1:12 am.

Joey likes the pulse of a dance floor, the heat of bodies around him. After a night of dancing onstage, there’s nothing he loves more than going out after, blood still racing through his veins, the high still pulling at his skin. He loves to drink, and dance, and grind. More than that, he wants it, he needs it.

He’s used to the hands that touch him. Anonymous fingers that rub at his dick through his pants, palms that slide across his ass and squeeze. Meat, he thinks, because that’s all he is. Rich, easy meat. Not the meat of choice, of course, but the only available alternative. Justin, Lance, JC, wouldn’t touch these people, wouldn’t lower themselves, but Joey, Chris, they’re pigs, they admit it, and if it’s offered, they ain’t gonna say no.

Does it bother him? Sure, sometimes, but in the end, a hole’s a hole, and if she’s gonna use him, he’s going to use her right back. She wants to suck his dick and pretend it’s Justin, well, he ain’t gonna turn her away. She wants to spread her legs and brag she bedded one of those goody-two-shoes three-fifths-pretty boys, well, he’ll do what he can.

So when a body presses against him, hands slipping into his pockets and rubbing at his cock, he lets them. Doesn’t turn around, and doesn’t need to, just pushes his shoulders back at them and urges them closer. He spreads his legs, hoping for a thigh, and it slides in, thick and solid. The cock that settles against his ass, hard like steel, is a shock. No, he thinks, unacceptable, and pushes his hands at the pressing body. No men.

“Fuck off, Joe,” Chris says and grips his hips tighter, grinding against Joey’s ass. He’s hot and dripping sweat on the back of Joey’s arms. Must be high, Joey thinks, acid or something, ecstasy, or drunk, on those red bull and vodkas he drinks. Something. But hot like hell, mouth wet on Joey’s shoulder.

And the music. Joey throws his head back and can’t help dancing, doesn’t care that it’s Chris against him. He thinks it’s weird, sure, but Chris is weird, has been acting weird for days. What’s a hard-on between friends? It’s the music. Women move all around them, tits exposed, nipples hard, and a few slide against him, his swollen cock.

“Fuck me,” Chris says, “fuck me, fuck me.”

It’s like a chant, “fuck me, fuck me,” slow and melodic in his ear, but Joey thinks he’s talking to the girl as she touches her breasts, tongue sliding over her bottom lip. Wet, lewd, such a fucking tease. Joey knows she wants JC to be the one who touches her raw skin, Lance who presses his mouth to her stomach. He knows this because she keeps looking over to the VIP section, a flicker of eyes, and it’s deliberate, this game, she knows what she wants. And it isn’t him.

“Getting a drink,” Joey says to the world, pushing her aside. Chris still clings to him, moves with him across the dance floor to the bar. Joey gets Chris a drink and orders a beer for himself, then touches his thumb under Chris’s eyes, pulling down the skin. “You high?”

“Fuck me,” Chris says.

Joey looks at him, close in the dim light, and his pupils are big but not too big, just like he’s been standing in the dark. Chris lifts his thigh, slides it between Joey’s legs, and leans forward. Stumbling back, Joey braces himself against the bar and holds Chris by the shoulders.

“The fuck, man?”

Chris stands on his toes, putting all his weight on Joey’s chest, his groin, and looks up at him. “What part of ‘fuck me’ are you not getting, dumbass?” And he pokes Joey hard in the chest with one straight finger then slides a hot palm over Joey’s shirt.

Joey thrusts a twenty at the bartender when he comes back, doesn’t care how much it really costs. Chris is still against him, heavy and male, and Joey says, “what the fuck, seriously, Chris,” and drowns half the beer in one mouthful. The world is tilting.

“Fuck me,” Chris repeats, right in his ear, “fuck me, fuck me,” loud like a scream.

“I’m not like that,” Joey says, and finishes the rest, bottle to his lips and swallowing fast. He slaps it down and flags the bartender for another, make it two. Chris presses a hand under the back of his shirt, nails scraping his skin, and Joey arches fast.

