Fic: It's not over yet (The Used, GSF, NC-17)
It's not over yet
The Used // GSF // sex pollen // NC-17 // 10500 words
The first of two stories for gigantic in the usedfic exchange. Title from the Klaxons, "It's Not Over Yet." Playlist can be found here. Jepha reads from I am a Cat, by Soseki Natsume.
Thank you to hetrez and 7iris for their invaluable service as beta readers. eleanor-lavish is technically to blame for this, and read it in its earliest stages.
[edit: sorry for the lack of cut before.]
***
Quinn can feel the fresh sweat as it rolls down his back. He shouldn't be able to feel it -- his skin is already slick from playing -- but he can. Quinn rolls his shoulders to try to shake off the itch. All that does is make his t-shirt cling closer to his skin.
"Can I have a hug?" a girl asks. Her eyes are ringed with smeared eyeliner and mascara. Her face shines with sweat.
"I'm gross," Quinn tells her.
"It's totally cool," she assures him. Quinn laughs and holds out his arms, and they latch together. He gets her hair in his mouth, and it's salty with sweat. Her friend takes their picture. Quinn smiles automatically; somehow he's gotten a sixth sense for camera flashes. He doesn't look in the right direction, though, and he catches the flash right in the eyes.
Quinn blinks at the spots that follow the flash. He stumbles sideways. He grabs whatever it is that someone's holding out to him. He scrawls his name across it, and moves over again.
The spots fade, but there are still strange dots floating in his vision, making him blink. Pictures and paper and CD cases flutter in front of him. Cell phones outstretched by disembodied arms weave in his face. Only a few sweat-smeared faces register out of the crowd.
"Christ," Quinn says. He nearly stumbles again. "Hot. Really wow, hot."
Jepha makes a soft noise of agreement. He's hugging a boy and signing the shoulder of another fan's t-shirt at the same time. "You're a machine," Quinn informs him. Jepha looks up from the poster in his hands, his Sharpie still moving. "A bassist-shaped machine. You have marker-fu."
"Time to get on the bus, I think," Jepha says. Quinn nods. The world swims sideways.
"Stay!" a boy says. He presses something orange into Jepha's hands. They all take up the call, voices rising around them like birds startled into flight.
"Birds. I hate birds," Quinn tells Jepha.
Jepha says, "That means it's time for Quinn's afternoon nap, guys." A few people at the front giggle.
"Sorry," Quinn says. "Really sorry, guys. Don't hate me on the message board?"
"Okay, dude." Jepha steers Quinn towards the bus. His hands are full of stuff. Something's pressing into Quinn's back.
"I hate birds," Quinn says again.
"Me too," Jepha mutters. Quinn smiles. Of course Jepha gets it. "Let's just get on the bus," Jepha says. He shoves Quinn the rest of the way.
The bus is blessedly dark, and it's cooler than it was outside. Quinn heads back to the bunks on his own steam. He strips off his shirt and drops it with a wet smack on the floor by his bags. Jepha edges by him, heading into the back lounge. Quinn unbuttons and drops his shorts. His underwear is sticking to his nuts, so he takes them off, too.
"Where's Bert?" Jepha says. Like Quinn's supposed to know.
"We're not twins," he says. He means to sound frosty, but it doesn't come out right.
"I don't care," Jepha says. And then, "Oh, okay. Fuck it, let's just get a move on, okay?"
"Okay?" Quinn says, confused. He squats down to find another pair of boxers and has to cling to the edge of the bunk to stay upright.
Jepha comes back into the bunks. "Dan and Bert are having a burping marathon," he says. Quinn tries to catch up. Jepha's moving too quickly. "You need to drink something and go to bed."
"I would like your largest beer," Quinn says authoritatively, "Lager-est beer."
Jepha shakes his head and pushes him into his bunk. "Gatorade," he says. He leaves and comes back, holding the bottle.
"I hate you," Quinn says. He's not sure if he means Jepha or the Gatorade. He takes the bottle anyway and drinks it. Liquid spills out of the sides of his mouth and down over his chest. It tastes like fake orange and gelatin. It is delicious.
"When did it become naked time?" Jepha asks, and when Quinn opens his mouth, "Never mind, I don't want to know. You want some tea?"
"Too many words," Quinn says, waving his hand to get them to move away. Jepha laughs.
"Okay, no tea for you. Sleep."
Quinn doesn't want to sleep, not really. He wants to stay up and talk to Jepha about the show. He's tired, though. Sick. Hungover. The Gatorade didn't wake him up.
Quinn closes his eyes. He slides sideways, off of the bed and into sleep.
***
Quinn dreams of birds landing on Jepha's shoulders, his hair. Jepha's eyes are beady and dark. When Quinn opens his mouth, all he can make are rough, wordless cries.
"Hey," someone -- Jepha -- says, his hand on Quinn's back, "hey, hey."
"Wha'," he says. "Uh?"
"You were yelling," Jepha says. The sun has gone down some. It's harder to make out the shape of Jepha's face in the dim light that filters back from the front of the bus, but Quinn doesn't want to turn on his bunk light. He feels like something is pressing at the inside of his head, something feathery and strange.
Quinn gets himself up on his elbows so he can press the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. "What's up?" Jepha asks, quietly.
"It's itchy," Quinn says. "In my head." Jepha's silent. Quinn is slowly waking. The feeling seems to spread over his skin as he does. "Fuck, all over me."
"What did you take?"
Quinn brushes at the tops of his ears, trying to get the last few feathers off. He knows he shouldn't snap at the question; it's a legitimate one. "I didn't take anything. An Adderall. That's it."
"When?"
"Fuck, at nine in the fucking morning, okay?"
"Don't be an asshole," Jepha says, but he's not pissed off. His hand is gentle on Quinn's shoulder. "No MDMA? No pills?"
"No," Quinn says miserably. "And you know Bert made me give up acid after last time."
"Yeah. Maybe it's hives?"
"I'm not allergic to anything."
"I know," Jepha says. "Maybe it's your cold." Jepha rubs his hand down over Quinn's back, like he's trying to comfort him. Quinn arches up under his hand.
"Oh, that-- yeah." Quinn laughs a little, self-conscious.
"Huh," Jepha says. The itch surges back when Jepha takes his hand away. Quinn catches Jepha's wrist and tugs it back to his body. "Okay," Jepha says, amused. "Let me just get my tea."
Jepha's gone forever. Quinn can hear him talking to Bert out in the front lounge, can hear Dan doing something weird in the back. Quinn rubs his forearms and his face against the sheets, trying to satisfy the humming he feels across his skin, grunting with the effort.
His dick is incredibly fucking hard; it almost hurts to press it against the mattress, but that doesn't mean Quinn can bring himself to stop.
When Jepha comes back, he's got two steaming mugs of tea and a book. "Here," he says, setting the second mug next to Quinn on the floor. He folds down to the floor, puts down his book and his tea, and lets Quinn guide his hand back. "A little light pressure won't hurt, I don't think."
"Yeah," Quinn whispers, trying to put his urgency in his voice.
"We probably should go to the hospital if this doesn't go away."
"Okay," Quinn says, into his arm. "Sorry."
"It's cool," Jepha says, already flipping his book open on his thigh. He rubs Quinn's back in slow sweeping strokes, running his palm from the base of Quinn's spine, to his shoulder blades, and back again. His hand leaves streaks of pleasure in its wake. Quinn sets his teeth very carefully into the fabric of his pillow, and does not moan.
After a few minutes of stroking Quinn's back, Jepha starts reading aloud. "Had Sorosaki ever got into a tram, sure as egg is egg, he'd have finished up at the end of the line in Shinagawa. He was an absent-minded man."
Jepha's voice is dry; he doesn't change his tone for the different speakers, just keeps meting out word after word in time with the methodical sweep of his hand. "But when it came to cooking rice he was a positive imbecile. Every time it came round to Sorosaki's turn to do the cooking, I contrived to keep body and soul together by eating out on noodles."
Quinn wants to ask who Sorosaki is, but he's still got his mouthful of pillowcase and a moan stuck in his throat. He swallows around it. His hips are moving, Quinn knows they are, but he can't stop them. Jepha doesn't say anything. Quinn tries to limit his thrusts to once every five strokes of Jepha's hand, but soon he has to drop to once for every three strokes, and then once for every two.
The feeling only intensifies. It hits Quinn in rolling urges: to pour the tea over his skin, to rub Jepha's book against himself until the paper cuts him, to pull Jepha down until he covers Quinn entirely. Quinn grunts. He pushes himself up on his elbows and opens his mouth so he can pant quietly.
Jepha trails off in the middle of what is probably another joke about Sorosaki. Quinn tries to still his hips, but the ragged edge of one of Jepha's nails catches on Quinn's skin, and it sings down into his bones. Quinn can't help it, then, he's not that strong. The moan finally escapes, roughening as it struggles up out of his throat.
Quinn grabs the mug of lukewarm, bitter tea and takes a few awkward gulps. He coughs. The tea and his spit together taste like blood.
"Quinn," Jepha says. Quinn squeezes his eyes shut. He hears the book flop closed, and then Jepha's hand moves to his shoulder and tries to get him to turn over. Tea slops over Quinn's wrist with the movement, and he has to set the mug down.
"Sorry," Quinn says, "It's cool, I'm out of it."
"Look at me." It's Jepha's stern voice, the one he uses to break up fights and mediate human bowling disputes. Quinn stops shaking his head, but he doesn't open his eyes.
Jepha makes an annoyed noise. Quinn hears him shuffling slightly. Quinn slits one eye open just enough to see the blurry shape of Jepha sitting up on his knees. His posture reminds Quinn of the birds in his dream, how their round muscular breasts were dense with feathers.
He's opening his mouth to say something when Jepha digs his fingers into the flesh of Quinn's lower back, right above his ass. Sensation radiates out in all directions from Jepha's hand -- it's lightning bolts, like a comic book, like Quinn's in an Archie cartoon -- and then draws in tight again. Quinn's eyes open wide without his permission. His throat squeezes around a moan, and his hips hitch hard into the bed.
"What's going on?" Jepha asks, concern creeping into his voice.
"I don't know," Quinn says irritably, "I need. I need, like." He hunches his back up. "I don't know." Jepha is silent, waiting, with his hand still on Quinn's back. The itch is racing over Quinn's skin again, inside and out. Quinn tries to wet his lips. The ragged skin on his lips rasps together.
"When you fall off your skateboard," Quinn tries. Jepha raises his eyebrows, but he nods. "And you scrape off the skin, and it's like raw beef?"
"Okay."
"And then it gets that scab."
"Sure."
"And once you have that scab, it kind of hurts, right, in the middle? But it itches, and you want to pick at it." Jepha nods again, his eyebrows drawing back down together. "That's, like. My whole body." There's a spot in the middle of Quinn's back that feels fine, but that's where Jepha's hand is resting. Quinn doesn't think he should bring that up. He can think of better pick-up lines. Hey dude, wanna be my blanket?
"That doesn't sound particularly sexy," Jepha says, like he can read Quinn's filthy mind. Quinn must make a startled noise, because Jepha prods at his ass, pointing out that Quinn's still rolling his hips down into the mattress.
"Shit, sorry. I just, I need someone, I think. To touch me."
Quinn glances back to see Jepha's expression. Jepha's got his lips pressed together and his eyebrows pointing to a spot between his eyes. Quinn's flesh trembles and rolls against his will; he feels like a coin on top of a washing machine.
"We have to take you to the hospital," Jepha says, finally.
"I think we do," Quinn says, sounding small and sad even to himself. Jepha gets out his phone.
"Fuck," Jepha says, looking unsure. "ER, I guess. Fuck."
"Sorry," Quinn says. Jepha gives him a tight little smile.
"It's cool," Jepha replies, even though it clearly isn't.
When Jepha gets up, Quinn tugs the curtain on his bunk closed. The darkness is too close and too empty at the same time. Quinn wants to roll out of his bunk, but he has to take care of his dick before it gets any more embarrassing.
His lips roll back from his teeth when he touches himself, and his other hand slams into the ceiling of the bunk. His knees jerk up, and his toes curl, and what the fuck is he on? It feels like he's being moved by someone else, like his bones are wired. It's frightening, but not so scary that Quinn can bring himself to stop. His mind flickers through distorted porn images, bodies stretching and warping together, open mouths, open asses, shuddering skin, sweat-slick bodies slapping together, sucking open squeezing and Quinn comes, bucking up into his fist.
Quinn sags back down. His hand falls away from the ceiling, back to the mattress. He takes his other hand off of his dick and licks his knuckles clean, slowly. He feels all right. He feels empty, which is better than before. Quinn opens his eyes. He blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust his vision to the darkness of his bunk.
Of course, it would have felt better with someone else. Quinn thinks of Jepha's hand on his back, and just like that, the itch starts back up. Quinn groans, and then his dick starts to harden. Quinn looks down at it, horrified, and curls up, refusing to touch himself again. He waits for Jepha.
When Jepha finally comes back, he tells Quinn that he's cancelled the show. Bert is being pissy about it; Quinn can hear him hollering in the front lounge that Quinn is being a sad-ass bitch. Quinn doesn't answer him, though. He stays in his bunk, pressing his back against the wall. He's shaking. He wants Jepha to climb in with him.
Quinn thinks that maybe Bert is right, after Jepha is done on the phone and is stroking Quinn's back again. When the bus pulls into the hospital parking lot, Quinn says, "Maybe I should just play the show. Play it off, or whatever."
Jepha's mouth flattens out. Quinn presses his face against his pillow. "I'm fine, I bet," he offers.
Jepha says, "Why don't we just have a quick check-up, while we're here?" Quinn rolls his eyes, but he eases himself up, cupping his hand over his dick to try and hide it from Jepha.
"Oh, Christ, that makes no kind of sense," Jepha says. "You'll share it with the world when it's limp, but you get a hard-on and you have to hide it?" He prances out to Quinn's bags and sashays back, flipping a pair of pajama pants back and forth in time with his hips. Quinn laughs. "Don't make me pull a Frank, honey," Jepha lisps, and throws the pajamas at Quinn's head.
