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When it’s just him and Graham, he knows it’ll not go far. Graham kisses him the first day they’re in a van together. Noel lets him, and does him one better, opens up for tongue. He doesn’t think about what that says about him, not until he’s sober.
Noel tries not to let on, thinks it’s embarrassing to only start worrying about a thing after he’s done it once. But it must be written all over his face, just as he feared. The next time they’re alone in the dressing room, Graham corners him against a mirror, lighthearted.
“What’s brewin’?”
“Nothing, cunt,” Noel grumbles with a smile despite himself.
“Not nothing, I can tell. You’re nervy.” He curls his fingers at Noel’s waist, tickling him until he jerks closer and swats at the hands menacing him. “Don’t think about whatever it is. Listen, man, I’ve learned a fair bit in my time-”
“You’re just three years older than me-”
“-and nothing that feels good should do your head in.”
Noel rolls his eyes, but he can already sense something clicking. He hates genuinely taking other opinions into consideration, but for once, this advice has some wisdom. Plus, he’s distracted by their zips touching. “Consider my head properly screwed on.” Graham nods, pleased, and swings him over to the couch for a quick romp, careful of the cast on his foot.
They hardly ever get their clobber off, and nothing intrusive goes on while Noel has anything to say about it. Luckily, Graham just seems to be looking for someone to have fun with. Noel may be more attached, seeking validation from a founding member, but Graham isn’t even the fittest of the lot. Still, he’s easygoing and a right twat so as to kindly keep Noel from falling in love or anything silly.
In front of the band, the veil between vulgar jokes and real acts becomes hazy quickly. Graham never exposes him before he’s ready. Still, there’s only about a week of time between Noel being certain they know, and everyone having either seen them in the act or having joked about it. Noel doesn’t even flinch for the camera when Clint focuses his lens on he and Graham groping at each other like teenagers.
When Noel starts to go to raves with them, he can tell he’s becoming less ‘Noel from the gas company’ and more of an integrated gear. Maybe it’s the molly. He doesn’t always know who all he’s been snogging or feeling up when he, Craig, and Martyn stumble back to their rooms. He hears no judgment.
When he’s sharing a bed with Clint at the next hotel, at seemingly no one’s behest, it becomes a pattern. One he enjoys quite a bit. Clint is chilled, always helpful to him, and good-looking as it so happens. They’re always the last to fall asleep, and so got paired together to harass one another in bed. Money’s tight, even on this side of the channel, and Noel doesn’t ask why he’d be in hotel rooms with the band when he should probably be paying for his own. He doesn’t even offer to sleep on the floor.
A drunk Clint sweetly kisses the nape of his neck before turning in, and it sends him through all of the next day of recording and hauling with a hangover. He feels it on the back of his neck until teatime. When the man does it a second time, Noel flips over to attack him with a clumsy mouth and hands.
Clint is more discerning than Graham was; he teaches Noel how to get off like an adult without making it obvious. “Let me,” he’ll murmur. “Here. Like this.” Noel fears again that it’s all over his face- how much he enjoys being led. In the morning, while everyone is showering and doing their makeup, Clint slips a hand down his pants and takes care of his morning hard-on. All while muttering in his ear about Martyn’s skincare routine so that he laughs instead of moaning.
It only takes a few encounters for any tension to fade between them. Clint holds Noel against him when he sleeps, and Noel curls up to accept it. Even when everyone is taking the piss at breakfast with photographs of them cuddling abound, he feels dead peaceful about it.
Having it off is the easiest thing in the world on the tour bus. They don’t even have to find somewhere private. Neither of them try after a certain point. Graham has already had a taste, and the other few have no qualms. After they’ve been on stage, he’s got hands all over him. It’s a sweet deal. Once they start taking him to the recording studio and hearing his opinions too, he gets a pay bump. A nice surprise, since he’d figured he was becoming a financial burden with all the blow he’d used up.
After their next gig, he finds Tom and Martyn palming themselves on their own mattress when Clint slips under the sheets to blow him. A finger teases at his hole, and he comes hard and fast. It’s a bang-up deal.
