(no subject)

Mar 16, 2004 12:16

Pairing: Layne Staley/Jerry Cantrell [Alice in Chains]
Date Written: August 18, 2001

Layne was drunk and horny and bored out of his mind. Sure, he was at a party but it was a boring party. The music sucked, the liquor sucked, the people sucked. It basically, in general, just sucked. But he was there because his idiot bandmates had dragged him, claiming they’d make good contacts. Layne could care less about making contacts and, at this point, although he couldn’t really tell them, he didn’t care about the band either.

Stepping over somebody passed out on the floor, Layne looked for someplace to sit down. The couch appeared to be empty, from the back anyway, and Layne vaulted over it. It seemed to Layne that the couch was a lot bonier than couches should be. So he shifted slightly, then frowned when his feet didn’t touch the ground. The couch wasn’t that high, was it?

That’s when Layne realized he was sitting on somebody’s ass. Somebody with long blonde hair that was lying stomach down on the couch. But whoever it was didn’t seem to mind all that much, hadn’t said a word in complaint, so Layne leaned back and closed his eyes.

“You do realize you’re sitting on my ass, right?”

The mumbled words caused Layne’s eyes to snap open. He glanced down at his very own, personal couch and nodded. One eye stared up at him through the curtain of blonde hair. A hint of the blonde’s mouth curled up into a smile.

“As long as we’re clear,” he said.

The blonde was definitely a guy. Layne smiled back. The blonde flipped over and Layne slid for a second before he landed in the blonde’s lap. His sharp hipbones dug into Layne’s ass but Layne was a little bit self-conscious about shifting this time. The blonde grinned at him and tossed his hair back.

“So, if you’re gonna sit on my dick, I might as well know your name,” the blonde drawled, the grin turning into a smirk.

Layne laughed. “You’re the one that turned over.”

“Semantics,” the blonde waved a hand, “besides, you have a bony ass.”

“I could say the same about you,” Layne shot back.

“Well, now that we’ve established that we’re both skinny motherfuckers,” the blonde stuck out his hand, “I’m Jerry.”

Layne shook his hand. “Layne.”

“Tell me, Layne, what do you do?” Jerry asked and then winked. “Besides using strangers as couches that is.”

“I’m a singer,” Layne waved his hand vaguely towards his band members who were congregated in the far corner, “in that band. And what do you do, besides act as a couch?”

Jerry laughed. “I play guitar.”

Before Layne could respond, Jerry turned again, this time on his side, dumping Layne onto the couch. Jerry smiled apologetically before reaching between them and adjusting himself. Layne jumped as he felt Jerry’s knuckles brush against his spine.

“Sorry, man,” Jerry said with a slight shrug.

Layne didn’t know what he was apologizing for exactly, so he just shrugged back.

“What kind of music does your band play?” Jerry asked.

“Glam rock,” Layne answered with a heavy sigh.

Jerry raised an eyebrow. “I take it that’s not your thing?”

Layne stretched, arching his back against Jerry’s hips. “Hardly. What about you?”

“Country. Rock. The sound that’s coming out of here lately,” Jerry lists then smirks. “But not Glam rock.”

“Well, thank fuck,” Layne laughed.

He dared to rest his arms on Jerry’s waist and thigh, his own personal armrests, when Jerry laughed. Jerry tilted his head at Layne, then ran his fingers up under the sleeve of his shirt.

“You know, you’d look real cute in drag,” Jerry said suddenly.

Layne blinked, not sure he heard correctly. Jerry’s hand was circling his bicep, his fingers scratching lightly at his skin.

“Sure,” Layne drawled. “You and me could dress in drag and we’d be real cute.”

“Nah.” Jerry tugged Layne closer. “You’d be the cute one and I could be the kick-ass guitar player.”

Layne grinned, shaking his head slightly. “I thought I could be the singer.”

“Of course,” Jerry pulled Layne down until their foreheads were almost touching, “but you’d still be the cute one.”

“You keep sayin’ that,” Layne teased.

“That’s ‘cause I mean it,” Jerry murmured.

Layne wasn’t sure who kissed whom first but it didn’t really matter because they were kissing and it was all hot and wet and hard. Jerry tasted sweet like rum and bitter like beer and he had a talented tongue and really fucking talented hands. Hands that were squeezing Layne’s ass, pulling them deliciously, painfully close.

Then Jerry slid a thigh between Layne’s legs and Layne wondered if having sex with a guy on a couch in the middle of a party was one of those social taboos. He was pretty sure it was, but Jerry’s thigh appeared to be pretty talented as well, and Layne wasn’t about to dwell on the subject.

“Okay,” Jerry gasped. “You. Me. My car. Now.”