"Pull a Frank!" Bert yelps, out in the front. "Pull it!"
"I don't even know what that means," Quinn says plaintively, then holds up the hand not covering his dick when Jepha opens his mouth. "I don't want to know."
Quinn eases on his pajamas, a shirt, sandals. By the time he's clothed, Quinn's got his mouth open to pant again. It's all too coarse. He needs skin, touch, not fabric.
"Hey," Jepha says. He puts his hands on Quinn's lower back, under the t-shirt. "It's okay. Okay." He coaxes Quinn through the bus, down the stairs, and out onto the wet pavement. Bert and Dan jump out after them, talking loudly. Water splashes up on Quinn's instep. He shudders and presses closer to Jepha.
Bert darts in front of them, turns back to say something say something to Quinn, and stops. His expression crumples up for a split second, just long enough for Quinn to register it.
"So okay, hey. Hey. What's going on?" Bert says. His face smoothes out, and he reaches out to touch Quinn's cheek. Quinn turns his face into the familiar hot shaking surface of Bert's hand, feeling grateful and needy. "Hey baby," Bert says, soft and sweet, "Hey, hey little baby."
"I told you he was sick," Jepha says.
"I didn't know he was sick-sick," Bert snipes back. He puts both of his hands on Quinn's face. "Shut the fuck up. What kind of high is it?"
Quinn closes his eyes and huffs a breath out through his nose, leaning forward more. "I don't know," he says. Bert makes a small noise, probably confused, but he doesn't ask anything else about it. Quinn follows Bert and Jepha blindly towards the hospital.
Bert badgers Jepha for information in between cooing over Quinn. He keeps his hands on Quinn too, touching lightly, carefully, constantly. It feels fucking amazing. Between Bert and Jepha, Quinn is able to convince himself to keep moving. Before he realizes it, they're inside the building.
Quinn doesn't like hospitals. "Hospitals are for dead people," Dan reminds him, when Quinn says as much. "No one likes them, except crazy people. And maybe doctors."
"Same difference," Jepha remarks.
"That's an insult to crazy people," Bert mutters darkly. He's started his hospital twitch, flinching away from anyone in scrubs or a lab coat. They hate hospitals a little more than the average person, maybe; the three of them are huddled around Dan as they move through the automated doors.
"Just don't get us arrested," Jepha says, through his teeth, "We can leave whenever we want, as long as we don't get arrested." He squares his shoulders when he breaks away from the rest of them, and he looks confident as he walks up to the front desk. Jepha smiles brightly at the clerk. "Table for one?"
"This isn't a rehab," she says, handing over a clipboard. Quinn watches Jepha's smile get a little wider.
"Do you say that to everyone who's been roofied?" he asks, sweetly. She pauses and takes a closer look at Quinn, who's curled down so that Bert can hold him. Quinn tries to give her his best wounded puppy look, but it's awkward position. His head feels swollen. He drops the expression and tucks his face into Bert's armpit.
"Fill out both sides of the form," she says, finally. Quinn can hear Jepha snort, but he must take the paperwork she gives him, because they're moving again.
The waiting room chairs are torture. Quinn hunches over himself, because there are junkies and old ladies here, and he doesn't want either of them eyeing up his hard-on. Quinn's bent over so far that he's afraid the head of his dick is going to rub against his throat.
Quinn wants to sit up, to rub his back against the rough, dirty fabric of the waiting room chair. Quinn wants to fist his dick, spit on the head and jerk himself, writhing against the polyester, with his bare feet squeaking against the linoleum floor. Quinn presses his face against his knees and tucks his hands under his ass, breathing steadily through his mouth.
It's the itch. It's running his life. It's rippling all over his skin. Quinn sits up slightly to wipe at the sweat on his face, and then hunches back down over his dick again. Fuck. The only way it could be worse would be if any of them were recognized. Luckily the hospital clientele at this hour isn't a major part of their fan base.
"What did you eat today?" Jepha asks. Quinn slides his gaze sideways, looking at Jepha's knee. His head follows a beat later, and he can see Jepha's face. Jepha is squinting down at the paperwork. He holds a pen poised to record Quinn's answers.
"An Aderol," Quinn begins slowly. "Coffee, some Lucky Charms with no milk. Half a banana. I had two beers. Licked sweat off of a crew guy's face after the show. I think it was Slug? Or Rob. I forget. And then we got on the bus," Quinn finishes. He manages to shrug, even hunched over like he is.
Jepha says, "Then the Gatorade, and--" His face suddenly smoothes out. He looks wild-eyed at Bert over Quinn's head.
"What," Bert says, loud and weird-sounding.
"I think the Gatorade was from a fan," Jepha says, "Fuck, I didn't even think-- I was distracted. Fuck."
Bert sputters out a string of profanity. He gets up to kick the legs of his chair, chanting "fuck fuck fuck fuck." The woman at the front desk eyes him. "Fucking fans."
Jepha gets up abruptly, jostling Quinn's elbow and making him hiss. Jepha thrusts the clipboard at Dan. "Keep Bert from getting kicked out and Quinn from dying. I'm calling Frank," Jepha says.
"Oh, great," Quinn mutters. He stops looking at Jepha and presses his face against his knees. He can hear Bert giggle, high and piercing, and then more cursing.
"Don't fucking start with me," Jepha says. "Maybe Bob? No, Frank first."
"Tell him his lead singer is a cunt," Quinn mutters, lifting his lips just off of his knees.
"He already knows what-- Hey, Frank. Yeah, sorry--" Quinn looks up again to watch Jepha wander down the hall. Jepha looks out of place in the hospital, too dark and dangerous to be one of the people who is pacing along the linoleum, talking on a cell phone.
Quinn's shirt is sticking to his skin. He presses his cheek against his knees. His hands are folded between his thighs, and if he slides them up just a little further, he could be touching his dick.
"Where do you itch?" Dan says. Quinn startles and looks up at him, but he's looking over Quinn's head. "Bert, sit the fuck down," Dan says. He looks bored. Quinn envies him.
Bert falls back into his seat, hands clapped over his mouth, still giggling and muttering curses. Quinn turns back to Dan. "Everywhere," he tells Dan, hearing his own desperation.
Dan sighs. "C'mere," he says, patting his knee.
"I'm kind of hard," Quinn says hesitantly. Dan shrugs and pats his knee again.
Quinn would normally protest getting treated like a little kid this often in one day, but he figures a bad trip means he gets some babysitting. Quinn gets up out of his chair. He sits back down draped half in Dan's lap, half over the armrests of the chair. The fat smelly guy snoozing on the other side of Dan snorts, but doesn't wake up. Quinn puts his face into the crook of Dan's neck with a sigh. He barely fits in Dan's lap, but it's worth it for all the contact.
"It really hurts," he whispers.
"Sucks," Dan says. He rubs the fingertips of one hand over Quinn's knee, and the other against the small of his back.
"It does."
Bert giggles again. Quinn peeks out from Dan's neck to give him the most reassuring smile he can. Bert hates it when Quinn gets sick, and he's useless in hospitals. Quinn shoves his foot out at Bert. Bert grabs Quinn's ankle like it's a lifeline.
It's actually almost perfect, Dan touching his back, Bert tracing designs and letters on his ankle, but it's not enough. "Not--" Quinn says, hunching his back and then arching, trying to figure a way out of his skin. "Not enough--"
Bert's eyes are wide and darker blue, frightened. Quinn starts to reach for him, then checks the movement. He twists sideways instead, spilling off of Dan's lap and stumbling away from him. "Bus," he says to himself.
If Quinn can get back to the bus, it'll be okay. It's the hospital, that's what it is, it's the lights and the fucking birds all crouched on the chairs, shuffling their feathers and croaking to themselves. "Bus," he repeats again, when someone tries to hold him back. Their fingers feel gorgeous, like melting chocolate on his skin, but he needs to leave. "Bus," he says to Jepha, passing him in the hallway. Jepha says something, but Quinn ignores him.
The parking lot is bright lights and cars and people the people stare and the sky is dark and big and--
Jepha's hands on his arm are a relief. Quinn turns towards Jepha's touch blindly, pressing his face into the warm, damp curve of Jepha's neck. "Why didn't you stop him?" Jepha says, his throat buzzing against Quinn's forehead. Dan says something in an irritated voice, and Jepha responds, "Well, he obviously did."
"No hospital," Quinn mumbles. Jepha sighs.
"No hospital," he echoes, and when Dan says something else, he snaps, "Brian's going to call me back."
"Brian," Quinn says sadly, and folds tighter into Jepha. Bert echoes Quinn. Jepha sighs, a deep breath in-out. If Quinn concentrates, he can see the skin of Jepha's neck trembling faintly in time with his heartbeat. Quinn closes his eyes tightly. He lets Jepha steer him back towards the bus.
Quinn opens his eyes when he hears the bus engine again. He turns his head. The bodyguards and roadies are all outside the buses, looking at them, talking. "Sorry, birds," Quinn mumbles, against Jepha's chest. "Stop staring."
"It's okay," Jepha says, squeezing Quinn tighter. It's not enough. Quinn keens in his throat. "Come on," Jepha says, like he's repeating himself, "Up the steps." Quinn stumbles, but he climbs the stairs somehow. The bus gives a hydraulic hiss. Quinn startles and cries out, softly. Jepha steers him over to the couch in the front lounge and sits him down. Quinn grasps for Jepha, his warmth and steady heartbeat, but Jepha's already moving away.
The bus lurches when they pull back out onto the road. Quinn curls up and tucks his face in his knees. He feels the couch dip, and looks up to watch Bert sitting down next to him. Bert puts his hand out tentatively, touching Quinn's ear, then his cheekbone.
"Really-- fuck, Bert," Quinn says. Bert responds by pushing his hands through Quinn's hair, tugging a little.
Quinn whines high in his throat. He reaches out blindly, finding Bert's throat and hauling him in. "I'm sorry," Quinn says, turning to mouth at the skin of Bert's neck, "I wouldn't, I mean--"
"Holy shit," Bert says over his head. "What the fuck--"
"Brian!" Jepha gasps, which makes no fucking sense. Quinn gives up on listening to Jepha and gives in to the white itchy feeling. Quinn uncurls and kneels up, worming his hands under fabric to feel Bert's skin, fuck, perfect skin, skidding and sweaty under his hands. Bert's hands fall on his shoulders like birds landing, hard and perfect. They curl and bite into his flesh through the fabric of his t-shirt and Quinn feels better, almost better. He pulls and pushes Bert until Bert is stretched out onto the couch. Quinn strips off his own t-shirt and presses his face against Bert's stomach.
"Yeah," he says to Bert's stomach, licks it slowly and then rubs his face against the spitty skin. Bert makes a soft half-formed noise. Quinn drags his face up over Bert's chest, over his rucked-up t-shirt, into the crease of his neck. "I know, baby, I'm sorry."
"Why are you fucking apologizing?" Bert asks. He slides his calves up along Quinn's sides. It's like being clutched by someone's throat, worked over by their grasping fists. Quinn laughs breathlessly. He presses himself down against Bert, into that grasping, into the squeeze of him.
Quinn can hear little choppy grunts coming out of his throat, but he doesn't care, he only cares about the way his skin feels, the narrow curves of Bert's hipbones, Bert's wide blue eyes staring up at him. "Skin," Quinn says desperately. He shoves at Bert's shirt.
Bert gives a high, giddy laugh, raising his arms so that Quinn can push the shirt up over his head and off onto the floor.
Dan's voice breaks through when his volume rises, and Quinn hears, "I mean it, Jeph, what the fuck." Dan sounds almost worried, which is funny. Dan's never worried. Quinn gets out a little laugh. He starts working on Bert's shorts. "Quinn, wait," Dan says.
"No." Quinn slides down Bert's body when the fly of Bert's shorts doesn't open right away.
"Holy shit," Jepha says. Quinn glances up to see Jepha's wet lip, his shocked expression. Later, Quinn thinks. He goes back to working at Bert's clothes.
"It's okay," Bert says. Quinn hums his agreement. "We've done this, it's okay--" Quinn bites at Bert's belly, and Bert giggles. Quinn finally wrestles open the button of his shorts and slides down the zipper.
Bert smells so good, like sticky green bud, like sweat and bottled beer, like cock. Quinn presses his face up against the front of Bert's underwear and drags in a breath, dizzy with the smell. He mouths at Bert's cock through the cotton, presses his lips around the shape and licks at the fabric.
Bert's hand drops into Quinn's hair, petting, dragging through it, and Quinn sighs. Bert's cock twitches under his lips. Quinn scrabbles at the waistband of Bert's underwear and drags it down, inhales deep again through his nose. "Sorry," he repeats, and licks up Bert's cock.
Bert palms the side of Quinn's face and says, "You never apologize to me." It's an observation and a promise, all at once.
"Okay," Quinn says, "okay." He opens his mouth over the head of Bert's dick. Bert groans. His hands flatten on either side of Quinn's head, spreading out, touching him. Bert's knees are bent, pushing his clothes down his legs and drawing Quinn's arms up on either side of him.
This, this is what he wanted. Quinn couldn't have known, but this is what his skin and head were aching and itching for, to swallow down and be swallowed, to be all slick sucking push of bodies together, his body splashing down into Bert's.
"Fuck," Dan says, somewhere. "What the fuck are we supposed to do?"
Bert's hands are roaming all over Quinn's face and his shoulders. Bert's cock is salty on Quinn's tongue. His knees are trembling. It's fucking amazing, it's almost enough. But the itch, the itch is still there, lurking, waiting for Quinn to let down his guard. Quinn isn't submerged, isn't all the way under, and part of him is cold, is itchy and cold.
Quinn pulls his mouth off of Bert's dick and pants over the head, working his hips down against the couch. "Fuck," he says, "Dan, come here, Dan, Dan."
Jepha says something that sounds suspiciously like "pon farr" into the phone, and Dan cracks up. Quinn barely holds back an impatient yell. Dan always does this, gets distracted by Jepha. It's one thing when they're working on a track, but Quinn needs to be fucking fucked right now.
