(no subject)
69, BRO! (the walk of no shame)
all time low; alex gaskarth/jack barakat
r/nc-17; 15,160 words
i am ashamed of myself for putting this on the internet. sorry, gkarth. don't read this.
The life of a rockstar, Jack thinks, is pretty fucking fantastic.
Not that he considers himself a rockstar, except in the way that he totally does. But at least he's not as bad as Alex about it. Alex lets things get to him, though; Jack is fucking fantastic at not doing that, ever. Also, Alex is a fucking headcase, but that is something Jack accepted a long time ago and has even learned to find charming, most of the time.
But the pertinent train of of thought here is not Gaskarth's weird brain, it's the life of a rockstar, and how fucking awesome it is. They're only a few days into Warped and their bus is already trashed - not that there's anyone sober enough to care close enough to give a shit. They've got the goddamn Spongebob Squarepants movie on DVD going; Rian's current party mix is thumping away over the audio, but Jack can still catch snippets of Spongebob and Patrick's magnificent sexual tension in the gaps between songs. There are more people aboard than is probably strictly adherent to safety codes, but it's not like the bus is moving, so Jack's not even going to consider giving a shit. And besides, there are at least three couples in his line of sight alone who are making out so enthusiastically that they probably count as one person, anyway. They are, last Jack heard, possibly running dangerously low on beer, but he's got his own bottle of Captain he's safeguarding tonight, so that doesn't concern him. He's gone through about three-quarters of it without anyone's help so far. Jack is good like that. It's a real talent, out-drinking everyone ever.
Anyway, Jack is pretty sure that, what with the raging bus-party and the booze and the Spongebob, the only way this moment could be any more awesome is if he was getting laid right this second. Warped makes him horny. Or, more appropriately with a nod to his track record, life makes him horny. Finding someone to fuck is so much work, though, and he really doesn't want to lose the fantastic spot he's got claimed here on the couch. It is not only within easy reach of the Cheetos, but is providing a vantage point from which he can see clearly both the movie and Alex trying for unknown reasons to lick Pat Brown's face.
Jack thinks very seriously about yelling something about how Pat's face probably doesn't want any STDs, but decides his energy would be more wisely expended by drinking more. Straight from the bottle like the classy dude he is, of course; at this point, there's no burn left to the rum, just that beautiful familiar sticky-sweetness sliding down his throat and pooling warm in his stomach.
Actually, Jack's not sure he could get up to fuck if he wanted to. New plan of action: sit here and keep drinking with vague hopes that someone hot comes along and jumps on his cock. It's totally a possibility.
But in the meantime he's got Spongebob. Or at least he does until Pat's freakishly tall head decides to block the screen. Jack throws the bag of Cheetos at him, then immediately regrets it because the Cheetos are too far away to reach when they bounce off Pat's ear.
"Ow, hey!" Pat says, turning and pointing, his finger wavering before it lands on Jack. "Barakat!"
Alex, still hanging on Pat like a large monkey, mimics the gesture even less steadily. "Bakarat!"
"Your stupid head was blocking the TV," Jack says, shrugging unapologetically. "Wanna give me my Cheetos back now?"
Alex picks up the bag - it miraculously only spilled a little - and thrusts it into Caleb Truman's hands as he passes. "Here, free Cheetos."
"I hate you," says Jack, "and your mom sucks in bed."
"Oh, Jackie," Alex says in that magnanimous tone he uses when he thinks he's about to do someone a giant favor. He advances on Jack, dragging poor Pat with him, mostly just because they're still attached at the arm. Pat wobbles at the sudden change in direction, but unfortunately there are no spectacular wipeouts or party fouls. Jack is always in favor of a good party foul.
Alex almost runs Pat right into the couch arm and Pat smacks Alex in the head and untangles himself. "I have to go call David," he says, and ducks safely away. Jack mentally gives him props for a clean getaway. Alex blinks, mildly taken aback by the series of events, and belatedly rubs his head where Pat hit him.
"Ow?" he says, as if trying to figure out if it hurt or not. "Wait, what were we talking about?"
"How you're the worst human being I know." Jack takes a long drink from his bottle before offering it to Alex. If he doesn't, Alex will just get it anyway, somehow. Alex takes it and tilts it back, coughing a little with the swig he takes. He hands it back, and Jack tucks it safely next to his thigh between the seat cushions.
"And then you insulted my mother. Jack--" Alex drops heavily into Jack's lap, eliciting grunts from both of them. "Everyone's gonna suck in bed if you insist on pretending they're me. Fantasies are just constant disappointment compared to the real thing. Not even Mama Gaskarth can live up to it."
Jack rolls his eyes as expressively as possible and digs his fingers into Alex's sides, tickling. Alex squirms and giggles, then chokes loudly on a laugh, and Jack stops immediately before he gets puked on. Alex is a very prolific puker once he gets started, and Jack wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially himself.
Alex huffs and shifts to sit straddling Jack's thighs, facing him. He squints at Jack very intently, then pushes both hands into Jack's hair, fingers splayed, palms pushing against Jack's scalp.
"You realize you're blocking my view of my BFF Spongebob," Jack says, watching Alex watch whatever the hell it is he's doing to Jack's hair.
"You like him better than me," Alex says distantly, plaintive.
"Yes, I do." Jack means it mostly fondly. He tries to tilt his head to see more of the television screen but Alex jerks it insistently back into place. "What the fuck are you even doing?"
"Nothin'," Alex says. He looks back down at Jack's face, then breaks into a wide grin. "Dude."
"Dude," Jack mimics, and pulls a face at him. "What."
"Your nose is so fuckin' big, dude."
"Uh," says Jack. "Yeah. You know what they say about guys with big noses."
"That they have a huge--" Alex plants his hands on either side of Jack's face and, surprisingly carefully for someone at his level of inebriation, bites the bridge of Jack's nose. Jack resists the urge to make a face in case Alex accidentally bites his eyeball out or something. When Alex leans back, he looks pleased. "--Jewish heritage?"
Jack barks a laugh. "Fuck you, you're so fucking drunk."
"I am reveling in my natural state, fuck you very much," Alex says. His fingers are in Jack's hair again; he's not sure when they got there and he thinks Alex probably isn't even half-aware of what he's doing anyway. Jack blinks placidly at the line of vision he's been delegated to, which mostly just includes Alex's chin, the dip of his white v-neck, and the barest edges of the television screen on either side of his neck. He stares at Alex's collarbones and wonders if biting one of them would be suitable revenge or just borderline homoerotic.
This train of thought is interrupted by Zack, who manifests out of the crowd and hooks an arm around Alex's neck. Alex makes a surprised strangled noise and Jack laughs with Zack, because it's not like abusing Alex is ever not funny.
"'Sup, assholes?" Zack says, giving Alex a rough noogie to the side of the head. Alex whines and squirms, but Zack's unbothered. Jack is a little bothered, because that's his lap Alex is squirming in, so he punches Zack in the arm.
"Spongebob, dude," Jack informs Zack. "The most epic movie of our time."
"I wanna watch The Lion King," says Alex. He tilts his head up to squint at Zack. "Do we have The Lion King?"
"I don't know, ask Vinny," Zack says.
"It's the ciiiiircle of liiiife," Alex sings. Someone, somewhere - it sounds like Aaron Gillespie - sings back ("And it moves us aaaaall!"), and Alex grins widely.
"Spongebob and Patrick," Jack says. "are M-F-E-O." He's not sure why no one else seems to understand this.
"You're gay," says Zack, humping Alex a few times to illustrate his point.
"Oh, baby," says Alex.
"Only for your daddy," says Jack.
"You are so anti-parents today," Alex says.
"That was not anti, that was totally pro. In-favor." Jack smiles winningly. "Of anal sex with Zack's dad."
"Ugh," says Zack, making an appropriately disgusted face.
"I wanna make out," Alex says, as if this is a suddenly new and surprising thought. He sits up straighter and blinks around the room, surveying the present company.
Zack rolls his eyes and flicks Alex in the side of the head. "Oh geez, okay, I'm gonna go find more beer."
"Bring us tapas," commands Jack.
"Tapas!" Alex agrees. Zack rolls his eyes and takes off; Alex turns back to Jack, looking contemplative. It's a dangerous expression and, were he tragically more sober, Jack might be suspicious of it.
"What," he says.
"Hm," Alex says, and puts his hands on Jack's face again, palms flat against Jack's cheeks. He tilts Jack's face up and kisses him on the lips. Jack laughs, but it's muffled and it dies fast when Alex's mouth turns insistent and he finds himself kissing back, because there's not many other logical options when someone sits in your lap and sticks their tongue down your throat. Something about kissing drunk makes the blood rush in Jack's ears and Alex's sweaty fingers on his face and neck totally distract him from everything until his brain registers that he's definitely getting hard right now and is no closer to finding someone to fuck tonight.
Jack thinks about pulling away but Alex apparently reads his mind and bites down on his lip, so Jack punches him in the chest instead. It's a really sucky punch because of the proximity, but Alex overbalances anyway and tumbles off Jack's lap with a yelp, landing half on the floor and half on Vinny's feet.
"Ow, fuck," Alex says, giving Jack a dirty look.
"Whoops," says Jack. He fishes his bottle of Captain from the seat cushions and fights briefly with the cap before he manages to get it off to take a drink. Alex punches him in the knee and he hands it over. Jack feels a little bad about shoving him off, but there are really some things that take priorities in Jack's life, and the well-being of his penis is very close to the top of the list.
"I don't have Lion King," he says to Alex, "but I do have Pirates of the Caribbean."
"I love you, Jack Barakat," Alex says, very seriously.
When Jack wakes up, it's with that distinct feeling that the bus is in an entirely different place than it was when he fell asleep. It's weird, but he's used to it, and he's got way more important things to deal with first thing in the morning anyway. For one, he is fucking thirsty, goddamn fucking hangovers; for another, he is squashed into his bunk that is is definitely made for one person with another person - a person who employs the Alex Gaskarth I-am-an-octopus style of sleeping, which really isn't helping things. And last but very certainly not least, he's got some pretty spectacular morning wood.
Alex has an arm and a leg draped over him and is breathing loudly through his mouth, half-snoring. Jack's pretty sure the warm wet patch on his shoulder is drool from where Alex's face has been smushed all night, but the t-shirt Jack's wearing is Rian's anyway, so he can't bring himself to be too offended. He nudges Alex experimentally to test his depth of sleep, but Alex just kind of grunts and snuffles and shows no signs of consciousness.
The TV in Jack's bunk is still on the blank blue DVD screen from the movie; Jack can't remember when exactly he passed out, but he's pretty sure it was before they even made it to Tortuga. He would bet good money Alex watched the whole thing, though, because that's the kind of dude Alex is. He can't hold a conversation for five minutes, but he'll watch a movie for two hours. If there's pirates.
