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Saturday, June 5th, 2010 06:31 pm
Title: Piano Man
Fandom: bandom
Pairing: Bob Bryar/Matt Skiba
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~4600
Notes: This contains biting/bruises for the free square on my Kink Bingo card. Many thanks to [personal profile] mahoni and [personal profile] nemoinis for beta and support.
Disclaimer: This could not be any faker.
Summary: AU in which Matt plays piano in a hotel bar and Bob is a traveling businessman.

The sign propped against a huge glass brandy snifter on the closed top of the shiny black baby grand reads, in neat hand-written Sharpie, DO NOT REQUEST PIANO MAN. Bob drifts closer to get a better look at whoever would make such an audacious demand without even adding a 'please' to it.

He'd been on his way up to his room after a dinner meeting with some prospective clients when he'd heard the music drifting out of the bar. Taking a good look at the unconventionally handsome man playing some vaguely jazzy number that Bob should probably recognize, he's glad he gave in to spontaneity for a change.

The guy has sandy blond hair cut very short around the sides and back and a little longer on top. He's wearing a red shirt with a black tux, and his black bowtie seems to have a small skull and crossbones pattern. There are tattoos on the backs of his fingers that Bob thinks spell out LOVE SONG, but the guy's fingers are moving too much to get a good look and Bob isn't close enough to be sure. The guy could hardly be more out of place in the classy yet conservative blandness of a luxurious hotel lounge, and Bob finds that dichotomy pretty intriguing.

He moves around to the side of the piano where he's facing the guy a bit more directly and says, "What happens if someone requests Piano Man?"

"The last guy walked out carrying his teeth in his hand," the piano player says with a quirk of his lips that is almost a smile but not quite. He never misses a note of the song he's playing and when it ends, he looks up at Bob. He has a small gold nose ring, which is not even surprising at this point. "Did you have a request?"

Bob takes a sip of his drink and considers his answer carefully. "Play whatever you want to hear."

The guy laughs and the change is captivating. His blue eyes light up and shallow dimples appear in his cheeks and Bob is smiling back without even knowing what's so amusing. "If I played whatever I wanted, I'd get fired so fast it's not even funny."

"And yet you're laughing," Bob points out.

"Well, that's just the kind of guy I am." The piano player shrugs and starts playing Friday, I'm in Love. "I can get away with the occasional Cure song, but otherwise if I had my way, I'd be playing guitar and it'd be more of my own music."

"What kind of music? What are your influences?"

"Punk. Jawbreaker, The Misfits, Naked Raygun--"

Bob interrupts to ask, "Naked Raygun? You from Chicago?"

"Yeah, I am." The piano player looks up in pleasant surprise. "You?"

"Yeah, yeah, I still live there. I was a little too young to catch Naked Raygun their first time around, but I saw a couple of their reunion shows. And I saw Pegboy a few times back in the day."

"We were probably at some of the same shows. What brings you to sunny southern California? Business or pleasure?"

"Business," Bob says, frowning down at the charcoal grey suit he's wearing. He should be up in his room going over proposals or answering e-mails instead of drinking too-expensive scotch and chatting up the piano player in the hotel bar. Then he takes note of the way said piano player is eyeing him up and he's glad he took off his tie and opened the top button of his shirt before coming in for a drink. The one thing he actually hates about his recent promotion is that now he has to wear a suit and he's still not comfortable in one. The piano player doesn't seem to have a problem with Bob's awkwardness so Bob shrugs. "Maybe pleasure too."

"My name's Matt. I'd shake your hand but I don't want to lose my place. It annoys the bartender when I have to start a song over. It also annoys her when I play the same song twice. That woman has issues."

"That's okay. I'm Bob."

"Really?" Matt raises an eyebrow and looks him over. "You seem be a Bob."

Bob shrugs and contemplates the bottom of his glass. He doesn't feel particularly young tonight, or ever, lately. The added responsibilities and more frequent travel that came with the promotion are wearing on him. He hasn't been home for more than a week at a time in the last few months and at any given moment he has to actually stop and think about it to remember which time zone he's in. "Well, I am one."

"Hey, that's cool. It's nice to meet you, Bob," Matt says with a friendly smile and smoothly transitions into another song.

"You too." Bob listens for a moment, sipping the last watery dregs of his drink, and finally he shakes his head. "I don't recognize this one."

"No, you wouldn't. I wrote it."

