user friendly
Title: user friendly
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: trans guy!john 5/everybody
Summary: john is a trans guy, and even he doesn't know why he fucks everybody he meets.
Warnings: a lot of angst, PIV sex, choking, dubcon if you squint
Disclaimer: i'm a compulsive liar, actually. if you got here by googling yourself, run away while you still can. don't own, don't sue.
Dedications: friend julia
Author Notes: holy fuck what is this angsty piece of shit. um, to elaborate on dubious consent, there are two parts where one character is drunk/high and the other isn't, and one where there's fighting beforehand. i'm mostly blaming julia for enabling this piece of trash writing. it's kind of a five times fic without the plus one. disclaimer: i am fucking trans
The first person in the band that John fucks is Twiggy.
He's barely been in the band for a month, and Jeordie is fucked up enough that John's not a hundred percent sure it's okay to fuck him while sober, but Jeordie's into it and easy to make out with. John doesn't even remember he doesn't have a dick till Twiggy goes grabbing for it through his shorts.
“Did you tuck it?” Jeordie asks, looking down at where his hand is flush against John's pubic bone between his legs.
“Nah,” John says. “Don't have one.”
“Why not?” Jeordie asks, apparently too fucked up on Percocet to make the connection.
“Don't worry about it,” John says, sliding a hand up Jeordie's dress. “I'll explain it later.”
John doesn't have to explain it. Twiggy fucks him in the dressing room on the counter, even has the courtesy to get John off with his long bassist fingers after he tosses the condom away. He sticks his fingers in John's mouth afterwards and it tastes like latex and come.
“You ever gonna get surgery?” Jeordie asks, lighting up what seems like his millionth joint of the night.
“Already did,” John says, hiking his shirt up to show Jeordie the tattooed-over scar tissue.
“Nah, I mean,” Jeordie says, pausing to suck in another hit, “are you gonna get a dick?”
“Don't know,” John says, eyeing him. “I told you not to worry about it.”
“Okay,” Twiggy says.
“It smells like pussy in here,” Pogo says, as he walks into the dressing room. “Oh shit, did you two fuck some ch-”
“Yep,” John says, and Jeordie seems to get the hint that Pogo doesn't need to know.
x
The second person in the band that John fucks is Ginger.
He tells Ginger in the dressing room one day. It's all casual, because it's Ginger, and because he's always been closest to Ginger. They're somewhere in Europe touring for Holy Wood, and John's fucking nervous, because he's been planning this all damn day, and of course, because John's an idiot, it comes out all wrong and it's a mess.
“So, I was born a girl,” John says, as he's smearing foundation on his face. Ginger looks at him.
“What?” he asks. John just pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I was born with a vagina,” he says, eyes closed. He feels Ginger's eyes on him, then hears him hum an indifferent noise.
“Okay,” Ginger says. “Does that change anything?” John looks over at him, where he's right back to putting his eyeshadow on.
“I guess not,” John says. “I just wanted you to know.” Ginger nods. “Twiggy knows too.”
“Okay,” Ginger says again. “Do you still want to make out with me sometimes?”
“Yeah,” John says, because that's Ginger, and he's always made out with Ginger, because that's what they do. “Wanna fuck around?”
“Always do,” Ginger says, smiling, and John's glad neither of them have their lipstick on yet.
Ginger shoves John down on the dressing room couch, kisses him hard enough to get him to moan into his mouth. John's in his boxers and Ginger pulls them down and looks him over and for a long moment John thinks he's going to freak out at his weird body, but he doesn't. John sighs in relief or pleasure or surprise as Ginger ducks his head down, laves his tongue into him. John's legs part automatically and Ginger pins his hips to the couch so he can't move them.
“Fuck,” John whines, grabbing at the couch and Ginger's head, holding him there. John wouldn't normally let anybody do this, but, well, Ginger's already down there, and it's Ginger. John tries to rut his hips up but he can't under the strong grip holding them down. “Let me go asshole,” he says, shoving Ginger's arm, but he doesn't let him go. He just keeps his mouth moving on John's cunt, and John's orgasm hits him hard, has him arching off the couch under Ginger's arm, swearing loudly. Ginger lifts his head, wipes his mouth rather obscenely.
“Tastes fucking good,” he says, sitting up and pulling John into a kiss that tastes like pussy and the beer he'd been drinking.
“C'mere,” John says, mouth still smashed against Ginger's, grabbing for his belt, and John gets him off with his hands, makes him cum all over his fist and John licks his fingers clean. John is pretty sure he catches Ginger watching him during the show more than usual.
x
The third person in the band that John fucks is Tim.
