I fumble with the doorknob behind your back that will allow us into your dressing room. Once I manage to open it I walk you backwards into the room while kissing at your lips hungrily until your legs hit the back of the couch and you went toppling down, my body quickly following after. My hands reach under the back of your knees and pull them up and then spread them apart so I can rest my hips against yours. My hands then slide up your thighs and massage the soft flesh while my lips found yours again.

Good show, wasn’t it? I speak against your lips in reference to the absolute stellar performance we had just given the crowd, perhaps one of the best of our careers. Though I don’t exactly give you much of a chance to respond before pressing my lips to yours again in raw desperation.

We shouldn’t be doing this. We could very easily get caught. But we were starved of each other. Long story short we’ve always had a bit of a flirty friendship. We were both natural flirts so when we both get put in a band together and then have to spend years building tension — eventually it snaps.

And tonight when you had whispered in my ear just a little too seriously on stage about how you wondered what it’d be like to recreate my song No Control, we both knew it was no longer just teasing. Once we got off stage we detoured from the boys immediately and hung back before running down the hallway backstage in a fit of giggles and stopping a few times to press each other against the wall with kisses before we eventually made it to your dressing room.

Now your hands were in my hair and mine were squeezing your thighs as our mouths moved against the others. Only ever stopping to breathe heavily against each other before quickly starting a second later as we just couldn’t wait. This time when we pulled away for a moment I heard you murmur something to me. We shouldn’t be doing this, Liam Carter… You were right, there was a lot to think about. But did I give a flying fuck? I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.