WHEN I SAY I BELIEVE IN 'MOVEMENT' SUPREMACY I'M TALKING ABOUT THIS

WHEN I SAY I BELIEVE IN 'MOVEMENT' SUPREMACY I'M TALKING ABOUT THIS

Hozier tonight at Lytham Festival

Source: Instagram.com

fluff pls!

There you go, love. I hope it turned out okay.

It was strange how the mind could play tricks on him sometimes. Especially your absence—multiplied by distance and time—gave it a life of its own, and it was the cruelest thing. 

He had gotten used to it by now, at least that was what he had told himself, but this very instant he was taught in no uncertain terms that he had never been more wrong about anything. A turn of his head, one heedless glance was all it had taken and there you were. Your familiar form in the seat right on the other side of that subway door. You looked lovely, just like he remembered you. Shiny eyes staring out the window, following the ever changing play of light and darkness on the other side of the glass. 

Christ, he missed you. Missed your smile, warm and bright, the scent of your hair on a summer’s day, heated by the sun and soft underneath his fingertips. 

Needing to shut his eyes for a moment, he leant back, the vision of you dancing against the light that still fell through his closed lids. And it was the sweetest thing. A soothing balm, calming his homesick heart in an instant. 

On instinct his hand began to move, gliding into the pocket of his jeans until his fingers had closed around the flat device inside and brought it to light. Your image was already waiting for him when his gaze fell on the illuminated display. You looked so happy, so vibrant, just like you would in a moment. You were always over the moon to see him, even it was only on a phone display, stealing some time whenever his busy schedule allowed. As was he. 

Eager fingers found your name on the screen and his heart leapt in his chest as the connection started to set up. He wanted to tell you everything at once, how he missed you, and that he loved you and couldn’t wait for the day to come when he would finally hold you in his arms again. 

But then you picked up, as if you had already been waiting for his call, and he found himself rendered completely speechless by your smile. Oh, how his heart longed for you. He could not wait to get home. To you. His sweet one. 

Hozier performing in Brussels

❝ I laughed at him like 10x tonight. ❞

Moment's Silence

02/03/2023

Pairing: Andrew (Hozier) x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,699

Warnings: rpf, language, oral (m receiving), mentions of future sexy times

Summary: Tired and overworked, Andrew has promised not to stay up all night again. When he still does, there is only one cure to ease his mind.

A/N: What is there to say? That song really is rather inspiring...

Picture by kirklai via Unsplash (edited)

If you like my story, you are very welcome to like, comment or reblog. No permission is given to copy, repost or share my work on other platforms.

She awoke with a shiver. Instead of his arms, she was wrapped in darkness. The gentle sound of his soft breathing substituted with the whooshing of heavy rain. She didn’t need any light to confirm that the bed beside her was empty, but to find that it hadn’t been touched tonight at all startled her a little.

It wasn’t unusual for him to work at this hour and then sleep through most of the day, but he had promised to go to bed earlier tonight, and Andrew was the kind of person who valued a promise.

She couldn’t deny that his recklessness angered her a little, maybe even more than the broken promise. He had looked so tired and worn already, still over the past days he had dedicated even more hours to his work, hiding himself away in his studio until—as she feared—he would hit the point of complete exhaustion.

With a huff she pushed the blanket off of herself and a silent curse escaped her lips as the cold night air hit her bare legs. This was insufferable, she thought, as she tiptoed her way through the nightly house, wave after wave of goosebumps rolling over her body.

She had almost made it, only a few more steps to the studio, when the soft sound of his guitar suddenly reached her ears. From far away, it seemed, hearing how faint it was, and from the other end of the house.

Her forehead wrinkling in astonishment, she turned around to follow the tune. It lead her straight to the living room where the sheen of dim light that fell through the door gave her the second clue to his whereabouts.

Gently she laid her hand against the wood and pushed it open, slowly, quietly, even though she felt more like storming inside like an angry mob. But she reminded herself that she wanted to have a stern word with him, not scare him to death.

