Taste for Blood
Title: Taste for Blood
Fandom: Jackass/Wildboyz
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Steve-O/Pontius
Warning: Spoilers for seasons 3 & 4 of Wildboyz
Disclaimer: Fiction means this is not real.
Word Count: 720
Summary: Sometimes all we need is just a taste...
Author’s Note: If the title isn’t warning enough, beware of blood-play...
“I’m gonna be ripping someone a new one tonight…” Chris’ laughter doesn’t fade when the cameras stop rolling.
Their hosts offer him and Steve-O another shot. Wee-man opts out as the mere thought causes him to have another fit of gagging dry heaves.
Glass held inches beneath his nose, Chris inhales the scent briefly before meeting Steve-O’s eyes. Someone was most definitely getting a new one ripped tonight. With a quick tilt of his wrist and neck, the blood rolls over his tongue and despite the overwhelming urge to give into the lurching in his stomach, Chris swallows.
Whether or not the drink contains any actual chemical aphrodisiac… or if it is all in his mind, Chris can swear that every single nerve in his body is more alert than they’ve ever been. Yet, in drastic contrast, his mind feels muddied… his inhibitions low. He’s all of five seconds from reaching across the table and pulling Steve-O back across it.
A quick glance towards the camera crew now dismantling their equipment ensures him that the filming has finally actually ended. Wordlessly Chris stands and wraps his hand around Steve-O’s arm practically dragging him away from the table. Their hosts can be heard snickering behind them.
“What the fuck, dude?” Steve’s voice rumbles in protest.
Noting that he wasn’t fighting his grip, Chris turns and leers at him. “You feel it too don’t you, Steve-O?”
“What?” He replies all too quickly and blushes as his own actions betray him. “How far away is the fucking hotel, anyway?” Steve finally grumbles.
“Far enough…” Chris erupts into devious giggles.
“Fucker.”
“You bastard…”
“Shit head.”
“Dick face…”
“Cunt.”
“Shut the fuck up, Steve, you’re making me hard… er.”
His wrists still gripped tightly in his hand, Steve-O lunges for Chris. Wrapping his free arm around his torso, Steve growls into his ear; a growl so animalistic it lacks the undertone of any language they’d come upon in their travels.
Failing miserably at biting back a moan, Chris releases Steve-O’s hand and wraps his fingers possessively around his thigh before nodding wide-eyed at a nearby alley way. It is dark save for the light from a few shacks illuminating the far end. The shimmied rustle of trash proves that rodents share these very grounds with them.
Chris is sure that if Jeff or MTV knew what they were up to, he and Steve would be lynched on the spot... Or assigned a fucking assistant to keep track of them. The press of Steve-O’s hand over his cock pushes those thoughts from his mind as he lands on top of Steve with a thud against a brick wall.
“Suck my dick, dude…” Steve-O’s eyes are half lidded. And for just a moment before dropping to his knees. Chris questions what shit that alcohol and blood must be mixing with in his system.
Steve’s cock hangs hard and heavy over a pair of garish board shorts and bikini underwear shoved down over his thighs. Tongue pressed wide over his bottom lip, Chris descends upon him. He tongues the slit experimentally before sucking the mushroom tip into his mouth. His own cock is so fucking hard that the twitching that his cocksucking is causing borders on painful. He groans before sliding his lips further down Steve’s shaft; reveling in the shaking moans it draws from his lips.
And Steve-O, the fucking asshole, doesn’t even warn him when he’s about to come. Chris’ mouth suddenly fills with bitter fluid that sadly are not a new or distinctively different substance there. For what it’s worth, he quickly turns Steve around and shoves him hard against the wall before spitting the wad of cum out over his hole.
Words seem frivolous with his cock pressing against Steve-O’s ass, so Chris holds back from whispering any words of lust or adoration and gets right down to business. He fucks Steve long and hard against the wall. And if the torn up state of his own hands from each time he has to balance himself after a particularly hard thrust is any indication, Steve’s chest and stomach are going to be messed up tomorrow. Chris finds some solace as his teeth sink into the chorded muscles of Steve-O’s neck as he shudders to completion when the metallic taste of blood hits his tongue…
Fandom: Jackass/Wildboyz
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Steve-O/Pontius
Warning: Spoilers for seasons 3 & 4 of Wildboyz
Disclaimer: Fiction means this is not real.