Dan's laughter finally dies out when Quinn makes a rough, desperate noise. Dan says Quinn's name again. Dan's still almost-laughing, but he's closer, almost close enough. He's giving in.
Quinn says, "Please," as low and as rough as he can. He stays crouching over Bert, his body low over the couch cushions. He's like an animal, like a bitch in heat. If Quinn's skin weren't aching, if he were a little more aware of anything but the needy itch of his body, he would be embarrassed. As it is, when he feels Dan's body heat behind him, Quinn whines.
Dan finally slides his hands over Quinn's hips. They are warm, rough blocks of satisfaction. Quinn presses his face into the crease where Bert's leg meets his torso. Quinn's hips work back.
"Hey," Dan says, like he's soothing one of their fans. His hands part ways, one sliding slow up Quinn's back and one down to rest on the curve of Quinn's ass, finger brushing the seam of Quinn's sweatpants over his asshole. Quinn opens his mouth and groans against Bert's cock. "Hey," Dan repeats, but this time he seems to be trying to get their attention. "This is officially weird."
"Fuck me," Quinn says. "Please, Dan, please fuck me."
"Well then," Bert says, and giggles. Dan giggles, too, but his hand is a little more confident on Quinn's ass.
Quinn picks his head up out of Bert's lap and says, "I mean it, okay? I just. It feels like if maybe, if I'm touched. It makes the itch go away." Dan looks at him, expression unreadable, eyes dark, and Quinn repeats, "Please."
"Okay," Dan says, slowly. "Fuck. Fine." He scrubs his other hand over his face and says, "Okay, this is not a couch activity."
"What?" Bert says irritably. Quinn turns back to mouth at Bert's cock, trying to map the skin with his tongue. It's soft, just wet enough that his tongue can still drag when he licks it.
"Back bedroom," Dan says. He takes his hands away. Quinn growls, but then Bert pushes his hands into Quinn's hair and pushes his head back. Quinn breathes hard through his nose, feeling the tightness of his skin over the bones of his face.
"Jesus," Bert says, "C'mon, Dan's right."
Quinn gets up after Bert does. Bert has to let go of Quinn's hair to pull his shorts back up. Quinn mourns the loss, for a moment, but then Dan is tugging him in, wrapping Quinn up and tucking Quinn's face into his armpit. Dan's armpit smells like Dan, his weird combination of old man deodorant and drummer funk.
Dan coos something in Quinn's ear, shuffling them back into the back lounge bedroom.
"You're going to fuck me, right?" Quinn asks, when they cross the threshold.
Dan laughs, warm and close. "I guess so," he says. Quinn shivers happily.
"I'll get the condoms and lube," Bert chirps, but Quinn turns around, flails out and stops Bert with a hand on his arm. Skin, Quinn thinks happily, but he forces himself to focus. "No condoms," Quinn says. Bert blinks at him, mouth already opening to protest. "No, no, I know-- it's okay."
"It's unsafe," Bert insists, "You know--"
"I know," Quinn says. He tries to pull on Bert's arm, but Bert won't move. Quinn's hand slides over skin skin skin until he's holding Bert's fingers, and then he has to put them in his mouth.
"Okay, wow," Dan says, "I'm convinced."
"Fuck, fucking fine, you fucking cocktease," Bert mutters.
"Not teasing," Quinn mumbles. He gives Bert's hand a final lick, and then another. "Go get the fucking lube."
"Get mine, if we're not using condoms," Jepha says. Jepha's standing in the doorway to the back room, but he steps to the side to let Bert through. "The blue bag, in the left side pocket, the thing labeled 'hair gel,'" Jepha tells him. Bert practically scampers.
Quinn arches back against Dan, tipping his head to rest against Dan's solid shoulder. Dan's hands, big broad palms, slide up his torso. Quinn closes his eyes, tries to press himself back and forward at the same time. He wants bodies around him, over him, in him. "Please," Quinn gets out. Dan seems to understand, pressing Quinn tight into his body.
"Hair gel?" Dan asks, his throat vibrating right there. Quinn mouths at the skin he can reach from the awkward angle, unconcerned by Jepha's mislabeling. Dan's got a little bit of stubble on his neck, and it scrapes Quinn's tongue nicely. Dan moves his head away, but Quinn chases him, undeterred.
Jepha says, "I don't know what you assholes would do with it if I didn't mislabel it."
"Jesus," Dan says, laughing. "You're a weird little fuck."
"True," Jepha allows. "Brian said he didn't know."
"I've never seen a high like this," Dan says, "And I've been touring with you guys for a while now."
Quinn interrupts impatiently to say, "come here, Jeph." Maybe he's a little petulant, but his skin is aching, it's seriously throbbing, and no one is nearly naked enough. Jepha laughs, but he obeys and comes within Quinn's reach.
Jepha presses up against Quinn, almost close enough, and he kisses Quinn. His mouth tastes like wet metal. Quinn groans into Jepha's mouth. He wishes for all of their clothes to suddenly disappear. "Not moving fast enough," he gasps out, when Jepha pulls back. "I'm going to die."
"Don't fucking say that," Jepha snaps. Quinn makes an irritated noise, but he's not too pissed; Jepha is taking off his clothes, stripping down to skin. "'I'm dying' was a shitty argument for sex in high school," Jepha continues, "And it hasn't gotten any better. You're not fucking dying."
"You care," Quinn says, grinning to himself, and Jepha says, "I hope you bleed out in a Guatamalan prison," same as always.
Jepha shoves down Quinn's sweatpants, too. When they're finally fucking off, Quinn presses against Jepha full body. He makes a helpless noise at the feeling, his throat too open to stop it. Dan presses against his back a beat later. It's naked skin around him, warm and perfect and Quinn is shaking.
Jepha murmurs, "Fuck." Quinn agrees. "Here, here," Jepha says. He guides Quinn over to the bed, puts him down on hands and knees. Quinn winces at the feel of the bedspread against his skin, but it's necessary, it's needed.
"It was fucking impossible to find," Bert says.
Quinn cranes his neck around and says, "Bert, Bert, come here," and Bert comes obediently.
Quinn shifts his weight so he can lift one hand and pull at Bert's shorts. Quinn makes an irritated noise when they don't magically disappear. Bert giggles, high in his throat. "What's that, boy? Timmy's fallen in the well?"
"Fuck you," Quinn tells him, "Take your clothes off, you asshole."
"Sweet talker," Bert says delightedly.
"Whatever, your fucking freak-ass thing for pissing me off--"
"Your little bitchface is hot," Bert interrupts. He has to sit on the bed to kick off his shorts and underwear, but then he scrambles up to kneel in front of Quinn. Quinn goes down on his elbows and opens his mouth. "I like fucking it quiet," Bert coos.
Quinn would be annoyed, but he's too grateful for the scrape of Bert's nails on his throat and Bert's cock finally back in his mouth. Bert's thighs are even close enough for Quinn to reach out and touch, if Quinn shifts his weight onto his elbows and pries his fingers up off of the coverlet.
Bert arches, pressing forward into Quinn's mouth, and it chokes off the sound Quinn makes when Dan touches his ass. Quinn keeps making it, though, and when Bert pulls back it stutters out of Quinn's mouth. Dan's other hand touches against Quinn's asshole, impossibly slick. Quinn makes the noise again, desperate and pleading.
"Fuck," Bert says. Quinn looks up, even though it makes his eyes water a little from the angle. Bert's hair is straggling over his shoulders, swinging a little with his movements. Bert puts his hand under Quinn's chin and fists the other one in Quinn's hair. It puts Quinn's head at a better angle, straightens out his throat. When Bert shoves in again, Quinn's eyelids actually flutter at how good it feels, and Bert throws his head back to groan.
Dan says, "You two are the loudest fuckers I've ever heard, Jesus."
He pushes his fingers in on the last word, like he wants to prove himself right. There's too much lube, and it drips down the crack of Quinn's ass, over his balls and down his thigh. Dan's fingers are bigger than what Quinn's used to taking. It hurts, raw and sharp. Quinn's legs are trembling. If he weren't so gone, Quinn would be moving away. He shoves himself back onto Dan's hand instead, past caring about any of it, just happy that he's getting it, what he needs, what he wants.
Quinn can recognize Jepha's murmurs in the background, but he cares more when Jepha touches his skin. For a moment Quinn's caught in a perfect place, nothing but hands touching him, shoving inside him, pulling him to pieces.
Dan's other hand is braced on Quinn's back, but after a beat he moves it down to rub at the lube that's dripped over Quinn's balls. Dan moves his hand again when Quinn whines, shifting forward slightly so he can curl his hand around Quinn's cock. It's too much, skin on Quinn's tongue, the salty taste of Bert filling his mouth, Bert's hands roving over Quinn's throat and scalp, Dan's legs bracketing Quinn's on the bed, fingers spreading him open and his hand now pulling. Quinn falls apart, shaking and coming.
Quinn pictures a flock of birds startled into flight, but it's not that poetic; it's just him, instinctively clutching around Dan's hand, his mouth going more slack around Bert's cock, his whole body shaking.
Coming again gives Quinn the respite he'd gotten when he jerked off, a brown-out of the itchy desire he's had since he's woken up. It lasts longer this time, maybe because he's still being touched. "You still want this? You okay?" Jepha asks, speaking quietly into Quinn's ear. Quinn manages an affirmative sound. Jepha leans over, then, and licks at Quinn's lips where they're stretched around Bert's cock. "Fuck," Bert says, surprised-sounding. His hips snap forward, and the itch jumps back to life. Quinn can feel his dick getting hard again, too fast and still tender.
Jepha pulls out of the way of Bert's thrusts, but he bites at Quinn's jaw, sharp bursts of sensation. Quinn's nose is pressed up against Bert's pubes. His chin is wet with drool. Bert chokes out Quinn's name once, and then Quinn can feel him coming. Bert pulls out and jerks the last few pulses out on Quinn's face, slicking Quinn's chin and lips with his come. Jepha darts in to lick Quinn clean, and Quinn turns his head so that he can kiss Jepha instead.
Dan's fingers are still up Quinn's ass, still working slowly back and forth. Quinn stops licking sloppily into Jepha's mouth to say, "Just fuck me, you fucking fuck," over his shoulder.
Dan hoots with laughter, but he finally takes his fingers away and lines up his cock. Quinn closes his eyes and makes a strangled noise when Dan pushes in, that half-wanting half-hurting feeling back again.
Dan doesn't stop. Quinn doesn't want him to, not really. Quinn wants it worse, actually, wants to be ripped open and hurt. Quinn wants his skin to stop itching. He wants to come again, to have that brief calm back.
Dan wraps both his arms around Quinn's chest and levers Quinn up, so that they're both kneeling. It shifts Dan's cock deeper into Quinn's body. Quinn sags in Dan's grip, but Dan holds him up.
"Shit," Jepha says. His mouth is wetter than it was before. Quinn thinks now, says, "Come here, please." Bert smirks at Quinn lazily, sprawled at the head of the bed, as Jepha crawls closer. "Fuck you," Quinn tells Bert, and Bert laughs.
Jepha pushes at the inside of Quinn's knees, even though Quinn's already stretched out over Dan, spread impossibly wide. Quinn's thighs are quaking from the stretch, from the drugs, from Dan's dick in his ass and Dan's arms thigh around his ribcage. Jepha looks up at Quinn through his eyelashes, a brief considering look. There's a flash of metal when Jepha slides his tongue over the head of Quinn's dick, a quick burst of heat before Jepha stops to say, "You look so good like this."
Jepha's still pressing at the inside of Quinn's knees, where Quinn's thighs are pressed flat against his calves. Jepha takes Quinn's dick in his hand and rubs his snakebites gently over the head; Quinn's position means that he can't buck up, can't make Jepha suck him, and Dan isn't moving. "Please," Quinn says, again, for something like the twentieth time since this started, "Please, please, don't, it itches, it hurts, please--"
His voice cuts off at the end of the word, his throat throttling closed, when Jepha swallows him down, sliding all the way down Quinn's cock in three sure, easy movements. Dan starts to rock inside Quinn; he lifts Quinn slightly to pull out, and drops him when he pushes back in, and Quinn opens his throat back up so he can pant and moan and beg with rough, wordless cries.
Jepha pulls back, sucks on the head of Quinn's cock, slides back down again and swallows hard. Quinn is grasping and needy, held down and taken, taking; when Jepha's tongue flickers out to slide wet over his balls Quinn comes, again, all of it boiling down through him and pushing out.
Dan fucks him through it, it feels like, but when Quinn finishes coming Dan has slowed down, only rocking his hips up. "No," Quinn says. Dan stops. "No, no, I didn't mean stop, dumbass," Quinn snaps.
"Don't make me sing you the 'No means no' song," Dan says. Jepha snorts.
"Whatever, asshole," Quinn says, "Move."
"Jesus," Dan says. "Here, fine. Jeph, move out of the way, my knees are hurting." Dan pulls out entirely. Quinn whines and slaps blindly at Dan's shoulder, but Dan ignores it and turns Quinn over onto his back once Jepha has shuffled back. "There, asshole," Dan says, and pushes back in.
Quinn's dick is still limp, and it almost feels better to be fucked while he isn't gagging for it. Dan's starting kind of slow, but it feels good like this, less frantic Quinn pulls his knees to his chest and tips his head back. He can see through Jepha's legs from this position, and Quinn catches Bert's chin behind Jepha, can see brief flashes of Bert's tongue as Bert licks up and over Jepha's asshole. "Unfair," Quinn says. "Jepha's not drugged."
Jepha looks down at Quinn and rolls his eyes. "I've got a dick, too," he says, more than a little breathless.
"But you're not drugged!" Quinn insists. Just then, just like that, the itch wakes back up. "Goddamn cumguzzling son of a bitch," Quinn says irritably, looking down at his dick, watching it rise back up off of his stomach.
