Fic! Whiskey Dick (Joe/Andy)
This was supposed to be birthday fic for plaingsong_x, but I am a lame friend and an even lamer student, so this is a few hours late. Plus there's the fact that I had about 1700 words written but deleted all of it except the first paragraph this morning and started over from scratch. Oops? Thanks to sixwhitelies for combing the internet for interviews, pictures, and videos of Joe and Andy for me. ♥
Whiskey Dick
Joe/Andy (implied Pete/Patrick) - R - 3,313 words
Joe knew something was weird when he found himself with a boner in the elevator with Andy. Well, okay, it was more like a semi, but he had his hands braced against Andy's solar plexus and the opposite wall to offset the spins. The boner was unrelated to anything going on in the elevator at the time, but it still felt weird to him. He didn't know if Andy could notice or not. The pros and cons of masturbating were a.) getting off and b.) sobering up, in that order. Orgasm good, sobriety bad.
Andy had his arms crossed behind his back, leaning against the wall-- or rather, being pressed there because Joe was leaning on him. He was making odd faces in such a way that Joe knew could only mean he was fidgeting with the inside of his labret jewelry. Joe remembered having the constant urge to flick his lip ring back and forth, back and forth, and catch the ring between his teeth. He slid his tongue along the inside of his lip, almost expecting to feel a smooth metal protrusion, but no such luck. Too bad. He was in the mood to fidget. "Stop it," he said, having to lean in a little to concentrate on the words.
"What?"
"I'm jonesing."
"The hell?" Andy gave him a look that very clearly said what does that have to do with me?
Joe took a step towards Andy-- a very precarious step, anyway. He took a fistful of Andy's t-shirt for support, where his hand had been on his chest. "Your--" he said, and pointed at Andy's bottom lip.
Andy's nostrils flared, but to his credit (especially since, in Joe's current condition, he could easily have accidentally poked Andy in the eye), he didn't flinch or pull back. He stopping tonguing his inner lip, as though he understood what Joe was indicating, but had no idea how it had anything to do with anything else. "I repeat: the hell?"
"I want--" Joe started, but just then the elevator door opened. Andy sidestepped Joe, giving him a Look, and then led the way down the hallway. Joe followed him, trailing a bit behind. His footsteps were slow and deliberate, which helped him stay upright, but wasn't so great for keeping up with Andy's quick and sober strides. Fucking straightedge kids and their ability to walk. He thought he saw a flash of light ahead, but it was just Andy opening up his sidekick.
"This is my room," Joe said, as he caught up with Andy, who was standing outside a door at the end of the hall. He almost sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of the fact.
"This is our room," Andy said absently as he tried to fish the keycard out of back pocket while looking at this sidekick.
Joe followed Andy inside. "That's what I said." Their room was illuminated by the city lights coming through the uncurtained windows. It had two double beds, one on the left by the windows, and another on the right next to the bathroom-slash-kitchenette. He stared blankly at them for a moment, trying to remember if either of them had laid claim to a certain bed.
On second thought, the bathroom seemed like the best available option. He had to piss like a motherfucker. Then again, peeing leads to sobriety which is bad. Also, peeing with a boner is pretty much next to impossible. He was still only semi-hard, though, so it might work. He decided to find out either way and stumbled into the tiny hotel bathroom. There was barely enough room for him to turn around between the sink, the toilet, and the shower along the far wall. He grabbed the sink with one hand to steady himself and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was shiny with sweat, eyes half-closed, cheeks rough with stubble. He looked like a drunkard. Imagine that.
His hips bumped into the sink and his jeans shifted against his skin. Oh, right. There was that. He turned around to face the toilet and unzipped his jeans, pulling himself out. He stood there and concentrated, but he just couldn't make it work. Fucking boner. When in Rome, he thought to himself (although he still sort of realized that it didn't make sense in this context), and began stroking. He really had to pee, and if that meant masturbation, then so be it.
