(no subject)
Title: Saturday Night Professions (straight from a love muscle)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Josh(OC)/Jack/Alex. (All Time Low +)
Word Count: 8613. life ruiners
Disclaimer: A fictional tale about a fictional tale.
Notes: This is for thirdonebetween as always, with love. Josh is her original character and this is her 'verse which she so very graciously lets me play in from time to time when circumstance and threesomes permit. She and it are two of the best things that have ever happened to me and I can only hope I even begin work on showing her my gratitude by writing these ridiculous porn-y threesomes to keep her going through the hard slog that is wrestling these bros and their sumo feelings.
{Shout out to my girl romasquerade for the reassurance and support!}
It’s finally spring break and after a long hard half-semester of doing as little as feasibly possible, Jack and his nearest and dearest are celebrating the fact that they have the whole week ahead of them with nothing to do but bask in one another’s glory.
“Why do I feel like you’re using ‘glory’ as a euphemism for ‘genitals’, Barakat?”.
Jack’s friends possibly know him too well.
“Because you’ve got a one track mind, J, and it - much like the sun - orbits my dick”.
Josh just raises an eyebrow and then turns his attention back to neatly pouring tequila into a row of shot glasses that stretches the whole counter. It’s oddly fascinating, seeing Josh channel his already substantial buzz into such concentrated focus, and Jack doesn’t realize he’s staring until Alex leans across him to grab a shot and bites his earlobe in passing.
When Jack turns around Alex is grinning at him and Jack - always powerless in the face of that … face, just returns the smile and finds himself staring again, gaze dropping to where Alex’s haircut has grown out to brush against the collar of his shirt and then someone is tugging on Jack’s arm, everyone has their shot in hand and is waiting for him and damn, Jack seems to have fallen into one of those slow, underwater drunk moods, where time is like liquid in his ears and his attention keeps getting caught on the things he usually very carefully overlooks.
On the count of three (“ON three or AFTER three?” “Just drink the fucking shot, Dawson”) they throw back their shots and most of the girls splutter and cough, tonight’s tequila particularly cheap and vile. Lisa however, has picked up her glass with her teeth, downed the shot, and gone straight back to the task occupying her hands - for some reason, she and Josh have decided they must tonight of all nights do tequila shots the way god intended, lemon and salt and all. Having procured these items from the Mitchell’s pantry, she’s cutting lemon slices for everyone.
Jack’s friends are all impressively functioning drunks and were it not for Alex, leaning into his side and giggling at nothing at all, Jack would feel like a lesser man. As it stands, he’s content to let them busy and better themselves with buzzed ambitions. Whilst Jack knows that there are people in the world who have interests that don’t solely pertain, in this moment, to sneaking a hand into the pocket of Alex Gaskarth’s very tight jeans, and Jack wishes them the best of luck in all that they endeavour, he’s not one of those people, and thus pays them no heed.
So he doesn’t even notice Josh grabbing his other wrist until he’s brought it to his mouth and dragged his tongue across it. Jack shivers and freezes and turns to blink up at him where he’s perched on the counter, but when Josh pulls his gaze back from following Jack’s arm around Alex’s waist, he just quirks an eyebrow and does it again, maintaining eye contact with Jack all the while. And Jack is kind of drunk, super loose and happy to be surrounded by the people that he loves, but he’s got Alex squirming against his side like he’s trying to fuse them to one being and Josh is dragging his bottom lip up Jack’s wrist, letting his teeth catch on the heel of his hand and Jack is confused. In the pants.
“Salt, bro. Comes before the lemon”, Josh states simply as he tips the salt shaker Lisa passes him to spill across the wet patch he’s licked. And Jack opens his mouth, he’s sure he has something to say here, but Josh sucks the patch of salt off his skin, groaning a little at the sting of the tequila and then bites into his slice of lemon, not breaking eye contact at any point.
And Jack … well Jack just takes his shot, licks salt off the back of his own hand without looking at anybody because eye contact feels like a whole lot more than just eye contact tonight and Jack doesn’t know if where he wants to lay eyes, where he should lay eyes and where he will lay eyes are all or any the same place. The shot is somehow worse than the first, burns his throat the whole way down and the lemon doesn’t sooth the sting, but it does give him something to do so he sucks on it while he waits for the universe to fix itself.