The thing about Tim is that Tim is the physical embodiment of sex. It's borderline unfair. He's there at the video shoot to make a cameo, since he produced the song, and John can't stop fucking staring at him. His lipstick is artfully smeared, with these fingerless gloves and a tie and fucking platform boots, and yeah, it's more than borderline unfair. It's kind of cruel, honestly.
Tim's not even in the band, technically, but he may as well be. He's producing the next album. John's thankful he'll have more hot guys around than usual. He flirts with Tim until he's positive that Tim wants him, and then he lets Tim pull him into one of the bathrooms, locking the door behind them.
“Gotta be quick about it,” John says, as Tim shoves him into the wall.
“I know,” Tim says, wasting no time as he undoes John's pants. He shoves them down his thighs and goes to palm him, but finds nothing. “Wait,” Tim says.
“It's okay,” John says, grabbing Tim by the wrist and guiding his hand into his boxers. Tim seems surprised to find his fingers in slick folds and not around a cock, but he doesn't seem mad about it. He even smirks.
“Alright,” Tim says, starting to slide his fingers through John's heat, curling into him, learning his geography. John moans softly, but Tim wraps his free hand around John's throat. “Shh,” he says. “Do you want us to get caught?” John just shakes his head, Tim pressing him into the wall by the neck, choking him just barely. Just enough to tighten his breathing. Tim pulls John's hips forward by the fingers in his cunt, making John wince as he follows Tim's touch. And Tim just goes. He's got two fingers inside him, palm pressed up against his clit, and John's instantly a mess.
“Fuck,” John chokes out, as Tim fucks him with his fingers. Tim doesn't stop, just stares John right in the face as he brings him off, not once but twice. They don't kiss, because Tim doesn't want to mess up their lipstick. John nods, understanding, but assures Tim he'll get him back for it.
When Tim joins the band a year later, they fuck again in the bathroom stall at the record company building. They kiss that time. Tim fucks John into the wall and comes inside of him, cock bare because John stopped caring.
x
The fourth person in the band that John fucks is Pogo.
They're in the studio working on the album, and Brian's gone, and Pogo's had too many beers, so he's bitching.
“I hate that this asshole keeps wanting to play my parts,” he's saying, looking over the computer screen where Tim had already arranged everything. “I'm gonna get Tim to let me rerecord. Brian's a prick.”
“Yeah,” John sighs, sinking down in his chair. John's mostly there because he's a perfectionist who can't stop rerecording his own shit till it's flawless, and because Pogo's too drunk to drive himself home. “He is.” Brian's been ignoring him for weeks, only talking to him about the album.
“Has he even talked to you?” Pogo asks, suddenly realizing this in his drunken clarity. It's not the kind of thing he would notice sober.
“Nope,” John says. He drinks from his water bottle, looks away. “I think he's mad at me.” John's not even sure what his relationship with Pogo is - he's always been closer to Ginger and Twiggy, and now Twiggy's gone he's fucking Tim, and it's just kind of a mess. “Wanna know something?” John asks, because maybe Pogo won't remember it tomorrow, he tells himself, despite the fact that Pogo is clearly not that drunk.
“Yeah, sure,” Pogo says, downing the last of his beer.
“I'm fucking Tim,” John says, looking over the polish on his nails. “Fucked Ginger too. Same with Twigs.”
“Sorry?” Pogo says, nearly dropping the empty bottle.
“I also have a pussy,” John says, the words sounding weird. He's on a roll now. “Never notice the scars from the surgery where they got rid of my tits?”
“No?” Pogo says, but the word picks up at the end like a question. “You're bullshitting.”
“I'm not,” John says, lifting his shirt to show Pogo the scars he'd had tattooed over. Pogo squints.
“No shit,” Pogo laughs.
“I think Brian's mad at me because I never told him,” John says, shrugging, looking at the computer instead of Pogo. “Like, maybe Tim told him or something. I don't think Tim even likes me that much. I don't know why I'm telling you this.”
“You seriously have a pussy?” Pogo asks, still hung up on it, and John looks down. He's already fucked everybody else; what's another one?
“Yeah,” John says. “I'll show you.”
Which is how John ends up in Pogo's seat with him, half naked, wondering if Pogo will think they actually fucked or if it was some weird beer dream. John rides him and he comes first, climbs off him and sucks him off, because he's clearly fucking stressed about Brian and all this keyboard shit and it's the least John can do to help him out. John swallows, wipes his mouth, and Pogo just goes into one of his fits of laughter again.
x
The fifth person in the band that John fucks is Brian.
Brian talks his way into his hotel room on account of wanting to ask him about a guitar thing, but John feels it in the way Brian looks at him and not the Telecaster on the bed and it has him instantly boiling over.
