FIC: Movie Night (Skibmann, NC-17)
Title: Movie Night (1/1)
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Skibmann (Neal Tiemann/Andy Skib)
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own; never happened, never will.
Summary: When Andy finds an interesting movie on Neal's laptop, he introduces his boyfriend to the man known as Jake Mango.
Notes: Based on the absolute lunacy of Andy Skib's tweets the week after the Busch Gardens concerts, in which he asks Neal where he gets off, shaves his beard into a particular shape, and premieres his pornstar name to the public. The added hilarity of these events brought this fanfic to life. XD Big thanks to dreamerren for the beta! <3
Andy will claim to his dying day that it was all Neal’s fault.
While, arguably, Andy had been the one to borrow Neal’s laptop, and perhaps it would have been more prudent for him not to be snooping in the downloads queue on his browser, Andy would contend that he doesn’t snoop, he observes, and the queue had automatically opened when he started downloading the new Arcade Fire album. And, he would debate and probably win that his boyfriend shouldn’t be keeping secrets from him.
Especially one as hilarious as this.
Neal didn’t know, he couldn’t have, and Andy was far better at erasing his tracks than the other man. He hummed contentedly, blissfully unaware, when Andy returned the computer, and spent the rest of their wait in the Atlanta airport coveting guitar auctions on eBay. The file he had downloaded remained untouched on his hard drive; thankfully, Andy thought to himself, since the descriptive uses of the word “thrust” in the file’s title alone would have made David balk and Kyle blush. Not to mention bring a bit of unwanted attention to themselves from the shouts and moans that would undoubtedly spring from Neal’s speakers.
Stroking his beard in contemplation, Andy watched his oblivious boyfriend at the gate, thoughts of him using that file--and how--drifting into his mind. A dark room but for the glare of the computer screen, casting bluish tints against Neal’s pale, bare thighs...his striking blue eyes widening as his hand reaches up, thumb and forefinger close to his lips, smoothing down phantom hairs he had shorn a year ago...his pulse quickening as the moans from the recording crescendo louder than the thrumming, funk-a-delic background music...
Andy snorted in spite of himself, garnering a sideways look from his bandmates. He didn’t know if he should be amused or turned on by that particular fantasy.
Either way, he surmised with a devious smirk, Neal wasn’t going to get away with keeping this a secret.
He took the trusty iPhone from his carry-on and typed with quick fingers, his mind already churning with ways to play with his newfound knowledge as best he could--and to make sure his boyfriend wasn’t planning on a private screening without him. He waited for the vibrating alert message to pop up on Neal’s phone, but it reached another person’s inbox faster--David’s.
Shooting his keyboardist his most authoritative glare, David mouthed, “Really?!” before making his way across the waiting area. He shoved his BlackBerry in Andy’s personal space, its display clearly showing him his own Twitter handiwork, asking where Neal gets off. “If you’re gonna flirt when he’s five freakin’ feet away from you,” David said in a low voice, “Can you just text him, so the rest of the free world doesn’t have to sit here and watch?”
Andy was all pout and puppy eyes, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I could,” he said innocently, leaving it for David to surmise that he wasn’t going to regardless.
David simply shook his head, eyes rolling to the ceiling; he should have known he’d get that answer years ago. He returned to his chair, dejected, revealing a seated Neal behind him, his gaze intent on Andy, his cell phone in hand and a smile on his face.
***
Hair will grow back, Andy kept trying to tell himself. Especially his own hair, stubborn like its owner, refusing to kowtow to the conventions of his Gillette razor. This-- he threaded his fingers through the thickening beard, the hard stubble of new growth having just given way to softness, his facial hair content in the false pretense that it was here to stay. --will grow back.
As soon as his fingertips touched the beard he knew he would miss it: there had been freedom growing alongside the whiskers on his chin, a joyous departure from routine shaving. Neal taught him about that years ago, when his copper-red beard grew in thick enough to hide small mammals inside.
And so Andy’s thoughts returned to Neal, and the reasons why he held the menacing razor to his cheek in the first place. Like a sculptor envisioning his final creation inside a slab of virgin marble, Andy smiled at the curvy mustache he could see in his mind’s eye, and the scrap of hair he would leave on his chin in his masterful hand’s wake.
If his boyfriend had a thing for vintage, oh, he’d give him vintage.
***
The call was almost instantaneous after Andy sent the tweet; Neal had him on text alert, after all.
“Jake Mango?” He didn’t even try to hide the laughter in his voice, because Neal knew hiding anything from Andy was futile.
Andy’s voice was calm in his delivery, even though Travis was across the table from him, convulsing from laughter. “Speaking,” he replied. The wink and grin he shot Travis nearly sent his friend collapsing on the floor. “And open for business.”
He could almost feel Neal’s toothy smile over the phone line; he could envision the other man bite at his fingernails innocently, in the way he did when those fingers wanted to touch Andy’s skin, but found him out of reach. “I get the Jake part,” he said, faintly chuckling. “Barely. But...mango?”
Andy lowered his voice, his eyes darkening; Travis thought it was a fun joke to share with the online world, but he needn’t hear the parts that went far beyond a laughing matter. “Sweet and juicy on the inside,” he said, a remark he wouldn’t have made if not for the night’s drinks and his new persona emboldening him.
He expected to hear Neal’s familiar laughter on the other end, lovingly calling his boyfriend a dumbass and moving on. But the other end of the line was eerily silent; Andy wondered if Neal had accidentally dropped the phone into Sixx’s water dish when he heard the unmistakable sound of his boyfriend’s growl.
“Fuck, when do you get home.” It was surprising enough to nearly make Andy spill his beer; desperate and lustful enough to drain all the air from his lungs. He certainly wasn’t expecting that kind of a response, but, Andy considered as he regained his bearings, with the teasing he had been doing it was inevitable. If you poke the bear long enough, sooner or later the bear’s gonna poke back.
Andy couldn’t hide the smile on his lips if he tried. “When do you want me?”
***
“Show it to me.”
Neal’s face was etched with befuddlement when Andy got home. “What?”
“You know what,” he said impatiently. “Show me.”
He received only a raised eyebrow in response; hell, Neal just wanted to screw his boyfriend, not play twenty questions. “...my cock?”
Andy rolled his eyes; either Neal was playing dumb, or Andy overestimated the subtlety of shaving a porn mustache onto his upper lip. “I’ve already seen that,” he punctuated with a dismissive tsk that left Neal more than a little bemused. His mood lightened, however, when Andy, exasperated that his boyfriend hadn’t taken the hint over the past week, revealed his discovery. “The movie, Neal. I know you downloaded it. And I hope you weren’t planning to watch it without me.”
It took a few moments for the realization to dawn on him--Neal had nearly forgotten he downloaded the damn thing, it had been almost a week and he’d been too busy to investigate. But once the pieces fell into place, it fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, like notes on a sheet of music. “Ohhhhh.” Andy should have noticed the spark in Neal’s eyes, the smirk on his face that never led to anything but trouble, but he was too engrossed in being right to pay attention. “You mean--”
“I saw the filename; either you’re secretly into septuagenarians--” Andy pinched one side of his mustache between his thumb and forefinger, curling it like a silent film villain. “Or your tastes have recently veered towards retro.”
Neal’s smirk turned into a grin, reaching up to the creases of his eyes, and he let out a barking laugh that nearly shook the windowframes of the house. “You think I’d get off on old pornos?” he asked incredulously. The correct term was “vintage”--or Golden era films, even--but if Neal started sounding like too much of an aficionado his argument that he didn’t watch it for pleasure might not stick. “I downloaded it for the laughs. Old school porn’s good to fuck with, not fuck to.”
The lips that held up Andy’s new mustache stilled, drooped, until they curved down into an embarrassed frown. But Neal would have none of that: striding over towards Andy, his gait sure and his smile wide, he tipped up Andy’s chin in one palm and kissed those lips back into a smile. “Of course I was gonna watch with you, dope,” he said, his free arm snaking around Andy’s waist, pulling him closer. “It’s only fun when you share it with someone. And Dave’d probably get scared away by all the cock in it.”
“I wouldn’t bet the ranch on that,” Andy said with a chuckle. He smiled, tensions relieved, as he pulled in for another kiss, deeper this time, longer, his eyes drifting closed as he let his mind wrap around the familiar sensations of Neal. “I’ll go get us a beer,” he supplied once they were disentangled, leaving Neal to queue up the film in his absence.
The arm around Andy’s waist gave a quick squeeze as Neal’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline. “The movie’s an hour long, Skib,” he informed him, and Andy corrected his error.
“And I’ll make some popcorn, too.”
***
The film was from the seventies, Neal told him once he returned from the kitchen and the room was sufficiently dark and the door locked. Andy felt like he was thirteen again, sneaking glimpses of pixellated sex when the rest of his family was asleep; stealing a lingerie catalog and hiding it underneath his sheets. But things had changed quite a bit since the nineties, and this time the darkened room was enhancing the moment, the locked door keeping curious dogs and unwanted housemates out, and Andy wasn’t having this experience alone.
“It looks it,” Andy commented, sitting on the bed next to Neal, the laptop nestled among their socked feet. “It’s like an episode of Taxi.” The opening credits rolled on a fuzzy, muted display, the colors flooded like a bad watercolor painting, obviously a copy of a copy of some VHS stored away in a moldy basement. An eighteen wheeler sped down the highway, its driver sporting a mustache very similar to the one currently residing on Andy’s face.
