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He can’t be sure, but he suspects that Anthony Mackie might secretly hate him.
It’s not that the guy’s been hostile to him. No, nothing that drastic. Oddly enough, it’s the professionalism that’s starting to get to Sebastian. The cool, respectful handshakes Mack offers whenever it’s time to close down another long, plodding day spent palling around for earnest interviewers. The graciousness of it all.
Press junkets aren’t exactly what any actor would call a fun time, but… well, he thinks there are worse people he could’ve been stuck answering repetitive, illusion-weaving questions with. Sebastian thought they were having a pretty good time together, but… lazy days sunning on the beach feel pretty good too. Provided you get some time under the shade to cool off.
What it really boils down to is this: they’re actors; they act well together, and that’s okay. Fantastic even.
Sebastian’s just never been that great at improvising, and it’s always been a trouble-causing issue, his nasty habit of looking for his own weaknesses in other people.
Because Anthony Mackie is clearly great at improvising, and that’s cool. Sebastian doesn’t need to feel special, or anything like that. Hell, he doesn’t even need their shared laughs for the cameras to be authentic.
He just wishes Mack’s quick retreats to his hotel room every night didn’t make him feel so… paranoid.
Sure, it’s his fault, really, for internalizing Mack’s polite rejections of an after work beer or two as anything but a sign that the guy just really likes his sleep.
… Then again, there are only so many times you can have a co-worker make it clear they’re not interested in getting to know you before it’s fine to start fearing for the worst… right?
He’s stretched out in one of the sleek, trendy booths of the hotel bar, nursing a frothy glass of some craft beer he’s already forgotten the name of, when he lets this thought come tumbling out into the open.
“I don’t think Anthony Mackie likes me very much.”
“Come on,” Chris snorts, beer in one hand and his phone in the other. He doesn’t even look up from the screen, unmoved. “What’s that about?”
Sebastian’s face is slack with a mix of exhaustion, contemplation, and pricey alcohol. The hotel bar caters to wealthy businesspeople and lucky bastards like him who manage to trip their way into staying here a few nights in a row. He knows from his own days of working shit jobs that people with money are either the best or worst tippers. When the attentive bartender hurries over with a fawning smile and a full pint of Chris’s same beer without being asked, Sebastian gives her a lippy, droopy-eyed smile and makes a mental note to be one of the better tippers.
“Stupid, right? I dunno…” he trails off, running the tips of his fingers through the condensation on his glass. They come away cold and wet, and Sebastian touches them to his mouth, pausing to consider just how ridiculous he’s being right now. “Nah, nevermind.”
“He’s a private guy,” Chris says, finally looking up. His face is open, soft and embarrassing. Sebastian groans and rolls his head back, slumping further into the booth. He wants to disappear, but he laughs instead.
“Ehhhh,” he waves a loose hand, as if doing so might dispel the awkwardness that’s come over him. “Ignore me. I’m tired. I can’t be trusted.”
“After this one,” Chris says, raising his new beer, “I’m done for the night. I’m gettin’ old.”
“We’re gettin’ old,” Sebastian points out. “This was probably a bad idea.”
“Bad ideas are good sometimes,” Chris gestures with his glass, lifting an eyebrow. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Sebastian grins a little, then downs the rest of his drink in three long, heavy gulps and shifts in the booth to get more comfortable. “Man.”
“You know, I don’t think he’s asleep right now. Maybe you should knock on his door. See if he’s up for getting deep. Talk about life choices, family. That kinda thing.”
Sebastian laughs and rolls his eyes. “I don’t wanna get deep tonight.”
“Yeah you do,” Chris smirks, seeming so very convinced that he’s right.
It’s the certainty that surprises Sebastian. He blinks across the table at Chris and squints, unsure what to make of that. After a moment, he says, “Not tonight.”
“No? Then what do you want tonight?” he teases. “‘Cause you’re clearly looking for something.”
That’s sobering. Aggressively so. Sebastian sits up and gazes back at him, mostly confused, a little offended, and definitely embarrassed. But it’s Chris and he’s pretty sure that’s not the reaction he intended to get out of him, so he feels a little bad too. They’re friends.
On cue, Chris senses he’s said something wrong. A puppyish look of concern sprouts onto his handsome, everyman face, reminding Sebastian why he landed the Captain America role in the first place. “Sorry. I just meant, what’ve you got to lose? Things’ll be fine, no matter what happens. We’re all adults here.”
Sebastian licks his lips. It’s a fair point. He’s in his 30’s and he’s finally beginning to understand what he wants out of life. In Chris’s words, come on.
“Mm,” he shrugs, gazing down at his empty glass. He looks up and meets the eyes of the staring bartender and holds a hand up to stop her, shaking his head when she reaches for a fresh glass and the tap. She smiles and heads over to the cash register, preparing a bill, no doubt.
