It didn’t take them long to get back to the Nabootique, though climbing up the stairs together is slightly more of a delicate process. Vince is well used to clomping up them in stacked heels, five

It didn’t take them long to get back to the Nabootique, though climbing up the stairs together is slightly more of a delicate process. Vince is well used to clomping up them in stacked heels, five sheets to the wind, but Dan is another matter entirely. Still, with plenty of breaks to grope at each other’s arses and kick off their shoes, they managed to tumble into Vince and Howard’s room. Vince’s drink-addled brain vaguely wonders if it’s bad that he’s doing this on their bed—but he doubts both him and Dan will fit on Howard’s old mattress anyway. Besides, it’s not like he’s cheating or anything. Fair is fair!

Vince pushes lightly at Dan’s chest, but the intent behind it is far more persuasive than the force. Even before Dan’s fully sat on the edge of the bed, Vince has thrown a leg over him and climbed into his lap, bringing them both down on the mattress with a heavy bounce. He doesn’t know which part of Dan he wants first, but Dan seems to have a few ideas so Vince acquiesces to his will, all but liquefying under his touch as a broad hand slides to the small of his back, then lower until thick fingers have breached his waistband, hot enough to burn against the cool skin of his arse.

Dan’s breath is not so much tinged with alcohol as solid whiskey fumes, but that’s perfectly all right with Vince because he didn’t get to finish his wine cooler anyway. Dan reaches out and his hand is groping up into the hair at Vince’s nape, pulling him closer until their lips are crushed together and the scratch of his stubble is burning Vince’s face. He thinks of Howard then, wonders how him and Jones are getting on…

~*~*~

Howard sits stiffly on the edge of the bed, watching Jones warily as if the younger man might jump out and attack him at any moment. Which, knowing Jones, isn’t an entirely unfair assumption, but he’s got more manners than that, don’t he?

“So…” Jones trails off. “I heard you like Mudkips?”

~*~*~

Vince gasps around Dan’s tongue, eyelashes fluttering as their groins grind tight together, almost painful from the friction of too much denim and not enough skin. He pulls back just far enough to suck in a heady gulp of air, but Dan has got both hands on his arse now and he can’t escape the mouth that seeks out the corner of his jaw. Messy kisses that feel like bites are planted down his neck, urgent bites that feel like caresses adorn his collarbone like snowflakes, melting as they hit his burning skin. One of Dan’s fingers slides just barely down into the cleft of Vince’s arse, firm and promising further wickedness. They arch together out of instinct and sharp pleasure flares between Vince’s legs, in the pit of his stomach.

“God, Dan--nggh,” His head lolls back on its axis as a judder wracks its way up his spine, voice throaty and low, drawing out the new, unfamiliar name. Not that he’s never thought about this; there’s always been something about Dan that captured his imagination. Visions of stubble and broad, rough hands would creep into his mind in the early hours of the morning when he was so tired that sleep was impossible.

But hazy, midnight fantasies can’t hold a candle to the heat of Dan’s body and the intent fumbling of his hands at Vince’s zip, nor the warm, masculine scent of his skin as Vince leans in to lap at the salt of him, lending his own hands to the undressing effort. He nudges his nose briefly at the hollow of Dan’s neck, following with his tongue and relishing the moan Dan doesn’t make.

“Stand up,” Dan says, hoarse, and Vince rises from his lap without too terribly much of a fuss, skin tingling where fingers laid only moments ago. No longer obstructed by their position, Dan makes quick work of Vince’s trousers and when Vince leans on his shoulders for balance as he pulls the tight fabric from his ankles, the look in Dan’s dark eyes all but steals the breath from him.

“Dan—“ and Vince doesn’t know how else to say it, can only stand there and lean on his shoulders (broad expanse of warm, firm, want) as Dan cups him through his little pink pants. He cruelly kneads Vince with one hand, the other drifting down to his own lap. Dan’s expression is restrained; movements steady, belied only by the audible exhale of air through his nostrils and the subtle flexing of his thighs as he seemingly-unconsciously presses down against his own arousal. Vince looks at him despairingly, though Dan doesn’t meet his eyes—but he must know how desperate Vince is by the barely-reined shuddering of his hips, by the way he rocks into each stroke as if his life depends on it, by the small, damp patch of fabric crowning his dick, dragging sticky against his skin. If Dan is paying attention, which Vince knows he is, there’s plenty proof of how badly he needs this. No more waiting.

“Please, Dan…”

Thankfully, the magic word doesn’t fail him. Vince’s sweet torture is brought to an end as Dan looks up—briefly meeting his eyes before reeling him in. He tosses Vince onto his back against the duvet and jerks his pants from his hips, slinging them carelessly aside. Vince hisses sharply as first Dan’s breath, then his mouth, envelops him in heat and wet—the soft flat of Dan’s tongue pressing against the underside of his cock. Vince shudders at the thought of Dan feeling his pulse, hammering wildly.

“Oh… please, please. Dan, please. ”

Vince, as it turns out, can be quite polite when the situation calls for it. He is rewarded this time by Dan’s tongue sliding and curling against him, tracing unknown words against his throbbing skin. Vince struggles to get his top off without disrupting anything—he feels so, so unbearably sticky and hot and itches to be free, to give Dan everything. He’s panting softly, little whines and whimpers escaping his parted lips as he arches up to pull the shirt from his body, giving a sigh of relief at the cool air. The fingers of one hand roll a nipple hard between his fingers, the other clutching lightly at his stomach, wanting to touch more, feel more.

Dan’s hair is long enough to cover his face from the side, but he shifts his gaze up to Vince—probably to see what all the wiggling is about—and Vince sucks in a breath, eyes sliding half-shut at the sight of Dan’s wet, spit-slick lips sliding up and down his dick, impossibly more perverse and arousing for the expanse of dark stubble shaded across his jaw.