Neal’s beer almost ended up sprayed across his computer screen. “Deja fucking vu,” he declared, composing himself between laughs.
“Inspirational,” Andy corrects him, smoothing down his prized mustache once more.
It took a shockingly long time for any skin to flash across the screen, and Andy almost questioned if Neal got duped and really did download a bootleg episode of Taxi, but then the scene changed, abruptly, and this time it was Andy’s turn to choke on his beer.
“That just doesn’t happen!” he protested, offended by the inaccuracy.
Neal quirked an eyebrow. “And you’re the expert on hitchhiking in the seventies, now?”
“No, but--”
“The absurdity’s part of the fun,” Neal explained, rolling his eyes and grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Just sit back and enjoy it, babe.”
“You’re really not allowed to call me ‘babe’ when we’re watching vintage porn,” Andy muttered, but Neal was too busy cackling over a pair of bell bottoms to hear.
***
“Oh my God!” Andy laughed, slapping his knee. “I cannot believe that just happened!”
Neal’s reaction was quite different, his eyes wide as hubcaps, his mouth curved into a lascivious smile. “We’re so trying that,” he declared.
That’s when the laughter from his boyfriend stopped. “Fuck no, Tiemann,” Andy’s voice held bite; it was one thing to joke over a position observed on film from thirty-five years ago, but another thing entirely to take vintage porn as a bedroom challenge. “You are not getting near me if you plan on doing that.”
“But they look like they’re having fun!” Neal argued, though his definition of the word “fun” was intentionally vague.
“They’re getting paid to have that kind of ‘fun,’ Neal.”
This didn’t deter Neal in the slightest. “Does that mean you want me to pay you?” He waggled his eyebrows as he downed the last of the beer bottle. “Mr. Jake Mango?”
Effective in his prodding, Neal grinned triumphantly when Andy cracked a smile, and playfully punched him in the arm. “Trust me, you couldn’t afford it.”
***
Neal rested his head onto Andy’s shoulder during a lull in the action on screen, an establishing shot of the open highway that most modern adult films would have left on the cutting room floor. Andy’s eyebrows rose, the sudden affection puzzling, but not unwelcome.
“Sleepy?” he asked, feeling Neal’s hum of disagreement reverberate through his chest.
“Nah.” The head did not rise from its position, nor did Neal make a move to do anything else, save for reaching for another handful of popcorn.
Another possibility crossed Andy’s mind, and his smile turned dirty. “Horny?”
“No,” Neal protested loudly, repulsed by the accusation. Andy noted silently with a little satisfaction that Neal still kept his head on Andy’s shoulder. “Jesus fuck, no. I told you, these movies are only good for laughs.”
The conversation died down once a new scene began--involving a mechanic’s coveralls, unseemly amounts of body hair, and not much else--but Neal’s head did not move from Andy’s shoulder, and Andy wisely didn’t press the subject further.
***
“So...that last scene was a dream.” Andy stared at the screen, his brow furrowed in thought.
Neal was equally as perplexed. “I...think so?” he answered. “Either that or a flashback. That’s what the softer camera lens means.”
“How could you tell?” Andy snickered. “This copy’s blurry as shit as it is.”
He received a pillow to the side of the head in retaliation. “Download your own damn porn then.”
“It’s got to be a dream,” Andy concluded. “They’ve never met before.”
Neal was quick to correct Andy’s observation. “No, they met in the beginning of the movie.” Pausing the film, he pointed to the two male figures on the screen, their faces frozen in varying degrees of feigned ecstasy. “This dude was blowing some other dude right before that dude came in. Now, apparently, that dude’s fantasizing about getting the same.”
Andy frowned as the second beer started to kick in. “Old school porn is confusing.”
“Wait till you get to the threesomes,” Neal chuckled as he took another swig.
***
Neal’s face blanched pale at the next scene. “We are never going to a truck stop again,” he announced, ashen.
“But Monty has that bowel thing --”
“Never. Again.”
***
The one element Neal and Andy categorically agreed upon was the horrible musical score of the film. Andy had been expecting the thrumming, twangy background music so prolifically lampooned, but instead got loud, inappropriate songs that fit more with the climate of a silent film than a porno. It was off-putting to the mildest of temperaments, but for two musicians, it was torture.
“They’re seriously adding a crescendo to this scene.” Andy couldn’t mask the distaste in his voice; if this was one of the pioneer films of the gay porn industry, he had no idea how it managed to continue. “Because, you know, dramatic tension is so necessary in a circle jerk scene.”
Neal couldn’t even bring himself to sarcasm; he gritted his teeth as if the music were a personal affront to his sensibilities. “It’s shit,” he spat out, lip curling into a sneer. “The meter’s all wrong, there’s no sense of harmony and they’ve got five more instruments stuffed into the arrangement than necessary--it’s like a fucking two year old composed this.”
Andy clucked his tongue. “Well, aren’t we touchy.” He reached over to playfully ruffle a hand through Neal’s newly blond hair, and let it linger there, allowing the heaviness of his arm to drop it lower, until his arm curved around Neal’s shoulders. “You do realize you’re trying to criticize porno music, right? That’s like going to McDonald’s and complaining that your Big Mac’s not medium rare.”
Neal made a noise of displeasure from his throat, realizing the validity of Andy’s argument but refusing to admit it aloud, and instead commented that he liked his burgers cooked medium, thank you, and Andy grinned as he felt Neal’s familiar smile press against his neck, and said that he knew.
***
“There is a surprisingly low ratio of facial hair in this film,” Andy noted, his voice tinged with the slightest bit of hurt.
“Guess even back then it was an acquired taste.” Neal reached over and drew a finger over Andy’s mustache, causing him to pout indulgently. When he pouted, the whiskers tickled at his nose and caused him to twitch; Neal thought it was equal parts hilarious and adorable, and tried to make him pout as often as possible.
With a challenging spark in his eyes Andy deftly caught Neal’s offending finger between his lips, drawing it in with an experienced tongue. He tried to hold Neal’s gaze as he reined in the finger with broad, playful licks, a soft grind of his teeth against the tattooed skin, but the moment Neal felt the wet heat of Andy’s mouth against his fingertip his eyes fluttered closed and he bit back a moan.
It wasn’t until his finger was down to the knuckle, the movie forgotten completely by the two men, that Neal became desperate to see his boyfriend’s handiwork. Andy hadn’t expected it--Neal did not expect it himself, but his mind had been focused on more pressing issues--when Neal opened his eyes and burst out laughing.
“What?” Andy asked around Neal’s finger, which only caused Neal to laugh even harder, mouth open and teeth bared.
“You look so ridiculous,” he joked, reluctantly retrieving his finger and using it to point at Andy’s mustache.
Andy narrowed his eyes. “You know, I have had ‘staches before,” he pointed out; it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to Neal, Andy’s mustache hadn’t magically disappeared in the time he had originally closed his eyes, but the image itself was so shockingly comical to Neal he couldn’t help but let it out. Andy, however, was not going to let him off the hook for this one. “And you spent like, a month last year growing your inner porn star on your face, so you shouldn’t be talking.”
Still Neal chuckled, Andy’s protests and the irritated look in his eye only making the situation funnier. But soon that annoyance gave way to a playful smile, Andy indulging in the sight and sound of his boyfriend’s laughter as well as plotting his revenge. With a burst of retaliative energy Andy launched himself towards Neal, tackling the larger man underneath his momentum until he lay overtop of him, beaming.
“Still think it’s funny?” Andy challenged, palms against Neal’s shoulders, body flush against his. He didn’t allow Neal to answer, the “Yes” escaping Neal’s lips muffled by Andy’s mouth. Forceful yet teasing, Andy led the dance and Neal followed, tattooed hands coming up instinctively to run along Andy’s back as he deepened their kiss. Andy reveled in the sensation of kissing Neal’s lips at full grin, feeling with every part of him Neal’s open, unguarded emotions most people were too intimidated to find existed. But he lived and breathed in moments like this, back when their friendship was only about laughing so hard together they cried, and now, when that connection went deeper, when Andy knew he was the very cause of Neal’s happiness.
Letting down his own guard, Andy sighed into Neal’s waiting mouth, snaking his tongue inside, melting into Neal’s touch. There was desperation in the air for both of them, but neither man knew where or why it had come: fiercely responding to Andy’s kiss, Neal met the exploring tongue with his own, head lifting off the mattress, daring to go deeper. The arms encircling Andy’s waist came back around again to his front, Neal’s fingers eager to unbutton and rid him of his shirt. As if on cue Andy moaned, brow creased in the frustration of Neal wearing far too many clothes, and he tugged at Neal’s shirt, his hands sneaking underneath the hem, reclaiming the skin underneath.
When the buttons were finally undone and Andy felt the cool air sting against his skin as the shirt was discarded, he braved the other areas of Neal’s body he had yet to explore that day. The hands that roamed along his bare chest, Neal’s hands, stopped short as Andy’s kisses moved southward, trailing a line down to Neal’s throat, and the brightly colored tattoo he found there. Biting into his kiss-swollen lips, Neal fought back a moan as Andy’s teeth nipped at the skin of his neck, and he rolled his head back obligingly, granting better access.