“What?” John asks, coming out a lot sharper than he'd intended, and Brian furrows his brows at him. “Did you come in here to fuck me too?”
“No,” Brian says, but John knows it, knows it in the way Brian just fucking stands there.
“I'm tired of being this fucking exotic little sex toy,” John says. “Like everybody just wants to fuck me because I'm free pussy. No. Not you too.” He gestures to the door. “Go. I'm not doing it again.”
“John,” Brian says. “Why do you let them do it, then?” He asks it like he's known the whole time, known since back when Twiggy fucked him on the dressing room counter, blue hair falling back into the mirror as he arched, and it just makes John even more furious.
“I don't know,” John says angrily, and Brian just looks at him.
“You hate yourself, don't you?” Brian asks.
“Yeah,” John says. “And I hate you too. Fuck off.”
“Stop,” Brian says. John goes to shove him away but Brian just grabs his wrists, pushes him back onto the hotel bed next to his guitar. John doesn't even want to fight him anymore.
“If you want to fuck me then just fuck me,” John says, pushing the Telecaster over so he can lay back on the bed.
“Obviously I want to,” Brian says. “But not if you're just gonna hate yourself worse afterwards.” And John narrows his eyes at him, because this is Brian, Brian who doesn't fucking care about anyone, caring about him.
“Yeah, fuck it,” John says, “just fuck me.”
Brian does. He strips John naked before he even really realizes it, and Brian has his head between John's legs in half a second more, long hands pulling John's cunt into his mouth. John moans, ruts up into Brian's tongue as it laves into him, and he can't really be mad about anything. He rakes his fingers through Brian's hair, holds his head in place as Brian gets him off, mouth still wet with come as his cock finally comes out and Brian hilts himself easily.
“Fuck me,” John grits out. “Like you fucking hate me.”
And John realizes that Brian doesn't hate him, because he does it.
Brian grabs John by the neck and chokes him down into the bed as he slams into him carelessly, chasing his own orgasm and disregarding John's completely. It's mean and John hates it almost as much as he hates himself.
“I think I should go,” John says afterwards. He looks at Brian, and for a second he's emotionless, unreadable, and John feels sick. Brian made him think he cared, and fucked him, and now he doesn't really care at all.
“Okay,” is all Brian says.
Rating: nc-17
Pairing: trans guy!john 5/everybody
Summary: john is a trans guy, and even he doesn't know why he fucks everybody he meets.
Warnings: a lot of angst, PIV sex, choking, dubcon if you squint
Disclaimer: i'm a compulsive liar, actually. if you got here by googling yourself, run away while you still can. don't own, don't sue.
Dedications: friend julia
Author Notes: holy fuck what is this angsty piece of shit. um, to elaborate on dubious consent, there are two parts where one character is drunk/high and the other isn't, and one where there's fighting beforehand. i'm mostly blaming julia for enabling this piece of trash writing. it's kind of a five times fic without the plus one. disclaimer: i am fucking trans
The first person in the band that John fucks is Twiggy.
He's barely been in the band for a month, and Jeordie is fucked up enough that John's not a hundred percent sure it's okay to fuck him while sober, but Jeordie's into it and easy to make out with. John doesn't even remember he doesn't have a dick till Twiggy goes grabbing for it through his shorts.
“Did you tuck it?” Jeordie asks, looking down at where his hand is flush against John's pubic bone between his legs.
“Nah,” John says. “Don't have one.”
“Why not?” Jeordie asks, apparently too fucked up on Percocet to make the connection.
“Don't worry about it,” John says, sliding a hand up Jeordie's dress. “I'll explain it later.”
John doesn't have to explain it. Twiggy fucks him in the dressing room on the counter, even has the courtesy to get John off with his long bassist fingers after he tosses the condom away. He sticks his fingers in John's mouth afterwards and it tastes like latex and come.
“You ever gonna get surgery?” Jeordie asks, lighting up what seems like his millionth joint of the night.
“Already did,” John says, hiking his shirt up to show Jeordie the tattooed-over scar tissue.
“Nah, I mean,” Jeordie says, pausing to suck in another hit, “are you gonna get a dick?”
“Don't know,” John says, eyeing him. “I told you not to worry about it.”
“Okay,” Twiggy says.
“It smells like pussy in here,” Pogo says, as he walks into the dressing room. “Oh shit, did you two fuck some ch-”
“Yep,” John says, and Jeordie seems to get the hint that Pogo doesn't need to know.
x
The second person in the band that John fucks is Ginger.