Everyone else has drifted from the kitchen counter now, girls screeching about ‘their’ song and Rian and Kara gone to find a more comfortable surface to make out on, presumably. Josh and Alex are still standing there, almost huddled around Jack and no-one has said anything in a couple minutes and Jack feels a little bit like the burn of tequila is coming off of them in waves of static charge and he needs to move, needs to get some air or some space or something so he drops his lemon slice into the trash behind him and moves to dislodge Alex from his side, but Alex is already de-tangling himself, grabbing a piece of lemon and …........ pressing it between Jack’s teeth. Which …
“Hold that for me, wouldja?” Alex inquires, and then he’s licking his hand, holding it out for Josh to tip salt across, sucking it off and leaning in - Jack has to look down to double check this, but nope, his vision is not quite on the point of blurring or hallucination right now, Alex is actually stretching across him - to lay his hand across Josh’s on the counter. And Jack cannot even begin to process this sight - Alex’s long slim fingers stretched over Josh’s tanned skin, probably the first ever instance of willing physical contact between the two he’s ever seen - because Alex is leaning in to him, gaze flicking down to Jack’s mouth, and then he’s biting into the lemon that’s still caught by Jack’s teeth, bursting lemon wet between their mouths, tongue curling under the peel to lick the juice from Jack’s bottom lip. And Jack …. holds very very still and very quietly, very promptly loses his mind.
Generally, Jack loves Josh and Jack loves Alex. But he loves them in different ways, sometimes, and although he’s always tried to make neither feel loved any less than the other, the way the air gets thick and loud in every room they share kind of makes him wonder if he’s maybe fucked that up. It’s not something he knows how to fix, or even how to talk about, although Flyzik did once jokingly refer to Josh as Jack’s ‘woman scorned’ and Lisa sometimes pats his arm in what she probably supposes is a gentle manner when Josh and Alex glare at one another from opposite sides of living rooms and kitchens and practice spaces and venues, seemingly without even noticing they’re doing so half the time. So he suspects it’s a tension that has not gone unnoticed. Jack mostly tries not to think about it, because when he does he feels kind of lonely and nauseous and useless and caught in the middle of something that he never meant to create.
Tonight though, what with how Josh and Alex have him cornered and might maybe be trying to out-flirt one another … Jack feels a whole different rush of confused things.
Alex has pulled away now, and it very nearly killed Jack to just stay still and not do what comes natural to him and try to kiss anyone he thinks probably wouldn’t sucker punch him for doing so - an urge which is increased exponentially when it’s Alex with his stupidly great haircut and his stupid hot face and his stupid nice hands and how Jack knows exactly what he tastes like, has committed to memory the way Alex’s breath hitches against his mouth when they make out, has felt with his own hands how sometimes when they kiss Alex holds his breath for just a little too long - like he forgets to remember to breathe, or doesn’t want to lend his attention to anything besides Jack.
And Jack doesn’t want Alex to think he hadn’t wanted to kiss him, if that’s what he was going for, so he reaches out to rest a hand on Alex’s hip, like maybe the simple touch will convey everything Jack means to say, but Alex is still looking at Josh, and Jack can’t figure out what either of them are thinking and feels a little bit like he’s looking at two hidden minesweeper bombs, except the numbers in the squares around them keep on changing and Jack never knows when it’s safe to click closer. It’s weird to have this space between them right then, this place they go where Jack can’t follow, but he guesses it makes sense because he’s the one who unintentionally caused all of this, is too close to call it either way.
Josh’s eyes fall to Jack’s hand on Alex’s waist and Alex straightens under the touch and something breaks apart and then everything is loud and bright again, they’re back in their friend’s kitchen, downing another round of shots before Rian pulls Josh away for a game of Flip Cup and Lisa wants Alex’s help with the playlist and Jack is left alone to breathe and try to convince himself that he absolutely imagined the past fifteen minutes of his life.
Naturally this involves a fair amount of beer and a damn sight more enthused repression. It’s easy to get lost in the tides of the party, drifting in and out of conversations and cheering on whoever’s playing any of the various drinking games that have taken up residence of the kitchen table, shouting obscenities and encouraging abuse.
