Fic: As long as they don't see it. (Used, Bert/Quinn, DIRTY.)
As long as they don't see it.
Title from Sleater-Kinney's "What's Mine is Yours."
The Used, Bert/Quinn, NC-17. Written for ix_tab.
Warnings: the story opens with a scene that could be a problem for emetophobes, the main characters are (vaguely) underage, and piss plays a central role in the sex.
---
Bert holds up one finger. "Hold please," he says, in his best secretarial voice. When Quinn belches his assent, Bert rolls over, gets himself onto his hands and knees, and hurls all over the Timpanogos High School football field's fifty yard line.
"Shit," Quinn says, when Bert finally stops. "Dude, you're giving me sympathy pukes."
"Sorry," Bert says, and spits into the fresh puddle. "Remind me not to pound a forty ever again."
"I reminded you today."
Bert slumps over, then rolls so he's on his back again. "Right, shit, I forgot."
"It's cool."
It's only a couple of minutes before Bert says, "Fucking shit on me, now I have to piss."
"Go for it," Quinn says, gesturing expansively.
"Hold please." Bert forces his sluggish limbs to function, pushing himself up and staggering left of the puke. "You haven't had to piss once," Bert says, fumbling his dick out over the waistband of his shorts. He groans when he starts to pee. "Drunk pissing is better than jerking off, I fucking kid you not."
"Golden seal, bitch," Quinn says. He's got his eyes closed, and his arms are flung out on either side of him. Quinn lost his shirt when they scaled the fence -- it ripped all the way up the back -- and if he weren't so drunk he'd probably be curled up and shivering. Bert stumbles closer to see if he's got goosepimples, and Quinn's eyes fly open. "Are you pissing on me?"
Bert glances down, and then says, "Nope, not yet." He takes a deliberate step forward. "Not yet, either."
"Fuck you," Quinn bites out, pushing himself up on his elbows. Bert edges forward again. He doesn't mean to pee on Quinn, but he's got no balance when he's drunk; he weaves forward, and the stream hits Quinn's side, then his stomach. Bert expects Quinn to flip out, jump up and punch him in the junk, something, but Quinn just lies there. Bert's piss spatters on his stomach, and Quinn stares at him, his mouth half-open.
Even with how drunk he is, Bert can tell that this is awkward. He doesn't even shake it out when he's done peeing, just shoves his dick back in his shorts. He says, "Quinn?" and goes down on his knees next to him.
"Fuck you," Quinn says again, and shoves him. Bert topples over. His elbow lands in his puke.
"Hey," he says, "What the fuck, dude," but Quinn's already up and stumbling away.
Bert catches up with Quinn a block away from the high school, but he doesn't bring it up again. Bert latches on to Quinn's side -- the side he didn't piss on -- and talks about how mad the football team will be when they discover what they did to the field. Quinn laughs, and it's back to normal.
---
The next day Bert reeks of booze, piss, cigarettes, armpit, and puke. His hair is sticking to his face. The girl sitting next to him at McDonalds keeps edging away from him, giving him sidelong looks every time she shifts. Bert finally bares his teeth at her and giggles, just so she'll get up and move.
Once she does, Bert's got an empty seat on every side of him, just how he likes it. Bert slumps back in his chair, puts his feet up on the table, and crams a fistful of fries in his mouth. He thinks about Quinn's expression when Bert pissed on him while he's eating. He thinks that maybe something's up there, something he hadn't caught before. He's not sure what, but something's up. That's all he can come up with, even though he thinks about it all the way through breakfast.
Quinn usually eats his lunch outside with his squad of nerdy friends. Bert walks over to the school for lunch time and crashes out on the grass next to Quinn's group. Bert's sworn that he won't be too much of a dick around Quinn's nerd posse, and Quinn doesn't talk to them about anything real, so Bert has to hold off on asking about the pissing. It's fucking killing him, though, and he ends up biting his forearm for most of the time just to keep from saying something.
When all the good little boys are gathering up their stuff to go back inside, Bert grabs Quinn's hand and says, "Hey. Skip gym?"
"I don't know," Quinn says, "I was kind of jonesing for a rope climb."
"I'll give you rope climbing," Bert tells him, and grabs his crotch. Quinn snorts.
"Out back?"
"Out back."
Bert sits on top of the dumpster out back for a half hour, swinging his feet and thumping them against the metal. When Quinn finally wiggles out of the window, Bert jumps up and helps him down. "What took you so long?"