Noel has been slowly worked up well to a point where any member of the band knows what state he’s in, whether he’s horny or waiting for Clint specifically or whether he’d take any of them. It’s not unusual for others to walk in while he’s getting wanked off or wanking off someone else. But he’s not had much experience otherwise. Clint has told him that’s perfectly alright, but every night Noel cleans his behind as thoroughly as he can in the hopes that maybe he’ll get surprised with an offer. He’s not sure how good it would feel, or how it would look.
He trusts the band though, and he tells Clint so at the hotel when they’re having dinner one night late after a show and he’s nearly bursting out of his jeans. He’s never been surrounded by so many people- men- who wanted him before. Or anyone who knew what to do. All the girls and bovver boys around Burnage were like him, woefully uninformed whether they knew it or not. He can’t help a bit of groupie excitement about a worldly band of musicians having their way with him.
Clint nods thoughtfully and turns to him with a properly pleased smile. “Want me to teach you something new, yeah?” Noel nods, trying not to let it look like his head’s about to come off. But evidently, his eagerness is obvious, because Clint smiles all through dinner with his hand tight and heavy on Noel’s nape. It’s a comfort, actually.
That’s how he ends up on his back in he and Clint’s bed while Graham and Martyn line up bumps on the table they’ve brought in, usually used for early-morning card games and for Noel to doodle on. Craig mixes up some strange fucking potion with the mini bar’s supplies while craning his head to watch. Tom is nowhere to be found, of course. Clint is with him, on the bed. Giving him a sweet little rubdown like he’s not arse naked and shy about his performance. Not that his prick knows that.
Clint gives him a few strokes there before dripping onto his fingers an obscene amount of lube from a pump bottle he’d bought in San Francisco. Just the sight of it embarrasses Noel. He’s not worth all this pomp and circumstance. But Clint has touched him thoroughly all over before, and he knows that the man isn’t satisfied with a quick romp.
He starts out petting Noel’s cock before he must realize that may be a quick path to the end, as hard as Noel is. He slips his fingers back just a bit, to Noel’s taint, where he circles until Noel gets squirmy beneath him.
“Keyboardist,” Noel grumbles without heat. “Always fucking tinkering.” He doesn’t complain when Clint’s fingertip teases at his hole. In fact, he wishes the man would get on with it. But Clint just smiles that winsome smile as he pushes in as slowly as humanly possible.
Graham appears over his shoulder, watching as Noel’s face scrunches up. “Ah, first time, innit. Don’t fret.” Noel flips him off, and he just laughs. The pressure is bearable, but the vulnerability is a little harder to swallow. Still, a moan is punched out of him when Clint twists his finger in deep. “There you are,” Graham encourages. He unbuttons Noel’s baggy sleep shirt all the way to reveal his flushed chest and belly. He swipes a hand down the center, from Noel’s sternum to his navel, but doesn’t touch him any further. Just giving him a little attention.
Clint adds another finger with relative ease, though Noel’s heels dig into the mattress at the feeling. It’s an odd sensation, being filled. He’s tried with his own fingers and never gotten very far, stopping at the first sign of resistance. Not to mention the size of Clint’s hands as opposed to his own.
“Alright, love?” Clint drags his eyes up Noel’s figure, clearly liking what he sees.
He clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah. What’s the fuss, like?” It feels fine. His prick has flagged with nerves, but he’s sure after a few minutes of this, he’ll be up again. Still, it’s not enough to get release.
“Trust me.” Noel nods. Then Clint seems to prod at him until he reaches a soft spot inside that makes Noel flinch. “Alright?” He insists on getting Noel to meet his eyes before the touch resumes. The weird urge to come up off the bed hits him hard, but he stays still as best as he can. “Good, that’s good.” He’s shocked, is all. And it feels… weird. That’s the only word coming to mind. Soon though it becomes a buzz, and a bead of sweat forms on his brow.
Pressure, it is. He feels his own stomach to make sure everything’s in order, and Clint covers his hand, then moves a little lower to press hard above his groin. “Fuck!” Noel exclaims at the sharp pleasure and swats his hand away. “Gonna piss meself, if you keep that up.”
