Angular
Title: Angular
Author: Linzee (linzeems) & Tas (tasyfa)
Characters: Gabe Saporta, Cobra Starship/William Beckett, The Academy Is...
Word Count: 1524
Rating: Ohhhh NC17
Disclaimer: We own only the words; the people own themselves and the events are fictitious.
Summary: Vikki-T might need a new wardrobe once Gabe and Beckett are done.
Author's Notes: Well. Linzee made an offhanded comment about these two getting into trouble with Vikki's clothes; I countered with the suggestion that Beckett would have to be in one of those obscenely short flippy skirts; she outlined a start point for all these shenanigans. I stared at that for a while before losing the battle and we comment-spammed our way through the following drag!porn. :D Enjoy!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gabe and Beckett get trashed and get into Vikki-T's clothes. So there's an abundance of short skirts, knee-high socks and heeled boots lying around the Cobra bus. Beckett's pretty easy to convince, even when he doesn't have alcohol in him, and Gabe never really considered it before but fuck, like he cares: all Gabe cares about is what gets him hot, regardless of the parts involved, and drag or not Beckett in a skirt and a pair of stockings is prettier than any groupie, male or female, that Gabe's fucked around with on this tour.
He briefly considers that Travis might kill him, but only vaguely, and only for as long as it takes him to get the back zipper down with his teeth.
Beckett's hipbones are sharp against his palms, fully exposed above the waistband riding even lower than intended with the zipper undone. The clingy shirt pulls up as the skinny singer stretches forward, a soft sound that could be a moan floating out. Gabe trails his mouth across the knobs of Beckett's vertebrae and feels his spine flex under the caress, thinking fuzzily that that curve and the rustle of tiered fabric, the slipperiness of the stockings covering wiry calves as he nudges those long legs further apart, are the only parts of Beckett that aren't all planes and sharp angles - well, those and the tempting swell of Beckett's ass right in front of him, hanging out over the open skirt, waiting for hands or mouth or cock.
It'd be too much even if he were sober and like this Gabe can't help it, presses a wet sloppy kiss against the small of Beckett's back before his tongue trails down farther, tracing the curve of his ass. Beckett lets out another soft sound, a high breathy moan that might be a song note, might be Gabe's name, and he pushes his hips backwards desperately; Gabe grins and pulls away. The skirt slips farther down and Gabe reaches under it to scrape nails down Beckett's thighs, running slow circles against his razorblade hips and blatantly ignoring his straining cock. It's torture for both of them and Gabe gets off on it, just a little, just until Beckett decides he's had enough and turns himself with an uncoordinated flourish, pushing Gabe backwards and straddling his hips in one surprisingly fluid motion. Long stocking-clad thighs wrap themselves around Gabe's legs and Beckett looks down at him, eyes unfocused and wide.
Touches fingers to Gabe's lips, obscenely sweet. "Don't be a tease, Gabey."
Gabe grins snake-sharp and thrusts up against him. "Wouldn't dream of it."
That dreamy look, partly obscured by the messy, drifting hair as Beckett tosses his head, sends a lick of heat through Gabe and he reaches for those pretty hips, grinding against the other man, not particularly concerned that the delicious friction is with another dick. His eyes half close, lids heavy when Beckett undulates, bearing down on him and Gabe thinks that is one of the hottest things he's ever seen. He bucks up, listening to a defined moan exit the lipsticked mouth and suddenly this isn't just the two of them messing around with Vikki-T's shit, this is going places and it's going there fucking fast, except… fuck. He casts a desperate glance around, and grabs for her body lotion, getting it everywhere (shit, it better not stain) in the process of reaching one slicked hand under Beckett's skirt, fingers closing around his own cock.
He watches those wide eyes, big and blazing with want and a certain snide confidence. Gabe's tone is arch, almost challenging, as the latter makes him ask, "Enough for you?"
Beckett's smirk matches the coquettishness in his gaze and he wiggles in place, sending sparks up Gabe's spine. "Bring it on, big boy."