Bob has no idea why he's surprised by that. It's LA, where everyone seems to have multiple talents. This guy certainly has at least two, and Bob would kind of love to find out what else he's talented at. "It's good. You're good."

"Thanks," Matt says, tilting his head to look up at Bob. "I don't suppose you could get me a record deal?"

"No, sorry," Bob says and he actually is. He's got a strange impulse to give Matt just about anything he wants.

Matt shrugs and says, "Well, it never hurts to ask."

"No, you never know. One day the answer might be yes." At least Bob seems to have absorbed a few things from those stupid motivational seminars his boss loves so much.

"So..." Matt finishes his song and starts on another--this time an old Sinatra tune--and considers Bob thoughtfully. "So, if I asked if you wanted to go somewhere else when my shift is over, would the answer to that be yes?"

Bob's eyebrows rise and his mouth falls open a little. He'd recognized the flirtatiousness in the little looks and smiles Matt's been giving him but, except for dropping a tip in the brandy snifter on top of the piano before he goes up to his room alone, he didn't expect anything to come of it. Or at least not so easily.

When the silence is approaching the awkward stage, Matt shrugs and says, "Forget I asked. You're probably straight. Or married. Or both."

"No, I'm not. Either." Bob feels daring and oddly brave--he does not, as a general rule, just randomly pick up guys in bars--when he adds, "What time do you get off?"

"What time you want to get me off?" Matt shoots back with a devilish grin.

"I can see you're going to be a handful," Bob says with a quiet laugh.

"Oh, more than one," Matt says and segues into playing Unforgettable. "Since it's a weeknight, my shift ends at ten."

Bob consults his watch. It's just past 9:30. He wonders if he should get another drink or quit while he's ahead. Matt makes the decision for him by giving him a look that Bob would be hard-pressed to describe in terms that another person would understand. It's...promising. It tells Bob that if he chooses to accept the blatant invitation that Matt's sending him, he could have a very busy night ahead. A very pleasurable night. He doesn't want to be too numb to fully enjoy it, so he hands his empty glass to a passing waitress and leans himself against the curve of the piano.

"Now do you have a request?" Matt asks with a smile that hints at all kinds of dirty things.

And all kinds of dirty things are exactly what come to mind with Matt's question. Bob tamps down on all those thoughts and says, "I'd like to hear another one of yours."

Matt nods and starts playing and ignores the people who drift a bit closer to hear him. "This is not really the best venue for my music. If you're still in town over the weekend, you should come see my band. We've got a gig at bar not too far from here on Saturday night."

"Maybe. If I'm still in town," Bob says noncommittally, even though he knows he doesn't fly out until Tuesday. It depends entirely on how the rest of the night goes. "What's your band like? You already said you play guitar, right?"

"Yeah, and I sing--or I try to sing." Matt looks away from Bob to nod at the older man who's just dropped money into his tip glass. "Thank you, sir, any requests?"

"Could you play As Time Goes By for my wife?" The man motions to a pretty grey-haired lady sitting nearby sipping a glass of champagne. "It's our anniversary."

"Congratulations. I hope you have many more years together," Matt says with surprising warmth and immediately shifts into the requested song. Bob watches the lady's face light up and then turns back in time to see the man slip another bill into Matt's tips. After the man goes back to his wife, Matt eyes the half-full glass where several twenties and a couple fifties are visible in among the smaller bills and says so quietly that nobody but Bob can hear him, "And that takes care of my rent this month. If I play my cards right, I may be able to get that new amp I've been looking at, too. This is the best night I've had in a while. You must be my good luck charm."

Bob resolves to drop a couple bills in when Matt's not looking but then thinks that might be a little creepy if they end up sleeping together. Just out of curiosity, he slides his hand in his pants pocket to see what he's got just as a lady distracts Matt with a request. Bob doesn't stop to reconsider, just pulls the wad of cash out of his pocket and drops it all in. He makes a ridiculously high salary and is seldom home long enough to spend it, so it won't cause him any hardship to drop a little over a hundred bucks for a hard-working musician.

When the lady making her request drops a five in, Matt glances at the glass and then at Bob. His eyebrows arch and his mouth goes curiously flat, but he doesn't say anything. He just plays the song and when he's done, he glances at his watch. Bob glances at his too and sees it's a few minutes after ten.

Matt stands up and takes his sign and bandy snifter full of tips and says, "I have to go clock out and put this stuff away. I'll meet you in the lobby in a few minutes."

It's not a question but Bob nods. "Okay. I'll be there."