"Gym teacher wanted on my dick."
"You're just a guy who can't say no," Bert sings, and giggles. They jump down off of the dumpster and start walking; Bert heads for the McDonalds again, just for lack of anywhere better. "Hey, speaking of," he starts, and then can't figure out how to finish. Bert's not very good at subtle. "So I peed on you, huh?" Quinn doesn't say anything, but he seems like he's pulling in on himself. Bert paws at Quinn's side. "Hey, hey, Quinny, it's not bad."
Quinn says defensively, "What's not bad?"
"Whatever the fuck is going on in your head, dude, I don't know." Bert wiggles his fingers. "I'm not the Quinn Master yet. I'm, like, the Quinn Apprentice."
"Nerd."
"Douche."
"Lamer."
"Piss lover," Bert snipes, and gets shoved for his trouble. "Thought so," he says, and grabs a fistful of Quinn's t-shirt.
Quinn is sulking, which means Bert hit it right on the head. Weird. "Shut up," Quinn mumbles, even though Bert didn't say anything. He's actually turning red. "Just shut up." They walk in silence for a block, and then Quinn pipes up again. "I don't even know if I like it," he says, and shoves his hair out of his face.
Bert tightens his hold on Quinn's t-shirt, thinking. "You've just thought about it?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." They walk in step for a few strides. "You want to try it again?" Quinn stops, and Bert reels around, swung by his hold on Quinn's shirt.
"What?" Quinn's a little slack-jawed, now. "Bert--"
"I'm not kidding," Bert says defensively. "I wouldn't kid, Quinny." Quinn ducks his head, shrugs his shoulders again like he's trying to shake something off, and Bert shrugs back. "Whatever," he says, "The offer's on the table. Buy me fries?"
---
Bert's got a pretty short attention span for anything that doesn't get him high or get him off. Life is too fucking hard to pay attention to bullshit like "does Stacy like me, tee hee, tee hee." Is Stacy going to let him dive face-first into her muff, that's Bert's question. He maybe has a bad habit of falling in love with anyone who's willing to suck his dick, okay, but before that Bert is extremely action-oriented.
When he starts getting all nervous about Quinn, then, that's pretty fucked up. First of all, Bert already fucking went straight to the point, so now the ball is in Quinn's court, and Bert should be relaxed. Second, Bert's already in love with Quinn, the forever kind of love his mom thought he was going to find with a nice Mormon girl. Bert is going to follow Quinn wherever the fuck Quinn goes, like herpes. It shouldn't matter whether or not Quinn wants Bert to piss on him, or whether Bert will get sex out of the deal.
Still, he's all knotted up about it. He would avoid Quinn and try to figure his shit out, but that's fucking stupid. Bert doesn't avoid Quinn, that's not how love works. He talks to Quinn about it, instead.
"Like, I'm all hung up on whether you'll let me suck your dick, after."
"I don't even know if I like it," Quinn whines. He's got his arm thrown over his face. It's four am, okay, but it isn't bright enough out to cover his eyes.
"Look at me," Bert insists, and Quinn drags his arm down just far enough that he can squint at Bert. "Promise me you'll let me piss on you?" Quinn hesitates a long ass time. "I'll let you go to sleep if you give me an answer."
Quinn finally says, "Okay. Yes."
"And then you'll let me suck your dick after?"
"Sure," Quinn says, and Bert gets a little thrill in his stomach. He can feel himself grinning like a moron. Quinn grunts, "Asshole," but he curls up around Bert, tugging on his arm until he lies back down. "Go back to sleep."
"Okay," Bert says, "As long as I'm guaranteed some cock in my mouth, that's all." Quinn presses his face against the back of Bert's head and snorts.
---
The next morning, Bert walks out of the bathroom in the middle of brushing his teeth and leans into the bedroom. He says, "Hey, do we have practice tonight?"
"No," Quinn says absently. He's apparently trying to decide between shoes before he's actually put on clothes.
"The blue ones," Bert says, and when Quinn picks them up, "I'm drinking a lot of water today, okay?"
Quinn almost fumbles the shoes, and he sits down heavily on the edge of his bed. "Okay," he says finally. His face is bright red again, and if the angle isn't giving the wrong impression, he's chubbing up. Just from talking about it. This was the best idea ever.