Beckett throws his head back when Gabe's slick fingers press against him, into him, twisting and stretching him open on the dirty floor of the Cobra bus. The sound he makes with every thrust of Gabe's knuckles is high-pitched and needy and he grinds down harder, fucking himself firmly against Gabe's fingers. The whole bus smells like sex and fuck, watermelon of all goddamned things (Gabe really hopes to God that shit comes out because he doesn't want to associate fruit with dick for the rest of his life) and Beckett looks down at him through obscenely long lashes, lips wet and cheeks flushed. Gabe grins until his cheeks hurt and moves his hands away until they're clutching at thin hips, pushing Beckett up until he's fairly sure he knows what he's doing, lining them up and then oh, oh fuck.
Beckett's tight and warm around him, better than any chick, and how they've never done this before Gabe has no fucking clue. The little broken gasps he makes are the hottest thing Gabe's ever heard and Beckett grinds down onto his cock, writhes and twists like he loves it, like he fucking needs it. Gabe grins and pushes his hand underneath the soft cotton of Beckett's skirt, wraps his hand firmly around Beckett's dick.
"You love it, don't you? Yeah, I thought you would," and he jerks Beckett off in counter-rhythm to his own hips. He's not even sure he's making sense, at this point. Beckett just gasps, mouth open in an obscene 'o,' and bucks into Gabe's touch. There's no way Vikki's getting her clothes back.
Not with the way the both of them are sweating, bodies slapping together as Beckett rides him like he knows what he's doing and Gabe keeps thrusting up to meet that sweet little ass, each collision sending shockwaves all through him. Through Beckett, too, his thin form shuddering in dazed pleasure at the hand on his cock, the heavy scent of musk cutting through the watermelon as precome mixes with the leftover lotion.
Then Beckett's hands are gripping Gabe's thighs as he arches back, taking Gabe deeper, and Gabe chokes out a moan at the new angle and the fucking keening noise coming from Beckett's throat, all want and need and now.
Gabe can feel the shudder against his thighs hands cock as Beckett comes against him in hot spurts, eyes comically wide and teeth biting down on his lower lip so hard he'll leave marks. He grinds down one final time against Gabe, still rippling with sensation and that's all it takes, Gabe thrusts twice more and comes inside of him, fingers digging into the thin flesh of his hips so hard he'll leave bruises, dark welts on pale skin left gloriously visible by the skinny skinny low-rise jeans Beckett favors on-stage.
Another gasped-out breath and Beckett collapses against him, still-clothed chest pressed against Gabe's own. Gabe's mind is still a pleasant blur of colors and sound, vision swimming with leftover intoxication and post-orgasmic haze. It's not the fuck-off drunk he was before but it's still enough that he doesn't recognize much more than the warm slight weight of Beckett's hips against him, his legs still wrapped around Gabe's hips. It's enough that he barely registers when Beckett nips at his jaw playfully, burrows into the curve of his neck.
He almost misses the quick swipe of tongue against Adam's apple, the small smug voice vibrating against his throat.
"So do you think she'll notice if I keep the skirt?"
A laugh rumbles out at that, finding an echo in a high-pitched giggle, and Gabe smoothes his hands down Beckett's sides, feeling thin material over thin skin, neither providing much cushioning for the defined shape of his rib cage though the dip of his waist is softer, Gabe's fingertips sliding on sweat and smooth flesh.
It's oddly comfortable, Beckett curled up on his chest and all but purring. There's a quick surge of pride accompanying the lassitude creeping through him. Fuck, Gabe would really like to just pass out right here, right now - even with the man on top of him. Not like Beckett's heavy enough to even bother his breathing ability.
His voice comes out kind of hoarse when he finds it. "Notice it's gone, maybe. Kick your fucking ass if it's still there and covered in spunk, definitely." Gabe laughs again, a little corner of him entranced with the idea of Vikki finding Beckett wearing her despoiled finery - or the aftermath of it, anyway. But that would lead to questions and… he doesn't have any answers. Beckett is a pretty boy who, turns out, makes a mind-bendingly sexy girl and seems to know way more about taking it up the ass than Gabe knows about putting his dick there. Again, this doesn't really bother him, which is something else he might want to think about later, or not. But neither does it make him want to go shouting it from the rooftops.
"Keep it, ya fucker." He takes the hint Beckett's been giving him in the form of tiny kisses and licks and winds a hand in that long, messy hair, dragging Beckett's head up and meeting his lips in a kiss, content to ignore the stickiness and the questions and, really, anything but the sweet mouth opening to his.