Bob isn't exactly watching the clock while he sits in a chair that's just a little too stylish to be comfortable, but it is almost exactly seven minutes later when Matt walks up wearing a t-shirt, hoodie, and jeans. Bob stands up and feels like an idiot when the first words out of his mouth are, "You changed."

"Yeah," Matt says with a short laugh. "I leave the outfit here. Where else am I ever going to wear it?"

"I don't know, but you did look good in it." Bob looks him over and adds, "You look better now. More comfortable."

"Thanks, I guess." Matt's eyes are amused and Bob gets the impression he's being silently laughed at. "So did you want to go somewhere first or go straight up to your room?"

Bob is already in an unusually impulsive mood so it takes no thought at all for him to say, "My room."

"Cool." Matt leads the way over to the elevators and when they step inside the empty car and the doors close, he pushes Bob against the wall and kisses him, soft and slow. When Bob parts his lips, Matt licks at them gently and Bob licks back, and it's all smoky and warm and lazy, not really what Bob was expecting at all.

Bob flails a hand out and hopes he hits the right button for his floor, and then he kisses Matt back just a little harder, a little more intently, sliding his hands down Matt's sides.

When the door opens with a discreet little musical tone, Bob draws back and looks up at the number on the display. It's not his floor, so he hits the right button while Matt laughs.

Bob just shrugs and smiles sheepishly. "I was distracted."

"I should distract you again," Matt says and moves closer, but then the door opens. Bob grabs his hand and pulls him down the hall to his room.

It takes him a couple swipes of his keycard to get the door unlocked, but then he does and he's ushering Matt inside, hoping he didn't leave any dirty clothes lying around.

"Wow." Matt stops in the middle of the room and looks around. "Nice flatscreen. Hey, minibar."

As Matt goes over to open the little refrigerator and look inside, Bob frowns. "Have you never been in one of the rooms before?"

"No, I don't actually make a habit of picking up the clientele," Matt says without even turning around. "Four bucks for a bottle of water? What a racket. Don't fall for that, dude."

Bob takes off his suit jacket and hangs it up, and then goes over to sit in the chair by the window to take his shoes and socks off. When he's done, he watches Matt poking around his room, sticking his head in the bathroom and checking out the closet. He picks up the book Bob left on the nightstand and reads the back cover. "This any good?"

"It's all right." With a shrug, Bob gets up and takes it out of his hands, tosses it on the desk. "Are you really interested in some spy thriller I picked up at the airport?"

"No." Matt kicks his sneakers off without untying them and takes off his hoodie. He's got more tattoos all up and down his arms and Bob barely takes in all the colorful swirls of ink before Matt strips his t-shirt off too. He stops with his hands on the button of his jeans and says, "Do you wanna fuck me?"

"Fuck, yeah." Bob's eyes widen and his cock goes hard so fast he nearly gets dizzy from the lack of blood to his brain. He retains just enough common sense to add, "But I don't make a habit of picking up people in bars either. I wasn't expecting to need condoms or lube on this trip."

"Not a problem." Matt shrugs and pulls a foil packet out of his back pocket and tosses it on the nightstand. "I had to borrow this off one of my friends on staff because I didn't exactly leave home today thinking I was going to get lucky. Good thing some people are more optimistic."

"You've got a very good friend," Bob says, and when he wraps his hands around Matt's hips and pulls him close enough to kiss, Matt makes a hungry sound against Bob's mouth and he starts undoing the buttons on Bob's shirt deftly.

Bob brings his arms up around Matt's back so he can undo his cuffs and takes off his shirt while Matt moves on to getting Bob's belt and fly open. Bob kisses his way down Matt's neck while he works Matt's jeans open and slides a hand inside. He lets it rest on the front of Matt's briefs while he licks the smooth skin right where Matt's neck meets his shoulder. He'd like to sink his teeth right into Matt's flesh and suck hard enough to leave a bruise, marking him for all the world to see.

But no, Bob is cautious and thinks through his decisions carefully before moving ahead. He doesn't have one night stands with guys he's just met and he's certainly not the kind of guy who ends up in hotel rooms with hot, tattooed musicians either. He has quiet, uneventful relationships with other cautious professional men that end with a whimper and never a bang. This might just be the most impetuous thing he's done in his whole adult life.

And it feels amazing. It's absolutely incredible to be wrapping his hand around the cock of a man whose last name he doesn't even know, dropping to his knees on plush hotel carpet to suck that cock into his mouth, hearing the filthy wonderful sounds that aren't even real words falling from Matt's lips.