Easier said than done. He was horny, yeah, but his dick was kinda... numb. Talk about a predicament. He closed his eyes in an attempt to concentrate, but all that really succeeded in doing was making him dizzy. He kept stroking, because it felt good, but he had reached a plateau and didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Frustration was settling in, and he balled his free hand up into a fist.
Bad idea. No longer holding on to the sink for support, his balance began to pitch. He tried to move his feet to catch himself but his pants were around his ankles. He backed up, calves hitting the edge of the bathtub and he fell backwards into it, hitting his head hard on the tile wall. "Fuck."
"Hey," Andy's voice came from the other side of the door. "Uh, are you okay?"
"I'm--" Joe grabbed at his pants. "I'm fine. I just. I fell." He tried to pull them up, but the angle was awkward. His ass was on the cold porcelain of the tub, and the hard points of his shoulders were quickly becoming sore from being pressed into the wall of the shower.
"Can I?" Andy asked, pushing on the door. Joe's pants were only up to his knees by that point. "Oh, I. Um."
"No, I got it," Joe finished pulling them up. "I was just taking-- trying to take a piss."
Andy waited until Joe had his jeans up to his waist (he didn't bother trying to zip at this point), then grabbed Joe by the shoulders and hoisted him out of the tub. Joe shifted his weight, trying to keep his dick from poking Andy in the stomach. He leaned forward, letting his head roll into the crook between Andy's neck and shoulder and breathing in the detergent smell of Andy's t-shirt. Andy hesitated for a moment, and then put his arms around Joe's midsection in something resembling a bear hug, to keep him from falling over. If he noticed Joe's erection, he didn't have anything to say about it.
"So," Andy's breath tickled Joe's ear. "How do I figure out whether or not you've given yourself a concussion?"
"Are my ears bleeding?" Joe's voice was muffled by Andy's shirt.
Andy checked. "No. I can't really tell, it's dark in here."
"Then I'm probably okay."
"Still. Maybe I should, I dunno, have you count fingers or something."
"I'm fine." Joe's body was starting to sag towards the ground, despite Andy's efforts to keep him upright.
"Yeah, obviously." Andy was starting to sound a little put off. He grabbed Joe under the ass and pulled him upright again-- Joe had a surreal moment where he boggled at how strong Andy seemed to be, for a vegan-- and in the process their hips collided, sending pleasant but disturbing sensations up and down Joe's back and causing Andy to tense up. "Oh."
"Yeah," Joe said apologetically.
"We should--" Andy turned his head.
"This is weird," Joe mumbled.
Andy sighed. But, again to his credit, he didn't pull away. "Not as weird as some things we've been through already."
"Like that time with Pete."
Joe could have been talking about a plethora of things involving Pete, but amazingly Andy knew exactly the one he was thinking about. "Yeah, and Patrick didn't lock the door." Andy laughed, and it echoed in the small room. "Come to think of it, that was in a bathroom too."
Joe buried his face further into Andy's neck. His lips might have been against skin; he wasn't sure. All he knew was that Andy stopped laughing pretty quickly. "I don't--" Andy started to say.
"Me either." Joe had no idea where Andy was going, but it seemed like a good idea to agree.
Andy pulled away just as Joe lifted his face, and they bumped noses. Andy was looking at Joe, but Joe was looking at Andy's bottom lip. There was that fucking metal again. He wanted to--
But more than wanting to do it, apparently he did it, because the next thing he knew, Andy's lip was in his mouth and he had metal between his teeth. Andy made a halted noise, which was half surprise and half protest, but he couldn't pull away because Joe had a hold of his jewelry. Joe bit down lightly at the base of the little ball and pulled back a fraction of an inch, pulling Andy's lip with him.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Andy finally managed to say.
"I have no idea," Joe said honestly, after letting go of Andy's lip. "I don't even--"
"I mean, I don't mind, I just--" Andy continued.
"You don't?" Joe interrupted.
"No. I mean," Andy shook his head. "Kind of? This is really strange."
"No stranger than--" Joe began, but didn't know how to finish. No stranger than what? It was pretty fucking strange.