Clint shakes his head. “Swear, it’s the same spot I’m touching inside.” And that makes Noel feel a bit sick, knowing there’s something inside him that feels so strange, that makes it hard to think. He never thought about it before, even when he saw blokes shagging, he figured it was a chore for whoever it was getting fucked. Didn’t know there was a point to it. Clint kisses him now, sensing his inner turmoil. “Let it go a little longer,” he murmurs against Noel’s lips. Noel nods. He will. He will.
He tries to distract himself, watching the guys cycle about the room, but they’ve all got eyes on him, even with fags and beers in hand.
Clint pets his hair with his free hand. “Breathe, love.”
Noel does, and it feels much better once he’s let out some of the air in his lungs, exhaling a low moan. He grips the sheets, then relaxes his grip, doing the same to his own button-up. The constant pressure is making him fucking barmy. “Oh God,” he says tearfully, finally getting the nerve to rock his hips. “Oh Christ.”
He hears murmurings around the room that he can’t make out, but when he does look up, he accidentally gets a view of himself dripping cum onto his stomach. In a few minutes, after his eyes have nearly rolled back and he can’t make out anybody’s voice anymore, he tilts his chin back down to find the thin spunk is dripping down off his hip as his cock twitches. He feels a distant tickle as Martyn crosses over to lick it up off of him.
They’re all looking at him, even touching him with light hands as they pass by, but he’s fucking senseless to it besides a warm feeling all over from their attention. It’s nice now to have eyes and hands on him when usually he hates it. He blows out hard breaths and finally Clint anchors a hand in his hair to ground him. He’s still leaking all over, shaking like a nervous dog, and overall looking the proper virgin.
“He’s so quiet,” Craig says from the corner, finally something he can process, with a hint of concern.
Graham shakes his head, fluffy hair shaking with it. “It’s alright. Just learned something new, did you, Chief?”
Noel only has eyes for Clint right now, feeling well and truly like his fucking life is in the man’s hands, so he doesn’t answer. He rests his head on the pillow and rubs his cheek on the fabric, sensing for the first time that his face is wet.
“Noel?” Clint squeezes his wrist, and he squeezes back in reply. “Do you wanna come?”
He wants to ask what the bleeding hell he’s been doing for the last eternity if it wasn’t coming, but he doesn’t. He sniffs pitifully, and then in case the others thought he was out of it, gives them a teary-eyed look that could kill. “Yeah.”
Finally, Clint wraps a big, warm hand around his prick and starts stroking him in earnest. The other continues a maddening rhythm inside, but it’s sharper now that he has to focus on both. A few hums and whistles ring out from the band members. He flushes impossibly deeper still, face burning. The other thing, the thing that sets this apart from run-of-the-mill, mind-blowing groupie sex is how they make him feel interesting .
Being the center of attention, Noel is getting closer, and the pleasure so intense, it nearly makes him nauseous. “Oh fuck,” is punched out of him suddenly as the full feeling hits him at great speed. “Oh fuck, Clint, oh fuck.” He near panics before seizing up and then remembering to breathe. He nearly knees Clint in the ribs, convulsing and spilling all over himself, shooting up to his neck.
“I’ve gotcha, It’s alright. That’s perfect, Noel.” Clint keeps at it even as he’s shaking apart, teeth chattering and legs trembling. It’s somehow not so humiliating with all the moans of sympathy and the thick air in the room like they’ve been fucking for hours.
And it feels like hours. Noel is breathless; he promptly shuts his eyes and forgets where he is. Finally, Clint gently twists his fingers out. He lets Noel’s still-hard prick rest on his belly and goes up to rub his shoulders and stiff neck. Noel cringes briefly at his touch. Every point of contact feels like an electric shock, but then it soothes him.
A cold item is pressed into his hand, and he opens one eye to see what it is. An open can of Pimm’s and Lemonade. If he had the wherewithal to laugh, he would. Noel drinks it anyway, and the fruity taste is a pleasant shock on his tongue. Craig has made his way over from the bar cart to join the others, and he came bearing a gift, apparently. Sweet kid.
He’s feeling emotional, so he drinks a little faster.
Clint gets off the bed and wipes his hands, patting Noel’s hip one more time for good measure. He goes to the bathroom, probably just to get a towel, but Noel wishes he would come back so that he could climb Clint like a tree.