If Bob was a different kind of guy, he'd suck Matt dry and then bend him over the bed and fuck him--hard, fast, relentless-- until they're both too sore to move. And Bob wants to be that kind of reckless. Matt makes him want to throw caution to the winds and just do what he wants, take what he wants, and give everything in return. But he is definitely not that guy, so he pulls off before Matt even starts to leak precome and pushes him gently to the bed and says, "Hold on a minute. I gotta get something."

He goes into the bathroom and grabs the bottle of hand and body lotion provided by the hotel and hopes like hell it'll work.

When he comes back, Matt is completely naked, stretched out across the king size bed with a delighted grin on his face, his eyes dilated and cheeks flushed. He raises his arms, beckoning and demanding, but with a curious sweetness that makes Bob want more than he's going to get from a one night stand. "Come here, Bob."

Bob strips off his pants and boxers and lowers himself to the bed and shuts his eyes when Matt's arms close around him, pulling him into a tight embrace that presses skin to skin and pushes Matt's cock right up alongside Bob's. Matt rubs his cheek against Bob's hair and whispers, "You're thinking too much. You just need to relax and go with it."

Bob huffs a laugh against Matt's neck and Matt shivers in reaction and brings his knees up to bracket Bob's hips. He thrusts up against Bob and it's Bob's turn to shudder. He scrapes his teeth down Matt's neck and Matt moans, "Oh, fuck yes."

"Haven't even done anything yet," Bob says, as he stretches one hand out to snag the condom and the bottle of lotion off the nightstand. He licks at the pulse point in Matt's neck and Matt clenches his hands in Bob's hair and pulls Bob's mouth harder against his skin. Bob takes the hint and bites down lightly.

Matt snaps his hips against Bob's and tilts his head back, groaning, "Harder. Really bite me."

"It'll leave a mark," Bob says automatically, not nearly as worried about that prospect as he probably should be.

Matt raises his head off the pillow and gives Bob an incredulous look. "Yeah, that's part of the point. It gives me something to remember you by." He circles one hand around Bob's throat, pressing his palm against Bob's windpipe. When he pushes his fingertips into Bob's jugular, his voice drops to nearly a whisper. "I'll push on that bruise tomorrow or the day after and I'll remember every moment of this. I'll remember the pull of your mouth and the sharp edge of your teeth."

Shaking and feeling flushed, Bob swallows convulsively against the pressure of Matt's hand and Matt raises one eyebrow. "You okay?"

Bob nods, simultaneously wishing Matt would squeeze his hand tighter and wanting to pull away, protect himself. He's damn near paralyzed by fear and arousal, even as he knows there's nothing to be afraid of. He's on top of Matt. Matt doesn't have enough leverage to really hurt Bob. All Bob has to do is stand up and walk away.

But he doesn't want to.

Realizing he's still got the supplies clenched in his hand, Bob shakes his head sharply and Matt turns him loose. He shifts over so that he's sitting up on the mattress and looks at the bottle in his hand before pouring some lotion onto his fingers. "I hope you don't mind smelling like white ginger."

"I'm sure it's delightful." Matt props himself up on his elbows and spreads his legs wide, giving Bob better access. When Bob slowly works a couple fingers inside, Matt says, "Mmmm, that's good. So are you gonna do it?"

Bob knows Matt is asking if Bob is going to bite him properly. Sink his teeth into that golden flesh and mark him, bruise him, own him for just a very brief moment in time. "Yes, when the time is right," he says, not looking up, he just spreads his fingers wider. Matt is still tight but he's relaxed, and if Bob doesn't fuck him soon, it's going to be all over way too quickly. Bob hasn't been this turned on in a long time. He can still feel Matt's hand on his throat even though Matt isn't even touching him. "Ready?"

Matt turns his head and eyes Bob's cock for a moment. His tongue darts out to lick the corner of his mouth and Bob just has to kiss him. When Bob pulls away, Matt is a little breathless when he says, "Better do one more."

Bob pulls his fingers out and adds a bit more lotion. The scent of white ginger fills Bob's head and he suspects the scent will remind him of Matt for a very long time to come. He shoves his fingers back in a little more roughly than before and Matt arches off the bed with a cry. Bob's about to apologize when Matt gasps, "Do that again."

Bob fucks Matt with his fingers, starting off slow and then building the tempo until his wrist starts to ache a little with the strain. He soaks up the broken sounds Matt makes in the back of his throat and then pulls his hand away completely, saying, "I can't--I have to--"

"Fuck yeah," Matt moans, his head tossed back, eyes barely open.

