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Empty swimming pools [BxB]

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Lennon Lewis doesn't feel quite alright. He is slowly but surely reaching for the stars with his rock band and is adored by everyone who meets him. He should be happy. But he's either too high or too low. The sweet relief is only temporary and it seems he can only breathe when he's high enough, drunk enough or on stage performing. But what happens when his notebook is sitting open in front of him, taunting him with blank pages that should have been filled with lyrics? Well, Lennon meets him. William Hamilton-Smith walks into his world unexpectedly and calms the chaotic storms inside him. Or does he cause unstoppable hurricanes in both of their lives? Inside the walls of one room they are almost safe, almost in love, almost complete, almost honest. Almost.

Romance / Drama
5.0 2 reviews
Age Rating:


It’s almost eight o’clock in the evening and he is bored out of his mind. That’s why he decides to come down from his hotel room to get some snacks and a bottle of something to lift up his mood.

The queue is not that long, only a teenage girl with short pink hair buying a can of Coke and a middle-aged man who seems to just be finished with his shift at one of the many construction sites in the area of Lower Manhattan if his dusty uniform and a hard hat is anything to go by.

Lennon is not in a hurry, not at all.

He’s been trying to sleep all afternoon and failed. White lines, pretty pastel pills, hash in the pipes might be the reason for it. He has nothing to do until tomorrow evening when he is performing his last gig in New York before going back home to London. But somehow every sound around him makes him irritated—maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or lack of mood enhancers.

He can hear the beeping of the cash register and how slow it is. He can hear the girl’s zipper open on her backpack to put the Coke in. He hears loud sounds of a firefighter truck just outside of the supermarket. He can’t take it, he just wants to get out of there. All of a sudden he is interrupted from his inner madness by the woman at the checkout in front of him.

“Excuse me, sweetheart, did you want that or not?”

“What?“ He blinks and whips his gaze to her, confused. “Sorry. Yes, please.”

Lennon clears his throat and apologizes even though he really doesn’t mean it because she was so slow anyway.

“And this too," he quickly grabs a packet of strawberry flavoured gum from the small shelf on the side. She rolls her eyes. He smirks.

“Actually, I’ll have the watermelon too,“ he picks another packet. “Do you have orange flavour? That’s my favourite. You know, not too sweet but not too sour.”

She just glares at him and wordlessly reaches for the box on the shelf behind her and digs into it. She scans the orange flavoured gum when she finds it and puts it in the bag.

“Peachy. Oh, peach. Should I have peach? Don’t like peaches much though.”

She doesn’t say anything but he smiles wide and cocky. He’s not a mean person but she asked for it.

We all have different miseries and problems, maybe hers are worse than yours. His mind is playing tricks on him. He quickly swipes his card and rushes out of there instantly forgetting the whole conversation.

Now that he’s outside on Broadway Ave all those sounds keep getting louder. Clattered feet on New York pavement and car noises, he can hear it all. But that’s not the problem. The problem is that his mind is blank.

For a while now Lennon can’t find any inspiration for anything in his life. He didn’t write a song in months and although his band is doing just fine with their first tour in America promoting their debut album he can’t find that one thing that would move him forward, back to his old self full of ideas and plans for his music career. Because music is all he has. He is stuck and completely alone standing in the middle of the biggest city in the world. He listens and listens. He strains his mind so hard. For a sound that will maybe light up something inside him, inspire him to run up to his hotel room and take that guitar and write one verse at least.

He even looks around, moves his shoulder length hair back with his hand to see better even though he doesn’t know what he’s looking for really. He looks at the faces and then at the small Trinity Church in the middle of these massive concrete buildings, should I go inside, he asks himself, he’s never been religious, maybe he can start now.

He looks at the sky and it’s still cloudy, now it’s almost completely dark so he hopes for the rain because he misses home a little bit. Maybe he should write about that, days away from home. But even home isn’t a real home since a very long time ago. A time he doesn’t want to remember.

At that moment he takes his phone from his pocket, scrolls down and comes to a number. He doesn’t think and just calls it. After it rings twice a surprised male voice is heard from the other side.

“Hello? Lennon, is that you?”

“Hey. You free tonight?”

“Oh my God, um.. I thought you will never call me back. I... You just left without the word the other night I thought, you know, it’s a one-night thing for you.. I... Um... ” The guy starts rambling and Lennon is thinking to just hang up at this point.

