control - fan fiction
Control
Pistol Grip Fan Fiction
Hollywood/Stax
Rated Adult for Dirty, Badly Written Gay Sex
[Previously and possibly still part of a series.]
Stax was awoken, rather unwillingly, by many sharp, piercing pains in his chest. Opening one eye, he glared down at the black creature perched on him, kneading his breastplate. The cat, Roger - Hollywood's cat - tilted its head curiously and mewled at him.
"Fucking animal," he grumbled, pushing the cat away and rolling onto his side, curling up and trying to go back to sleep. Only to be interrupted as he reached the edge of blessed rest by the feedback of a guitar. Hollywood's guitar.
Stax groaned irritably and flipped onto his back again. Scratching at his stomach, he yawned widely and forced himself to get out of bed. His blue boxers had twisted around him in his sleep and he readjusted them, then readjusted himself in them, before pulling open the door.
The sound of Hollywood's guitar still flooded through the house, not overly loud, but loud enough to be annoying to a certain skinhead who hadn't gotten to sleep until 3 am. Stax pushed open the door to the bathroom, nearly tripping over a pair of boots - yeah, you guessed it, Hollywood's boots.
Hollywood had moved in no more than a week ago, when he'd broken up with his most recent girlfriend. For Hollywood, it was a long term relationship, lasting an astonishing two months. His "relationships" usually didn't extend as far as overnight, so no one had really been too surprised when they'd split. Stax had been surprised, however, when Hollywood had asked to live with him until he could find his own place again.
Not exactly pleasantly surprised, either.
They'd been friends since high school, when they formed their first garage band with Chase. He wasn't hard to put up with, overall. They'd had lots of good times together. But Stax had never had to deal with the strange fucker on a day-to-day basis quite like this. Thus far he hadn't said a word to the guitarist about anything - not about the way he'd leave food sitting out after using it, or the way he left puddles of water on the bathroom floor when he showered.
Stax leaned his head back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand as he pissed. He flushed the toilet, tucking himself back inside his boxers and moving to the sink. He ignored the small bristles of hair that Hollywood had left inside the sink after shaving as he washed his hands and brushed his teeth.
Kicking the aforementioned boots out of the way, Stax vacated the bathroom. As he stepped out, Roger wove in between his bare ankles and purred loudly. Stax narrowed his eyes and picked up the cat, then stalked to Hollywood's room. He pushed the door open, not bothering to knock.
Hollywood stopped playing when Roger flew by him, landing on the bed with a disgruntled yowl from the force of Stax's toss. Eyeballing the cat for a minute, Hollywood turned back to look at Stax in that unblinking, expectant way that said the receiver of said stare owed him something.
"Your cat woke me up," Stax told him, in a voice that left no question about how he felt about that.
"Yeah, he was restless, so I thought I'd let him wander the house," Hollywood said innocently.
Stax moved a little further into the room, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "It's okay. I managed to get back to sleep," he paused for a beat. "Then you started playing guitar."
"I figured you'd be up by now, it's almost noon," Hollywood responded nonchalantly. He leaned over his guitar and picked up a burning cigarette from the ashtray in front of him and took a drag. Stax took a step closer, leaned down and plucked the cigarette from between those thin fingers, glaring at their owner intently.
"The whole house smells like smoke. You left you dirty laundry on the couch. I had to buy new milk yesterday because you left it out and it spoiled," Stax continued in a dark sort of monotone. "There's water all over the bathroom floor, and there's hair in the sink."
Hollywood gazed back at Stax levelly as the singer couched down and crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, saying nothing. Stax recrossed his arms over the top of his knees and they stared at each other for a minute, Hollywood's blue eyes passive and Stax's chocolate ones holding a mild sort of threat.
"You asked for a roommate," Stax reminded him. "Not a fucking babysitter."
Hollywood continued to watch Stax, not the slightest bit of remorse showing on his features. A slow smirk crossed his pale, thin lips and he lifted the guitar up, setting it against the amp. He laced his fingers together, holding his hands in his lap. Stax raised an eyebrow, letting him know that he could start explaining himself at any time.
"You're only asleep this late because you were out drinking until three o'clock in the morning," Hollywood started, and Stax gave a small nod to concede that it was true. Hollywood continued. "I got distracted doing laundry because I wanted something to drink. I poured a glass of milk, finding it was already sour because you haven't gone shopping in weeks for anything except beer. So I left it out, because the trash was full. I went to take the trash out and decided to have a cigarette while I was outside, because you asked me to smoke outside. Your landlord yelled at me for smoking on the property, saying that it was a fire hazard."