After a particularly exuberant round of beer pong which Jack is absolutely solely responsible for winning, fuck you very much Flyzik, he stumbles off in search of a bathroom, quickly bypassing the downstairs one because he does not now or ever require to wait in a line that long for any reason. Onwards and upstairs to the second bathroom that’s still secret and safe and blessedly empty, Jack is still basking in the glory of his kickass drinking talents until he opens the door and sees the bathtub and is reminded once more of Josh and Alex and the clusterfuck that is Jack’s friendships and other things. He thinks about being squashed right up against Alex, having his knees pushed inside the bracket of Josh’s thighs and Alex’s arm around his shoulders - fingers curled at Jack’s throat, and he could totally jerk off right now, alcohol making his skin fizz in that fantastic just-drunk-enough-to-be-so-easily-turned-on way, but he didn’t lock the door and the pre-meditation of rectifying that now would make even Jack feel a little weird, so he puts his dick away and washes his hands, splashes cold water on his face. He pauses at the sink, stares at his reflection for a minute, tries to see if whatever he’s missing tonight is written on his face, pressed there by Alex’s mouth maybe, but nothing seems amiss so he sets off to wander lonely as a cloud of teenage hormones once more.
He's pulling the door closed with one hand, half-heartedly drying the other on the towel hanging on the front of it, when someone comes up behind him, a pair of tanned hands sliding around his waist and down into the tiny tight pockets in the front of his girl jeans. Jack moves to turn around, obviously startled, but a forehead pressed to the top of Jack’s spine and a chest curved forward along his back push him face forward into the damp towel. Jack would know that slightly stale smell of weed and laundry detergent anywhere.
“Jaaaaaaack” Josh croons, close and low in Jack’s ear.
“........Jay?” Jack has to double check, because Josh doesn’t often get this handsy with him, definitely doesn’t initiate it out of nowhere.
“Who else molests you in and around bathrooms?”
Jack could answer that question, but he knows Josh already knows what he would say, so he chooses to ask the obvious instead.
“Uhh. What are you .. doing?”
Josh just spreads his fingers in Jack’s pockets, uses the hold to pull Jack’s hips back into his. Jack doesn’t exactly protest, but he does turn his head, tries to get a look at Josh’s face until teeth close around his topmost vertebra, nip against Jack’s skin and he settles for hiding his face in the towel he’s pushed against instead, tries to muffle his moan into the damp fabric.
His life. So fucking confusing.
He doesn’t shift his hips away from Josh’s, doesn’t push into it either. Just .. nestles, twists a little to feel the heat of friction. Josh leans in then, Jack can feel him spread his legs just a bit and let his weight fall forward, warm pressure all along Jack’s back, snug down around his thighs. Jack wants to wriggle. Wants to grind back, wants to reach back to grab Josh’s ass and pull him in tighter, closer, till Jack is caught between the door and Josh with nowhere to go but into the bracket of Josh’s hips, one arm planted on the door beside Jack’s head to keep him caged, wrapped up in his smell, his heat.
Josh is all over him, Jack can feel the pressure points where they fuse together from shoulder to waist to hip to thigh to Josh’s feet lined up outside his on the carpet. Josh isn’t keeping him where he is, just rests solid, letting Jack feel his weight all over without pushing it on him. Jack could move if he wanted, could easily slide out and away. Instead, he tips his head back against Josh’s shoulder, into the crook of Josh’s arm still holding his palm flat to the bathroom door. It’s almost like they’re dancing or something, Jack tucked inside Josh’s arms. It’s comfortable. But edged, leading into unfamiliar territory, the kind that gives Jack good chills. He and Josh have made out more times than he could honestly recount if he tried or wanted to, but they’ve never been this closely wrapped around one another for any kind of heated reason. Puppy piles at practice don’t generally involve Josh’s left hand edging ever closer to Jack’s dick with any of the serious promise that this situation suggests. More’s the pity, he thinks. Josh has pulled his hand from Jack’s pocket and moved it over and lower. He lets it drop right down between Jack’s thighs and then drags it back up, his nails catching on the denim and making Jack’s cock jump in his jeans. Josh actually palms him then, cups his hand over Jack and squeezes just enough to be not nearly enough at all.
Jack hisses out a breath and places his hand over Josh’s, presses Josh’s hand down harder and it’s so good, a second of pure delicious relief. But just as he decides to go double or quits and do what comes natural, namely saying what he means with rather more creative uses of his tongue, Josh does two things in quick succession that knot Jack’s tongue in his mouth.
First - he turns his head and drags his tongue up the length of Jack’s throat, finishing up by pressing a kiss to the underside of Jack’s jaw when Jack shivers in his arms and then freezes completely when he feels Josh’s other hand dip down past the band of his boxers to actually wrap around Jack’s dick with a hot, friendly squeeze.
And second - he pulls both hands away entirely, (cruelly, if you ask Jack) and whirls away, down the stairs without a word before Jack can blink open eyes he didn’t realize he’d let fall shut, before the chill can fully settle at his back.
Jack doesn’t know what the fuck just happened or why the fuck it stopped, but he’s decidedly unhappy about that last.