“Why don’t you head on up now? Don’t worry ‘bout me, I’m just gonna finish this,” Chris says, nodding at his beer as he picks up his phone again. He’s been texting someone during their comfortable silences, and Sebastian doesn’t mind. He can’t recall when, exactly, it became so easy for either of them to multitask in each other’s company, but the thought only makes him wonder how he’d feel if Mack did the same.
Would he feel that he wasn’t enough of an entertaining guy? Probably.
Paranoid? Definitely.
“Should bring him something, huh,” he wonders aloud. “I mean, it’s late. If he is asleep, I better be waking him up for a good reason, right?”
Eyes still trained on his phone, Chris rummages around in his pocket and slides his room key across the table. “Jelly beans, man. I have a whole mini suitcase of them. Don’t tell anyone.”
Sebastian shakes his head at him, lips drawn playfully wide as he tucks the key into his jeans. “You might have an addictive personality. Did you know that?”
“You might wanna grab the handle of Jack too, just on the off chance that’s true. Shitty whiskey, but they go great together and the last thing I need’s an alcohol problem.”
“You were hoarding whiskey and you let me drag you down here for some overpriced beers?” he teases back.
Chris chuckles as Sebastian scoots from the booth. “Hey, it’s nice down here. Nice atmosphere.”
“Here you go, Mr. Stan,” the bartender flutters, and he’s still not quite used to the fact that women really do seem to find him attractive. His Gossip Girl days were a nice introduction to that kind of fevered, teenaged glee. But this bartender is a woman and even though it’s been years since he’d first experienced what it’s like to have that effect on normal people who pay their own bills, it’s still very humbling.
“Thanks, Marina. The service has been excellent,” he says, closing down his tab with a respectable tip. He never liked expensing this kind of thing. The option’s always there on promo tours, but it feels weird to have other people pay for something as deeply personal as this.
“It’s my pleasure, really. How about you, Mr. Evans? You sure you don’t want another on the house?”
“Hey, how come he gets the free drink?” Sebastian teases. At her nervous blushing and hasty stammering he smiles and hurriedly pats her arm with a playful, “No, I’m just kidding. You’re adorable.”
“No no, thank you, Marina. I’m good,” Chris sheepishly adds.
Some idle chatter, an instagrammed picture of the three of them, and a few goodbyes later finds Sebastian on his way up to the wing of suites booked out for the weekend. He’d always wanted to be famous as a kid, and wider celebrity status definitely has its perks. Sure, the days are long but this life suits him, he thinks.
But by the time he ends up standing in front of Anthony Mackie’s door with an obscenely large bag of Starburst jelly beans in one hand and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the other, Sebastian’s fairly convinced he’s insane for even being there. He leans in close and presses his ear to the door, straining to hear for the sounds of a tv or any other evidence that he won’t be interrupting much needed sleep.
The sound of muted voices comes to him through the suite door. The voices belong to no one he recognizes, and they’re definitely on the melodramatic side of line delivery.
Maybe an HBO show? Or a cop drama.
Shit, maybe he’s studying. But that’s a dumb idea, right? … or is it?
Who is he to begrudge someone else’s acting methods?
But wait, no. It really is a dumb idea considering Mack graduated from Julliard.
He leans back and pitches his weight in the wrong way, accidentally kicking the door in the process.
He can’t really be that drunk. That’d make him a lightweight, and he’s definitely not that. So stupid.
“Hang on,” comes a voice, and it takes the time it takes for Anthony Mackie to open his door for Sebastian to understand that this is really not how he wanted this to go.
Nevermind that he doesn’t really know how he wanted it to go. His mind never really got him that far. When it comes to things like this, his mind never really gets him much further than want, so do. Now.
Fuck.
“Hey, Seabass,” Mack grins. “What’s up?”
It doesn’t escape Sebastian that while Mack looks happy enough to see him there, he also looks appropriately confused. “Oh heeeey,” Sebastian suddenly drawls, as if to say, fancy meeting you here! “Wow. What time is it?”
Mack leans back and glances off somewhere behind the door before turning back to him. “Ten to midnight,” he helpfully informs, then glances pointedly down at the jelly beans in one hand, the whiskey in the other. “Whatcha got there?”
“Oh, you know,” Sebastian shrugs, quirks his mouth into a bunched expression of endlessly casual… something. He gives a loose shake of his head, and just lets the seconds tick by in silence as he feels his own eyes widening in apparent surprise at just how badly the situation is going.
He can’t bring himself to say anything else. It’s like watching a runaway train… only he’s the train. Somebody please, stop him before he hurts himself.
Fuck. Fuuuuck.
Mack laughs at him and reaches forward with raised eyebrows, snatching both the bag of jelly beans and the whiskey bottle clean out of his hands. “You wanna go get some ice?” he asks, swinging the door wide open as he heads back into the room. Sebastian takes that as a cue to follow, so he does, watching Mack scoop up the empty ice bucket and hold it out to him. “I ain’t drinking that warm.”