His senses are still coming back to him, or maybe not. But he feels the tension in the room, centered around his prone body, and he nearly kicks his feet and beats his fists on the bed like a child. “Somebody come fuck me right now, or I’m going home,” he says in a ragged slur. It’s nonsensical; they’re in America.
Martyn unbuckles first. He looked about raring to go as far as Noel saw. Graham digs around for condoms in their bedside table and tosses a pile of them on the opposite mattress like they’re confetti. He’s having a fucking laugh.
“D’ya like it on all fours, maybe?” Martyn tears open a packet with his teeth as he talks.
Noel flings his hands up, spilling a splash of his drink on himself. He puts it down to prevent any more accidents. How is he to know? He shakily gets into position regardless with his fingers clutching the headboard.
Getting off his back actually clears his head somewhat, and he’s able to shoot back. “Want it like this so you can steal some of my hair without my noticing? I’m onto you.” Martyn laughs, ever in good humor, like most of the ravers Noel’s met. Chilled out, ever-polite. Despite taking the piss, Noel feels safe in his hands.
Graham taps Martyn’s shoulder. “Wait until Clint’s done pissing, eh?” Bless him. Soon enough, Clint returns after washing up, and he only hurries out with interest at the sight of Noel on his knees.
Martyn kneels behind him, and Noel feels him line up before sliding in to the hilt. It’s not so momentous in the wake of what he’s just gone through, but being full again feels nice. With a rhythm, it feels better. Noel whines, pressing his cheek to the wall and hoping the honeymooning American couple next door can hear every inch. Martyn tugs on his hair gently, and then with more force when Noel moans like a tart at the sting. Pain doesn’t usually intrigue him, but he likes this.
It’s quick. Martyn evidently had been working himself over before, and he’s already on the verge after a few minutes. The pace gets jerky, static, and Noel feels it deep each thrust. He can’t say he’s near the edge yet, but he doesn’t dare touch himself or even ask Martyn to touch him. He’s still reeling from the first orgasm.
“Bleeding hell, you feel incredible,” Martyn grunts out before he thrusts once, then twice, and buries himself deep in Noel as he lets go. Polite as usual, he smooths Noel’s hair down as he pulls out. And fuck if that isn’t a strange sensation. Noel gestures over his shoulder to get him close enough for a grateful kiss, more of a greeting peck than passionate necking. He’s a good one.
Noel collapses dramatically onto his stomach to meet the sheets below. “Someone light me a fag?” he asks, muffled by the pillow. Graham (he can tell from the callused fingertips) squeezes his inner thigh to get him to flip over. “Ta.” He finds he’s even able to sit up for a cigarette to be transferred to his lips. The headrush is nice, just what he needs. Clint and Graham begin to chat Craig up, Graham patting his ass comically until he steps closer to the bed. “What have you got for me?”
Craig’s young and shy; if he wasn’t such a party fiend, Noel might feel some paternal affection for him. Once they head out for the night, he’s a completely different creature. They’ve ended up high and blindly grinding on each other as the lights came up more times than Noel can remember. Now as he stubs out his fag in the ashtray, Craig climbs on the mattress between his legs. Good thing, he’s just now feeling a bit cold.
“Give it to me,” Noel says, tipping up his chin. Craig also waves for a condom, and now a bit more lube as the first excessive pump has dried down already. Noel is going to be feeling it on his skin for days, he’s sure.
Sweet Craig sends him an uncertain glance as he lines up against Noel’s entrance, but he nods again to really reassure the kid. One thrust confirms what Noel always imagined after feeling him hard in his jeans at so many rave sets; he’s a natural talent.
“That’s it,” he groans, sensitive all over again. The quick, well-aimed thrusts nearly send him into the headboard. Craig pants above him, bending one of Noel’s knee and pressing it to his chest. “Craig, there, right there.” He tosses his head on the pillow like a prat from how good it feels, and almost closes his eyes before Clint appears beside the bed.
He’s biting his lip with a proud light in his eye, and Noel can’t help going still, attentive despite the pleasure wracking him. Clint’s smile turns mischievous. He flicks a little baggie between his fingers and taps some powder out into his hand. Noel pants for it, eyes widening.
“Yeah, yes, please.” Craig kisses his neck and leaves (as usual) a wallop of a lovebite there. Then he slows his hips. He watches, like everyone else, as Noel lifts his head and snuffs a messy line of blow out of Clint’s palm.