Dan speeds up, snapping his hips, and Quinn hunches his hips up into it, feeling the desperation surging back over his skin. Dan's thrusts shake through Quinn's body. He's still surprisingly slick inside Quinn, only just raw enough to be satisfying.
Quinn has shifted far enough up the bed that Jepha's cock is above his face. Quinn props himself up slightly, stretching his neck and his tongue to reach, and Jepha curses when Quinn's tongue makes contact. Jepha leans forward, enough that Quinn can tongue the spot where metal meets flesh. The barbell that goes through the head of Jepha's cock clicks against Quinn's teeth.
Dan slams into Quinn, his rhythm going too-fast and too-hard as he starts to come, and Quinn's teeth slide over the head of Jepha's cock. Quinn opens his mouth to apologize, but Jepha just shoves into Quinn's mouth, says "Fuck yeah," and Quinn figures an apology must be unnecessary.
"Fuck," Dan says, and slumps forward. Quinn drops his knees, and Jepha shifts back a little.
Bert must sit up, because now he's looking down at Quinn over Jepha's shoulder. From Quinn's point of view, looking up the plane of Jepha's stomach, they both look like bizarre birds, both rumpled, dark-haired and bright-eyed. "Birds," Quinn says. They both grin down at him, and Quinn grins helplessly back.
"Fuck," Dan repeats. He slides out of Quinn and flops down by at his side. Quinn is left clenching down around nothing, and he keens.
Jepha makes a soft shushing sound. He disentangles himself from Bert and slides down the bed. He leans over to Dan, quick and surprisingly dirty, and then he slaps Quinn's thigh. "Can you take the two of us?"
"He's pretty tight," Dan comments, propping himself up on one elbow.
Jepha shrugs. "But tight is fine, if he wants it."
"Hey, 'he' is conscious," Quinn points out. "Fuck, and I'm still pretty itchy."
"Sexy," Jepha comments. He touches Quinn, though, which is all that really matters. Quinn's only ever had this feeling on ecstasy before, the wonder at touching someone who's touching him. He doesn't want this much when he's on X, though; it feels like the worst has passed, but Quinn still wants to cling and clutch and swallow. Quinn closes his eyes and hums at the sensation, but he really is thinking more clearly. That's probably the reason why he says, "Let's try."
"You want it?"
"I want it," Quinn says, opening his eyes again. "But I'm fucking you up the ass later."
"You need to work on your threats," Bert tells him, popping into Quinn's range of vision. Quinn rolls his eyes, but he pulls Bert down to kiss, ignoring where Bert's mouth has been.
Bert just tastes like water, actually, and Quinn pulls back to say, "Hey, give me a sip." He sits up to drink it. The water tastes delicious, even if Bert probably found it behind the bed. Quinn nearly finishes the bottle. He ignores the face Bert makes when he hands it back.
"Jerk," Bert says, but it's affectionate.
Bert keeps kissing Quinn as they move around the bed, Jepha's hands sure on Quinn's hips, turning him over and getting him on his hands and knees. Quinn's aware for the first time of the movement of the bus underneath them, the shudder and hum of a big vehicle on the road. "I think I'm feeling better," Quinn tells Bert, but he shoves his hips back at Jepha when Jepha touches his thigh, all the same. "Maybe this will be it."
"You need to work on your stamina," Bert tells him, and laughs when Quinn makes a face.
Jepha's hand moves away again, and Quinn drops his head to look down his body, through his legs. Jepha's twisting the ball on one of his piercings. "Hurry up," Quinn says, and watches as Jepha stops fiddling with the jewelry to flip him off. "Fuck you too," Quinn adds.
It's always a little sick to watch Jepha take out his barbells, and Quinn has to look away. It means he gets to laugh at Bert's expression when Bert watches Jepha do it, though. Bert shakes his head and says, "I have no idea how you do that, man."
"It doesn't hurt," Jepha says, and there's a plastic click as he opens the bottle of lube. "It feels like taking out an earring or whatever."
"We are not talking about this," Quinn tells Bert. Bert nods.
Jepha touches Quinn's thigh again, fingers sliding slick this time, and says, "Are you ready?" It sends a chill prickling fast over Quinn's skin, and he has to fist his hands in the rucked-up blankets when he says, "Yes, yes."
Jepha pushes in, slow and steady. He's a little smaller than Dan, but it's still a feeling that makes Quinn whine through his teeth. Jepha scratches his nails down Quinn's sides, and Quinn arches back. "Wait," Jepha says, and Quinn says, fiercely, "No."
Jepha pulls out anyway, lies down on the bed, and beckons Quinn over. "This way, come on," he says. Quinn crawls over him, and Jepha guides the head of his dick back into Quinn's body. Quinn slides down as soon as he can. Jepha grunts, soft and surprised.
Bert kisses Quinn, quick and sharp, grinning against Quinn's mouth for a breath when Quinn makes a noise. Then he scrambles off the bed, knees sliding over the coverlet, and goes behind Quinn, out of his range of sight. "Start with fingers first," Jepha says bossily.
"Nah, I was just going to shove it in," Bert says. "Do I look like a retard?"
"Don't answer that," Dan advises. Jepha grins.
Bert touches him tentatively, tracing around where Quinn's asshole is stretched around Jepha's cock before he begins to push. Quinn breathes, steadily, bearing down as hard as he can. He can feel the moment when he's open enough, when Bert's fingertips begin to slide into him, between Jepha and him. Bert is relentless about it, pushing in and in, all the way to his last knuckle, and then giving Quinn more, stretching him wide. Quinn is twitching, his hips jerking unconsciously. He feels blasted open and twisted up. His breath is coming in short noisy bursts out of his open mouth. "You okay?" Bert asks, and carefully pushes in, and it's all Quinn can do to nod, jerking his head, yes, please, more.
Dan touches Quinn's face, gently cupping his jaw, and Quinn turns into it, still open-mouthed, his lips landing wet and lax against Dan's palm. "You're doing good," Dan says. Jepha echoes him, "Good," and adds, "You look beautiful."
It's a frightening feeling, not quite beautiful, but Quinn understands what Jepha means. He feels strangely-- strangely loved. He can feel Bert holding his ass open with his fingers, can feel Bert beginning to push his cock in alongside Jepha's. Quinn aches through his skin to his bones. It hurts, but unlike any hurt he's ever had; he's glad for it, even as he's panting for air. Dan scratches his fingers back through Quinn's hair, and Quinn focuses on breathing, on how he feels like he's spreading, flying apart, full and fast.
"God," Bert murmurs, his voice going raspy as he settles gingerly against Quinn's back. Bert's hips are flush with Quinn's ass, and his thighs rub against Quinn's. Jepha is warm underneath Quinn, his hands running restlessly over Quinn's arms and chest.
Bert puts his hands on Quinn's hips and moves in tiny pulses, rocking inside Quinn, rocking Jepha inside him too, and Quinn has to groan, to grind down, to let his head hang between his shoulders and let his eyes droop closed. Jepha puts his hands above Bert's, bracketing Quinn's waist, and Dan is still touching him, gently, carefully.
"I--" Quinn starts, but he doesn't know what to say, how to finish the sentence. His breath is sobbing out of him now, but it's not painful, it's full, it's satisfaction to the point of ache. "Oh," he says, just a breath, when Dan reaches between him and Quinn and curls his hand around Quinn's cock. Dan's wrist is a little awkwardly bent, but his rhythm is still good, slow and steady, a counterpoint to the tiny, quick shifts of Bert's hips.
It doesn't take Quinn long to come. He's shaking when he does, the trembling in his limbs exaggerated. He has to rely on Bert and Jepha to hold him up. Quinn shuts his eyes tightly and loses himself to it, in it.
The drop out of his orgasm feels like he's folded his wings to his sides and dived down. He opens his eyes before he hits the ground, and Jepha is looking up at him, eyes wide, his expression shocked and pleased. Quinn leans down and kisses him, pressing Dan's hand flat between them, rocking Bert forward. Bert is shoving a little harder now, slightly longer thrusts; he finishes with a few stuttered curses, gripping Quinn's hips tight.
When he pulls out, Quinn lets Jepha roll him over, tips his hips up and takes Jepha's staccato thrusts with a lazy smile on his face. Jepha laughs at him, bright and open, and Quinn grins back.
"What a fucking high," Quinn says, after Jepha's come and fallen forward, his rushed breaths heavy on Quinn's face. "Jesus." Quinn feels too tired to talk, even, too limp to move, and when Jepha pulls out Quinn barely gets up the energy to slap at him. Quinn closes his eyes. He ought to get up and eat something, maybe drink some water, but he needs a second, just a second.
Quinn feels someone helping him move up the bed, and then a pillow shoved under his head. It's so soft, the pillow and the bed, and Quinn lets himself sink down into sleep.
***
Quinn wakes up in a tangle of limbs, covered in a thin sweat, on top of the most uncomfortable bed in the world. His pillow is thin and scratchy. As soon as he opens his eyes, Quinn feels his hangover start, spreading down from the top of his head to all the corners of his body. When Quinn sits up, dislodging Jepha's hand and Dan's leg, his muscles scream at him.
Quinn hisses when he stands up, clutching at his ass. It feels like his organs are going to slide out. He nearly falls on his face when he picks up his sweatpants from yesterday, and he has to brace himself against the wall for a moment before he keeps going. Quinn walks stiffly out to his bunk and pulls on the first pair of underwear he finds, not even worrying about whether or not they pass the sniff test. He manages to squirm into the sweatpants again and slides his feet into flip-flops.
Quinn stops to fish a bottle of water out of the bus fridge and to scrounge up a cigarette, and then heads for the front. The bus has stopped moving sometime during the night; Quinn nods to the bus driver as he climbs off, and the driver nods back, cigarette dangling out of his mouth and cell phone at his ear.
Quinn just walks, feeling the ache in his hips and ass, trying to get them loose enough that he might be able to play tonight. He's pointedly not thinking about what he did, what happened in the back lounge, the tangle of people he left back there. He's embarrassed, a little, the soreness adding a sharp edge to his memories of being spread open, demanding and stupidly desperate.
Quinn smokes his cigarette down to the filter, tosses the butt in the dust and grinds it down until the cherry goes out. He turns, looking out at where he can walk, and starts to shuffle forward.
"Do you remember Montana?" Bert's voice is low and gravelly, but he's pitched it just high enough to reach Quinn.
Quinn stops. He looks down at his feet for a long moment, scuffing his flip-flops through the yellowed grass. "Yeah," Quinn says, too quiet. They've been in Montana quite a few times, but he knows what Bert is talking about. It was the first time they were there. Quinn had taken off after they had slept in the van at some podunk town. It had felt like running away from home.
Bert had noticed after Quinn had gotten maybe twenty feet away from the van. Bert didn't stop him; Bert followed him. He had talked, a little bit, sung a lot. It had felt like years that they'd walked, until Quinn was done being fed up and finally gave up on trying to get away.
"Yeah," Quinn repeats, loud enough that Bert can hear him. He turns around.
Bert is squatting down fifteen feet away, in just his shorts from yesterday. His hair is fucked up, and his eyes are bloodshot. He says, "Of course you fucking remember. I followed you for three goddamn miles."
"It was two," Quinn protests, for tradition's sake.
"Two and three-fifths," Bert whines, imitating Quinn's voice.
Quinn sniggers. He walks over to Bert so they don't have to talk so loudly. Quinn folds down to sit next to Bert. Quinn winces when his butt touches the ground. "My ass, man," he says, and Bert laughs.
"Your ass," Bert agrees, but he pets clumsily at Quinn's hair. "I bet it's all drippy, too."
"Kinda," Quinn says, squinting out at a tree in the distance. "Whatever."
"Sure," Bert says. "I fucked that girl once, and she dripped all over my car. Remember that?" Bert drops out of his squat and slumps against Quinn's side. Quinn brings his arm up automatically, putting it around Bert's shoulders.
"I forgot about that," Quinn says.
"Yeah," Bert says meditatively. "Vinyl seats, though, easy to clean. I shit myself in that car, too, and no one ever noticed it."
"True," Quinn says. He kind of misses that car. Bert leans on him a little harder, and Quinn gets a whiff of him. "You smell like jizz," Quinn observes.
"That's weird, you smell like wildflowers and mountain breeze," Bert says, but his sarcasm lacks any punch.
Bert's sucking on the end of a lock of his hair when Quinn glances over. Bert pulls the hair out of his mouth and shapes it into a point with his fingers. "Remember how dumb you were in Montana?" Bert asks. Quinn frowns.
"I hadn't ever done acid before," Quinn reminds him. "And it was early on. Don't be a dick."
"I'm not," Bert says. "And I mean, it was kind of my fault."
Bert's head is ducked down, his gaze seemingly fixed on his hair. All Quinn can see is the wormy white line of Bert's uneven part. "How was it your fault?" Quinn asks.
"I convinced you to trip," Bert says. He shrugs. Quinn rides out the movement and leaves his arm on Bert's shoulders. "And to pull all those all-nighters."
"Sure," Quinn says, "I forgot that I was an angel when you came along."
"Didn't say that," Bert says, but he looks up at Quinn, meeting his eyes.
Bert's eyes are so perfect. No matter how fucked up Bert gets, no matter what he does to himself, Quinn still gets all fucked up by Bert's eyes. They're so fucking Bert, Quinn thinks, that's the thing.
"What?" Bert asks.
"Nothing," Quinn tells him. He leans forward and bites the tip of Bert's nose, and they both giggle. Quinn puts his arm back down, but he shifts his weight so that he and Bert are still pressed up against one another. "I'm okay," Quinn says, looking out at the tree, the dusty line of the horizon.
"Duh," Bert says. They both look over at each other at the same time, and they grin. "You want to go teabag Dan? He's still sleeping," Bert offers. Quinn helps Bert up, and their hands stay linked between them as they walk back to the bus.
***
(channel owner) theused
IF ANYOEN KNOWS A GUY IN ATLANTA
(channel owner) theused
WHO GAVE JEPHA SPECIAL GATORADE
(channel owner) theused
GET THE WROD OUT WE WANT THE RECIPE
***
END
Criticism and feedback welcome, either here or at sinsense [at] yahoo [dot] com.