“So? I’m like that, and I promise you, you won’t even notice the matching parts. I’m good,” Chris whispers, and Joey thinks Chris is going to lick him, right here, in front of everyone. And thinks, then, that maybe he doesn’t mind. “I know who you are, Joe, and I’m not asking you to change. Just, fuck, man, you’re killing my goddamn seduction here. I need to get laid.”

Chris punches Joey in the stomach then stands back, grabbing his drink and chugging. He scowls at the cup, and Joey stares at him, long and hard. Sure, he knows Chris swings both ways, so that’s no surprise. The surprise is in Chris asking him, when any of them would do it, no questions. Joey lets himself be played by strangers, but he sure as hell ain’t gonna let himself be played by Chris.

“Dance,” Joey says, downing another beer, and then Chris is on him again, swimming onto the dance floor and grinding hard as the sea of people bump around them. When he says it, he means, “let me think,” and Chris uses the time to sell his case, hard and sexy against Joey’s back. And the music, it’s so loud Joey can barely think. Maybe the point is he’s not supposed to.

2:03 am.

Joey’s lost track of time. It blurred and gone, and he can’t stop fucking Chris. He never thought, never dreamt, it would be like this: hot hot hot.

Chris has his hands on Joey’s knees as Joey sits in the chair, Chris in his lap, facing away. Joey’s hands scrabble up Chris’s sweat-slick back then circle his hips, pulling him down, hard and fast, fucking him deep. Chris is bouncing, rolling his shoulders and staring at the ceiling, and Joey leans forward to lick up his spine, taking the salt into his body.

The first time, it was on the bed. Chris on his belly with Joey sprawled over his back, like dogs. It was hot then, all five minutes of it, but now, this second time, it’s even hotter. Joey’s sure he can make a third and try for a fourth. His fingers dig in Chris’s hips as Chris corkscrews down, dropping his chin to his chest and breathing hard. Joey palms his heavy dick, pressing it to his belly, and Chris arches.

“Fuck,” Joey says and sucks on Chris’s shoulder, spreading his legs to get Chris down, deeper, down. “Fuck,” he says again as Chris’s arm reaches back and digs into his hair, pulling. Joey thrusts into him, again and again, and holds him around the waist, trying to keep his grip. Chris is slippery and wet, and Joey drinks off his flesh, mouth open on his neck. “Fuck.”

“Told you,” Chris says and bangs down hard, or Joey shoots up fast, Joey isn’t sure, but it’s good and hot and tight. “Christ, Joe!” He shouts, nails digging into Joey’s head. Joey dips his hand between his legs again, squeezing his cock. “Fuck, fuck, stand up, stand up.”

Then they’re up against the wall, and still fucking. Chris is small enough that he fits, and Joey can’t stop pumping into him, even when his legs are going to give. It’s a marathon, too, and he’s dripping heat onto the floor, spirals down his legs and rushes through his toes. Joey’s afraid of coming, just because he doesn’t want it to end. He’ll make third, he knows, but he wants a fourth. Needs one, just doesn’t know if it’s possible, since he’s only human after all.

2:31 am.

They kiss lazily in the shower, Chris pressed against the wall, a hand on Joey’s shoulder. Joey’s face is torn to shreds from Chris’s beard, and that’s new, but other than that, it’s not really that strange at all. Joey holds Chris’s jaw with his thumbs and sexes his mouth. Chris’s tongue is hot and serious, demanding and thorough.

Joey still wants to fuck him but wants it slower, so maybe he’ll remember. The last two are just a blur, and Joey doesn’t like that. It’s like with the girls, whoever they are, who breathe, “Justin, JC, Lance,” when he’s in them. Not all of them, he feels like amending, but enough that’s he jaded, angry when he doesn’t do angry. It isn’t his style.

Chris ass is small and tight when Joey slides a hand down his back and cups one swell with his palm. Chris lifts his knee and says, “fuck,” and hisses a bit. He squirms, though, when Joey squeezes and pulls his hips forward, his cock plump and half-hard. “Old man,” Joey says fondly, biting at Chris’s lips, though his dick isn’t much better.

“Fuck you,” Chris says, grinning, “eat your words, boy.” Chris slithers like a snake down to his knees then opens his mouth around Joey’s cock, and fuck, that’s hot. Thrusting shallow, Joey rocks his hips and hopes, prays, that he’ll make a fourth. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t come, or shoots blanks, or what-the-fuck-ever; he just doesn’t want to fall asleep.