He was sitting on the sofa, guitar in his lap, strumming away while humming a sweet melody. She loved when he did that. There was something magic about the soft vibrations that rose from his throat, something so soothing that her anger washed away in an instant. Even more so when he noticed her and a pair of tired eyes found her still standing in the doorway. The hint of a smile curled his lips, just a bit, but the affection it held was clear to see. But then, together with the music, it fell away and guilt washed over his face.

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

His voice was tender and genuine, enough to silence even the last remains of her anger.

“You didn’t. Technically, it was more of your absence that woke me.”

The pained expression on his face told her that didn’t make a difference to him. He had disrupted her sleep by breaking his promise and it bothered him.

“Andrew, what are you doing still up this late? You’re already running on empty.”

“I know, I just can’t wrap my head around…”

He halted mid-sentence as he watched her walk over to him.

“And you won’t tonight. Not with how drained you are.”

She wasn’t met with any resistance as she took the guitar out of his hands and sat it down on the ground. With the instrument out of the way, she didn’t hesitate to take its place and straddle his lap. Loving hands welcomed her, gliding along her exposed thighs with a contented hum. Further and further they ventured, disappearing underneath the hem of her sleeping shirt, travelling across her hips until they found their final resting place on her behind.

He smiled up at her, obviously very pleased with his trove, and there was no way she could resist the lure of his enticing lips any longer. They were as soft as ever, moving unhurriedly with hers, and she could feel the first signs that he finally began to relax.

Not enough though. If she were to ask him to come to bed with her now, he would still decline. She knew him long enough to know that it would need more to make him see reason and tear him away from his beloved music for a few hours.

And so her lips left his, her body gliding through his hands on her way down until her knees met the ground between his feet. Eager fingers went to work immediately, unbuttoning his jeans and slowly pulling down the zipper while her gaze held his.

“What are you doing, love?”

“Helping you relax, Andrew,” she breathed against his stomach before her lips pressed to the small line of hair that vanished underneath the hem of his pants. Carefully she freed him, pulling his clothes all the way down into a pool around his ankles. He moaned, his eyes falling closed for a moment as her hands eased up his legs again. First over his calves, enjoying the flex of his muscles underneath his fuzzy skin, then even slower along his thighs. She could see him twitch in anticipation the closer her fingers got, already growing, hardening under her avid gaze.

A sigh broke from his lips when her mouth found the inside of his thigh, kissing its way up the length of it at a torturously tardy pace. She could feel his eyes on her long before she decided to abandon his silky skin and wasn’t surprised in the least to find them begging her silently to end his anguish.

She had never been able to resist the mossy green of his eyes, and so she yielded. Warm fingers wrapped around his half-hardened erection, stroking, pumping until it had reached its full size. The sight made her mouth water and even if she had wanted to make him wait a little longer, she couldn’t. Lips opening to welcome him inside, her head dove down into his lap.

She hummed the second she could feel him on her tongue, hard and heavy, the familiar taste sending a rush of desire through her whole body. Warmth flooded her core, her hunger for him doubling the second his response invaded her ears.

He sighed her name, so shaky and needy, turning into a hiss as she hollowed her cheeks and sucked him in deeper. With a thud his back hit the soft cushions behind him while his face vanished behind his hands. But just like she couldn’t resist bringing him more pleasure, it seemed he couldn’t resist the view in front of him, and so his hands fell away and he watched in awe how her tongue swirled around him, licking up his shaft, gliding over the tip before it retreated and her lips wrapped around him once more.

She took him in deep this time, a harsh curse breaking the silence as he hit the back of her throat. With a pop she pulled away, gasping for air before she repeated the ritual, then again, and again, and again.

“Baby, please. I—”

He groaned as her free hand found his balls, cupping them, slowly kneading the sensitive area. All the while she kept on pleasuring him, her hand stroking up and down his cock, taking turns with her mouth that sucked him in, tongue hitting his tip every now and then as an extra treat.

It wasn’t long before she could feel him tighten in her hand, just a little at first, but then more and more with every stroke. His sounds of passion grew louder as well, the perfect litany of sweet hums and sighs mixed with lewd curses, an enchanting song he only ever sang for her.