They both leaned back in at the same time, although it seemed as though someone had to have started it. Surely they both couldn't have had the exact same thought just then, but stranger things have happened. Like Patrick and Pete, for example. Either way, Joe's eyes were closed and his lips, while still very numb, were definitely kissing someone. He reached up and grabbed a fist full of long hair, and it was almost like kissing a girl except for the part where the boobs were conspicuously absent. He could almost even get over that part-- having kissed a handful of pretty flat-chested girls-- if not for the fact that, as it went on, something was definitely poking him in the thigh. There was something in Andy's pajama pants, and somehow, Joe got the idea that it wasn't a banana.
Andy pulled away. "Are you...?"
"No," Joe said. "At least, I didn't think so. I don't think so. Are you?"
"Only on Saturday, apparently." He took a step back. "We should probably, uh," and gestured towards the bedroom.
"Oh. Yeah, okay." Joe wondered if Pete and Patrick had a similar conversation when this happened to them. He didn't want to make a habit of comparing Andy and himself to Pete and Patrick, because they weren't like that. It was just. Bathrooms, you know? And a somewhat similar situation.
Andy stepped out of the bathroom and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Joe could just make out the familiar pattern of Andy's tattoos in the light coming in from the windows. He'd seen those tattoos on countless occasions, but he was quite certain he'd never had such a visceral reaction to them before. "It's not a side effect of the drugs," he muttered.
"What?" Andy said, looking back over his shoulder.
Joe didn't realize he'd said anything out loud. "Nothing." He stepped into the bedroom, his jeans already starting to fall down again around his hips, since he had never zipped them.
"So um," Andy sat down on the bed closest to the bathroom, wearing only his pajama pants at this point. "You should probably just go to sleep, you're pretty--"
"Yeah, look, I know what you're doing, so just stop right now before it works," Joe said, taking off his own shirt. He got his arms caught in it for a moment, but managed to sort himself out without any help. He let the shirt drop to the floor and then put his hand on Andy's solar plexus, pushing him back against the bed. He crawled into the bed with a minimal amount of difficulty and lowered himself on top of Andy, figuring that the less time he spent thinking about what he was doing, the better.
Now that they both had their shirts off, he noticed another way in which this was very much different from kissing a girl. Chest hair. Neither of them had a whole lot of it to speak of, but what they did have was rubbing against the other's skin, and it was definitely a new sensation. Not entirely unpleasant, just unexpected.
Joe had a random flashback to a conversation he'd had once with a girl he was friends with senior year of high school. This particular girl had been bisexual, and he remembered being fascinated by her stories about her female conquests (and he'd gotten off to the thought of it more than once, you'd better believe it). He remembered asking her once about the mechanics of two girls making out. Specifically, he'd asked something along the lines of, "But wouldn't both of your boobs get in the way?" She just laughed and told him that it was part of the fun.
He didn't know why he was thinking about this right now. For one thing, thinking about two girls making out never failed to give him a hard-on, but he didn't actually need any help with that right now. He was pretty sure he wasn't bisexual (despite the evidence to the contrary, what with him kissing his best friend at that very moment), so that wasn't it.
Then Andy lifted his lower back, bringing their hips together. Joe felt Andy's dick through the layers of denim and cotton, and suddenly it came to him. Yeah, that was the biggest difference. The fact that your cocks got in the way. Joe wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, so he shifted his weight to generate more friction.
Joe was busy using his arms to keep his body hovering as steadily as possible, so Andy reached up and put his hands in the small of Joe's back. Joe pulled back a little and returned to the place where Andy's neck met his shoulder. It smelled less like detergent and more like skin this time around. He put his lips to the skin there again, and then his tongue. It tasted like sweat, but not in a bad way. He opened his mouth and bit down lightly next to Andy's jugular.
"Oh," Andy said. "Oh, shit."
Joe pulled away. "Fuck. What? What did I do?"
Andy's mouth was half open and his eyes were shut, but they opened as soon as Joe let go. He frowned and said, "The fuck? Don't stop."