Jack not for the first time tonight (and definitely not the last) hasn’t got a fucking clue what’s going on. Walking back downstairs is a worryingly taxing endeavour, and not because he’s drunk - the stress of having to try and figure out all the ways in which Josh and Alex seem to actually be teaming up to break him is probably the most sobering experience he’s ever had. His co-ordination problems tonight are entirely down to the fact that he has a super confused and confusing semi and no idea what to do about it and/or when he started feeling guilty and perplexed about his boners.
He’s still trying to figure it out when he migrates back into the swell of the party, the music and voices a buzzing in his ears as he flops down onto the couch and stares into space, wondering if he’s imagining the fact that he can still smell Josh, still feel the tension he left tight around Jack’s bones while he finds himself humming along to ‘We Are All On Drugs’ by Weezer. Man, he’s been such a fucking fantastic influence on Alex. He’s thinking about the first time Alex had stayed over, waking up to find him looking at all the show flyers and band posters papering Jack’s bedroom wall, his expression for once totally … blank. Clear and open, interested and engaged without that pesky little furrow in his brow that Jack’s been trying to smooth for months. It had been the first time Jack had seen him like that, but carefree enthusiastic Alex has made quite a few appearances with steadily increasing frequency since.
Jack’s just wondering where Alex is now, who he’s with and what he’s thinking about, and how maybe he should go find him when Lisa falls into his lap, graceful and considerate as ever. Jack however, is well accustomed to this abuse, and just hooks his arms around her to pull her closer. They sit like this for a few minutes, heads tilted together as they survey the scene of teenage carnage before them, or at least that’s what Jack thinks they’re doing until he turns and catches Lisa looking at him instead. She keeps this up, even when Jack raises an eyebrow at her, but seemingly doesn’t find whatever it is she’s looking for because she just shakes her head at him and presses her forehead to his.
“You’re a life ruiner, Jack Barakat”.
And Jack knows she doesn’t mean that in any kind of way which infers offense, but considering the Bermuda triangle of lust he has found himself in tonight, it pangs a little.
“I don’t mean to be”, and the accompanying sadface is a little closer to a legitimate frown than he’s strictly comfortable with, but he’s finding it hard to hide things he doesn’t even understand right now.
“Hey hey, no. Don’t do that. It’s a good thing. You .. you blow people’s lives to smithereens and then build them bigger, better ones. You’re a fantastic friend, Jack”.
Even with the helpful illustratory gestures, and as much as he agrees that he has had a knack lately for fucking things up, Jack is not sold on the validity of Lisa’s positive conclusion for after the fact. Thankfully she’s pulled away by a girlfriend in crisis before he has a chance to protest, because nobody likes the morose self-pitying bro at the party.
Drinking any more at this point will definitely only fuel this downward spiral of melancholy and seemingly infinite sadness, so Jack ventures in search of water. Maybe some fucking green tea or something, to restore balance between his ying and wang. Half the party are out back now, having hit upon Matt’s disturbing yet impressive collection of water guns so Jack thinks the kitchen is empty until he spots them and pauses just inside the door before they see him.
Alex and Josh are huddled together by the sink, leaning so close to murmur into the space between them that their bangs brush together and Jack can’t distinguish the darkest sections of Josh’s hair from the light streaks in Alex’s. They look … tense. But not. Aggressive - yes. Charged, but not like they’re about to haul off and start punching one another. It’s similar. But more. Different, and something Jack can’t really identify sparks the air around them. Josh’s hand is curled around Alex’s bicep, but his fingers are loose and as Jack watches he sweeps his thumb up under the sleeve of Alex’s tshirt. Jack’s mouth goes dry, and that - that is the hand that not ten minute ago was making itself at home in Jack’s underwear. The thumb that’s so gently dragging across Alex’s skin is a thumb that has touched the head of Jack’s cock. He must make some kind of noise because they both turn to look at him and Josh’s hand drops back down by his side and no - this isn’t what Jack wanted, this isn’t what Jack wanted at all. He frowns. He kicks it up a notch to a serious pout. Josh laughs openly at him, warm and obnoxious, but Alex at least has the decency to half-hide his smirk in the palm of his hand. Even now with them both looking directly at him, maybe even moreso than in the moment before, Jack is lost for an explanation.
But he is apparently the only one who cares that tonight is like night of the living, breathing, walking, talking pod people because Josh just tips his head at Alex, winks at Jack and follows the heralding sound of ruckus (oddly similar to Rian’s battle cry) out onto the patio.