The eye contact lasts only a moment before Dan turns away, gaze downcast once more, but Vince knows well the look Dan gave him. Knows it’s the ravenous hunger that will only be sated by a kill. Luckily for Dan, he’s more than willing to sacrifice himself to be devoured. Which is why he sits up then, because the way Dan is surreptitiously grinding himself against the mattress isn’t lost on him, and Vince wants to do a little exploring of his own.

“Lemme,” he says by way of explanation, not request, and Dan pulls back, Vince’s cock slipping from his swollen, red lips with an obscene noise. His eyes are lusted dark, nostrils flaring once, twice as he sits up and faces Vince. His physical presence isn’t lost on Vince—he relishes it, the thought of Dan looming over him, hard and solid and quite capable of doing whatever he damn well pleases to him… Vince’s cock twitches at the image and he knows he’s flushing high in his cheeks, the heat already rushing to his face.

The corner of Dan’s mouth twitches up in a smirk and he gets up off the bed, pulling his shirt up and over his head, allowing Vince to drink in every inch of his torso as it’s exposed. And what a tall drink of water he is.

Vince all but licks his lips as he, too, slides to the edge of the bed and reaches a hand out to Dan’s belt buckle, lingering suggestively. “Lemme,” he repeats, fingers sliding the belt from its clasp and popping open the button of Dan’s fly, already feeling the strain of his cock against the denim.

Dan watches him with hooded eyes, saying nothing because nothing needs saying. His hand reaches out as Vince slides down his zip, grabs a proper lock of Vince’s hair on the side of his head—and whatever protest Vince was about to let fly dies on his lips as Dan tugs him up to standing, kisses him just as roughly as before. He hurriedly tugs down the last of Dan’s garments as he lets the other man plunder his mouth, pulling back just briefly to let Dan kick them aside.

“Hold me down,” he wants to say. “Don’t be gentle, just hurt me already. Take everything, just fucking do it.”

But of course, nothing needs saying. That’s probably for the best, because Vince isn’t the one with the words, after all.

~*~*~

“Mudkips? What’s a Mudkips?”

At Howard’s confused face, Jones quickly realizes his error. “Gabba,” he hastily corrects, rocking on his heels the slightest bit. “I meant gabba.”

Howard shakes his head, mutely. Then stops with a wince, because his brain is still swimming in gin, of all things, and that’s clearly not good to be sloshing things around. How did Vince talk him into this, again?

“Um, how ‘bout 2-step?” Jones tries again, wondering why he got stuck here trying to entertain the complete stick-in-the-mud while Dan got to go frolic off with Vince, of all fucking people. Fucking bastard, he’d get him for this. Piss in his shoes, maybe.

“You like breakcore? No? How ‘bout dub? Trip hop?...Glitch?...Jumpstyle?... Anythin ’ in the electronic realm at all, ever?”

Each question is met with a nervous frown, and Jones ruffles his hair with a sigh and just goes for it, out of desperation.

“Acid jazz?”

Howard grins.

~*~*~

Dan fingers dig hard into the flesh of his arse, crushing their bodies against each other and Vince feels so small against him—he’s not delicate, but in that instant he feels Dan could break him so easily, without even trying. It unravels him completely.

He’s being shoved back on the mattress once more, licks his throbbing, sore lips after the jolt and stares up at Dan. He meets Vince’s gaze this time, holds it until he’s close enough to reach down and grab Vince by the thigh, pushing his knee up towards his stomach. Vince flushes hot as he’s exposed, less the embarrassment and more the anticipation. If Dan doesn’t fuck him soon, there surely won’t be anything of him left but cinders and smoke.

Dan draws in a sharp breath as he gazes down at Vince. “You look—” His voice is taut and husked, and he doesn’t finish his sentence, just wets two fingers in that delicious mouth of his and presses one to Vince’s entrance, soft for a moment and then harder until his body surrenders. Vince’s toes curl and his tongue narrowly escapes being bitten as he clenches down, pleasure exploding inside him.

“More,” he begs, barely even waiting to adjust to the first finger before Dan slides the second inside him, thrusting in hard and ripping a deep moan from Vince’s throat. His other hand still grips the inside of Vince’s thigh, close to where it meets his knee, and Vince whimpers at the sight of Dan’s hands on him, still bearing remnants of the Australian sun, dark and solid against his own pale body.

“Please, Dan—can’t wait, get the stuff,” he pants, too impatient to even let Dan properly prepare him. But Dan doesn’t cease in his motions, curling his fingers and sending shudders up and down Vince’s spine with each pass, dangerously close to hitting the spot that will undo him.

“Dan, Dan,” Vince pleads, reaching down to grip his wrist. “Got to have you, now.”

Dan’s answer is to pull his fingers free and lean over him, solid torso pressing down against Vince’s accordioned leg, heavy cock bumping against his own. “Just got a rubber,” he says after a moment, as if only now remembering. “Fuck, ‘s in my…” Dan casts a scowl over at the pile of clothes strewn across the floor, as if it’s his trousers’ fault that he was too munted to retrieve the johnny before he tossed them halfway across the room.

“Hurry,” Vince whines, impatient now that he’s being cock-blocked by a condom, of all things. “Get it, get it.”

“M’ getting it,” Dan growls as he backs off the bed, and even though he knows it’s a bit naughty, Vince is tempted to be a bit more of a brat, just because that voice gets him ruffled in all the right ways.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he persists as Dan rifles through their discarded garments, yelping loudly when the foil hits him in the stomach, sharp corner catching his skin.

“That bloody hurt,” Vince gripes, but nothing else follows it but muffled words as Dan presses a large hand down over his mouth, eyes dark and hooded, all but invisible except for the glint reflecting from them. He leans in—hot, alcohol-tangy breath stirring the hair by Vince’s ear.

“Good.”

Vince bites back a moan as best he can, because if this isn’t hot, he doesn’t know what is. Dan presses the condom into his hands and he quickly rips it open with clever, little fingers, rolling it over Dan’s cock with excited, practiced ease. Dan grunts, not lifting his hand from Vince’s mouth as he yanks a leg over his hip and leans in to align his dick at Vince’s entrance.