"Get up," Bob says sharply. "On your knees."

Matt's eyes widen and his teeth sink into his bottom lip as he scrambles to obey and-- holy shit, that is so hot. Bob didn't expect that much reaction. He just wanted to change position.

When Matt's on his hands and knees with his head nearly at the foot of the bed, Bob moves behind him and rips the packet open with his teeth and rolls the condom on. It's already lubricated and he slicks on the small amount of lotion left, and that'll have to be enough.

He grabs Matt's hip with one hand and pulls him back as he lines up his cock with the other. A shift, a push, a sweet warm slide, and Bob has Matt on his lap, his cock buried deep. Matt drops his head back onto Bob's shoulder with a groan and brushes his lips against the edge of Bob's jaw.

Bob wraps his arms around Matt, spreading one hand across his chest and wrapping the other around his cock. When Bob encourages him to move, Matt braces his hands on his thighs and lifts himself almost all the way off Bob's cock before sinking back down. Then he does it again and again, a tiny little 'uhm' escaping every time he settles back into Bob's lap.

Bob grips Matt's cock tight in his fist, and when he gives it a couple of strokes, Matt's hips stutter forward before jerking back, like he doesn't know which way to go. Bob pumps his hand a little faster and thrusts his hips up and Matt says, "Come on, come on, Bob, now..."

Bob lowers his mouth to Matt's shoulder and sinks his teeth deep into the muscle, and Matt's entire body stiffens. When Bob starts to suck, feeling the blood rush to the surface of the skin under his tongue, Matt flings one hand up to cup the back of Bob's head. He's not even moving on Bob's cock any more, but Bob keeps stroking him as he moves to a new spot at the base of Matt's neck and bites him again. He sucks until he can feel the bruise forming and then he moves back to the previous spot and works on it again. Matt makes a faint sound that might have been a whimper and his hips jerk and he comes all over Bob's hand.

Bob gives him a minute to come down and then pushes him over, his face and chest pressed into the mattress and his ass in the air so Bob can finally get some good leverage. Bob braces one hand on the bed and one hand on Matt's hip, and just goes for it, fucking him hard and fast. And even now he's still tight and so, so hot, and Bob just completely loses control for a second or two, thrusting wildly one last time and then coming so hard his vision greys out at the edges. Maybe, just maybe, Bob can be that reckless kind of guy after all.

He has just enough presence of mind to hold onto the condom as he pulls out. After he strips it off and drops it to the carpet, he collapses next to Matt, who turns his head and grins sleepily at Bob.

"You okay?" Bob mutters, his eyes sliding shut against his will. He forces them open again so he can take in how completely wrecked Matt looks. The bruises are forming up all red and purple, a pretty complement to the ink on his arms. Bob wants to add more, to see his marks all over Matt's body. Maybe after a nap, when he's not so wiped out.

"Oh hell yeah," Matt says and starts shifting around like he's trying to get comfortable.

"Gimme a minute and we'll get under the covers," Bob says, feeling too boneless to move yet.

"You don't want me to leave?" Matt asks and Bob can hear the combination of faint surprise and a bit of pleasure in his voice.

"No, stay for breakfast." Bob smiles without even opening his eyes. "You haven't tried the room service yet."

Matt laughs and settles against Bob's side.


The incessant beeping of his travel alarm wakes Bob and he hits the snooze button, then goes back to sleep. He repeats the process about five more times before finally sitting up and blearily blinking at the time. After barely a moment's serious thought, he picks up his appointment book and cell phone off the nightstand and dials a number.

When he gets an answer, Bob says, "Yeah, good morning, this is Bob Bryar, I have an appointment with Mr. Jordan at nine this morning. I've been unavoidably detained and I need to reschedule for--" He pauses and glances at the other side of the bed, following the long line of Matt's bare back down to where the sheet barely covers his ass. The morning sun streams through a crack in the curtains and illuminates a deep purple bruise he left on Matt's hip in the middle of the night, right about where the waistband of his pants will rub against it, reminding him of Bob for a couple weeks at least. "--late afternoon."

"Just a moment," Jordan's assistant says and then is back a minute later. "He's got an opening at 4:30."

"That's perfect. Thank you." Bob turns off his phone and turns off the alarm, then rolls over and slides an arm across Matt's waist.

He drifts off to sleep again with a smile on his face.

The end.


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