Title: Whole Lotta Love
Fandom: Milliways (Lost/the Vampire Chronicles)
Pairing: David Talbot/Charlie Pace
Warning: Vampire seduction type stuff
Summary: They are tight. They are black. They lace up the fly. And they are leather.
Notes: At the request of oneechan19, who wanted: David/Charlie; guitar, pants, song; singing; leather (as in leather pants 😀 ).
“Charlie, come out of the bathroom.”
David lounges on the couch. He’s patient. Mostly. It seemed like such a simple request at the time: Show me what you look like as a rock god. He caught glimpses of it from time to time in Charlie’s mind but he wanted to see the real thing—the rock god in the flesh.
Charlie had disappeared into the bathroom an hour ago, a mysterious bundle in his arms—but the sounds from the bathroom, while intriguing, had stopped a while ago.
And David is feeling jittery.
“Charlie,” he calls again. “Come out, already.”
Charlie’s voice is muffled. “You’ll laugh.”
“I’ve laughed at you before,” David says, rolling his eyes.
“Yes, when I’ve wanted you to. This is different.” Still, the bathroom door opens and Charlie steps out.
David says nothing for several minutes.
There are red streaks in Charlie’s hair and silver polish on his nails; his eyes are heavily lined with black pencil and the white t-shirt, resplendent with the Rolling Stones Union Jack tongue, stretches tight across his torso.
Best of all are the pants.
They are tight. They are black. They lace up the fly. And they are leather.
Charlie cocks a hip, missing only a guitar to complete the picture. “Well?” he says quietly.
“Well,” David murmurs. He’s still lounging on the couch but he feels a tension in his muscles, as if preparing to leap onto Charlie and kiss him senseless. “I can see why the little girls loved you.”
Charlie tosses his head. “The little girls loved Liam. The little girls always love the lead singers.” He hangs a thumb casually from his front pocket and David bites his lip. “So are you just going to look for a while, like I’m your rent boy?” Amusement in his tone, on his lips.
“You do exist for to entertain me,” David murmurs.
Charlie laughs and starts dancing closer to him—not close enough to touch, though, and David’s certain this is on purpose. As he dances Charlie starts singing: “‘You need coolin’, baby, I’m not foolin’, I’m gonna send you back to schoolin’, Way down inside honey, you need it, I’m gonna give you my love, I’m gonna give you my love. Wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love.'”
Finally he’s close enough for David to grasp him by the hips and pull him down into his lap. Charlie goes, laughing, his arms around David’s neck. “Don’t you like my song?” he mock-protests.
“I’d rather see it than hear it,” David says and kisses Charlie’s neck. His hand goes to the lace-up fly.
Charlie hums and laughs, and sings the next verse: “‘You’ve been learnin’, baby, I been learnin’, All them good times, baby, baby, I’ve been yearnin’, Way, way down inside honey, you need it, I’m gonna give you my love… I’m gonna give you my love. Wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love.'”
By the end of the chorus he’s nearly moaning as David suckles his earlobe, tongues his ear, licks and kisses his neck. David does not untie the laceup fly, though—he traces it, light fingertips along the leather thongs and the growing bulge beneath.
Charlie cries out when David’s teeth sink into his cartoid artery, and he relaxes, curling into David as he drinks from him. His voice is a low hum. “‘You’ve been coolin’, baby, I’ve been droolin’, All the good times I’ve been misusin’, Way, way down inside, I’m gonna give you my love, I’m gonna give you every inch of my love, Gonna give you my love. Wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love, wanna whole lotta love.'”
David licks the wounds closed and kisses them, and rubs his thumb along Charlie’s cheekbone. “You do know how to make a boy feel special,” he murmurs and Charlie chuckles. He lifts his head and kisses David, then pulls back. His hands are on David’s shoulders, his neck, his chest; his hips move in an easy rhythmn. He looks at David from beneath half-lowered eyelids. David just looks up at him, smiling, loving the absurdity and deliciousness of this, being seduced by eyeliner and Led Zepplin and leather pants.
Charlie’s voice is still low, low and dirty as his bass crunching chords. “‘Way down inside… boy… You need… love. Shake for me, boy. I wanna be your backdoor man. Keep it coolin’, baby. ‘”
David laughs, hands on Charlie’s hips, and pulls him down for another kiss. “Whole lotta love,” he joins in. “Wanna whole lotta love.”
He pulls the loose end of the laceup fly.