Vince gives a voiceless cry as Dan pushes into him, breath meeting only Dan’s palm as his eyes roll back into darkness, lashes trembling with the intensity of it. His back arches, taut as lightning runs up his spine and sets his whole body shaking. It burns and it’s rough and it feels so fucking good he can barely stand it. Dan rocks into him hard, finding his rhythm after a moment, and Vince’s fingers scramble over the hand covering his mouth, and he’s not sure whether he’s trying to pull it away or press it down harder.

Dan takes the latter approach, leaning down low and bracing himself with his elbow next to Vince’s head as he plows into him, the bed whining with his efforts.

“Such a little… God, you’re a fuckin’ tease. I’ve wanted a piece of you for so… so fucking long.” The words flow from his mouth like black molasses, Vince can almost feel them drip down onto his skin. The heat of Dan inside him is sweltering, like he’s filling every single inch of him, and Vince can only suck in a deep breath through his nose, lips gasping into Dan’s grip.

“Fuck, Vince—” Dan is speeding up now, knocking Vince back into the mattress harder and harder. The vibrations shimmer and collide inside him, cut right though him, and he cries out as Dan raises his hips just enough, begs for more and more and more. There are hot tears pricking the corners of his eyes as Dan holds him down as he tries to buck and writhe away from the pleasure, too much but nowhere near enough. He’s trapped and completely at Dan’s mercy and he never wants it to end.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Dan is cursing under his breath, thigh muscles clenched and trembling from exertion. “Perfect little fucking arse—“ he punctuates the filth with a low grunt and Vince latches on to his hand, drags it down til it’s over his throat instead of his mouth. His swollen lips part and nothing comes out, but it says enough.

Dan’s eyes go wide, then shutter closed as his mouth forms a mirror image of Vince’s. He gives one last, hard slam into Vince and then his hips fall still as he rides out his orgasm, white teeth biting down into his lower lip while the last shudder racks him. All the while, he doesn’t take his hand from Vince’s throat, doesn’t move his thumb from where it presses snug against Vince’s hammering pulse. One second later, he’s moving again, dipping his torso low so Vince’s cock presses against the slight swell of his abdomen.

Vince’s vision is swimming in and out, mind swirling as Dan growls dirty nothings into his ear, so close to the edge he could cut himself on it. “Kinky little bitch,” Dan stutters, sucking in a hard breath through gritted enamel, and Vince screams silently as his orgasm hits him hard as a freighter, leaving nothing in its wake but a shuddering, writhing, gasping mess.

Dan quickly pulls his hand back, almost as if he’s been burned, and Vince gulps in oxygen, lost in the seductive haze and the come-down, slumping limp against the mattress. His fingers and lips and everything tingle intensely, the sensation fading slowly, slowly as he regains his bearings.

Dan is still breathing hard, having pulled out and sat back on his haunches, the used johnny dangling limply from the end of his slowly-softening cock. Vince blinks hard, once and then twice, then gives Dan as much of a naughty grin as he can still muster.

“You’re an animal,” he rasps, coughing to clear his throat. He hopes there will be a bruise tomorrow. Something to show off to Howard.

Dan looks at him with slight awe, and slight horror. But beneath that is the gentle amusement he’s always seemed to reserve for Vince, and aside from one of the best fucks of his life, that’s all Vince can ask for, really.

“You’re mad,” Dan shakes his head a bit, damp tendrils of hair flopping against his forehead after he wipes it with the back of his hand, but Vince can see the corner of his mouth turn up into a grin. He sits up a little, bracing himself against the pillows of his bed, chest still fluttering, lips still tingling.

“Next time…” he trails off, as Dan looks up, eyes interested.

“Next time,” Vince repeats. “I’m on top.”

~*~*~

“Next time,” Jones pants, looking down at Howard, who is still wearing something of a frightened look on his face, albeit a rather more sated one, “Next time, you’re on top.”

Howard’s eyes get exponentially wider. “But—but you said you didn’t—”

“I know what I said,” Jones interrupts, rolling off to the side and collapsing next to Howard, still trying to catch his breath. “But anybody who can keep in time through the entire ‘Road to Freedom’ without losin’ beat once … let’s just say, I want a piece of what Vince is gettin’, yeah?”

Howard blushes.

“That’d be nice. My hips can’t really take any more electro.”

~*~*~

Vince had been able to dismiss the occasional lingering glance as coincidence; could chalk up to Jones' tactile nature the frequent touches to his arms, his shoulder, the small of his back as the DJ manouevered them through a crowded dance floor. He'd brushed off Jones' ever-present flirtation as being just that. But in this particular moment, even Vince-- who could deny away the sun if you asked him to-- had to admit there was no mistaking the hand brazenly groping his arse.

Maybe he'd been asking for it-- had danced closer than he ought, even growing so bold as to wrap his arms loosely around Jones' neck. Jones had placed his hands on Vince's hips, where they were supposed to go. There was nothing wrong with this, in Vince's mind. It was just meant to be a dance between friends, and if he was a bit less reserved than he ought, it was only because Jones was one of the only people he knew who understood. Who needed the tribal pound of the bass in the depths of his stomach, craved the skittering drums and synthesizers thrumming through his veins as much as Vince did. Howard enjoyed dancing, of a sort, but he just wasn't built to navigate this strange, carnal jungle. Vince, on the other hand, lived for it; for this dark, humid ritual that only came to life when the lights went down.

Ministry of Sound was far from anything resembling a forest, but the dance floor felt so perfectly primal, as if he was born for it. It was nice to let out your animal side every now and then, without fear of reproach from a blushing jazz fanatic who couldn't understand why Vince was so eager to perform a miniature striptease before bed. (Jones wouldn't have minded it, he'd thought once, after such an episode. Then instantly wondered why his mind had even gone there. Out of the two, it'd always been Dan he'd fancied a bit, right? Well... maybe he really was a bit of a slag.)