Not that any of this helps with Jack's current issues. He knows he hid some beer under the dirty laundry at the end of his bunk, so he feels around with a foot to see if it's still there. Because his life is awesome, it totally is, and he gets his toes tangled in the plastic rings still attached to one-third of a six-pack, manuevering until he can reach it and pull a can free. He can't exactly sit up to drink with Alex all over him like he is, but he pops the top anyway and does the best he can to get it into his mouth laying down. It's warm, but it's beer, and Jack's not picky.
While he sips and miraculously only spills a little on himself, Jack contemplates his boner. The polite thing to do, he supposes, would be to ignore it. But Jack's not the kind of dude to ignore a perfectly good boner.
He elbows Alex sharply. "Yo. Gaskarth."
Alex grunts and mumbles incoherently, but makes no promising process toward waking up. Jack elbows him again, and smacks him in the head for good measure. "Alex. Get the fuck up or I swear to God I'll jizz on you."
"Fuck off, I hate your mother," Alex grumbles, pressing his nose into Jack's shoulder, apparently entirely content with the situation.
"Dude," says Jack. Having a conversation with half-asleep Alex is not entirely unlike trying to have a conversation with fully-conscious Alex. "Don't fuckin' say I didn't warn you." And because he tried, he really did, he really doesn't feel bad about popping open his fly and shoving his jeans down enough to get his dick out. He spits in his palm and goes to town, exhaling loudly through his nose at the immediate relief of touching himself when he hasn't jerked off in - like, twelve hours at least.
"It's almost like getting laid," he says conversationally to Alex's head. "I mean, there's a hottie all over me and everything." Alex doesn't respond, not even by snoring, so Jack just rolls his eyes at the ceiling and tries to think about tits or something without being distracted by Alex breathing on his neck.
Of course it's just Jack's luck that he's about ten seconds from getting off when Alex decides he's going to wake up enough to realize what's going on. He lifts his head up Jack's shoulder, blinking, and says through a yawn: "What the fuuuuu--"
"Fuck," says Jack, and comes on his own hand and both their shirts.
Alex lets his head drop back down heavily. "You are fucking shitting me, dude."
"G'morning, dear," Jack says brightly. He takes his gross hand from his dick and wiggles his fingers in Alex's face; Alex makes a revolted noise and recoils. "C'mon, I'm gonna think you don't love me."
"You're disgusting and I hate you," Alex says, but drops an arm off the side of the bunk, fishing for a moment and coming up with someone's t-shirt. He smothers Jack's sticky hand with it, looking determined.
"I did warn you," Jack says.
"I was asleep, fuckface."
Jack shrugs.
Alex sighs and looks down at the remaining mess. "This shirt was gonna be good for like three more days."
Jack grabs the shirt Alex had been using to clean his hand and wipes ineffectively at the come on their clothes. "Dude, just tell the internet I destroyed your shirt. They'll bring you a whole new wardrobe like magic."
"But I like this shirt." Alex pouts.
Jack shrugs again, belatedly deciding to put his dick away. "Or you could just rock the semen-stained look," he says, fighting with his zipper. "It's good on you, bro, really."
"Or you could just not jerk off on me in the future," Alex says. He yawns again, and stretches, re-wrapping himself around Jack now that the majority of the jizz crisis has been averted. "S'too early."
"Want a beer?" says Jack.
They are apparently in Charlotte, North Carolina, Jack learns from Vinny later when he remembers to ask. He knew they were still on the East coast, because it's disgusting and humid enough outside for it to be home, but Jack is really good at having no idea where he is on tour. It's a talent, not a problem. Anyway, they also apparently have a stupidly long drive to Florida that night, so Jack feels that he really needs to get some good shenanigans in before he's stuck on the bus for eight hours.
These shenanigans ("shenanigans" here meaning "lots of beers") start right after their set (which, for the record, fucking rocks), and continue until bus call - or technically, until five minutes after bus call when Matt calls Jack's phone and starts yelling things that amount mostly to making Jack walk to Orlando. Jack attempts to maintain that he doesn't actually know where he is in relation to the bus (or, in general, where he is at all; at a certain point of being drunk, all the vans and buses start to look the same), but Aaron takes his phone and promises Matt he'll be there in a minute. And so by the combined power of several drunk people who are bigger and/or more sober than he is, Jack finds himself deposited on the stairs of his bus.
"Whooooops," he says, blinking up and Matt and grinning in what he hopes is an endearing fashion. Matt rolls his eyes and Jack just manages to get his feet inside before he pulls the door shut.
The great thing about buses it that everything is really close together, so there's always something to hold onto when you're trying to walk but standing upright is currently not really your strong point. Jack appreciates this a great deal as he makes his way back toward his bunk, flicking off everyone in the front lounge just because they're there and he feels like it.
"We love you, too, Jackie," Zack says amicably from where he is laying on the couch and Rian and Vinny, watching Nick At Nite.
Jack pauses to blink hard at them. "Where's what's-his-face?"
They all three point in unison toward the bunks, so Jack continues on his way. He slips into the bunk room and, as promised, Alex is there. He's half-sitting, half-laying on the floor and a pile of laundry, possibly unconscious. Jack kicks him, as an experiment.
"Ow!" Alex yelps, batting a hand at Jack's legs without lifting his head or opening his eyes. "Fuck you, I hate the Cosby Show!"
"What the fuck," says Jack, laughing. He kicks Alex again, not as hard, and Alex actually takes it upon himself to look up at Jack, blinking him into focus.
"Oh, you," he says.
"Me," Jack says proudly, because being him is a pretty awesome thing. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I have no idea," Alex says, letting his head drop back down. "Uhhh, I wanna sleep."
"I think you already are, dude," says Jack. It feels like a very insightful thing to say, and being insightful makes Jack feel generous, so he offers Alex a hand up. Alex takes it, but doesn't get up, just yanks until Jack tumbles down beside him.
"Oof." Jack shifts slightly so he's not sitting on whatever painful thing he's sitting on. "Why do you do these things to me?"
"Only so you'll be with me forever," Alex mumbles, eyes closed again. He feels around blindly with a hand until he finds Jack's arm, then holds onto it. "Bee-eff-eff."
"Bee-eff-eff," Jack agrees solemnly.
"Good," says Alex. Jack sighs and shifts again, getting comfortable, carefully prying his arm from Alex's grip. Alex exhales unhappily, but Jack bats him away when he tries to grab again. Alex whines, but Jack pushes his hand into Alex's hair and he stops and just sighs instead. Jack squints at him, combing his fingers further through Alex's hair, then untangling them and pushing Alex's bangs off his forehead instead.
Alex's breathing is softer now, like it is when he's falling asleep. Jack, feeling impulsive, scoots closer and kisses him. He stays there a minute, his mouth pressed to Alex's, and Alex giggles against his lips.
"What," Jack says.
"Nothin'," says Alex. Jack can both hear and feel him smiling.
"Liar," says Jack; Alex doesn't respond, but closes his teeth lightly on Jack's lower lip and they're back to kissing, sleepy, slow, and drunk. Jack feels stupidly buzzed; Alex's mouth is warm and wet and he thinks vaguely about putting his cock in it and how that would be really awesome as long as Alex didn't try to bite it off.
Alex groans, low and unsubtle; Jack feels it in his teeth and his dick. "Fuck," he mumbles, only half-realizing he says it out loud. He wonders very seriously if he could get away with jerking off on Alex twice in one day.
"Yeah," Alex says, pushing closer, rubbing against Jack's hip. He's hard in his jeans; Jack can feel it. It makes a lot of decisions really easy all of a sudden: he goes for Alex's zipper and fumbles it open, and yeah, he's gonna give his best friend a handjob on the floor of the bus and he's pretty okay with it, especially seeing as Alex has apparently taken this as an invitation to go for Jack's dick. Which it was. Really, it's been way too long since Jack's had someone's hands besides his own down his pants.
"Jack," Alex says, voice strained; Jack grins and bites at Alex's chin, presses his nose into Alex's throat to feel it when Alex swallows his moans. He's got his hand wrapped around Alex's dick and the angle's kind of weird but it's not like he's never given a handjob before, so it's no big effort to adjust his wrist for the quick, hard strokes he'd be using on himself right now. Alex, on the other hand, is really not treating Jack's dick with the level of urgency it deserves. Jack grunts and shoves his hips against Alex's fist until he gets the message.
He comes before Alex does, but it doesn't really matter because Alex comes about ten seconds after, his sigh going high-pitched in a way that Jack would make fun of under any other circumstances. He's pretty busy trying to catch his breath right now, though, so he figures he'll let it slide this time.
After a minute, Alex mumbles, "Should get in a bunk, bro."
Jack makes a noise that means he agrees. He doesn't bother doing his jeans back up, just kicks them off, because he hates sleeping in jeans and doesn't want to wind up doing it two nights in a row. Alex follows suit, and they somehow manage to get themselves to their feet. Jack crawls into his bunk, under his comforter, scooting over to make room, but Alex is already climbing into his own bed across the aisle. Jack un-scoots and attempts to take up more room than usual, just because he can.
Jack does not wake up the next day until Matt climbs into his bunk and violates his personal space until he agrees to get up because they apparently play in like two hours or something.
"I'll get up if you find someone to give me a blowjob," he tries bartering, attempting to transfer his headache to his pillow via osmosis.
Matt flicks him in the ear. "Gaskarth already left to find the coffee girl, so that's not gonna happen."
"Fuck, ow," Jack says, then, "I don't appreciate what you're insinuating. Alex would never choose coffee over my dick. That boy has the correct priorities in life."
Matt snorts and smacks Jack in the head, because he does not have the correct priorities in life. "Up, Barakat, or I'll call in Trace Cyrus to replace you."
"You know no one in this band would stand for that," Jack protests, but rolls out of bed with a groan anyway. If he starts now, he's got just enough time to beer-and-Redbull his headache away before he has to play. He kind of wishes Alex hadn't disappeared already, so he could make sure he's not freaking out and smack him around a little if he is, because Alex is totally the kind of guy who would freak out about something stupid like a handjob.
Jack, on the other hand, has exactly one opinion regarding handjobs, and that is that they are awesome but not as awesome as blowjobs.
Onstage later, though, Alex points an accusing finger at Jack between songs and announces to the crowd, "Last night Jack came onto me when he was drunk!"
Jack laughs, from both surprise and relief, and grabs his mic to retort: "Came on to you is right," he says, trying to sound as lewd as possible. The girls shriek; Alex ducks his head with a grin, looking bashful.
"You are so wrong in every way possible, dude," Alex says; Jack sticks his tongue out, and they play another song.
In Atlanta, Jack is deeply involved in a massive game of Man Hunt when he is brutally attacked from behind.
It's dusk and he's crouched between Senses Fail's bus and trailer, eyes open for snipers. Threat level high, constant vigilance, etc. He's at that awesome level of drunk where he feels crazy and super-alert. And horny. That's probably not the booze, though. That's just life.