Stax leaned back on his heels, listening as Hollywood rambled on. Roger leapt into his arms and was promptly pushed away again.
"When I came back inside, with the intention of doing laundry, the phone rang. It was Karen. I argued with her for three hours, straight, not hanging up the phone once. During this time, I smoked a lot because that's what I do when I argue with her. By the time I got off the phone, I was too stressed to really give a fuck if I left water on the floor or hair in the sink or if my fucking cat disturbed your beauty sleep and I haven't slept since then so back the fuck off," Hollywood finished.
Stax could tell by the way Hollywood's eyes had widened while he spoke and by the way his tone got more forceful that he was, indeed, quite stressed. Hollywood raised his eyebrows, canted his head in an 'okay?' sort of gesture, and Stax looked away, snorting derisively.
"Hollywood, I took pity on you already for this whole break-up bullshit when I let you move in," he said, rolling his eyes. "You expect me to accept all of your faults and ignore them because of a girl, who you were only with for two months? Get over yourself, man."
Hollywood's eyes darkened noticeably and he grinned a very small, creepy sort of grin. "No, Stax," he said flatly. "I'm trying to point out that you're just as bad as I am, and you don't have an excuse. Not even a lame one like a girl breaking your heart."
Stax rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Please. Breaking your heart? That would suggest that you have a heart."
Dropping his head and running his hands through his dark, fluffy Mohawk, Hollywood chuckled slightly. "Yeah, you're probably right. It's just the sudden lack of constant sex that's making me a little more on edge than usual."
He lifted his head again, peering out from under the mess of hair to look at Stax suggestively. Stax sat back and shook his head.
"No, don't even look at me like that," he started defensively, and Hollywood grinned.
"You didn't let me move in because you took pity on me," Hollywood told him matter-of-factly.
Stax stood up, Hollywood matching the movement, and he tried to back away from the feral look Hollwood was pinning him with. "Cut it out, man. I told you..."
"You didn't want it anymore, I remember," Hollywood said, nodding and moving towards Stax as he continued to move back. "But that was after Karen and I got together, too. And it was a lie."
He nodded seriously as if to accentuate his point. Stax's back hit the wall and he glanced to either side of him as if desperate for an escape. Finding none, he looked back at Hollywood.
"No it wasn't," he argued weakly.
Hollywood smirked knowingly, placing a hand on either side of Stax's head against the wall behind him. He leaned in close to him until their noses were almost touching.
"It was a lie," he repeated, then his smirk faded and he managed a look of pleading. "Tell me it was a lie?"
Stax remained trapped between Hollywood's arms, knowing he could have gotten out easily if he'd only stop staring at him like that. He noted that his breathing had become a lot more shallow, as it always did when Hollywood pulled this sort of thing. Hollywood pressed himself closer, not quite touching Stax at all yet. Stax pulled his lip into his mouth, chewing on it hopelessly for a moment.
"It was a lie," he finally managed in a very small voice.
The wolf-like grin returned to Hollywood's face almost instantly, and Stax knew he was screwed. Hollywood leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips almost bruisingly against Stax's. Stax raised his hands and laid them flat against Hollywood's chest, but instead of pushing him away he found that they balled into fists around the material of his shirt and pulled him closer.
Crushed between the wall and the pressure of Hollywood's body against his own, with the added complication of Hollywood ravaging his mouth, Stax found the need to breathe becoming a bit insistent. He managed to part his own mouth from the one attacking it and leaned his head back, gasping for air.
"Hollywood...don't...," he murmured helplessly, his fists relaxing and releasing their grip on the shirt.
"Don't?," Hollywood asked innocently. He paused and nipped at Stax's neck with his teeth. "Don't what?"
"Don't...fuck. Don't...," Stax tried again, gulping when one of Hollywood's hands found it's way off the wall, down his bare chest and stomach, finally coming to rest grasping his balls. He whimpered slightly, a noise he never usually would have made, and Hollywood's hand moved forward and ran across his already hopelessly erect cock.
"You were saying...?," Hollywood said, reminding him that he was protesting in the first place.
Stax sighed as the other man began to stroke him through the thin material of his boxers. He could feel his legs as well as his will becoming weak as Hollywood's will became stronger, almost as if he was stealing the energy right out of him. He breathed in sharply when the guitarist's hand slipped inside his boxers, and finally he submitted.