Word Count: 720
Summary: Sometimes all we need is just a taste...
Author’s Note: If the title isn’t warning enough, beware of blood-play...
“I’m gonna be ripping someone a new one tonight…” Chris’ laughter doesn’t fade when the cameras stop rolling.
Their hosts offer him and Steve-O another shot. Wee-man opts out as the mere thought causes him to have another fit of gagging dry heaves.
Glass held inches beneath his nose, Chris inhales the scent briefly before meeting Steve-O’s eyes. Someone was most definitely getting a new one ripped tonight. With a quick tilt of his wrist and neck, the blood rolls over his tongue and despite the overwhelming urge to give into the lurching in his stomach, Chris swallows.
Whether or not the drink contains any actual chemical aphrodisiac… or if it is all in his mind, Chris can swear that every single nerve in his body is more alert than they’ve ever been. Yet, in drastic contrast, his mind feels muddied… his inhibitions low. He’s all of five seconds from reaching across the table and pulling Steve-O back across it.
A quick glance towards the camera crew now dismantling their equipment ensures him that the filming has finally actually ended. Wordlessly Chris stands and wraps his hand around Steve-O’s arm practically dragging him away from the table. Their hosts can be heard snickering behind them.
“What the fuck, dude?” Steve’s voice rumbles in protest.
Noting that he wasn’t fighting his grip, Chris turns and leers at him. “You feel it too don’t you, Steve-O?”
“What?” He replies all too quickly and blushes as his own actions betray him. “How far away is the fucking hotel, anyway?” Steve finally grumbles.
“Far enough…” Chris erupts into devious giggles.
“Fucker.”
“You bastard…”
“Shit head.”
“Dick face…”
“Cunt.”
“Shut the fuck up, Steve, you’re making me hard… er.”
His wrists still gripped tightly in his hand, Steve-O lunges for Chris. Wrapping his free arm around his torso, Steve growls into his ear; a growl so animalistic it lacks the undertone of any language they’d come upon in their travels.
Failing miserably at biting back a moan, Chris releases Steve-O’s hand and wraps his fingers possessively around his thigh before nodding wide-eyed at a nearby alley way. It is dark save for the light from a few shacks illuminating the far end. The shimmied rustle of trash proves that rodents share these very grounds with them.
Chris is sure that if Jeff or MTV knew what they were up to, he and Steve would be lynched on the spot... Or assigned a fucking assistant to keep track of them. The press of Steve-O’s hand over his cock pushes those thoughts from his mind as he lands on top of Steve with a thud against a brick wall.
“Suck my dick, dude…” Steve-O’s eyes are half lidded. And for just a moment before dropping to his knees. Chris questions what shit that alcohol and blood must be mixing with in his system.
Steve’s cock hangs hard and heavy over a pair of garish board shorts and bikini underwear shoved down over his thighs. Tongue pressed wide over his bottom lip, Chris descends upon him. He tongues the slit experimentally before sucking the mushroom tip into his mouth. His own cock is so fucking hard that the twitching that his cocksucking is causing borders on painful. He groans before sliding his lips further down Steve’s shaft; reveling in the shaking moans it draws from his lips.
And Steve-O, the fucking asshole, doesn’t even warn him when he’s about to come. Chris’ mouth suddenly fills with bitter fluid that sadly are not a new or distinctively different substance there. For what it’s worth, he quickly turns Steve around and shoves him hard against the wall before spitting the wad of cum out over his hole.
Words seem frivolous with his cock pressing against Steve-O’s ass, so Chris holds back from whispering any words of lust or adoration and gets right down to business. He fucks Steve long and hard against the wall. And if the torn up state of his own hands from each time he has to balance himself after a particularly hard thrust is any indication, Steve’s chest and stomach are going to be messed up tomorrow. Chris finds some solace as his teeth sink into the chorded muscles of Steve-O’s neck as he shudders to completion when the metallic taste of blood hits his tongue…