Title: Men and Women and This
Fandom: That 70’s Show
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Kelso/Eric
Warnings: Slash, mentions of straight and gay sex
Summary: Kelso liked women. Which made his wet dreams about Eric a bit hard to explain. Kelso/Eric.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor am I affiliated with That 70’s Show, Topher Grace, or Ashton Kutcher.
Kelso liked women.
He loved them, really-loved the softness of their skin; the way they fit against his body like they were made for him; their hair; the impossibly tight fit of their warm bodies around his cock.
He liked their breasts, full and heavy in his hands, and the way they sounded when he fucked them, and their long, long, sleek, long legs.
He loved women, and he loved sleeping with women, so it confused him when one day Eric’s smile caused a twitch of interest from his pants.
He’d wanted to lick that smile, to kiss Eric till his lips went all red and puffy, like he’d been sucking cock-and don’t even think of that, Kelso, don’t you dare; you’re getting turned on by his smile, of all things-thinking about him on his knees, gagging on your dick, licking it, swallowing your load, will only make things worse-
Too late. Too late, too late, far too late.
Kelso had had to excuse himself; he’d had to jack off in the Formans’ restroom to get rid of his erection, and he’d come then harder than he had in a long, long time. And he’d been thinking about Eric; thinking about fucking Eric’s gorgeous soft mouth.
Kelso knew he had a problem.
This was further confirmed through a series of wet dreams where the pale expanse of Eric’s slim, vulnerable back featured prominently.
Where once Kelso’s dreams were visited by big-busted women open legs and slick pink pussies, now there was Eric: Eric, on all fours underneath him, his asshole stretched out hugely around Kelso’s cock-filled with it-moaning low in his throat, and Kelso’s sheets were sticky, so sticky when he woke up, and he’d end up doing laundry at three in the morning.
Kelso knew he had to do something to get this to stop.
So he’d slept with Jackie, and that hadn’t helped. He’d slept with Laurie, even, and that hadn’t helped, either. It was Eric he wanted.
And he’d convinced himself not to do it, had decided to make due with a carefully-selected stash of certain questionable magazines-and Eric had ruined that.
They had been alone together and Eric had kissed him; Eric had put his pretty cock-sucking mouth against Kelso’s and kissed him, and Kelso had grabbed him and kissed him back-had deepened the kiss, his tongue in Eric’s mouth, and eased him over onto his back the sofa, and he kissed him; had put his body over Eric’s and kissed him; had rubbed their hips together, and still he kissed him, and when they were done Eric’s lips had looked swollen and bruised, and the insides of their underwear were damp, ruined, and Kelso had thought, don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up.
And Eric had smiled at him, then-which shouldn’t have mattered, because Kelso loved women; but it did, because Kelso loved Eric, too.