ATL: Everything is A-OK
Title: Everything is A-OK
Author:shadowlev
Rating:NC-17
Pairing:Jalex
Summary:When Jack gets depressed, he doesn't write songs. He gets blackout drunk.
Disclaimer:slavery is illegal and only record companies steal each other people's ideas. Also, sexually explicit, like most of my work.
It's five in the morning, and by god, Jack is sick to his stomach and very sore in the face. Technically, both are his fault, and his brain keeps jabbing him and reminding him of this fact as he lays his head against the toilet. It hasn't come up yet, the sickening combination of alcoholic beverages that keeps beating up his intestines. He can't move from his crouched position, and can't seem to remove his head from the toilet bowl. That's ok though, because it feels nice and cool against his bruised face.
It's not like he gives a shit. He did this on purpose. Jack Barakat doesn't wallow silently in fucking depression; that takes up too much goddamn time. It feels like he’s on his period or something, because he honestly has nothing to be depressed about. Sure, he’s stupid, uneducated, fucking hairy, annoying, and nobody loves him, but that only matters in the select few days when his mind flips into self-hatred mode. Today, or rather, yesterday his mind flipped into self-hatred mode.
A painful throb echoes from the pit of his stomach to the deep recesses of his brain and ricochets to the tips of his fingers and toes. Every muscle tenses; his eyes scrunch shut; his fingers tighten on the toilet. It just won’t come up and be done, he thought, it wants to sit there in my tummy and torture me. Fine then, let it. It’s not like he mattered anyway.
“Jack, I have to fucking piss,” the voice calls sleepily from the other side of the bathroom door. Fuck, Alex is up, Jack thought, unable to get his mouth to work. Alex waits about half a second before pounding on the door, “Dude, I’m not kidding, let me the fuck in.”
Jack, for his part, curls even tighter around the toilet as the pounding on the door resonates deep into his aching brain tissue. They told him in health class that headaches were caused by the brain getting dehydrated and shrinking, pulling away from the inside of the skull. That image certainly seems to apply and definitely doesn’t help him in the conversation department, as the continued waiting and pounding by the pissed off singer proves.
“Jack, fucking answer so I know you didn’t knock yourself out or drop a toaster in the bathtub or some shit,” Alex says loudly, his voice waking up. Jack tries to say something, but his breathing is getting in the way. After a prolonged silence, Jack sighs in relief, thinking Alex just left. He lets the rim of the toilet pillow his cheek, thanking God it was a hotel room and not the tour bus, and wonders at how oddly uncomfortably comfortable the hard, cold rim felt.
CRACK!!!
Jack jolts in surprise, tilting his head to face the door despite the feeling that his brains are sloshing in his skull. The handle of the door is broken, the wood splintered around the lock. Alex is scrambling to his feet, having kicked the door open, and stares at the guitarist.
“What the fucks the matter with you?” Alex asks, striding closer to Jack and kneeling beside him. Hot hands grab his shoulders and shove him upright. It fucking hurts and makes him have to puke even worse, if that’s possible, but Jack can feel somewhat grounded on those warm hands and the clean smell Alex is emanating. He must’ve showered when he got back, Jack thought, he fucking reeks after shows and parties.
“What the fuck happened here?” Alex asks a little gentler, fingers poking into the bruised side of Jack’s face, “Did you just get back?” Jack makes to speak before the contents of his stomach decide to make their exit, finally.
He lets out a moan and tears himself out of Alex’s hands, clutching tightly onto the toilet as if it’s the last anchor left before a raging sea of fear and loneliness and despair. He is up on his knees, rocking back and forth on that raging sea, and a hot hand is on his back and another appears in his hair, holding the tips back as his entire body seizes up. Everything he ever drank comes raging and roaring up his esophagus, burning and seizing every muscle along the way. When did he drink fucking poison? Oh yeah, he started at 11 in the morning and the consumption escalated rapidly after the concert.
He can’t move when it comes up. It’s terrifying, because he has absolutely no control over his body, and if Alex weren’t there, he would have had vomit all over his hair. It lasts forever too, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw his intestines in the bowl. They feel like they’re about ready to give up on him and abandon ship. However, they decide to stay on and soon, he’s just dry heaving into the bowl for the last few seconds.