"Oh. But you--"
"I have a thing, okay?" Andy looked as though he could use a little less talking.
"A thing?"
"Yeah, a-- a pain thing. Just." He shook his head. "I don't know. Do that again. Pull my hair, I don't care."
Joe might have been a little bit baffled by this. Pull his hair? He shrugged, thinking when in Rome, for the second time tonight, and proud of the fact that the context actually made sense this time. He grabbed another fistful of Andy's hair and tugged, pulling Andy's head back and exposing his neck. Andy gasped, fuck, and Joe kissed him again. Andy grabbed the waist of Joe's jeans, pushing them down over Joe's thighs. Joe stepped out of them the rest of the way, and suddenly he was open to a strange new world of sensation. With nothing but two thin layers of cotton (Joe's boxers and Andy's pajamas) between them, even the slightest movement was electric. Andy had begun grinding their hips together, which made Joe's fingers curl into fists, and he pulled harder on the clump of hair already in his hand.
Andy let out a moan that sounded like it started as deep as his stomach. Joe was mesmerized and more than a little turned on by seeing his friend in this light. This was one of the only parts of their lives that they didn't share with each other as band mates. Joe got a sick little thrill out of hearing Andy's sex noises.
Wait. Is that where this was going? Was he having sex with Andy right now? That didn't seem likely, as nothing was being penetrated. There has to be penetration for it to be sex, right? No, they were just making out. Just making out and grinding. And Andy was making sex noises, but it wasn't sex. It was just.
It was sexy.
And then, suddenly, Andy's hand was in Joe's boxers. "Whoa," Joe said.
"What?" Andy panted, impatient.
"Where is this--?"
"Look, I don't know about you, but I want to get off." Andy grabbed the base of Joe's dick. "So are you going to help me or what?"
Joe couldn't think of anything to say to that, so Andy began stroking. Joe had already gotten past his earlier arousal plateau, and was a little bit worried that he was going to come all over his boxers before he could do anything about it, but thankfully he was still a little bit numb. It bought him some time, at least. He pulled the waist of Andy's pajamas down just enough to free Andy's dick. He had the insane urge to see if Andy's pubic hairs were as bright orange as his facial hair when he didn't shave for a few days, but there wasn't enough light to tell, and in order to do so he'd have to move away from Andy's hand, which was doing amazing things at the moment, so he decided against it.
Instead he grabbed Andy's dick and matched his strokes, letting Andy set the pace. He steadied himself with his other elbow, still holding on to Andy's hair. They kissed again, and this time it was more like being in a fist fight than any experience he'd ever had while kissing a girl. Their lips fought for purchase against the other's, mashing against teeth and surely bruising, which only made the skin there more sensitive. It was a vicious cycle. Andy's labret pushed into Joe's lower lip, and he thought he caught the faint taste of blood, but he had no idea where it was coming from, or who it belonged to.
Joe had to pull away a moment to gasp for breath, and Andy was breathing through clenched teeth. Joe continued to keep pace with Andy, which had become pretty rapid by this point. He had overcome the numbness (he was already beginning to sober up) and he felt his heart beating in his throat, in his ears.
"Bite me," Andy whispered, but it was too late. Joe felt his stomach muscles clench, and he bit down on Andy's shoulder just to keep from making some kind of embarrassing noise as he came on Andy's hand. It must have done the trick, though, because Andy did make an embarrassing noise, thrusting several times into Joe's (now somewhat motionless) hand before Joe felt something warm and sticky on his stomach.
Neither of them moved for a few moments, letting their breathing settle back to normal and waiting for the super sensitive phase of the orgasm to go away. When it did, Joe slumped over to the side, half on top of Andy, half on the bed. "What just happened?" Joe asked. He was definitely starting to sober up.
"I have no clue," Andy admitted. He shifted a little, adjusting himself back inside his pajama pants, and the edge of his hip dug into Joe's lower abdomen.
"Oh fuck," Joe said, sitting up quickly and jumping off the bed.
