Meme Response: Hushies GSF
Crest
Disclaimer: FAKE. If you found your way here by googling your name or that of a friend, please hit the backspace.
Pairing: Hushies!GSF
Rating: NC-17
AN: Written for the The Spencer Smith Says To Give His Band a Break GSF Meme. Unbeta'ed. Worst Title ever.
It's exactly the sort of thing that you shouldn't do, not as an opening band on a big tour. It's late, dark out with only the moon and the pier lamps to see by, water welling up around her knees. There are crabs, pinching her toes, but she can't concentrate on any of that, not the sounds of techs trying to drown each other in the waves or Brendon Urie calling for retribution on Andy from OK Go. It's Darren's mouth on her fingers, tongue swirling when the waves crest, and his hand between her legs.
She's half-pinned to the pier by Bob, his shoulder on her head, and she can feel him shaking, just a little and just enough that she has to turn her head and bite at his arm to make him look at her. They're trying to be quiet, release some of the tension and just be. Chris is breathing hard, near her ear but far enough away that she can't touch him.
Greta bites down harder than she means when Darren licks the underside of her boob, tastes the ocean from the waves and the sweat because she hasn't really showered in over three days. He doesn't recoil, and his fingers change their angle, thumb against her clit.
Bob hisses and pulls his arm away before he's leaning down to kiss her, pushing his tongue into her mouth. It's an awkward angle, almost too much tongue, and there's another crab snipping at her toes. She tries to kick it off, but she's can't really move. Darren's hard against her thigh, and she tries to grab hold of him under the water, rocking her hand in time with the ocean.
She can't see Chris. It's too dark, and he's not touching her. "Where's," she asks against Bob's mouth before Darren's turning her head to kiss her. No one answers her, but Bob's shaking again, his hand moving onto Greta's thigh and squeezing hard enough to bruise. He's coming. She knows by the way he moans, needs to hold onto something. The pier is slimy under her back, and her hair is probably a mess.
Then she can hear Chris, finally, and he kisses her with cold lips and traces of Bob still in his mouth. She wants to call him an idiot, because the surf is too rough to be fucking around with underwater blow jobs, but he's rutting against her, against Darren's hand and Bob's touching them all, fingers passing from her neck to Chris's shoulder.
Darren comes first. It's strange under the water, like it isn't happening except that she can feel the spasms, the way he can't help his fingers twitching inside her. It's enough to send her over, teeth digging into Chris' bottom lip. She wants to wrap her legs around one of them, but she can't, has to stand with the crabs trying to eat her alive. There could be sharks too, jellyfish, but the real dangers seem further away, even though they're just hiding from the little bits of light shining from the pier and the ocean should feel cold.
Chris still moves against her, and she rocks her hips with his, to give him friction, to give him what he needs to get through it. She can barely make out Bob, hands on Chris' water-slick chest and mouth on his neck. Darren's still slumped against her. She wishes she could see his face when Chris slumps against her, moaning curses onto her shoulder.
It's hard to climb out of the sea after, ten minutes later when they need to get dressed and walk back to the buses and their van and their legs are still weak, knees not ready to take their full weight.
Disclaimer: FAKE. If you found your way here by googling your name or that of a friend, please hit the backspace.
Pairing: Hushies!GSF
Rating: NC-17
AN: Written for the The Spencer Smith Says To Give His Band a Break GSF Meme. Unbeta'ed. Worst Title ever.
It's exactly the sort of thing that you shouldn't do, not as an opening band on a big tour. It's late, dark out with only the moon and the pier lamps to see by, water welling up around her knees. There are crabs, pinching her toes, but she can't concentrate on any of that, not the sounds of techs trying to drown each other in the waves or Brendon Urie calling for retribution on Andy from OK Go. It's Darren's mouth on her fingers, tongue swirling when the waves crest, and his hand between her legs.
She's half-pinned to the pier by Bob, his shoulder on her head, and she can feel him shaking, just a little and just enough that she has to turn her head and bite at his arm to make him look at her. They're trying to be quiet, release some of the tension and just be. Chris is breathing hard, near her ear but far enough away that she can't touch him.
Greta bites down harder than she means when Darren licks the underside of her boob, tastes the ocean from the waves and the sweat because she hasn't really showered in over three days. He doesn't recoil, and his fingers change their angle, thumb against her clit.
Bob hisses and pulls his arm away before he's leaning down to kiss her, pushing his tongue into her mouth. It's an awkward angle, almost too much tongue, and there's another crab snipping at her toes. She tries to kick it off, but she's can't really move. Darren's hard against her thigh, and she tries to grab hold of him under the water, rocking her hand in time with the ocean.
She can't see Chris. It's too dark, and he's not touching her. "Where's," she asks against Bob's mouth before Darren's turning her head to kiss her. No one answers her, but Bob's shaking again, his hand moving onto Greta's thigh and squeezing hard enough to bruise. He's coming. She knows by the way he moans, needs to hold onto something. The pier is slimy under her back, and her hair is probably a mess.
Then she can hear Chris, finally, and he kisses her with cold lips and traces of Bob still in his mouth. She wants to call him an idiot, because the surf is too rough to be fucking around with underwater blow jobs, but he's rutting against her, against Darren's hand and Bob's touching them all, fingers passing from her neck to Chris's shoulder.
Darren comes first. It's strange under the water, like it isn't happening except that she can feel the spasms, the way he can't help his fingers twitching inside her. It's enough to send her over, teeth digging into Chris' bottom lip. She wants to wrap her legs around one of them, but she can't, has to stand with the crabs trying to eat her alive. There could be sharks too, jellyfish, but the real dangers seem further away, even though they're just hiding from the little bits of light shining from the pier and the ocean should feel cold.
Chris still moves against her, and she rocks her hips with his, to give him friction, to give him what he needs to get through it. She can barely make out Bob, hands on Chris' water-slick chest and mouth on his neck. Darren's still slumped against her. She wishes she could see his face when Chris slumps against her, moaning curses onto her shoulder.
It's hard to climb out of the sea after, ten minutes later when they need to get dressed and walk back to the buses and their van and their legs are still weak, knees not ready to take their full weight.