Jones' set tonight had been brilliant, of course, but Vince had been more excited once he'd wrapped up and taken to the dance floor, already coated in a sheen of sweat. Vince had been waiting, only a little impatiently. He'd only come to this club a few times, and each time, always accompanied by Jones. Although he'd recognized several people and made idle chit-chat here and there, they had seemed content for once to leave him be. Maybe it had been obvious he was waiting for someone...

Ahem.

Hand on his arse. Right.

Vince tossed his head back, gulping the cool air that hovered above the mass of writhing Camden elite. When he looked back at Jones, the other man was watching him like a hawk. It was something Vince had always liked about Jones-- how bold he was, how unashamedly he wore his heart on his sleeve. As if it was something to be proud of; an accessory that never changed, no matter what his outfit. If he was being honest, Vince had always been somewhat impossibly drawn to him, and maybe he had sent out some signals of his own, after all...

He looked away, feeling his pulse race in a way that even two hours of dancing couldn't have accomplished. He felt like he was holding his breath, unsure what would happen next. There was something building beneath that Vince could feel waiting to emerge. He said nothing, only dipped his hips with the beat, letting his arse push back against Jones' hand ever so subtly.

Vince swore he could hear Jones inhale sharply; or at least, he sensed it. Guilt settled like an apricot pit in his stomach, but something stronger was rising in him. Feeling bold, he let his instinct take over, arms unfurling above him, hips swiveling from side to side. Jones spun him around, hands tight on his hips as Vince shamelessly ground his arse against the other man's groin. Jones moved with him, fluidly, never missing a beat. One of his hands roamed upward to splay across Vince's chest, and Vince was sure Jones would be able to feel how fast his heart was pounding. He felt lighter than helium balloons, lighter than feathers.

"It's sick, how you dance," Jones leaned in, his voice more physical vibration than sound as he spoke against Vince's hair, his lips just brushing the shell of Vince's ear. "You move like the whole fuckin' world's watchin' and you couldn't care less. Like you get off on it."

The bass line had ensnared their hips and Vince unwittingly held his breath as Jones' breath moved down to his neck, hovering over the exposed skin. He felt a shiver run through him that Jones would easily be able to feel. It wasn't often he felt like this. Like prey. He wasn't sure yet if he liked it.

Vince spun around, suddenly, still dancing in Jones' grip. Looking up into the DJ's shadowed face, he allowed himself to flash a flirtatious smirk.

"Maybe I do."

He hadn't meant to sound so challenging, but there it was. Jones laughed, delighted, and his hand slipped down to grip Vince's arse once more, using his momentum to rock them together. Their faces were mere inches apart and Jones' eyes flashed brightly with the reflections of the mirror ball, pupils dark and endless, the blue around their rims even brighter by contrast.

"Jones--" Vince felt the name fly from his lips, but he didn't know what he meant to say. The apricot pit grew larger with each throb of the bass, each throb of his cock as Jones ground them together. Then, " Jones," it came out as a moan as he felt the other man's hardness pressed tight against his. Jones' fingers splayed wider across his arse, and he felt Jones' cock swell in response.

"Say it again," Jones said, lips once again brushing the delicate conch of his ear, before his mouth found Vince's neck and sucked lightly, tasting the skin. Vince shuddered at the possessive tone in what he could hear of the DJ's voice, but guilt had grown into a peach pit in his gut and he shivered even more to think of Howard finding the mark in the morning.

"No, stop--" He said, because he at least has to attempt to not give in. It came out weak, mewling, and he had to try again louder, bringing his arms down to press against Jones' chest. Not pushing, just warning.

Jones pulled back, but his hands didn't relinquish their grip and his arousal didn't wane. Vince's head was spinning from the music and the heat and the alcohol and the intoxicating feel of Jones' taut body against his.

"I won't tell if you won't," Jones said somewhat predictably, just barely loud enough to be heard over the music, and Vince recognized that glint in his eye, lurking beneath the aurora of whatever stimulating concoctions he's taken. Jones had got a peach pit growing too, and Vince realized that they're in the same position. Dan was a man of words, of observing, of nursing a pint or three and casting disdainful glances from the safety of a booth. He loved Jones, he was proud of him, but there's no way he could properly understand this part of him. And to people like them, this was everything; at least for that one night, in that perfect moment of escape. Maybe Vince didn't love Jones like Dan did, maybe Jones couldn't love him like Howard always had. Maybe it didn't matter, maybe that wasn't the point at all.

"I don't know," Vince said without bothering to try and make himself heard, (because if Jones was going to stare at his lips, he may as well read them too.) He allowed uncertainty to cloud his features, but inside, his guilty mind was already giving in. It was just-- he knew it now, he felt it, that he desperately wanted to be chased. Just once more time. For better or worse, he trusted Jones.

The other man narrowed his eyes, as if trying to read him better. The damp, unshorn fringe on his right side clung to his forehead, and his lips were parted, hot breath issuing from between them. "Vince," He said, urging, and even without hearing the full timbre of his voice, Vince could still hear his name on Jones' lips, knew it was having an obvious affect on him. Jones gave him a sharp, crooked grin-- reading his success-- and leaned in to suck at Vince's jaw where it met his neck. Vince's hands fisted in Jones' shirt at the wet heat against his skin, swallowing hard as Jones' mouth moved further down his neck.

"Don't make me stop," Jones' voice warned, breath harsh and hot against his collarbone. Vince couldn't tell if it was a command or a request. There didn't seem to be a difference with him.

" Jones..." Vince finally acquiesced, letting the other man's name fill his mouth once more. Fingers tightened in the lime green leopard-print fabric, feeling the plastic menagerie around Jones' neck bounce against his knuckles. He bucked his hips forward, wanting.

Jones didn't waste any time in capturing his traitorous mouth. Vince leaned into him, eagerly seeking entrance by nipping at Jones' lips. Jones fought him, won dominance of the kiss as his tongue flicked against Vince's teeth. It's a battle Vince was willing to lose. He let his hands slip down, sliding over Jones' torso to grip his hips, feeling skin above the rough fabric of Jones' belt. His arse was partially released as one of Jones' hands wormed its way under Vince's top; strong, thick fingers slid up the ridge of his spine, feeling hot and cold all at once as Jones explored his body.

