Looking For God In A Jack Daniel's
Pairing: Anthemic (Dave/Neal/Andy/Kyle)
Summary: Written for cookleta_etc's Masturbation Celebration based on the prompt: Dave/Neal/Andy all jack off together, Kyle walks in and is pissed he wasn't invited.
Word Count: 799
Rating: NC-17
Beta: None
Warnings: There’s a cumshot. Or three. And really, I have no clue how to write Kyle still, so possible poor characterization.
Author's note: Sorry for the hiatus. I'm graduating college in 4 weeks, so things have been craaazy lately. I have a lot of fic on the back burner. But this was written especially for my love joshuazgirl128, so I made time. Title from Cassidy Haley's song, Whiskey In Churches.
In the back of his mind, Kyle knows those sounds. He recognizes the slick slapping and the harsh panting and the low growling. And in the back of his mind, he knows that it means he should just turn around and walk back off the bus, come back later and pretend he has no clue about what was going on while he was out at dinner.
But he also knows that those sounds aren’t just coming from one person. That all three of them should be still on the bus - are still on the bus - and that all three of them are back there together. And it shouldn’t, but it pisses him off. A lot, because it’s not the first time he’s felt left out of their fun. He gets it; the three of them have more of a history. But he’s part of the band too, and he kind of feels like the perpetual fourth wheel, which doesn’t even make sense because aren’t even groups supposed to be better? They obviously don’t realize this, and well, he’s sick of it.
So he doesn’t listen to that voice in the back of his mind. Instead, he keeps walking forward and pulls the curtain back as hard as he can, waiting for someone to tell him to get the fuck out or to make a motion to cover themselves even. But no one does. No one even stops, and Kyle just stands there, mouth accidentally open, watching the slide and pull of their hands over their cocks. They’re all in a circle amongst a half gone bottle of whiskey, pants wide open, shirts wrinkled and falling sideways at the collars, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut. It’s the picture of debauchery, but all he can focus on are the heads of their cocks, red and gleaming, just poking out of their fists as they pump up and down the shafts. He can barely bring himself to look away, but when he does, Neal is staring right at him with dark eyes and he feels something overtake his body. “Can I?” slips out of his mouth without warning, and he’s not sure what he wants, but he wants it badly.
Before he knows what he’s doing, his shirt is over his head and he’s kneeling on the ground in between them, pulling his belt off and reaching into his pants to take his own cock in his hand. He gives it a tight squeeze and twists up and around the head, letting out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. Neal leans over to Andy, attaching his mouth to his neck and the space just below his jaw, and Andy throws his head back, the cord of muscle in his neck sticking out tight and strong. Kyle groans at the sight, his hand speeding up while the other trails up to play with a nipple, tugging and twisting until it’s just on the edge of painful. Dave finally opens his eyes and looks down, letting out a broken, “Fuuuck,” and shoving his free hand into Kyle’s hair. He bends down and crushes their lips together, pulling his locks harder than necessary. His lips taste like Jack Daniels, and Kyle licks into his mouth like he’s hoping to get drunk off of it.
They’re all getting closer, Kyle can tell by the way everything is louder and faster, crashing on him like waves pounding against the shore. He pulls away from Dave and shuts his eyes, determined not to finish before it’s over. “Come on, please,” he mumbles and his hand is so tight around his cock that he feels like his fingers are going to snap. “Do it,” he whines, practically pleading and he hears Andy gasp at the same time as it hits him, sliding warm down his chest. That seems to set everyone else off, because there’s a series of groans and suddenly more cum is hitting him from all sides, wet and hot and too much, but just perfect. His own orgasm finally hits him, bursting from the base of his spine as he spills all over his hand with a moan.
He wipes his hand on the carpet and leans back, senses overloaded and covered in cum. It’s weird and sticky, but dirty and amazing in a way that he didn’t expect, and he reaches for the Jack Daniel’s to take a swig, handing it off to Neal afterwards. “Round two?” he asks, half to test the air and half to break the silence.
Neal laughs and takes a long drink, offering it to Andy and Dave afterwards. “Fuck yeah,” he replies after a second.
“Glad you’re here,” Dave says with a sated smile. Andy hums in agreement.