But anyway, this is the situation Jack is ensconced in when he is attacked from behind - in the form of Alex tripping over the trailer hitch and landing on top of him.
"Ow, fuck," Jack says into the face-full of grass he just got.
"Ugh," says Alex, picking himself up and brushing the dirt off his hands. "That approach was much more graceful when I envisioned it in my head."
Jack spits, trying to get the taste of dirt out of his mouth. "No worries, dude. I didn't need my front teeth anyway, they just get in the way when I'm suckin' dick."
"Yeah, okay." Alex offers him a hand up and he takes it, pulling himself to his feet. His head spins a little with the sudden motion, but he just squeezes Alex's hand for a minute and it passes.
"All good?" Alex asks.
"All fantastic," Jack says, leaning back a little to peek around the side of the trailer. "If I get shot in the head, it's your fault. What's up?"
"Strange things are afoot at the Circle-K," Alex intones solemnly, He steps back out into the open, pulling Jack by his hand. "Fuck the game, I'm taking you out on the town tonight."
Jack gives up on Man Hunt, because Gaskarth-amnesty is probably the only viable excuse for dipping out anyway. "By 'the town' you mean 'your curvy penis', right?"
"Don't say I never treat you right, baby," Alex says. He re-twines his sweaty fingers with Jack's. Everything is sweaty, especially Jack, but he notices it more when it's someone else's sweat on him. Alex's t-shirt is soaked through in the back, stuck to his shoulder blades, and Jack has a wild passing thought about peeling it off of him and finding out if the skin on Alex's back is as slick as his hands are. He lets Alex pull him along and only thinks about licking his neck once or twice, which isn't that weird, really.
'Out on the town' turns out to be code for Alex having got his hands on a bottle of red wine, which is his Thing lately, mostly because it has the kind of romantic connotations Alex loves that straight-up booze lacks, and also because Alex always forgets until the next day that it gives him the worst fucked-up hangovers from hell. Jack's not going to remind him of this when he's willing to share, though.
It's dark by the time they sprawl out on the grass behind their bus, but it's a clear night and someone down the row left their van lights on, so Jack can see well enough. They pass the bottle back and forth and Alex berates Jack for drinking it too fast ("You're supposed to savor it, dammit") and Jack ignores him ("I savor your mom, that's enough savoring for me"), and in the end Alex chugs the last quarter of it because, he says, Jack doesn't appreciate it enough.
"I appreciate plenty of shit already, dude," Jack says. "Like I appreciate how that bottle's going up your ass if you puke on me after that."
Alex, bottle tilted straight up as he drinks, flips him off. He finishes it off and, with a sigh, flops back to lay down on the ground. He burps loudly, then laughs and covers his mouth belatedly.
Jack rolls his eyes, but takes the opportunity to claim Alex's stomach as a pillow. Making himself comfortable, he points to the left of Alex's head. "Puke that way."
Alex flicks him in the head. "I'm not gonna puke, asshole."
"Yeah, okay." Jack turns his head and presses his ear against Alex's shirt, blinking up at him. "Your stomach sounds all sloshy."
Alex lifts his head enough to look back at him, lifting an eyebrow.
"It does," Jack says, defensive. Alex pushes his stomach out, lifting Jack's head up; Jack snorts a laugh and kind of backwards-headbutts it until Alex stops and gives him his squishy pillow back.
"Much better." He pats Alex's stomach appreciatively. "Nice and squishy, just how I like it."
"Not all of us can have your physique, Mr. Schwarzenegger," Alex says.
"Hey, it takes serious work to look this good," says Jack. "Lots of beers. You know how hard it is to make sure I keep my beer intake up? There's some serious mathematical equations involved there."
"Yeah, you know, six beers in a six-pack times-- however many six-packs--"
"See, there's something that woulda got me to pay attention in school." Jack grins.
Alex laughs and lays a hand on Jack's head, fingers curling slightly. "If there are five-hundred bitches at Warped Tour and twenty-eight percent of them are over eighteen, how many legal breasts are there?"
Jack tilts his head up a little to look at Alex's chin. "Assuming all the chicks have both breasts?"
"Obviously."
"No fuckin' clue."
"The correct answer," Alex says, "is 'not enough'."
Jack rolls his eyes. "Obviously."
Alex snorts and then goes quiet; Jack squints up at the sky and ponders the pros and cons of staying here while Alex does his thinky-contemplation thing. Pros: Alex, and Alex's ridiculously comfortable pillow-stomach, and Alex finger-combing his hair, which feels really awesomely good. Cons: Jack feels buzzed and alive, and there are parts of him other than his hair he'd like to get touched.
Of course, Jack is always in favor of the simplest solution to things.
He shifts onto his side and presses his nose against Alex's t-shirt. There's a gap between the hem of it and Alex's jeans, a stripe of bare skin, so Jack puts his mouth on it and tastes the sweat and dirt that gets into everything on Warped Tour. He can feel Alex's stomach muscles contract, hears his breathing hitch, and grins to himself.
"Jack," Alex says.
"What," says Jack, deliberately muffling the word against the button of Alex's jeans. He feels Alex take a breath before responding.
"Never mind," he says.
"Hmmm," Jack hums thoughtfully, considering his options for a moment before rolling to his hands and knees. Alex's hand falls out of his hair when he sits up, but he can live with that. There are way better places for Alex's hands to be, anyway.
"Hey," says Alex; he's tugging at Jack's shirt, and when Jack leans down to acquiesce Alex sits up to meet him halfway, kisses him and pulls him back down with him. Which wasn't really Jack's plan, but he really can't find it in him to argue, especially with how Alex is the most fucking distracting kisser Jack knows. He's great with his teeth. Jack appreciates Alex's teeth a lot. And Jack, unlike Alex, is actually capable of multitasking, so he shifts over to straddle him, sitting on Alex's hips, and shoves at Alex's t-shirt until Alex arches his back enough for Jack to push it up under his armpits.
"Jack," Alex says against Jack's mouth, his voice more strained than before. Jack ignores him and keeps kissing him until Alex bites his lip hard enough to distract him.
"What," he says, grinding his hips down on Alex's to remind him what he's holding up, here.
"M'not getting naked out here, dickhead."
"Whatever," Jack says. "You were the one bitching about jizz on his clothes."
"That was so fucking different--" Alex says, gritting his teeth as the end of the sentence trails off in a groan.
"Just take your shirt off," says Jack, dragging his mouth along the line of Alex's jaw, biting up near his ear. "It's not like anyone cares. I wanna take your shirt off."
Alex pushes his hips up, but Jack lifts his, too, deciding impulsively to be a selfish fuck until he gets what he wants. Alex makes an annoyed sound. "You say that like you've never done it before."
Jack grins. "Not so I could come on you."
"Who says--" Alex starts, but Jack reaches down and grabs him through his jeans, squeezing firmly, and the question dies when he inhales sharply. "Fuck, you asshole."
"You love it," Jacks says, his grin still wide; Alex rolls his eyes but sits up enough for a combined effort to get his shirt off over his head, the struggle leaving his hair sticking up in several hilarious directions. Jack doesn't get to comment, though, because Alex pulls him down to kiss again and Jack quickly decides that feeling up Alex-sans-shirt is way better than making fun of his hair, anyway. His skin is hot and sweaty-sticky and Jack really wants to put his mouth on it, but it takes a long moment before he musters the willpower to detach himself from Alex's kissing; he ducks his head to bite at Alex's collarbone, nuzzle at his chest, and feel a little crazily light-headed for a second. The summer and Alex and everything, it makes Jack crazy.
Crazy in the best way, though, like in the way that lets him get away with biting down on one of Alex's stupidly perky nipples; Alex arches off the ground and says "God, fuck," so loud Jack feels it in his chest. He laughs and licks a stripe up Alex's chest, lifting his head at the end to smirk at him.
"You gonna tell the kids all about this one, too?" Jack says, voice low. "Like, 'Jack came onto me when he was drunk again-- He made me so fucking hard I let him jerk me off right there on the ground where anyone could see--'"
"I think," Alex says, his voice catching when Jack grinds down on him, "I think that might be a little TMI."
"Yeah, but it'd be way hot." Jack grins, kissing Alex's sweaty neck before sitting up, scooting back a little so he can get at Alex's zipper; Alex props himself up on his elbows, watching Jack fight with Alex's clothing. Jack's own fly is much easier to deal with, probably because he's not being sat on, and when he wraps his hand around both their dicks at once he leans down to kiss Alex again, too, muffling the ridiculous horny noise he can't help making.
It's kind of difficult, jerking off two people with one hand, but it's also kind of hot, his dick sliding against Alex's when he thrusts into his fist, Alex pushing up into his grip, falling into Jack's rhythm. It's almost like fucking, in a way. Alex doesn't even try to help, just fists his hands in Jack's shirt and moans quietly against his mouth. Jack's okay with that. It's not like he needs Alex's help to get off, he's just an added bonus to the whole process right now.
And at least this time when he jizzes on Alex, it's totally with permission and he can't bitch about it because Alex jizzes on himself, too. Jack would really like to just flop down on top of him but he would also like to not get all gross so, with effort, he rolls off Alex and flops beside him instead, blinking up at the sky for a minute while he catches his breath.
In the distance, there is faint applause, and someone cheers and wolf-whistles.
"What the fuck," Alex says, lifting his head to look around. Jack doesn't bother, because it's too dark to see that far anyway.
Someone (sounds like Zack) shouts: "Is it safe to come over there yet?"
Alex lets his head drop back to the ground with a violent sigh.
"Hold your fucking horses!" Jack yells back, rolling his eyes. He grunts and sits up, wiping his hand off on his shirt, then just pulls the shirt off and uses it to clean up the white streaks on Alex's belly. Alex watches him, wrinkling his nose a little, then moves to zip himself back up once Jack is finished. Jack eyes his now-gross shirt for a moment, then shrugs and drapes it over his shoulder. He pushes himself up to his feet and tucks his dick back into his jeans, wiggling a little as he zips up to make sure everything's comfortable.
"All clear!" he calls as Alex gets up, too, using Jack for balance. In the distance, there are cheers.
"Douchebags," Alex says, pressing a brief, wet kiss to Jack's cheek. "Fuckin' ruining my afterglow." He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and inspects it briefly for damage before flipping it open. "Fuck, I have, like, fifty texts, Jesus Christ."
"Probably mostly about your sex noises," Jack says, grinning; Alex gives him a look and he shrugs guiltlessly.
"Whatever," says Alex, already distracted by his messages. He un-drapes himself from Jack and wanders toward the bus, waving back in Jack's general direction, "I'll catch you later, bro." Jack thinks later that the perfect response to that would have been "I'll sex you later, bro," but unfortunately he is hit square in the chest with a water balloon before he can employ it.
"Motherfucker!" he yells, and chases Zack's merry band of assassins into the dark.