Vince had kissed plenty of people in clubs before, men and women and who knows what else, but Jones was one of the rare few whose touch seemed to flow through him like electricity. As if they were disintegrating into the music itself. It was an intoxicating sensation and Vince had a strange feeling that he wouldn't be satisfied until he'd felt every inch of Jones throbbing deep inside him.

The song gradually switched to something slower and less frantic. It flowed over them like dark honey, growing slowly and accentuating each roll of hips and each flex of fingers. Each laboured breath through flaring nostrils, each flutter of eyelashes and twist of tongues. Vince broke the kiss, inhaling sharply as Jones ground against him just so, his erection so strong it was almost painful.

"D'you want me?" Vince had to ask, though it went without saying. He just wanted to hear it-- it's the sound he desired, not the assurance.

"That ent' much of a question at this point, princess." Jones gave a low laugh against his mouth, but Vince was positive he understood.

Jones' fingers had managed to worm their way under the tight waistband of Vince's drainpipes, putting an uncomfortable strain on his abdomen, but Vince wasn't about to complain about the thorough kneading his arse was getting.

"Too bad you ent wearin' a skirt, this'd be so much--" Jones appeared to be thinking aloud unintentionally, because he stopped quite abruptly and seemed to be distracted. Vince was reeling with the new ammunition. Suddenly, he seemed to have a foothold in this situation.

"So that's what you like, is it? Y'fancy me all done up like a girl?" Vince punctuated this with a sharp nip to Jones' lower lip, savoring the low groan he gots in response as Jones' fingers momentarily stilled. He'd found a weakness. Genius. "Was it the maid outfit what did ya?"

"Shut up," Jones said, intense and without malice. His fingers clenched into Vince's arse cheek as he kissed him hard, though it was a mere fraction of a second before he'd pulled back again. "Fuck. I-- come back to mine. Meet me out front, gotta get my gear." And with a final squeeze to Vince's groin, he'd vanished into the crowd, leaving Vince gasping and alone and needing more.

The chill of the night air sent the gravity of the situation back to the forefront of his mind. Vince rocked unsteadily on his heels, wondering what he was doing. His erection hadn't waned much, the energy of the club still pulsating in the ends of his fingertips, but did he really want this? He'd never been unfaithful to Howard before-- strictly speaking, that fling with Dan didn't count, fair trade and all-- but he'd never kissed Jones before, either. Maybe old habits really did die hard, but he was fucked either way, because he knew it would haunt him if he left now.

Vince wondered when his life got more complicated than coordinating his lip balm flavour with the color of his boots.

But then Jones emerged from the club, decks in hand, and snogged Vince both expertly and sloppily in the back of the cab, and by the time he'd gotten his hand down Vince's trousers as they stood on the front step outside the House of Jones (trying not to knock over his gear and get the key inside the lock and get each other undressed all at once), Vince decided he couldn't really be fucked to do anything but deal with the consequences later.

If all else failed, he'd give Howard a free pass to get off with Jones again. He hadn't complained too much about it after the fact, the sneaky sod.

They stumbled into the living room, mouths attached and bodies clumsy now that there was no beat to bind them together. Or maybe they were just having trouble hearing it. Vince jumped at the sound of Jones' cases thudding down on the floor, the last remnant of the club left behind as they fumbled with shoes and belts.

"Bedroom," said Jones, seemingly trying to push Vince in that direction while displaying no great desire to actually stop wanking Vince off long enough to move.

"Where's-- Dan," Vince asked, stupidly. The question seemed to throw Jones for a moment, but he just shook his head.

"Out. He don't care. He'd... fuck, he'll be jealous." This was followed by a firm squeeze to Vince's excited cock, and Vince swayed a little on his feet, falling against Jones to attack his neck with fervor.

"Bedroom." He echoes.

"Wha--?" Jones almost asked, then remembers and regretfully unwraps his fist from around Vince's cock. "Right, fuck. 'Kay, c'mon."

They shed their shoes and made it to the bedroom with minimal damage, though Vince did bang his shin against the footboard as they tumbled onto the mattress. Pain blossomed up his leg and he couldn't help hissing sharply in surprise and annoyance. Jones probably took it as a response to the pinch he'd just given Vince's nipple, which is just as well.

Jones immediately straddled him, pinning him down on the bed and gazing down at him voraciously.

"Fuck," he breathed out. "Are we really doin' this?" He seemed to realise as soon as he'd said it that he doesn't want to give Vince any more openings for doubt, so he followed it by reaching down and grabbing Vince by the chin, kissing him solidly. Vince whimpered, remembering the delicious tingle of being just a little bit manhandled. Jones' necklaces felt heavy against his chest. Vince found one of his arms being pulled up above his head, gripped soundly by the wrist, and he bucked up against Jones, neglected cock seeking purchase on something, anything. It brushed against the fabric of Jones' shirt, jutting into his firm stomach, and Jones moaned into Vince's mouth while Vince moaned into his.

"More," Vince mouthed, almost wordlessly against Jones' open lips, and Jones relinquished his grip on Vince's jaw to yank his blinding shirt one-handed over his head. It tangled for a moment on the array of charms and beads. Vince watched in the dim light as Jones struggled with it, swearing when he had to give up his hold on Vince's wrist and sit up properly to drag the whole mess all the way off.

Vince got an idea, and pushed down his trousers and pants the rest of the way, shimmying out of them with some amount of difficulty, as Jones was still straddling him with his knees. Above him, Jones tossed his shirt and beads aside and started to unzip his tented trousers. He paused in undressing himself when he saw Vince lay back against the bed, bottoms completely divested of, his v-neck top pushed down over his shoulders to bunch around his hips.