Bert hums a happy song while he finishes brushing his teeth. Quinn tells him to go fuck himself before he leaves, and Bert sings, "You're a dirty cuntrag for the devil, baby!" He really loves being in love, seriously.
He has to wait all fucking day for Quinn to get out of school, which is a pain in the ass. It's a pain in the bladder, actually, because Bert drinks way too much water. Every time Bert goes to the bathroom, he worries that he won't have anything on tap when Quinn comes home, so he downs another glass of water, and then he just has to piss again. It's distracting as hell; he's supposed to be looking for jobs, but every time he goes in to ask about employment, he has to ask to use their bathroom, too. He's pretty sure that's not professional. Fuck it, though; he's getting laid.
He spends an hour in the park after he hits all of the jobs on his list, swinging on the monkey bars and trying to decide whether he should take any pills before he meets up with Quinn. He ends up going home sober, but he has a beer before Quinn gets home, and finishes another while Quinn does his homework.
"Jesus, I have to pee again," Bert says, and struggles up off the bed. Quinn freezes in place, and Bert laughs. "No, you're good, finish your trig or whatever. I've just been drinking all fucking day."
He goes into the bathroom, flips up the toilet seat and pulls out his dick. "Um," Quinn says, and Bert looks over his shoulder. Quinn's standing in the doorway, his hands by his sides.
"What?" Bert says. Quinn's got his eyes on the toilet. "I don't know what you're talking about," Bert sighs, "'I don't know if I like it.' You fucking love it, don't lie to me." Bert still has to pee, is the thing, but he doesn't want to go if Quinn's going to want to do it now.
Quinn shakes his head. "It's gross, man."
"Yeah it's gross," Bert says. "I like getting fucked in public, you think that's peachy keen?" He flips the lid back down, puts his dick away, and turns around. Quinn's still staring. "I like going down on girls when they're on the rag," Bert says, and Quinn jerks his eyes up to Bert's face, finally. "I'm not going to judge you."
Quinn opens his mouth, takes a breath, hesitates. "Can we do it now?" he says.
"Thank Christ," Bert says, "I really have to pee."
Bert thinks that Quinn's going to go right for the shower or whatever, but he just stands there in the doorway. Bert takes a step towards him, and Quinn closes the distance, stooping down to press his mouth against Bert's.
Bert didn't know he was going to get kissing out of this deal. He winds his fingers in Quinn's hair and pulls, making Quinn grab his hips to support him. Quinn kisses neatly, contained within the space of Bert's mouth, but he doesn't yank away when Bert gets sloppy. He even pants a little when Bert licks his cheek. When he pulls away to say, "Ready?" he sounds breathless and turned on, and Bert just wants to get on his dick, screw the golden shower.
He really does have to pee, though. "Ahoy, captain," Bert tells him, and pulls off his shirt. Quinn does the same, then helps Bert with his jeans, their fingers bumping together over the fly. Quinn's just wearing shorts. It's nothing Bert hasn't seen before, but he can see Quinn hesitating before he pushes them off. "Hi," Bert says, "Like I haven't been up close and personal with your boner before."
"That was different," Quinn insists, but he looks a little reassured.
"Boners while wrestling are perfectly normal," Bert tells him primly, and then clambers into the shower. "C'mere, your mom'll get pissed if I pee on her bathmat." Quinn follows more slowly, and Bert rolls his eyes. "I told you, I know from gross, and this isn't gross. Do you want me to shit on you?" Quinn screws his face up into an automatic grimace. "Okay, so we're totally on the hygienic side of the fence." He pushes on Quinn's shoulder with one hand, the other already on his dick, and Quinn folds down to his knees. It's maybe hotter than it should be. Bert should have pissed on Quinn sooner.
Bert means to ask if there's someplace on Quinn where he should pee, but he has to go really bad. He just lets loose. His piss hits Quinn's shoulder, spatters against his skin, and starts streaming down his chest.
Quinn sucks in a breath. "Fuck," he says. His hand goes to his cock and squeezes.
"Fuck," Bert echoes. He bites his lip; he's starting to get hard, just from Quinn's expression, and he has to concentrate if he's going to keep pissing.