“You actually want me to come back?” Sebastian snorts before he can stop himself, grateful to have something new to anchor his hands as he holds the ice bucket between them.
You mean this isn’t going as catastrophically as it feels right about now?
“Well I ain’t gonna let you be the only one hungover and useless tomorrow. You know where to find the ice machine, right?”
Right. Right, naturally. It’s about staying professional. They’re press junket partners, after all. Sebastian can just hear it now, the glorious story Mack will tell an interviewer about how they stayed up late partying together. Maybe lie about picking up women. Who knows, maybe Mack’ll get shitfaced and they will go pick up women together.
Actually, that might be nice. He’d be up for that. He’s all smiles again, which feels nice to be, truthfully. And the best part is that he can feel himself relaxing, like he does so often in Mack’s company.
What was all the fuss about, anyway? Clearly, Anthony Mackie doesn’t hate him.
… unless he’s just doing what the two of them do best right about now.
Too much thinking, not enough doing. Sebastian could handle doing. “I’ve got an approximation of where it is, sure. If I’m not back in ten, send a rescue team.”
“Don’t worry, Seabass,” he says, and Sebastian catches sight of Mack grinning just before he turns to head down the hallway. “I got you.”
I got you. It echoes in Sebastian’s head as on the walk to the ice machine. While he holds the button down and watches fat cylinders of ice pile quickly in the bucket, the angry grating sound of the dispenser hardly disrupting the thought. It even echoes on the walk back. I got you.
“Seven minutes,” Mack just about whistles when Sebastian returns, shutting the door carefully behind him. The tv's off now, and the lack of background noise ramps up the pressure. “Man, I was getting worried. Thought you mighta needed some saving.”
Sebastian smiles at the Starburst bag nestled comfortably on Mack’s lap where he’s lounging in one of the plush cream sofa chairs. He’s got his hand plunged inside, and a second later he’s popping the jelly beans up in the air one at a time and catching them in his mouth.
“Ah,” Sebastian makes a noise, casually quirks a finger, and parts his mouth into an expectant ‘O’ shape as he crosses towards him.
“Come on now, you gotta go wider than that,” Mack challenges, a hint of mischief in his dark eyes. “You’ve got a big mouth when you wanna have one. Don’t get shy on me now.”
A dull thrill shivers its way through Sebastian’s body at that order. It’s unexpected, and he can’t tell if his skin warms because of this oddly pleasurable sensation or because he’s being chastised.
Either reason makes for a fucked up reaction, he decides. So he concentrates on opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go, preferring not to dwell too hard on the matter.
“There you go!” Mack all but whoops approvingly, his whole face coming alive with that contagious smile of his. “Now, see? Not so hard, huh? Make it count.”
Sebastian shrugs and sinks down into the sofa chair across from him, mouth held open and angling towards the jelly bean that sails his way as soon as he’s gotten comfortable. It plops neatly onto his tongue and he coughs a laugh around the shape of the bean, to which Mack laughs and actually does whoop this time. “Skills, Sebastian. Mad skills.”
“I got ‘em,” Sebastian nods coolly, then snorts and slyly stretches his lips into a disbelieving, close-mouthed smile. He shifts the jelly bean in his mouth with his tongue and bites down after sucking a layer of sugar away.
“I see,” Mack nods just as coolly, then reaches for the bucket of ice before things can get awkward. Sebastian notices the two tumbler glasses resting on the table between them then, and finds himself drawn to the fluttering of Mack’s hands between bucket, glasses and bottle. He pours them both two shots of whiskey on ice, then slides one of the glasses Sebastian’s way across the smooth surface of the table.
Sebastian takes it, gratefully, suddenly aware that Mack isn’t just watching him, but staring, and ducks his eyes while he sips from the tilted rim of the tumbler.
“You know, this is one of the best parts of it all for me? Selling the work we do.”
Sebastian looks up, blinks once. “Yeah?” He clenches his teeth together and huffs a heavy breath between them, lips flapping somewhat as the weight of that washes over him. “It’s a good thing you do…” he laughs faintly, self-deprecatingly, “‘cause I’m pretty bad at this stuff. I always feel like I never know what I’m doing.”
“Well, I can tell you this: it doesn’t come off that way,” Mack grins reassuringly, reaching forward with his glass held out. Sebastian looks at it, holds his own out, and clicks them together with a small smile. “Everybody’s got their charms.”
“It’s faces, you know?” Sebastian considers, easing back in his chair. It’s comfortable, the cushion enveloping him. He sinks into it with a sigh of contentment. “If they don’t match up, it doesn’t work. One of my acting teachers once told me I had a lazy face. It’s a good resting face, apparently.”
Mack laughs, and Sebastian feels as though he’s actually made sense. Good. “See now me? I got a bitch face at rest, so. If I were as laid back as you… I probably wouldn’t get any work. You got the whole pretty boy thing going on. Mysterious. It works.”