Chris works him like a pro. Joey fingers his neck, and thinks, god, yes, because he doesn’t think he’s ever had head this good, even with the scrap of rough cheeks against his shaft when Chris licks his balls, light and gentle, but enough that Joey’s strumming.

“Hey, fucknut. Stand up,” Joey says and tugs at Chris’s thick hair. Batting him away, Chris swallows his cock again, so Joey yanks on his ears, “dumbass motherfucker, stand up.” And it’s impatient, impertinent. Chris stands up and looks sours, and Joey sucks at his stained lips, pushing him by the shoulders against the tile.

“If I’m shit, you don’t make fun of me tomorrow, all right?” Joey says, and Chris nods, grinning. Joey drags his tongue down the centre of Chris’s body, drinking the water as it pours over him, cascading off his cock. Here goes nothing, Joey thinks, and goes down.

He just wants Chris to get hard. A third time, they can do it. A fourth, maybe, but a third, no problems. Joey fists Chris’s cock, since he’s chicken and can’t get much in until Chris is saying, “fuck, Joe, teeth, watch the fucking teeth,” and Joey thinks, if there was cock-sucking class, he would have just failed.

Ego a little wounded, he’s still trying, but he’s sloppy and bad. Chris threads his fingers through Joey’s hair and groans, “yeah, okay. Little steps, Fatone. No one ever deep-throated first time out. Just. Fuck,” and he slides his cock between Joey’s lips. Joey covers his teeth and suckles the head, red and angry and wet, with skin gliding between his fingers.

“Yeah, Joe. There you are,” Chris says, and his cock is hard and throbbing, thumping over Joey’s tongue. Joey wishes he could take him deeper, but for his first cock, it’s not bad. He’s been a lot of girls’ first cock, and he’s seen them struggle and choke and gag.

Chris lifts him off by the jaw, and they stand under the stream again, tongues duelling. With a flick of his wrist, Joey turns off the water and stumbles getting out of the tub, but who the fuck cares? He thought he was drunk when he started, but now, he’s just sober and horny. Chris’s goddamn ass flashes him, Chris bending to get a towel, and fuck, why not? Joey folds him over the edge of the counter and tongues him.

“Fuck,” Chris says. Joey thinks it’s a good thing they cleaned already, or he’d be tasting the bitter slop of lube instead of the clean saltiness of Chris’s skin. Holding Chris open with his thumbs, Joey presses the flat of his tongue behind Chris’s balls up to the ring of muscle, still tight.

When Chris starts pushing back, Joey knows he’s got his third.

3:39 am.

Between the sweat and the drizzle of lube, Joey is slick and slippery. Three times, he keeps thinking, and sometimes, he thinks it out loud, says, “three times.” Chris laughs in his ear, suckling his earlobe and mutters, “it can be four, maybe five.”

“Not five,” Joey says, “impossible.” Chris cock slides between his thighs from behind, and Joey twists his ankles together, trying to hold him there. Behind him, Chris mouths his neck, his shoulders, his ears. Chris’s hand strokes his belly, rubbing and petting, and Joey is half-hard and getting harder. “Dude. Five?”

“I’m good,” Chris mutters and palms Joey’s dick. He hisses, pushing at Chris’s hand, so fucking sensitive that a thumb across the crown is like heaven and hell meeting in the middle. When Chris’s hand glides up his chest, Joey is almost relieved and groans as Chris throws a thigh over his hips, forcing Joey on his back. “Admit it.”

“You’re good,” Joey says and lifts his head, desperate for his tongue. Chris licks over his mouth then in, his hands moving down Joey’s sides. Chris stretches, reaching for the table, and Joey uses the opportunity to circle Chris’s waist with a strong, steady grip. “Really five?”

“Five,” Chris says, grinning. He drizzles a line of lube on Joey’s belly then drops the bottle back on the table, back again with his hands, spreading it around with careful strokes. Joey lifts his arms over his head as Chris runs his palms up Joey’s chest to his shoulders, his neck then back down. Inside, Joey thinks he might melt, or come, just from the touch.