Bert tilts his hips, going for Quinn's neck, but Quinn sinks down even further, opening his mouth. "Holy fuck," Bert says, startled, when his piss splashes into Quinn's mouth. It's the tail end of it, just a weak stream, but Quinn leans forward, chases after the last drops and sucks Bert's cock into his mouth before he's done. "Holy motherfucker," Bert reiterates, putting his hands on Quinn's shoulders -- wet, he registers, Quinn's wet with his piss -- and tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Fuck, Quinn," he says, "I fucking pissed in your mouth." Quinn moans around his cock, and Bert's hips twitch forward without his permission.
Quinn's not a great cocksucker, not a born natural, but he's Quinn, and he's sucking Bert's cock, and that's really enough. Bert just keeps a steady commentary going, touching Quinn's face and shoulders and hair, and before long he has to push Quinn off. "Coming," Bert chokes out, when Quinn makes an irritated noise, and jerks himself once to get over the edge. His come hits Quinn's chest and slides down, mixing with his piss. Bert's legs go out, and he thumps down onto his knees. He rests his forehead against Quinn's really nasty skin.
"So," Quinn says, and Bert laughs.
"Afterglow," Bert tells him. "I get at least fifteen seconds afterglow." He wipes at his forehead before he looks up, but he probably didn't have to bother; Quinn is fucking gone. Bert makes him take his hand off of his dick, and forces him to unfold and sit back in the tub so that Bert can lean over his lap. Quinn makes a face when his ass hits the cold porcelain, but Bert wipes that expression away pretty quickly. That's not saying much -- Quinn is a dude receiving a semi-decent blowjob while covered in piss -- but Bert still feels smug.
Quinn's pretty good about warning for a dude; he pats at Bert's cheek, making a noise that's probably supposed to be English. Bert doesn't pull off, anyway. Quinn's come tastes pretty good for semen. Bert pulls off after Quinn seems to be done, pushes his hair back from his face, and says, "I like blowing non-smokers. Smokers always make me feel like I shoved a cigarette up my nose, y'know? I should quit, huh." Quinn just makes an incoherent noise, so Bert sprawls forward, mashing himself up along Quinn's nasty, sticky, piss-covered side. "I pissed in your mouth, dude," he mumbles against Quinn's side, and Quinn's arm comes up around him, holding him tight.
"I'll fuck you behind the bleachers later," Quinn promises, and Bert bites his nipple in joy.
Title from Sleater-Kinney's "What's Mine is Yours."
The Used, Bert/Quinn, NC-17. Written for ix_tab.
Warnings: the story opens with a scene that could be a problem for emetophobes, the main characters are (vaguely) underage, and piss plays a central role in the sex.
---
Bert holds up one finger. "Hold please," he says, in his best secretarial voice. When Quinn belches his assent, Bert rolls over, gets himself onto his hands and knees, and hurls all over the Timpanogos High School football field's fifty yard line.
"Shit," Quinn says, when Bert finally stops. "Dude, you're giving me sympathy pukes."
"Sorry," Bert says, and spits into the fresh puddle. "Remind me not to pound a forty ever again."
"I reminded you today."
Bert slumps over, then rolls so he's on his back again. "Right, shit, I forgot."
"It's cool."
It's only a couple of minutes before Bert says, "Fucking shit on me, now I have to piss."
"Go for it," Quinn says, gesturing expansively.
"Hold please." Bert forces his sluggish limbs to function, pushing himself up and staggering left of the puke. "You haven't had to piss once," Bert says, fumbling his dick out over the waistband of his shorts. He groans when he starts to pee. "Drunk pissing is better than jerking off, I fucking kid you not."
"Golden seal, bitch," Quinn says. He's got his eyes closed, and his arms are flung out on either side of him. Quinn lost his shirt when they scaled the fence -- it ripped all the way up the back -- and if he weren't so drunk he'd probably be curled up and shivering. Bert stumbles closer to see if he's got goosepimples, and Quinn's eyes fly open. "Are you pissing on me?"
Bert glances down, and then says, "Nope, not yet." He takes a deliberate step forward. "Not yet, either."
"Fuck you," Quinn bites out, pushing himself up on his elbows. Bert edges forward again. He doesn't mean to pee on Quinn, but he's got no balance when he's drunk; he weaves forward, and the stream hits Quinn's side, then his stomach. Bert expects Quinn to flip out, jump up and punch him in the junk, something, but Quinn just lies there. Bert's piss spatters on his stomach, and Quinn stares at him, his mouth half-open.