"Don't fucking tease me," he moaned, laying his head against Hollywood's shoulder.
The bittersweet sound of Hollywood's laughter rang through the air and the last of Stax's resolved dissipated with the sound. Teeth grazed his lower lip before it was sucked on, and his eyes fell shut. Hollywood's fingers slipped away from his penis and instead grasped his shoulder, joined on the opposite side by his other hand. He yanked Stax away from the wall, turning him and pushing him away hard.
Stax fell back onto the bed, eyes snapping open again as Hollywood crawled up his body excruciatingly slowly. His mouth traced a path up one of Stax's legs, biting into the inside of his upper thigh before breaking away. Stax's skin and Hollywood's tongue reacquainted themselves just above the waistband of his boxers and he continued his path upwards. His teeth closed over a nipple and he rolled it between them softly, darting his tongue over it a few times. Stax arched his back and hissed loudly.
"Fuck, Hollywood...," he trailed off.
Hollywood practically cackled as he removed his mouth. "That's the name of the game," he muttered, laying flat against Stax and grinding their hips against each other, causing him to moan and curse again. "Guess who the lucky winner is?," Hollywood continued, biting the soft skin below his earlobe.
Stax didn't have a chance to respond, even if he could have, before Hollywood pulled away from him again. The guitarist yanked his boxers off easily and kissed the head of his cock lingeringly. Stax squirmed, almost painfully aroused by this point. Hollywood sat up, pulling his shirt over his head, and Stax somehow regained the presence of mind to attempt to get his pants off. Attempt being the keyword.
Hollywood chuckled at Stax's hands shakily trying to unbuckle his belt and pushed them away. He succeeded in getting his pants off in what may have been a record amount of time; it's hard to tell since Hollywood was very practiced at getting his own pants as well as other peoples' off quickly. Kicking the jeans to the floor, he leaned back down and gave Stax another rough kiss before grabbing one of his shoulders and flipping him onto his stomach.
Stax moaned when he felt Hollywood press two fingers into his ass, not even bothering to wonder where he'd procured lubrication from so quickly. Hollywood moved between his legs, pushing them apart with his own knees. At the same time as he was stretching Stax, he ran a hand full of the oily substance (which he kept near his bed for just such an occasion as this) over his own cock.
"Holy shit!," Stax cried out as Hollywood removed his fingers and thrust into him with absolutely no hesitance. Hollywood leaned over him and bit into his shoulder blade harshly. His fingertips pressed into Stax's hips hard enough to leave bruises as he pulled away from him then slammed back in a second later.
The sensation of Hollywood fucking him as well as the soft sheets rubbing against his dick was more than enough to send quickly Stax over the ledge of ecstasy that he'd been toeing, practically since Hollywood grinned at him the first time today. His hands curled into fists, clutching at the blankets around him and he let out a long strain of loud expletives.
"Horrible endurance," Hollywood noted, still harshly pushing into him and pulling back. "Gonna have to...work on that."
Stax nodded mutely, still engulfed in the kick-to-the-face intensity of his own orgasm. Hollywood progressively increased the speed of his thrusts, repeatedly pushing Stax hard into the sticky pool of his own semen that had formed underneath him. Clawing and biting at Stax's back, he kept relentlessly ramming into the other man until a growl issued deep inside of his throat and he came as well.
Exhausted, Hollywood pulled out of the other man and collapsed onto his back next to him. They both lay like that, panting for a few moments. Stax turned his head to look at Hollywood, and the latter blindly reached out to the top of his guitar amp and retrieved his cigarettes and lighter.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Hollywood murmured as he lit a cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and lay his head back down, closing his eyes blissfully. "Remind me, never to date a chick again. It'd been way too long since I fucked a hole that was actually tight."
Stax smirked, rolling his eyes. He took the cigarette from Hollywood's hands, causing him to turn his head and glare at him. Stax took a slow drag off the smoke, ignoring Hollywood's glare which turned to a grin after a moment of watching Stax smoke.
"Good, wasn't I?," Hollywood asked arrogantly.
Stax took another hit from the cigarette before leaning over Hollywood to put it out. He looked down at Hollywood for a long moment, disbelieving that anyone could be that conceited. He just grunted and laid back down.
"Shut the fuck up and go clean the bathroom."