"You know," Zack says onstage in Cincinatti the next day, "Warped Tour, so many fuckin' bands in one place, you get some pretty crazy fucked-up rumors going around."
"I heard Travis Clark fucked your mom," says Alex. "You're gonna have fuckin' little ginger siblings, dude."
Jack says, "Have you heard any about Pat Brown? Because, damn, she's such a babe."
"Shut up," says Zack. "I'm trying to inform our awesome fans of something very important, here."
Alex glances back at Jack, then says, "What's that, Zack-Attack?"
"It's just, I didn't want you guys reading stuff on the internet and getting confused," Zack says to the crowd. "You should hear it from us." Dramatic pause. "Yes, we are replacing Jack with Trace Cyrus."
Silence.
"I am going to fuck your face in your sleep, bro," Jack says.
Jack is the beer pong champion of the world.
"I'm the beer pong champion of the world!" he yells, throwing his hands up triumphantly and mostly accidentally hitting Jonathan Cook in the ear. Cook smacks the brim of his hat in retaliation, because he loves Jesus and doesn't beat up people, just accessories.
"Of the world!," Jack repeats loudly, just in case there are people in the vicinity who didn't hear the first time.
"Shut it, Barakat!" someone shouts in the distance, but they totally can't harsh Jack's awesome victory.
"Suck a dick!" he yells back in that general direction, and while he's yelling this he gets attached to from behind, Alex's chin hooking over his shoulder.
"Who'd you beat?" Alex asks, pushing his nose against Jack's neck and leaning on him heavily. Alex is big on leaning; Jack decided long ago that he's actually incapable of supporting his own weight. Jack doesn't mind, excpet for when he's too drunk to hold two people up. Right now, he wobbles a little but manages to stay upright. Another victory.
"Uhh, that guy." Jack points, then squints into the dark. He can never fucking see at night. "No wait. I dunno, I forget. Doesn't fuckin' matter, I kicked ass."
"I'm fuckin' honored to be in your presence, bro," Alex says.
Jack turns, wrapping an arm around Alex's waist. "Let's fuckin' celebrate, dude," he decides, steering them away from the partying and back toward the bus. "This calls for the good beers."
"Stella would you take me hooooome," Alex croons, laughing and stumbling, hanging on Jack to stay upright.
"You're quoting yourself," Jack says. "You fucking douche. Fucking douche, quoting yourself."
"Shut the fuck up, I'm fucking quotable," Alex says.
"Well, I'm the fuckin' beer pong champion of the world," Jack reminds him. They're walking between the buses, now, and Alex is pretty much the only thing Jack can see in the dark.
"Nuh-uh," Alex says, sounding far too pleased with himself. "Fuckin'-- Mark Campbell, dude, what's his face. He beat you at that pool party at Brittany Doyle's house junior year."
Jack waves dismissive hand. "Doesn't fuckin' count, dude, 'cause I got his girlfriend to blow me later in the bathroom."
"Still counts," says Alex, "because she was a fuckin' skank."
"Doesn't," Jack insists. He trips a little on the uneven ground, but catches himself on Alex and the side of the bus. "What the fuck, someone needs to fix the fucking ground."
"Hey," Alex says.
"What," says Jack.
Alex pushes him up against the side of the bus, his hands on Jack's face like he's going to kiss him, and Jack finds his own hands falling automatically to Alex's waist to pull him in. But Alex doesn't kiss him, he just stares at him hard. Jack can count on his fingers the number of times he hasn't been able to read Alex's face, and this is one of them.
"Um, Alex, dude?" Jack says, really not sure at all what's going on right now.
Alex drops to his knees, which clears a lot of things up.
"Dude," Jack says again, his voice a little strange as he tries to convey that if Alex is fucking around, now is the time to stop, because otherwise celebrating with the good beer will have to wait until Jack spends some quality time alone with his penis. Alex is fumbling with Jack's belt buckle, then his fly. Jack is staring so hard he thinks his eyes might fall out. "Bro, don't fuck around about oral sex."
"Shut up, man," Alex mutters, not looking up at him. He curls his fingers into the elastic of Jack's underwear and tugs it down enough to get Jack's cock out, and if Jack were a person with any sense of shame he'd be embarrassed at how hard he is already. But he's not, so he just watches as Alex fists him lightly, contemplative, then opens his mouth.
There's an audible thump as Jack's head hits the side of the bus, and he doesn't even bother biting back the moan in his throat.
Alex isn't the world champion of blowjobs or anything - Jack doesn't even know if he's ever given one before, and is suddenly really curious about it - but Jack's not picky, and it is actually really hot in a surreal kind of way to look down and see Alex with his lips wrapped around Jack's dick, head bobbing, eyes down. Jack is not entirely sure that he's not just having a really fucked-up wet dream. A really awesome fucked-up wet dream.
"Fuck, Alex," Jack breathes, his fingers tangled in Alex's hair; he's not sure when they got there, but he's okay with it. Alex makes a noise around his dick that Jack is sure he would be able to interpret if his penis wasn't being awesomely sucked on right now. He closes his eyes and tugs on Alex's head. Blowjobs first, communication later.
But Alex makes another noise, except this one is totally familiar, and Jack barely gets his hands away for Alex to pull off before he pukes all over Jack's jeans and shoes.
"Fuck--" Alex says, then turns and retches into the grass.
"Goddammit, Gaskarth," Jack says, having a minor moral dilemma between his boner and Alex vomiting on the ground. Getting puked on is really unsexy, but Jack has a really stubborn penis that hates to be left hanging. He sighs and mourns it briefly before tucking it back into his pants, being careful zipping back up. He kneels, probably in vomit, but his jeans are a lost cause anyway.
He smacks a hand onto Alex's back. "I hate you so much right now," he says. Alex responds by vomiting again; Jack cringes at the retching sound. He rubs Alex's back idly, his palm sticking to Alex's sweaty t-shirt. When Alex starts throwing up, it's mostly just a matter of waiting it out and then convincing him to move. Jack's an expert at this. He makes himself comfortable in the vomit-y grass, palming himself gingerly through his jeans with his free hand.
Alex seems like he's almost done when Rian steps out of the bus and almost trips over them.
"Whoa!" he yelps, catching himself. Jack waves up at him. Rian prods Alex carefully with a foot. "You okay there, bro?"
"My fault," says Jack. "He choked on my penis."
"Fuck you," Alex manages, then pukes again.
"Hey," Jack says, pushing his fingers through Alex's gross sweaty hair. "Wanna go inside? Rian's here to be your knight in shining armor and everything."
"Oh, of course I am," Rian says. This is sarcasm, which Jack chooses to ignore.
"I hate everything," Alex says pathetically into the grass.
"Except my penis, right?" Jack is not quite ready to give up on one day completing this aborted blowjob.
"Especially--" Alex chokes a little, but doesn't throw up. "Especially your penis, d-bag."
"All right, Alex," says Rian, stooping to hook his arms under Alex's armpits, trying to haul him up. Jack wraps his arms around Alex's waist to attempt to help, but he is pretty drunk and Alex is fantastic at being dead weight. It takes them three tries to get Alex to his feet and convince him to stay there. Alex immediately slumps against Jack, almost taking them both down again.
"Jesus fuck," Jack says, staggering.
Alex nuzzles Jack's shoulder in what is probably an attempt to get the vomit off his chin. "M'gonna puke on you," he mumbles.
"Been there, bro," Jack says, and shoves him over to Rian for the super-fun task of getting his actually onto the bus. Jack is not helping, because Jack, right now, is covered in the remains of everything Alex had ingested that day, and is feeling an extreme need to take his clothes off in a tragically un-sexy way. He kicks off his shoes and socks, peels off his jeans and t-shirt, and leaves everything in a pile outside the bus before climbing aboard in his hat and underpants.
"Hey, naked bro!" Vinny greets him from the couch. "Nice boner."
"Yeah, you know," Jack says. "Your mom's a fuckin' tease like that."
"A saucy wench, for sure," Vinny agrees. Jack grabs two bottles from the fridge (one water, one beer), and heads to the back, checking Alex's bunk before finding him sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning on the toilet. Rian is bent over him, poking at him with vague concern.
"Yo," says Jack, elbowing past him to plop down on the floor facing Alex, their feet and knees all squished together in the small space. He fits himself in as well as possible and gives Rian a thumbs-up. "No worries, bro, I got it covered."
Rian flicks him lightly in the ear as he leaves. "Go for it, naked bro."
Alex opens one eye to look at Jack. "Why th'fuck are you naked, bro?"
"You fuckin' puked on me, bro," Jack reminds him.
Alex flops a dismissive hand at him. "Whatever." He lets his head drop back against him arm, propped on the toilet seat. Jack reaches across and, with effort, pushes Alex's sweaty bangs off his huge fucking forehead, feeling strangely lucid despite his blood alcohol-content. Alex watches him, pupils dilated, as Jack's fingers drag down the side of his face; Jack presses them against Alex's lower lip and Alex bites down on them, lightly. Jack's stomach turns over, but not in a nauseated way.
He pulls his fingers free, smearing them down Alex's chin, then shoves the bottle of water he brought at him. "Drink up, dude. Celebrating, remember?" He twists the top off his beer and tosses it out into the hallway in the general direction of some trash can, somewhere. He drinks and, out of his peripheral vision, watches Alex struggle briefly with the cap of his water bottle before taking a tentative sip. He makes a face.
"What," says Jack.
Alex frowns at him.
"You can't fuckin' have my beer, dude."
"Asshole," Alex says, and sips his water again, swishing it around in his mouth and spitting into the toilet bowl.
"That's me," Jack says, drinking his beer with exaggerated enjoyment.
Alex ignores this, still frowning. He blinks slowly at Jack a few times, then says, "Sorry about your dick, man."
"No worries, dude." Jack shrugs. "I'll just wait 'til you pass out then jerk off on you and we'll call it even." He doesn't completely mean this, because he's already decided that it would be a great idea to try to get Alex to blow him again, possibly on a semi-regular basis, preferably when he's not puking on things. But Alex doesn't need to know that right now.
Jack passes out before he gets to jerk off on Alex, though, and wakes up with the bathroom to himself. His back hurts like hell from the sleeping position, he's dehydrated as fuck, and he's got "I (heart) DUDES ON THEIR KNEES" sharpied in big letters on his chest in Rian's handwriting. He goes around shirtless all day, but the only person who comments on it is drunk Pat Brown, who says "Fuck yeah, blowjobs!" and high-fives him enthusiastically. Pat is a kid with the correct priorities in life, Jack thinks.
He doesn't run into Alex until right before their set, and Jack feels uncharacteristically awkward for about five seconds as Alex reads his chest, then punches him in the shoulder and says, "Real subtle, bro."
Jack makes Vinny give him his t-shirt before they go onstage. Merch guys don't need clothing anyway.