"Hey-- what?" Andy called as Joe ran to the bathroom.
"No, it's not--" Joe waved a dismissive arm. "It's not like that. I just have to piss really bad!"
Whiskey Dick
Joe/Andy (implied Pete/Patrick) - R - 3,313 words
Joe knew something was weird when he found himself with a boner in the elevator with Andy. Well, okay, it was more like a semi, but he had his hands braced against Andy's solar plexus and the opposite wall to offset the spins. The boner was unrelated to anything going on in the elevator at the time, but it still felt weird to him. He didn't know if Andy could notice or not. The pros and cons of masturbating were a.) getting off and b.) sobering up, in that order. Orgasm good, sobriety bad.
Andy had his arms crossed behind his back, leaning against the wall-- or rather, being pressed there because Joe was leaning on him. He was making odd faces in such a way that Joe knew could only mean he was fidgeting with the inside of his labret jewelry. Joe remembered having the constant urge to flick his lip ring back and forth, back and forth, and catch the ring between his teeth. He slid his tongue along the inside of his lip, almost expecting to feel a smooth metal protrusion, but no such luck. Too bad. He was in the mood to fidget. "Stop it," he said, having to lean in a little to concentrate on the words.
"What?"
"I'm jonesing."
"The hell?" Andy gave him a look that very clearly said what does that have to do with me?
Joe took a step towards Andy-- a very precarious step, anyway. He took a fistful of Andy's t-shirt for support, where his hand had been on his chest. "Your--" he said, and pointed at Andy's bottom lip.
Andy's nostrils flared, but to his credit (especially since, in Joe's current condition, he could easily have accidentally poked Andy in the eye), he didn't flinch or pull back. He stopping tonguing his inner lip, as though he understood what Joe was indicating, but had no idea how it had anything to do with anything else. "I repeat: the hell?"
"I want--" Joe started, but just then the elevator door opened. Andy sidestepped Joe, giving him a Look, and then led the way down the hallway. Joe followed him, trailing a bit behind. His footsteps were slow and deliberate, which helped him stay upright, but wasn't so great for keeping up with Andy's quick and sober strides. Fucking straightedge kids and their ability to walk. He thought he saw a flash of light ahead, but it was just Andy opening up his sidekick.
"This is my room," Joe said, as he caught up with Andy, who was standing outside a door at the end of the hall. He almost sounded as though he was trying to convince himself of the fact.
"This is our room," Andy said absently as he tried to fish the keycard out of back pocket while looking at this sidekick.
Joe followed Andy inside. "That's what I said." Their room was illuminated by the city lights coming through the uncurtained windows. It had two double beds, one on the left by the windows, and another on the right next to the bathroom-slash-kitchenette. He stared blankly at them for a moment, trying to remember if either of them had laid claim to a certain bed.
On second thought, the bathroom seemed like the best available option. He had to piss like a motherfucker. Then again, peeing leads to sobriety which is bad. Also, peeing with a boner is pretty much next to impossible. He was still only semi-hard, though, so it might work. He decided to find out either way and stumbled into the tiny hotel bathroom. There was barely enough room for him to turn around between the sink, the toilet, and the shower along the far wall. He grabbed the sink with one hand to steady himself and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was shiny with sweat, eyes half-closed, cheeks rough with stubble. He looked like a drunkard. Imagine that.
His hips bumped into the sink and his jeans shifted against his skin. Oh, right. There was that. He turned around to face the toilet and unzipped his jeans, pulling himself out. He stood there and concentrated, but he just couldn't make it work. Fucking boner. When in Rome, he thought to himself (although he still sort of realized that it didn't make sense in this context), and began stroking. He really had to pee, and if that meant masturbation, then so be it.
Easier said than done. He was horny, yeah, but his dick was kinda... numb. Talk about a predicament. He closed his eyes in an attempt to concentrate, but all that really succeeded in doing was making him dizzy. He kept stroking, because it felt good, but he had reached a plateau and didn't seem to be getting anywhere. Frustration was settling in, and he balled his free hand up into a fist.