Pistol Grip Fan Fiction
Hollywood/Stax
Rated Adult for Dirty, Badly Written Gay Sex
[Previously and possibly still part of a series.]
Stax was awoken, rather unwillingly, by many sharp, piercing pains in his chest. Opening one eye, he glared down at the black creature perched on him, kneading his breastplate. The cat, Roger - Hollywood's cat - tilted its head curiously and mewled at him.
"Fucking animal," he grumbled, pushing the cat away and rolling onto his side, curling up and trying to go back to sleep. Only to be interrupted as he reached the edge of blessed rest by the feedback of a guitar. Hollywood's guitar.
Stax groaned irritably and flipped onto his back again. Scratching at his stomach, he yawned widely and forced himself to get out of bed. His blue boxers had twisted around him in his sleep and he readjusted them, then readjusted himself in them, before pulling open the door.
The sound of Hollywood's guitar still flooded through the house, not overly loud, but loud enough to be annoying to a certain skinhead who hadn't gotten to sleep until 3 am. Stax pushed open the door to the bathroom, nearly tripping over a pair of boots - yeah, you guessed it, Hollywood's boots.
Hollywood had moved in no more than a week ago, when he'd broken up with his most recent girlfriend. For Hollywood, it was a long term relationship, lasting an astonishing two months. His "relationships" usually didn't extend as far as overnight, so no one had really been too surprised when they'd split. Stax had been surprised, however, when Hollywood had asked to live with him until he could find his own place again.
Not exactly pleasantly surprised, either.
They'd been friends since high school, when they formed their first garage band with Chase. He wasn't hard to put up with, overall. They'd had lots of good times together. But Stax had never had to deal with the strange fucker on a day-to-day basis quite like this. Thus far he hadn't said a word to the guitarist about anything - not about the way he'd leave food sitting out after using it, or the way he left puddles of water on the bathroom floor when he showered.
Stax leaned his head back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand as he pissed. He flushed the toilet, tucking himself back inside his boxers and moving to the sink. He ignored the small bristles of hair that Hollywood had left inside the sink after shaving as he washed his hands and brushed his teeth.
Kicking the aforementioned boots out of the way, Stax vacated the bathroom. As he stepped out, Roger wove in between his bare ankles and purred loudly. Stax narrowed his eyes and picked up the cat, then stalked to Hollywood's room. He pushed the door open, not bothering to knock.
Hollywood stopped playing when Roger flew by him, landing on the bed with a disgruntled yowl from the force of Stax's toss. Eyeballing the cat for a minute, Hollywood turned back to look at Stax in that unblinking, expectant way that said the receiver of said stare owed him something.
"Your cat woke me up," Stax told him, in a voice that left no question about how he felt about that.
"Yeah, he was restless, so I thought I'd let him wander the house," Hollywood said innocently.
Stax moved a little further into the room, crossing his thick arms over his chest. "It's okay. I managed to get back to sleep," he paused for a beat. "Then you started playing guitar."
"I figured you'd be up by now, it's almost noon," Hollywood responded nonchalantly. He leaned over his guitar and picked up a burning cigarette from the ashtray in front of him and took a drag. Stax took a step closer, leaned down and plucked the cigarette from between those thin fingers, glaring at their owner intently.
"The whole house smells like smoke. You left you dirty laundry on the couch. I had to buy new milk yesterday because you left it out and it spoiled," Stax continued in a dark sort of monotone. "There's water all over the bathroom floor, and there's hair in the sink."
Hollywood gazed back at Stax levelly as the singer couched down and crushed the cigarette out in the ashtray, saying nothing. Stax recrossed his arms over the top of his knees and they stared at each other for a minute, Hollywood's blue eyes passive and Stax's chocolate ones holding a mild sort of threat.
"You asked for a roommate," Stax reminded him. "Not a fucking babysitter."
Hollywood continued to watch Stax, not the slightest bit of remorse showing on his features. A slow smirk crossed his pale, thin lips and he lifted the guitar up, setting it against the amp. He laced his fingers together, holding his hands in his lap. Stax raised an eyebrow, letting him know that he could start explaining himself at any time.
"You're only asleep this late because you were out drinking until three o'clock in the morning," Hollywood started, and Stax gave a small nod to concede that it was true. Hollywood continued. "I got distracted doing laundry because I wanted something to drink. I poured a glass of milk, finding it was already sour because you haven't gone shopping in weeks for anything except beer. So I left it out, because the trash was full. I went to take the trash out and decided to have a cigarette while I was outside, because you asked me to smoke outside. Your landlord yelled at me for smoking on the property, saying that it was a fire hazard."