Vince gave a breathy laugh, raising his eyebrows saucily as he nodded toward the lower half of his body. Jones' brow furrowed for the briefest of seconds, before he followed Vince's line of vision and it visibly dawned on him how Vince's top was now located just so-- only his erect cock ruining the illusion of what could otherwise be, for all intents and purposes, a skirt.

"Fuck," Jones swore, but before he could say anything else, Vince interrupted.

"D'you got a proper one?" He gave Jones his best seductive gaze, adding cheekily, "Just to see you en't all talk."

Jones said nothing for a moment, but rose up slowly from the bed, hand drifting down to squeeze his cock through his briefs-- they had Andy Warhol's Marilyn faces on, Vince noticed, before letting himself get distracted by the contents of said briefs. Jones had more body hair than what he was usually attracted to, but on him, it worked. His body was somehow wiry and lean, yet compact, and powerful. He wasn't tall, but he was definitely not lacking. Fucking delicious, in a word.

"Y'mean..." Jones was still trying to process Vince's request, and suddenly it clicked and he made a hurried, 'oh!' noise before stumbling out of the room, trousers loosely jangling around his hips. Vince took advantage of the moment alone to slip his shirt all the way off-- because regardless of whether Jones could find a skirt laying about, he certainly wasn't going to keep it on. He gave his hair a quick fluff and licked his lips to moisten them. He could hear Jones rattling about somewhere in the apartment, heard a song suddenly materialize out of thin air. Weird, he thought Jones had already put music on, but now that he thinks about it, he was probably just imagining. The vague, warm light from the living room spilled in over the bed. The bed smelled like Jones. And Dan.

Vince leaned over to rummage in the side drawer, looking for a condom, of which there were plenty, and lube, of which he promptly found a well-used tube. Something patterned caught his eye. A leopard-print paddle, eh? Interesting. His cock, eager for attention, over-reacted to the stimulation of brushing against the bedsheets, and Vince sucked in a tiny, aroused breath. He rolled on his back once more, hearing Jones approach, and ghosted his fingers lightly over his dick, biting his lip just enough.

Jones had shed his trousers and was carrying them in one hand, chucking them on the bedroom floor as he crossed the threshold. The Marilyn clones bedecking his pants were distorted by the bulge of his erection, which cast a tempting silhouette. But Vince hadn't forgotten the reason for the excursion. In Jones' other hand, there was a surprisingly sexy, flouncy little fabric confection. It was dark, but shimmered with a faintly golden sheen, back-lit by the door.

"Think it's Dajve's," Jones answerde, before Vince asked. "And no, not what you're thinking. Don't remember when it got left but--" he trailed off as he crawled up on the bed and Vince reeled him in, dropping his pilfered items off to the side and pulling Jones down on top of him.

"Put it on me, yeah?" He cajoled, wiggling his hips. Jones sucked in a hard breath, nodding as he tries to get the skirt in place without actually looking. It took a moment or two, but then he'd pushed it up over Vince's cock and the skirt was sitting snugly at Vince's hips.

"Fuck," Jones said once more, sitting back on his haunches to observe his handiwork. "You kinky little bitch. Damn..." Vince grinned in thinly-veiled satisfaction, enjoying the sensation of silky ruffles against the more sensitive parts of his anatomy. The skirt was just short enough to be exquisitely salacious, and the jut of his cock was sufficiently disguised amongst the froth of fabric. Thank you, Dajve, Vince thought, silently. Jones was probably thinking something quite similar.

"So... how's it look?" Vince sat up on his elbows, trying not to grin too smugly as he gave Jones a bold, saucy gaze. He knew the skirt looked perfect, he knew Jones wanted him, but he wanted those words to keep rolling off Jones' tongue. The other man's answer was to slide a hand up Vince's thigh and squeeze his balls up against the base of his cock, eliciting a throaty moan from deep inside him.

"Definitely not bad," Jones grinned in satisfaction as Vince turned to putty in his hands, soft, mewling sounds replacing the ones that came before. Vince spread his legs wider, unashamedly, and Jones let out a low growl as he descended upon Vince and rolled them over, so Vince was sprawled atop his stomach. He kissed Vince deeply, urgently, as his hands cupped the bare curves of Vince's arse, squeezing his flesh until Vince's whole body felt flushed and tingly. Jones' cock rubbed against his through the soft fabric, the unusual sensation throwing Vince into a headspin.

His breath hitched audibly as Jones' fingers made their way down the cleft of his arse, stroking over his entrance lightly, then more purposefully. Vince felt effervescent pleasure fizzle in the tips of his fingers, curl lazily in the pit of his stomach. His cock jumped and he instinctively arched his back, pushing his arse against Jones' hand, greedy for more. Jones' tongue was still dancing around his, the kiss growing more urgent, only to be interrupted as Jones shoved two fingers between them, pressing into Vince's mouth. He sucked them dutifully, tickling the sensitive skin between them with his tongue, before the fingers were withdrawn from his mouth and Jones was pressing both into him at once.

Vince gasped against Jones' mouth, back arching sharply. This was it, no going back now. Pleasure flooded his nerves, overriding even the sudden, sharp stretch and burn of his muscles. Jones groaned in response from beneath him, working his fingers in and out. There was a soft rustle each time the back of his hand brushed the golden fabric. It felt so much dirtier like this, being fingered underneath a skirt-- wearing it, even as little as it covered, seemed to make his nakedness all the more apparent.

"I feel like a... mmnnhh, a naughty schoolgirl," Vince drawled slowly, speech interrupted by little moans and sighs and hitches of breath.

"Does that mean I get ta spank you?" Jones asked, all too innocently, right before he delivered a firm smack to Vince's bottom with his free hand.

Vince let out a yelp-- he couldn't help it, he wasn't expecting the sudden movement, nor the instantaneous sting that made his cock swell against Jones'. Breathlessly laughing as soon as it sinks in what Jones just did, Vince grinned excitedly down at him, not bothering to hide the lust in his voice when he replied, "Only if you don't ask permission..."