Even with how drunk he is, Bert can tell that this is awkward. He doesn't even shake it out when he's done peeing, just shoves his dick back in his shorts. He says, "Quinn?" and goes down on his knees next to him.
"Fuck you," Quinn says again, and shoves him. Bert topples over. His elbow lands in his puke.
"Hey," he says, "What the fuck, dude," but Quinn's already up and stumbling away.
Bert catches up with Quinn a block away from the high school, but he doesn't bring it up again. Bert latches on to Quinn's side -- the side he didn't piss on -- and talks about how mad the football team will be when they discover what they did to the field. Quinn laughs, and it's back to normal.
---
The next day Bert reeks of booze, piss, cigarettes, armpit, and puke. His hair is sticking to his face. The girl sitting next to him at McDonalds keeps edging away from him, giving him sidelong looks every time she shifts. Bert finally bares his teeth at her and giggles, just so she'll get up and move.
Once she does, Bert's got an empty seat on every side of him, just how he likes it. Bert slumps back in his chair, puts his feet up on the table, and crams a fistful of fries in his mouth. He thinks about Quinn's expression when Bert pissed on him while he's eating. He thinks that maybe something's up there, something he hadn't caught before. He's not sure what, but something's up. That's all he can come up with, even though he thinks about it all the way through breakfast.
Quinn usually eats his lunch outside with his squad of nerdy friends. Bert walks over to the school for lunch time and crashes out on the grass next to Quinn's group. Bert's sworn that he won't be too much of a dick around Quinn's nerd posse, and Quinn doesn't talk to them about anything real, so Bert has to hold off on asking about the pissing. It's fucking killing him, though, and he ends up biting his forearm for most of the time just to keep from saying something.
When all the good little boys are gathering up their stuff to go back inside, Bert grabs Quinn's hand and says, "Hey. Skip gym?"
"I don't know," Quinn says, "I was kind of jonesing for a rope climb."
"I'll give you rope climbing," Bert tells him, and grabs his crotch. Quinn snorts.
"Out back?"
"Out back."
Bert sits on top of the dumpster out back for a half hour, swinging his feet and thumping them against the metal. When Quinn finally wiggles out of the window, Bert jumps up and helps him down. "What took you so long?"
"Gym teacher wanted on my dick."
"You're just a guy who can't say no," Bert sings, and giggles. They jump down off of the dumpster and start walking; Bert heads for the McDonalds again, just for lack of anywhere better. "Hey, speaking of," he starts, and then can't figure out how to finish. Bert's not very good at subtle. "So I peed on you, huh?" Quinn doesn't say anything, but he seems like he's pulling in on himself. Bert paws at Quinn's side. "Hey, hey, Quinny, it's not bad."
Quinn says defensively, "What's not bad?"
"Whatever the fuck is going on in your head, dude, I don't know." Bert wiggles his fingers. "I'm not the Quinn Master yet. I'm, like, the Quinn Apprentice."
"Nerd."
"Douche."
"Lamer."
"Piss lover," Bert snipes, and gets shoved for his trouble. "Thought so," he says, and grabs a fistful of Quinn's t-shirt.
Quinn is sulking, which means Bert hit it right on the head. Weird. "Shut up," Quinn mumbles, even though Bert didn't say anything. He's actually turning red. "Just shut up." They walk in silence for a block, and then Quinn pipes up again. "I don't even know if I like it," he says, and shoves his hair out of his face.
Bert tightens his hold on Quinn's t-shirt, thinking. "You've just thought about it?"
"Yeah."
"Huh." They walk in step for a few strides. "You want to try it again?" Quinn stops, and Bert reels around, swung by his hold on Quinn's shirt.
"What?" Quinn's a little slack-jawed, now. "Bert--"
"I'm not kidding," Bert says defensively. "I wouldn't kid, Quinny." Quinn ducks his head, shrugs his shoulders again like he's trying to shake something off, and Bert shrugs back. "Whatever," he says, "The offer's on the table. Buy me fries?"
---
Bert's got a pretty short attention span for anything that doesn't get him high or get him off. Life is too fucking hard to pay attention to bullshit like "does Stacy like me, tee hee, tee hee." Is Stacy going to let him dive face-first into her muff, that's Bert's question. He maybe has a bad habit of falling in love with anyone who's willing to suck his dick, okay, but before that Bert is extremely action-oriented.
