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Moonlight (isilme) wrote,
@ 2003-01-30 18:22:00
Previous Entry  Add to memories!  Add to Topic Directory  Tell a Friend!  Next Entry

    Current mood:okay
    Current music:Its Over - The Fire Theft

    Title: Thirty
    Author: Quai-Dian (Isilme)
    Fandom: Foo Fighters RPS
    Pairing: Dave Grohl/Taylor Hawkins
    Rating: NC-17
    Summary: Dave misses Taylor's thirtieth birthday and makes up for it later.
    Archive Permissions: Archive anywhere as long as my email address is on it (isilme@disenchantedlullabye.com)
    Series/Sequel: No
    Disclaimer: I don't know them. I don't own them. This is all my imagination. No harm intended.
    Warnings: None.
    Notes: Based on events from the Must Be Pop LJ RP. Many thanks to Jean who gave me the idea. Thank you, sweetie.

    Thirty

    It was Taylor's thirtieth birthday. He hadn't thought anything was going to happen. Maybe Nate and Chris would take him to some titty bar or something, but so far no one had called. So Taylor had made the illustrious plans of renting a whole bunch of X-Files episodes and drinking himself stupid alone. He didn't need a party. And he sure as fuck didn't need to see Dave.

    Nate finally called, but Taylor declined his invitation to go out to a bar. He told Nate that he wasn't going to turn thirty. He didn't want to be thirty. So he was skipping his birthday and remaining 29. Forever. Nate sounded confused, but he gave up without much of a fight. If Taylor didn't want to celebrate, then Nate wouldn't force him.

    Chris stopped by with a case of beer. Taylor let him in, they watched three episodes of season three together. Then Chris fell asleep on the couch and Taylor went to bed. Buzzed, depressed, and thinking of how much season seven of the X-Files sucked because it wasn't Mulder and Scully anymore. Who the fuck cared? It was about Mulder and Scully. Scully was cool, sure, and hot, but she wasn't nearly as good without her Mulder.

    And, of course, his thoughts had nothing to do with missing Dave. No, he couldn't care less if Dave forgot his birthday. Yeah, cause maybe Dave had an idea of how much Taylor didn't want to be thirty and was helping him stay 29 by not calling to wish him happy birthday. That had to be it. Because Dave would never forget something like that. Dave was his best friend and best friends didn't forget birthdays.

    Dave called Tuesday. Two days after Taylor's birthday. And he bitched Taylor out for not reminding him. Taylor laughed and pretended he wasn't hurt. Because, after all, he wasn't. He told Dave about his plan to stay 29 forever and how it didn't matter if Dave didn't remember. He was in denial that it had ever been his birthday anyway. Dave said he was taking him out and Taylor repeated his new manifesto; if there is no birthday, there's no way he can turn thirty. Dave told him tough shit, he was giving him a party or he would die trying.

    Around eight o'clock Dave let himself into Taylor's house and attacked Taylor on the sofa. He hauled him back to his bedroom and locked him inside, much to the drummer's dismay, as he went back into the living room and made phone calls. Within half an hour Taylor's house was filled with people and alcohol and Dave went back to retrieve the birthday boy, only to find him curled up asleep. Taylor was soon dragged bodily out of his room to stand disheveled and confused in the center of the living room. He blinked and stood open mouthed as Nate handed him a beer, looked back at Dave, who was grinning like an idiot, and finally gave in.

    The night was an interesting one. The guests all sang "Happy Non-Birthday" to Taylor in keeping with his thirtieth birthday denial, they played drinking games with the X-Files tapes Taylor hadn't returned to the video store, and a dirty construction worker named Ralph hacked his way out of a refrigerator box in place of what Dave said would have been a pretty girl in a cake. Taylor didn't seem to mind, though, as he fell off the couch laughing and spilled his screwdriver all over the carpet.

    By two in the morning the party had dwindled, the Foo Fighters plus only a few hangers-on remained in the house. Nate had taken over the downstairs bathroom and had fallen asleep on the floor by the toilet, Chris and a couple of his buddies were out on the back porch throwing rocks into a plastic cup and there were a few other party goers up in Taylor's room with a bong, waxing philosophical about leprechaun in the Lucky Charms commercials. Dave and Taylor were alone on the sofa watching Tunguska.

    "Man, the mytharc episodes were always the best ones," Dave commented as he returned from the kitchen with a fresh rum and coke for Taylor. "The rest of that stuff is just bullshit between all the good conspiracy stuff."

    "Dude, the black oil is, like, the coolest alien ever," Taylor stated randomly. "I mean, look at that shit? Mulder can't do a Goddamned thing to get away from it. The Russians pin him down under that chainlink fence and he's fuckin' screwed, man."

    "It would totally suck to have that shit up your nose," Dave said, scrunching up his face as he watched the screen. "Man, that's gross. You know, this show needs, like, more sex."

    "Dude, this show needs, like, sex period." Taylor drank half of his drink and turned blearily to Dave. "I mean, when was the last time there was even any nudity on X-Files? This show's been on for, like, seven years, man. And Mulder and Scully STILL haven't gotten it on. What the fuck, man."

    "Dude, no shit. And Scully's all a mom now. She's still hot, but dude, totally."

    "Maybe they just need more chicks," Taylor suggested, licking his lips. "That agent Reyes lady doesn't count, either. She's totally not hot."

    "Nah, dude, you're a hotter chick than her." Dave laughed and Taylor punched him rather uncoordinatedly in the arm. "What? Dude, you're like, always dressed as a chick, man."

    "Yeah, well you'd fuck me if I were a girl, cause I'm just that fuckin' pretty."