Bad idea. No longer holding on to the sink for support, his balance began to pitch. He tried to move his feet to catch himself but his pants were around his ankles. He backed up, calves hitting the edge of the bathtub and he fell backwards into it, hitting his head hard on the tile wall. "Fuck."
"Hey," Andy's voice came from the other side of the door. "Uh, are you okay?"
"I'm--" Joe grabbed at his pants. "I'm fine. I just. I fell." He tried to pull them up, but the angle was awkward. His ass was on the cold porcelain of the tub, and the hard points of his shoulders were quickly becoming sore from being pressed into the wall of the shower.
"Can I?" Andy asked, pushing on the door. Joe's pants were only up to his knees by that point. "Oh, I. Um."
"No, I got it," Joe finished pulling them up. "I was just taking-- trying to take a piss."
Andy waited until Joe had his jeans up to his waist (he didn't bother trying to zip at this point), then grabbed Joe by the shoulders and hoisted him out of the tub. Joe shifted his weight, trying to keep his dick from poking Andy in the stomach. He leaned forward, letting his head roll into the crook between Andy's neck and shoulder and breathing in the detergent smell of Andy's t-shirt. Andy hesitated for a moment, and then put his arms around Joe's midsection in something resembling a bear hug, to keep him from falling over. If he noticed Joe's erection, he didn't have anything to say about it.
"So," Andy's breath tickled Joe's ear. "How do I figure out whether or not you've given yourself a concussion?"
"Are my ears bleeding?" Joe's voice was muffled by Andy's shirt.
Andy checked. "No. I can't really tell, it's dark in here."
"Then I'm probably okay."
"Still. Maybe I should, I dunno, have you count fingers or something."
"I'm fine." Joe's body was starting to sag towards the ground, despite Andy's efforts to keep him upright.
"Yeah, obviously." Andy was starting to sound a little put off. He grabbed Joe under the ass and pulled him upright again-- Joe had a surreal moment where he boggled at how strong Andy seemed to be, for a vegan-- and in the process their hips collided, sending pleasant but disturbing sensations up and down Joe's back and causing Andy to tense up. "Oh."
"Yeah," Joe said apologetically.
"We should--" Andy turned his head.
"This is weird," Joe mumbled.
Andy sighed. But, again to his credit, he didn't pull away. "Not as weird as some things we've been through already."
"Like that time with Pete."
Joe could have been talking about a plethora of things involving Pete, but amazingly Andy knew exactly the one he was thinking about. "Yeah, and Patrick didn't lock the door." Andy laughed, and it echoed in the small room. "Come to think of it, that was in a bathroom too."
Joe buried his face further into Andy's neck. His lips might have been against skin; he wasn't sure. All he knew was that Andy stopped laughing pretty quickly. "I don't--" Andy started to say.
"Me either." Joe had no idea where Andy was going, but it seemed like a good idea to agree.
Andy pulled away just as Joe lifted his face, and they bumped noses. Andy was looking at Joe, but Joe was looking at Andy's bottom lip. There was that fucking metal again. He wanted to--
But more than wanting to do it, apparently he did it, because the next thing he knew, Andy's lip was in his mouth and he had metal between his teeth. Andy made a halted noise, which was half surprise and half protest, but he couldn't pull away because Joe had a hold of his jewelry. Joe bit down lightly at the base of the little ball and pulled back a fraction of an inch, pulling Andy's lip with him.
"Dude, what are you doing?" Andy finally managed to say.
"I have no idea," Joe said honestly, after letting go of Andy's lip. "I don't even--"
"I mean, I don't mind, I just--" Andy continued.
"You don't?" Joe interrupted.
"No. I mean," Andy shook his head. "Kind of? This is really strange."
"No stranger than--" Joe began, but didn't know how to finish. No stranger than what? It was pretty fucking strange.