“I dunno, I like your bitch face,” Sebastian shrugs, following up with another sip. The whiskey simultaneously cools and burns his mouth, first one, then the other, the flavor complementing the leftover sugar residue on his tongue. “I mean, it’s less of a bitch face and more of a…” he pauses to think, staring hard at the amber liquid. “Sex face.”
Sex face.
Sebastian’s eyes dart up at once, meeting Mack’s across the space between them. He’s mortified, and he knows logically that he doesn’t have to be, but he is. He’s perfectly comfortable with, you know, his sexuality. Fluid as it is. But that’s not what this is about, right?
He’s not… he’s not interested in him like…that.
Oh, fuck. He is, isn’t he?
Mack raises a single eyebrow, his mouth turning down in amused contemplation. “Yeah? You think so?”
Sebastian’s chest aches, and not in a good way. A bad way. It feels tight, as it should be. What a fucking time for a revelation to hit, right? What a goddamned genius, this one. Damn.
He should say something. He has to say something, or else time will stretch, and the air will thicken, and he’ll have to pat him on the shoulder like a pal, smile, and excuse himself.
He watches Mack, stretches his mouth into the semblance of a smile that he knows doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and then licks his lips. Swallows. “Well… I just mean. You might look like you’re up to something. Sexual. As it were. If you weren’t as bubbly as you are, normally.”
“You knowwww,” Mack begins, looking… not wholly offended, but noticeably more serious. “There are stereotypes about that. Sort of sucks, but that’s life. As an actor.”
Sebastian says, with more casual restraint than he feels he actually has in this moment, “I don’t think you’re a stereotype. I just think you’re really attractive.”
Mack seems surprised by that, which is a perfectly reasonable reaction. Sebastian doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore, or if he’s being offensive, or whether he’s flirting with someone who even likes men or not. Sebastian isn’t sure about anything right now, and that doesn’t make for a lot of confidence in where the night might take them.
He can feel himself blushing, and he can’t figure out the source of his embarrassment. Is it because he’s saying insensitive, uninformed things, or because he’s just unleashed the truth on the man across from him? Or is it because he feels sorry for himself, for being so terrible at hitting on men in real life when he’s so comfortable doing it on camera? He’s played many roles that require being erotic with guys, and he can’t even manage to do so as himself without fucking things up rather impressively.
Maybe he should go back to his ex-girlfriend.
Maybe he should -
“Well, that makes two of us then. Just so happens I also find myself to be very attractive,” Mack grins.
And all at once, Sebastian feels infinitely relieved. Okay, this is doable. This is better. He can work with this. So… platonic friends. He can do the friend thing, he wanted to do the friend thing from the start. That’s what this whole thing was about.
Nevermind his brain and body taking things to awkward places.
“And for the record, I also don’t think you’re a stereotype, Sebastian.” Mack’s grin sharpens then. “I just think you’re really attractive.”
Sebastian nearly drops his drink then. It’s a good thing he doesn’t. These jeans were fucking expensive.
“I mean, you easily could be. You’ve got the whole pretty boy eyes, hair, mouth thing going on. Makes the girls go wild. Bonus for you being able to talk dirty to them in a foreign language.”
He can barely breathe, but he somehow manages to brush that off with a shrug and an eyeroll. “Romanian isn’t even all that sexy.”
“I dunno if I’d agree with that,” Mack returns with a heavily-lidded look.
There goes the sex face.
Sebastian clears his throat and smiles without showing his teeth because it’s all he can manage to do right now. Just… stretching his lips so wide that his cheeks begin to hurt. He swallows, thickly, his throat burning pleasantly with remnants of his last mouthful of whiskey.
“So.” Mack ventures, his voice pitched seductively low. “You wanna come over here or what?”
Still smiling that tight, somewhat crazed smile, Sebastian grips the seat of the chair between his legs for dear life. “There are a lot of dumb things I could say right about now.”
Mack’s ridiculously amused. “That right?”
“Just to clarify,” because holy fuck could he use a bit more clarity right about now, “you are asking me to come closer, right?”
“I’m asking you to sit on my damn lap, Seabass. We can take it from there.”
That’s all his body needs to unleash a heat like no other, blood draining at top speed to fill more important places. It’s dizzying, how quickly things are changing. Sebastian decides then that if he were to let his brain do the struggling to catch up, he’d be stuck going nowhere just as fast.
The smile fades from his lips, leaving them soft and slightly parted as he sets his tumbler glass down and rises from his seat. It feels strange to draw up to his full height, but he’s certainly not going to hunch over and slink towards him like some stripper crawling across the stage.
Luckily, the distance between them isn’t even that great, so he only has a few awkward steps to take before it feels natural to lean over and press his hands on the armrests of Mack’s chair.
“Dumb thing number one?” Sebastian manages, smiling broadly just as the guy gets a hand on his side, hikes his plaid shirt up, soothes his opened palm across his flank in a way that makes his breath catch. So that’s what his hands feel like. “I …. thought you kinda hated me.”