His eyes fell on the lube, discarded earlier and sitting lonely on the duvet. He quickly leaned over Jones to pick it up, biting the cap so he could twist it open with one hand, his weight resting on the other. Jones was watching him with a look that promised further debauchery, and Vince wasted no time in handing him the opened tube. Jones slowly withdrew his fingers with something of an obscene noise, and he fiddled around for a moment behind Vince, before Vince felt the pressure of a third finger being added. The stretch was warm and almost uncomfortable, but the lubricant made a huge difference. He felt hot and tingly and so fucking full. Vince breathed in through his nose and drank in the focused look in Jones' dilated eyes.

"So, don't ask for permission to fuck you either, then?" Jones was looking at him again, sinful lips curling into a grin as he crooked his fingers just right and Vince almost collapsed against his chest from the shockwave that ran through him. He could only gasp in response, eyes squeezing tightly shut as filth began to pour from his lips. He rocked back against Jones' hand, fucking himself on Jones' fingers as Jones cleverly twisted and turned inside him, only giving him a little taste of what he wanted.

"Tease," Vince groaned in frustration, feeling his pre-cum slowly dripping down his cock. The fabric of the skirt clung to his sticky skin when he moved, and he needed more, so much more. "That's not fair, you're so-- ugh--"

"Never said I was, precious," Jones laughed, rolling them over once more so Vince was now thoroughly disoriented, between the shift in position and the pleasure ricocheting through his body. He focused in on the feeling of Jones' hands spreading his legs, hissed sharply as Jones palmed his cock and stroked him til the shaft was wet with his own fluids. Combined with the wave of euphoria that washed over him as Jones' fingers brushed deliberately across his prostate, Vince was completely adrift, unable to contain the keen that fought its way out of his throat.

"Fuck, Jones..." he panted, once he'd regained his powers of speech. "F' you don't shift it soon, this skirt's well gonna need dry-cleaning."

"S'okay," Jones replied promptly, something of a laugh in his voice. "I know I'm good, you en't gotta stroke my ego." Vince felt him shift, the fingers inside him stilling for a moment, before retreating. He heard the rip of the condom packet, the sticky rustle as Jones rolled it on, was expecting to feel the bluntness of Jones' cock up against him at any moment. So he was taken rather off-guard when he felt the skirt being flipped up over his stomach and a sudden, soft wet heat envelop his cock. Head jerking up off the pillow, Vince groaned at the sight of Jones' lips stretched around his dick, the other man's hair tucked off to the side so he had the perfect view. Oh god. Ohhh god.

Letting his head fall back against the cushion, Vince's eyes slid shut of their own accord, his hands fisting in the bedsheets. It was unexpected, maybe, but like hell was he going to complain about being sucked off. Jones was clearly well practiced, because despite this being the first time he'd ever had Vince's cock in his mouth, he somehow knew every trick that would have brought Vince to his knees, had he been standing. Time passed in his euphoric haze-- how much, he couldn't tell. Could've been mere seconds, could've been several minutes, but Vince was pretty sure he'd actually gone into the future this time. He thought suddenly of Jones, here on this same bed, with his lips shiny and wet around Dan's dick-- oh, no, no, too much, too--

"Jones-- Jones, stop, don't wanna come--" Vince cast about blindly, trying to find Jones' head. One final swirl of his tongue, and Jones was rising up off him. It took Vince a moment to sit up and look at him, but he could hear the swagger in Jones' voice before he'd even finished his first word.

"Alright, alright, keep your panties on," Jones all but smirked at him, giving Vince a quick wink as he crawled back up over his body. "I had to taste you," Jones insisted, rolling one of Vince's nipples between his fingers in an obvious attempt at distraction. "I've been waiting fucking long enough, m' not about to skip over the best parts." He chuckled lowly, but fell into an expectant silence, as if waiting for something. But what? Wait, he'd said--

A realization dawned on Vince then, and he sat up as much as he could with Jones over him, accusing, "Oi! You planned this whole bloody thing, din't you? From the start, even before we went out!"

Jones just laughed, reaching out a hand to loosely cover Vince's open, accusing mouth. "So what if I did, yeah?" His grin seemed even more mischievous in the near-dark than before. "En't nothing wrong with knowin' what you want."

This time, Vince did feel the pressure of Jones' cock, snug against his arsehole, and he struggled to focus on his protests. "But-- but you know I... Howard. "

Jones chuckled darkly, leaning in to murmur against Vince's ear so Vince could hear every facet of every decible.

"Just think of it as now we're even. You think I liked hearin' Dan telling me all about how he fucked you? How he held you down while you came?" His voice was breathy but solid, dark and moist. "Don't get me wrong, princess. Howard... he surprised me, yeah? But you..." He let his thumb drift over from Vince's cheek to rest on his lower lip, inhaling sharply when Vince's tongue instinctively flicked out to moisten it. "Fuck, Vince. Don't you know I weren't even thinkin' of how I missed Dan right then." Jones' mouth moves from Vince's ear to hover mere inches above his lips. "The whole time... Fuck, I wanted it t' be you. "

Vince had barely enough time to register the confession before Jones was pushing into him, by no means slowly. His voice was caught for the briefest of moments in his throat, before it came rushing out of him as a breathless whimper. Another wave of euphoria washed over him. It felt so tight, so fucking full, as if Jones hadn't even touched him before. It was painful and it was good. It was so fucking good.

Jones was swearing under his breath as he slid all the way in, until there was nowhere else to go but back. "Fuck," he breathed, and Vince could only agree. "Y'feel fuckin' amazing. Nngh, Vince--" He tugged Vince's leg up to hitch around his waist, the golden skirt falling wantonly up over his hips. Vince moved his other leg to join the first, unable contain a noise of appreciation as the angle changed for the better.

Jones crawled in a bit closer before withdrawing almost all the way, then thrusting back in smoothly. The friction made Vince's lower back tremble and seize, and he writhed up against Jones, his cock brushing against Jones' taut, bare abdomen now that the skirt wasn't in the way.