Stax leaned back on his heels, listening as Hollywood rambled on. Roger leapt into his arms and was promptly pushed away again.
"When I came back inside, with the intention of doing laundry, the phone rang. It was Karen. I argued with her for three hours, straight, not hanging up the phone once. During this time, I smoked a lot because that's what I do when I argue with her. By the time I got off the phone, I was too stressed to really give a fuck if I left water on the floor or hair in the sink or if my fucking cat disturbed your beauty sleep and I haven't slept since then so back the fuck off," Hollywood finished.
Stax could tell by the way Hollywood's eyes had widened while he spoke and by the way his tone got more forceful that he was, indeed, quite stressed. Hollywood raised his eyebrows, canted his head in an 'okay?' sort of gesture, and Stax looked away, snorting derisively.
"Hollywood, I took pity on you already for this whole break-up bullshit when I let you move in," he said, rolling his eyes. "You expect me to accept all of your faults and ignore them because of a girl, who you were only with for two months? Get over yourself, man."
Hollywood's eyes darkened noticeably and he grinned a very small, creepy sort of grin. "No, Stax," he said flatly. "I'm trying to point out that you're just as bad as I am, and you don't have an excuse. Not even a lame one like a girl breaking your heart."
Stax rolled his eyes exasperatedly. "Please. Breaking your heart? That would suggest that you have a heart."
Dropping his head and running his hands through his dark, fluffy Mohawk, Hollywood chuckled slightly. "Yeah, you're probably right. It's just the sudden lack of constant sex that's making me a little more on edge than usual."
He lifted his head again, peering out from under the mess of hair to look at Stax suggestively. Stax sat back and shook his head.
"No, don't even look at me like that," he started defensively, and Hollywood grinned.
"You didn't let me move in because you took pity on me," Hollywood told him matter-of-factly.
Stax stood up, Hollywood matching the movement, and he tried to back away from the feral look Hollwood was pinning him with. "Cut it out, man. I told you..."
"You didn't want it anymore, I remember," Hollywood said, nodding and moving towards Stax as he continued to move back. "But that was after Karen and I got together, too. And it was a lie."
He nodded seriously as if to accentuate his point. Stax's back hit the wall and he glanced to either side of him as if desperate for an escape. Finding none, he looked back at Hollywood.
"No it wasn't," he argued weakly.
Hollywood smirked knowingly, placing a hand on either side of Stax's head against the wall behind him. He leaned in close to him until their noses were almost touching.
"It was a lie," he repeated, then his smirk faded and he managed a look of pleading. "Tell me it was a lie?"
Stax remained trapped between Hollywood's arms, knowing he could have gotten out easily if he'd only stop staring at him like that. He noted that his breathing had become a lot more shallow, as it always did when Hollywood pulled this sort of thing. Hollywood pressed himself closer, not quite touching Stax at all yet. Stax pulled his lip into his mouth, chewing on it hopelessly for a moment.
"It was a lie," he finally managed in a very small voice.
The wolf-like grin returned to Hollywood's face almost instantly, and Stax knew he was screwed. Hollywood leaned in the rest of the way and pressed his lips almost bruisingly against Stax's. Stax raised his hands and laid them flat against Hollywood's chest, but instead of pushing him away he found that they balled into fists around the material of his shirt and pulled him closer.
Crushed between the wall and the pressure of Hollywood's body against his own, with the added complication of Hollywood ravaging his mouth, Stax found the need to breathe becoming a bit insistent. He managed to part his own mouth from the one attacking it and leaned his head back, gasping for air.
"Hollywood...don't...," he murmured helplessly, his fists relaxing and releasing their grip on the shirt.
"Don't?," Hollywood asked innocently. He paused and nipped at Stax's neck with his teeth. "Don't what?"
"Don't...fuck. Don't...," Stax tried again, gulping when one of Hollywood's hands found it's way off the wall, down his bare chest and stomach, finally coming to rest grasping his balls. He whimpered slightly, a noise he never usually would have made, and Hollywood's hand moved forward and ran across his already hopelessly erect cock.
"You were saying...?," Hollywood said, reminding him that he was protesting in the first place.
