counterpoint

give me (your g string)

blurb: it's weird. it's absolutely insane. brett is never going to tell eddy about it, but really—he has always found the viola king persona just a teensy bit hot.

→ twosetweek #5; prompt: sacrilegious + viola

warnings: expletives; implications of non-PG content ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

title from viola gang by twoset violin.

• • •

it's weird. it's absolutely insane. brett is never going to tell eddy about it, but really—he has always found the viola king persona just a teensy bit hot.

present circumstances are not exactly helping either. now that eddy's been working out all proper again, he's filled out the costume, and wow. um. the viola king is a million times more attractive than the last time he'd come out into the open to play, and it's unfair, to say the least.

the sight of those brown combat boots are—well. let's just say brett's had interesting dreams involving them at least once before. whatever, it's all normal, moving on.

he's long considered himself a champion in the realm of deadpan faces, so surely, surely this simple task of drawing the alto clef on his friend's throat will prove to be just that: simple.

standing at the doorway of the bathroom, marker in hand, however—brett realizes just how much it is very not simple.

he must've blanked out for a good long while, because one minute, eddy's fully clothed and humming to himself, sitting down on the closed toilet seat, and then the next minute, eddy's right up in his face with concern, his chest startlingly bare.

brett's brain nearly shortcircuits. nearly.

eddy tilts his head to the side, eyebrows furrowed. "come on, brett, what's wrong?"

"nothing," he replies, because nothing is wrong and everything is normal. eddy walks around the house shirtless on most sweltering brisbane days. brett is not shaken by the sight of him now. he is not.

"you sure?"

"yeah." brett turns away before he can embarass himself. "go sit down."

there is no reason to be nervous, really. it's just another task to fulfill, another thing on the checklist to accomplish for the sake of their new viola king video. besides, brett thinks with just a hint of bitterness, it's not like eddy's the one losing his mind over this.

he has to get himself together.

with that thought in mind, he takes a moment to collect himself, and then he arms himself with the marker, wielding it like a sword into battle. he counts to three in his head and turns around, and then he's lost again.

eddy looks—well. he looks utterly delectable and achingly beautiful, yes, but vulnerable most of all. leaning against the wall, he has his eyes closed and his throat bared, a blank canvas for brett to draw on. if his chest hadn't been rising and falling with the need to breathe, he would've passed for a museum sculpture.

brett becomes acutely aware of how cramped the little bathroom is, how little space there is to maneuver around each other once he steps up to where his friend's sitting. god, suggesting they do it here is turning out to be a big mistake.

"okay, you know the drill," he says, more to fill the silence than anything else. "don't move or i'll fuck this up."

eddy's lips tug into a faint smirk, the rest of his face at peace, serene. he doesn't even open his eyes as he replies, "well, we wouldn't want that, would we? do as you please, maestro."

there's the go ahead. brett still finds himself trembling as he approaches.

the first touch is warm. his fingers are feather-light on eddy's skin like they're afraid of causing even the slightest hint of blemish. the taller man hums as brett steadies himself, grateful that eddy's eyes are closed because he would probably never survive this any other way. brett puts the marker against the arch of that throat and begins to sketch.

after a while, he tilts eddy's head further back, the curve of his adam's apple straining against the pull, and brett bites down on his lip hard enough to bleed. his self-control is hanging by a mere thread, being this close to so much skin so freely displayed.

he's this close to finishing the alto clef, though. the finish line is right fucking there, and brett is going to do this.

finally, finally, the last, lower curve of the alto clef is drawn to brett's satisfaction. he blows on his finished masterpiece to make the marker ink dry faster, eliciting a shaky laugh from the man below him, the idiot. brett can't help poking at eddy's face, eddy's neck, anywhere he can reach in retaliation. "quiet. canvases aren't supposed to laugh."

"sorry, who's the one touching me a lot?" there's a spark of amusement in the other man's voice. "you're tickling me."

the world grinds to a halt. brett realizes very quickly that he is standing right in the vee of eddy's outstretched legs, that his fingers are pressed against the hollow between eddy's collarbones, and that this is a very compromising position no matter which way you look at it.

quick as lightning, brett moves to pull away, but a sudden hand on his wrist stops him, and oh fuck, oh shit.

eddy's eyes flicker open, dark and dilated; a pink flush makes itself known high over his cheekbones. "oh," he breathes, almost soundless, warm air a sweet caress on brett's cheek, "i see."

what do you see, brett suddenly wants to ask, all too desperately. do i look as lovestruck as i feel?

a breathless second passes, then two, then three. and then—

"having a crush on a violist?" eddy smiles as he says it, and brett is reminded of the never have i ever game they've played, the long silence they've acted out in response to this very question, and yeah, fine, he gets what the joke here means. he finds himself smiling too. "well, that's a bit sacrilegious, isn't it?"

it takes him a while to find his verbal footing, but brett does reply. "good thing i've never been a stickler for the rules," he whispers, and then he leans down to that wicked mouth, all sacred thoughts be damned.

he rather feels the need to commit sacrilege for that mouth, again and again and again, for however long he is allowed.