“So?” He's becoming impatient. “I have no plans tonight. Can I come to your place? In like.. Now?” He just says it with no emotion, almost a little bit annoyed because of all this wasting time again. He needs to do something with himself right now and sex is what he usually does when moments of desperation like this come.

Sex, sometimes drugs and always alcohol, and alcohol is already in his shopping bag. So he will go to this guy he met three nights ago after his gig, guy whose name he can’t really remember. He will fuck him, maybe he will try to get drunk first. He’ll think about it on the way there. And that’s how he will forget he’s completely useless—as a musician, as a friend to his band mates who rely on him to write songs, as a person.

“Umm, yeah. I mean, I’m out at the moment but I can be home in less than an hour if that’s ok with you?”

“Sure. See you shortly.”

“Great! I can’t believe you called Lennon, can’t wait t...”

He hangs up because all this small talk is killing his brain cells and he can’t afford to lose any more of them. He turns right towards Rector Street subway station, his headphones in his ears, Sabotage by Beastie Boys blasting and he buttons up his black coat. Air smells like gasoline, fried food and wet concrete and he reminds himself that he should appreciate his life.


Lennon knocks at the man’s door with the lid of the blue Bombay Sapphire bottle he planned to drink by himself just an hour earlier. He is not excited about this and deep down he knows that’s wrong. So he focuses on the bottle of gin and decides that he is really excited about that. God, he hopes this guy has some tonic water. The door opens and the man in front of him has the biggest smile and Lennon then remembers how he smiled at some stupid joke Lennon made the night they met at the bar of the pub across from the concert hall where his band - Edge of Revolution, has played.

Lennon was already pretty tipsy when he approached him and was aware of him staring since the moment the whole band came to the pub.

It’s what he usually does. The band goes out, they drink, sometimes take something else, they are loud, they are attractive, and they are popular. Well, not too popular but they have their fan base and a lot of people recognise them if they end up in a nearby bar after the concert. People basically throw themselves at him, he just has to pick—boy or a girl. Or both. And it’s fun. Rock and roll. Until he wakes up the next morning in a random bed asking himself why he doesn’t feel anything at all.

“You look good tonight, Lennon. Come in,” a young man timidly greets him after opening the door. He definitely wasn’t this timid last time.

“Thank you,” Lennon enters the flat and takes off his black leather boots. Being polite is important. He might be a dick in general but having nice manners towards his fans and general public is something he thinks is a must because his music is precious to him and these people are giving him the time of their day to listen. “I bought some gin on the way. Got some tonic water?”

“Um... Let me check, I’m not sure, ” the guy nervously starts walking to the kitchen and Lennon soon finds out that he’s out of luck when he hears sounds of digging around, cupboards opening and closing, rattle of dishes. There is no tonic water. He rolls his eyes.

“Just ice will do I guess,” he shouts from the living room he barely remembers from the last time, just a couple of nights ago. He definitely doesn’t remember the view, because the hedonist in him would definitely appreciate the beauty—floor to ceiling windows are showing a gorgeous twilight view of the New York skyline, twinkling light is covering the city like thousands of fairy lights.

When the guy comes back with two glasses they both sit on the sofa and Lennon realises how attractive this guy actually is. He has a really pretty face with dark eyes, his hair cut really short and he is a bit taller than Lennon but slimmer.

He is beautiful and Lennon likes beautiful things. He likes beautiful people, beautiful art, beautiful sceneries, beautiful clothes—he used to find his inspiration in all those beautiful things and write his music about them. This beautiful man could inspire him—he is nice, Lennon thinks while drinking straight gin and nodding at whatever this guy is saying. But than he interrupts him because he realises that the time is again being wasted.

“Can I kiss you?” Lennon slowly approaches him so their thighs are touching.

“Oh...” the guy blushes and looks away. “Okay... Is that the only reason you came tonight?” He says nervously and Lennon chuckles at that, his big blue-green eyes roaming up and down his body and frightened face.

“I’m flying out tomorrow back to London. I mean, we could talk if you want. There’s the whole bottle to be finished," Lennon tells him jokingly.