( part 2)
all time low; alex gaskarth/jack barakat
r/nc-17; 15,160 words
i am ashamed of myself for putting this on the internet. sorry, gkarth. don't read this.
The life of a rockstar, Jack thinks, is pretty fucking fantastic.
Not that he considers himself a rockstar, except in the way that he totally does. But at least he's not as bad as Alex about it. Alex lets things get to him, though; Jack is fucking fantastic at not doing that, ever. Also, Alex is a fucking headcase, but that is something Jack accepted a long time ago and has even learned to find charming, most of the time.
But the pertinent train of of thought here is not Gaskarth's weird brain, it's the life of a rockstar, and how fucking awesome it is. They're only a few days into Warped and their bus is already trashed - not that there's anyone sober enough to care close enough to give a shit. They've got the goddamn Spongebob Squarepants movie on DVD going; Rian's current party mix is thumping away over the audio, but Jack can still catch snippets of Spongebob and Patrick's magnificent sexual tension in the gaps between songs. There are more people aboard than is probably strictly adherent to safety codes, but it's not like the bus is moving, so Jack's not even going to consider giving a shit. And besides, there are at least three couples in his line of sight alone who are making out so enthusiastically that they probably count as one person, anyway. They are, last Jack heard, possibly running dangerously low on beer, but he's got his own bottle of Captain he's safeguarding tonight, so that doesn't concern him. He's gone through about three-quarters of it without anyone's help so far. Jack is good like that. It's a real talent, out-drinking everyone ever.
Anyway, Jack is pretty sure that, what with the raging bus-party and the booze and the Spongebob, the only way this moment could be any more awesome is if he was getting laid right this second. Warped makes him horny. Or, more appropriately with a nod to his track record, life makes him horny. Finding someone to fuck is so much work, though, and he really doesn't want to lose the fantastic spot he's got claimed here on the couch. It is not only within easy reach of the Cheetos, but is providing a vantage point from which he can see clearly both the movie and Alex trying for unknown reasons to lick Pat Brown's face.
Jack thinks very seriously about yelling something about how Pat's face probably doesn't want any STDs, but decides his energy would be more wisely expended by drinking more. Straight from the bottle like the classy dude he is, of course; at this point, there's no burn left to the rum, just that beautiful familiar sticky-sweetness sliding down his throat and pooling warm in his stomach.
Actually, Jack's not sure he could get up to fuck if he wanted to. New plan of action: sit here and keep drinking with vague hopes that someone hot comes along and jumps on his cock. It's totally a possibility.
But in the meantime he's got Spongebob. Or at least he does until Pat's freakishly tall head decides to block the screen. Jack throws the bag of Cheetos at him, then immediately regrets it because the Cheetos are too far away to reach when they bounce off Pat's ear.
"Ow, hey!" Pat says, turning and pointing, his finger wavering before it lands on Jack. "Barakat!"
Alex, still hanging on Pat like a large monkey, mimics the gesture even less steadily. "Bakarat!"
"Your stupid head was blocking the TV," Jack says, shrugging unapologetically. "Wanna give me my Cheetos back now?"
Alex picks up the bag - it miraculously only spilled a little - and thrusts it into Caleb Truman's hands as he passes. "Here, free Cheetos."
"I hate you," says Jack, "and your mom sucks in bed."
"Oh, Jackie," Alex says in that magnanimous tone he uses when he thinks he's about to do someone a giant favor. He advances on Jack, dragging poor Pat with him, mostly just because they're still attached at the arm. Pat wobbles at the sudden change in direction, but unfortunately there are no spectacular wipeouts or party fouls. Jack is always in favor of a good party foul.
Alex almost runs Pat right into the couch arm and Pat smacks Alex in the head and untangles himself. "I have to go call David," he says, and ducks safely away. Jack mentally gives him props for a clean getaway. Alex blinks, mildly taken aback by the series of events, and belatedly rubs his head where Pat hit him.
"Ow?" he says, as if trying to figure out if it hurt or not. "Wait, what were we talking about?"
"How you're the worst human being I know." Jack takes a long drink from his bottle before offering it to Alex. If he doesn't, Alex will just get it anyway, somehow. Alex takes it and tilts it back, coughing a little with the swig he takes. He hands it back, and Jack tucks it safely next to his thigh between the seat cushions.
"And then you insulted my mother. Jack--" Alex drops heavily into Jack's lap, eliciting grunts from both of them. "Everyone's gonna suck in bed if you insist on pretending they're me. Fantasies are just constant disappointment compared to the real thing. Not even Mama Gaskarth can live up to it."
Jack rolls his eyes as expressively as possible and digs his fingers into Alex's sides, tickling. Alex squirms and giggles, then chokes loudly on a laugh, and Jack stops immediately before he gets puked on. Alex is a very prolific puker once he gets started, and Jack wouldn't wish that on anyone, especially himself.
Alex huffs and shifts to sit straddling Jack's thighs, facing him. He squints at Jack very intently, then pushes both hands into Jack's hair, fingers splayed, palms pushing against Jack's scalp.
"You realize you're blocking my view of my BFF Spongebob," Jack says, watching Alex watch whatever the hell it is he's doing to Jack's hair.
"You like him better than me," Alex says distantly, plaintive.
"Yes, I do." Jack means it mostly fondly. He tries to tilt his head to see more of the television screen but Alex jerks it insistently back into place. "What the fuck are you even doing?"
"Nothin'," Alex says. He looks back down at Jack's face, then breaks into a wide grin. "Dude."
"Dude," Jack mimics, and pulls a face at him. "What."
"Your nose is so fuckin' big, dude."
"Uh," says Jack. "Yeah. You know what they say about guys with big noses."
"That they have a huge--" Alex plants his hands on either side of Jack's face and, surprisingly carefully for someone at his level of inebriation, bites the bridge of Jack's nose. Jack resists the urge to make a face in case Alex accidentally bites his eyeball out or something. When Alex leans back, he looks pleased. "--Jewish heritage?"
Jack barks a laugh. "Fuck you, you're so fucking drunk."
"I am reveling in my natural state, fuck you very much," Alex says. His fingers are in Jack's hair again; he's not sure when they got there and he thinks Alex probably isn't even half-aware of what he's doing anyway. Jack blinks placidly at the line of vision he's been delegated to, which mostly just includes Alex's chin, the dip of his white v-neck, and the barest edges of the television screen on either side of his neck. He stares at Alex's collarbones and wonders if biting one of them would be suitable revenge or just borderline homoerotic.
This train of thought is interrupted by Zack, who manifests out of the crowd and hooks an arm around Alex's neck. Alex makes a surprised strangled noise and Jack laughs with Zack, because it's not like abusing Alex is ever not funny.
"'Sup, assholes?" Zack says, giving Alex a rough noogie to the side of the head. Alex whines and squirms, but Zack's unbothered. Jack is a little bothered, because that's his lap Alex is squirming in, so he punches Zack in the arm.
"Spongebob, dude," Jack informs Zack. "The most epic movie of our time."
"I wanna watch The Lion King," says Alex. He tilts his head up to squint at Zack. "Do we have The Lion King?"
"I don't know, ask Vinny," Zack says.
"It's the ciiiiircle of liiiife," Alex sings. Someone, somewhere - it sounds like Aaron Gillespie - sings back ("And it moves us aaaaall!"), and Alex grins widely.
"Spongebob and Patrick," Jack says. "are M-F-E-O." He's not sure why no one else seems to understand this.
"You're gay," says Zack, humping Alex a few times to illustrate his point.
"Oh, baby," says Alex.
"Only for your daddy," says Jack.
"You are so anti-parents today," Alex says.
"That was not anti, that was totally pro. In-favor." Jack smiles winningly. "Of anal sex with Zack's dad."
"Ugh," says Zack, making an appropriately disgusted face.
"I wanna make out," Alex says, as if this is a suddenly new and surprising thought. He sits up straighter and blinks around the room, surveying the present company.
Zack rolls his eyes and flicks Alex in the side of the head. "Oh geez, okay, I'm gonna go find more beer."
"Bring us tapas," commands Jack.
"Tapas!" Alex agrees. Zack rolls his eyes and takes off; Alex turns back to Jack, looking contemplative. It's a dangerous expression and, were he tragically more sober, Jack might be suspicious of it.
"What," he says.
"Hm," Alex says, and puts his hands on Jack's face again, palms flat against Jack's cheeks. He tilts Jack's face up and kisses him on the lips. Jack laughs, but it's muffled and it dies fast when Alex's mouth turns insistent and he finds himself kissing back, because there's not many other logical options when someone sits in your lap and sticks their tongue down your throat. Something about kissing drunk makes the blood rush in Jack's ears and Alex's sweaty fingers on his face and neck totally distract him from everything until his brain registers that he's definitely getting hard right now and is no closer to finding someone to fuck tonight.
Jack thinks about pulling away but Alex apparently reads his mind and bites down on his lip, so Jack punches him in the chest instead. It's a really sucky punch because of the proximity, but Alex overbalances anyway and tumbles off Jack's lap with a yelp, landing half on the floor and half on Vinny's feet.
"Ow, fuck," Alex says, giving Jack a dirty look.
"Whoops," says Jack. He fishes his bottle of Captain from the seat cushions and fights briefly with the cap before he manages to get it off to take a drink. Alex punches him in the knee and he hands it over. Jack feels a little bad about shoving him off, but there are really some things that take priorities in Jack's life, and the well-being of his penis is very close to the top of the list.
"I don't have Lion King," he says to Alex, "but I do have Pirates of the Caribbean."
"I love you, Jack Barakat," Alex says, very seriously.
When Jack wakes up, it's with that distinct feeling that the bus is in an entirely different place than it was when he fell asleep. It's weird, but he's used to it, and he's got way more important things to deal with first thing in the morning anyway. For one, he is fucking thirsty, goddamn fucking hangovers; for another, he is squashed into his bunk that is is definitely made for one person with another person - a person who employs the Alex Gaskarth I-am-an-octopus style of sleeping, which really isn't helping things. And last but very certainly not least, he's got some pretty spectacular morning wood.
Alex has an arm and a leg draped over him and is breathing loudly through his mouth, half-snoring. Jack's pretty sure the warm wet patch on his shoulder is drool from where Alex's face has been smushed all night, but the t-shirt Jack's wearing is Rian's anyway, so he can't bring himself to be too offended. He nudges Alex experimentally to test his depth of sleep, but Alex just kind of grunts and snuffles and shows no signs of consciousness.
The TV in Jack's bunk is still on the blank blue DVD screen from the movie; Jack can't remember when exactly he passed out, but he's pretty sure it was before they even made it to Tortuga. He would bet good money Alex watched the whole thing, though, because that's the kind of dude Alex is. He can't hold a conversation for five minutes, but he'll watch a movie for two hours. If there's pirates.