He tells Ginger in the dressing room one day. It's all casual, because it's Ginger, and because he's always been closest to Ginger. They're somewhere in Europe touring for Holy Wood, and John's fucking nervous, because he's been planning this all damn day, and of course, because John's an idiot, it comes out all wrong and it's a mess.
“So, I was born a girl,” John says, as he's smearing foundation on his face. Ginger looks at him.
“What?” he asks. John just pinches the bridge of his nose.
“I was born with a vagina,” he says, eyes closed. He feels Ginger's eyes on him, then hears him hum an indifferent noise.
“Okay,” Ginger says. “Does that change anything?” John looks over at him, where he's right back to putting his eyeshadow on.
“I guess not,” John says. “I just wanted you to know.” Ginger nods. “Twiggy knows too.”
“Okay,” Ginger says again. “Do you still want to make out with me sometimes?”
“Yeah,” John says, because that's Ginger, and he's always made out with Ginger, because that's what they do. “Wanna fuck around?”
“Always do,” Ginger says, smiling, and John's glad neither of them have their lipstick on yet.
Ginger shoves John down on the dressing room couch, kisses him hard enough to get him to moan into his mouth. John's in his boxers and Ginger pulls them down and looks him over and for a long moment John thinks he's going to freak out at his weird body, but he doesn't. John sighs in relief or pleasure or surprise as Ginger ducks his head down, laves his tongue into him. John's legs part automatically and Ginger pins his hips to the couch so he can't move them.
“Fuck,” John whines, grabbing at the couch and Ginger's head, holding him there. John wouldn't normally let anybody do this, but, well, Ginger's already down there, and it's Ginger. John tries to rut his hips up but he can't under the strong grip holding them down. “Let me go asshole,” he says, shoving Ginger's arm, but he doesn't let him go. He just keeps his mouth moving on John's cunt, and John's orgasm hits him hard, has him arching off the couch under Ginger's arm, swearing loudly. Ginger lifts his head, wipes his mouth rather obscenely.
“Tastes fucking good,” he says, sitting up and pulling John into a kiss that tastes like pussy and the beer he'd been drinking.
“C'mere,” John says, mouth still smashed against Ginger's, grabbing for his belt, and John gets him off with his hands, makes him cum all over his fist and John licks his fingers clean. John is pretty sure he catches Ginger watching him during the show more than usual.
x
The third person in the band that John fucks is Tim.
The thing about Tim is that Tim is the physical embodiment of sex. It's borderline unfair. He's there at the video shoot to make a cameo, since he produced the song, and John can't stop fucking staring at him. His lipstick is artfully smeared, with these fingerless gloves and a tie and fucking platform boots, and yeah, it's more than borderline unfair. It's kind of cruel, honestly.
Tim's not even in the band, technically, but he may as well be. He's producing the next album. John's thankful he'll have more hot guys around than usual. He flirts with Tim until he's positive that Tim wants him, and then he lets Tim pull him into one of the bathrooms, locking the door behind them.
“Gotta be quick about it,” John says, as Tim shoves him into the wall.
“I know,” Tim says, wasting no time as he undoes John's pants. He shoves them down his thighs and goes to palm him, but finds nothing. “Wait,” Tim says.
“It's okay,” John says, grabbing Tim by the wrist and guiding his hand into his boxers. Tim seems surprised to find his fingers in slick folds and not around a cock, but he doesn't seem mad about it. He even smirks.
“Alright,” Tim says, starting to slide his fingers through John's heat, curling into him, learning his geography. John moans softly, but Tim wraps his free hand around John's throat. “Shh,” he says. “Do you want us to get caught?” John just shakes his head, Tim pressing him into the wall by the neck, choking him just barely. Just enough to tighten his breathing. Tim pulls John's hips forward by the fingers in his cunt, making John wince as he follows Tim's touch. And Tim just goes. He's got two fingers inside him, palm pressed up against his clit, and John's instantly a mess.
“Fuck,” John chokes out, as Tim fucks him with his fingers. Tim doesn't stop, just stares John right in the face as he brings him off, not once but twice. They don't kiss, because Tim doesn't want to mess up their lipstick. John nods, understanding, but assures Tim he'll get him back for it.
When Tim joins the band a year later, they fuck again in the bathroom stall at the record company building. They kiss that time. Tim fucks John into the wall and comes inside of him, cock bare because John stopped caring.
x
The fourth person in the band that John fucks is Pogo.
They're in the studio working on the album, and Brian's gone, and Pogo's had too many beers, so he's bitching.
“I hate that this asshole keeps wanting to play my parts,” he's saying, looking over the computer screen where Tim had already arranged everything. “I'm gonna get Tim to let me rerecord. Brian's a prick.”