The Used // GSF // sex pollen // NC-17 // 10500 words
The first of two stories for gigantic in the usedfic exchange. Title from the Klaxons, "It's Not Over Yet." Playlist can be found here. Jepha reads from I am a Cat, by Soseki Natsume.
Thank you to hetrez and 7iris for their invaluable service as beta readers. eleanor-lavish is technically to blame for this, and read it in its earliest stages.
[edit: sorry for the lack of cut before.]
***
Quinn can feel the fresh sweat as it rolls down his back. He shouldn't be able to feel it -- his skin is already slick from playing -- but he can. Quinn rolls his shoulders to try to shake off the itch. All that does is make his t-shirt cling closer to his skin.
"Can I have a hug?" a girl asks. Her eyes are ringed with smeared eyeliner and mascara. Her face shines with sweat.
"I'm gross," Quinn tells her.
"It's totally cool," she assures him. Quinn laughs and holds out his arms, and they latch together. He gets her hair in his mouth, and it's salty with sweat. Her friend takes their picture. Quinn smiles automatically; somehow he's gotten a sixth sense for camera flashes. He doesn't look in the right direction, though, and he catches the flash right in the eyes.
Quinn blinks at the spots that follow the flash. He stumbles sideways. He grabs whatever it is that someone's holding out to him. He scrawls his name across it, and moves over again.
The spots fade, but there are still strange dots floating in his vision, making him blink. Pictures and paper and CD cases flutter in front of him. Cell phones outstretched by disembodied arms weave in his face. Only a few sweat-smeared faces register out of the crowd.
"Christ," Quinn says. He nearly stumbles again. "Hot. Really wow, hot."
Jepha makes a soft noise of agreement. He's hugging a boy and signing the shoulder of another fan's t-shirt at the same time. "You're a machine," Quinn informs him. Jepha looks up from the poster in his hands, his Sharpie still moving. "A bassist-shaped machine. You have marker-fu."
"Time to get on the bus, I think," Jepha says. Quinn nods. The world swims sideways.
"Stay!" a boy says. He presses something orange into Jepha's hands. They all take up the call, voices rising around them like birds startled into flight.
"Birds. I hate birds," Quinn tells Jepha.
Jepha says, "That means it's time for Quinn's afternoon nap, guys." A few people at the front giggle.
"Sorry," Quinn says. "Really sorry, guys. Don't hate me on the message board?"
"Okay, dude." Jepha steers Quinn towards the bus. His hands are full of stuff. Something's pressing into Quinn's back.
"I hate birds," Quinn says again.
"Me too," Jepha mutters. Quinn smiles. Of course Jepha gets it. "Let's just get on the bus," Jepha says. He shoves Quinn the rest of the way.
The bus is blessedly dark, and it's cooler than it was outside. Quinn heads back to the bunks on his own steam. He strips off his shirt and drops it with a wet smack on the floor by his bags. Jepha edges by him, heading into the back lounge. Quinn unbuttons and drops his shorts. His underwear is sticking to his nuts, so he takes them off, too.
"Where's Bert?" Jepha says. Like Quinn's supposed to know.
"We're not twins," he says. He means to sound frosty, but it doesn't come out right.
"I don't care," Jepha says. And then, "Oh, okay. Fuck it, let's just get a move on, okay?"
"Okay?" Quinn says, confused. He squats down to find another pair of boxers and has to cling to the edge of the bunk to stay upright.
Jepha comes back into the bunks. "Dan and Bert are having a burping marathon," he says. Quinn tries to catch up. Jepha's moving too quickly. "You need to drink something and go to bed."
"I would like your largest beer," Quinn says authoritatively, "Lager-est beer."
Jepha shakes his head and pushes him into his bunk. "Gatorade," he says. He leaves and comes back, holding the bottle.
"I hate you," Quinn says. He's not sure if he means Jepha or the Gatorade. He takes the bottle anyway and drinks it. Liquid spills out of the sides of his mouth and down over his chest. It tastes like fake orange and gelatin. It is delicious.
"When did it become naked time?" Jepha asks, and when Quinn opens his mouth, "Never mind, I don't want to know. You want some tea?"
"Too many words," Quinn says, waving his hand to get them to move away. Jepha laughs.
"Okay, no tea for you. Sleep."
Quinn doesn't want to sleep, not really. He wants to stay up and talk to Jepha about the show. He's tired, though. Sick. Hungover. The Gatorade didn't wake him up.
Quinn closes his eyes. He slides sideways, off of the bed and into sleep.
***
Quinn dreams of birds landing on Jepha's shoulders, his hair. Jepha's eyes are beady and dark. When Quinn opens his mouth, all he can make are rough, wordless cries.
"Hey," someone -- Jepha -- says, his hand on Quinn's back, "hey, hey."
"Wha'," he says. "Uh?"
"You were yelling," Jepha says. The sun has gone down some. It's harder to make out the shape of Jepha's face in the dim light that filters back from the front of the bus, but Quinn doesn't want to turn on his bunk light. He feels like something is pressing at the inside of his head, something feathery and strange.
Quinn gets himself up on his elbows so he can press the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. "What's up?" Jepha asks, quietly.
"It's itchy," Quinn says. "In my head." Jepha's silent. Quinn is slowly waking. The feeling seems to spread over his skin as he does. "Fuck, all over me."
"What did you take?"
Quinn brushes at the tops of his ears, trying to get the last few feathers off. He knows he shouldn't snap at the question; it's a legitimate one. "I didn't take anything. An Adderall. That's it."
"When?"
"Fuck, at nine in the fucking morning, okay?"
"Don't be an asshole," Jepha says, but he's not pissed off. His hand is gentle on Quinn's shoulder. "No MDMA? No pills?"
"No," Quinn says miserably. "And you know Bert made me give up acid after last time."
"Yeah. Maybe it's hives?"
"I'm not allergic to anything."
"I know," Jepha says. "Maybe it's your cold." Jepha rubs his hand down over Quinn's back, like he's trying to comfort him. Quinn arches up under his hand.
"Oh, that-- yeah." Quinn laughs a little, self-conscious.
"Huh," Jepha says. The itch surges back when Jepha takes his hand away. Quinn catches Jepha's wrist and tugs it back to his body. "Okay," Jepha says, amused. "Let me just get my tea."
Jepha's gone forever. Quinn can hear him talking to Bert out in the front lounge, can hear Dan doing something weird in the back. Quinn rubs his forearms and his face against the sheets, trying to satisfy the humming he feels across his skin, grunting with the effort.
His dick is incredibly fucking hard; it almost hurts to press it against the mattress, but that doesn't mean Quinn can bring himself to stop.
When Jepha comes back, he's got two steaming mugs of tea and a book. "Here," he says, setting the second mug next to Quinn on the floor. He folds down to the floor, puts down his book and his tea, and lets Quinn guide his hand back. "A little light pressure won't hurt, I don't think."
"Yeah," Quinn whispers, trying to put his urgency in his voice.
"We probably should go to the hospital if this doesn't go away."
"Okay," Quinn says, into his arm. "Sorry."
"It's cool," Jepha says, already flipping his book open on his thigh. He rubs Quinn's back in slow sweeping strokes, running his palm from the base of Quinn's spine, to his shoulder blades, and back again. His hand leaves streaks of pleasure in its wake. Quinn sets his teeth very carefully into the fabric of his pillow, and does not moan.
After a few minutes of stroking Quinn's back, Jepha starts reading aloud. "Had Sorosaki ever got into a tram, sure as egg is egg, he'd have finished up at the end of the line in Shinagawa. He was an absent-minded man."
Jepha's voice is dry; he doesn't change his tone for the different speakers, just keeps meting out word after word in time with the methodical sweep of his hand. "But when it came to cooking rice he was a positive imbecile. Every time it came round to Sorosaki's turn to do the cooking, I contrived to keep body and soul together by eating out on noodles."
Quinn wants to ask who Sorosaki is, but he's still got his mouthful of pillowcase and a moan stuck in his throat. He swallows around it. His hips are moving, Quinn knows they are, but he can't stop them. Jepha doesn't say anything. Quinn tries to limit his thrusts to once every five strokes of Jepha's hand, but soon he has to drop to once for every three strokes, and then once for every two.
The feeling only intensifies. It hits Quinn in rolling urges: to pour the tea over his skin, to rub Jepha's book against himself until the paper cuts him, to pull Jepha down until he covers Quinn entirely. Quinn grunts. He pushes himself up on his elbows and opens his mouth so he can pant quietly.
Jepha trails off in the middle of what is probably another joke about Sorosaki. Quinn tries to still his hips, but the ragged edge of one of Jepha's nails catches on Quinn's skin, and it sings down into his bones. Quinn can't help it, then, he's not that strong. The moan finally escapes, roughening as it struggles up out of his throat.
Quinn grabs the mug of lukewarm, bitter tea and takes a few awkward gulps. He coughs. The tea and his spit together taste like blood.
"Quinn," Jepha says. Quinn squeezes his eyes shut. He hears the book flop closed, and then Jepha's hand moves to his shoulder and tries to get him to turn over. Tea slops over Quinn's wrist with the movement, and he has to set the mug down.
"Sorry," Quinn says, "It's cool, I'm out of it."
"Look at me." It's Jepha's stern voice, the one he uses to break up fights and mediate human bowling disputes. Quinn stops shaking his head, but he doesn't open his eyes.
Jepha makes an annoyed noise. Quinn hears him shuffling slightly. Quinn slits one eye open just enough to see the blurry shape of Jepha sitting up on his knees. His posture reminds Quinn of the birds in his dream, how their round muscular breasts were dense with feathers.
He's opening his mouth to say something when Jepha digs his fingers into the flesh of Quinn's lower back, right above his ass. Sensation radiates out in all directions from Jepha's hand -- it's lightning bolts, like a comic book, like Quinn's in an Archie cartoon -- and then draws in tight again. Quinn's eyes open wide without his permission. His throat squeezes around a moan, and his hips hitch hard into the bed.
"What's going on?" Jepha asks, concern creeping into his voice.
"I don't know," Quinn says irritably, "I need. I need, like." He hunches his back up. "I don't know." Jepha is silent, waiting, with his hand still on Quinn's back. The itch is racing over Quinn's skin again, inside and out. Quinn tries to wet his lips. The ragged skin on his lips rasps together.
"When you fall off your skateboard," Quinn tries. Jepha raises his eyebrows, but he nods. "And you scrape off the skin, and it's like raw beef?"
"Okay."
"And then it gets that scab."
"Sure."
"And once you have that scab, it kind of hurts, right, in the middle? But it itches, and you want to pick at it." Jepha nods again, his eyebrows drawing back down together. "That's, like. My whole body." There's a spot in the middle of Quinn's back that feels fine, but that's where Jepha's hand is resting. Quinn doesn't think he should bring that up. He can think of better pick-up lines. Hey dude, wanna be my blanket?
"That doesn't sound particularly sexy," Jepha says, like he can read Quinn's filthy mind. Quinn must make a startled noise, because Jepha prods at his ass, pointing out that Quinn's still rolling his hips down into the mattress.
"Shit, sorry. I just, I need someone, I think. To touch me."
Quinn glances back to see Jepha's expression. Jepha's got his lips pressed together and his eyebrows pointing to a spot between his eyes. Quinn's flesh trembles and rolls against his will; he feels like a coin on top of a washing machine.
"We have to take you to the hospital," Jepha says, finally.
"I think we do," Quinn says, sounding small and sad even to himself. Jepha gets out his phone.
"Fuck," Jepha says, looking unsure. "ER, I guess. Fuck."
"Sorry," Quinn says. Jepha gives him a tight little smile.
"It's cool," Jepha replies, even though it clearly isn't.
When Jepha gets up, Quinn tugs the curtain on his bunk closed. The darkness is too close and too empty at the same time. Quinn wants to roll out of his bunk, but he has to take care of his dick before it gets any more embarrassing.
His lips roll back from his teeth when he touches himself, and his other hand slams into the ceiling of the bunk. His knees jerk up, and his toes curl, and what the fuck is he on? It feels like he's being moved by someone else, like his bones are wired. It's frightening, but not so scary that Quinn can bring himself to stop. His mind flickers through distorted porn images, bodies stretching and warping together, open mouths, open asses, shuddering skin, sweat-slick bodies slapping together, sucking open squeezing and Quinn comes, bucking up into his fist.
Quinn sags back down. His hand falls away from the ceiling, back to the mattress. He takes his other hand off of his dick and licks his knuckles clean, slowly. He feels all right. He feels empty, which is better than before. Quinn opens his eyes. He blinks a couple of times, trying to adjust his vision to the darkness of his bunk.
Of course, it would have felt better with someone else. Quinn thinks of Jepha's hand on his back, and just like that, the itch starts back up. Quinn groans, and then his dick starts to harden. Quinn looks down at it, horrified, and curls up, refusing to touch himself again. He waits for Jepha.
When Jepha finally comes back, he tells Quinn that he's cancelled the show. Bert is being pissy about it; Quinn can hear him hollering in the front lounge that Quinn is being a sad-ass bitch. Quinn doesn't answer him, though. He stays in his bunk, pressing his back against the wall. He's shaking. He wants Jepha to climb in with him.
Quinn thinks that maybe Bert is right, after Jepha is done on the phone and is stroking Quinn's back again. When the bus pulls into the hospital parking lot, Quinn says, "Maybe I should just play the show. Play it off, or whatever."
Jepha's mouth flattens out. Quinn presses his face against his pillow. "I'm fine, I bet," he offers.
Jepha says, "Why don't we just have a quick check-up, while we're here?" Quinn rolls his eyes, but he eases himself up, cupping his hand over his dick to try and hide it from Jepha.
"Oh, Christ, that makes no kind of sense," Jepha says. "You'll share it with the world when it's limp, but you get a hard-on and you have to hide it?" He prances out to Quinn's bags and sashays back, flipping a pair of pajama pants back and forth in time with his hips. Quinn laughs. "Don't make me pull a Frank, honey," Jepha lisps, and throws the pajamas at Quinn's head.