“Dumb shit,” Mack agrees, his other hand curving around the back of one of Sebastian’s thighs to force his leg to bend at the knee, bringing him down, closer, half into his lap.
“Yeah,” Sebastian exhales. “Dumb shit,” he says, somehow having the presence of mind to find the humor in it all. Silly, really. He can be such a world class idiot sometimes, right? Although… “To be fair, I did have my reasons,” he points out.
“Reasons? And what are those?” Mack tilts his head up to watch him more closely, and Sebastian feels broad, warm hands migrating out of view, feels the buttons of his shirt slipping loose.
He’s hard, everything’s hard - breathing, thinking, staring down into Mack’s cool, collected face, remaining half-standing like this with his legs becoming jelly under him. He’s aching, overly hot, but also a little shy.
He’s taken his clothes off for plenty of people, professional and otherwise. But not for this guy. Not yet.
“You never uh…” Sebastian begins, licking his lips and hardly believing it when Mack’s own eyelids droop in response. I made the unshakable Anthony Mackie do that, he thinks, while he’s supposed to be thinking up valid reasons why he never would’ve expected this, any of this, to happen. “Well. You never came… drinking,” he manages as soon as his top button comes apart, and he feels Mack’s hands spreading the plaid flaps open, cool air hitting his newly bared torso like a shock of cold water.
Then Mack touches him, just a single palm smoothing down his chest, marking his abdomen with a hot stripe of contact that leaves him shivering and nearly ready to collapse. It takes effort not to moan as he feels his body growing even hotter. It’s almost too much, yet simultaneously not enough.
“Takes it outta me, these long days,” Mack murmurs, sounding distracted. Looking distracted. A feeling of smug satisfaction joins the fray. “Also… if I’m honest, always thought you were just asking to be polite, man. You’re kinda hard to get a read on, you know that?”
Yeah, he does know that. It’s one of the reasons he threw himself into acting. To be hard to get a read on by people. Because it’s not really supposed to be about him as a person, is it? Especially not about some foreign kid with a weird accent.
“Got that whole serious auteur thing going on,” Mack cuts into his thoughts, and Sebastian gazes down at him, feeling overexposed. Time to get even more so, he thinks.
When he kicks off his shoes, twists enough to shrug out of his shirt, and let’s it fall to the floor with a whisper of fabric, the resulting look on Mack’s face is priceless. Sebastian doesn’t think anyone could pay Mack to make a face like that, and while he doesn’t need that kind of authenticity for the cameras, that’s definitely what he needs right here, right now.
“Damn,” Mack says, and Sebastian smiles brighter than he has all night.
“Well, that’s very kind of you, Anthony,” he murmurs. Loose-limbed and greedy, he decides the guy’s wearing way too many clothes. He scrunches his mouth in thought, then says, “I’d say it’s your turn. Only fair.”
“In a minute.” When Sebastian feels himself tugged forward, he stabilizes himself by getting a knee planted firmly on an armrest. Then he’s sinking towards him, sinking fast, and meeting his mouth with his own.
It’s good. Really good. He hasn’t had a kiss like this in a long time. He breathes in against him, lips pressing back and parting leisurely to welcome his tongue, and then it’s not just good, it’s mind-wiping.
Whiskey, sugar, and something dark, like a fine red. The pace is slow, exploratory and mutually needy. Sebastian sinks completely down into his lap and moans languorously into his mouth. A single firecracker explodes behind his eyes and it takes a moment to realize he’s grinding against him, can feel the outline of the guy’s own rigid cock rubbing his through the fabric between.
He isn’t sure which one of them pulls back, but it’s for the best. He doesn’t want to come like this.
“Been wanting to do that for a while.”
Sebastian’s breathing hard through his nose, his shoulders rising and falling with visible effort. Mack’s own breath is warm on his skin. His lips tingle as he admires the fuller set before him. “You should’ve come drinking.”
Mack laughs, and it’s like sunlight filtering through drawn curtains, rousing him from some lusty dream. Sebastian quirks his mouth into a wry half smile and adds, “God, you’re like a… dirty Santa Claus.”
“Yeah?” he snickers, casting his eyes down between them at the obvious bulge in Sebastian’s jeans. “And what does little Stan want for a damn early Christmas present?”
“Well, what does every growing boy… Jesus no, we’re not doing this right now.”
Mack laughs again and it’s contagious, has him snickering a little too. The whole thing’s ludicrous, yet surprisingly comfortable. He mutters something under his breath, puts his face in his hands and lets a full-bodied laugh roll over him.
“Get on the bed, face down.”
“Jesus,” he blurts, his body freezing up in shock. Tentatively, he parts his fingers and peers down at Mack between them. “You can’t just…” he starts, and it’s like he’s been punched in the gut with a boxing glove full of pornographic potential. This guy’s going to give him whiplash, he thinks. Which he’d probably like, actually. “...say a thing like that.”
“I think I just did,” Mack downright sasses at him.
Jesus Christ.