Joey gets the rubber and opens it at Chris’s urging, rolling it down his cock, and he thinks again, three times already, and maybe four, maybe five. Chris laughs at him, like he knows his thoughts, and Joey brings him down for another kiss, Chris’s wet hands on his face. Joey slide in easy when Chris sits back, and he thinks, fleetingly, tight, tight.

It’s slow and sensual, and Chris rides him like it’s the most comfortable thing in the world, one hand on Joey’s belly, the other on his shoulder, moving through the gleam of Joey’s skin. It’ll take a while this time, Joey thinks, but he can already feel the tingle in his balls, and thinks, maybe five. But four for sure, for sure.

5:06 am.

“Okay, shh, I’ll go slow,” Chris promises, and Joeys nods. He holds very, very still. He doesn’t care if he doesn’t come from this, but he wants to try it, and he might never get another chance. Chris holds his leg up, pressed back, as he sinks in, inch by painful inch. Joey breathes in deep, startled gasps, and thinks, oh, oh, but isn’t sure if he likes it.

The bed sheets are soaked, and Joey’s hair keeps falling in his eyes, stinging and wet. Chris grins and pushes it back with his free hand, leaning down to kiss Joey and sinking in deeper, slowly, slowly, until, finally, Joey can feel Chris’s balls against the crease of his ass.

“It’s okay?” Chris asks, voice quiet.

“It’s okay. It’s fine,” Joey says. “Don’t know how you did it even once, but fine. Really.”

Chris presses his mouth to Joey’s, grinning. “It’s called practice, Joey. I’m used to it. I like it,” Chris says and tilts his hips, just slightly. Joey gasps and licks at Chris’s lips, mouth open, awed. “Prostate, Joe.” Chris moves again, pressing down, and yeah, Joey thinks, okay, fine. “Think you can do five?”

“Not like this,” Joey admits. It stings, even if it feels good, too.

“Can I fuck you for a while then we’ll do something else?” Chris asks, and Joey nods, dancing his hands down Chris’s back to grab the backs of his thighs, pulling him closer, because that’s kind of nice, the glide of their skin, in the settling quiet. Chris shivers hard in his hands, and Joey lets himself be fucked and kissed, all together, for a long, long time.

Joey gets his fifth, much later, when he thinks the time is long gone and it comes as a surprise from Chris’s hand. Oh, he thinks, and doesn’t mind when Chris laughs at him, head on his chest, mouth open and gasping in air. Joey just slaps his shoulders lightly, and laughs too. Laughs until he feels it all over, and think, hey, I feel all right.

11:49 am.

For the first time in a long time, Joey wakes up completely soft. No wonder, he thinks, and looks for his pants. Chris has left a piece of paper with a happy-face drawn on it behind, resting on the pillow, and Joey grins at it, shaking his head. He feels all right, too, rejuvenated, alive. He does a little jig then goes to Lance’s room, hunting for breakfast.

They’re all there, eating, talking, watching ‘toons. Joey sits and reaches for the plate of eggs and bacon that must be his and starts shovelling it in, sure he’s never been this hungry in his life. They’re watching him, he knows, but he’s so fucking starving that they can wait to ride him mercilessly until after he’s swallowed.

“Hung over?” Lance asks sympathetically, poking at his own plate. He looks sick, and when Joey glances around, sees JC and Justin are both just nibbling on toast, their plates full and mostly untouched. Chris is eating from them, using his fingers.

“Not really,” Joey replies. “I didn’t drink much.”

“We know,” JC says. “About you and Chris. You must have been pretty wasted, man.”

“Or high,” Justin says wistfully. “You guys never share.”

Joey wipes his mouth on his hand. “I only had, like, three beers.”

“Yeah, right,” Justin hoots, and JC laughs, choking on his toast.

“We were both sober,” Chris says quietly, and his voice has a dangerous edge to it, like he knows the punch line and doesn’t like it. Joey continues eating, feeling self-conscious now, like he’s not sure he understands the joke, but whatever, really.

Chris smiles at him, and Joey feels fine.

Fin.