Author: Linzee (linzeems) & Tas (tasyfa)
Characters: Gabe Saporta, Cobra Starship/William Beckett, The Academy Is...
Word Count: 1524
Rating: Ohhhh NC17
Disclaimer: We own only the words; the people own themselves and the events are fictitious.
Summary: Vikki-T might need a new wardrobe once Gabe and Beckett are done.
Author's Notes: Well. Linzee made an offhanded comment about these two getting into trouble with Vikki's clothes; I countered with the suggestion that Beckett would have to be in one of those obscenely short flippy skirts; she outlined a start point for all these shenanigans. I stared at that for a while before losing the battle and we comment-spammed our way through the following drag!porn. :D Enjoy!
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Gabe and Beckett get trashed and get into Vikki-T's clothes. So there's an abundance of short skirts, knee-high socks and heeled boots lying around the Cobra bus. Beckett's pretty easy to convince, even when he doesn't have alcohol in him, and Gabe never really considered it before but fuck, like he cares: all Gabe cares about is what gets him hot, regardless of the parts involved, and drag or not Beckett in a skirt and a pair of stockings is prettier than any groupie, male or female, that Gabe's fucked around with on this tour.
He briefly considers that Travis might kill him, but only vaguely, and only for as long as it takes him to get the back zipper down with his teeth.
Beckett's hipbones are sharp against his palms, fully exposed above the waistband riding even lower than intended with the zipper undone. The clingy shirt pulls up as the skinny singer stretches forward, a soft sound that could be a moan floating out. Gabe trails his mouth across the knobs of Beckett's vertebrae and feels his spine flex under the caress, thinking fuzzily that that curve and the rustle of tiered fabric, the slipperiness of the stockings covering wiry calves as he nudges those long legs further apart, are the only parts of Beckett that aren't all planes and sharp angles - well, those and the tempting swell of Beckett's ass right in front of him, hanging out over the open skirt, waiting for hands or mouth or cock.
It'd be too much even if he were sober and like this Gabe can't help it, presses a wet sloppy kiss against the small of Beckett's back before his tongue trails down farther, tracing the curve of his ass. Beckett lets out another soft sound, a high breathy moan that might be a song note, might be Gabe's name, and he pushes his hips backwards desperately; Gabe grins and pulls away. The skirt slips farther down and Gabe reaches under it to scrape nails down Beckett's thighs, running slow circles against his razorblade hips and blatantly ignoring his straining cock. It's torture for both of them and Gabe gets off on it, just a little, just until Beckett decides he's had enough and turns himself with an uncoordinated flourish, pushing Gabe backwards and straddling his hips in one surprisingly fluid motion. Long stocking-clad thighs wrap themselves around Gabe's legs and Beckett looks down at him, eyes unfocused and wide.
Touches fingers to Gabe's lips, obscenely sweet. "Don't be a tease, Gabey."
Gabe grins snake-sharp and thrusts up against him. "Wouldn't dream of it."
That dreamy look, partly obscured by the messy, drifting hair as Beckett tosses his head, sends a lick of heat through Gabe and he reaches for those pretty hips, grinding against the other man, not particularly concerned that the delicious friction is with another dick. His eyes half close, lids heavy when Beckett undulates, bearing down on him and Gabe thinks that is one of the hottest things he's ever seen. He bucks up, listening to a defined moan exit the lipsticked mouth and suddenly this isn't just the two of them messing around with Vikki-T's shit, this is going places and it's going there fucking fast, except… fuck. He casts a desperate glance around, and grabs for her body lotion, getting it everywhere (shit, it better not stain) in the process of reaching one slicked hand under Beckett's skirt, fingers closing around his own cock.
He watches those wide eyes, big and blazing with want and a certain snide confidence. Gabe's tone is arch, almost challenging, as the latter makes him ask, "Enough for you?"
Beckett's smirk matches the coquettishness in his gaze and he wiggles in place, sending sparks up Gabe's spine. "Bring it on, big boy."