But Andy’s lips did not linger too long; always moving, always finding new expanses of flesh to mark and claim, his kisses trailed lower, teasing at the collar of Neal’s shirt. Charged with their own mission, Andy’s hands had inched their way up Neal’s chest underneath that offensive cloak of fabric, hiking it up and revealing the elaborate ink that Andy loved to trace with his fingers, his tongue. He was debating furiously in his head if it was worth it to detach his lips from Neal’s skin in order to wrench the shirt off his body, when he felt a rumbling chuckle in Neal’s chest, a laugh once again lightening the mood.
“Feel like there should be some shitty music playing in the background,” Neal joked, and Andy could not help but join in on the infectious laughter. No longer in such a dire state to get Neal undressed, he rested his chin on the other man’s chest, taking the opportunity to admire the way Neal’s eyes wrinkled in the corners when he laughed like he meant it, how they shone when they caught Andy’s gaze.
“Poorly mixed? Like a two-year-old composed it?” Andy goaded, his hands straying from their original goal to playfully pinch at Neal’s nipple. Neal let out a yelp, and doled out a slap on the ass in return.
Happily taking the opportunity, Andy rolled his hips into Neal’s, feeling the familiar press and heat of his boyfriend’s hard cock between the layers of their jeans. “You sure the porno’s only for the laughs?” he teased, his eyes growing dark with lust at the mere prospect of what awaited him underneath that fabric.
Neal let out a belabored sigh, hand palming the ass he had just slapped, searching for more contact. “Trust me,” he breathed, as Andy took his cue, kisses traveling farther down and relieving Neal of his shirt. “It’s not from the movie.”
Those jeans were made short work of once Andy’s meandering path led him to Neal’s waist, the thought of any barriers to his goal repugnant to him. Tossing them across the room with great prejudice, Andy wasted no time in paying attention to the erection before him, taking him into a skilled grip and feeling his own cock throb in his pants at the familiar warmth. His kisses upon Neal’s skin grew slow and deliberate, trailing down to the copper hairs at the base of Neal’s cock, and he silently noted how his boyfriend’s carpet no longer matched the drapes.
Taking in Neal’s heady scent and making himself dizzy with arousal, Andy continued his mouth’s journey along Neal’s frame, starting at the base of his cock and kissing gingerly up while his hand stroked at a tortuously slow pace. He was almost getting lost in the sensation, feeling Neal’s quickening pulse beat underneath his fingertips, tasting the sweat and precum on his lips once he reached the crown. But when he finally took Neal in, wrapping his lips around the head with a shudder of pleasure, an intent gaze on Neal’s face, he spied quite a different reaction than he expected.
Andy snorted loudly, his lips curving into a grin, realizing that it was very difficult to laugh with a cock in one’s mouth. Neal’s head shot up a confused expression on his face. “What?!” his voice was a rough growl, unhappy that Andy had stopped what they were doing...and just when they were getting to the good part, too.
Releasing Neal from his grasp--which only caused the Neal to scowl deeper, hips pulsing on instinct to return to Andy’s care--Andy shook his head, his smile widening. “You have no idea...” Another laugh; though it was sure to annoy his boyfriend even more, Andy always thought Neal was cute when he was pissed. “You threw your head back when I did that. All dramatic and shit.” He muffled a giggle against Neal’s hipbone as he balked at him, indignant. “Like you were auditioning or something.”
He would have received a kneecap to the head and an expulsion from Neal’s bed, had Neal not already realized that kicking Andy out would eliminate any chance of getting laid that night. “Fuck you,” he snapped with a smile, to which Andy retorted that he was trying. Neal hadn’t remembered doing any of that, but then again, he wasn’t paying much attention to what he did, only what Andy was doing and how utterly amazing it felt. It was very possible, he could have arched his back, gritted out a groan, especially since Andy’s tongue only teased at the head of his cock and Neal had urged for more, wanting him to go deeper--
“And you moaned, too.” Andy’s face lit up with flirtatious glee; there was more than one way to make Neal Tiemann squirm. “Loudly. It was hysterical.”
“I did not!” The look Andy gave him was unwavering, and chuckling, Neal conceded, and dropped his head back for an entirely different reason. “Okay, maybe,” he said, the only admission that he did anything short of stoically grunt during sex. “But it was not that loud.”
Andy’s eyes darkened, his voice going low. No more joking around. “...it will be.”
He took Neal in again without warning, a waiting cock sliding past eager lips and determined tongue, and Andy made good on his promise. Neal had no time to even try to hold back his moans this time, his hips bucking on their own accord, desperate to get closer to the wet heat of Andy’s mouth. His hand went low to tangle into Andy’s hair, shorter now than he had been used to over the years but still receiving the same lustful hum of Andy’s throat from a gentle yet persistent tug against the scalp. By the time Andy had taken him all the way in, mustache tickling against the base of Neal’s cock, Neal was silently begging for it, his hips urgent in their shallow, staccatoed pulse, his grip in Andy’s hair like a vice.
Andy could have very well left it at that--could have sucked Neal off until he felt his shuddering release, then grinned devilishly and requested reciprocation--and be content with making it a routine, and very pleasant, Sunday evening. But a fire sparked in his eyes, a daring sense of adventure, as he pulled back and focused his attention on Neal’s crown, eliciting a gasp from above. He didn’t want just a routine night spent in Neal’s bed, in his arms; Andy wanted more.
As his tongue lapped boldly at the head of Neal’s cock, teasing at the slit and reveling in the groan it brought forth from Neal’s throat, one of Andy’s hands busied itself with the shaft, stroking upwards with the meter of Neal’s thrusts and Andy’s mouth, while the other soothed its way to Neal’s thigh. With a soft, tentative press, a proposal, Neal spread his legs obligingly, opening himself to Andy, allowing him to nestle more comfortably in between. He had assumed it was just a formality to reach a better angle, for Andy to prepare to go deeper once more, but then he felt the cool rush of air against his exposed cock, and Andy’s lips kissing wetly elsewhere, and realized his boyfriend had something else planned entirely.
The hand slowly jacking at the base moved up the shaft, fingers wrapping around the head to compensate for the absence. It wasn’t enough, Neal thought with gritted teeth, and he almost had a mind to bark at Andy why the hell he thought paying attention to the skin at his balls was more important than sucking his dick. But then Andy’s mouth went farther south, the hand gripping Neal’s thigh suddenly repositioning his hips, and Neal’s words were stilled, as well as any other coherent thoughts his mind had planned to think that day.
Neal’s arms went to his sides, elbows locked, fingers digging into the mattress, as Andy’s tongue made broad strokes against his entrance, and teasingly circled it with the tip, an entirely different and surprising--though not unpleasant, fuck that word didn’t exist in Neal’s vocabulary anymore--experience. There came the moans Andy had anticipated from Neal earlier: higher, breathier, needier, they emboldened Andy to explore places and sensations the pair rarely reached. With a shiver and a throb of his neglected dick in return, Andy pressed his lips flush against the skin, mustache tickling at the sensitive flesh, and slowly eased himself inside, using the relaxing muscle and Neal’s inhibitions as a gauge. This wasn’t their normal fare, but damn if they didn’t want to make it so after this...
First his tongue, then a finger tentatively sliding into place, then two, Andy using the shudder and give of Neal’s skin and the sounds of enjoyment coming from his lips as a guide. He wondered if he reacted the same way when Neal did the same to him, hips pushing back against the welcome intrusion instead of thrusting up into a waiting, warm mouth; feeling open, vulnerable, one’s body at the mercy of another’s will, pleasure metered at their desire, their control. He crooked his fingers inside of Neal unexpectedly, balancing it with a ravenous kiss to Neal’s thigh, teeth bared against the flesh, his own reaction to the tightness around his fingers startling him.
“Goddamn motherfucking shit, Andy,” was Neal’s reaction, gasping as he grinded against Andy’s fingers shamelessly. The curses turned into a needy sigh, and a muttered “I love you” as Andy soothed over the bite marks he left on the skin with soft kisses. However he usually reacted to Neal’s similar ministrations, it was probably not like that.
It was getting to be all too much for Andy with little personal satisfaction in return. He was surprisingly hard and he hadn’t even been touched; but he couldn’t ignore the searing heat of Neal against his fingertips, his mouth, and the enrapturous sounds coming from the man who just protested minutes ago he wasn’t all that loud. He hoped the Cook brothers were spending their evening out of the house, their ears far away from the noises sure to leak from Neal’s bedroom door; if not, Andy knew they would never hear the end of it.
Large brown eyes flickered upwards to catch the sight of Neal fully in thrall with enjoyment: eyes closed, head tilted back against the mattress, Neal’s thoughts were entirely focused on experiencing every bit of pleasure Andy was giving to him, relishing it. His cock was in his own hand now, a tightly-closed fist stroking in time with Andy’s movements, fingers lingering at the head. Neal was growling low in his throat, moans Andy was sure he was trying to suppress but failing, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth, hard enough to draw blood.
The sight alone of his boyfriend so lost in the moment made Andy’s cock throb in his jeans, desperate for contact. He loved kissing, touching Neal like this, more than he ever thought he would; but he wanted to be touched, too.
Placing another trail of kisses along the inner ridge of Neal’s thigh, Andy mumbled into the skin there, his voice low and throaty, but loud enough for Neal to hear. “Gonna let me help you...” Neal could feel the smile spread against his thigh but he paid it no mind, his thoughts focused on other sensations. “...manage that load?”