And then there were two.
Part 2
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Josh(OC)/Jack/Alex. (All Time Low +)
Word Count: 8613. life ruiners
Disclaimer: A fictional tale about a fictional tale.
Notes: This is for thirdonebetween as always, with love. Josh is her original character and this is her 'verse which she so very graciously lets me play in from time to time when circumstance and threesomes permit. She and it are two of the best things that have ever happened to me and I can only hope I even begin work on showing her my gratitude by writing these ridiculous porn-y threesomes to keep her going through the hard slog that is wrestling these bros and their sumo feelings.
{Shout out to my girl romasquerade for the reassurance and support!}
It’s finally spring break and after a long hard half-semester of doing as little as feasibly possible, Jack and his nearest and dearest are celebrating the fact that they have the whole week ahead of them with nothing to do but bask in one another’s glory.
“Why do I feel like you’re using ‘glory’ as a euphemism for ‘genitals’, Barakat?”.
Jack’s friends possibly know him too well.
“Because you’ve got a one track mind, J, and it - much like the sun - orbits my dick”.
Josh just raises an eyebrow and then turns his attention back to neatly pouring tequila into a row of shot glasses that stretches the whole counter. It’s oddly fascinating, seeing Josh channel his already substantial buzz into such concentrated focus, and Jack doesn’t realize he’s staring until Alex leans across him to grab a shot and bites his earlobe in passing.
When Jack turns around Alex is grinning at him and Jack - always powerless in the face of that … face, just returns the smile and finds himself staring again, gaze dropping to where Alex’s haircut has grown out to brush against the collar of his shirt and then someone is tugging on Jack’s arm, everyone has their shot in hand and is waiting for him and damn, Jack seems to have fallen into one of those slow, underwater drunk moods, where time is like liquid in his ears and his attention keeps getting caught on the things he usually very carefully overlooks.
On the count of three (“ON three or AFTER three?” “Just drink the fucking shot, Dawson”) they throw back their shots and most of the girls splutter and cough, tonight’s tequila particularly cheap and vile. Lisa however, has picked up her glass with her teeth, downed the shot, and gone straight back to the task occupying her hands - for some reason, she and Josh have decided they must tonight of all nights do tequila shots the way god intended, lemon and salt and all. Having procured these items from the Mitchell’s pantry, she’s cutting lemon slices for everyone.
Jack’s friends are all impressively functioning drunks and were it not for Alex, leaning into his side and giggling at nothing at all, Jack would feel like a lesser man. As it stands, he’s content to let them busy and better themselves with buzzed ambitions. Whilst Jack knows that there are people in the world who have interests that don’t solely pertain, in this moment, to sneaking a hand into the pocket of Alex Gaskarth’s very tight jeans, and Jack wishes them the best of luck in all that they endeavour, he’s not one of those people, and thus pays them no heed.
So he doesn’t even notice Josh grabbing his other wrist until he’s brought it to his mouth and dragged his tongue across it. Jack shivers and freezes and turns to blink up at him where he’s perched on the counter, but when Josh pulls his gaze back from following Jack’s arm around Alex’s waist, he just quirks an eyebrow and does it again, maintaining eye contact with Jack all the while. And Jack is kind of drunk, super loose and happy to be surrounded by the people that he loves, but he’s got Alex squirming against his side like he’s trying to fuse them to one being and Josh is dragging his bottom lip up Jack’s wrist, letting his teeth catch on the heel of his hand and Jack is confused. In the pants.
“Salt, bro. Comes before the lemon”, Josh states simply as he tips the salt shaker Lisa passes him to spill across the wet patch he’s licked. And Jack opens his mouth, he’s sure he has something to say here, but Josh sucks the patch of salt off his skin, groaning a little at the sting of the tequila and then bites into his slice of lemon, not breaking eye contact at any point.
And Jack … well Jack just takes his shot, licks salt off the back of his own hand without looking at anybody because eye contact feels like a whole lot more than just eye contact tonight and Jack doesn’t know if where he wants to lay eyes, where he should lay eyes and where he will lay eyes are all or any the same place. The shot is somehow worse than the first, burns his throat the whole way down and the lemon doesn’t sooth the sting, but it does give him something to do so he sucks on it while he waits for the universe to fix itself.