It crescendoed in a beautiful, drawn-out moan and she answered with the same sound of appreciation when he started to pulse on her tongue. She took everything he gave her, savouring each thick drop until the tension finally left his body and his song ebbed away.

Slender fingers cupped her cheeks, still a bit shaky, but drawing her attention nonetheless. He was just looking at her with a placid smile, watching as she released him from her mouth. His mouth fell open a little, just like hers when his thumb found her bottom lip in a gentle caress.

“Come here,” he whispered and it didn’t escape her attention how wonderfully low the tone of his voice had become. Low and honeyed, a bit hoarse as well, and that was all her doing, her triumph.

He helped her up, his hands finding her face again the second she had taken her former position on his lap to pull her in for a deep kiss. He moved slowly, devouring her properly. Her reward for being so good to him. But hidden beneath all his love and affection, she could taste the weariness on his tongue.

Still, despite the adamant claim of his body, he tenderly whispered against her lips, “Let me return the favour.”

Oh how she would have loved to give in, to feel that strong muscle pressed against her needy sex, feasting on her until every last thought was cleared from her mind and all that remained was pure, calming nothingness. But one look into those overtired orbs of green was enough to remind her what she had to do. Why she had left her bed and come down here in the first place.

“Not now, my love. What you need right now is sleep.”

He scrunched his nose, clearly displeased with her answer. She of all people knew that he liked his woman satisfied, blissed out and spent before she fell asleep in his arms. But not tonight.

“You know, there’s always tomorrow. And I sure wouldn’t mind waking up to the sight of your gorgeous face between my thighs.”

Her lips pressed to his forehead in a tender kiss and when she drew away, she found the most beautiful smile on his lips.

“You’re right, love. Let’s head to bed.” He sat up, still he refused to loosen his embrace just yet. Instead he leaned in until she could feel his lips softly brush against her ear. “Sunrise can’t come soon enough.”

From the Shrike Windmill Studios vid! Which is possibly my most favorite look of his my god. Whatever you want to do with this—fluffy, steamy, whatever—but my god his eyes 🫠 had to share it

This was a most unfair attempt to ruin me. How dare you throw that picture my way? I hope this is what you had in mind. I tried to stay as close to the scenario of the video and the song as possible.

Warning: brief talk about alcohol; slightly smutty

This was torture. He had never felt more alone or more out of place even though he was surrounded by people he loved in a place he usually felt so at home in. But today, it was not merely hard to focus, to remember the lines and notes that had sprung from his own mind, it was impossible. Images of you, of you and him together, kept constantly replaying on the oversized screen at his cinema of memories. 

Last night, you and him, it had been messy. The best kind. Tangled limbs and sweat-soaked skin, and those kisses. Deep and passionate, set on consuming the both of you whole. He was sure they had left an imprint on his soul, never to be erased again. 

It had been everything his heart desired, but not at all the way he had wanted it to be. And now all he could think about was that it might have sent the wrong message, that instead of bringing you closer to him, it had driven you away for good, especially since you had been gone this morning, not a trace of you to be found, as if you had never shared that night in the first place. No forgotten items of clothing, no lipstick on the pillows, not even the tiniest mark left on his body to prove that he had been yours. 

Only his shirt had held the faintest scent of you, a little reminder that his lovesick mind had not just dreamed it all up. But even that might be nothing but his imagination running wild. He had put it on this morning anyway, keeping you close, just a little longer. 

In the end, it had not turned out to be his wisest choice. It was distracting, making him forget the words he was about to sing or pick the wrong strings, so much so that he could feel the nerves of his band members wearing thin upon his lack of concentration. 

Luckily, this time he had almost made it to the end of the song without messing up, when another wave of your scent forced his eyes shut in a feeble attempt not to lose focus. Thick and heady it invaded his nostrils, sparking the memory of your moan close to his ear. It had been his name that had rolled over your lips on the peak of your passion, it had echoed from the walls of the dimly lit room, and set every last fibre of his heart into motion. It was still humming in the reverberation. 

But when he finally opened his eyes again, it suddenly stopped. There you were, looking just as miserable as he felt, his chest pierced by a violent sting upon the hint of puffiness around your eyes. 