Neal’s eyes blinked open, the rhythm of his stroking hand stilled. A confused crease furrowed his brow as his head shot up to demand an explanation. “Wait, what--”
A familiar, smirking mustache stared back at Neal; he couldn’t decide whether to kick Andy or laugh. “Did you--” he propped himself up on his elbows, no longer engrossed in the pleasure his boyfriend had been giving him and had so abruptly stopped for comic relief. “Was that from that??”
He pointed to the laptop at the far end of the bed, the film still rolling but ignored; the scene appeared to be in a darkened truck stop bathroom, but it was tough to tell from the mere crotch shots flashing onto the screen. Andy said nothing but the grin on his face did all the talking, and as quickly as he had brought Neal to such heightened levels of pleasure, he brought him to laughter all the same.
“You did not...” Neal managed before breaking out into a deep belly laugh, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He never thought he would be turned on by a corny double entendre from a generation-old porno, but there it was, and while the circumstances were a bit more complicated than that, his feelings on Andy lobbing him that line were just as complex.
Pointing that same finger accusingly at Andy, Neal gave him the most serious tone he could muster in such a state, warning him when all he wanted to do was laugh at him or screw him silly. “If you’re fucking me, you’re so not allowed to use cheesy lines from vintage porn.”
The grin on Andy’s face melted away, replaced with a deep, astonishing rush of lust. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and blinked, trying to determine Neal’s words were real; trying not to drool over the possibility they were. When he finally spoke his voice was wracked with desire; in this playful game he didn’t realize when the tables had been turned. “...I’m fucking you?”
A confirmation; not a question. Neal looked down into Andy’s darkened eyes, his eyebrows raised, his face stony and serious. He needn’t speak to get his message across: if Andy was going to work Neal’s body and his emotions like he just did, he damn well better be planning to fuck him.
The silent assent in Neal’s eyes sent a shiver up Andy’s spine, the invitation rare and the openness and vulnerability of Neal at that moment even rarer. He scrambled at getting his pants undone, cursing the necessity to wear clothes as his body moved northward against Neal’s, reveling in the touch of hot skin against skin. When they were finally shed, the cool air kissed his flesh only momentarily before it made contact with Neal, their bodies flush against one another, rubbing, grinding; desperate to be closer. Neal’s legs spread obligingly, his gaze locked onto Andy’s, the weight of the other man overtop him comforting.
Andy inched his way up further and further until their faces were mere inches from one another; with an impatient groan Neal reached out with a free hand and tugged at the back of Andy’s neck, bridging the final gap. Panting hotly, he touched their foreheads together, intent and deliberate in his stare, as Andy positioned himself at Neal’s ready entrance, brushing the head of his cock against the hole and nearly coming undone at the mere prospect. But he teased too long for Neal, too hesitant a pause, so Neal goaded him with a tug at his shortened hair and a smirk on Neal’s face.
“You done yet?” he joked.
Returning the smile, Andy moved in closer, until he could feel the heat of Neal’s breath against his lips, and the heat of Neal’s body elsewhere. “Quiet, you,” was his whispered response before closing any and all extra space between the pair, his lips against Neal’s, his cock slowly guided inside. He caught Neal’s mouth in an open moan, overwhelmed by the assault of sensations; Neal gasped when Andy pressed himself further, his body resisting and begging for more at the same time, mind barely reminding him to breathe.
Had his own mind been functioning at full level, Andy would have been quite pleased with the very un-Dr.-like sounds he was coaxing out of his boyfriend, the moans that reverberated through his body like the powerful hum of feedback from a show. But he was gladly preoccupied with the sensations and emotions hitting him with full force, the tightness of Neal’s body enveloping him, the heat all around him, the way Neal’s leg hooked around Andy’s hips on instinct, pushing him in deeper...
There was no more room for jokes between them, no space for the smiles and the laughs they shared watching the film only minutes before. The only thing there was room enough for now was passion, and it kept building up in their kisses, their very bones, with every thrust of Andy’s hips and every push Neal gave back against him.
With a nod of encouragement from Neal, Andy worked them up to a steady pace, his hips keeping time like a metronome to the thundering heartbeat in his chest and the shallow, needy pants of breath in his lungs. His lips moved down to the hollow of Neal’s neck, sucking and biting on the places he had known for years made Neal’s pulse race that much faster, his urge for release that much more. He was thankful the colorful ink at Neal’s throat would mask the blooming bruises his overzealous teeth made against the skin; proud as he was of the sounds he had earned from Neal’s mouth that night, Andy still was not one to advertise.
The hand at the back of Andy’s neck tightened its grip, losing itself in his thick hair just as its owner was losing himself in sensation, Neal finding euphoria in giving himself over to his boyfriend’s ministrations. It was always like this when he let Andy take control, deciding on when, and how, both men would come to their release: he never remembered how fucking amazing it felt until Andy was already inside him, pulsing deep, the tip of his cock brushing against that sensitive spot that made Neal see stars.
But he wasn’t the only one. “Neal...” came Andy’s breathless words against Neal’s skin, a trembling in his tone, a shudder in the rhythm of his hips. He whispered in short bursts, with barely enough energy to catch his breath, all his attention spent on the crescendo of pleasure and its release, both Neal’s and his own. “Soon...gonna...”
Muffling a whimper, he buried his face in the crook of Neal’s neck, the sensations overpowering him, his entire body aching for release. But a strong, colorful hand tugged at Andy’s hair once more, a firm grip entreating him to raise his head and meet Neal’s eyes. Pupils rimmed with a barely visible ring of ice blue, Neal’s stare was compelling, daring Andy to look away and face the consequences and at the same time begging him not to, to hold their connection and ride it out like cresting waves on the ocean. Andy was so far gone he did not feel the hand slide between their bodies, didn’t hear the slap of skin upon skin as Neal took his own cock in hand again, stroking himself closer to the edge.
One more determined nod, one more approval from Neal to go ahead, to let go. With a deep thrust hitting home Andy tumbled over the precipice, shouting out Neal’s name as he pumped into his body, limbs shaking from the effort. Neal came not long after, teeth digging into his lips wishing they were Andy’s, cock jerking in his fist, striping his inked chest in an entirely new design. They held their stare through it all, desperate not to lose the emotional connection, yearning to feel every moment of their encounter to its fullest.
Collapsing to Neal’s side, both of their chests gasping in cool air, Andy’s arms felt weighted with lead, his legs like they had run for hours. He had no idea how those men in Neal’s movie could withstand an entire career of this.
Speak of the devil: when Andy found the remaining energy in his body to lift his head onto Neal’s shoulder, he noticed the other man looking over in the laptop’s direction, a pronounced pout on his face.
“We missed the end,” Neal said forlornly. He received a playful punch in the arm and a kiss for his trouble. When he pulled back, the mustache attached to his boyfriend was staring back at him, incredulous.
“Did you really miss it??” Andy joked with a poke to Neal’s ribs, garnering a ticklish squirm and a grin.
***
“Do you really have to document this for the masses? They spend too much time bitching about our hair already.”
Neal crossed his arms in the doorway of the bathroom, out of range of Andy’s camera phone, as his boyfriend snapped the last photo and sent it on its way. He wasn’t one at all for indulging the fans, and usually Andy was the first to agree that any celebrity they earn should be done through their music. But Kyle had made a public display of the de-evolution of his beard only days ago, and, Andy strongly protested, if the Kid was going to do it, he had to follow suit.
“You’re just jealous you didn’t do it when you shaved yours,” Andy joked, placing the iPhone down gently next to his electric razor. He smiled as tattooed arms came up from behind him and wrapped around his waist; it amused him to no end that, even with the bathroom mirror before them, Neal still tried to sneak up behind Andy without him noticing.
They both looked into that mirror now, Neal’s head resting affectionately on Andy’s shoulder, Andy admiring their reflections as he covered one of Neal’s hands with his own. A smattering of dark brown hair looked up at them from the bathroom sink, lonely; discarded. Andy’s nose twitched from its absence, scrunching his face in irritation, and Neal, thinking it was equal parts hilarious and adorable, raised his free hand to smooth a finger against the naked lip.
“Think I might miss ol’ Jake Mango now that he’s gone,” he lamented, watching his finger trace along the paths of the departed mustache in the mirror.
He felt Andy’s head move, shift towards him as his boyfriend stole a smirking kiss. “Who knows,” Andy waggled his eyebrows, his tone sly, but with an honest endearment hiding just below the surface. “Maybe one day, he’ll come back again to play.”
Author's notes:
As I'm a stickler for research, lol, once I had decided that Neal and Andy would be watching vintage gay pornos and laughing about it in the fic, I had to figure out which one they would be watching. So I researched it (there is a surprising amount of high-brow analysis of the golden age of gay pornography!). Though I never mention it by name in the story, the film they're watching is Kansas City Trucking Co., a 1976 film that was a groundbreaking movie in that it depicted gay men as being regular, everyday, men's men, who also happened to have sex with each other. I chose it because it's highly regarded in adult film circles, and also for the obvious fandom joke. ;-)
If anyone is interested, you can watch the full-length film here (warning: VERY NSFW!)