Even though Jerry spoke in monosyllabic sentences, Layne’s brain wasn’t quite comprehending them, so he just let Jerry pull him off the couch. Somebody tried to hand them a beer as they reached the door. Layne was pretty sure he heard the drummer from his band shouting at him, asking him what the fuck he thought he was doing. Then they were outside and Jerry was pushing him against the porch railing.

Jerry really did have a talented tongue too, of that Layne was convinced. Especially when it lapped at the shell of his ear. Layne just wanted to melt against Jerry despite the metal digging into his back, but Jerry grabbed his arm again and pulled him down the stairs. Unfortunately, Layne wasn’t very coordinated at the moment, so he tripped.

“Fuck,” Layne swore.

Seconds later he slammed into Jerry and knocked them both into the grass. Jerry landed on his back and groaned, rubbing his head. Layne frowned and took Jerry’s hand away before examining the bump himself. Growling, Jerry tangled his hands in Layne’s hair and pulled him down for a bruising kiss.

“Front lawn it is,” Jerry said.

“Here?” Layne raised his eyebrows.

Jerry slid a hand under Layne’s shirt and pinched his nipple. “Think you can make it to my car?”

Layne moaned and then nodded.

“Without killing one of us?” Jerry added as squeezed Layne’s ass with his other hand.

“Probably not,” Layne laughed.

“Front lawn?” Jerry asked.

“Sure, we’ll make it to the car eventually,” Layne answered.

Jerry grinned and tugged at Layne’s shirt. Layne made quick work of pulling it off and was rewarded with Jerry’s tongue darting out to lick at his collarbone. Then Jerry was sucking and kissing and biting his way down Layne’s body until he couldn’t reach any more skin so he flipped them over.

“Oh fuck,” Layne breathed when Jerry’s tongue swirled around his navel.

He tangled his hands in Jerry’s hair, trying to guide him lower. Jerry mouthed him through the denim before sliding down the zipper while Layne undid the button. Soon his jeans and boxers were tangled around his knees and Jerry was stroking his cock in a gentle, rhythmic motion.

“Please, please, please,” Layne begged, bucking his hips.

Jerry stretched up to kiss Layne, this time wet and sweet and slow. Layne moaned and fumbled to unbutton Jerry’s pants, desperate to touch his skin. Finally his fingers found Jerry’s cock and he stroked in the same rhythm as their kisses.

As Layne had discovered earlier, Jerry had really, really talented hands, so it wasn’t really surprising when his orgasm hit him like a freight train. He moaned into Jerry’s mouth before tearing his mouth away and howling, his head hitting the grass. What was surprising was that seconds later a sudden downpour drenched them in rain.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ,” Jerry swore.

The front lawn quickly changed from patchy grass and dirt to wet grass and mud. Layne just grinned and flipped them back over. Before Jerry could say another word, Layne yanked his shorts down and took his cock in his mouth.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ,” Jerry repeated, but this time it was more of a moan.

The mud and the rain made everything wet and slippery, which should’ve made sucking Jerry’s cock easier, but instead it just made Jerry slide around in the mud. Layne growled against his hard flesh and grabbed his hips, planting him firmly in the mud. Then he sucked Jerry fast and hard, pressing his tongue against the head of his cock.

“So sweet,” Jerry panted as he came.

“Salty,” Layne corrected after swallowing, then kissed Jerry just to prove it.

Jerry laughed and ran his mud-coated finger down Layne’s nose. Layne yelped and snapped his teeth, just nipping the tip of the finger. Grinning widely, Jerry scooped up more mud in his hands, then ran them down Layne’s chest. Pouting, Layne pressed his mud-coated hands to Jerry’s cheeks before kissing him lightly.

“C’mon,” Jerry coaxed, sitting up. “I’ve got blankets in my car.”

Layne stood up and held out his hand for Jerry. Jerry took it and they nearly fell back into the mud. They redid each other’s shorts before Jerry grabbed Layne’s hand and they ran through the mud to Jerry’s car. Jerry opened the back door and let Layne climb in first.

“Blankets,” Jerry said, gesturing at the trunk.

Layne nodded and pulled the door shut. Seconds later, Jerry slid in the other side, blanket in hand. He shook it open and held his arm out. Layne crawled over and curled up against him as Jerry tucked the blanket around them.

“About this band idea,” Layne prompted, his voice muffled against Jerry’s shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re the cute singer in drag, I’m the kick-ass guitarist and I know a drummer,” Jerry said.

Layne looked up at him. “Seriously?”

Jerry kissed him. “About what? You being cute in drag?”

“Forming a band, Jer,” Layne said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, Layney,” Jerry said with emphasis, nipping at his throat. “You?”

Layne smiled. “Definitely.”

Jerry’s hand slid down Layne’s back, causing him to shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the rain. “Care to seal the deal?”

Layne’s second “Definitely” was lost to Jerry’s talented tongue.

**

End

jerry cantrell, slash, layne staley, jerry/layne, alice in chains

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