When it ends, he’s shaking so hard and feeling so week, he can barely find the handle to flush the poison down. In fact, it takes up almost all of his strength, and he just ends up falling sideways into Alex, who strokes his hair softly until he takes one look at his mouth and pulls a face. A towel finds itself pressed against his mouth, and the heat of Alex’s firm body presses against his side, and calloused, warm fingers stroke through his hair. He finds himself melting into that heat, until it grunts and shoves its arms under his armpits, lifting him onto his feet in one smooth move. His entire equilibrium shifts, so he almost falls face first into the toilet, but the strong arm around his waist won’t let him.
He manages to find his toothbrush and clean his mouth of the poison, painstakingly scrubbing his tongue because if he goes too fast he’ll gag and if he doesn’t his breath will smell like cat shit. He can finally rinse, bending down a little too fast for Alex’s comfort if the hand on his shoulder says anything about it, and sips at the steady stream of water. It’s warm, but it tastes like it came from a glacier. He slurps it up greedily before straightening up. He straightens up a little too fast and winds up falling back against Alex.
The singer just sighs and scoops him up bridal style, so he just clutches at the brunette’s neck and shudders, burying his nose into the sandpapery neck. Then he’s being lowered into a bed that is decidedly slept in, given the warmth and state of the covers. He pulls the covers up and over his shuddering body, but is amused when hands begin poking under the covers to steal his shoes. They succeed, despite his giggling and squirming and he succeeds in making Alex smile playfully before stealing his shirt and shoving him into a different one. It’s white and soft and smells really clean compared to the sweaty, funky one he was wearing. Jack sighs, stretching his hands upward to the top of the bed, and lets out a soft ‘oomph’ when Alex decides to straddle his hips. He opens his eyes finally, to see Alex staring at him thoughtfully.
“What happened to your face,” he asks, trailing one calloused finger over the bruises. Jack grunts softly.
“Last thing I remember before cuddling the toilet was pissing some guy off and getting punched somewhere around midnight,” Jack murmured, “I was pretty far gone, though.”
“That was five hours ago,” Alex said softly, his fingers ending up trailing up and down Jack’s arms.
“Hey, didn’t you have to piss?” Jack asked suddenly. Alex smirked devilishly.
“The poor plant needed something to drink,”
“You pissed in the plant?”
“You were busy hogging the toilet, douchebag,”
“It’s going to smell like piss in the morning, numbnuts,”
“Not if we make it smell like something else,” Alex said, his eyebrow twitching upward, a lazy smile appearing. Jack chuckled, but Alex was serious. He began to swivel his hips over Jack’s hips. Jack’s hands found the boy’s hips as the slow friction began to work on his awakening libido.
Warm hands clasped over his wrists and pinned them above his head. Jack opened his eyes, watching the predatory look on his friend’s face as the brunette rocked his hips forward, hardness against hardness. Alex went slow too, alternating circles and thrusts, until Jake was completely hard and desperate. Fingers unzipped his jeans and abruptly yanked them off. The warm weight was gone from Jack’s hips, and his pants were leaving too. He found himself exposed from the waist down except for his black socks. He watched Alex pull his boxers off and root through a suitcase until he found two items.
“Roll over,” Alex murmured, climbing back into bed. He wore only his white t-shirt and white socks, nudging at Jack’s side. Slowly, Jack rolled over onto his stomach, suddenly self-conscious about his absurd amount of hair. He buried his head in a pillow, not wanting to hear if Alex would snort in disgust or comment. Instead, he was jerked back into reality by Alex’s tongue, trailing the underside of his balls to the tight pucker of his asshole. In his surprise, he tried to jerk away, but firm hands on his hips kept him still even as the electric shock of pleasure coursed through his veins. A loud moan was ripped out of his mouth.
Alex pulled off just a few inches, laughing in hot puffs of air against Jack’s sensitive area, a hand stroking up his inner thigh. As Jack was distracted by the hand on his thigh, the other managed to lube up and sneak up on his asshole. One slippery finger slid inside of him, prompting more tensing, but Alex simply stroked his inner walls and slid his warm hand up and under Jack’s shirt, pressing hot against his back. Jack felt himself relax, melt into the hotel bed’s smooth sheets as Alex stretched him out.