Author: honestys_easy
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Skibmann (Neal Tiemann/Andy Skib)
Disclaimer: Don't know, don't own; never happened, never will.
Summary: When Andy finds an interesting movie on Neal's laptop, he introduces his boyfriend to the man known as Jake Mango.
Notes: Based on the absolute lunacy of Andy Skib's tweets the week after the Busch Gardens concerts, in which he asks Neal where he gets off, shaves his beard into a particular shape, and premieres his pornstar name to the public. The added hilarity of these events brought this fanfic to life. XD Big thanks to dreamerren for the beta! <3
Andy will claim to his dying day that it was all Neal’s fault.
While, arguably, Andy had been the one to borrow Neal’s laptop, and perhaps it would have been more prudent for him not to be snooping in the downloads queue on his browser, Andy would contend that he doesn’t snoop, he observes, and the queue had automatically opened when he started downloading the new Arcade Fire album. And, he would debate and probably win that his boyfriend shouldn’t be keeping secrets from him.
Especially one as hilarious as this.
Neal didn’t know, he couldn’t have, and Andy was far better at erasing his tracks than the other man. He hummed contentedly, blissfully unaware, when Andy returned the computer, and spent the rest of their wait in the Atlanta airport coveting guitar auctions on eBay. The file he had downloaded remained untouched on his hard drive; thankfully, Andy thought to himself, since the descriptive uses of the word “thrust” in the file’s title alone would have made David balk and Kyle blush. Not to mention bring a bit of unwanted attention to themselves from the shouts and moans that would undoubtedly spring from Neal’s speakers.
Stroking his beard in contemplation, Andy watched his oblivious boyfriend at the gate, thoughts of him using that file--and how--drifting into his mind. A dark room but for the glare of the computer screen, casting bluish tints against Neal’s pale, bare thighs...his striking blue eyes widening as his hand reaches up, thumb and forefinger close to his lips, smoothing down phantom hairs he had shorn a year ago...his pulse quickening as the moans from the recording crescendo louder than the thrumming, funk-a-delic background music...
Andy snorted in spite of himself, garnering a sideways look from his bandmates. He didn’t know if he should be amused or turned on by that particular fantasy.
Either way, he surmised with a devious smirk, Neal wasn’t going to get away with keeping this a secret.
He took the trusty iPhone from his carry-on and typed with quick fingers, his mind already churning with ways to play with his newfound knowledge as best he could--and to make sure his boyfriend wasn’t planning on a private screening without him. He waited for the vibrating alert message to pop up on Neal’s phone, but it reached another person’s inbox faster--David’s.
Shooting his keyboardist his most authoritative glare, David mouthed, “Really?!” before making his way across the waiting area. He shoved his BlackBerry in Andy’s personal space, its display clearly showing him his own Twitter handiwork, asking where Neal gets off. “If you’re gonna flirt when he’s five freakin’ feet away from you,” David said in a low voice, “Can you just text him, so the rest of the free world doesn’t have to sit here and watch?”
Andy was all pout and puppy eyes, the hint of a smile on his lips. “I could,” he said innocently, leaving it for David to surmise that he wasn’t going to regardless.
David simply shook his head, eyes rolling to the ceiling; he should have known he’d get that answer years ago. He returned to his chair, dejected, revealing a seated Neal behind him, his gaze intent on Andy, his cell phone in hand and a smile on his face.
***
Hair will grow back, Andy kept trying to tell himself. Especially his own hair, stubborn like its owner, refusing to kowtow to the conventions of his Gillette razor. This-- he threaded his fingers through the thickening beard, the hard stubble of new growth having just given way to softness, his facial hair content in the false pretense that it was here to stay. --will grow back.
As soon as his fingertips touched the beard he knew he would miss it: there had been freedom growing alongside the whiskers on his chin, a joyous departure from routine shaving. Neal taught him about that years ago, when his copper-red beard grew in thick enough to hide small mammals inside.
And so Andy’s thoughts returned to Neal, and the reasons why he held the menacing razor to his cheek in the first place. Like a sculptor envisioning his final creation inside a slab of virgin marble, Andy smiled at the curvy mustache he could see in his mind’s eye, and the scrap of hair he would leave on his chin in his masterful hand’s wake.
If his boyfriend had a thing for vintage, oh, he’d give him vintage.
***
The call was almost instantaneous after Andy sent the tweet; Neal had him on text alert, after all.
“Jake Mango?” He didn’t even try to hide the laughter in his voice, because Neal knew hiding anything from Andy was futile.
Andy’s voice was calm in his delivery, even though Travis was across the table from him, convulsing from laughter. “Speaking,” he replied. The wink and grin he shot Travis nearly sent his friend collapsing on the floor. “And open for business.”
He could almost feel Neal’s toothy smile over the phone line; he could envision the other man bite at his fingernails innocently, in the way he did when those fingers wanted to touch Andy’s skin, but found him out of reach. “I get the Jake part,” he said, faintly chuckling. “Barely. But...mango?”
Andy lowered his voice, his eyes darkening; Travis thought it was a fun joke to share with the online world, but he needn’t hear the parts that went far beyond a laughing matter. “Sweet and juicy on the inside,” he said, a remark he wouldn’t have made if not for the night’s drinks and his new persona emboldening him.
He expected to hear Neal’s familiar laughter on the other end, lovingly calling his boyfriend a dumbass and moving on. But the other end of the line was eerily silent; Andy wondered if Neal had accidentally dropped the phone into Sixx’s water dish when he heard the unmistakable sound of his boyfriend’s growl.
“Fuck, when do you get home.” It was surprising enough to nearly make Andy spill his beer; desperate and lustful enough to drain all the air from his lungs. He certainly wasn’t expecting that kind of a response, but, Andy considered as he regained his bearings, with the teasing he had been doing it was inevitable. If you poke the bear long enough, sooner or later the bear’s gonna poke back.
Andy couldn’t hide the smile on his lips if he tried. “When do you want me?”
***
“Show it to me.”
Neal’s face was etched with befuddlement when Andy got home. “What?”
“You know what,” he said impatiently. “Show me.”
He received only a raised eyebrow in response; hell, Neal just wanted to screw his boyfriend, not play twenty questions. “...my cock?”
Andy rolled his eyes; either Neal was playing dumb, or Andy overestimated the subtlety of shaving a porn mustache onto his upper lip. “I’ve already seen that,” he punctuated with a dismissive tsk that left Neal more than a little bemused. His mood lightened, however, when Andy, exasperated that his boyfriend hadn’t taken the hint over the past week, revealed his discovery. “The movie, Neal. I know you downloaded it. And I hope you weren’t planning to watch it without me.”
It took a few moments for the realization to dawn on him--Neal had nearly forgotten he downloaded the damn thing, it had been almost a week and he’d been too busy to investigate. But once the pieces fell into place, it fit together like a jigsaw puzzle, like notes on a sheet of music. “Ohhhhh.” Andy should have noticed the spark in Neal’s eyes, the smirk on his face that never led to anything but trouble, but he was too engrossed in being right to pay attention. “You mean--”
“I saw the filename; either you’re secretly into septuagenarians--” Andy pinched one side of his mustache between his thumb and forefinger, curling it like a silent film villain. “Or your tastes have recently veered towards retro.”
Neal’s smirk turned into a grin, reaching up to the creases of his eyes, and he let out a barking laugh that nearly shook the windowframes of the house. “You think I’d get off on old pornos?” he asked incredulously. The correct term was “vintage”--or Golden era films, even--but if Neal started sounding like too much of an aficionado his argument that he didn’t watch it for pleasure might not stick. “I downloaded it for the laughs. Old school porn’s good to fuck with, not fuck to.”
The lips that held up Andy’s new mustache stilled, drooped, until they curved down into an embarrassed frown. But Neal would have none of that: striding over towards Andy, his gait sure and his smile wide, he tipped up Andy’s chin in one palm and kissed those lips back into a smile. “Of course I was gonna watch with you, dope,” he said, his free arm snaking around Andy’s waist, pulling him closer. “It’s only fun when you share it with someone. And Dave’d probably get scared away by all the cock in it.”
“I wouldn’t bet the ranch on that,” Andy said with a chuckle. He smiled, tensions relieved, as he pulled in for another kiss, deeper this time, longer, his eyes drifting closed as he let his mind wrap around the familiar sensations of Neal. “I’ll go get us a beer,” he supplied once they were disentangled, leaving Neal to queue up the film in his absence.
The arm around Andy’s waist gave a quick squeeze as Neal’s eyebrows rose towards his hairline. “The movie’s an hour long, Skib,” he informed him, and Andy corrected his error.
“And I’ll make some popcorn, too.”
***
The film was from the seventies, Neal told him once he returned from the kitchen and the room was sufficiently dark and the door locked. Andy felt like he was thirteen again, sneaking glimpses of pixellated sex when the rest of his family was asleep; stealing a lingerie catalog and hiding it underneath his sheets. But things had changed quite a bit since the nineties, and this time the darkened room was enhancing the moment, the locked door keeping curious dogs and unwanted housemates out, and Andy wasn’t having this experience alone.
“It looks it,” Andy commented, sitting on the bed next to Neal, the laptop nestled among their socked feet. “It’s like an episode of Taxi.” The opening credits rolled on a fuzzy, muted display, the colors flooded like a bad watercolor painting, obviously a copy of a copy of some VHS stored away in a moldy basement. An eighteen wheeler sped down the highway, its driver sporting a mustache very similar to the one currently residing on Andy’s face.