“Can we talk?” you mouthed without making a sound and the casual wink and nod he chose to answer your question with could barely hide that these three words had been enough to pull the rug and send him spiralling into an abyss of anxiety. 

He had no idea how his legs had mustered the strength to move, but he found himself walking anyway, following you to some place quiet while the rest of the world drowned out around him. He could barely make out someone’s annoyed voice over the white noise in his ears, uttering a miffed, “Let’s take five then, shall we?”

He felt claustrophobic, the walls slowly closing in on him as he let you lead him down the corridor and into some tiny room at the far end he was sure he had never been in before. 

“Look,” you began, your voice frail and choked, and even the tiniest drop of hope he had been harbouring like a miser until now, that this might somehow still end well, evaporated, “about last night. I…can we just…well, I know you didn’t mean to…you’d probably had a few drinks and…things just happened, I guess.”

His brain needed a moment to process your words.

“A few drinks?” What were you even talking about? “I’ve never been more sober in my entire life.”

He watched as a myriad of emotions washed over your face, leaving deep creases on your forehead.

“You mean…”

A frustrated sigh escaped his lungs and he immediately wished he could take it back. You would surely take this the wrong way, assuming he was annoyed by your lack of comprehension, when he would never. Instead it was his own inability to make his feelings for you clear that vexed him beyond reason.

“What I mean is that everything I said, every single thing I did, is exactly what I meant to do. What I have been meaning to do for so long now. But if this is not what you want, just say the word and we’ll never have to talk about last night again.”

Moments went by, possibly mere seconds of your silence, and still they felt like an eternity in the depths of Tartarus. This was agony, his personal living hell, and what made it even worse, it had been born from his own reckless behaviour. This needed to stop, and if you could not end this futile endeavour, he would.

“I see.”

Two words, it did not take more, and still they had cost him everything. He needed to leave, now, because he could not stand being so close, knowing full well that the two of you would never be close again. And so he turned, not sure if there was anything he could say to make this less awkward, when your hand wrapped around his wrist out of nowhere.

“No, you don’t.”

Your voice was dry and measured, forming the perfect contrast to the language your hands spoke. Frenzied fingers fisted his grey undershirt to pull him closer until your bodies collided, the momentum sending you stumbling backwards. He barely just managed to soften the impact, one hand pressed against the wall, the other cupping the back of your head. 

In the blink of an eye the same fever that had befallen you last night took hold of you both again. You moaned against his lips as his mouth met yours, falling open instantly to taste you and allow you his familiar taste in return. 

He wanted you, more than he had ever thought it possible to want someone, but he could not. Not here. Not like this. He wanted to properly make love to you this time. To show you what he truly wanted, how his heart was beating for you, so you would never doubt his feelings for you ever again. 

And so he stopped, his hand finding your cheek, tender thumb gliding along your cheekbone in a silent apology. He knew you understood, you had always understood him better than anyone. Still it was him who could not resist the lure of your lips now. They were still trembling from the sensual kiss you had shared, and he needed to feel them again, just once, just for a blink of time. One last taste to get him through the rest of day before he would at last have you all to himself again tonight. 

blue jeans, white shirt

ship: andrew hozier-byrne x cisfem!reader (no use of y/n)  summary: you're andrew's girlfriend and you're at the railbird festival together! you get a chance to catch noah's set together, but get a bit distracted. thankfully, you end up getting everything you want. ratings/warnings: E; MDNI – established relationship, grinding, public makeout, fingering, use of pet names ("my girl", "baby") wc: 2.7k author’s note: the jeans onstage debut did something to me that i fear i will never recover from. definitely potential for part two if y’all enjoy this one :-)  this is dedicated to @perpetuallyyearning for sending me those damn jean pictures while i was drunk at the bar. and shout out to @pendingnomdeplume for being the actual best ever. ily both!!! (title is from lana del rey's "blue jeans", naturally)

– – –

you’re the long-term partner of the one, the only Andrew Hozier-Byrne and this weekend you’re accompanying him and the band to the Railbird Festival in Lexington, Kentucky! three cheers for Kentucky bourbon!