Jack could have fallen asleep, but Alex chose to crook his fingers in a “come hither” gesture and electrocuted Jack into awareness. They withdrew quickly and a blunt pressure found its way onto Jack’s asshole, pressing slowly in. Jack gasped, feeling Alex get closer and closer, heating him from the inside out.
As the rough, slow slide went on, little whimpers kept escaping Jack’s mouth, and Alex kept attacking his neck, kissing and biting and licking. Like pressing a button, Jack began rocking backward onto Alex and forward into the bed. Alex began to build up a rhythm. With a steady arm, he helped Jack kneel even as he thrust into him. Jack tightened his arms into the sheets, but eventually let go as Alex wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him back until Jack’s back was flush against Alex’s stomach and he could rest his forehead against the guitarist’s shoulders.
Jack’s hands found their place on his dick, tugging and fisting over its length. The combination of the slightly too large cock sliding in and out of him and the warm heat behind him made his dick seem extra sensitive. Then when Alex shifted ever so slightly, all Jack could do was gasp and moan, arching backwards and forgetting why he was even in this position.
A hand slid up his back and curled into his hair, ripping his head back onto Alex’s shoulder, giving the singer access to his neck as the hips sped up. Jack felt himself get tenser and tenser until Alex ended in one final thrust. After a few seconds of gasping, he knocked Jack’s hands aside and quickly finished him off. Jack felt the orgasm wipe away all traces of the headache as Alex caught his cum and flung it into the trash bin with expert skill.
Jack decided not to be helpful, letting his body just go limp. He wasn’t expecting Alex to go with him, twisting only so slightly so they ended up on their sides, with Alex’s dick still in Jack’s ass. With a careful movement, he slid out and snuggled closer. Jack sighed softly, as the arms around him subtly shifted so the one he was crushing curled by his head and the other drifted to wrap around his waist.
“So what the fuck was up with you?” Alex murmured.
“I dunno, sex made it go away,” Jack grumbled back, burying his head into the pillow and finally letting the remaining alcohol in his system put him to sleep.
Author:shadowlev
Rating:NC-17
Pairing:Jalex
Summary:When Jack gets depressed, he doesn't write songs. He gets blackout drunk.
Disclaimer:slavery is illegal and only record companies steal each other people's ideas. Also, sexually explicit, like most of my work.
It's five in the morning, and by god, Jack is sick to his stomach and very sore in the face. Technically, both are his fault, and his brain keeps jabbing him and reminding him of this fact as he lays his head against the toilet. It hasn't come up yet, the sickening combination of alcoholic beverages that keeps beating up his intestines. He can't move from his crouched position, and can't seem to remove his head from the toilet bowl. That's ok though, because it feels nice and cool against his bruised face.
It's not like he gives a shit. He did this on purpose. Jack Barakat doesn't wallow silently in fucking depression; that takes up too much goddamn time. It feels like he’s on his period or something, because he honestly has nothing to be depressed about. Sure, he’s stupid, uneducated, fucking hairy, annoying, and nobody loves him, but that only matters in the select few days when his mind flips into self-hatred mode. Today, or rather, yesterday his mind flipped into self-hatred mode.
A painful throb echoes from the pit of his stomach to the deep recesses of his brain and ricochets to the tips of his fingers and toes. Every muscle tenses; his eyes scrunch shut; his fingers tighten on the toilet. It just won’t come up and be done, he thought, it wants to sit there in my tummy and torture me. Fine then, let it. It’s not like he mattered anyway.
“Jack, I have to fucking piss,” the voice calls sleepily from the other side of the bathroom door. Fuck, Alex is up, Jack thought, unable to get his mouth to work. Alex waits about half a second before pounding on the door, “Dude, I’m not kidding, let me the fuck in.”
Jack, for his part, curls even tighter around the toilet as the pounding on the door resonates deep into his aching brain tissue. They told him in health class that headaches were caused by the brain getting dehydrated and shrinking, pulling away from the inside of the skull. That image certainly seems to apply and definitely doesn’t help him in the conversation department, as the continued waiting and pounding by the pissed off singer proves.