Kyle was definitely right - foursomes are better.
Summary: Written for cookleta_etc's Masturbation Celebration based on the prompt: Dave/Neal/Andy all jack off together, Kyle walks in and is pissed he wasn't invited.
Word Count: 799
Rating: NC-17
Beta: None
Warnings: There’s a cumshot. Or three. And really, I have no clue how to write Kyle still, so possible poor characterization.
Author's note: Sorry for the hiatus. I'm graduating college in 4 weeks, so things have been craaazy lately. I have a lot of fic on the back burner. But this was written especially for my love joshuazgirl128, so I made time. Title from Cassidy Haley's song, Whiskey In Churches.
In the back of his mind, Kyle knows those sounds. He recognizes the slick slapping and the harsh panting and the low growling. And in the back of his mind, he knows that it means he should just turn around and walk back off the bus, come back later and pretend he has no clue about what was going on while he was out at dinner.
But he also knows that those sounds aren’t just coming from one person. That all three of them should be still on the bus - are still on the bus - and that all three of them are back there together. And it shouldn’t, but it pisses him off. A lot, because it’s not the first time he’s felt left out of their fun. He gets it; the three of them have more of a history. But he’s part of the band too, and he kind of feels like the perpetual fourth wheel, which doesn’t even make sense because aren’t even groups supposed to be better? They obviously don’t realize this, and well, he’s sick of it.
So he doesn’t listen to that voice in the back of his mind. Instead, he keeps walking forward and pulls the curtain back as hard as he can, waiting for someone to tell him to get the fuck out or to make a motion to cover themselves even. But no one does. No one even stops, and Kyle just stands there, mouth accidentally open, watching the slide and pull of their hands over their cocks. They’re all in a circle amongst a half gone bottle of whiskey, pants wide open, shirts wrinkled and falling sideways at the collars, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut. It’s the picture of debauchery, but all he can focus on are the heads of their cocks, red and gleaming, just poking out of their fists as they pump up and down the shafts. He can barely bring himself to look away, but when he does, Neal is staring right at him with dark eyes and he feels something overtake his body. “Can I?” slips out of his mouth without warning, and he’s not sure what he wants, but he wants it badly.
Before he knows what he’s doing, his shirt is over his head and he’s kneeling on the ground in between them, pulling his belt off and reaching into his pants to take his own cock in his hand. He gives it a tight squeeze and twists up and around the head, letting out a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. Neal leans over to Andy, attaching his mouth to his neck and the space just below his jaw, and Andy throws his head back, the cord of muscle in his neck sticking out tight and strong. Kyle groans at the sight, his hand speeding up while the other trails up to play with a nipple, tugging and twisting until it’s just on the edge of painful. Dave finally opens his eyes and looks down, letting out a broken, “Fuuuck,” and shoving his free hand into Kyle’s hair. He bends down and crushes their lips together, pulling his locks harder than necessary. His lips taste like Jack Daniels, and Kyle licks into his mouth like he’s hoping to get drunk off of it.
They’re all getting closer, Kyle can tell by the way everything is louder and faster, crashing on him like waves pounding against the shore. He pulls away from Dave and shuts his eyes, determined not to finish before it’s over. “Come on, please,” he mumbles and his hand is so tight around his cock that he feels like his fingers are going to snap. “Do it,” he whines, practically pleading and he hears Andy gasp at the same time as it hits him, sliding warm down his chest. That seems to set everyone else off, because there’s a series of groans and suddenly more cum is hitting him from all sides, wet and hot and too much, but just perfect. His own orgasm finally hits him, bursting from the base of his spine as he spills all over his hand with a moan.
He wipes his hand on the carpet and leans back, senses overloaded and covered in cum. It’s weird and sticky, but dirty and amazing in a way that he didn’t expect, and he reaches for the Jack Daniel’s to take a swig, handing it off to Neal afterwards. “Round two?” he asks, half to test the air and half to break the silence.
Neal laughs and takes a long drink, offering it to Andy and Dave afterwards. “Fuck yeah,” he replies after a second.
“Glad you’re here,” Dave says with a sated smile. Andy hums in agreement.
Kyle was definitely right - foursomes are better.