it’s the first day of the festival, and you flew in that morning. you’ve spent the day enjoying the incredible atmosphere of this country/bluegrass/indie rock/whatever the hell else festival. the chilled vibes of the acts, the never-ending flow of bourbon, and the gorgeous June weather is sure to make for a great time. 

but you’re still a little unsettled. as the plus one, you’ve only ever attended stadium shows. and the environment there is totally different. people working there know you, or at least of you. and you know them! it’s much more controlled and stream-lined. 

here, the inherent chaos from the floods of people, multiple stages, and multi-day itinerary intimidate you. but the energy adds a lightness and spontaneity that you think you can come to appreciate. 

you can especially appreciate how much Andrew fucking loves musical festivals. he’s so relaxed here, clearly thriving on all the chaotic pieces that you feel are overwhelming. it almost surprised you – but you know that to him, the music supersedes whatever concerns he has about crowds or socializing. besides, he's been at festivals well before he was known as Hozier, back when his hair was shorter and the world didn't know who he was.

you think more than once about what it would be like to go to one with him where he wasn’t a headliner, and you’re sure it would be just as incredible if not more. you’d have his full attention and could actually watch the acts together. not that you aren’t stoked to see him perform, no, that would never get old. but sometimes, you missed out on the experiences everyone else seemed to take for granted. 

when you’d first seen Andrew today, your eyebrows had shot up. he was wearing too many layers for this heat, but what shocked you the most was that he was wearing jeans. jeans that fit him very well, jeans that he usually reserved for off-duty, casual wear. 

“outfit check?” he asked. it was a silly ritual you’d set up ages ago: he’d ask your opinion on his outfit, mainly as a cheeky way to fish for compliments or get you worked up for him. (sometimes actual insecurity snuck in, but that happened a lot less lately.)

“hot as fuck, honestly.” you say. Andrew gives you a bemused look, appreciating the compliment but not quite getting it. “one word. jeans.” he looks down briefly, as if he’d forgotten he was wearing them.  

“seriously? jeans?” Andrew’s expression was turning maniacal now, a raw glint in his eyes. you nod sagely, to try and hide how much you want to find an empty trailer and ride his thigh until you fall apart. “huh. jeans.” he’s smiling to himself, much like the cat who got the cream, and you have to give him a playful shove to get him to stop looking at you like he knows precisely what you want. and how to give it to you.

after you finally get a chance to see him late in the afternoon, Andrew excitedly tells you, “festivals are like, such a pure experience for performers and audience members.” you furrow your brow in confusion. 

“but it’s so…” you pause, wanting to find the right words. honesty was a core value between you two (with your schedules and so much time apart, it had to be). “crowded. loud. overwhelming. I mean, three stages?” 

“I know, I know. but there’s also, like a camaraderie to it? we’re all here for the same thing, to appreciate music together. it’s community. besides, I’ve been here at Railbird since the beginning. it’s like a little reunion every time.” Andrew's response is endearing, in a way that is unique to him. and then he’s off on a tangent about his favorite festival experiences, Glastonbury and Austin City Limits being at the top of the list. Andrew also talks about going to festivals before he was onstage, and that one time in 2006 when he saw the dream line-up at Oxegen: Hard-Fi, Magic Numbers, Arctic Monkeys, Strokes, Kings of Leon, The Who, and James Brown.

“too bad you really only get to see one side of it these days.” you say it offhand, but notice how his face falls. but, as if you’ve planted an idea, Andrew gets a mischievous look on his face. 

“wait. what if I show you what I mean? what if we watch a set together?” you know your eyes are lighting up by the way his face mirrors your expression. his smile is warm and sunny, flooded with affection.

“what, seriously? together together? like you’ll be in the audience?” he grins and explains his idea.

which is how you find yourself screaming along with a massive crowd, off to the side stage, for Noah Kahan’s set. you’d met him just a half hour before, when you’d gone backstage to meet up with Andrew. 

Noah had been everything you’d imagined: self-depracating, affable, and instantly easy to get along with. he’d made fun of your accent, you’d gotten to meet Penny the German Shepherd, and then he gave you a hug before heading off to finish preparing. 