“Fuck,” Noel moans, long and drawn out, nearly banging his head when he throws it back. The rush hits him immediately. “Fucking hell. You know how to treat a girl.” He has to fight just to get the words out before it’s all beyond him. Feels like he’s being touched everywhere. Craig bites him again. His cock leaks from the friction, the buzz, the picture in his head of how he looks right now. He’s close.
Graham sits on the bed next to him, idly chatting with Martyn while he toys with Noel’s peaked nipples. When he turns to face Noel, he has a fond, slow smile plastered on. Noel arches up into his hands, and before he knows it, he’s shaking and jerking, nearly out of Craig’s hold. He comes so hard, his vision goes white and he just misses biting his tongue off. The man above groans at him tightening up and pulls out hastily, ripping the condom off to spurt over Noel’s hip.
Noel squirms in the sheets, still trembling with the aftershocks of coming untouched.
“Are you alright?” Craig speaks for the first time, the rough Salford twang endearing Noel despite his sorry state. He realizes his cheek, and by extension the pillow under it, is covered in drool. He takes a deep, shuddering breath.
“Yeah. Yeah, just mega. Bang-up, Craig.”
Craig rolls off of him then and looks like he might start cleaning Noel up before it hits him that part of the appeal is how filthy he’s become. Even with his vision blurred, he can envision how much of a slag he looks, shirt hanging off his shoulders, covered in cum, pupils dilated.
Graham pats his face to get his attention, then strokes it tenderly. Somewhere between then and now he’s gotten undressed to his kecks and a white vest. Noel lost track, evidently. “Next up, love?”
“Don’t have to ask.” Graham kisses his rank face, and he gets impatient.
“Shall I let you do the heavy lifting for once while you’re hyped up?”
Noel sits up as he realizes what’s being asked of him. “You’re such a cunt.” Still, his stomach turns with excitement and nerves. Graham tosses his knickers away before rolling into place where Noel had just lain. “I don’t know how,” Noel says, just as soon as he realizes it. He’s already slung his leg over Graham’s lap to straddle him when the revelation comes.
Graham pats his hip. His skin is prickly and sensitive from the coke, so he moans pitifully. A condom has materialized on Graham’s long cock. He’s not sure when it got there. “You’ll get the hang of it, Chief.”
“Fuck off, you cheeky twat.”
Graham just laughs. True to his word, he makes Noel do all the work to get settled, grabbing at Graham’s cock blindly to hold him upright. Someone rubs his sweaty back while he seats himself in Graham’s lap, slowly working down the length of him once he’s pushed in. It’s deep. Noel can feel it in his throat, almost, and he hisses at the new sensation.
“Easy, cocker.” Graham lets him settle in, holding his hips as he moves experimentally up top. Soon he’s squeezing his eyes shut, but he opens them back up soon enough to watch Noel.
Fuck, he’s working up a sweat. It still feels good, but there’s a dull ache behind it. The discomfort lessens once he’s tested dropping himself a few times, but it’s back to nothing special. Still. It must be good for Graham who rakes a hand through his own hair as Noel braces a hand on his chest. He’s a fucking twink, barely any more muscle than Noel, but he’s fit. And most importantly in the beginning, he hadn’t been threatening. Noel hadn’t been brave enough at the Roses gig to go for someone he wanted to fuck right then. And hell if he isn’t glad he tried kissing Graham like a schoolboy instead.
“Noel, fuck, Noel. You’re just gorgeous, you know that? Prettier than a bird, uh-” So much fucking talk, that boy’s capable of. But Noel is easily flattered, and he covers his red face right away, continuing to rock up and down for Graham’s enjoyment. Whatever extra energy he got from Clint’s blow has started to leave him but the sparks of euphoria are still there, itching at him.
“Noel.” Graham grabs at the side of his neck to bring him down to Earth, and Noel craves the intimacy, resting his chin and cheek in Graham’s hand when it slips back. “Try it like this.” Graham pushes him back until he’s bracing on the man’s knees instead, leaning away. “Don’t tire yourself out, just work your hips.”