"Pull a Frank!" Bert yelps, out in the front. "Pull it!"
"I don't even know what that means," Quinn says plaintively, then holds up the hand not covering his dick when Jepha opens his mouth. "I don't want to know."
Quinn eases on his pajamas, a shirt, sandals. By the time he's clothed, Quinn's got his mouth open to pant again. It's all too coarse. He needs skin, touch, not fabric.
"Hey," Jepha says. He puts his hands on Quinn's lower back, under the t-shirt. "It's okay. Okay." He coaxes Quinn through the bus, down the stairs, and out onto the wet pavement. Bert and Dan jump out after them, talking loudly. Water splashes up on Quinn's instep. He shudders and presses closer to Jepha.
Bert darts in front of them, turns back to say something say something to Quinn, and stops. His expression crumples up for a split second, just long enough for Quinn to register it.
"So okay, hey. Hey. What's going on?" Bert says. His face smoothes out, and he reaches out to touch Quinn's cheek. Quinn turns his face into the familiar hot shaking surface of Bert's hand, feeling grateful and needy. "Hey baby," Bert says, soft and sweet, "Hey, hey little baby."
"I told you he was sick," Jepha says.
"I didn't know he was sick-sick," Bert snipes back. He puts both of his hands on Quinn's face. "Shut the fuck up. What kind of high is it?"
Quinn closes his eyes and huffs a breath out through his nose, leaning forward more. "I don't know," he says. Bert makes a small noise, probably confused, but he doesn't ask anything else about it. Quinn follows Bert and Jepha blindly towards the hospital.
Bert badgers Jepha for information in between cooing over Quinn. He keeps his hands on Quinn too, touching lightly, carefully, constantly. It feels fucking amazing. Between Bert and Jepha, Quinn is able to convince himself to keep moving. Before he realizes it, they're inside the building.
Quinn doesn't like hospitals. "Hospitals are for dead people," Dan reminds him, when Quinn says as much. "No one likes them, except crazy people. And maybe doctors."
"Same difference," Jepha remarks.
"That's an insult to crazy people," Bert mutters darkly. He's started his hospital twitch, flinching away from anyone in scrubs or a lab coat. They hate hospitals a little more than the average person, maybe; the three of them are huddled around Dan as they move through the automated doors.
"Just don't get us arrested," Jepha says, through his teeth, "We can leave whenever we want, as long as we don't get arrested." He squares his shoulders when he breaks away from the rest of them, and he looks confident as he walks up to the front desk. Jepha smiles brightly at the clerk. "Table for one?"
"This isn't a rehab," she says, handing over a clipboard. Quinn watches Jepha's smile get a little wider.
"Do you say that to everyone who's been roofied?" he asks, sweetly. She pauses and takes a closer look at Quinn, who's curled down so that Bert can hold him. Quinn tries to give her his best wounded puppy look, but it's awkward position. His head feels swollen. He drops the expression and tucks his face into Bert's armpit.
"Fill out both sides of the form," she says, finally. Quinn can hear Jepha snort, but he must take the paperwork she gives him, because they're moving again.
The waiting room chairs are torture. Quinn hunches over himself, because there are junkies and old ladies here, and he doesn't want either of them eyeing up his hard-on. Quinn's bent over so far that he's afraid the head of his dick is going to rub against his throat.
Quinn wants to sit up, to rub his back against the rough, dirty fabric of the waiting room chair. Quinn wants to fist his dick, spit on the head and jerk himself, writhing against the polyester, with his bare feet squeaking against the linoleum floor. Quinn presses his face against his knees and tucks his hands under his ass, breathing steadily through his mouth.
It's the itch. It's running his life. It's rippling all over his skin. Quinn sits up slightly to wipe at the sweat on his face, and then hunches back down over his dick again. Fuck. The only way it could be worse would be if any of them were recognized. Luckily the hospital clientele at this hour isn't a major part of their fan base.
"What did you eat today?" Jepha asks. Quinn slides his gaze sideways, looking at Jepha's knee. His head follows a beat later, and he can see Jepha's face. Jepha is squinting down at the paperwork. He holds a pen poised to record Quinn's answers.
"An Aderol," Quinn begins slowly. "Coffee, some Lucky Charms with no milk. Half a banana. I had two beers. Licked sweat off of a crew guy's face after the show. I think it was Slug? Or Rob. I forget. And then we got on the bus," Quinn finishes. He manages to shrug, even hunched over like he is.
Jepha says, "Then the Gatorade, and--" His face suddenly smoothes out. He looks wild-eyed at Bert over Quinn's head.
"What," Bert says, loud and weird-sounding.
"I think the Gatorade was from a fan," Jepha says, "Fuck, I didn't even think-- I was distracted. Fuck."
Bert sputters out a string of profanity. He gets up to kick the legs of his chair, chanting "fuck fuck fuck fuck." The woman at the front desk eyes him. "Fucking fans."
Jepha gets up abruptly, jostling Quinn's elbow and making him hiss. Jepha thrusts the clipboard at Dan. "Keep Bert from getting kicked out and Quinn from dying. I'm calling Frank," Jepha says.
"Oh, great," Quinn mutters. He stops looking at Jepha and presses his face against his knees. He can hear Bert giggle, high and piercing, and then more cursing.
"Don't fucking start with me," Jepha says. "Maybe Bob? No, Frank first."
"Tell him his lead singer is a cunt," Quinn mutters, lifting his lips just off of his knees.
"He already knows what-- Hey, Frank. Yeah, sorry--" Quinn looks up again to watch Jepha wander down the hall. Jepha looks out of place in the hospital, too dark and dangerous to be one of the people who is pacing along the linoleum, talking on a cell phone.
Quinn's shirt is sticking to his skin. He presses his cheek against his knees. His hands are folded between his thighs, and if he slides them up just a little further, he could be touching his dick.
"Where do you itch?" Dan says. Quinn startles and looks up at him, but he's looking over Quinn's head. "Bert, sit the fuck down," Dan says. He looks bored. Quinn envies him.
Bert falls back into his seat, hands clapped over his mouth, still giggling and muttering curses. Quinn turns back to Dan. "Everywhere," he tells Dan, hearing his own desperation.
Dan sighs. "C'mere," he says, patting his knee.
"I'm kind of hard," Quinn says hesitantly. Dan shrugs and pats his knee again.
Quinn would normally protest getting treated like a little kid this often in one day, but he figures a bad trip means he gets some babysitting. Quinn gets up out of his chair. He sits back down draped half in Dan's lap, half over the armrests of the chair. The fat smelly guy snoozing on the other side of Dan snorts, but doesn't wake up. Quinn puts his face into the crook of Dan's neck with a sigh. He barely fits in Dan's lap, but it's worth it for all the contact.
"It really hurts," he whispers.
"Sucks," Dan says. He rubs the fingertips of one hand over Quinn's knee, and the other against the small of his back.
"It does."
Bert giggles again. Quinn peeks out from Dan's neck to give him the most reassuring smile he can. Bert hates it when Quinn gets sick, and he's useless in hospitals. Quinn shoves his foot out at Bert. Bert grabs Quinn's ankle like it's a lifeline.
It's actually almost perfect, Dan touching his back, Bert tracing designs and letters on his ankle, but it's not enough. "Not--" Quinn says, hunching his back and then arching, trying to figure a way out of his skin. "Not enough--"
Bert's eyes are wide and darker blue, frightened. Quinn starts to reach for him, then checks the movement. He twists sideways instead, spilling off of Dan's lap and stumbling away from him. "Bus," he says to himself.
If Quinn can get back to the bus, it'll be okay. It's the hospital, that's what it is, it's the lights and the fucking birds all crouched on the chairs, shuffling their feathers and croaking to themselves. "Bus," he repeats again, when someone tries to hold him back. Their fingers feel gorgeous, like melting chocolate on his skin, but he needs to leave. "Bus," he says to Jepha, passing him in the hallway. Jepha says something, but Quinn ignores him.
The parking lot is bright lights and cars and people the people stare and the sky is dark and big and--
Jepha's hands on his arm are a relief. Quinn turns towards Jepha's touch blindly, pressing his face into the warm, damp curve of Jepha's neck. "Why didn't you stop him?" Jepha says, his throat buzzing against Quinn's forehead. Dan says something in an irritated voice, and Jepha responds, "Well, he obviously did."
"No hospital," Quinn mumbles. Jepha sighs.
"No hospital," he echoes, and when Dan says something else, he snaps, "Brian's going to call me back."
"Brian," Quinn says sadly, and folds tighter into Jepha. Bert echoes Quinn. Jepha sighs, a deep breath in-out. If Quinn concentrates, he can see the skin of Jepha's neck trembling faintly in time with his heartbeat. Quinn closes his eyes tightly. He lets Jepha steer him back towards the bus.
Quinn opens his eyes when he hears the bus engine again. He turns his head. The bodyguards and roadies are all outside the buses, looking at them, talking. "Sorry, birds," Quinn mumbles, against Jepha's chest. "Stop staring."
"It's okay," Jepha says, squeezing Quinn tighter. It's not enough. Quinn keens in his throat. "Come on," Jepha says, like he's repeating himself, "Up the steps." Quinn stumbles, but he climbs the stairs somehow. The bus gives a hydraulic hiss. Quinn startles and cries out, softly. Jepha steers him over to the couch in the front lounge and sits him down. Quinn grasps for Jepha, his warmth and steady heartbeat, but Jepha's already moving away.
The bus lurches when they pull back out onto the road. Quinn curls up and tucks his face in his knees. He feels the couch dip, and looks up to watch Bert sitting down next to him. Bert puts his hand out tentatively, touching Quinn's ear, then his cheekbone.
"Really-- fuck, Bert," Quinn says. Bert responds by pushing his hands through Quinn's hair, tugging a little.
Quinn whines high in his throat. He reaches out blindly, finding Bert's throat and hauling him in. "I'm sorry," Quinn says, turning to mouth at the skin of Bert's neck, "I wouldn't, I mean--"
"Holy shit," Bert says over his head. "What the fuck--"
"Brian!" Jepha gasps, which makes no fucking sense. Quinn gives up on listening to Jepha and gives in to the white itchy feeling. Quinn uncurls and kneels up, worming his hands under fabric to feel Bert's skin, fuck, perfect skin, skidding and sweaty under his hands. Bert's hands fall on his shoulders like birds landing, hard and perfect. They curl and bite into his flesh through the fabric of his t-shirt and Quinn feels better, almost better. He pulls and pushes Bert until Bert is stretched out onto the couch. Quinn strips off his own t-shirt and presses his face against Bert's stomach.
"Yeah," he says to Bert's stomach, licks it slowly and then rubs his face against the spitty skin. Bert makes a soft half-formed noise. Quinn drags his face up over Bert's chest, over his rucked-up t-shirt, into the crease of his neck. "I know, baby, I'm sorry."
"Why are you fucking apologizing?" Bert asks. He slides his calves up along Quinn's sides. It's like being clutched by someone's throat, worked over by their grasping fists. Quinn laughs breathlessly. He presses himself down against Bert, into that grasping, into the squeeze of him.
Quinn can hear little choppy grunts coming out of his throat, but he doesn't care, he only cares about the way his skin feels, the narrow curves of Bert's hipbones, Bert's wide blue eyes staring up at him. "Skin," Quinn says desperately. He shoves at Bert's shirt.
Bert gives a high, giddy laugh, raising his arms so that Quinn can push the shirt up over his head and off onto the floor.
Dan's voice breaks through when his volume rises, and Quinn hears, "I mean it, Jeph, what the fuck." Dan sounds almost worried, which is funny. Dan's never worried. Quinn gets out a little laugh. He starts working on Bert's shorts. "Quinn, wait," Dan says.
"No." Quinn slides down Bert's body when the fly of Bert's shorts doesn't open right away.
"Holy shit," Jepha says. Quinn glances up to see Jepha's wet lip, his shocked expression. Later, Quinn thinks. He goes back to working at Bert's clothes.
"It's okay," Bert says. Quinn hums his agreement. "We've done this, it's okay--" Quinn bites at Bert's belly, and Bert giggles. Quinn finally wrestles open the button of his shorts and slides down the zipper.
Bert smells so good, like sticky green bud, like sweat and bottled beer, like cock. Quinn presses his face up against the front of Bert's underwear and drags in a breath, dizzy with the smell. He mouths at Bert's cock through the cotton, presses his lips around the shape and licks at the fabric.
Bert's hand drops into Quinn's hair, petting, dragging through it, and Quinn sighs. Bert's cock twitches under his lips. Quinn scrabbles at the waistband of Bert's underwear and drags it down, inhales deep again through his nose. "Sorry," he repeats, and licks up Bert's cock.
Bert palms the side of Quinn's face and says, "You never apologize to me." It's an observation and a promise, all at once.
"Okay," Quinn says, "okay." He opens his mouth over the head of Bert's dick. Bert groans. His hands flatten on either side of Quinn's head, spreading out, touching him. Bert's knees are bent, pushing his clothes down his legs and drawing Quinn's arms up on either side of him.
This, this is what he wanted. Quinn couldn't have known, but this is what his skin and head were aching and itching for, to swallow down and be swallowed, to be all slick sucking push of bodies together, his body splashing down into Bert's.
"Fuck," Dan says, somewhere. "What the fuck are we supposed to do?"
Bert's hands are roaming all over Quinn's face and his shoulders. Bert's cock is salty on Quinn's tongue. His knees are trembling. It's fucking amazing, it's almost enough. But the itch, the itch is still there, lurking, waiting for Quinn to let down his guard. Quinn isn't submerged, isn't all the way under, and part of him is cold, is itchy and cold.
Quinn pulls his mouth off of Bert's dick and pants over the head, working his hips down against the couch. "Fuck," he says, "Dan, come here, Dan, Dan."
Jepha says something that sounds suspiciously like "pon farr" into the phone, and Dan cracks up. Quinn barely holds back an impatient yell. Dan always does this, gets distracted by Jepha. It's one thing when they're working on a track, but Quinn needs to be fucking fucked right now.