Beckett throws his head back when Gabe's slick fingers press against him, into him, twisting and stretching him open on the dirty floor of the Cobra bus. The sound he makes with every thrust of Gabe's knuckles is high-pitched and needy and he grinds down harder, fucking himself firmly against Gabe's fingers. The whole bus smells like sex and fuck, watermelon of all goddamned things (Gabe really hopes to God that shit comes out because he doesn't want to associate fruit with dick for the rest of his life) and Beckett looks down at him through obscenely long lashes, lips wet and cheeks flushed. Gabe grins until his cheeks hurt and moves his hands away until they're clutching at thin hips, pushing Beckett up until he's fairly sure he knows what he's doing, lining them up and then oh, oh fuck.
Beckett's tight and warm around him, better than any chick, and how they've never done this before Gabe has no fucking clue. The little broken gasps he makes are the hottest thing Gabe's ever heard and Beckett grinds down onto his cock, writhes and twists like he loves it, like he fucking needs it. Gabe grins and pushes his hand underneath the soft cotton of Beckett's skirt, wraps his hand firmly around Beckett's dick.
"You love it, don't you? Yeah, I thought you would," and he jerks Beckett off in counter-rhythm to his own hips. He's not even sure he's making sense, at this point. Beckett just gasps, mouth open in an obscene 'o,' and bucks into Gabe's touch. There's no way Vikki's getting her clothes back.
Not with the way the both of them are sweating, bodies slapping together as Beckett rides him like he knows what he's doing and Gabe keeps thrusting up to meet that sweet little ass, each collision sending shockwaves all through him. Through Beckett, too, his thin form shuddering in dazed pleasure at the hand on his cock, the heavy scent of musk cutting through the watermelon as precome mixes with the leftover lotion.
Then Beckett's hands are gripping Gabe's thighs as he arches back, taking Gabe deeper, and Gabe chokes out a moan at the new angle and the fucking keening noise coming from Beckett's throat, all want and need and now.
Gabe can feel the shudder against his thighs hands cock as Beckett comes against him in hot spurts, eyes comically wide and teeth biting down on his lower lip so hard he'll leave marks. He grinds down one final time against Gabe, still rippling with sensation and that's all it takes, Gabe thrusts twice more and comes inside of him, fingers digging into the thin flesh of his hips so hard he'll leave bruises, dark welts on pale skin left gloriously visible by the skinny skinny low-rise jeans Beckett favors on-stage.
Another gasped-out breath and Beckett collapses against him, still-clothed chest pressed against Gabe's own. Gabe's mind is still a pleasant blur of colors and sound, vision swimming with leftover intoxication and post-orgasmic haze. It's not the fuck-off drunk he was before but it's still enough that he doesn't recognize much more than the warm slight weight of Beckett's hips against him, his legs still wrapped around Gabe's hips. It's enough that he barely registers when Beckett nips at his jaw playfully, burrows into the curve of his neck.
He almost misses the quick swipe of tongue against Adam's apple, the small smug voice vibrating against his throat.
"So do you think she'll notice if I keep the skirt?"
A laugh rumbles out at that, finding an echo in a high-pitched giggle, and Gabe smoothes his hands down Beckett's sides, feeling thin material over thin skin, neither providing much cushioning for the defined shape of his rib cage though the dip of his waist is softer, Gabe's fingertips sliding on sweat and smooth flesh.
It's oddly comfortable, Beckett curled up on his chest and all but purring. There's a quick surge of pride accompanying the lassitude creeping through him. Fuck, Gabe would really like to just pass out right here, right now - even with the man on top of him. Not like Beckett's heavy enough to even bother his breathing ability.
His voice comes out kind of hoarse when he finds it. "Notice it's gone, maybe. Kick your fucking ass if it's still there and covered in spunk, definitely." Gabe laughs again, a little corner of him entranced with the idea of Vikki finding Beckett wearing her despoiled finery - or the aftermath of it, anyway. But that would lead to questions and… he doesn't have any answers. Beckett is a pretty boy who, turns out, makes a mind-bendingly sexy girl and seems to know way more about taking it up the ass than Gabe knows about putting his dick there. Again, this doesn't really bother him, which is something else he might want to think about later, or not. But neither does it make him want to go shouting it from the rooftops.
"Keep it, ya fucker." He takes the hint Beckett's been giving him in the form of tiny kisses and licks and winds a hand in that long, messy hair, dragging Beckett's head up and meeting his lips in a kiss, content to ignore the stickiness and the questions and, really, anything but the sweet mouth opening to his.