Noel nods and takes the advice. After figuring out how to lift himself the slightest bit, he rolls his hips. Warmth shoots up his spine. That horrible, incredible sweet spot again. “You do this often, huh?” Noel teases Graham breathlessly. He just shrugs with a sly look. Fucker.
Then it’s perfect. The angle is just right for Noel to fuck himself, to focus on the intense near-painful pleasure that buzzes in his head with every slide. He’s not even hard, but he feels himself leaking. That pressure inside him spreads until it’s all he can think about, and suddenly he doesn’t care what he looks like, how loud he’s being, who’s touching him where. He’s trembling, leaning back on his arms, holding position. Probably sobbing and whining like a girl. When Graham touches his sensitive cock, he yelps.
“Easy,” he repeats gently. “Not bringing you off.” Instead he shows that he’s swiped some of the thin cum from Noel onto his fingers. “Want a taste?”
He nods, panting. Yeah, he does. He’s a fucking tart now after all. Might as well close the circuit. Graham presses his fingertips to Noel’s lips until he opens and sucks them clean without hesitation, tasting salt on his tongue. He moans around the mouthful before the digits slip back out.
Now he’s even less grounded, focusing less on the burn in this thighs and more on the constant itch being scratched just right. He lifts one arm to balance on the other while he plays with his nipples, absolutely shameless. He knows distantly the guys are never going to let Graham live it down that Noel used him like a toy to reach this state, and he’s going to think it’s a riot. Right now, he can’t think past his own warm hands and the cock lodged up against his prostate, feeling like heaven.
When Graham taps him, he doesn’t hear a word. Then he’s lifted up and off from behind by a much stronger set of arms, and he whines in complaint despite the fact that he still hasn’t gotten hard. Graham sits up and props him against the headboard with somebody else’s help.
“Let me give you a pearl necklace.”
Noel grouses, though he exposes his collar obediently. “You interrupted my spiritual enlightenment for this? You’re having a fucking laugh.” Nevertheless, it feels good to have Graham above him with a sunny smile, groaning and hissing through his orgasm. He has fine aim and mostly manages to get it on Noel’s prominent collar bones, some on his tits. “Happy?”
Graham blows out a hard breath and ruffles his hair before bouncing off the bed. “Obscenely.”
He’s not left to wonder what happens next for long as Graham hobbles away for a fag, and Clint replaces him on the bed.
He’s tender with Noel, cupping his cheek, inspecting his face and body. It’s a nice gesture as his high is wearing off; he’s feeling tender himself. “Alright, lad?”
“Always asking that, you lot.”
Clint shrugs. “Well, you’re not gonna ask yourself, now are you?” Noel clings to his arm despite acting the hard lad. He doesn’t even know why he’d try after spending a whole night crying his makeup off in front of them. Clint’s right after all- he hasn’t done a lot of self-reflection tonight, and that’s for a reason. He’s afraid of being disgusted with himself, really. Or getting scared off of something good just because it’s a little troublesome. But he finds now that neither of those fears have materialized. Even the aches and pains make him proud. Especially the lovebites, the bruises inevitably forming on his hips. He’s all swaddled in warm, cottony feelings for the moment, unable to string together a thought to overthink.
“I am alright, honestly,” he murmurs. “More than.” Clint pulls him in, heedless of his being covered in filth and sweat, and scrapes dull nails down his back so gently that it tickles. Noel buries his face in Clint’s shoulder, vulnerable as a fucking newborn.
“Our Noel,” he says affectionately, with real pride. “You up for another round, or is it lights out?”
Noel sniffs and smiles dreamily as he pulls back. “With you, mate? Let’s have it.”
Clint arranges him carefully on his back. Noel almost tells him to forgo the protection and just give it to him, but he knows Clint gets around, and he’d never agree. So he settles for grumbling about the inevitability of it, laying back until he feels breath on the crease of his groin. He moans just at the possibility of Clint’s mouth on him, and he gets it soon enough as Clint spreads him out and pushes his knees up and out of the way. He traces his tongue around Noel’s rim and starts to lick at him eagerly.
Graham and the whole lot have all moved to sit at the table or by the door, watching them. Still interested even after a go with Noel. He smugly thinks they would all probably have him a second time if he gave the go-ahead. But maybe they’ll be satisfied knowing this will likely become a regular occurrence. Not marathons like this, but they can all have a bit of him.