Not that any of this helps with Jack's current issues. He knows he hid some beer under the dirty laundry at the end of his bunk, so he feels around with a foot to see if it's still there. Because his life is awesome, it totally is, and he gets his toes tangled in the plastic rings still attached to one-third of a six-pack, manuevering until he can reach it and pull a can free. He can't exactly sit up to drink with Alex all over him like he is, but he pops the top anyway and does the best he can to get it into his mouth laying down. It's warm, but it's beer, and Jack's not picky.
While he sips and miraculously only spills a little on himself, Jack contemplates his boner. The polite thing to do, he supposes, would be to ignore it. But Jack's not the kind of dude to ignore a perfectly good boner.
He elbows Alex sharply. "Yo. Gaskarth."
Alex grunts and mumbles incoherently, but makes no promising process toward waking up. Jack elbows him again, and smacks him in the head for good measure. "Alex. Get the fuck up or I swear to God I'll jizz on you."
"Fuck off, I hate your mother," Alex grumbles, pressing his nose into Jack's shoulder, apparently entirely content with the situation.
"Dude," says Jack. Having a conversation with half-asleep Alex is not entirely unlike trying to have a conversation with fully-conscious Alex. "Don't fuckin' say I didn't warn you." And because he tried, he really did, he really doesn't feel bad about popping open his fly and shoving his jeans down enough to get his dick out. He spits in his palm and goes to town, exhaling loudly through his nose at the immediate relief of touching himself when he hasn't jerked off in - like, twelve hours at least.
"It's almost like getting laid," he says conversationally to Alex's head. "I mean, there's a hottie all over me and everything." Alex doesn't respond, not even by snoring, so Jack just rolls his eyes at the ceiling and tries to think about tits or something without being distracted by Alex breathing on his neck.
Of course it's just Jack's luck that he's about ten seconds from getting off when Alex decides he's going to wake up enough to realize what's going on. He lifts his head up Jack's shoulder, blinking, and says through a yawn: "What the fuuuuu--"
"Fuck," says Jack, and comes on his own hand and both their shirts.
Alex lets his head drop back down heavily. "You are fucking shitting me, dude."
"G'morning, dear," Jack says brightly. He takes his gross hand from his dick and wiggles his fingers in Alex's face; Alex makes a revolted noise and recoils. "C'mon, I'm gonna think you don't love me."
"You're disgusting and I hate you," Alex says, but drops an arm off the side of the bunk, fishing for a moment and coming up with someone's t-shirt. He smothers Jack's sticky hand with it, looking determined.
"I did warn you," Jack says.
"I was asleep, fuckface."
Jack shrugs.
Alex sighs and looks down at the remaining mess. "This shirt was gonna be good for like three more days."
Jack grabs the shirt Alex had been using to clean his hand and wipes ineffectively at the come on their clothes. "Dude, just tell the internet I destroyed your shirt. They'll bring you a whole new wardrobe like magic."
"But I like this shirt." Alex pouts.
Jack shrugs again, belatedly deciding to put his dick away. "Or you could just rock the semen-stained look," he says, fighting with his zipper. "It's good on you, bro, really."
"Or you could just not jerk off on me in the future," Alex says. He yawns again, and stretches, re-wrapping himself around Jack now that the majority of the jizz crisis has been averted. "S'too early."
"Want a beer?" says Jack.
They are apparently in Charlotte, North Carolina, Jack learns from Vinny later when he remembers to ask. He knew they were still on the East coast, because it's disgusting and humid enough outside for it to be home, but Jack is really good at having no idea where he is on tour. It's a talent, not a problem. Anyway, they also apparently have a stupidly long drive to Florida that night, so Jack feels that he really needs to get some good shenanigans in before he's stuck on the bus for eight hours.
These shenanigans ("shenanigans" here meaning "lots of beers") start right after their set (which, for the record, fucking rocks), and continue until bus call - or technically, until five minutes after bus call when Matt calls Jack's phone and starts yelling things that amount mostly to making Jack walk to Orlando. Jack attempts to maintain that he doesn't actually know where he is in relation to the bus (or, in general, where he is at all; at a certain point of being drunk, all the vans and buses start to look the same), but Aaron takes his phone and promises Matt he'll be there in a minute. And so by the combined power of several drunk people who are bigger and/or more sober than he is, Jack finds himself deposited on the stairs of his bus.
"Whooooops," he says, blinking up and Matt and grinning in what he hopes is an endearing fashion. Matt rolls his eyes and Jack just manages to get his feet inside before he pulls the door shut.
The great thing about buses it that everything is really close together, so there's always something to hold onto when you're trying to walk but standing upright is currently not really your strong point. Jack appreciates this a great deal as he makes his way back toward his bunk, flicking off everyone in the front lounge just because they're there and he feels like it.
"We love you, too, Jackie," Zack says amicably from where he is laying on the couch and Rian and Vinny, watching Nick At Nite.
Jack pauses to blink hard at them. "Where's what's-his-face?"
They all three point in unison toward the bunks, so Jack continues on his way. He slips into the bunk room and, as promised, Alex is there. He's half-sitting, half-laying on the floor and a pile of laundry, possibly unconscious. Jack kicks him, as an experiment.
"Ow!" Alex yelps, batting a hand at Jack's legs without lifting his head or opening his eyes. "Fuck you, I hate the Cosby Show!"
"What the fuck," says Jack, laughing. He kicks Alex again, not as hard, and Alex actually takes it upon himself to look up at Jack, blinking him into focus.
"Oh, you," he says.
"Me," Jack says proudly, because being him is a pretty awesome thing. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I have no idea," Alex says, letting his head drop back down. "Uhhh, I wanna sleep."
"I think you already are, dude," says Jack. It feels like a very insightful thing to say, and being insightful makes Jack feel generous, so he offers Alex a hand up. Alex takes it, but doesn't get up, just yanks until Jack tumbles down beside him.
"Oof." Jack shifts slightly so he's not sitting on whatever painful thing he's sitting on. "Why do you do these things to me?"
"Only so you'll be with me forever," Alex mumbles, eyes closed again. He feels around blindly with a hand until he finds Jack's arm, then holds onto it. "Bee-eff-eff."
"Bee-eff-eff," Jack agrees solemnly.
"Good," says Alex. Jack sighs and shifts again, getting comfortable, carefully prying his arm from Alex's grip. Alex exhales unhappily, but Jack bats him away when he tries to grab again. Alex whines, but Jack pushes his hand into Alex's hair and he stops and just sighs instead. Jack squints at him, combing his fingers further through Alex's hair, then untangling them and pushing Alex's bangs off his forehead instead.
Alex's breathing is softer now, like it is when he's falling asleep. Jack, feeling impulsive, scoots closer and kisses him. He stays there a minute, his mouth pressed to Alex's, and Alex giggles against his lips.
"What," Jack says.
"Nothin'," says Alex. Jack can both hear and feel him smiling.
"Liar," says Jack; Alex doesn't respond, but closes his teeth lightly on Jack's lower lip and they're back to kissing, sleepy, slow, and drunk. Jack feels stupidly buzzed; Alex's mouth is warm and wet and he thinks vaguely about putting his cock in it and how that would be really awesome as long as Alex didn't try to bite it off.
Alex groans, low and unsubtle; Jack feels it in his teeth and his dick. "Fuck," he mumbles, only half-realizing he says it out loud. He wonders very seriously if he could get away with jerking off on Alex twice in one day.
"Yeah," Alex says, pushing closer, rubbing against Jack's hip. He's hard in his jeans; Jack can feel it. It makes a lot of decisions really easy all of a sudden: he goes for Alex's zipper and fumbles it open, and yeah, he's gonna give his best friend a handjob on the floor of the bus and he's pretty okay with it, especially seeing as Alex has apparently taken this as an invitation to go for Jack's dick. Which it was. Really, it's been way too long since Jack's had someone's hands besides his own down his pants.
"Jack," Alex says, voice strained; Jack grins and bites at Alex's chin, presses his nose into Alex's throat to feel it when Alex swallows his moans. He's got his hand wrapped around Alex's dick and the angle's kind of weird but it's not like he's never given a handjob before, so it's no big effort to adjust his wrist for the quick, hard strokes he'd be using on himself right now. Alex, on the other hand, is really not treating Jack's dick with the level of urgency it deserves. Jack grunts and shoves his hips against Alex's fist until he gets the message.
He comes before Alex does, but it doesn't really matter because Alex comes about ten seconds after, his sigh going high-pitched in a way that Jack would make fun of under any other circumstances. He's pretty busy trying to catch his breath right now, though, so he figures he'll let it slide this time.
After a minute, Alex mumbles, "Should get in a bunk, bro."
Jack makes a noise that means he agrees. He doesn't bother doing his jeans back up, just kicks them off, because he hates sleeping in jeans and doesn't want to wind up doing it two nights in a row. Alex follows suit, and they somehow manage to get themselves to their feet. Jack crawls into his bunk, under his comforter, scooting over to make room, but Alex is already climbing into his own bed across the aisle. Jack un-scoots and attempts to take up more room than usual, just because he can.
Jack does not wake up the next day until Matt climbs into his bunk and violates his personal space until he agrees to get up because they apparently play in like two hours or something.
"I'll get up if you find someone to give me a blowjob," he tries bartering, attempting to transfer his headache to his pillow via osmosis.
Matt flicks him in the ear. "Gaskarth already left to find the coffee girl, so that's not gonna happen."
"Fuck, ow," Jack says, then, "I don't appreciate what you're insinuating. Alex would never choose coffee over my dick. That boy has the correct priorities in life."
Matt snorts and smacks Jack in the head, because he does not have the correct priorities in life. "Up, Barakat, or I'll call in Trace Cyrus to replace you."
"You know no one in this band would stand for that," Jack protests, but rolls out of bed with a groan anyway. If he starts now, he's got just enough time to beer-and-Redbull his headache away before he has to play. He kind of wishes Alex hadn't disappeared already, so he could make sure he's not freaking out and smack him around a little if he is, because Alex is totally the kind of guy who would freak out about something stupid like a handjob.
Jack, on the other hand, has exactly one opinion regarding handjobs, and that is that they are awesome but not as awesome as blowjobs.
Onstage later, though, Alex points an accusing finger at Jack between songs and announces to the crowd, "Last night Jack came onto me when he was drunk!"
Jack laughs, from both surprise and relief, and grabs his mic to retort: "Came on to you is right," he says, trying to sound as lewd as possible. The girls shriek; Alex ducks his head with a grin, looking bashful.
"You are so wrong in every way possible, dude," Alex says; Jack sticks his tongue out, and they play another song.
In Atlanta, Jack is deeply involved in a massive game of Man Hunt when he is brutally attacked from behind.
It's dusk and he's crouched between Senses Fail's bus and trailer, eyes open for snipers. Threat level high, constant vigilance, etc. He's at that awesome level of drunk where he feels crazy and super-alert. And horny. That's probably not the booze, though. That's just life.