“he seems like a good egg.” you had said with a smile. pleased by your assessment, Andrew had called Noah a “good fucking lad” and shared that working with him had been a huge source of joy. then he’d led you outside to the more private area of the audience. 

it was perfect – you could enjoy the show together with a smaller crowd and not worry about much interference. you see Andrew make eye contact with one of his security personnel, who nods once in acknowledgment. their presence was rarely needed, but made everyone feel safe all the same. it being Noah’s set meant you were both excited for and familiar with the music. on top of that, you had a sneaking suspicion (that Andrew refused to confirm or deny) that your boyfriend would make a guest appearance onstage to boot. 

the night only got better as it went on: the sun having fallen beneath the horizon, Andrew standing behind you with one arm wrapped around your torso at all times, Noah and his band captivating the audience. Noah's blunt yet personable energy extended onstage, and you felt yourself tear up when “Call Your Mom” was playing, the crowd lovingly singing it back to him at full volume.

you feel giddy, giddy at being a normal girl with a normal boyfriend at a normal show. it was so fucking fun, elation seeping into your body the longer Andrew kept his arms around you.

Andrew was being respectable, as he often made a point to be (in public). chaste, even. he’d kept a few inches between you, kept his arm on your shoulders. you figured there were probably eyes on you, figured he really didn’t want to make you any more uncomfortable than you already might be. but tonight was supposed to be about you two, about being normal. 

and what would normal you want to do with your normal boyfriend at a normal concert in the warm, dark summer night with the taste of bourbon still on your tongue?

“having fun, love?” Andrew’s mouth is next to your ear, the scratch of his beard on your neck. the sound of his voice and the feeling of his skin so close makes you almost lose your ability to stand upright. Christ, how unfair. 

“definitely fun.” you lean back onto his solid chest, letting your head fall into the dip of his neck as he leans down to hear you. “but I could be having so much more.” 

Andrew pauses a beat, the music swelling to a crescendo, and as if he’s read your mind, his hands go to your waist, sliding down slowly to your hips. they linger for just a few seconds before pulling you closer to him. onto him. you hear him let out a shallow breath and feel a slow smile spread across your face. 

“is this what you wanted?” he says, his voice rougher than before. he presses a kiss to your temple, then another on your jaw. they’re slow, lazy kisses, but that doesn’t take away the heat you know is simmering. 

you don’t respond, simply take his arms and wrap them tighter around you so they’re crossing over your chest. you stay like this, pressed together, for a few songs, swaying slightly. Andrew casually kissing you, rubbing lazy circles with his thumb on your arm. 

but eventually, you want more. you’re dancing, letting your instincts take over, the music and adrenaline making your blood pound. you press your ass against him and carefully move up and down, the thrill of feeling him already hard coursing through you. you feel his fingers grip tighter on your hips, but not too tight. just tight enough. he’s pulling you closer and closer, as if by sheer force of will he can make the fabric between you both disappear. 

you continue the movement, guided by the beat of the music, and Andrew keeps his hands and arms tightly around you. you even squeeze together your ass, feeling his hard on straining against you, pushing in closer. you know what he’s thinking about and your mouth waters. every now and then, you hear a whisper. a soft baby and then a not so soft fuck. 

when you put even more pressure on him with your ass, his mouth is suddenly pressing into your jaw again, this time his tongue tracing down onto your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite the warm air. you feel arousal pooling in your abdomen, tight and urgent.

you turn your head look at him, and tell him with your eyes what your words can’t convey. how much you want him. how much you need him, in that moment. you swallow, hard. you can see the dilemma in Andrew's expression: tend to you and help you feel good, or stay put. he glances up to the stage, then shakes his head. “fuck it.” 

Andrew’s pulling away from you now, but keeps tight hold of your hand as he leads you out of the crowd. you see the security personnel from earlier take a step toward you, likely to check in that nothing was wrong, but Andrew holds up his free hand and gives a slight shake of the head. the man nodded, once, and you looked toward where you were being led.

“where are we going?” you ask.  