Dan's laughter finally dies out when Quinn makes a rough, desperate noise. Dan says Quinn's name again. Dan's still almost-laughing, but he's closer, almost close enough. He's giving in.
Quinn says, "Please," as low and as rough as he can. He stays crouching over Bert, his body low over the couch cushions. He's like an animal, like a bitch in heat. If Quinn's skin weren't aching, if he were a little more aware of anything but the needy itch of his body, he would be embarrassed. As it is, when he feels Dan's body heat behind him, Quinn whines.
Dan finally slides his hands over Quinn's hips. They are warm, rough blocks of satisfaction. Quinn presses his face into the crease where Bert's leg meets his torso. Quinn's hips work back.
"Hey," Dan says, like he's soothing one of their fans. His hands part ways, one sliding slow up Quinn's back and one down to rest on the curve of Quinn's ass, finger brushing the seam of Quinn's sweatpants over his asshole. Quinn opens his mouth and groans against Bert's cock. "Hey," Dan repeats, but this time he seems to be trying to get their attention. "This is officially weird."
"Fuck me," Quinn says. "Please, Dan, please fuck me."
"Well then," Bert says, and giggles. Dan giggles, too, but his hand is a little more confident on Quinn's ass.
Quinn picks his head up out of Bert's lap and says, "I mean it, okay? I just. It feels like if maybe, if I'm touched. It makes the itch go away." Dan looks at him, expression unreadable, eyes dark, and Quinn repeats, "Please."
"Okay," Dan says, slowly. "Fuck. Fine." He scrubs his other hand over his face and says, "Okay, this is not a couch activity."
"What?" Bert says irritably. Quinn turns back to mouth at Bert's cock, trying to map the skin with his tongue. It's soft, just wet enough that his tongue can still drag when he licks it.
"Back bedroom," Dan says. He takes his hands away. Quinn growls, but then Bert pushes his hands into Quinn's hair and pushes his head back. Quinn breathes hard through his nose, feeling the tightness of his skin over the bones of his face.
"Jesus," Bert says, "C'mon, Dan's right."
Quinn gets up after Bert does. Bert has to let go of Quinn's hair to pull his shorts back up. Quinn mourns the loss, for a moment, but then Dan is tugging him in, wrapping Quinn up and tucking Quinn's face into his armpit. Dan's armpit smells like Dan, his weird combination of old man deodorant and drummer funk.
Dan coos something in Quinn's ear, shuffling them back into the back lounge bedroom.
"You're going to fuck me, right?" Quinn asks, when they cross the threshold.
Dan laughs, warm and close. "I guess so," he says. Quinn shivers happily.
"I'll get the condoms and lube," Bert chirps, but Quinn turns around, flails out and stops Bert with a hand on his arm. Skin, Quinn thinks happily, but he forces himself to focus. "No condoms," Quinn says. Bert blinks at him, mouth already opening to protest. "No, no, I know-- it's okay."
"It's unsafe," Bert insists, "You know--"
"I know," Quinn says. He tries to pull on Bert's arm, but Bert won't move. Quinn's hand slides over skin skin skin until he's holding Bert's fingers, and then he has to put them in his mouth.
"Okay, wow," Dan says, "I'm convinced."
"Fuck, fucking fine, you fucking cocktease," Bert mutters.
"Not teasing," Quinn mumbles. He gives Bert's hand a final lick, and then another. "Go get the fucking lube."
"Get mine, if we're not using condoms," Jepha says. Jepha's standing in the doorway to the back room, but he steps to the side to let Bert through. "The blue bag, in the left side pocket, the thing labeled 'hair gel,'" Jepha tells him. Bert practically scampers.
Quinn arches back against Dan, tipping his head to rest against Dan's solid shoulder. Dan's hands, big broad palms, slide up his torso. Quinn closes his eyes, tries to press himself back and forward at the same time. He wants bodies around him, over him, in him. "Please," Quinn gets out. Dan seems to understand, pressing Quinn tight into his body.
"Hair gel?" Dan asks, his throat vibrating right there. Quinn mouths at the skin he can reach from the awkward angle, unconcerned by Jepha's mislabeling. Dan's got a little bit of stubble on his neck, and it scrapes Quinn's tongue nicely. Dan moves his head away, but Quinn chases him, undeterred.
Jepha says, "I don't know what you assholes would do with it if I didn't mislabel it."
"Jesus," Dan says, laughing. "You're a weird little fuck."
"True," Jepha allows. "Brian said he didn't know."
"I've never seen a high like this," Dan says, "And I've been touring with you guys for a while now."
Quinn interrupts impatiently to say, "come here, Jeph." Maybe he's a little petulant, but his skin is aching, it's seriously throbbing, and no one is nearly naked enough. Jepha laughs, but he obeys and comes within Quinn's reach.
Jepha presses up against Quinn, almost close enough, and he kisses Quinn. His mouth tastes like wet metal. Quinn groans into Jepha's mouth. He wishes for all of their clothes to suddenly disappear. "Not moving fast enough," he gasps out, when Jepha pulls back. "I'm going to die."
"Don't fucking say that," Jepha snaps. Quinn makes an irritated noise, but he's not too pissed; Jepha is taking off his clothes, stripping down to skin. "'I'm dying' was a shitty argument for sex in high school," Jepha continues, "And it hasn't gotten any better. You're not fucking dying."
"You care," Quinn says, grinning to himself, and Jepha says, "I hope you bleed out in a Guatamalan prison," same as always.
Jepha shoves down Quinn's sweatpants, too. When they're finally fucking off, Quinn presses against Jepha full body. He makes a helpless noise at the feeling, his throat too open to stop it. Dan presses against his back a beat later. It's naked skin around him, warm and perfect and Quinn is shaking.
Jepha murmurs, "Fuck." Quinn agrees. "Here, here," Jepha says. He guides Quinn over to the bed, puts him down on hands and knees. Quinn winces at the feel of the bedspread against his skin, but it's necessary, it's needed.
"It was fucking impossible to find," Bert says.
Quinn cranes his neck around and says, "Bert, Bert, come here," and Bert comes obediently.
Quinn shifts his weight so he can lift one hand and pull at Bert's shorts. Quinn makes an irritated noise when they don't magically disappear. Bert giggles, high in his throat. "What's that, boy? Timmy's fallen in the well?"
"Fuck you," Quinn tells him, "Take your clothes off, you asshole."
"Sweet talker," Bert says delightedly.
"Whatever, your fucking freak-ass thing for pissing me off--"
"Your little bitchface is hot," Bert interrupts. He has to sit on the bed to kick off his shorts and underwear, but then he scrambles up to kneel in front of Quinn. Quinn goes down on his elbows and opens his mouth. "I like fucking it quiet," Bert coos.
Quinn would be annoyed, but he's too grateful for the scrape of Bert's nails on his throat and Bert's cock finally back in his mouth. Bert's thighs are even close enough for Quinn to reach out and touch, if Quinn shifts his weight onto his elbows and pries his fingers up off of the coverlet.
Bert arches, pressing forward into Quinn's mouth, and it chokes off the sound Quinn makes when Dan touches his ass. Quinn keeps making it, though, and when Bert pulls back it stutters out of Quinn's mouth. Dan's other hand touches against Quinn's asshole, impossibly slick. Quinn makes the noise again, desperate and pleading.
"Fuck," Bert says. Quinn looks up, even though it makes his eyes water a little from the angle. Bert's hair is straggling over his shoulders, swinging a little with his movements. Bert puts his hand under Quinn's chin and fists the other one in Quinn's hair. It puts Quinn's head at a better angle, straightens out his throat. When Bert shoves in again, Quinn's eyelids actually flutter at how good it feels, and Bert throws his head back to groan.
Dan says, "You two are the loudest fuckers I've ever heard, Jesus."
He pushes his fingers in on the last word, like he wants to prove himself right. There's too much lube, and it drips down the crack of Quinn's ass, over his balls and down his thigh. Dan's fingers are bigger than what Quinn's used to taking. It hurts, raw and sharp. Quinn's legs are trembling. If he weren't so gone, Quinn would be moving away. He shoves himself back onto Dan's hand instead, past caring about any of it, just happy that he's getting it, what he needs, what he wants.
Quinn can recognize Jepha's murmurs in the background, but he cares more when Jepha touches his skin. For a moment Quinn's caught in a perfect place, nothing but hands touching him, shoving inside him, pulling him to pieces.
Dan's other hand is braced on Quinn's back, but after a beat he moves it down to rub at the lube that's dripped over Quinn's balls. Dan moves his hand again when Quinn whines, shifting forward slightly so he can curl his hand around Quinn's cock. It's too much, skin on Quinn's tongue, the salty taste of Bert filling his mouth, Bert's hands roving over Quinn's throat and scalp, Dan's legs bracketing Quinn's on the bed, fingers spreading him open and his hand now pulling. Quinn falls apart, shaking and coming.
Quinn pictures a flock of birds startled into flight, but it's not that poetic; it's just him, instinctively clutching around Dan's hand, his mouth going more slack around Bert's cock, his whole body shaking.
Coming again gives Quinn the respite he'd gotten when he jerked off, a brown-out of the itchy desire he's had since he's woken up. It lasts longer this time, maybe because he's still being touched. "You still want this? You okay?" Jepha asks, speaking quietly into Quinn's ear. Quinn manages an affirmative sound. Jepha leans over, then, and licks at Quinn's lips where they're stretched around Bert's cock. "Fuck," Bert says, surprised-sounding. His hips snap forward, and the itch jumps back to life. Quinn can feel his dick getting hard again, too fast and still tender.
Jepha pulls out of the way of Bert's thrusts, but he bites at Quinn's jaw, sharp bursts of sensation. Quinn's nose is pressed up against Bert's pubes. His chin is wet with drool. Bert chokes out Quinn's name once, and then Quinn can feel him coming. Bert pulls out and jerks the last few pulses out on Quinn's face, slicking Quinn's chin and lips with his come. Jepha darts in to lick Quinn clean, and Quinn turns his head so that he can kiss Jepha instead.
Dan's fingers are still up Quinn's ass, still working slowly back and forth. Quinn stops licking sloppily into Jepha's mouth to say, "Just fuck me, you fucking fuck," over his shoulder.
Dan hoots with laughter, but he finally takes his fingers away and lines up his cock. Quinn closes his eyes and makes a strangled noise when Dan pushes in, that half-wanting half-hurting feeling back again.
Dan doesn't stop. Quinn doesn't want him to, not really. Quinn wants it worse, actually, wants to be ripped open and hurt. Quinn wants his skin to stop itching. He wants to come again, to have that brief calm back.
Dan wraps both his arms around Quinn's chest and levers Quinn up, so that they're both kneeling. It shifts Dan's cock deeper into Quinn's body. Quinn sags in Dan's grip, but Dan holds him up.
"Shit," Jepha says. His mouth is wetter than it was before. Quinn thinks now, says, "Come here, please." Bert smirks at Quinn lazily, sprawled at the head of the bed, as Jepha crawls closer. "Fuck you," Quinn tells Bert, and Bert laughs.
Jepha pushes at the inside of Quinn's knees, even though Quinn's already stretched out over Dan, spread impossibly wide. Quinn's thighs are quaking from the stretch, from the drugs, from Dan's dick in his ass and Dan's arms thigh around his ribcage. Jepha looks up at Quinn through his eyelashes, a brief considering look. There's a flash of metal when Jepha slides his tongue over the head of Quinn's dick, a quick burst of heat before Jepha stops to say, "You look so good like this."
Jepha's still pressing at the inside of Quinn's knees, where Quinn's thighs are pressed flat against his calves. Jepha takes Quinn's dick in his hand and rubs his snakebites gently over the head; Quinn's position means that he can't buck up, can't make Jepha suck him, and Dan isn't moving. "Please," Quinn says, again, for something like the twentieth time since this started, "Please, please, don't, it itches, it hurts, please--"
His voice cuts off at the end of the word, his throat throttling closed, when Jepha swallows him down, sliding all the way down Quinn's cock in three sure, easy movements. Dan starts to rock inside Quinn; he lifts Quinn slightly to pull out, and drops him when he pushes back in, and Quinn opens his throat back up so he can pant and moan and beg with rough, wordless cries.
Jepha pulls back, sucks on the head of Quinn's cock, slides back down again and swallows hard. Quinn is grasping and needy, held down and taken, taking; when Jepha's tongue flickers out to slide wet over his balls Quinn comes, again, all of it boiling down through him and pushing out.
Dan fucks him through it, it feels like, but when Quinn finishes coming Dan has slowed down, only rocking his hips up. "No," Quinn says. Dan stops. "No, no, I didn't mean stop, dumbass," Quinn snaps.
"Don't make me sing you the 'No means no' song," Dan says. Jepha snorts.
"Whatever, asshole," Quinn says, "Move."
"Jesus," Dan says. "Here, fine. Jeph, move out of the way, my knees are hurting." Dan pulls out entirely. Quinn whines and slaps blindly at Dan's shoulder, but Dan ignores it and turns Quinn over onto his back once Jepha has shuffled back. "There, asshole," Dan says, and pushes back in.
Quinn's dick is still limp, and it almost feels better to be fucked while he isn't gagging for it. Dan's starting kind of slow, but it feels good like this, less frantic Quinn pulls his knees to his chest and tips his head back. He can see through Jepha's legs from this position, and Quinn catches Bert's chin behind Jepha, can see brief flashes of Bert's tongue as Bert licks up and over Jepha's asshole. "Unfair," Quinn says. "Jepha's not drugged."
Jepha looks down at Quinn and rolls his eyes. "I've got a dick, too," he says, more than a little breathless.
"But you're not drugged!" Quinn insists. Just then, just like that, the itch wakes back up. "Goddamn cumguzzling son of a bitch," Quinn says irritably, looking down at his dick, watching it rise back up off of his stomach.