    "Yeah, whatever," Dave looked at Taylor. "You don't need to be a girl."

    Taylor's head turned to look Dave in the face, his body swaying a little drunkly and Dave could almost watch as his words sunk through six hours worth of alcohol consumption. His eyes cleared and he opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but Dave never gave him the chance, leaning forward quickly and pressing his lips awkwardly to Taylor's half open mouth. Taylor yelped and Dave grabbed the back of his neck with one hand, tilting his head to settle the kiss a bit more, lips flush with Taylor's.

    The kiss snapped off within a couple long seconds and Dave was panting, eyes wild, heart hammering in his chest. He tried to swallow the lump of apprehension in his throat and waited for Taylor to react, waited for the freak out. But Taylor sat motionless, eyes blinking a little fast, lips still parted but now damp and pink from the contact with Dave's mouth. Unconsciously Dave stroked his thumb over the edge of Taylor's jaw and Taylor made a soft moaning sound, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before opening to half lidded. The sound of Taylor's voice and the expression on his face set off a chain reaction in Dave, a half explosion in his chest that burned up to his brain and down to his groin.

    And Dave was kissing Taylor again, lips fitted more naturally this time, mouths opening to press it deeper, Dave's tongue not hesitating in touching and tasting every inch of Taylor's mouth. Their tongues rubbed together, Dave licked Taylor's teeth, their mouths worked roughly in tandem. Suddenly Taylor was in Dave's lap, thighs straddling Dave's hips, and there was no denying the warm hardness pressing against Dave's equally aroused groin. Taylor bucked forward and Dave moaned harshly into Taylor's mouth, arms wrapping tightly around Taylor's shoulders. Taylor gripped Dave's upper arms as he twisted the kiss, pulling his mouth apart from Dave's long enough to tilt his head the other direction and lick back into it.

    Dave felt pleasure sparkling behind his eyes, his ears filled with the little whimpering sounds coming from Taylor's throat, narrow body moving in a delightfully sexual rhythm in his lap. His hands were in Taylor's hair and he could feel Taylor's fingers on his neck, stroking this skin, tracing his collarbones, trying to force his top button out of it's buttonhole. God, Taylor was undressing him. He'd had the fantasy enough times to wonder if he were dreaming, if the feeling of a hot male body pressed up against him, the sound of Taylor's voice, the soft feeling of Taylor's breath on his upper lip were all just figments of his imagination.

    But then there were fingertips on his chest and he broke the kiss he was locked in, watching as Taylor looked into him, tilted his head down to guide his fingers over Dave's flesh, to trace black ink as it scrawled over the left side of his chest. Taylor's fingertip followed the lines as they twined together, stroking from high to low and the starting back at the top again. And then he flattened his palm over the tattoo in it's entirety, sliding his hand down to rub over Dave's nipple.

    "Tay, fuck..." Dave hissed, arching into the touch and coincidentally grinding himself against Taylor's erection, eliciting a groan on the part of the drummer. "Man, you should stop that. Or I don't know if I can stop myself from fucking you."

    "Don't care," Taylor slurred, drunk on a deadly combination of Captain Morgan and lust.

    "Yeah you do," Dave replied, reaching down to take Taylor by the hips in an attempt to still their now insistent rocking. "You're gonna fucking hate me in the morning."

    "I won't hate you," Taylor laughed. "Man, I fucking love you."

    "You won't love me when you can't walk," Dave persisted. "Fuck, Taylor, stop, man."

    "Come on, Dave!" Taylor thrust his hips forward harder. "You want me. I know you fucking do. I can feel it, man. You're fucking hard for me."

    "That's not the point," Dave growled past a moan. "You're fuckin' wasted. I'm not gonna let you do this to yourself."

    "I want this. I fucking want you. Let me have you, please, Dave?" Taylor's voice was whiny and his hands had moved to Dave's waist, fingers curling about Dave's belt loops. He started humping Dave more deliberately then, his breathing coming in little staccato moans and sighs. "God, Dave... Fuck, fuck, Dave..."

    "Taylor," Dave started to further his protests when Taylor's lips found the side of his neck, sucking and kissing and biting as he continued to rub himself against Dave in a lewd simulation of frantic sex. Dave could feel Taylor's desperation, the jagged thrusts, the little, hot breaths blooming against his skin as Taylor cursed and called his name. Dave started to feel something boiling inside him, the distant traces of orgasm just beginning to form. He held his breath, concentrated on the sensation, on the movement of Taylor's cock against his groin. He could taste release, it was so close. Almost, almost there.

    Abruptly Taylor tensed, his moan trembling and hot against Dave's neck, and Dave knew it was over. Taylor was coming against him, tremors shaking Taylor's body, breaking his voice. Dave tried to coax his own orgasm to fruition, but his brain was foggy with alcohol and Taylor's voice had distracted him just enough that he lost the feelings that had barely built up inside him. He sighed and closed his eyes as Taylor collapsed against him, breathing beginning to even and then slow. After a minute Dave realized that Taylor had passed out.

    Carefully, Dave shifted his body weight and tipped Taylor back to lay on the couch, resting on top of Taylor's body for just a moment so he could arrange Taylor's legs more comfortably. He looked down into Taylor's sleeping face and thought for a minute of staying right there, pressed against Taylor's chest, sleeping to the sound of Taylor's heartbeat. It only took a few seconds of drunk reasoning to decide that wouldn't be a good idea. Instead he moved to one of the overstuffed recliners, pretending that the little pang of regret was just his imagination.

    Sleep came easily because of his inebriation, but it would not be restful. Something has changed. A line had been crossed. And Dave knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, things would never be the same between them.



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