Neal’s beer almost ended up sprayed across his computer screen. “Deja fucking vu,” he declared, composing himself between laughs.
“Inspirational,” Andy corrects him, smoothing down his prized mustache once more.
It took a shockingly long time for any skin to flash across the screen, and Andy almost questioned if Neal got duped and really did download a bootleg episode of Taxi, but then the scene changed, abruptly, and this time it was Andy’s turn to choke on his beer.
“That just doesn’t happen!” he protested, offended by the inaccuracy.
Neal quirked an eyebrow. “And you’re the expert on hitchhiking in the seventies, now?”
“No, but--”
“The absurdity’s part of the fun,” Neal explained, rolling his eyes and grabbing a handful of popcorn. “Just sit back and enjoy it, babe.”
“You’re really not allowed to call me ‘babe’ when we’re watching vintage porn,” Andy muttered, but Neal was too busy cackling over a pair of bell bottoms to hear.
***
“Oh my God!” Andy laughed, slapping his knee. “I cannot believe that just happened!”
Neal’s reaction was quite different, his eyes wide as hubcaps, his mouth curved into a lascivious smile. “We’re so trying that,” he declared.
That’s when the laughter from his boyfriend stopped. “Fuck no, Tiemann,” Andy’s voice held bite; it was one thing to joke over a position observed on film from thirty-five years ago, but another thing entirely to take vintage porn as a bedroom challenge. “You are not getting near me if you plan on doing that.”
“But they look like they’re having fun!” Neal argued, though his definition of the word “fun” was intentionally vague.
“They’re getting paid to have that kind of ‘fun,’ Neal.”
This didn’t deter Neal in the slightest. “Does that mean you want me to pay you?” He waggled his eyebrows as he downed the last of the beer bottle. “Mr. Jake Mango?”
Effective in his prodding, Neal grinned triumphantly when Andy cracked a smile, and playfully punched him in the arm. “Trust me, you couldn’t afford it.”
***
Neal rested his head onto Andy’s shoulder during a lull in the action on screen, an establishing shot of the open highway that most modern adult films would have left on the cutting room floor. Andy’s eyebrows rose, the sudden affection puzzling, but not unwelcome.
“Sleepy?” he asked, feeling Neal’s hum of disagreement reverberate through his chest.
“Nah.” The head did not rise from its position, nor did Neal make a move to do anything else, save for reaching for another handful of popcorn.
Another possibility crossed Andy’s mind, and his smile turned dirty. “Horny?”
“No,” Neal protested loudly, repulsed by the accusation. Andy noted silently with a little satisfaction that Neal still kept his head on Andy’s shoulder. “Jesus fuck, no. I told you, these movies are only good for laughs.”
The conversation died down once a new scene began--involving a mechanic’s coveralls, unseemly amounts of body hair, and not much else--but Neal’s head did not move from Andy’s shoulder, and Andy wisely didn’t press the subject further.
***
“So...that last scene was a dream.” Andy stared at the screen, his brow furrowed in thought.
Neal was equally as perplexed. “I...think so?” he answered. “Either that or a flashback. That’s what the softer camera lens means.”
“How could you tell?” Andy snickered. “This copy’s blurry as shit as it is.”
He received a pillow to the side of the head in retaliation. “Download your own damn porn then.”
“It’s got to be a dream,” Andy concluded. “They’ve never met before.”
Neal was quick to correct Andy’s observation. “No, they met in the beginning of the movie.” Pausing the film, he pointed to the two male figures on the screen, their faces frozen in varying degrees of feigned ecstasy. “This dude was blowing some other dude right before that dude came in. Now, apparently, that dude’s fantasizing about getting the same.”
Andy frowned as the second beer started to kick in. “Old school porn is confusing.”
“Wait till you get to the threesomes,” Neal chuckled as he took another swig.
***
Neal’s face blanched pale at the next scene. “We are never going to a truck stop again,” he announced, ashen.
“But Monty has that bowel thing --”
“Never. Again.”
***
The one element Neal and Andy categorically agreed upon was the horrible musical score of the film. Andy had been expecting the thrumming, twangy background music so prolifically lampooned, but instead got loud, inappropriate songs that fit more with the climate of a silent film than a porno. It was off-putting to the mildest of temperaments, but for two musicians, it was torture.
“They’re seriously adding a crescendo to this scene.” Andy couldn’t mask the distaste in his voice; if this was one of the pioneer films of the gay porn industry, he had no idea how it managed to continue. “Because, you know, dramatic tension is so necessary in a circle jerk scene.”
Neal couldn’t even bring himself to sarcasm; he gritted his teeth as if the music were a personal affront to his sensibilities. “It’s shit,” he spat out, lip curling into a sneer. “The meter’s all wrong, there’s no sense of harmony and they’ve got five more instruments stuffed into the arrangement than necessary--it’s like a fucking two year old composed this.”
Andy clucked his tongue. “Well, aren’t we touchy.” He reached over to playfully ruffle a hand through Neal’s newly blond hair, and let it linger there, allowing the heaviness of his arm to drop it lower, until his arm curved around Neal’s shoulders. “You do realize you’re trying to criticize porno music, right? That’s like going to McDonald’s and complaining that your Big Mac’s not medium rare.”
Neal made a noise of displeasure from his throat, realizing the validity of Andy’s argument but refusing to admit it aloud, and instead commented that he liked his burgers cooked medium, thank you, and Andy grinned as he felt Neal’s familiar smile press against his neck, and said that he knew.
***
“There is a surprisingly low ratio of facial hair in this film,” Andy noted, his voice tinged with the slightest bit of hurt.
“Guess even back then it was an acquired taste.” Neal reached over and drew a finger over Andy’s mustache, causing him to pout indulgently. When he pouted, the whiskers tickled at his nose and caused him to twitch; Neal thought it was equal parts hilarious and adorable, and tried to make him pout as often as possible.
With a challenging spark in his eyes Andy deftly caught Neal’s offending finger between his lips, drawing it in with an experienced tongue. He tried to hold Neal’s gaze as he reined in the finger with broad, playful licks, a soft grind of his teeth against the tattooed skin, but the moment Neal felt the wet heat of Andy’s mouth against his fingertip his eyes fluttered closed and he bit back a moan.
It wasn’t until his finger was down to the knuckle, the movie forgotten completely by the two men, that Neal became desperate to see his boyfriend’s handiwork. Andy hadn’t expected it--Neal did not expect it himself, but his mind had been focused on more pressing issues--when Neal opened his eyes and burst out laughing.
“What?” Andy asked around Neal’s finger, which only caused Neal to laugh even harder, mouth open and teeth bared.
“You look so ridiculous,” he joked, reluctantly retrieving his finger and using it to point at Andy’s mustache.
Andy narrowed his eyes. “You know, I have had ‘staches before,” he pointed out; it shouldn’t have been such a surprise to Neal, Andy’s mustache hadn’t magically disappeared in the time he had originally closed his eyes, but the image itself was so shockingly comical to Neal he couldn’t help but let it out. Andy, however, was not going to let him off the hook for this one. “And you spent like, a month last year growing your inner porn star on your face, so you shouldn’t be talking.”
Still Neal chuckled, Andy’s protests and the irritated look in his eye only making the situation funnier. But soon that annoyance gave way to a playful smile, Andy indulging in the sight and sound of his boyfriend’s laughter as well as plotting his revenge. With a burst of retaliative energy Andy launched himself towards Neal, tackling the larger man underneath his momentum until he lay overtop of him, beaming.
“Still think it’s funny?” Andy challenged, palms against Neal’s shoulders, body flush against his. He didn’t allow Neal to answer, the “Yes” escaping Neal’s lips muffled by Andy’s mouth. Forceful yet teasing, Andy led the dance and Neal followed, tattooed hands coming up instinctively to run along Andy’s back as he deepened their kiss. Andy reveled in the sensation of kissing Neal’s lips at full grin, feeling with every part of him Neal’s open, unguarded emotions most people were too intimidated to find existed. But he lived and breathed in moments like this, back when their friendship was only about laughing so hard together they cried, and now, when that connection went deeper, when Andy knew he was the very cause of Neal’s happiness.
Letting down his own guard, Andy sighed into Neal’s waiting mouth, snaking his tongue inside, melting into Neal’s touch. There was desperation in the air for both of them, but neither man knew where or why it had come: fiercely responding to Andy’s kiss, Neal met the exploring tongue with his own, head lifting off the mattress, daring to go deeper. The arms encircling Andy’s waist came back around again to his front, Neal’s fingers eager to unbutton and rid him of his shirt. As if on cue Andy moaned, brow creased in the frustration of Neal wearing far too many clothes, and he tugged at Neal’s shirt, his hands sneaking underneath the hem, reclaiming the skin underneath.
When the buttons were finally undone and Andy felt the cool air sting against his skin as the shirt was discarded, he braved the other areas of Neal’s body he had yet to explore that day. The hands that roamed along his bare chest, Neal’s hands, stopped short as Andy’s kisses moved southward, trailing a line down to Neal’s throat, and the brightly colored tattoo he found there. Biting into his kiss-swollen lips, Neal fought back a moan as Andy’s teeth nipped at the skin of his neck, and he rolled his head back obligingly, granting better access.