When he starts getting all nervous about Quinn, then, that's pretty fucked up. First of all, Bert already fucking went straight to the point, so now the ball is in Quinn's court, and Bert should be relaxed. Second, Bert's already in love with Quinn, the forever kind of love his mom thought he was going to find with a nice Mormon girl. Bert is going to follow Quinn wherever the fuck Quinn goes, like herpes. It shouldn't matter whether or not Quinn wants Bert to piss on him, or whether Bert will get sex out of the deal.
Still, he's all knotted up about it. He would avoid Quinn and try to figure his shit out, but that's fucking stupid. Bert doesn't avoid Quinn, that's not how love works. He talks to Quinn about it, instead.
"Like, I'm all hung up on whether you'll let me suck your dick, after."
"I don't even know if I like it," Quinn whines. He's got his arm thrown over his face. It's four am, okay, but it isn't bright enough out to cover his eyes.
"Look at me," Bert insists, and Quinn drags his arm down just far enough that he can squint at Bert. "Promise me you'll let me piss on you?" Quinn hesitates a long ass time. "I'll let you go to sleep if you give me an answer."
Quinn finally says, "Okay. Yes."
"And then you'll let me suck your dick after?"
"Sure," Quinn says, and Bert gets a little thrill in his stomach. He can feel himself grinning like a moron. Quinn grunts, "Asshole," but he curls up around Bert, tugging on his arm until he lies back down. "Go back to sleep."
"Okay," Bert says, "As long as I'm guaranteed some cock in my mouth, that's all." Quinn presses his face against the back of Bert's head and snorts.
---
The next morning, Bert walks out of the bathroom in the middle of brushing his teeth and leans into the bedroom. He says, "Hey, do we have practice tonight?"
"No," Quinn says absently. He's apparently trying to decide between shoes before he's actually put on clothes.
"The blue ones," Bert says, and when Quinn picks them up, "I'm drinking a lot of water today, okay?"
Quinn almost fumbles the shoes, and he sits down heavily on the edge of his bed. "Okay," he says finally. His face is bright red again, and if the angle isn't giving the wrong impression, he's chubbing up. Just from talking about it. This was the best idea ever.
Bert hums a happy song while he finishes brushing his teeth. Quinn tells him to go fuck himself before he leaves, and Bert sings, "You're a dirty cuntrag for the devil, baby!" He really loves being in love, seriously.
He has to wait all fucking day for Quinn to get out of school, which is a pain in the ass. It's a pain in the bladder, actually, because Bert drinks way too much water. Every time Bert goes to the bathroom, he worries that he won't have anything on tap when Quinn comes home, so he downs another glass of water, and then he just has to piss again. It's distracting as hell; he's supposed to be looking for jobs, but every time he goes in to ask about employment, he has to ask to use their bathroom, too. He's pretty sure that's not professional. Fuck it, though; he's getting laid.
He spends an hour in the park after he hits all of the jobs on his list, swinging on the monkey bars and trying to decide whether he should take any pills before he meets up with Quinn. He ends up going home sober, but he has a beer before Quinn gets home, and finishes another while Quinn does his homework.
"Jesus, I have to pee again," Bert says, and struggles up off the bed. Quinn freezes in place, and Bert laughs. "No, you're good, finish your trig or whatever. I've just been drinking all fucking day."
He goes into the bathroom, flips up the toilet seat and pulls out his dick. "Um," Quinn says, and Bert looks over his shoulder. Quinn's standing in the doorway, his hands by his sides.
"What?" Bert says. Quinn's got his eyes on the toilet. "I don't know what you're talking about," Bert sighs, "'I don't know if I like it.' You fucking love it, don't lie to me." Bert still has to pee, is the thing, but he doesn't want to go if Quinn's going to want to do it now.
Quinn shakes his head. "It's gross, man."
"Yeah it's gross," Bert says. "I like getting fucked in public, you think that's peachy keen?" He flips the lid back down, puts his dick away, and turns around. Quinn's still staring. "I like going down on girls when they're on the rag," Bert says, and Quinn jerks his eyes up to Bert's face, finally. "I'm not going to judge you."
Quinn opens his mouth, takes a breath, hesitates. "Can we do it now?" he says.
"Thank Christ," Bert says, "I really have to pee."
Bert thinks that Quinn's going to go right for the shower or whatever, but he just stands there in the doorway. Bert takes a step towards him, and Quinn closes the distance, stooping down to press his mouth against Bert's.
