? will he be doing this in another year's time? missing out on real gigs because every weekend is booked six months out? "just need to get all this to the train station." there's silence—when he looks up, sebastian is making a face. "don't start." "i'll call you a car." "you don't know where i live, it'd be a fortune." lewis isn't stupid. he could spend the night in sebastian's hotel room, just a few floors away. very convenient. another amenity. and he could slink out at dawn, exhausted, dragging his arse and his gear onto a commuter train, and try not to hope whenever he answered a call from an unknown number. no thanks, no matter how good the toast was. "then let me help you with it," sebastian says. "i don't need to be here." lewis blinks.

at 23:04, sebastian is sitting across from him on a thameslink back into the city that's full of night shift workers and drunk teens. lewis's keyboard is in his lap. his bow tie is untied under his collar. "i don't know how to tie it myself," he says, sheepish, when he catches lewis looking. he sways in time with the rhythm of the tracks, his hair going coppery in the light. both their voices are hoarse from shouting. lewis's scalp hurts; he lets down his braids from where they've been piled on his head. "i thought maybe you were a designer, not a model," sebastian says. "though i would not have been surprised." lewis slips the elastic band onto his wrist and rolls his shoulders. "i used to sell luxury cars," he says, just to watch sebastian's face. he didn't hate it. not all of it. not driving the mclaren company cars, or dressing well, or building up the savings he's been burning through for two years. just enough of it. sebastian whistles, low and slow. "i bet you were very good," he says. "and that a lot of men spent a lot of money trying to impress you." lewis grins. "i was the best," he says. "and the strawberries were better."

at 23:52, sebastian is in lewis's flat, on his knees with lewis's hands buried in his hair. sebastian tugs lewis's black work slacks down his thighs and presses his face against lewis's half-hard cock through his boxers, breathing hot and wet. "you're going to ruin those pants," lewis mumbles mindlessly. sebastian turns and mouths at the heel of lewis's hand. "better ruin the rest of it, too," he says. "just to be sure."

at 00:39, lewis stretches in his bed until he can feel his neck pop. "i can go again," he says. "just—just give me a minute." sebastian snorts and rolls to his feet. "i can!" lewis protests. "i know," sebastian says, padding naked out of the room. he's got a bruise in the shape of lewis's teeth in the meat of his shoulder. "i'm going to find water." lewis is going to have to give him a pair of sweats to get back to the hotel in come morning. and a t-shirt. he's going to be finding buttons in his floorboards for weeks.

at 00:41, lewis chugs his glass of water while sebastian sips his own and examines the contents of lewis's bedroom. nosy fucker. he's still got lewis's cum in his chest hair. he crouches down to get a closer look at the bookshelf under the window, setting his glass on the floor. "no german poetry, sorry," lewis says. sebastian huffs a laugh. "rilke is austrian, actually, but i take your point," he says. he looks over at lewis with a smirk. "you were listening." lewis shrugs, but he puts his empty glass on the nightstand and shifts to sit on the edge of the bed. sebastian takes the hint, standing up and swaying closer until lewis can grab him by the hips. "that's not my favorite rilke passage, really," he says. "or even my favorite about love." his voice stays admirably steady as lewis rubs his beard against the soft skin of his stomach. "go on," lewis says, reaching his hands around to grab at sebastian's arse. sebastian hums, then clears his throat. "understand, i’ll slip quietly away from the noisy crowd," he says, dropping his hands to lewis's shoulders—and then he leans all his weight forward, tipping them back into the bed with a whump. he clambers his way into lewis's lap properly, reciting as he goes. "when I see the pale stars rising, blooming, over the oaks." he looks entirely too pleased with himself; maybe for knowing the poem by heart, maybe for the way lewis's cock is stirring back to life between them. lewis wraps a hand around the back of his neck and draws him down to nip at his throat. "i'll pursue solitary pathways, through—through the pale twilit meadows," sebastian gasps out, "with only this one dream." he turns in lewis's grip, finishes the poem into lewis's mouth. "you come too."

#this is so cute and so tender 🥺 i love the expressions so much...#lh #sv #sewis #fic #art

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