“Jack, fucking answer so I know you didn’t knock yourself out or drop a toaster in the bathtub or some shit,” Alex says loudly, his voice waking up. Jack tries to say something, but his breathing is getting in the way. After a prolonged silence, Jack sighs in relief, thinking Alex just left. He lets the rim of the toilet pillow his cheek, thanking God it was a hotel room and not the tour bus, and wonders at how oddly uncomfortably comfortable the hard, cold rim felt.
CRACK!!!
Jack jolts in surprise, tilting his head to face the door despite the feeling that his brains are sloshing in his skull. The handle of the door is broken, the wood splintered around the lock. Alex is scrambling to his feet, having kicked the door open, and stares at the guitarist.
“What the fucks the matter with you?” Alex asks, striding closer to Jack and kneeling beside him. Hot hands grab his shoulders and shove him upright. It fucking hurts and makes him have to puke even worse, if that’s possible, but Jack can feel somewhat grounded on those warm hands and the clean smell Alex is emanating. He must’ve showered when he got back, Jack thought, he fucking reeks after shows and parties.
“What the fuck happened here?” Alex asks a little gentler, fingers poking into the bruised side of Jack’s face, “Did you just get back?” Jack makes to speak before the contents of his stomach decide to make their exit, finally.
He lets out a moan and tears himself out of Alex’s hands, clutching tightly onto the toilet as if it’s the last anchor left before a raging sea of fear and loneliness and despair. He is up on his knees, rocking back and forth on that raging sea, and a hot hand is on his back and another appears in his hair, holding the tips back as his entire body seizes up. Everything he ever drank comes raging and roaring up his esophagus, burning and seizing every muscle along the way. When did he drink fucking poison? Oh yeah, he started at 11 in the morning and the consumption escalated rapidly after the concert.
He can’t move when it comes up. It’s terrifying, because he has absolutely no control over his body, and if Alex weren’t there, he would have had vomit all over his hair. It lasts forever too, and he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw his intestines in the bowl. They feel like they’re about ready to give up on him and abandon ship. However, they decide to stay on and soon, he’s just dry heaving into the bowl for the last few seconds.
When it ends, he’s shaking so hard and feeling so week, he can barely find the handle to flush the poison down. In fact, it takes up almost all of his strength, and he just ends up falling sideways into Alex, who strokes his hair softly until he takes one look at his mouth and pulls a face. A towel finds itself pressed against his mouth, and the heat of Alex’s firm body presses against his side, and calloused, warm fingers stroke through his hair. He finds himself melting into that heat, until it grunts and shoves its arms under his armpits, lifting him onto his feet in one smooth move. His entire equilibrium shifts, so he almost falls face first into the toilet, but the strong arm around his waist won’t let him.
He manages to find his toothbrush and clean his mouth of the poison, painstakingly scrubbing his tongue because if he goes too fast he’ll gag and if he doesn’t his breath will smell like cat shit. He can finally rinse, bending down a little too fast for Alex’s comfort if the hand on his shoulder says anything about it, and sips at the steady stream of water. It’s warm, but it tastes like it came from a glacier. He slurps it up greedily before straightening up. He straightens up a little too fast and winds up falling back against Alex.
The singer just sighs and scoops him up bridal style, so he just clutches at the brunette’s neck and shudders, burying his nose into the sandpapery neck. Then he’s being lowered into a bed that is decidedly slept in, given the warmth and state of the covers. He pulls the covers up and over his shuddering body, but is amused when hands begin poking under the covers to steal his shoes. They succeed, despite his giggling and squirming and he succeeds in making Alex smile playfully before stealing his shirt and shoving him into a different one. It’s white and soft and smells really clean compared to the sweaty, funky one he was wearing. Jack sighs, stretching his hands upward to the top of the bed, and lets out a soft ‘oomph’ when Alex decides to straddle his hips. He opens his eyes finally, to see Alex staring at him thoughtfully.
“What happened to your face,” he asks, trailing one calloused finger over the bruises. Jack grunts softly.
“Last thing I remember before cuddling the toilet was pissing some guy off and getting punched somewhere around midnight,” Jack murmured, “I was pretty far gone, though.”