But Andy’s lips did not linger too long; always moving, always finding new expanses of flesh to mark and claim, his kisses trailed lower, teasing at the collar of Neal’s shirt. Charged with their own mission, Andy’s hands had inched their way up Neal’s chest underneath that offensive cloak of fabric, hiking it up and revealing the elaborate ink that Andy loved to trace with his fingers, his tongue. He was debating furiously in his head if it was worth it to detach his lips from Neal’s skin in order to wrench the shirt off his body, when he felt a rumbling chuckle in Neal’s chest, a laugh once again lightening the mood.
“Feel like there should be some shitty music playing in the background,” Neal joked, and Andy could not help but join in on the infectious laughter. No longer in such a dire state to get Neal undressed, he rested his chin on the other man’s chest, taking the opportunity to admire the way Neal’s eyes wrinkled in the corners when he laughed like he meant it, how they shone when they caught Andy’s gaze.
“Poorly mixed? Like a two-year-old composed it?” Andy goaded, his hands straying from their original goal to playfully pinch at Neal’s nipple. Neal let out a yelp, and doled out a slap on the ass in return.
Happily taking the opportunity, Andy rolled his hips into Neal’s, feeling the familiar press and heat of his boyfriend’s hard cock between the layers of their jeans. “You sure the porno’s only for the laughs?” he teased, his eyes growing dark with lust at the mere prospect of what awaited him underneath that fabric.
Neal let out a belabored sigh, hand palming the ass he had just slapped, searching for more contact. “Trust me,” he breathed, as Andy took his cue, kisses traveling farther down and relieving Neal of his shirt. “It’s not from the movie.”
Those jeans were made short work of once Andy’s meandering path led him to Neal’s waist, the thought of any barriers to his goal repugnant to him. Tossing them across the room with great prejudice, Andy wasted no time in paying attention to the erection before him, taking him into a skilled grip and feeling his own cock throb in his pants at the familiar warmth. His kisses upon Neal’s skin grew slow and deliberate, trailing down to the copper hairs at the base of Neal’s cock, and he silently noted how his boyfriend’s carpet no longer matched the drapes.
Taking in Neal’s heady scent and making himself dizzy with arousal, Andy continued his mouth’s journey along Neal’s frame, starting at the base of his cock and kissing gingerly up while his hand stroked at a tortuously slow pace. He was almost getting lost in the sensation, feeling Neal’s quickening pulse beat underneath his fingertips, tasting the sweat and precum on his lips once he reached the crown. But when he finally took Neal in, wrapping his lips around the head with a shudder of pleasure, an intent gaze on Neal’s face, he spied quite a different reaction than he expected.
Andy snorted loudly, his lips curving into a grin, realizing that it was very difficult to laugh with a cock in one’s mouth. Neal’s head shot up a confused expression on his face. “What?!” his voice was a rough growl, unhappy that Andy had stopped what they were doing...and just when they were getting to the good part, too.
Releasing Neal from his grasp--which only caused the Neal to scowl deeper, hips pulsing on instinct to return to Andy’s care--Andy shook his head, his smile widening. “You have no idea...” Another laugh; though it was sure to annoy his boyfriend even more, Andy always thought Neal was cute when he was pissed. “You threw your head back when I did that. All dramatic and shit.” He muffled a giggle against Neal’s hipbone as he balked at him, indignant. “Like you were auditioning or something.”
He would have received a kneecap to the head and an expulsion from Neal’s bed, had Neal not already realized that kicking Andy out would eliminate any chance of getting laid that night. “Fuck you,” he snapped with a smile, to which Andy retorted that he was trying. Neal hadn’t remembered doing any of that, but then again, he wasn’t paying much attention to what he did, only what Andy was doing and how utterly amazing it felt. It was very possible, he could have arched his back, gritted out a groan, especially since Andy’s tongue only teased at the head of his cock and Neal had urged for more, wanting him to go deeper--
“And you moaned, too.” Andy’s face lit up with flirtatious glee; there was more than one way to make Neal Tiemann squirm. “Loudly. It was hysterical.”
“I did not!” The look Andy gave him was unwavering, and chuckling, Neal conceded, and dropped his head back for an entirely different reason. “Okay, maybe,” he said, the only admission that he did anything short of stoically grunt during sex. “But it was not that loud.”
Andy’s eyes darkened, his voice going low. No more joking around. “...it will be.”
He took Neal in again without warning, a waiting cock sliding past eager lips and determined tongue, and Andy made good on his promise. Neal had no time to even try to hold back his moans this time, his hips bucking on their own accord, desperate to get closer to the wet heat of Andy’s mouth. His hand went low to tangle into Andy’s hair, shorter now than he had been used to over the years but still receiving the same lustful hum of Andy’s throat from a gentle yet persistent tug against the scalp. By the time Andy had taken him all the way in, mustache tickling against the base of Neal’s cock, Neal was silently begging for it, his hips urgent in their shallow, staccatoed pulse, his grip in Andy’s hair like a vice.
Andy could have very well left it at that--could have sucked Neal off until he felt his shuddering release, then grinned devilishly and requested reciprocation--and be content with making it a routine, and very pleasant, Sunday evening. But a fire sparked in his eyes, a daring sense of adventure, as he pulled back and focused his attention on Neal’s crown, eliciting a gasp from above. He didn’t want just a routine night spent in Neal’s bed, in his arms; Andy wanted more.
As his tongue lapped boldly at the head of Neal’s cock, teasing at the slit and reveling in the groan it brought forth from Neal’s throat, one of Andy’s hands busied itself with the shaft, stroking upwards with the meter of Neal’s thrusts and Andy’s mouth, while the other soothed its way to Neal’s thigh. With a soft, tentative press, a proposal, Neal spread his legs obligingly, opening himself to Andy, allowing him to nestle more comfortably in between. He had assumed it was just a formality to reach a better angle, for Andy to prepare to go deeper once more, but then he felt the cool rush of air against his exposed cock, and Andy’s lips kissing wetly elsewhere, and realized his boyfriend had something else planned entirely.
The hand slowly jacking at the base moved up the shaft, fingers wrapping around the head to compensate for the absence. It wasn’t enough, Neal thought with gritted teeth, and he almost had a mind to bark at Andy why the hell he thought paying attention to the skin at his balls was more important than sucking his dick. But then Andy’s mouth went farther south, the hand gripping Neal’s thigh suddenly repositioning his hips, and Neal’s words were stilled, as well as any other coherent thoughts his mind had planned to think that day.
Neal’s arms went to his sides, elbows locked, fingers digging into the mattress, as Andy’s tongue made broad strokes against his entrance, and teasingly circled it with the tip, an entirely different and surprising--though not unpleasant, fuck that word didn’t exist in Neal’s vocabulary anymore--experience. There came the moans Andy had anticipated from Neal earlier: higher, breathier, needier, they emboldened Andy to explore places and sensations the pair rarely reached. With a shiver and a throb of his neglected dick in return, Andy pressed his lips flush against the skin, mustache tickling at the sensitive flesh, and slowly eased himself inside, using the relaxing muscle and Neal’s inhibitions as a gauge. This wasn’t their normal fare, but damn if they didn’t want to make it so after this...
First his tongue, then a finger tentatively sliding into place, then two, Andy using the shudder and give of Neal’s skin and the sounds of enjoyment coming from his lips as a guide. He wondered if he reacted the same way when Neal did the same to him, hips pushing back against the welcome intrusion instead of thrusting up into a waiting, warm mouth; feeling open, vulnerable, one’s body at the mercy of another’s will, pleasure metered at their desire, their control. He crooked his fingers inside of Neal unexpectedly, balancing it with a ravenous kiss to Neal’s thigh, teeth bared against the flesh, his own reaction to the tightness around his fingers startling him.
“Goddamn motherfucking shit, Andy,” was Neal’s reaction, gasping as he grinded against Andy’s fingers shamelessly. The curses turned into a needy sigh, and a muttered “I love you” as Andy soothed over the bite marks he left on the skin with soft kisses. However he usually reacted to Neal’s similar ministrations, it was probably not like that.
It was getting to be all too much for Andy with little personal satisfaction in return. He was surprisingly hard and he hadn’t even been touched; but he couldn’t ignore the searing heat of Neal against his fingertips, his mouth, and the enrapturous sounds coming from the man who just protested minutes ago he wasn’t all that loud. He hoped the Cook brothers were spending their evening out of the house, their ears far away from the noises sure to leak from Neal’s bedroom door; if not, Andy knew they would never hear the end of it.
Large brown eyes flickered upwards to catch the sight of Neal fully in thrall with enjoyment: eyes closed, head tilted back against the mattress, Neal’s thoughts were entirely focused on experiencing every bit of pleasure Andy was giving to him, relishing it. His cock was in his own hand now, a tightly-closed fist stroking in time with Andy’s movements, fingers lingering at the head. Neal was growling low in his throat, moans Andy was sure he was trying to suppress but failing, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth, hard enough to draw blood.
The sight alone of his boyfriend so lost in the moment made Andy’s cock throb in his jeans, desperate for contact. He loved kissing, touching Neal like this, more than he ever thought he would; but he wanted to be touched, too.