So Sebastian does as he’s told, hurrying off on unsteady feet. Hands, knees, then he’s climbing forward and curbing the urge to grind against the mattress as he stretches out face down. Closes his eyes for the hundredth time and waits with baited breath, trying hard to let the coolness of the sheets soothe the burning heat in his skin.
When he feels the telltale sinking of extra weight on the mattress behind him, Sebastian pushes up onto his elbows and looks over his shoulder, swallowing at the sight.
Anthony Mackie is indeed a handsome man, and now that he’s topless Sebastian gets a better look. Dark, even skin poured over taut muscle. This is the first time Sebastian’s seen him without a shirt on in person.
Few scenes together translates to zero costume changes together, making for one hell of a build-up to this moment. Funnier still is the fact that Sebastian didn’t even know the pressure was building until… what, half an hour ago?
Ridiculous.
But the chest-deep moan that leaves his mouth as he watches Mack settle in on his knees behind him certainly sounds like it’s been building up inside of him for weeks.
“Ass up.”
It’s an order, and one that Sebastian obeys without thinking. His knees come up under him on the bed, lifting his hips into the air with a catlike grace that surprises even him. Then he waits for the next shoe to drop.
“Relax,” Mack soothes, his hand materializing softly at the small of Sebastian’s back. Sebastian drops his head forward, sending a few locks of hair into his eyes. It’s all he can do just to breathe as Mack’s open palm slides up the length of his spine, walking the ridges there until his fingers ease up and into his hair.
“If I’d known you were like this, we’d have done this a lot sooner,” Mack muses, hooking his other hand around and underneath him. His eyelids flutter blissfully at the feel of fingers twisting in his hair, and with his head bowed Sebastian can see dark fingers trailing against his own pale skin.
He begins to shudder uncontrollably as they draw closer to the fly of his jeans. “That feel good, Seabass?”
Sebastian somehow chuckles through another moan, then nearly collapses as the button of his jeans pops free.
“It’ll feel… better uh… when you’re ready.”
“So. I’m guessing you’ve thought about how this’d go before, huh?” he taunts him in that oh-so-familiar tone. “So much for using that babyface to hide that mind of yours. I see you.”
Sebastian rolls his eyes and tilts his hips forward, begging for pressure. “Can you… do we have to? Right now?”
Mack laughs and unzips him and Sebastian sighs loudly over the shiver of pleasure that wracks his body because oh look, Anthony Mackie feels like driving him absolutely insane, quelle surprise.
(Besides, if he doesn’t distract himself, he might come on the first upstroke. And wouldn’t that be embarrassing.)
“What can I say?” Mack says, and Sebastian gratefully squirms out of his jeans and boxer briefs, sighing in relief as they drag down his thighs. He hisses the second his dripping cock springs free, gooseflesh erupting down the backs of his legs with all that fabric pooling around his knees. “You gimme so much material to work with.”
“Great, that’s… just peachy, Anthony,” he strains not to whine with need. Yep, still pretty embarrassing, being bent over like this for a co-star. It’s been a while. “Can you -- fuuuuck. Fuck.”
He wasn’t expecting that. Really wasn’t expecting that, but he’s suddenly so happy he had a nice long shower after the last junket. Mack’s tongue has him delirious in a matter of seconds, dropping forward and muffling a string of moans in the mattress. Sweat rises in the hollows of his body as Mack unwinds him from behind, starting with the ring of muscle under his talented, wet mouth.
He doesn’t know how much time passes before he feels a finger sinking deep, but it’s a wonder he hasn’t died yet. “Never been so happy to be alive in my life,” he manages.
“Now that’s deep,” Mack says, casually fucking him open with two fingers now. “You know how to give a compliment.”
Sebastian can’t bring himself to care about anything but the fingers inside of him right now, the way they push and twist and practically carve him open, making space for more to come. There’s a sting but it barely even matters in the scheme of things. He’s going to have Anthony Mackie’s dick inside of him soon, and that’s so absurdly genius that he’d monologue about pigeons if it could make that happen even faster.
No one can blame him for panicking a little when those fingers pull out. Not because he’s afraid of what’s to come next, but because he has a shockingly sober moment of fear that it won’t come next. Mack’s there one second, gone the next, and it’s such a sharp turn of events that he can only lift his head and stare after him. He was so ready to feel his cock splitting him open, but then he sees him rummaging in his full, naked glory - fuck that’s hot - and returning to climb on the bed with a tiny bottle of lube and a condom.
Dazed and languid, Sebastian smiles back at him with drooping eyes. “You know, I’m out of my mind right now? I was so ready for you to fuck me without any of that.”
Mack quirks an eyebrow and smiles almost shyly back at him, giving a shake of his head. “Never thought I’d have to tell a grown ass man not to let anyone fucking do that, but… don’t let anyone do that, you know?”