“That was five hours ago,” Alex said softly, his fingers ending up trailing up and down Jack’s arms.
“Hey, didn’t you have to piss?” Jack asked suddenly. Alex smirked devilishly.
“The poor plant needed something to drink,”
“You pissed in the plant?”
“You were busy hogging the toilet, douchebag,”
“It’s going to smell like piss in the morning, numbnuts,”
“Not if we make it smell like something else,” Alex said, his eyebrow twitching upward, a lazy smile appearing. Jack chuckled, but Alex was serious. He began to swivel his hips over Jack’s hips. Jack’s hands found the boy’s hips as the slow friction began to work on his awakening libido.
Warm hands clasped over his wrists and pinned them above his head. Jack opened his eyes, watching the predatory look on his friend’s face as the brunette rocked his hips forward, hardness against hardness. Alex went slow too, alternating circles and thrusts, until Jake was completely hard and desperate. Fingers unzipped his jeans and abruptly yanked them off. The warm weight was gone from Jack’s hips, and his pants were leaving too. He found himself exposed from the waist down except for his black socks. He watched Alex pull his boxers off and root through a suitcase until he found two items.
“Roll over,” Alex murmured, climbing back into bed. He wore only his white t-shirt and white socks, nudging at Jack’s side. Slowly, Jack rolled over onto his stomach, suddenly self-conscious about his absurd amount of hair. He buried his head in a pillow, not wanting to hear if Alex would snort in disgust or comment. Instead, he was jerked back into reality by Alex’s tongue, trailing the underside of his balls to the tight pucker of his asshole. In his surprise, he tried to jerk away, but firm hands on his hips kept him still even as the electric shock of pleasure coursed through his veins. A loud moan was ripped out of his mouth.
Alex pulled off just a few inches, laughing in hot puffs of air against Jack’s sensitive area, a hand stroking up his inner thigh. As Jack was distracted by the hand on his thigh, the other managed to lube up and sneak up on his asshole. One slippery finger slid inside of him, prompting more tensing, but Alex simply stroked his inner walls and slid his warm hand up and under Jack’s shirt, pressing hot against his back. Jack felt himself relax, melt into the hotel bed’s smooth sheets as Alex stretched him out.
Jack could have fallen asleep, but Alex chose to crook his fingers in a “come hither” gesture and electrocuted Jack into awareness. They withdrew quickly and a blunt pressure found its way onto Jack’s asshole, pressing slowly in. Jack gasped, feeling Alex get closer and closer, heating him from the inside out.
As the rough, slow slide went on, little whimpers kept escaping Jack’s mouth, and Alex kept attacking his neck, kissing and biting and licking. Like pressing a button, Jack began rocking backward onto Alex and forward into the bed. Alex began to build up a rhythm. With a steady arm, he helped Jack kneel even as he thrust into him. Jack tightened his arms into the sheets, but eventually let go as Alex wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him back until Jack’s back was flush against Alex’s stomach and he could rest his forehead against the guitarist’s shoulders.
Jack’s hands found their place on his dick, tugging and fisting over its length. The combination of the slightly too large cock sliding in and out of him and the warm heat behind him made his dick seem extra sensitive. Then when Alex shifted ever so slightly, all Jack could do was gasp and moan, arching backwards and forgetting why he was even in this position.
A hand slid up his back and curled into his hair, ripping his head back onto Alex’s shoulder, giving the singer access to his neck as the hips sped up. Jack felt himself get tenser and tenser until Alex ended in one final thrust. After a few seconds of gasping, he knocked Jack’s hands aside and quickly finished him off. Jack felt the orgasm wipe away all traces of the headache as Alex caught his cum and flung it into the trash bin with expert skill.
Jack decided not to be helpful, letting his body just go limp. He wasn’t expecting Alex to go with him, twisting only so slightly so they ended up on their sides, with Alex’s dick still in Jack’s ass. With a careful movement, he slid out and snuggled closer. Jack sighed softly, as the arms around him subtly shifted so the one he was crushing curled by his head and the other drifted to wrap around his waist.
“So what the fuck was up with you?” Alex murmured.
“I dunno, sex made it go away,” Jack grumbled back, burying his head into the pillow and finally letting the remaining alcohol in his system put him to sleep.