But anyway, this is the situation Jack is ensconced in when he is attacked from behind - in the form of Alex tripping over the trailer hitch and landing on top of him.
"Ow, fuck," Jack says into the face-full of grass he just got.
"Ugh," says Alex, picking himself up and brushing the dirt off his hands. "That approach was much more graceful when I envisioned it in my head."
Jack spits, trying to get the taste of dirt out of his mouth. "No worries, dude. I didn't need my front teeth anyway, they just get in the way when I'm suckin' dick."
"Yeah, okay." Alex offers him a hand up and he takes it, pulling himself to his feet. His head spins a little with the sudden motion, but he just squeezes Alex's hand for a minute and it passes.
"All good?" Alex asks.
"All fantastic," Jack says, leaning back a little to peek around the side of the trailer. "If I get shot in the head, it's your fault. What's up?"
"Strange things are afoot at the Circle-K," Alex intones solemnly, He steps back out into the open, pulling Jack by his hand. "Fuck the game, I'm taking you out on the town tonight."
Jack gives up on Man Hunt, because Gaskarth-amnesty is probably the only viable excuse for dipping out anyway. "By 'the town' you mean 'your curvy penis', right?"
"Don't say I never treat you right, baby," Alex says. He re-twines his sweaty fingers with Jack's. Everything is sweaty, especially Jack, but he notices it more when it's someone else's sweat on him. Alex's t-shirt is soaked through in the back, stuck to his shoulder blades, and Jack has a wild passing thought about peeling it off of him and finding out if the skin on Alex's back is as slick as his hands are. He lets Alex pull him along and only thinks about licking his neck once or twice, which isn't that weird, really.
'Out on the town' turns out to be code for Alex having got his hands on a bottle of red wine, which is his Thing lately, mostly because it has the kind of romantic connotations Alex loves that straight-up booze lacks, and also because Alex always forgets until the next day that it gives him the worst fucked-up hangovers from hell. Jack's not going to remind him of this when he's willing to share, though.
It's dark by the time they sprawl out on the grass behind their bus, but it's a clear night and someone down the row left their van lights on, so Jack can see well enough. They pass the bottle back and forth and Alex berates Jack for drinking it too fast ("You're supposed to savor it, dammit") and Jack ignores him ("I savor your mom, that's enough savoring for me"), and in the end Alex chugs the last quarter of it because, he says, Jack doesn't appreciate it enough.
"I appreciate plenty of shit already, dude," Jack says. "Like I appreciate how that bottle's going up your ass if you puke on me after that."
Alex, bottle tilted straight up as he drinks, flips him off. He finishes it off and, with a sigh, flops back to lay down on the ground. He burps loudly, then laughs and covers his mouth belatedly.
Jack rolls his eyes, but takes the opportunity to claim Alex's stomach as a pillow. Making himself comfortable, he points to the left of Alex's head. "Puke that way."
Alex flicks him in the head. "I'm not gonna puke, asshole."
"Yeah, okay." Jack turns his head and presses his ear against Alex's shirt, blinking up at him. "Your stomach sounds all sloshy."
Alex lifts his head enough to look back at him, lifting an eyebrow.
"It does," Jack says, defensive. Alex pushes his stomach out, lifting Jack's head up; Jack snorts a laugh and kind of backwards-headbutts it until Alex stops and gives him his squishy pillow back.
"Much better." He pats Alex's stomach appreciatively. "Nice and squishy, just how I like it."
"Not all of us can have your physique, Mr. Schwarzenegger," Alex says.
"Hey, it takes serious work to look this good," says Jack. "Lots of beers. You know how hard it is to make sure I keep my beer intake up? There's some serious mathematical equations involved there."
"Yeah, you know, six beers in a six-pack times-- however many six-packs--"
"See, there's something that woulda got me to pay attention in school." Jack grins.
Alex laughs and lays a hand on Jack's head, fingers curling slightly. "If there are five-hundred bitches at Warped Tour and twenty-eight percent of them are over eighteen, how many legal breasts are there?"
Jack tilts his head up a little to look at Alex's chin. "Assuming all the chicks have both breasts?"
"Obviously."
"No fuckin' clue."
"The correct answer," Alex says, "is 'not enough'."
Jack rolls his eyes. "Obviously."
Alex snorts and then goes quiet; Jack squints up at the sky and ponders the pros and cons of staying here while Alex does his thinky-contemplation thing. Pros: Alex, and Alex's ridiculously comfortable pillow-stomach, and Alex finger-combing his hair, which feels really awesomely good. Cons: Jack feels buzzed and alive, and there are parts of him other than his hair he'd like to get touched.
Of course, Jack is always in favor of the simplest solution to things.
He shifts onto his side and presses his nose against Alex's t-shirt. There's a gap between the hem of it and Alex's jeans, a stripe of bare skin, so Jack puts his mouth on it and tastes the sweat and dirt that gets into everything on Warped Tour. He can feel Alex's stomach muscles contract, hears his breathing hitch, and grins to himself.
"Jack," Alex says.
"What," says Jack, deliberately muffling the word against the button of Alex's jeans. He feels Alex take a breath before responding.
"Never mind," he says.
"Hmmm," Jack hums thoughtfully, considering his options for a moment before rolling to his hands and knees. Alex's hand falls out of his hair when he sits up, but he can live with that. There are way better places for Alex's hands to be, anyway.
"Hey," says Alex; he's tugging at Jack's shirt, and when Jack leans down to acquiesce Alex sits up to meet him halfway, kisses him and pulls him back down with him. Which wasn't really Jack's plan, but he really can't find it in him to argue, especially with how Alex is the most fucking distracting kisser Jack knows. He's great with his teeth. Jack appreciates Alex's teeth a lot. And Jack, unlike Alex, is actually capable of multitasking, so he shifts over to straddle him, sitting on Alex's hips, and shoves at Alex's t-shirt until Alex arches his back enough for Jack to push it up under his armpits.
"Jack," Alex says against Jack's mouth, his voice more strained than before. Jack ignores him and keeps kissing him until Alex bites his lip hard enough to distract him.
"What," he says, grinding his hips down on Alex's to remind him what he's holding up, here.
"M'not getting naked out here, dickhead."
"Whatever," Jack says. "You were the one bitching about jizz on his clothes."
"That was so fucking different--" Alex says, gritting his teeth as the end of the sentence trails off in a groan.
"Just take your shirt off," says Jack, dragging his mouth along the line of Alex's jaw, biting up near his ear. "It's not like anyone cares. I wanna take your shirt off."
Alex pushes his hips up, but Jack lifts his, too, deciding impulsively to be a selfish fuck until he gets what he wants. Alex makes an annoyed sound. "You say that like you've never done it before."
Jack grins. "Not so I could come on you."
"Who says--" Alex starts, but Jack reaches down and grabs him through his jeans, squeezing firmly, and the question dies when he inhales sharply. "Fuck, you asshole."
"You love it," Jacks says, his grin still wide; Alex rolls his eyes but sits up enough for a combined effort to get his shirt off over his head, the struggle leaving his hair sticking up in several hilarious directions. Jack doesn't get to comment, though, because Alex pulls him down to kiss again and Jack quickly decides that feeling up Alex-sans-shirt is way better than making fun of his hair, anyway. His skin is hot and sweaty-sticky and Jack really wants to put his mouth on it, but it takes a long moment before he musters the willpower to detach himself from Alex's kissing; he ducks his head to bite at Alex's collarbone, nuzzle at his chest, and feel a little crazily light-headed for a second. The summer and Alex and everything, it makes Jack crazy.
Crazy in the best way, though, like in the way that lets him get away with biting down on one of Alex's stupidly perky nipples; Alex arches off the ground and says "God, fuck," so loud Jack feels it in his chest. He laughs and licks a stripe up Alex's chest, lifting his head at the end to smirk at him.
"You gonna tell the kids all about this one, too?" Jack says, voice low. "Like, 'Jack came onto me when he was drunk again-- He made me so fucking hard I let him jerk me off right there on the ground where anyone could see--'"
"I think," Alex says, his voice catching when Jack grinds down on him, "I think that might be a little TMI."
"Yeah, but it'd be way hot." Jack grins, kissing Alex's sweaty neck before sitting up, scooting back a little so he can get at Alex's zipper; Alex props himself up on his elbows, watching Jack fight with Alex's clothing. Jack's own fly is much easier to deal with, probably because he's not being sat on, and when he wraps his hand around both their dicks at once he leans down to kiss Alex again, too, muffling the ridiculous horny noise he can't help making.
It's kind of difficult, jerking off two people with one hand, but it's also kind of hot, his dick sliding against Alex's when he thrusts into his fist, Alex pushing up into his grip, falling into Jack's rhythm. It's almost like fucking, in a way. Alex doesn't even try to help, just fists his hands in Jack's shirt and moans quietly against his mouth. Jack's okay with that. It's not like he needs Alex's help to get off, he's just an added bonus to the whole process right now.
And at least this time when he jizzes on Alex, it's totally with permission and he can't bitch about it because Alex jizzes on himself, too. Jack would really like to just flop down on top of him but he would also like to not get all gross so, with effort, he rolls off Alex and flops beside him instead, blinking up at the sky for a minute while he catches his breath.
In the distance, there is faint applause, and someone cheers and wolf-whistles.
"What the fuck," Alex says, lifting his head to look around. Jack doesn't bother, because it's too dark to see that far anyway.
Someone (sounds like Zack) shouts: "Is it safe to come over there yet?"
Alex lets his head drop back to the ground with a violent sigh.
"Hold your fucking horses!" Jack yells back, rolling his eyes. He grunts and sits up, wiping his hand off on his shirt, then just pulls the shirt off and uses it to clean up the white streaks on Alex's belly. Alex watches him, wrinkling his nose a little, then moves to zip himself back up once Jack is finished. Jack eyes his now-gross shirt for a moment, then shrugs and drapes it over his shoulder. He pushes himself up to his feet and tucks his dick back into his jeans, wiggling a little as he zips up to make sure everything's comfortable.
"All clear!" he calls as Alex gets up, too, using Jack for balance. In the distance, there are cheers.
"Douchebags," Alex says, pressing a brief, wet kiss to Jack's cheek. "Fuckin' ruining my afterglow." He pulls his phone out of his back pocket and inspects it briefly for damage before flipping it open. "Fuck, I have, like, fifty texts, Jesus Christ."
"Probably mostly about your sex noises," Jack says, grinning; Alex gives him a look and he shrugs guiltlessly.
"Whatever," says Alex, already distracted by his messages. He un-drapes himself from Jack and wanders toward the bus, waving back in Jack's general direction, "I'll catch you later, bro." Jack thinks later that the perfect response to that would have been "I'll sex you later, bro," but unfortunately he is hit square in the chest with a water balloon before he can employ it.
"Motherfucker!" he yells, and chases Zack's merry band of assassins into the dark.