“somewhere private.” 

you walk further away from the crowd and the stage until you get to rows and rows of parked trailers. he stops, thus you also stop, and he scans them as if looking for a specific one. finally Andrew finds the one he’s looking for and you’re headed toward a big trailer obscured by the twilight. Andrew punches in a code on the electronic key pad and you’re both trailing inside. 

he’s acting with swift, precise movements as you both know you’re playing against the clock with him going to push you down onto the sofa-bench, but you shake your head. you push him down and lower yourself on top of him, straddling his lap. Andrew practically purrs at the sight of you filling his vision and runs his hands down your body, stopping at your hips. he pulls you farther onto him and your mouths meet in a crush of hot, urgent need. 

you’re running your hands through his hair and he’s palming your breasts through your top, making you grind your hips, seeking friction. the bulge in his pants provides exactly what you’re looking for and you move yourself against it, letting out a low whine. Andrew jerks his hips up into you, desperate to give you what you need as you move your mouth to his neck. the jeans are rough against your tender, sensitive skin, but the feeling is driving you mad. you need to taste him, need to feel him.

he’s been whispering words of encouragement in your ear, letting you know how badly he wants you to feel good and how much he needs to feel you come for him. 

“that’s my girl. does my cock feel good for you? even through the jeans?” you nod, pushing further and groaning at the feeling of him, hard and stiff beneath you. “just for you. just here for you to feel good.” you bite your lip and feel his lips on your neck, then your collarbone, before mouthing your stiff nipple through your clothes. you find yourself wishing there had been time to take off clothes, but that had been impossible.

“n-need more. please, god.” Andrew immediately obliges, working his fingers under your clothes and pulling aside your underwear. 

“tell me what you need, baby.” 

“you. more of you.” 

Andrew gives you a self-satisfied smile at hearing this and slides one finger in, testing to see how much you can take. you respond by bucking onto his hand, aching for friction and pressure, so he quickly adds a second. you’re pushing into his palm, and he’s holding the pressure for you – you know from experience that if you could see him, the muscles in his arm would be taut with the strain.

“that’s it. doing so good for me. I know you're close.” Andrew says, voice low. “need you to come for me. need to feel you.”

the trailer is dark with no lights on, and you wish for a split second before you fall apart that you could see his face when you peak. wish you could see the way pleasure and pride change his expression into one reserved for you.

but instead you feel the waves of searing sensation crash over you, pulling you closer to him, your forehead on his shoulder. as you pant his name, you feel his other arm wrap around you, rubbing his hand down your back to assure you’re he’s right there. 

before either of you fully come back to your senses, you both feel Andrew’s phone vibrate in his back pocket. loathe to take you off his lap, he tightens his grip around you and pushes you both off the couch enough to slip out the phone. 

he expression grimaces as he looks to you and says, “we need to go.” 

“now?” you hope it doesn’t sound like a whine, but fuck, you just came so hard you could still feel it and wanted more than anything to let him finish what had been started.

“now.” he kisses you, tender and soft, but hot with desire all at once, full of everything he doesn’t have time to – and doesn’t really need to – say. you understand, and you’re carefully climbing off his lap and standing up, stretching.

“oh my god.” you realize it then, remember why you had been so rushed in the first place. “you have to go onstage.” you bark out a laugh and then so does he, and you’re both cackling like someone just told you the funniest dirty joke in existence. 

he’s standing then too, adjusting himself as best he can despite the raging hard on, and you’re both making your way out of the trailer.

“I hope it’s a long enough walk.” you hear him mutter from behind you as he closes the door. 

you suppress a smile and shrug. “we’ll just have to take care you later.” 

he comes up behind you and presses a kiss into your cheek before saying with a devious lilt, “’m s’posed to be calming down. don’t make this any harder than it has to be.” which causes another bout of laughter between the two of you, you doing your best to stifle the noise with your hand.  

you walk back to the stage area, hand in hand. you watch as he turns from you and heads to the backstage area, leaving you in the crowd to watch him join Noah onstage for Northern Attitude. 

you do your best to school your shit eating grin into something more neutral.

you fail miserably.