Everyone else has drifted from the kitchen counter now, girls screeching about ‘their’ song and Rian and Kara gone to find a more comfortable surface to make out on, presumably. Josh and Alex are still standing there, almost huddled around Jack and no-one has said anything in a couple minutes and Jack feels a little bit like the burn of tequila is coming off of them in waves of static charge and he needs to move, needs to get some air or some space or something so he drops his lemon slice into the trash behind him and moves to dislodge Alex from his side, but Alex is already de-tangling himself, grabbing a piece of lemon and …........ pressing it between Jack’s teeth. Which …
“Hold that for me, wouldja?” Alex inquires, and then he’s licking his hand, holding it out for Josh to tip salt across, sucking it off and leaning in - Jack has to look down to double check this, but nope, his vision is not quite on the point of blurring or hallucination right now, Alex is actually stretching across him - to lay his hand across Josh’s on the counter. And Jack cannot even begin to process this sight - Alex’s long slim fingers stretched over Josh’s tanned skin, probably the first ever instance of willing physical contact between the two he’s ever seen - because Alex is leaning in to him, gaze flicking down to Jack’s mouth, and then he’s biting into the lemon that’s still caught by Jack’s teeth, bursting lemon wet between their mouths, tongue curling under the peel to lick the juice from Jack’s bottom lip. And Jack …. holds very very still and very quietly, very promptly loses his mind.
Generally, Jack loves Josh and Jack loves Alex. But he loves them in different ways, sometimes, and although he’s always tried to make neither feel loved any less than the other, the way the air gets thick and loud in every room they share kind of makes him wonder if he’s maybe fucked that up. It’s not something he knows how to fix, or even how to talk about, although Flyzik did once jokingly refer to Josh as Jack’s ‘woman scorned’ and Lisa sometimes pats his arm in what she probably supposes is a gentle manner when Josh and Alex glare at one another from opposite sides of living rooms and kitchens and practice spaces and venues, seemingly without even noticing they’re doing so half the time. So he suspects it’s a tension that has not gone unnoticed. Jack mostly tries not to think about it, because when he does he feels kind of lonely and nauseous and useless and caught in the middle of something that he never meant to create.
Tonight though, what with how Josh and Alex have him cornered and might maybe be trying to out-flirt one another … Jack feels a whole different rush of confused things.
Alex has pulled away now, and it very nearly killed Jack to just stay still and not do what comes natural to him and try to kiss anyone he thinks probably wouldn’t sucker punch him for doing so - an urge which is increased exponentially when it’s Alex with his stupidly great haircut and his stupid hot face and his stupid nice hands and how Jack knows exactly what he tastes like, has committed to memory the way Alex’s breath hitches against his mouth when they make out, has felt with his own hands how sometimes when they kiss Alex holds his breath for just a little too long - like he forgets to remember to breathe, or doesn’t want to lend his attention to anything besides Jack.
And Jack doesn’t want Alex to think he hadn’t wanted to kiss him, if that’s what he was going for, so he reaches out to rest a hand on Alex’s hip, like maybe the simple touch will convey everything Jack means to say, but Alex is still looking at Josh, and Jack can’t figure out what either of them are thinking and feels a little bit like he’s looking at two hidden minesweeper bombs, except the numbers in the squares around them keep on changing and Jack never knows when it’s safe to click closer. It’s weird to have this space between them right then, this place they go where Jack can’t follow, but he guesses it makes sense because he’s the one who unintentionally caused all of this, is too close to call it either way.
Josh’s eyes fall to Jack’s hand on Alex’s waist and Alex straightens under the touch and something breaks apart and then everything is loud and bright again, they’re back in their friend’s kitchen, downing another round of shots before Rian pulls Josh away for a game of Flip Cup and Lisa wants Alex’s help with the playlist and Jack is left alone to breathe and try to convince himself that he absolutely imagined the past fifteen minutes of his life.
Naturally this involves a fair amount of beer and a damn sight more enthused repression. It’s easy to get lost in the tides of the party, drifting in and out of conversations and cheering on whoever’s playing any of the various drinking games that have taken up residence of the kitchen table, shouting obscenities and encouraging abuse.
After a particularly exuberant round of beer pong which Jack is absolutely solely responsible for winning, fuck you very much Flyzik, he stumbles off in search of a bathroom, quickly bypassing the downstairs one because he does not now or ever require to wait in a line that long for any reason. Onwards and upstairs to the second bathroom that’s still secret and safe and blessedly empty, Jack is still basking in the glory of his kickass drinking talents until he opens the door and sees the bathtub and is reminded once more of Josh and Alex and the clusterfuck that is Jack’s friendships and other things. He thinks about being squashed right up against Alex, having his knees pushed inside the bracket of Josh’s thighs and Alex’s arm around his shoulders - fingers curled at Jack’s throat, and he could totally jerk off right now, alcohol making his skin fizz in that fantastic just-drunk-enough-to-be-so-easily-turned-on way, but he didn’t lock the door and the pre-meditation of rectifying that now would make even Jack feel a little weird, so he puts his dick away and washes his hands, splashes cold water on his face. He pauses at the sink, stares at his reflection for a minute, tries to see if whatever he’s missing tonight is written on his face, pressed there by Alex’s mouth maybe, but nothing seems amiss so he sets off to wander lonely as a cloud of teenage hormones once more.