Dan speeds up, snapping his hips, and Quinn hunches his hips up into it, feeling the desperation surging back over his skin. Dan's thrusts shake through Quinn's body. He's still surprisingly slick inside Quinn, only just raw enough to be satisfying.
Quinn has shifted far enough up the bed that Jepha's cock is above his face. Quinn props himself up slightly, stretching his neck and his tongue to reach, and Jepha curses when Quinn's tongue makes contact. Jepha leans forward, enough that Quinn can tongue the spot where metal meets flesh. The barbell that goes through the head of Jepha's cock clicks against Quinn's teeth.
Dan slams into Quinn, his rhythm going too-fast and too-hard as he starts to come, and Quinn's teeth slide over the head of Jepha's cock. Quinn opens his mouth to apologize, but Jepha just shoves into Quinn's mouth, says "Fuck yeah," and Quinn figures an apology must be unnecessary.
"Fuck," Dan says, and slumps forward. Quinn drops his knees, and Jepha shifts back a little.
Bert must sit up, because now he's looking down at Quinn over Jepha's shoulder. From Quinn's point of view, looking up the plane of Jepha's stomach, they both look like bizarre birds, both rumpled, dark-haired and bright-eyed. "Birds," Quinn says. They both grin down at him, and Quinn grins helplessly back.
"Fuck," Dan repeats. He slides out of Quinn and flops down by at his side. Quinn is left clenching down around nothing, and he keens.
Jepha makes a soft shushing sound. He disentangles himself from Bert and slides down the bed. He leans over to Dan, quick and surprisingly dirty, and then he slaps Quinn's thigh. "Can you take the two of us?"
"He's pretty tight," Dan comments, propping himself up on one elbow.
Jepha shrugs. "But tight is fine, if he wants it."
"Hey, 'he' is conscious," Quinn points out. "Fuck, and I'm still pretty itchy."
"Sexy," Jepha comments. He touches Quinn, though, which is all that really matters. Quinn's only ever had this feeling on ecstasy before, the wonder at touching someone who's touching him. He doesn't want this much when he's on X, though; it feels like the worst has passed, but Quinn still wants to cling and clutch and swallow. Quinn closes his eyes and hums at the sensation, but he really is thinking more clearly. That's probably the reason why he says, "Let's try."
"You want it?"
"I want it," Quinn says, opening his eyes again. "But I'm fucking you up the ass later."
"You need to work on your threats," Bert tells him, popping into Quinn's range of vision. Quinn rolls his eyes, but he pulls Bert down to kiss, ignoring where Bert's mouth has been.
Bert just tastes like water, actually, and Quinn pulls back to say, "Hey, give me a sip." He sits up to drink it. The water tastes delicious, even if Bert probably found it behind the bed. Quinn nearly finishes the bottle. He ignores the face Bert makes when he hands it back.
"Jerk," Bert says, but it's affectionate.
Bert keeps kissing Quinn as they move around the bed, Jepha's hands sure on Quinn's hips, turning him over and getting him on his hands and knees. Quinn's aware for the first time of the movement of the bus underneath them, the shudder and hum of a big vehicle on the road. "I think I'm feeling better," Quinn tells Bert, but he shoves his hips back at Jepha when Jepha touches his thigh, all the same. "Maybe this will be it."
"You need to work on your stamina," Bert tells him, and laughs when Quinn makes a face.
Jepha's hand moves away again, and Quinn drops his head to look down his body, through his legs. Jepha's twisting the ball on one of his piercings. "Hurry up," Quinn says, and watches as Jepha stops fiddling with the jewelry to flip him off. "Fuck you too," Quinn adds.
It's always a little sick to watch Jepha take out his barbells, and Quinn has to look away. It means he gets to laugh at Bert's expression when Bert watches Jepha do it, though. Bert shakes his head and says, "I have no idea how you do that, man."
"It doesn't hurt," Jepha says, and there's a plastic click as he opens the bottle of lube. "It feels like taking out an earring or whatever."
"We are not talking about this," Quinn tells Bert. Bert nods.
Jepha touches Quinn's thigh again, fingers sliding slick this time, and says, "Are you ready?" It sends a chill prickling fast over Quinn's skin, and he has to fist his hands in the rucked-up blankets when he says, "Yes, yes."
Jepha pushes in, slow and steady. He's a little smaller than Dan, but it's still a feeling that makes Quinn whine through his teeth. Jepha scratches his nails down Quinn's sides, and Quinn arches back. "Wait," Jepha says, and Quinn says, fiercely, "No."
Jepha pulls out anyway, lies down on the bed, and beckons Quinn over. "This way, come on," he says. Quinn crawls over him, and Jepha guides the head of his dick back into Quinn's body. Quinn slides down as soon as he can. Jepha grunts, soft and surprised.
Bert kisses Quinn, quick and sharp, grinning against Quinn's mouth for a breath when Quinn makes a noise. Then he scrambles off the bed, knees sliding over the coverlet, and goes behind Quinn, out of his range of sight. "Start with fingers first," Jepha says bossily.
"Nah, I was just going to shove it in," Bert says. "Do I look like a retard?"
"Don't answer that," Dan advises. Jepha grins.
Bert touches him tentatively, tracing around where Quinn's asshole is stretched around Jepha's cock before he begins to push. Quinn breathes, steadily, bearing down as hard as he can. He can feel the moment when he's open enough, when Bert's fingertips begin to slide into him, between Jepha and him. Bert is relentless about it, pushing in and in, all the way to his last knuckle, and then giving Quinn more, stretching him wide. Quinn is twitching, his hips jerking unconsciously. He feels blasted open and twisted up. His breath is coming in short noisy bursts out of his open mouth. "You okay?" Bert asks, and carefully pushes in, and it's all Quinn can do to nod, jerking his head, yes, please, more.
Dan touches Quinn's face, gently cupping his jaw, and Quinn turns into it, still open-mouthed, his lips landing wet and lax against Dan's palm. "You're doing good," Dan says. Jepha echoes him, "Good," and adds, "You look beautiful."
It's a frightening feeling, not quite beautiful, but Quinn understands what Jepha means. He feels strangely-- strangely loved. He can feel Bert holding his ass open with his fingers, can feel Bert beginning to push his cock in alongside Jepha's. Quinn aches through his skin to his bones. It hurts, but unlike any hurt he's ever had; he's glad for it, even as he's panting for air. Dan scratches his fingers back through Quinn's hair, and Quinn focuses on breathing, on how he feels like he's spreading, flying apart, full and fast.
"God," Bert murmurs, his voice going raspy as he settles gingerly against Quinn's back. Bert's hips are flush with Quinn's ass, and his thighs rub against Quinn's. Jepha is warm underneath Quinn, his hands running restlessly over Quinn's arms and chest.
Bert puts his hands on Quinn's hips and moves in tiny pulses, rocking inside Quinn, rocking Jepha inside him too, and Quinn has to groan, to grind down, to let his head hang between his shoulders and let his eyes droop closed. Jepha puts his hands above Bert's, bracketing Quinn's waist, and Dan is still touching him, gently, carefully.
"I--" Quinn starts, but he doesn't know what to say, how to finish the sentence. His breath is sobbing out of him now, but it's not painful, it's full, it's satisfaction to the point of ache. "Oh," he says, just a breath, when Dan reaches between him and Quinn and curls his hand around Quinn's cock. Dan's wrist is a little awkwardly bent, but his rhythm is still good, slow and steady, a counterpoint to the tiny, quick shifts of Bert's hips.
It doesn't take Quinn long to come. He's shaking when he does, the trembling in his limbs exaggerated. He has to rely on Bert and Jepha to hold him up. Quinn shuts his eyes tightly and loses himself to it, in it.
The drop out of his orgasm feels like he's folded his wings to his sides and dived down. He opens his eyes before he hits the ground, and Jepha is looking up at him, eyes wide, his expression shocked and pleased. Quinn leans down and kisses him, pressing Dan's hand flat between them, rocking Bert forward. Bert is shoving a little harder now, slightly longer thrusts; he finishes with a few stuttered curses, gripping Quinn's hips tight.
When he pulls out, Quinn lets Jepha roll him over, tips his hips up and takes Jepha's staccato thrusts with a lazy smile on his face. Jepha laughs at him, bright and open, and Quinn grins back.
"What a fucking high," Quinn says, after Jepha's come and fallen forward, his rushed breaths heavy on Quinn's face. "Jesus." Quinn feels too tired to talk, even, too limp to move, and when Jepha pulls out Quinn barely gets up the energy to slap at him. Quinn closes his eyes. He ought to get up and eat something, maybe drink some water, but he needs a second, just a second.
Quinn feels someone helping him move up the bed, and then a pillow shoved under his head. It's so soft, the pillow and the bed, and Quinn lets himself sink down into sleep.
***
Quinn wakes up in a tangle of limbs, covered in a thin sweat, on top of the most uncomfortable bed in the world. His pillow is thin and scratchy. As soon as he opens his eyes, Quinn feels his hangover start, spreading down from the top of his head to all the corners of his body. When Quinn sits up, dislodging Jepha's hand and Dan's leg, his muscles scream at him.
Quinn hisses when he stands up, clutching at his ass. It feels like his organs are going to slide out. He nearly falls on his face when he picks up his sweatpants from yesterday, and he has to brace himself against the wall for a moment before he keeps going. Quinn walks stiffly out to his bunk and pulls on the first pair of underwear he finds, not even worrying about whether or not they pass the sniff test. He manages to squirm into the sweatpants again and slides his feet into flip-flops.
Quinn stops to fish a bottle of water out of the bus fridge and to scrounge up a cigarette, and then heads for the front. The bus has stopped moving sometime during the night; Quinn nods to the bus driver as he climbs off, and the driver nods back, cigarette dangling out of his mouth and cell phone at his ear.
Quinn just walks, feeling the ache in his hips and ass, trying to get them loose enough that he might be able to play tonight. He's pointedly not thinking about what he did, what happened in the back lounge, the tangle of people he left back there. He's embarrassed, a little, the soreness adding a sharp edge to his memories of being spread open, demanding and stupidly desperate.
Quinn smokes his cigarette down to the filter, tosses the butt in the dust and grinds it down until the cherry goes out. He turns, looking out at where he can walk, and starts to shuffle forward.
"Do you remember Montana?" Bert's voice is low and gravelly, but he's pitched it just high enough to reach Quinn.
Quinn stops. He looks down at his feet for a long moment, scuffing his flip-flops through the yellowed grass. "Yeah," Quinn says, too quiet. They've been in Montana quite a few times, but he knows what Bert is talking about. It was the first time they were there. Quinn had taken off after they had slept in the van at some podunk town. It had felt like running away from home.
Bert had noticed after Quinn had gotten maybe twenty feet away from the van. Bert didn't stop him; Bert followed him. He had talked, a little bit, sung a lot. It had felt like years that they'd walked, until Quinn was done being fed up and finally gave up on trying to get away.
"Yeah," Quinn repeats, loud enough that Bert can hear him. He turns around.
Bert is squatting down fifteen feet away, in just his shorts from yesterday. His hair is fucked up, and his eyes are bloodshot. He says, "Of course you fucking remember. I followed you for three goddamn miles."
"It was two," Quinn protests, for tradition's sake.
"Two and three-fifths," Bert whines, imitating Quinn's voice.
Quinn sniggers. He walks over to Bert so they don't have to talk so loudly. Quinn folds down to sit next to Bert. Quinn winces when his butt touches the ground. "My ass, man," he says, and Bert laughs.
"Your ass," Bert agrees, but he pets clumsily at Quinn's hair. "I bet it's all drippy, too."
"Kinda," Quinn says, squinting out at a tree in the distance. "Whatever."
"Sure," Bert says. "I fucked that girl once, and she dripped all over my car. Remember that?" Bert drops out of his squat and slumps against Quinn's side. Quinn brings his arm up automatically, putting it around Bert's shoulders.
"I forgot about that," Quinn says.
"Yeah," Bert says meditatively. "Vinyl seats, though, easy to clean. I shit myself in that car, too, and no one ever noticed it."
"True," Quinn says. He kind of misses that car. Bert leans on him a little harder, and Quinn gets a whiff of him. "You smell like jizz," Quinn observes.
"That's weird, you smell like wildflowers and mountain breeze," Bert says, but his sarcasm lacks any punch.
Bert's sucking on the end of a lock of his hair when Quinn glances over. Bert pulls the hair out of his mouth and shapes it into a point with his fingers. "Remember how dumb you were in Montana?" Bert asks. Quinn frowns.
"I hadn't ever done acid before," Quinn reminds him. "And it was early on. Don't be a dick."
"I'm not," Bert says. "And I mean, it was kind of my fault."
Bert's head is ducked down, his gaze seemingly fixed on his hair. All Quinn can see is the wormy white line of Bert's uneven part. "How was it your fault?" Quinn asks.
"I convinced you to trip," Bert says. He shrugs. Quinn rides out the movement and leaves his arm on Bert's shoulders. "And to pull all those all-nighters."
"Sure," Quinn says, "I forgot that I was an angel when you came along."
"Didn't say that," Bert says, but he looks up at Quinn, meeting his eyes.
Bert's eyes are so perfect. No matter how fucked up Bert gets, no matter what he does to himself, Quinn still gets all fucked up by Bert's eyes. They're so fucking Bert, Quinn thinks, that's the thing.
"What?" Bert asks.
"Nothing," Quinn tells him. He leans forward and bites the tip of Bert's nose, and they both giggle. Quinn puts his arm back down, but he shifts his weight so that he and Bert are still pressed up against one another. "I'm okay," Quinn says, looking out at the tree, the dusty line of the horizon.
"Duh," Bert says. They both look over at each other at the same time, and they grin. "You want to go teabag Dan? He's still sleeping," Bert offers. Quinn helps Bert up, and their hands stay linked between them as they walk back to the bus.
***
(channel owner) theused
IF ANYOEN KNOWS A GUY IN ATLANTA
(channel owner) theused
WHO GAVE JEPHA SPECIAL GATORADE
(channel owner) theused
GET THE WROD OUT WE WANT THE RECIPE
***
END
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