“I don’t, I’m not…” Sebastian frowns some. It’s hard to think with his body pulsing like this. He’s so ready that it’s starting to hurt. “... it’s just uh…” you, he wants to say it’s because it’s you, but he doesn't mean it like that. They hardly know each other, so he doesn't really know what he means, if he’s being honest with himself. “Not… my best uh… performance tonight.”
“Drunk, tired and horny, and you came to me,” Mack grins, and Sebastian can hear foil tearing. He sees Mack’s eyes drop and looks away, letting his head hang because if he keeps watches him, he might come. “I get it. I’m flattered.”
It’s more than that, he thinks, but is it really? Who knows.
Wet, squelching sounds fill his ears and he shivers at the implication. Mack’s slicking up, he knows that’s what he’s doing right this second.
So more importantly, at least for now, who fucking cares, right?
“Good enough,” Sebastian mutters just before crying out.
He hasn't had anyone inside of him in a long time. He’s out of practice at taking anything in, so it’s definitely more than just a sting at this point. But even the burn feels good when paired with anticipation. Mack’s hands on his hips anchor him in place while he’s ground open, Mack’s cock driving deeper with each slow and patient thrust.
“Fuuuuck,” he strains out, throat shaking around the effort to breathe.
“You okay?”
“Fine,” he gasps, face thrashing to one side against the sheets. He shifts on his elbows, his joints weakening under the full-bodied stress. “Just… stay slow.”
To his credit, Mack is gentle with him, patient. It’s not that Sebastian expected him to be hasty or selfish with his own pleasure, but he doesn't need to be so soothing throughout these first few adjustment thrusts. Not that he’s complaining…
Actually, not that he’s much of anything involving brain activity right about now. All he can do is breathe and unclench his jaw so he doesn't sound so pained, because there’s pain, sure, but the relief is what matters to him most.
“Okay…” he manages, shifting some on his knees. That pulls a chesty moan of appreciation from the man behind him, which in turn sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine. “Wow, how… far?” he gasps.
“All the way,” Mack says, his voice tight with hidden effort. Sebastian blinks, gasps, stares ahead at the headboard as he’s filled, emptied, then slowly filled again, fingers twisting in the sheets as he makes sense of the fact that he’s taking all of him right now.
“Fuck,” he whispers, clenching involuntarily. Mack stutters, his hips jerking out of his cool, smooth rhythm, and Sebastian moans at the feel of him, lips hanging open around the sound. “Jesus… well, fuck me then.”
Mack gasps a laugh and Sebastian rolls the tension from his shoulders. He’s on fire, but there are things he can do to alleviate some of the unnecessary strain, like spread his legs until he meets the resistance caused by his bunched jeans and roll more tension from his back.
“Goddamn, you planning on putting on some sort of show?”
It takes a moment, but Sebastian finally gets it, and he glances back over his shoulder at him, once again pretty amazed. He gets that he looks good like this to Anthony Mackie, and it’s not that he’s never experienced what that feels like before. It’s just that he’s still learning all the nuances of what turns him on, what Mack likes about him, what he sees in him and wants to see more of.
Sebastian sees a lot in him, talent, charisma, composure. So when he rolls his hips back against him, feeling his cock grinding deeper, he’s trying to see what else he can find just as much as he’s reaching for his own pleasure.
And it works, both purposes are served.
He moans and blearily blinks through a wave of feeling that makes his cock twitch, another bead of precome cooling against his skin. But he also catches a glimpse of not just Mack’s resting sex face but his real sex face, and moans like a total slut in need of more.
He’ll have plenty of time to think back on these moments, feel embarrassed or proud or whatever the fuck he’s bound to feel in the future. But dammit, he’s so ready to be in the here and now.
What the hell is he waiting for?
“You want some kind of professionally printed invitation, Anthony? Because I’m happy to make that happen… another time.”
That does it. Oh, how that does it. Maybe it’s because he’s not used to being mouthed off to by him of all people, but who cares, he’s getting fucked to within an inch of his life.
Yeah, he was wrong about what he’d say before.
This is the moment he’s never been so happy to be alive.
There aren't words because he can’t steady himself long enough to make any, but the grunts and moans and desperate clawing at the sheets definitely says whatever might need saying, loud and clear. Early on Sebastian has to slap a hand to the headboard to keep his body rigid, to keep his body strong, otherwise Mack’ll be fucking a wet noodle and he wants to feel it, not just let it happen.
He’s dizzy with it all, and half-blind with pleasure, his eyes blown wide but he can’t see anything but him. There are fingers bruising his hipbone and twisted through his hair, pinpricks of pain erupting along his scalp in the most deliciously desperate of ways. In fact, he’s so wracked by the twin pressures of pain and pleasure that he thinks he’s might actually be going crazy. The sounds he’s making vacillate between inhuman and pornographic, and he’s lost to it all until he’s practically enveloped in skin and muscle from behind.