He's pulling the door closed with one hand, half-heartedly drying the other on the towel hanging on the front of it, when someone comes up behind him, a pair of tanned hands sliding around his waist and down into the tiny tight pockets in the front of his girl jeans. Jack moves to turn around, obviously startled, but a forehead pressed to the top of Jack’s spine and a chest curved forward along his back push him face forward into the damp towel. Jack would know that slightly stale smell of weed and laundry detergent anywhere.
“Jaaaaaaack” Josh croons, close and low in Jack’s ear.
“........Jay?” Jack has to double check, because Josh doesn’t often get this handsy with him, definitely doesn’t initiate it out of nowhere.
“Who else molests you in and around bathrooms?”
Jack could answer that question, but he knows Josh already knows what he would say, so he chooses to ask the obvious instead.
“Uhh. What are you .. doing?”
Josh just spreads his fingers in Jack’s pockets, uses the hold to pull Jack’s hips back into his. Jack doesn’t exactly protest, but he does turn his head, tries to get a look at Josh’s face until teeth close around his topmost vertebra, nip against Jack’s skin and he settles for hiding his face in the towel he’s pushed against instead, tries to muffle his moan into the damp fabric.
His life. So fucking confusing.
He doesn’t shift his hips away from Josh’s, doesn’t push into it either. Just .. nestles, twists a little to feel the heat of friction. Josh leans in then, Jack can feel him spread his legs just a bit and let his weight fall forward, warm pressure all along Jack’s back, snug down around his thighs. Jack wants to wriggle. Wants to grind back, wants to reach back to grab Josh’s ass and pull him in tighter, closer, till Jack is caught between the door and Josh with nowhere to go but into the bracket of Josh’s hips, one arm planted on the door beside Jack’s head to keep him caged, wrapped up in his smell, his heat.
Josh is all over him, Jack can feel the pressure points where they fuse together from shoulder to waist to hip to thigh to Josh’s feet lined up outside his on the carpet. Josh isn’t keeping him where he is, just rests solid, letting Jack feel his weight all over without pushing it on him. Jack could move if he wanted, could easily slide out and away. Instead, he tips his head back against Josh’s shoulder, into the crook of Josh’s arm still holding his palm flat to the bathroom door. It’s almost like they’re dancing or something, Jack tucked inside Josh’s arms. It’s comfortable. But edged, leading into unfamiliar territory, the kind that gives Jack good chills. He and Josh have made out more times than he could honestly recount if he tried or wanted to, but they’ve never been this closely wrapped around one another for any kind of heated reason. Puppy piles at practice don’t generally involve Josh’s left hand edging ever closer to Jack’s dick with any of the serious promise that this situation suggests. More’s the pity, he thinks. Josh has pulled his hand from Jack’s pocket and moved it over and lower. He lets it drop right down between Jack’s thighs and then drags it back up, his nails catching on the denim and making Jack’s cock jump in his jeans. Josh actually palms him then, cups his hand over Jack and squeezes just enough to be not nearly enough at all.
Jack hisses out a breath and places his hand over Josh’s, presses Josh’s hand down harder and it’s so good, a second of pure delicious relief. But just as he decides to go double or quits and do what comes natural, namely saying what he means with rather more creative uses of his tongue, Josh does two things in quick succession that knot Jack’s tongue in his mouth.
First - he turns his head and drags his tongue up the length of Jack’s throat, finishing up by pressing a kiss to the underside of Jack’s jaw when Jack shivers in his arms and then freezes completely when he feels Josh’s other hand dip down past the band of his boxers to actually wrap around Jack’s dick with a hot, friendly squeeze.
And second - he pulls both hands away entirely, (cruelly, if you ask Jack) and whirls away, down the stairs without a word before Jack can blink open eyes he didn’t realize he’d let fall shut, before the chill can fully settle at his back.
Jack doesn’t know what the fuck just happened or why the fuck it stopped, but he’s decidedly unhappy about that last.