They both leaned back in at the same time, although it seemed as though someone had to have started it. Surely they both couldn't have had the exact same thought just then, but stranger things have happened. Like Patrick and Pete, for example. Either way, Joe's eyes were closed and his lips, while still very numb, were definitely kissing someone. He reached up and grabbed a fist full of long hair, and it was almost like kissing a girl except for the part where the boobs were conspicuously absent. He could almost even get over that part-- having kissed a handful of pretty flat-chested girls-- if not for the fact that, as it went on, something was definitely poking him in the thigh. There was something in Andy's pajama pants, and somehow, Joe got the idea that it wasn't a banana.
Andy pulled away. "Are you...?"
"No," Joe said. "At least, I didn't think so. I don't think so. Are you?"
"Only on Saturday, apparently." He took a step back. "We should probably, uh," and gestured towards the bedroom.
"Oh. Yeah, okay." Joe wondered if Pete and Patrick had a similar conversation when this happened to them. He didn't want to make a habit of comparing Andy and himself to Pete and Patrick, because they weren't like that. It was just. Bathrooms, you know? And a somewhat similar situation.
Andy stepped out of the bathroom and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Joe could just make out the familiar pattern of Andy's tattoos in the light coming in from the windows. He'd seen those tattoos on countless occasions, but he was quite certain he'd never had such a visceral reaction to them before. "It's not a side effect of the drugs," he muttered.
"What?" Andy said, looking back over his shoulder.
Joe didn't realize he'd said anything out loud. "Nothing." He stepped into the bedroom, his jeans already starting to fall down again around his hips, since he had never zipped them.
"So um," Andy sat down on the bed closest to the bathroom, wearing only his pajama pants at this point. "You should probably just go to sleep, you're pretty--"
"Yeah, look, I know what you're doing, so just stop right now before it works," Joe said, taking off his own shirt. He got his arms caught in it for a moment, but managed to sort himself out without any help. He let the shirt drop to the floor and then put his hand on Andy's solar plexus, pushing him back against the bed. He crawled into the bed with a minimal amount of difficulty and lowered himself on top of Andy, figuring that the less time he spent thinking about what he was doing, the better.
Now that they both had their shirts off, he noticed another way in which this was very much different from kissing a girl. Chest hair. Neither of them had a whole lot of it to speak of, but what they did have was rubbing against the other's skin, and it was definitely a new sensation. Not entirely unpleasant, just unexpected.
Joe had a random flashback to a conversation he'd had once with a girl he was friends with senior year of high school. This particular girl had been bisexual, and he remembered being fascinated by her stories about her female conquests (and he'd gotten off to the thought of it more than once, you'd better believe it). He remembered asking her once about the mechanics of two girls making out. Specifically, he'd asked something along the lines of, "But wouldn't both of your boobs get in the way?" She just laughed and told him that it was part of the fun.
He didn't know why he was thinking about this right now. For one thing, thinking about two girls making out never failed to give him a hard-on, but he didn't actually need any help with that right now. He was pretty sure he wasn't bisexual (despite the evidence to the contrary, what with him kissing his best friend at that very moment), so that wasn't it.
Then Andy lifted his lower back, bringing their hips together. Joe felt Andy's dick through the layers of denim and cotton, and suddenly it came to him. Yeah, that was the biggest difference. The fact that your cocks got in the way. Joe wasn't sure what he was supposed to do, so he shifted his weight to generate more friction.
Joe was busy using his arms to keep his body hovering as steadily as possible, so Andy reached up and put his hands in the small of Joe's back. Joe pulled back a little and returned to the place where Andy's neck met his shoulder. It smelled less like detergent and more like skin this time around. He put his lips to the skin there again, and then his tongue. It tasted like sweat, but not in a bad way. He opened his mouth and bit down lightly next to Andy's jugular.
"Oh," Andy said. "Oh, shit."
Joe pulled away. "Fuck. What? What did I do?"
Andy's mouth was half open and his eyes were shut, but they opened as soon as Joe let go. He frowned and said, "The fuck? Don't stop."
"Oh. But you--"
"I have a thing, okay?" Andy looked as though he could use a little less talking.
"A thing?"