Bert didn't know he was going to get kissing out of this deal. He winds his fingers in Quinn's hair and pulls, making Quinn grab his hips to support him. Quinn kisses neatly, contained within the space of Bert's mouth, but he doesn't yank away when Bert gets sloppy. He even pants a little when Bert licks his cheek. When he pulls away to say, "Ready?" he sounds breathless and turned on, and Bert just wants to get on his dick, screw the golden shower.
He really does have to pee, though. "Ahoy, captain," Bert tells him, and pulls off his shirt. Quinn does the same, then helps Bert with his jeans, their fingers bumping together over the fly. Quinn's just wearing shorts. It's nothing Bert hasn't seen before, but he can see Quinn hesitating before he pushes them off. "Hi," Bert says, "Like I haven't been up close and personal with your boner before."
"That was different," Quinn insists, but he looks a little reassured.
"Boners while wrestling are perfectly normal," Bert tells him primly, and then clambers into the shower. "C'mere, your mom'll get pissed if I pee on her bathmat." Quinn follows more slowly, and Bert rolls his eyes. "I told you, I know from gross, and this isn't gross. Do you want me to shit on you?" Quinn screws his face up into an automatic grimace. "Okay, so we're totally on the hygienic side of the fence." He pushes on Quinn's shoulder with one hand, the other already on his dick, and Quinn folds down to his knees. It's maybe hotter than it should be. Bert should have pissed on Quinn sooner.
Bert means to ask if there's someplace on Quinn where he should pee, but he has to go really bad. He just lets loose. His piss hits Quinn's shoulder, spatters against his skin, and starts streaming down his chest.
Quinn sucks in a breath. "Fuck," he says. His hand goes to his cock and squeezes.
"Fuck," Bert echoes. He bites his lip; he's starting to get hard, just from Quinn's expression, and he has to concentrate if he's going to keep pissing.
Bert tilts his hips, going for Quinn's neck, but Quinn sinks down even further, opening his mouth. "Holy fuck," Bert says, startled, when his piss splashes into Quinn's mouth. It's the tail end of it, just a weak stream, but Quinn leans forward, chases after the last drops and sucks Bert's cock into his mouth before he's done. "Holy motherfucker," Bert reiterates, putting his hands on Quinn's shoulders -- wet, he registers, Quinn's wet with his piss -- and tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. "Fuck, Quinn," he says, "I fucking pissed in your mouth." Quinn moans around his cock, and Bert's hips twitch forward without his permission.
Quinn's not a great cocksucker, not a born natural, but he's Quinn, and he's sucking Bert's cock, and that's really enough. Bert just keeps a steady commentary going, touching Quinn's face and shoulders and hair, and before long he has to push Quinn off. "Coming," Bert chokes out, when Quinn makes an irritated noise, and jerks himself once to get over the edge. His come hits Quinn's chest and slides down, mixing with his piss. Bert's legs go out, and he thumps down onto his knees. He rests his forehead against Quinn's really nasty skin.
"So," Quinn says, and Bert laughs.
"Afterglow," Bert tells him. "I get at least fifteen seconds afterglow." He wipes at his forehead before he looks up, but he probably didn't have to bother; Quinn is fucking gone. Bert makes him take his hand off of his dick, and forces him to unfold and sit back in the tub so that Bert can lean over his lap. Quinn makes a face when his ass hits the cold porcelain, but Bert wipes that expression away pretty quickly. That's not saying much -- Quinn is a dude receiving a semi-decent blowjob while covered in piss -- but Bert still feels smug.
Quinn's pretty good about warning for a dude; he pats at Bert's cheek, making a noise that's probably supposed to be English. Bert doesn't pull off, anyway. Quinn's come tastes pretty good for semen. Bert pulls off after Quinn seems to be done, pushes his hair back from his face, and says, "I like blowing non-smokers. Smokers always make me feel like I shoved a cigarette up my nose, y'know? I should quit, huh." Quinn just makes an incoherent noise, so Bert sprawls forward, mashing himself up along Quinn's nasty, sticky, piss-covered side. "I pissed in your mouth, dude," he mumbles against Quinn's side, and Quinn's arm comes up around him, holding him tight.
"I'll fuck you behind the bleachers later," Quinn promises, and Bert bites his nipple in joy.