Jack not for the first time tonight (and definitely not the last) hasn’t got a fucking clue what’s going on. Walking back downstairs is a worryingly taxing endeavour, and not because he’s drunk - the stress of having to try and figure out all the ways in which Josh and Alex seem to actually be teaming up to break him is probably the most sobering experience he’s ever had. His co-ordination problems tonight are entirely down to the fact that he has a super confused and confusing semi and no idea what to do about it and/or when he started feeling guilty and perplexed about his boners.
He’s still trying to figure it out when he migrates back into the swell of the party, the music and voices a buzzing in his ears as he flops down onto the couch and stares into space, wondering if he’s imagining the fact that he can still smell Josh, still feel the tension he left tight around Jack’s bones while he finds himself humming along to ‘We Are All On Drugs’ by Weezer. Man, he’s been such a fucking fantastic influence on Alex. He’s thinking about the first time Alex had stayed over, waking up to find him looking at all the show flyers and band posters papering Jack’s bedroom wall, his expression for once totally … blank. Clear and open, interested and engaged without that pesky little furrow in his brow that Jack’s been trying to smooth for months. It had been the first time Jack had seen him like that, but carefree enthusiastic Alex has made quite a few appearances with steadily increasing frequency since.
Jack’s just wondering where Alex is now, who he’s with and what he’s thinking about, and how maybe he should go find him when Lisa falls into his lap, graceful and considerate as ever. Jack however, is well accustomed to this abuse, and just hooks his arms around her to pull her closer. They sit like this for a few minutes, heads tilted together as they survey the scene of teenage carnage before them, or at least that’s what Jack thinks they’re doing until he turns and catches Lisa looking at him instead. She keeps this up, even when Jack raises an eyebrow at her, but seemingly doesn’t find whatever it is she’s looking for because she just shakes her head at him and presses her forehead to his.
“You’re a life ruiner, Jack Barakat”.
And Jack knows she doesn’t mean that in any kind of way which infers offense, but considering the Bermuda triangle of lust he has found himself in tonight, it pangs a little.
“I don’t mean to be”, and the accompanying sadface is a little closer to a legitimate frown than he’s strictly comfortable with, but he’s finding it hard to hide things he doesn’t even understand right now.
“Hey hey, no. Don’t do that. It’s a good thing. You .. you blow people’s lives to smithereens and then build them bigger, better ones. You’re a fantastic friend, Jack”.
Even with the helpful illustratory gestures, and as much as he agrees that he has had a knack lately for fucking things up, Jack is not sold on the validity of Lisa’s positive conclusion for after the fact. Thankfully she’s pulled away by a girlfriend in crisis before he has a chance to protest, because nobody likes the morose self-pitying bro at the party.
Drinking any more at this point will definitely only fuel this downward spiral of melancholy and seemingly infinite sadness, so Jack ventures in search of water. Maybe some fucking green tea or something, to restore balance between his ying and wang. Half the party are out back now, having hit upon Matt’s disturbing yet impressive collection of water guns so Jack thinks the kitchen is empty until he spots them and pauses just inside the door before they see him.
Alex and Josh are huddled together by the sink, leaning so close to murmur into the space between them that their bangs brush together and Jack can’t distinguish the darkest sections of Josh’s hair from the light streaks in Alex’s. They look … tense. But not. Aggressive - yes. Charged, but not like they’re about to haul off and start punching one another. It’s similar. But more. Different, and something Jack can’t really identify sparks the air around them. Josh’s hand is curled around Alex’s bicep, but his fingers are loose and as Jack watches he sweeps his thumb up under the sleeve of Alex’s tshirt. Jack’s mouth goes dry, and that - that is the hand that not ten minute ago was making itself at home in Jack’s underwear. The thumb that’s so gently dragging across Alex’s skin is a thumb that has touched the head of Jack’s cock. He must make some kind of noise because they both turn to look at him and Josh’s hand drops back down by his side and no - this isn’t what Jack wanted, this isn’t what Jack wanted at all. He frowns. He kicks it up a notch to a serious pout. Josh laughs openly at him, warm and obnoxious, but Alex at least has the decency to half-hide his smirk in the palm of his hand. Even now with them both looking directly at him, maybe even moreso than in the moment before, Jack is lost for an explanation.
But he is apparently the only one who cares that tonight is like night of the living, breathing, walking, talking pod people because Josh just tips his head at Alex, winks at Jack and follows the heralding sound of ruckus (oddly similar to Rian’s battle cry) out onto the patio.
And then there were two.
Part 2