Mack pushes him down until he’s lying flat on the bed, then covers him with the whole of his sweat-slick weight. He molds to him from above, front to back, legs tangling together until he’s completely sandwiched between body and mattress. He can feel every bit of muscle movement now, understands the connection between the grind of Mack’s hips against his ass and how cock drags inside of him, exploding red across his wide eyes and piercing pleasure right through his lower belly.
“F-fuck… fuck,” he keens, panting, suffocating, but Mack’s got that covered too, guiding him up onto his elbows with a firm drag of his hands. “Christ, what are you… doing to me…”
“It’s a little thing I… like to call...sex, you see,” Mack mouths against his neck, lips dragging, tongue cleaning up the sweat there.
“Sometimes I don’t…” Sebastian grunts, lolls his head from one shoulder to the next and licks his lips. His eyes flutter shut as he pants, squirming around the mindblowingly good push and pull of his cock, his own rubbing off against the mattress. “... like you much.”
“Oh-ho, now who’s… being an ass,” Mack gasps, and Sebastian blindly reaches for one of his hands, lacing their fingers together.
‘Cause it’s not really true, is it.
It’s too good, he’s burning up from all perspectives. Beneath, above, inside and out. He was already too close from the start, and this pounding, this ceaseless, steady stimulation. It’s too much.
“I can’t…” Sebastian chokes.
He’s winding tighter from head to toe, and he’s too out of sync for any of it to work for much longer. Too oppressive, this pleasure. Bearing down on him, demanding too much. He’s shaking with it, his whines rippling unevenly from his lips. When Mack nuzzles his sweaty hair, kisses the back of his ear, and consoles him, he squeezes his hand tightly and just shakes some more.
“Come on,” Mack says, “I got you,” and Sebastian's toes strain, curling nearly to the point of cramping.
“Mm,” he clenches his teeth tight behind a grimace, closes his eyes tight - I got you - then unravels.
It’s sticky and difficult, coming against a mattress like this - he unloads until the friction turns uncomfortable, the burn receding to leave him sensitive and aching. Distantly, he becomes aware that Mack’s put a stop to his easy, deep thrusting, and he realizes, dazedly, that he’s feeling him come this very second.
Sebastian turns his head over his shoulder, nose hitting Mack’s temple as he catches his real sex face up close, notes the way his eyes screw up tight, but the rest of his face remains relatively composed. It’s unfairly hot, and he resents him, just a little.
He’s still watching him when his eyes snap back open, and he smiles sheepishly, and Sebastian grins indulgently back at him, then hangs his head low.
“Wow,” he says.
“Uh-huh,” Mack agrees.
“That…” he trails off.
Mack waits a few seconds, then begins to peel himself off. A rush of chilly air hits Sebastian’s back and then he grunts at the sensation of Mack, only just beginning to soften, pulling out of him. “Uh-huh,” Mack collapses beside him.
“I don’t wanna do anything ever again,” Sebastian sighs as he shifts, gingerly, and feels his muscles ache in protest. It took about a month to lose all the muscle he put on for the shoot, and now he’s beginning to regret having not kept any of it up. To say he feels weak (and empty; a consequence of being thoroughly fucked open) would be a vast understatement.
“Too bad, princess. We got… about four and a half hours before we gotta be up.”
Sebastian can only grimace into the sheets. The sticky, damp sheets that aren't the least bit pleasant anymore.
“One more day, then we’re done.”
Sebastian lifts his head, blinks at him. Maybe it’s silly to think that a sentence like that might be loaded with just more than one connotation, but just chalk it up to him being post-coital and a little too far from Mack’s cooling heat for his liking.
Not that he needs him to be a cuddler or anything like that.
“Hey,” he says, smiling uncertainly at him. “You wanna come over here or… what?”
Mack turns over onto his side, smiles a little himself. “You saying you wanna do this again sometime?”
“That depends,” Sebastian bunches his mouth, then relaxes, squinting some. “Is it too early to make that call? We don’t have to.”
This can stay what it is. We’re all adults here.
It takes less time for Mack to scoot over to him than Sebastian expects, and when he does Sebastian slings an arm over his waist and leaves an almost polite kiss on his mouth.
Mack answers with an unimpressed raise of his eyebrow, and a kiss of his own, one that’s decidedly more thorough and satisfying.
“Okay,” Sebastian exhales when they pull apart, scooting in to rest his head on Mack’s cleaner pillow. “Might wanna…” he nods at the duvet that’s fallen off onto the floor to one side. The spot behind him isn’t exactly prime for sleeping, so they’ll need to wrap up.
Mack peers behind him, then laughs and grumbles as he swings around to gather up the duvet. Something about inviting him over to his spot only to make him do all the dirty work, which is just typical for pretty boy auteurs and their entitlement complexes.
But as soon as he’s back on the bed and Sebastian’s tucking the duvet in around and behind him, the grumbling stops. They’re close and sticky with drying sweat and come, and it’s never really felt more authentic between them than it does right now.
Sebastian falls asleep idly wondering if the cameras’ll pick up on that tomorrow.