Stax sighed as the other man began to stroke him through the thin material of his boxers. He could feel his legs as well as his will becoming weak as Hollywood's will became stronger, almost as if he was stealing the energy right out of him. He breathed in sharply when the guitarist's hand slipped inside his boxers, and finally he submitted.
"Don't fucking tease me," he moaned, laying his head against Hollywood's shoulder.
The bittersweet sound of Hollywood's laughter rang through the air and the last of Stax's resolved dissipated with the sound. Teeth grazed his lower lip before it was sucked on, and his eyes fell shut. Hollywood's fingers slipped away from his penis and instead grasped his shoulder, joined on the opposite side by his other hand. He yanked Stax away from the wall, turning him and pushing him away hard.
Stax fell back onto the bed, eyes snapping open again as Hollywood crawled up his body excruciatingly slowly. His mouth traced a path up one of Stax's legs, biting into the inside of his upper thigh before breaking away. Stax's skin and Hollywood's tongue reacquainted themselves just above the waistband of his boxers and he continued his path upwards. His teeth closed over a nipple and he rolled it between them softly, darting his tongue over it a few times. Stax arched his back and hissed loudly.
"Fuck, Hollywood...," he trailed off.
Hollywood practically cackled as he removed his mouth. "That's the name of the game," he muttered, laying flat against Stax and grinding their hips against each other, causing him to moan and curse again. "Guess who the lucky winner is?," Hollywood continued, biting the soft skin below his earlobe.
Stax didn't have a chance to respond, even if he could have, before Hollywood pulled away from him again. The guitarist yanked his boxers off easily and kissed the head of his cock lingeringly. Stax squirmed, almost painfully aroused by this point. Hollywood sat up, pulling his shirt over his head, and Stax somehow regained the presence of mind to attempt to get his pants off. Attempt being the keyword.
Hollywood chuckled at Stax's hands shakily trying to unbuckle his belt and pushed them away. He succeeded in getting his pants off in what may have been a record amount of time; it's hard to tell since Hollywood was very practiced at getting his own pants as well as other peoples' off quickly. Kicking the jeans to the floor, he leaned back down and gave Stax another rough kiss before grabbing one of his shoulders and flipping him onto his stomach.
Stax moaned when he felt Hollywood press two fingers into his ass, not even bothering to wonder where he'd procured lubrication from so quickly. Hollywood moved between his legs, pushing them apart with his own knees. At the same time as he was stretching Stax, he ran a hand full of the oily substance (which he kept near his bed for just such an occasion as this) over his own cock.
"Holy shit!," Stax cried out as Hollywood removed his fingers and thrust into him with absolutely no hesitance. Hollywood leaned over him and bit into his shoulder blade harshly. His fingertips pressed into Stax's hips hard enough to leave bruises as he pulled away from him then slammed back in a second later.
The sensation of Hollywood fucking him as well as the soft sheets rubbing against his dick was more than enough to send quickly Stax over the ledge of ecstasy that he'd been toeing, practically since Hollywood grinned at him the first time today. His hands curled into fists, clutching at the blankets around him and he let out a long strain of loud expletives.
"Horrible endurance," Hollywood noted, still harshly pushing into him and pulling back. "Gonna have to...work on that."
Stax nodded mutely, still engulfed in the kick-to-the-face intensity of his own orgasm. Hollywood progressively increased the speed of his thrusts, repeatedly pushing Stax hard into the sticky pool of his own semen that had formed underneath him. Clawing and biting at Stax's back, he kept relentlessly ramming into the other man until a growl issued deep inside of his throat and he came as well.
Exhausted, Hollywood pulled out of the other man and collapsed onto his back next to him. They both lay like that, panting for a few moments. Stax turned his head to look at Hollywood, and the latter blindly reached out to the top of his guitar amp and retrieved his cigarettes and lighter.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Hollywood murmured as he lit a cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of smoke and lay his head back down, closing his eyes blissfully. "Remind me, never to date a chick again. It'd been way too long since I fucked a hole that was actually tight."
Stax smirked, rolling his eyes. He took the cigarette from Hollywood's hands, causing him to turn his head and glare at him. Stax took a slow drag off the smoke, ignoring Hollywood's glare which turned to a grin after a moment of watching Stax smoke.
"Good, wasn't I?," Hollywood asked arrogantly.
Stax took another hit from the cigarette before leaning over Hollywood to put it out. He looked down at Hollywood for a long moment, disbelieving that anyone could be that conceited. He just grunted and laid back down.
"Shut the fuck up and go clean the bathroom."