Clint works him open with his tongue until he’s twitching weakly, toes curling in the air. He can relax now, he feels. Even when Clint reaches up to stroke his prick, leaving Noel to hold his own legs back, he closes his eyes as he moans quietly. He’s nearly ready to go again, and Clint knows how to get him there.
Soon, he must decide Noel is well-prepared enough. He tips Noel over on his side. “Like this,” Clint tells him, and he couldn’t be happier to ragdoll and let himself be positioned as necessary. Nothing more to be mentally or physically prepared for.
Clint budges up behind him and brings Noel’s thigh back over his hip. It’s almost like how they’ve slept together before, spooning. He pushes right in, and Noel lets out a shaky sigh, then a whimper as he sets a slow, dragging pace. Clint was patient all that time everyone else was taking their turn, but even still he doesn’t hurry now. It still feels incredible, though he’s a bit raw. Clint hits all his sweet spots.
“You just relax. Been so good for us,” he says against the shell of Noel’s ear. Noel twists on his back to look at him and beg for a kiss. Clint obliges, taking hold of his leaking cock again. He whispers against Noel’s lips. “Those lads all love you a little.” Noel doesn’t have to ask if he’s including himself.
“Know that,” he replies wistfully, then closes his eyes as another moan works its way up his throat. Fuck, the eyes on him just make him shudder when Clint circles his slit and pumps him hard. “Please, uh, just fuckin’- please.” He pulls the pillow up to his face to bite down on it and closes his eyes.
“C’mon,” Clint urges in a warm tone. “Everyone’s watching.”
He whimpers through his teeth, long and high as the pleasure almost gets to be too much. Noel wraps his hand around Clint’s wrist as if to pull him away, but he never manages it. His grip is too loose, and he wouldn’t want to stop anyway. Soon enough, he’s tipping over the edge a third time, shaking as the waves crash over him. Hardly anything comes out even with all his wailing and keening. Clint works him through it and gets a few more weak spurts over his fist.
Noel can’t summon the energy to tell him to let it be, and he just moans pitifully as he’s fucked with a hand still on his rapidly-wilting cock. He doesn’t care; he wants it. But Clint finishes quickly and courteously with a bitten-off noise and a kiss pressed to Noel’s temple.
Noel shudders when he slips out. “Fuck. Fuck.” He moans again, this time in complaint. What is he going to do with this awkward, empty feeling?
But he doesn’t have to flounder for any longer than it takes him to lay out flat on his back, as a warm, damp towel swipes over his chest and middle. Clint and Graham help to prop him up and get his sweat-damp shirt off his shoulders. The towel gets under his arms and around his thighs so he isn’t as rank when a new sleep shirt is rolled over his head and a fresh pair of trunks are pulled up to his waist. It feels like the room spins around him a bit, but he has to feel distantly flattered that everyone’s hurrying to clean him up. Craig flips the pillow so it’s dry under him, and then the heavy duvet is tucked over him before he ever moves an inch.
“Nice one,” Martyn says and bends low to kiss his cheek. He slips a pack of crisps into Noel’s hand, for which he could not be more grateful. All in all, he’s rapidly gone from despairing to sated in mere seconds, his head clearing up quite nicely with a bit of loving care.
Clint reappears at his side- obviously, it’s just as much his bed- and brushes fingers through his ruffled hair. He finds his way under the covers and pulls Noel to rest on his bare chest. “Anything else you need, love?”
Noel munches on a mouthful of crisps serenely. “Could someone roll the telly in?”
Graham does the job, muttering something about a brazen hussy, but he switches it on regardless to a rugby game replayed from earlier in the day. Craig for one takes out his beloved Walkman and wanders off for a stroll without a word. Graham goes for a shower. Martyn follows the rugby for a short while and passes out soon enough, fully clothed, in Graham’s bed.
Noel has to make a concerted effort to roll up the bag and lay it on the floor, so crisp shards don’t spill all over him as he sleeps. But once it’s done, he’s soon lulled by the staticky noise on the pitch, the spray from the shower, and Clint’s even breathing under his cheek.
He’s dead lucky they don’t have to pack up tomorrow.