"You know," Zack says onstage in Cincinatti the next day, "Warped Tour, so many fuckin' bands in one place, you get some pretty crazy fucked-up rumors going around."
"I heard Travis Clark fucked your mom," says Alex. "You're gonna have fuckin' little ginger siblings, dude."
Jack says, "Have you heard any about Pat Brown? Because, damn, she's such a babe."
"Shut up," says Zack. "I'm trying to inform our awesome fans of something very important, here."
Alex glances back at Jack, then says, "What's that, Zack-Attack?"
"It's just, I didn't want you guys reading stuff on the internet and getting confused," Zack says to the crowd. "You should hear it from us." Dramatic pause. "Yes, we are replacing Jack with Trace Cyrus."
Silence.
"I am going to fuck your face in your sleep, bro," Jack says.
Jack is the beer pong champion of the world.
"I'm the beer pong champion of the world!" he yells, throwing his hands up triumphantly and mostly accidentally hitting Jonathan Cook in the ear. Cook smacks the brim of his hat in retaliation, because he loves Jesus and doesn't beat up people, just accessories.
"Of the world!," Jack repeats loudly, just in case there are people in the vicinity who didn't hear the first time.
"Shut it, Barakat!" someone shouts in the distance, but they totally can't harsh Jack's awesome victory.
"Suck a dick!" he yells back in that general direction, and while he's yelling this he gets attached to from behind, Alex's chin hooking over his shoulder.
"Who'd you beat?" Alex asks, pushing his nose against Jack's neck and leaning on him heavily. Alex is big on leaning; Jack decided long ago that he's actually incapable of supporting his own weight. Jack doesn't mind, excpet for when he's too drunk to hold two people up. Right now, he wobbles a little but manages to stay upright. Another victory.
"Uhh, that guy." Jack points, then squints into the dark. He can never fucking see at night. "No wait. I dunno, I forget. Doesn't fuckin' matter, I kicked ass."
"I'm fuckin' honored to be in your presence, bro," Alex says.
Jack turns, wrapping an arm around Alex's waist. "Let's fuckin' celebrate, dude," he decides, steering them away from the partying and back toward the bus. "This calls for the good beers."
"Stella would you take me hooooome," Alex croons, laughing and stumbling, hanging on Jack to stay upright.
"You're quoting yourself," Jack says. "You fucking douche. Fucking douche, quoting yourself."
"Shut the fuck up, I'm fucking quotable," Alex says.
"Well, I'm the fuckin' beer pong champion of the world," Jack reminds him. They're walking between the buses, now, and Alex is pretty much the only thing Jack can see in the dark.
"Nuh-uh," Alex says, sounding far too pleased with himself. "Fuckin'-- Mark Campbell, dude, what's his face. He beat you at that pool party at Brittany Doyle's house junior year."
Jack waves dismissive hand. "Doesn't fuckin' count, dude, 'cause I got his girlfriend to blow me later in the bathroom."
"Still counts," says Alex, "because she was a fuckin' skank."
"Doesn't," Jack insists. He trips a little on the uneven ground, but catches himself on Alex and the side of the bus. "What the fuck, someone needs to fix the fucking ground."
"Hey," Alex says.
"What," says Jack.
Alex pushes him up against the side of the bus, his hands on Jack's face like he's going to kiss him, and Jack finds his own hands falling automatically to Alex's waist to pull him in. But Alex doesn't kiss him, he just stares at him hard. Jack can count on his fingers the number of times he hasn't been able to read Alex's face, and this is one of them.
"Um, Alex, dude?" Jack says, really not sure at all what's going on right now.
Alex drops to his knees, which clears a lot of things up.
"Dude," Jack says again, his voice a little strange as he tries to convey that if Alex is fucking around, now is the time to stop, because otherwise celebrating with the good beer will have to wait until Jack spends some quality time alone with his penis. Alex is fumbling with Jack's belt buckle, then his fly. Jack is staring so hard he thinks his eyes might fall out. "Bro, don't fuck around about oral sex."
"Shut up, man," Alex mutters, not looking up at him. He curls his fingers into the elastic of Jack's underwear and tugs it down enough to get Jack's cock out, and if Jack were a person with any sense of shame he'd be embarrassed at how hard he is already. But he's not, so he just watches as Alex fists him lightly, contemplative, then opens his mouth.
There's an audible thump as Jack's head hits the side of the bus, and he doesn't even bother biting back the moan in his throat.
Alex isn't the world champion of blowjobs or anything - Jack doesn't even know if he's ever given one before, and is suddenly really curious about it - but Jack's not picky, and it is actually really hot in a surreal kind of way to look down and see Alex with his lips wrapped around Jack's dick, head bobbing, eyes down. Jack is not entirely sure that he's not just having a really fucked-up wet dream. A really awesome fucked-up wet dream.
"Fuck, Alex," Jack breathes, his fingers tangled in Alex's hair; he's not sure when they got there, but he's okay with it. Alex makes a noise around his dick that Jack is sure he would be able to interpret if his penis wasn't being awesomely sucked on right now. He closes his eyes and tugs on Alex's head. Blowjobs first, communication later.
But Alex makes another noise, except this one is totally familiar, and Jack barely gets his hands away for Alex to pull off before he pukes all over Jack's jeans and shoes.
"Fuck--" Alex says, then turns and retches into the grass.
"Goddammit, Gaskarth," Jack says, having a minor moral dilemma between his boner and Alex vomiting on the ground. Getting puked on is really unsexy, but Jack has a really stubborn penis that hates to be left hanging. He sighs and mourns it briefly before tucking it back into his pants, being careful zipping back up. He kneels, probably in vomit, but his jeans are a lost cause anyway.
He smacks a hand onto Alex's back. "I hate you so much right now," he says. Alex responds by vomiting again; Jack cringes at the retching sound. He rubs Alex's back idly, his palm sticking to Alex's sweaty t-shirt. When Alex starts throwing up, it's mostly just a matter of waiting it out and then convincing him to move. Jack's an expert at this. He makes himself comfortable in the vomit-y grass, palming himself gingerly through his jeans with his free hand.
Alex seems like he's almost done when Rian steps out of the bus and almost trips over them.
"Whoa!" he yelps, catching himself. Jack waves up at him. Rian prods Alex carefully with a foot. "You okay there, bro?"
"My fault," says Jack. "He choked on my penis."
"Fuck you," Alex manages, then pukes again.
"Hey," Jack says, pushing his fingers through Alex's gross sweaty hair. "Wanna go inside? Rian's here to be your knight in shining armor and everything."
"Oh, of course I am," Rian says. This is sarcasm, which Jack chooses to ignore.
"I hate everything," Alex says pathetically into the grass.
"Except my penis, right?" Jack is not quite ready to give up on one day completing this aborted blowjob.
"Especially--" Alex chokes a little, but doesn't throw up. "Especially your penis, d-bag."
"All right, Alex," says Rian, stooping to hook his arms under Alex's armpits, trying to haul him up. Jack wraps his arms around Alex's waist to attempt to help, but he is pretty drunk and Alex is fantastic at being dead weight. It takes them three tries to get Alex to his feet and convince him to stay there. Alex immediately slumps against Jack, almost taking them both down again.
"Jesus fuck," Jack says, staggering.
Alex nuzzles Jack's shoulder in what is probably an attempt to get the vomit off his chin. "M'gonna puke on you," he mumbles.
"Been there, bro," Jack says, and shoves him over to Rian for the super-fun task of getting his actually onto the bus. Jack is not helping, because Jack, right now, is covered in the remains of everything Alex had ingested that day, and is feeling an extreme need to take his clothes off in a tragically un-sexy way. He kicks off his shoes and socks, peels off his jeans and t-shirt, and leaves everything in a pile outside the bus before climbing aboard in his hat and underpants.
"Hey, naked bro!" Vinny greets him from the couch. "Nice boner."
"Yeah, you know," Jack says. "Your mom's a fuckin' tease like that."
"A saucy wench, for sure," Vinny agrees. Jack grabs two bottles from the fridge (one water, one beer), and heads to the back, checking Alex's bunk before finding him sitting on the bathroom floor, leaning on the toilet. Rian is bent over him, poking at him with vague concern.
"Yo," says Jack, elbowing past him to plop down on the floor facing Alex, their feet and knees all squished together in the small space. He fits himself in as well as possible and gives Rian a thumbs-up. "No worries, bro, I got it covered."
Rian flicks him lightly in the ear as he leaves. "Go for it, naked bro."
Alex opens one eye to look at Jack. "Why th'fuck are you naked, bro?"
"You fuckin' puked on me, bro," Jack reminds him.
Alex flops a dismissive hand at him. "Whatever." He lets his head drop back against him arm, propped on the toilet seat. Jack reaches across and, with effort, pushes Alex's sweaty bangs off his huge fucking forehead, feeling strangely lucid despite his blood alcohol-content. Alex watches him, pupils dilated, as Jack's fingers drag down the side of his face; Jack presses them against Alex's lower lip and Alex bites down on them, lightly. Jack's stomach turns over, but not in a nauseated way.
He pulls his fingers free, smearing them down Alex's chin, then shoves the bottle of water he brought at him. "Drink up, dude. Celebrating, remember?" He twists the top off his beer and tosses it out into the hallway in the general direction of some trash can, somewhere. He drinks and, out of his peripheral vision, watches Alex struggle briefly with the cap of his water bottle before taking a tentative sip. He makes a face.
"What," says Jack.
Alex frowns at him.
"You can't fuckin' have my beer, dude."
"Asshole," Alex says, and sips his water again, swishing it around in his mouth and spitting into the toilet bowl.
"That's me," Jack says, drinking his beer with exaggerated enjoyment.
Alex ignores this, still frowning. He blinks slowly at Jack a few times, then says, "Sorry about your dick, man."
"No worries, dude." Jack shrugs. "I'll just wait 'til you pass out then jerk off on you and we'll call it even." He doesn't completely mean this, because he's already decided that it would be a great idea to try to get Alex to blow him again, possibly on a semi-regular basis, preferably when he's not puking on things. But Alex doesn't need to know that right now.
Jack passes out before he gets to jerk off on Alex, though, and wakes up with the bathroom to himself. His back hurts like hell from the sleeping position, he's dehydrated as fuck, and he's got "I (heart) DUDES ON THEIR KNEES" sharpied in big letters on his chest in Rian's handwriting. He goes around shirtless all day, but the only person who comments on it is drunk Pat Brown, who says "Fuck yeah, blowjobs!" and high-fives him enthusiastically. Pat is a kid with the correct priorities in life, Jack thinks.
He doesn't run into Alex until right before their set, and Jack feels uncharacteristically awkward for about five seconds as Alex reads his chest, then punches him in the shoulder and says, "Real subtle, bro."
Jack makes Vinny give him his t-shirt before they go onstage. Merch guys don't need clothing anyway.
( part 2)