"Don't stop," is all he could think to say, and Jones took this advice to heart, reaching for Vince's wrists with the hand he wasn't resting his weight on. Vince's arms were up over his head now, and Jones held his wrists tightly as his thrusts gradually grew faster, more urgent. He was so close to hitting just the right spot, but Vince wanted to make this last as long as he possibly can. He clenched his muscles around Jones as he came dangerously close, which made Jones groan and swear beneath his breath. Vince was left to focus on the sensations uncurling inside the depths of him, wishing this never had to end. He thought of Jones' voice, the husky, lust-filled timbre of it.

"Fuck, I wanted it t' be you. "

Vince didn't realize he was squeezing his eyes shut, but then he opened them, and saw Jones' lips parted as he panted for breath, the sweat beaded on the jut and hollow of his collarbone, the short stubble contrasting with the dark, loose waves that swayed against his face with each thrust. He looked up at Jones' eyes, and realised Jones was watching him every bit as intently. Vince had never been the best at reading between the lines, so he couldn't say for sure just what Jones was thinking.

But he had a few guesses.

Jones' mouth quirked halfway into an open grin, and then he canted his hips just so and Vince cried out his name, the loaded syllable flying from his lips as his whole body quivered.

"Say it again," Jones said lowly, just as he had in the club. His face was more intent than Vince had ever seen him look, away from his decks. His hands squeezed around Vince's wrists and Vince felt the first telling pricks of pins and needles, but he really couldn't bring himself to care, because then Jones thrust so deeply that Vince had to grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes as tightly as he could to keep from crying out. It didn't work, of course.

"Jones! Fuck me, ahhhghh.... fuck--" Vince's mouth went slack as his eyes rolled back, lashes fluttering like black butterflies about to take flight. He was so close, so close...

Jones leaned in and kissed him hard enough to bruise as he hit Vince's prostate, and Vince screamed his name silently into his mouth, no words coming anymore, no sound, no anything, just white blinding pleasure as he fell over the edge and plummeted.

Another thrust, then another, Jones hips pistoning for a moment longer, and then he wrenched his mouth from Vince's, shouting a hoarse, "Fuck!" It resonated in the close air of the room, followed by, "Vince... fuck." Jones' voice trailed off as his hips fell still. He didn't move for a moment, trying to recover, while Vince could only lay beneath him, slowly regaining his focus.

His come had bedecked part of the underside of the skirt and both of their torsos, though he hadn't even noticed at the time. Jones took a deep breath as Vince slowly, gingerly slid his legs down from around Jones' sticky hips, half causing Jones' cock to slip from him as well. This seemed to jar Jones back into action, and he released Vince's wrists and sat up, withdrawing and rising up off the bed to remove the condom.

Vince stared up at the ceiling, eyes still glazed, mouth still parted as he breathed. He heard the rustle of something being chucked in the bin, and then Jones' weight was back on the bed, crawling up to flop down next to him.

"That was fucking brilliant," he heard Jones say, and turned to the source. Jones wasn't even trying to contain his grin, and Vince quickly found it was infectious.

"Alright?" He said, cheekily, and Jones half-heartedly cuffed him upside the head.

"Was it as good for you as it was for me?" He mimicked a woman's voice, laughing before he'd even finished. Vince just snorted, turning onto his side and reaching over to grab Jones by the scruff of his neck, dragging him into the kiss he'd started but not finished. Their tongues mingled languidly, drenched in the afterglow, and when they finally came up for air, Jones still had a grin on his face.

"What was that for, now?"

Vince shrugged a lazy shoulder, flopping back down against the bed, head turned to face Jones. "Just wanted to."

Jones snickered, dragging a finger through the semen still on his stomach and smearing it all over Vince's lips. He squawked in surprise, before giving Jones a half-hearted glare and licking his lips clean, as well as Jones' finger.

Laughing, Jones covered his eyes with his arm, jerking his hand away from Vince. "How kin you keep going, Jesus. You're gonna turn me on all over again."

Vince, now donning his best devilish grin-- though a pity it was wasted on Jones, who didn't even have the decency to uncover his eyes and appreciate it-- leaned over and began to lick Jones' abdomen clean. It was only polite, after all. Plus the hitch in Jones' breath was completely worth overlooking the fact that it was starting to cool.

"You little titbox," Jones laughed, but let him finish. "You're somethin' else, yeah?" He ran a hand over the back of Vince's hair, letting his hand drift down to catch Vince's chin-- which seemed to be becoming his new favorite past-time. "You're proper beautiful, y'know that?" He smiled at Vince, honestly. "An' not in a girl way, either."

"In what kinda way, then?" Vince asked, all innocence. He was, after all, always willing to accept a compliment.

"Dunno," Jones laughed, ruining the moment. "In a 'if you don't stop touching my thigh like that, I'm going to have to fuck you all over again' sort of way, I reckon."

"Aw," Vince said, shimmying the skirt off so he could rejoin Jones in proper nudity, letting it fall somewhere on the floor next to the bed. "You really know how to get a boy's pants." He wiggled upward so he could lay on his side next to Jones and continue trailing his finger teasingly over Jones' thigh, watching the other man's spent cock trying valiantly to right itself once more. It was fighting a losing battle.

Jones just snorted. "An' don't you fucking forget it." He paused, then grinned. "Hey, I'll tell you something to ease your guilty conscience a little."

Vince's finger stopped short. "What's that?" He asked, cautiously, not sure he wanted to be having this conversation. He was, after all, still enjoying the lingering pleasure from the thorough shagging he'd just had, why ruin it now?

"What if I told you..." Jones trailed off teasingly, "What if I told you that right now... Dan n' Howard? Miiight be a bit drunk. And might just be naked. And are definitely shagging, unless they got the jump on us and've already passed out."

Vince turned to look at him with wide eyes. "Are you sayin'...?" All of a sudden, something rather new and unexpected was fluttering around the inside of his ribcage. He didn't quite know what it was called, but he knew what it implied.

Jones just grinned, pulled him in for another kiss.

"You can thank me later. How's a blowjob sound?"

Дата добавления: 2015-11-04