Placing another trail of kisses along the inner ridge of Neal’s thigh, Andy mumbled into the skin there, his voice low and throaty, but loud enough for Neal to hear. “Gonna let me help you...” Neal could feel the smile spread against his thigh but he paid it no mind, his thoughts focused on other sensations. “...manage that load?”
Neal’s eyes blinked open, the rhythm of his stroking hand stilled. A confused crease furrowed his brow as his head shot up to demand an explanation. “Wait, what--”
A familiar, smirking mustache stared back at Neal; he couldn’t decide whether to kick Andy or laugh. “Did you--” he propped himself up on his elbows, no longer engrossed in the pleasure his boyfriend had been giving him and had so abruptly stopped for comic relief. “Was that from that??”
He pointed to the laptop at the far end of the bed, the film still rolling but ignored; the scene appeared to be in a darkened truck stop bathroom, but it was tough to tell from the mere crotch shots flashing onto the screen. Andy said nothing but the grin on his face did all the talking, and as quickly as he had brought Neal to such heightened levels of pleasure, he brought him to laughter all the same.
“You did not...” Neal managed before breaking out into a deep belly laugh, shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. He never thought he would be turned on by a corny double entendre from a generation-old porno, but there it was, and while the circumstances were a bit more complicated than that, his feelings on Andy lobbing him that line were just as complex.
Pointing that same finger accusingly at Andy, Neal gave him the most serious tone he could muster in such a state, warning him when all he wanted to do was laugh at him or screw him silly. “If you’re fucking me, you’re so not allowed to use cheesy lines from vintage porn.”
The grin on Andy’s face melted away, replaced with a deep, astonishing rush of lust. He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and blinked, trying to determine Neal’s words were real; trying not to drool over the possibility they were. When he finally spoke his voice was wracked with desire; in this playful game he didn’t realize when the tables had been turned. “...I’m fucking you?”
A confirmation; not a question. Neal looked down into Andy’s darkened eyes, his eyebrows raised, his face stony and serious. He needn’t speak to get his message across: if Andy was going to work Neal’s body and his emotions like he just did, he damn well better be planning to fuck him.
The silent assent in Neal’s eyes sent a shiver up Andy’s spine, the invitation rare and the openness and vulnerability of Neal at that moment even rarer. He scrambled at getting his pants undone, cursing the necessity to wear clothes as his body moved northward against Neal’s, reveling in the touch of hot skin against skin. When they were finally shed, the cool air kissed his flesh only momentarily before it made contact with Neal, their bodies flush against one another, rubbing, grinding; desperate to be closer. Neal’s legs spread obligingly, his gaze locked onto Andy’s, the weight of the other man overtop him comforting.
Andy inched his way up further and further until their faces were mere inches from one another; with an impatient groan Neal reached out with a free hand and tugged at the back of Andy’s neck, bridging the final gap. Panting hotly, he touched their foreheads together, intent and deliberate in his stare, as Andy positioned himself at Neal’s ready entrance, brushing the head of his cock against the hole and nearly coming undone at the mere prospect. But he teased too long for Neal, too hesitant a pause, so Neal goaded him with a tug at his shortened hair and a smirk on Neal’s face.
“You done yet?” he joked.
Returning the smile, Andy moved in closer, until he could feel the heat of Neal’s breath against his lips, and the heat of Neal’s body elsewhere. “Quiet, you,” was his whispered response before closing any and all extra space between the pair, his lips against Neal’s, his cock slowly guided inside. He caught Neal’s mouth in an open moan, overwhelmed by the assault of sensations; Neal gasped when Andy pressed himself further, his body resisting and begging for more at the same time, mind barely reminding him to breathe.
Had his own mind been functioning at full level, Andy would have been quite pleased with the very un-Dr.-like sounds he was coaxing out of his boyfriend, the moans that reverberated through his body like the powerful hum of feedback from a show. But he was gladly preoccupied with the sensations and emotions hitting him with full force, the tightness of Neal’s body enveloping him, the heat all around him, the way Neal’s leg hooked around Andy’s hips on instinct, pushing him in deeper...
There was no more room for jokes between them, no space for the smiles and the laughs they shared watching the film only minutes before. The only thing there was room enough for now was passion, and it kept building up in their kisses, their very bones, with every thrust of Andy’s hips and every push Neal gave back against him.
With a nod of encouragement from Neal, Andy worked them up to a steady pace, his hips keeping time like a metronome to the thundering heartbeat in his chest and the shallow, needy pants of breath in his lungs. His lips moved down to the hollow of Neal’s neck, sucking and biting on the places he had known for years made Neal’s pulse race that much faster, his urge for release that much more. He was thankful the colorful ink at Neal’s throat would mask the blooming bruises his overzealous teeth made against the skin; proud as he was of the sounds he had earned from Neal’s mouth that night, Andy still was not one to advertise.
The hand at the back of Andy’s neck tightened its grip, losing itself in his thick hair just as its owner was losing himself in sensation, Neal finding euphoria in giving himself over to his boyfriend’s ministrations. It was always like this when he let Andy take control, deciding on when, and how, both men would come to their release: he never remembered how fucking amazing it felt until Andy was already inside him, pulsing deep, the tip of his cock brushing against that sensitive spot that made Neal see stars.
But he wasn’t the only one. “Neal...” came Andy’s breathless words against Neal’s skin, a trembling in his tone, a shudder in the rhythm of his hips. He whispered in short bursts, with barely enough energy to catch his breath, all his attention spent on the crescendo of pleasure and its release, both Neal’s and his own. “Soon...gonna...”
Muffling a whimper, he buried his face in the crook of Neal’s neck, the sensations overpowering him, his entire body aching for release. But a strong, colorful hand tugged at Andy’s hair once more, a firm grip entreating him to raise his head and meet Neal’s eyes. Pupils rimmed with a barely visible ring of ice blue, Neal’s stare was compelling, daring Andy to look away and face the consequences and at the same time begging him not to, to hold their connection and ride it out like cresting waves on the ocean. Andy was so far gone he did not feel the hand slide between their bodies, didn’t hear the slap of skin upon skin as Neal took his own cock in hand again, stroking himself closer to the edge.
One more determined nod, one more approval from Neal to go ahead, to let go. With a deep thrust hitting home Andy tumbled over the precipice, shouting out Neal’s name as he pumped into his body, limbs shaking from the effort. Neal came not long after, teeth digging into his lips wishing they were Andy’s, cock jerking in his fist, striping his inked chest in an entirely new design. They held their stare through it all, desperate not to lose the emotional connection, yearning to feel every moment of their encounter to its fullest.
Collapsing to Neal’s side, both of their chests gasping in cool air, Andy’s arms felt weighted with lead, his legs like they had run for hours. He had no idea how those men in Neal’s movie could withstand an entire career of this.
Speak of the devil: when Andy found the remaining energy in his body to lift his head onto Neal’s shoulder, he noticed the other man looking over in the laptop’s direction, a pronounced pout on his face.
“We missed the end,” Neal said forlornly. He received a playful punch in the arm and a kiss for his trouble. When he pulled back, the mustache attached to his boyfriend was staring back at him, incredulous.
“Did you really miss it??” Andy joked with a poke to Neal’s ribs, garnering a ticklish squirm and a grin.
***
“Do you really have to document this for the masses? They spend too much time bitching about our hair already.”
Neal crossed his arms in the doorway of the bathroom, out of range of Andy’s camera phone, as his boyfriend snapped the last photo and sent it on its way. He wasn’t one at all for indulging the fans, and usually Andy was the first to agree that any celebrity they earn should be done through their music. But Kyle had made a public display of the de-evolution of his beard only days ago, and, Andy strongly protested, if the Kid was going to do it, he had to follow suit.
“You’re just jealous you didn’t do it when you shaved yours,” Andy joked, placing the iPhone down gently next to his electric razor. He smiled as tattooed arms came up from behind him and wrapped around his waist; it amused him to no end that, even with the bathroom mirror before them, Neal still tried to sneak up behind Andy without him noticing.
They both looked into that mirror now, Neal’s head resting affectionately on Andy’s shoulder, Andy admiring their reflections as he covered one of Neal’s hands with his own. A smattering of dark brown hair looked up at them from the bathroom sink, lonely; discarded. Andy’s nose twitched from its absence, scrunching his face in irritation, and Neal, thinking it was equal parts hilarious and adorable, raised his free hand to smooth a finger against the naked lip.
“Think I might miss ol’ Jake Mango now that he’s gone,” he lamented, watching his finger trace along the paths of the departed mustache in the mirror.
He felt Andy’s head move, shift towards him as his boyfriend stole a smirking kiss. “Who knows,” Andy waggled his eyebrows, his tone sly, but with an honest endearment hiding just below the surface. “Maybe one day, he’ll come back again to play.”
Author's notes:
As I'm a stickler for research, lol, once I had decided that Neal and Andy would be watching vintage gay pornos and laughing about it in the fic, I had to figure out which one they would be watching. So I researched it (there is a surprising amount of high-brow analysis of the golden age of gay pornography!). Though I never mention it by name in the story, the film they're watching is Kansas City Trucking Co., a 1976 film that was a groundbreaking movie in that it depicted gay men as being regular, everyday, men's men, who also happened to have sex with each other. I chose it because it's highly regarded in adult film circles, and also for the obvious fandom joke. ;-)
If anyone is interested, you can watch the full-length film here (warning: VERY NSFW!)