"Yeah, a-- a pain thing. Just." He shook his head. "I don't know. Do that again. Pull my hair, I don't care."
Joe might have been a little bit baffled by this. Pull his hair? He shrugged, thinking when in Rome, for the second time tonight, and proud of the fact that the context actually made sense this time. He grabbed another fistful of Andy's hair and tugged, pulling Andy's head back and exposing his neck. Andy gasped, fuck, and Joe kissed him again. Andy grabbed the waist of Joe's jeans, pushing them down over Joe's thighs. Joe stepped out of them the rest of the way, and suddenly he was open to a strange new world of sensation. With nothing but two thin layers of cotton (Joe's boxers and Andy's pajamas) between them, even the slightest movement was electric. Andy had begun grinding their hips together, which made Joe's fingers curl into fists, and he pulled harder on the clump of hair already in his hand.
Andy let out a moan that sounded like it started as deep as his stomach. Joe was mesmerized and more than a little turned on by seeing his friend in this light. This was one of the only parts of their lives that they didn't share with each other as band mates. Joe got a sick little thrill out of hearing Andy's sex noises.
Wait. Is that where this was going? Was he having sex with Andy right now? That didn't seem likely, as nothing was being penetrated. There has to be penetration for it to be sex, right? No, they were just making out. Just making out and grinding. And Andy was making sex noises, but it wasn't sex. It was just.
It was sexy.
And then, suddenly, Andy's hand was in Joe's boxers. "Whoa," Joe said.
"What?" Andy panted, impatient.
"Where is this--?"
"Look, I don't know about you, but I want to get off." Andy grabbed the base of Joe's dick. "So are you going to help me or what?"
Joe couldn't think of anything to say to that, so Andy began stroking. Joe had already gotten past his earlier arousal plateau, and was a little bit worried that he was going to come all over his boxers before he could do anything about it, but thankfully he was still a little bit numb. It bought him some time, at least. He pulled the waist of Andy's pajamas down just enough to free Andy's dick. He had the insane urge to see if Andy's pubic hairs were as bright orange as his facial hair when he didn't shave for a few days, but there wasn't enough light to tell, and in order to do so he'd have to move away from Andy's hand, which was doing amazing things at the moment, so he decided against it.
Instead he grabbed Andy's dick and matched his strokes, letting Andy set the pace. He steadied himself with his other elbow, still holding on to Andy's hair. They kissed again, and this time it was more like being in a fist fight than any experience he'd ever had while kissing a girl. Their lips fought for purchase against the other's, mashing against teeth and surely bruising, which only made the skin there more sensitive. It was a vicious cycle. Andy's labret pushed into Joe's lower lip, and he thought he caught the faint taste of blood, but he had no idea where it was coming from, or who it belonged to.
Joe had to pull away a moment to gasp for breath, and Andy was breathing through clenched teeth. Joe continued to keep pace with Andy, which had become pretty rapid by this point. He had overcome the numbness (he was already beginning to sober up) and he felt his heart beating in his throat, in his ears.
"Bite me," Andy whispered, but it was too late. Joe felt his stomach muscles clench, and he bit down on Andy's shoulder just to keep from making some kind of embarrassing noise as he came on Andy's hand. It must have done the trick, though, because Andy did make an embarrassing noise, thrusting several times into Joe's (now somewhat motionless) hand before Joe felt something warm and sticky on his stomach.
Neither of them moved for a few moments, letting their breathing settle back to normal and waiting for the super sensitive phase of the orgasm to go away. When it did, Joe slumped over to the side, half on top of Andy, half on the bed. "What just happened?" Joe asked. He was definitely starting to sober up.
"I have no clue," Andy admitted. He shifted a little, adjusting himself back inside his pajama pants, and the edge of his hip dug into Joe's lower abdomen.
"Oh fuck," Joe said, sitting up quickly and jumping off the bed.
"Hey-- what?" Andy called as Joe ran to the bathroom.
"No, it's not--" Joe waved a dismissive arm. "It's not like that. I just have to piss really bad!"