“Do you know my name, Lennon?” Fuck. Lennon doesn’t, and at this moment he realises that all this can go to waste. He just wanted an easy fuck and now he might have to go to a random bar, start talking to a new random person that will lead to ‘maybe’ sex. He doesn’t want to waste all that time on a maybe.

“Listen, I’m sorry. I’m being a dick. I know. I will be honest with you, I was drunk the other night, as were you, but we had so much fun, didn’t we? I couldn’t forget your pretty face.” He looks at him seductively, brushing fingers on his cheek, the coldness of his big, silver rings making the young man shudder.

“I just had to have you one more time before I go home," Lennon is so close to his face now that he can feel his breath. He sets his empty glass on the coffee table and takes the man’s hand in his, slowly placing it on his crotch.

“See what you’re doing to me, darling? That’s how much I want you. I can’t lie about that.” Lennon almost whispers that in his ear while guiding the man’s hand to press harder on a big hard-on in his black jeans.

The man’s walls are falling down because Lennon’s voice is deeper and sexier than anything he ever heard in his young, ordinary life. And all he really wants is to make Lennon happy because Lennon called him personally and he can’t disappoint this gorgeous creature that showed up at his door. What a privilege! Being a lover of Lennon Lewis even for only one night is sort of an achievement that he will be bragging about all his life. And he is stupid to even think Lennon Lewis would ever want something other than sex with him—he can have anyone. This is just that, just sex, an amazing mind-blowing porn-like sex and he gets to experience it twice. So the man puts his almost full glass of gin on the table because he doesn’t really like gin at all and goes down on his knees, nudging them wider. He unzips Lennon’s jeans and the gorgeous rock star smiles down at him.

Leaning back on the sofa he lets the man work the waistband of his underwear lower and suck one testicle into his mouth, then the other, tongue whirling desperately over sensitive skin until Lennon grits his teeth and digs his nails into the arm of the sofa. He arches his hips with a growl when the man runs his lips over his hard cock, tongues his slit, then swallows him. He clutches the back of his neck and fucks his mouth until he is dripping, then pushes him away.

“Get up and take your clothes off.” Lennon slowly strokes his cock while he watches him do it without a word. “Now go and stand in front of the window.”

The man gives a slow glance over his shoulder at the window, blackened by night, then back to Lennon, his gaze a mixture of fear and arousal. Whatever he is thinking he doesn’t say it, just goes obediently toward the window. Lennon eyes his round ass and gives his dick a couple of strokes.

“Will you let me fuck you?” His voice is calm.

“Yeah y-yeah. I... I loved it the other night," the man’s voice reveals how nervous he is, exposed and vulnerable, in his own home. Lennon feeds on it. His cock grows harder. The man turns another insecure look over his shoulder at Lennon but before he can ask anything Lennon interrupts.

“Face the window and prep yourself for me.”

Lennon sees him slipping two fingers into his mouth, spreads himself with one hand while he slides his wet finger along the crevice of his ass, circling and teasing his hole. Then slides the first finger inside. He lets out a sultry moan and plants one hand against the window as he slides the second finger and fucks himself slowly, in and out, stretching himself.

When Lennon feels his orgasm approaching he takes a condom from his pocket and pulls it on, then stands up, walks towards the window and shoves his trousers and underwear lower. The man lets out a breath, feeling him behind him, not knowing, not seeing. Lennon grabs the man’s wrist and pulls his fingers out of him, wets his thumb and presses it inside, holding him open as he spits on the hole and then pushes the head of his cock inside.

“Yes! Yes, yes, Lennon, please,” the man groans and splays his hands wider on the window, the sweat on his palms squeaking against the glass. Lennon drills into him. He fucks him hard. When the guy stumbles on his feet he puts his arm around his chest to keep him upright, there’s a small puddle forming underneath his spread legs that tells Lennon that he’s enjoying this if his moans and words of encouragement don’t already tell him that. Lennon would never cross over the line by doing something they don’t like, he wants them ruined for others, he wants to be their best fuck. The man cries out as the orgasm rips through him and hot thick jets paint the window in front of them.

Smack of skin on skin. Grunts and curses. Entire Manhattan spread out before him. Taste of gin on his tongue. Smell of sweat and men’s aftershave. Window foggy from their breaths and cum.

Lennon loses himself in this perfect image he created for himself and comes.

In this one thing, he can always count on being in control.

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