“Yeah,” John sighs, sinking down in his chair. John's mostly there because he's a perfectionist who can't stop rerecording his own shit till it's flawless, and because Pogo's too drunk to drive himself home. “He is.” Brian's been ignoring him for weeks, only talking to him about the album.
“Has he even talked to you?” Pogo asks, suddenly realizing this in his drunken clarity. It's not the kind of thing he would notice sober.
“Nope,” John says. He drinks from his water bottle, looks away. “I think he's mad at me.” John's not even sure what his relationship with Pogo is - he's always been closer to Ginger and Twiggy, and now Twiggy's gone he's fucking Tim, and it's just kind of a mess. “Wanna know something?” John asks, because maybe Pogo won't remember it tomorrow, he tells himself, despite the fact that Pogo is clearly not that drunk.
“Yeah, sure,” Pogo says, downing the last of his beer.
“I'm fucking Tim,” John says, looking over the polish on his nails. “Fucked Ginger too. Same with Twigs.”
“Sorry?” Pogo says, nearly dropping the empty bottle.
“I also have a pussy,” John says, the words sounding weird. He's on a roll now. “Never notice the scars from the surgery where they got rid of my tits?”
“No?” Pogo says, but the word picks up at the end like a question. “You're bullshitting.”
“I'm not,” John says, lifting his shirt to show Pogo the scars he'd had tattooed over. Pogo squints.
“No shit,” Pogo laughs.
“I think Brian's mad at me because I never told him,” John says, shrugging, looking at the computer instead of Pogo. “Like, maybe Tim told him or something. I don't think Tim even likes me that much. I don't know why I'm telling you this.”
“You seriously have a pussy?” Pogo asks, still hung up on it, and John looks down. He's already fucked everybody else; what's another one?
“Yeah,” John says. “I'll show you.”
Which is how John ends up in Pogo's seat with him, half naked, wondering if Pogo will think they actually fucked or if it was some weird beer dream. John rides him and he comes first, climbs off him and sucks him off, because he's clearly fucking stressed about Brian and all this keyboard shit and it's the least John can do to help him out. John swallows, wipes his mouth, and Pogo just goes into one of his fits of laughter again.
x
The fifth person in the band that John fucks is Brian.
Brian talks his way into his hotel room on account of wanting to ask him about a guitar thing, but John feels it in the way Brian looks at him and not the Telecaster on the bed and it has him instantly boiling over.
“What?” John asks, coming out a lot sharper than he'd intended, and Brian furrows his brows at him. “Did you come in here to fuck me too?”
“No,” Brian says, but John knows it, knows it in the way Brian just fucking stands there.
“I'm tired of being this fucking exotic little sex toy,” John says. “Like everybody just wants to fuck me because I'm free pussy. No. Not you too.” He gestures to the door. “Go. I'm not doing it again.”
“John,” Brian says. “Why do you let them do it, then?” He asks it like he's known the whole time, known since back when Twiggy fucked him on the dressing room counter, blue hair falling back into the mirror as he arched, and it just makes John even more furious.
“I don't know,” John says angrily, and Brian just looks at him.
“You hate yourself, don't you?” Brian asks.
“Yeah,” John says. “And I hate you too. Fuck off.”
“Stop,” Brian says. John goes to shove him away but Brian just grabs his wrists, pushes him back onto the hotel bed next to his guitar. John doesn't even want to fight him anymore.
“If you want to fuck me then just fuck me,” John says, pushing the Telecaster over so he can lay back on the bed.
“Obviously I want to,” Brian says. “But not if you're just gonna hate yourself worse afterwards.” And John narrows his eyes at him, because this is Brian, Brian who doesn't fucking care about anyone, caring about him.
“Yeah, fuck it,” John says, “just fuck me.”
Brian does. He strips John naked before he even really realizes it, and Brian has his head between John's legs in half a second more, long hands pulling John's cunt into his mouth. John moans, ruts up into Brian's tongue as it laves into him, and he can't really be mad about anything. He rakes his fingers through Brian's hair, holds his head in place as Brian gets him off, mouth still wet with come as his cock finally comes out and Brian hilts himself easily.
“Fuck me,” John grits out. “Like you fucking hate me.”
And John realizes that Brian doesn't hate him, because he does it.
Brian grabs John by the neck and chokes him down into the bed as he slams into him carelessly, chasing his own orgasm and disregarding John's completely. It's mean and John hates it almost as much as he hates himself.
“I think I should go,” John says afterwards. He looks at Brian, and for a second he's emotionless, unreadable, and John feels sick. Brian made him think he cared, and fucked him, and now he doesn't really care at all.
“Okay,” is all Brian says.